Mass Without Children

Yesterday my man was off from work and decided that he didn't want to go to church with us. I (half) jokingly said, "Well if you don't want to go then your punishment is keeping one or two of the kids with you so I can catch a word or two of the homily for once." To my utter shock he agreed, and on top of that declared that he would keep ALL of them home. Clearly this was his idea of a sick joke and I wasn't falling for it. But as the time creeped closer for us (me?) to leave he never started laughing and pointing or hinting that he'd changed his mind. Finally it was time for me to go and I kissed my sticky kids and hugged my hubby goodbye. I made sure he knew where the shoes were (sadly, he really doesnt know such things), begged that he feed them real food and not junk to buy their cooperation, and aske dnumerous times if he "was sure about this".....and then I peeled out of the driveway leaving a splaying of dust and pebbles without a second glance in the rearview in fear they would chase me down and take away my freedom before it had even started.

I glanced around, almost nervously...it felt forbidden...it felt GOOD! I couldn't think of anything to do so I decided to listen to the radio, but that plan fell through because only one station would come in and it was a vulgar talk show for guys with no hope of getting a woman. I looked to my right and remembered that Sarah had broken the attenna off of my truck. No problem, I'll just listen to my iPod... Good plan until my phone rang. Rick. Wanting to know where I was. Really...? I'm 5 minutes away from home! That's okay, I'll just enjoy the silence. Wow, silence is creepy. So I started talking outloud to myself.

Upon arriving at my church I got out and opened the backdoor. I had already partially climbed in to unlock the carseat in the back before I realized there was nobody strapped in. I ambled to the sidewalk, never stopping to look at a rock or a bug or a weed poking out from the concrete. I didn't have to count heads, my pace wasn't broken by a skinned knee or a butterfly needing to be caught. Once inside I could sit where ever I pleased, not somewhere close to an exit. I didn't have to help anyone bless themselves. The woman sitting beside me asked if I attended regularly. Clearly, she was impressed to see a high school girl dutifully going to Mass alone. I explained I usually have three children with me, and I felt pangs of guilt as I did so.

I listened to every word that was said, answered each responsorial, actually prayed something besides Lord, just get me through the rest, please! I even got to smile fondly at the man who had to carry his squirming, talkative baby outside. I got to feel what it felt like to NOT be the one being smiled (or-more rarely-glared) at. My offering envelope was perfectly intact as there was nobody there to fight over who gets to put it in the basket. No bickering to quiet, no nose-picking, no Walk of Shame, no having to nurse someone...all this peace before the first reading.

Shhh--Don't tell anybody!! But I really did not enjoy myself. Children NEED to be at Mass just like the rest of us; even if they have to be taken out for a spanking three times. People asked where they were and I was ashamed to answer "Daddy has them at home". I appreciate that my hubby was trying to be helpful and do me a favor, and I shocked myself by drawing the conclusion that I would rather whether embarrassment and frustration than worship Christ alone, without my blessings beside me. (Or more accurately, under or on me.)

When I pulled up to my house, I was greeting by shouts of joy and smothered with wet baby kisses. The kids were happy to see me as well. As predicted, the two hours I was gone cost me approximately one afternoon of clean-up, one load of laundry, and $17 worth of groceries. The price was well-worth the lesson learned: bring the kids to church! Jesus wants them there!