It’s been a while since I’ve last written, and I apologize to all of my millions of readers. (Ok, I apologize to all 3 of you…a girl can dream, right?) I have been incredibly busy with various volunteer projects for the past 2 weeks, but I am now able to return to my regular schedule. I figured I would return with a post on what I know best…child driven insanity.
Church with the kids is never fun. Never. Which is a pity, because I actually really enjoy Mass. I just enjoy it much more when the heathen children aren’t with me. That sounds horrible, right? Well, before you judge, join me as I recap last Sunday’s Mass. The following sequence of events is not a compilation of weeks of headaches. No. This is my experience with The Younger Boy for one Mass. One hour.
On this particular Sunday, we got to church early so that I could go to Confession. Unfortunately, when we got there, The Ninja-Priest-Friend wasn’t yet in the confessional, so I just sat in the pew with my family. I should have just started a line or sat in the back of church by myself, it would’ve saved me a lot of embarrassment. The minute the priest went into the confessional, The Younger Boy looked at me and said loudly, “Ok, Mom. He’s back there. You can go tell him how bad you are now.”
Thank God that looks don’t actually kill, because in that moment, I may have injured my precious son. The walk to the confessional has never been so long, as I hung my head in shame, listening to the laughter of others and the barrage of “Oh, he’s so cute!” Yeah, he’s cute to you. You weren’t just called out by the little twerp. As I stood in line, patiently waiting my turn, I could see his eyes and forehead peeking over the back of the pew. I tried not to make eye-contact, I really did. But I failed miserably. I looked at him, which was all the invitation he needed. He started waving like he hadn’t seen me in years, accompanied by an excited, “Hey Mom!” Apparently, at this point, The Husband intervened, because I heard “Ow, Daddy! Why did you do that?!?” and Philip suddenly turned around.
Once Mass started, the chaos continued. It went something like this:
- The Younger Boy ended up sitting by the aisle–big mistake. Right after the entrance procession, before the priest was even on the altar, Philip jumps in the middle of the aisle and does a karate kick in the air. I grabbed him by his sleeve and jerked him back into the pew, doing a quick survey of the people around us to see if there were witnesses. There didn’t seem to be; everyone was looking at their books, singing the entrance hymn. Whew!
- Philip started to play with my hair. This is not unusual. He often gets his little chubby hands entangled in my long hair, making a matted mess. I don’t care, as long as it keeps him quiet. This time, however, I kept hearing him whisper “Weee!” I looked down to see him making a man with his fingers walk up my shoulder. The finger-man eventually got to the top of the “hill”, where he grabbed a piece of hair and “bungee jumped” to the pew, squealing all the way down.
- When the ushers were taking up the collection, he winked and pointed at them, making a “tsk, tsk” noise. It looked something like this:
- Apparently, Philip must have been thinking about The Ninja-Priest-Friend, because he taps me on the shoulder and says, “Hey! Guess what? Fr. Tom’s initials are T.V.!!! Isn’t that cool? Teeeee-Veeeee, Teeee-Veeee, Teee-Veee, TV, TV, TV! That’s so hilarious!”
- At one point when we were standing, he actually started sucking on the side of my hand. I jerked it away and looked at him as though he had completely lost his mind. He looks up at me, smiles, and says, “I vant to drink your blood” in his best vampire accent. No, that’s not creepy. Not at all.
- He played with my hair again, this time trying to tie it in a bow under my chin. After I growled at him to stop, he said, “But it’s soooo puuuuurrtttyyyy.”
- While we were saying the “Our Father”, Philip grabs my hand, kisses the top of it and purrs, “Shan-taaaayyy Mademoiselle.”
That kid stressed me so much that I think I aged ten years in one hour. When Mass was finally over, I looked over at my little family. They were all smiling, my husband spiritually renewed, the children just glad that it was over. I was exhausted. As I walked out of the church, my hair a matted, tangled mess, my hand having drool on the top of it, and a hickey on the side of it, and owning at least 5 new wrinkles, I too smiled.
I can’t beat them; I might as well join them. So, I roll with it. I smile. I tickle Philip as he climbs into the car, delighting in the giggles that I hear. These are the good days. As much as they may make me crazy, I also relish them. I realize that one day my boys will be gone, too old to need their mom, too cool to be seen with her, too wise to ask her advice. That day will be here sooner than I want. Time is a bandit. I choose to enjoy the present.
Live in the moment. Enjoy today…even if it does drive you crazy.