ShareThisNothing challenges my faith in a merciful Lord like a Sunday morning mass filled with wailing babies and booger-eating toddlers. I'm not sure what the Bible's official position on the latter is, but I'm sure it involves the fiery pits of hell because gross, eating your boogers should be a mortal sin.
I go to church for two reasons:
1. My mother instilled in me the proper Catholic-prescribed level of crap-your-pants-fear during my childhood, reminding me each day that Jesus was watching my every move, which made going to the bathroom just a tad bit awkward
and
2. Now I can finally do the same to my own offspring, which makes 32 years of holding my pee until I almost pass out totally worth it.
Going to churchevery most Sundays is part of our family routine. We wake up at 6:30 a.m., eat breakfast, watch t.v., mope around for a few hours, then, like clockwork, we scramble to get dressed and make it to 10:00 o'clock mass.
At 10:25.
We usually sit in the very back, the nosebleed seats, if you will. I prefer it back there, where rows upon rows of people aren't staring at my back cleavage and watching me adjust my skirt everytime I stand up or sit down (if you know anything about Catholics it's that we prefer our commandments with a side of calisthenics, so there's a whole lot of up and down and swing your partner round and round going on during mass).
Plus, I get to be all judgmental about the parents who can't control their kids and make stern faces at the back of their heads, furrowed eyebrows and all.
Until recently.
When monchichi decided that church is a great place to practice shaving seconds off of his best f.p.m
(flaps per minute) time and beat his current record,
and
that sqwuaking like a bird with an amphetamine addiction is perfectly acceptable during the homily given by the priest.
Man. Those judgemental looks aren't nearly as much fun when you're on the receiving end.
We've been working really hard to keep our wonderful, lovingly obnoxious son from interrupting the three hundred or so members of our congregation from praying for forgivness for being such self-righteous jackasses and I thought our efforts were paying off.
Boy was I right!
Why just last weekend, upon our entrance through the church doors, an usher almost tripped trying to get to us before we could take our usual seats.
Instead, she whisked us away to a back room I didn't even know existed, with, get this, leather couches and a private bathroom.
She smiled sweetly
pointed to the speakers on the ceiling,
then
closed
the
door
behind
her.
We must have really made an impression on the priest.
Amen.
I go to church for two reasons:
1. My mother instilled in me the proper Catholic-prescribed level of crap-your-pants-fear during my childhood, reminding me each day that Jesus was watching my every move, which made going to the bathroom just a tad bit awkward
and
2. Now I can finally do the same to my own offspring, which makes 32 years of holding my pee until I almost pass out totally worth it.
Going to church
At 10:25.
We usually sit in the very back, the nosebleed seats, if you will. I prefer it back there, where rows upon rows of people aren't staring at my back cleavage and watching me adjust my skirt everytime I stand up or sit down (if you know anything about Catholics it's that we prefer our commandments with a side of calisthenics, so there's a whole lot of up and down and swing your partner round and round going on during mass).
Plus, I get to be all judgmental about the parents who can't control their kids and make stern faces at the back of their heads, furrowed eyebrows and all.
Until recently.
When monchichi decided that church is a great place to practice shaving seconds off of his best f.p.m
(flaps per minute) time and beat his current record,
and
that sqwuaking like a bird with an amphetamine addiction is perfectly acceptable during the homily given by the priest.
Man. Those judgemental looks aren't nearly as much fun when you're on the receiving end.
We've been working really hard to keep our wonderful, lovingly obnoxious son from interrupting the three hundred or so members of our congregation from praying for forgivness for being such self-righteous jackasses and I thought our efforts were paying off.
Boy was I right!
Why just last weekend, upon our entrance through the church doors, an usher almost tripped trying to get to us before we could take our usual seats.
Instead, she whisked us away to a back room I didn't even know existed, with, get this, leather couches and a private bathroom.
She smiled sweetly
pointed to the speakers on the ceiling,
then
closed
the
door
behind
her.
We must have really made an impression on the priest.
Amen.
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8 comments:
LOVE IT! As I too am a mother of a child with special needs it is good to hear that it isn't just us that gets those 'looks'. And you're right God doesn't care where you sit, He just wants you to show up! ;o)
You are pretty darn brave. More so than I am, Catholic guilt and all, I can't bring myself to take six children to a Catholic mass by myself. I'm pretty sure God understands. When attending, I have always tried to get seats waaaayyyy up front though, so we could take communion and keep on going...right out the door.
Maybe I should try taking the kids one Sunday, then perhaps I could find out if our church has a room like that. :)
Private Bathroom? Now that's "SERVICE"!
You should be proud of yourself Jo for handling everything that would be embarrassing and scary to many with a splash of humor. The world could use a few more mothers like you!
wait, so picking your nose in church IS NOT ok then?
Wow, the VIP seats! I love your descriptions and have to admit that I sometimes miss combining aerobics and church.
Again, you and I are the same. But thankfully, God has granted me some solace. After a failed attempt at creating a special needs faith formation class at our parish (a 2 year quest that left me in tears), we found a parish that welcomes us and a good handful of special needs kids. After over a year of work with Jack, we now sit in the front pew, so he can have a good view of "Jesus" (our priest) and all that he does and the pretty murals behind the altar. Jack requires a lot of deep squeezes and so he sits on my lap the entire mass and plays with my hair while he takes it all in. He will receive his First Communion on May 1st :)
SING! When in CHURCH, SING, SING your heart out !
If God gave you a beautiful voice, singing in church is a good way to show your gratitude.
If God gave you a crappy voice, you won't get a better CHANCE to GET EVEN !!!
I LOVE your blog!!! My 2 year old son has been diagnosed with Autism this week and we have been so sad. I came across your blog and it makes me laugh so hard I cry. I really needed that. Thank you so much for giving us all hope and a little to laugh about. I look forward to more posts. Thank you!
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