While we rode out the thunderstorm with nary a disturbance, the club pool power outage resulted in the cancelation of swim team practice this morning. Though I had contemplated skipping practice, the cancelation made the decision all the easier that indeed we would go to Mass this morning. Usually, we're a once-a-week attendance family, doing the bare minimum. However, were it not for my noisy rambunctious tots I would like to go more often. Since special invitations had been printed and distributed last Sunday, inviting everyone to the be inducted into the Scapular Devotion, I hoped that my crew wouldn't be too disruptive during the daily Mass (which usually doesn't draw the noisy types).
The morning departure went off without a hitch and we arrived to the church properly dressed, veiled, and even managed to snag a few of our garden roses on the way out for Mary. Perhaps I should have sat in the cry room, but opted not to since we usually don't. When the church isn't nearly as full as a standard Sunday Mass, an uncontrollable gigging toddler seems so much louder and more disruptive than usual. Aside from strapping the three year old to my back, and the one year old to my front, baring a combined total weight of 56+ pounds to my 130lb frame, most of the tricks up my sleeves were spent. Feeling quite distracted in the mind, I acquiesced when two of the children up and decided they needed to go potty (fieldtrip as I've termed it) during the Consecration (typical of them), as if those bells somehow trigger some sort of Pavlovian signal. The rational in my mind was since I'd been unable to really spiritually participate and had actually began to feel very frustrated, while some Grace would do my soul some good, going to communion in a less than desirable state could be equally as bad, so I'd go ahead and make sure nobody was going to have an accident in the pew and skip communion.
However, if I ever need reminding that this too shall pass, I need only look at my 13 year old, who now sits quietly in church, and recall that he once required all I could muster to endure Mass. One day, all the toddlers will be teenagers, and then later adults, and perhaps I'll be more like the sweet elders who were so kind as to pay me a complement for my lovely children and praised my mothering. It was especially endearing since I can all too easily begin to feel less than stellar falling prey to the thoughts of self-inflicted judgementalism. Often I worry a great deal about what others might be thinking, fearing that it's not good.
As a reward (without calling it such) we stopped into one of our favorite little shops, the Variety store, which is jammed packed with all sorts of things, that we might pick up some (cheap) water shoes for one of the girls who has outgrown her current pair. As further reinforcement for such a good morning (except the three year old) I let them pick something from the candy isle, which isn't something we always do. While I was temped to withhold a treat from said three year old, I suspect he wouldn't have the ability to connect his behavior in church with the lack of reward, as he lives so very much in the present.
Upon arriving home, just barely past 10am, and I was stunned at just how much we'd accomplished in such a short amount of time. The day was so young and we'd already had such a good start, which in and of itself was grace enough.
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