So Conor played the music for today’s Mass, which meant I had to get the kids ready and to church alone and then manage them solo during Mass. I woke up the kids at 10:45 to go to church. I had all of their stuff already packed up–bottles, snacks, diapers, et cetera. Here’s how it went:
10:45: I open Mary’s door and she yells, incoherently, “Close the window NOW, Mommy!” Eventually I realize she means it [for some reason], so I close her window. I suggest that she might want to get up and she leaps out of bed, yelling “Jibber jabber, jibber jabber!” [which is what Conor says to her when she babbles inarticulately in his direction].
10:50: We open Wesley’s door. He begins to hop delightedly in his crib and holds up his arms to be picked up. Cute!
10:55: I change both kids’ diapers. I put Mary’s skirt on and then chase her around the room to put on her shirt. I put a romper on Wesley, which involves him rolling over three times, yelling, “No! Bee bo!” at me, and putting both arms through the head hole.
11:00: I get the kids into the car. Mary says, “We go to school?” I say, “No, we’re going to church.” She says, “Oh. Go see Father Scott?” I say, “Yes, we’re going to see Father Scott.” She says, “At school?” I say, “No, at church.” She says, “Oh. Because he lives at church.”
11:10: We arrive at the church [we’re supposed to be there earlyish for a sound check–Mass is at 11:30]. I get out of the car and begin attaching things to my person: Wesley, in the Moby wrap; the diaper bag, containing diapers, bottles, snacks, and toys; Mary, on my other hip; and, not least important, Miss Crabby, in my hand. We go into the church, stopping for Mary to have a completely incomprehensible conversation with Father Scott.
11:15: Mary asks for Cheerios.
11:16: Wesley sees that Mary has Cheerios and cries until she gives him one.
11:17: Mary asks for raisins.
11:18: Wesley sees that Mary has raisins and cries until she gives him one.
11:19: Mary asks for string cheese.
11:20: Wesley sees that Mary has string cheese and cries until I unwrap another stick of it. I pull off a little bite for him. He grabs, instead, the rest of the stick and takes a huge bite off the end.
11:30: Mass begins. Wesley, adorably, begins to dance [as well as he can in the baby carrier] and says, “Daddy!” when the music starts.
11:32: Mary asks for more string cheese.
11:33: Wesley demands a bottle.
11:37: Mary asks for more string cheese.
11:40: Wesley is fussy and I have to stand up while everyone else is sitting down and make a spectacle of myself by rocking Wesley back and forth and tickling him. [We were in the back, at least.]
11:50: Mary is being incredibly well-behaved. Wesley is yelling, “Bee ba! Bee ba! Bee ba bo!” over and over.
12:15: Wesley opens his mouth and pulls out, for me to take, an enormous wad of string cheese, chewed into a cud-like mass. I put this into a Kleenex and go on with my life, reflecting that children are really, really gross.
Anyway, the point is, how am I supposed to find church spiritually enriching when the entire reason for my presence is apparently to manage string cheese?