This morning, our plans to do our usual split up were foiled, when one of us missed getting up on time.  Rather than choosing another mass, further breaking up the day, I decided that we should go as a family at 8:30.  I was feeling brave.

We parked ourselves in our usual spot – two pews back from the alter.  (I know what you’re thinking, but, as I learned from my friend Troy, it can work.  The children are at least more likely to behave when a) they can see what’s going on, vs. staring at the backs of a bunch of heads; and b) the priest can look them in the eye.)

Besides having to lay a calming hand on Child #4 and shushing Child #3, things were going brilliantly.  Then I heard a familiar crinkling noise.  I glanced over, but no, it wasn’t the baby’s toy.  He ( the little angel) was sleeping peacefully.

So I leaned forward and looked down the pew…

…to see Jack pulling a package of Pop-Tarts from his pocket!  (FYI, this is NOT a normal occurrence for our family.)

Needless to say, Dan confiscated the contraband and we made it through mass without further incident.  As a matter of fact, we even received a compliment on our children’s behavior!

I couldn’t imagine what was going on with Jack, but he claimed that it was his intent to distribute the Pop-Tarts after mass…  I guess they were just making him uncomfortable, sitting there in his pocket in church.

At first, I was disappointed that none of our family members could make it here for the baptism of our fifth child.

Then, I realized, our family did make it!

The Remicks were able to come a few days early, so we managed to spend some quality time together.

Bergen and Luke

Jack and Keegan

Maria and Zoe

Carsten and Andrew

Sam and Bergen

Luke was not left out. He's behind the pillar.

(More pictures can be seen by clicking the Flickr badge in the left hand column of this page.)

We are so thankful to have such wonderful friends and that they were able to make the long trip to be with us.  Kyle, Troy, Keegan, Bergen, Carsten, Zoë – we miss you already!!!

We’ve really had a great time hosting visitors this summer.  We have plenty of room, so if you haven’t yet, call today for a reservation!

Seriously, though, last weekend, Jack celebrated his First Reconciliation, or First Confession.  We were very proud of him, as it’s pretty nerve-wracking to pour all of your 7-year-old sins out to a priest.  We were not so proud of our other three, who had ants in their pants throughout most of the morning.

Doesn't he look so grown up? And isn't the priest tall?!?

Here’s my lumberjack reference… Gran sent a new box of clothes and the boys all got these shirts.  (Jack hasn’t had the opportunity to wear his yet, as he’s been in uniform all week.)

We love flannel!

This is Lukie’s new favorite shirt!

Teenagers, obviously.  (Sooooooo glad we’re not at that stage yet, especially when look out our windows to see that the neighbors trees are covered in it.)

What do you use toilet paper for?  That’s it?

‘Cause there are other things you can do!  Of course, you might not come up with much if you only buy a few rolls at a time and keep them under your sink in the bathroom.  But, if you by the 48 pack at Costco like we do and they’re just sitting there, on the shelf in the basement, begging for your attention, you may think differently.

As my kids did this afternoon.

With the dreaded homework out of the way, I was contentedly getting dinner prepared while the kids watched TV in the basement.  Or so I thought.  Things were starting to sound a little rowdy, and I might have gone down there, except that my mom called.  Of course, I’d much rather talk to her than hunt for disaster, so that’s what I did.  Until it got too rowdy.  Still on the phone, I crept downstairs to find Jack and Sam making towers with toilet paper rolls.  Fun, but not that fun.  So, they used more rolls to throw across the room and collapse said towers.

I pretended not to notice, went back upstairs, and continued my conversation.  Until I received a report of damage to the fuse box cover.  I figured it was time to face the music then.

I ended my conversation and headed down stairs.  Thankfully, the damage was non-existent, but the mess wasn’t.  There were rolls of toilet paper EVERYwhere.  Lucky for us, the rolls come individually wrapped, so the mess wasn’t what it could have been.  (And no one will have to worry about dust or dirt on their butts when using it later.)  There were, however, a few rolls that had been opened and tossed about, creating yet another snowstorm in the basement.

I switched off the TV and demanded that they all clean it up.  Too bad for the two that were non-culprits.  That’s the way it goes.  Everyone had to pitch in.  A few minutes before dinner, they had the basement pretty much back to normal.

As the rest of the family sat down to dinner tonight, I ran out to get my haircut.  Upon my return, the little boys were snug in their beds, Maria was preparing for a bath and Jack, freshly bathed, was stomping toward the basement stairs, complaining to me that Dad told him to clean up down there.  And, that it has to be “perfect.”

As he headed down the stairs, still complaining, he proclaimed that, “Only Mary was perfect!”

Hahahaha.  Got to love Catholic school.  When I was done laughing, I wondered what needed cleaning in the basement since it had been cleaned before dinner.  So, I hunted Dan down to ask what had happened down there.

“Do you know what they did?!?” He asked.

“Ummmm….were they by any chance playing with the toilet paper?” I asked.

Sure enough.  They’d been at it again.

“I spent the other night taking all of those rolls out of the bag and stacking them nice and neat on the shelf down there!” Dan told me.

Well, no wonder.  Usually I keep the rolls in the big bag they come in.  I guess with them all sitting out on the shelf individually they were much harder to resist.

First of all, I need to update you on Saturday’s Kiddieland fiasco.  As I said before, the trip to McDonald’s seemed to placate everyone.  Dan and I were still seething, but luckily, our children recover pretty quickly.  On Saturday evening I did receive a phone call from the woman in charge of the outing.  She was extremely apologetic.   A few things led to our demise:  a) woman was not able to pre-purchase tickets as planned; b) woman was late arriving due to a school track meet; c) woman had to stand in looooooonnnnnngggggg line; d) Kiddieland was experiencing record crowds due to its impending closure (normally, you can walk right up to the gate, purchase your tickets and go in – no lines.); e) only three scout families participated in the event; f) as I mentioned previously, we don’t know a lot of people yet, so it makes recognizing one another difficult.  And, no one (us included) wore a uniform.

I felt much better after the phone call and Dan and I are contemplating trying to take the kids this coming weekend.  It’s the final weekend Kiddieland is open.  I’m sure it will be crazy, but knowing now about the crowds, I think we can coordinate something.

If Saturday’s call made us feel better, Sunday made us feel terrific.  First of all, this Sunday was the monthly Scout Mass.  We were hesitant about participating after Saturday, but Dan and Jack showed up in uniform and Jack was thrilled to be there.  He saw plenty of his friends and Dan met several people, as well.  Oh, we also got our Kiddieland check back.  Mass was great (for the scouts anyway).

Later in the afternoon, we headed back up to church/school for the annual parish picnic.  It was WONDERFUL!  We saw tons of people we knew from school, Jack and Maria both found friends immediately upon arriving, and there was plenty to do… for free!  All of the bouncies and midway-type games were free.  There was also face painting (Jack kept those poor girls busy), tatoos, crafts, and an excellent emcee/DJ.  The food was good, and Jack expressed a desire to help the scouts sell soda next year.

As we left, Jack told me, “This definitely makes up for Kiddieland!” and as we walked home Dan (!) told me how much he liked being part of this school and parish.  That’s really saying something!  No wonder there are so many alumni families.

Tonight, Jack and Dan are at a Scout meeting.  (Earlier this afternoon, Jack’s new den mother called to introduce herself to me and to make sure we knew about tonight’s meeting.)

Saturday was definitely a fluke.  Unfortunate, yes, but we are so over it.

(Printed in Sunday’s bulletin):

Church Crying Room
People sometimes ask why our church doesn’t have a
crying room. When the church was built, a decision was
made not to include a crying room so as not to segregate
families with babies and young children from the rest of the
congregation at Mass.

When the church was renovated as part of Vision 2000,
glass doors were added to the vestibule along with a better
sound system to allow parents with a crying child to
step out into the vestibule until the child was settled, yet
still have a chance to see and hear the Mass. Having young
children in the church with the parents allows families to
be together during the liturgy and gives them the opportunity
to learn how to behave during Mass. We are blessed
to have families with young children in our parish and we
are happy that they come to Mass with their little ones.
While babies may at times make themselves heard at
Mass, they are a sign of the future of our Church and the
blessing of new life that is such a tremendous gift from
God. Let us always be welcoming and patient with these
youngest members of [parish name*].

We LOVED the parish school in Tennessee, but we felt the church could have been more welcoming.  We really didn’t feel like we “belonged” until Jack started school.  That’s when everything really came together. But, regardless of having children in the parish school, church should be a place we WANT to be, WITH our children.  It can be a struggle when they’re young.  We still have our challenges, for sure.  But knowing that the people surrounding us are understanding and encouraging helps tremendously.

The ritual of the mass may be the same the world over, but all parishes, unfortunately, are not created equal.  I think a lot of them can learn from this one.

*Maybe I’m being paranoid, but I don’t think The Internet needs to know our parish name.

Zoë was baptized on Sunday and Kyle had to leave on Monday.  Too painful to contemplate.

Anyway, here is the beautiful, freshly baptized Zoë and family.

(Luke tried desperately to re-baptize himself in the font several times during the ceremony while we were busy with Zoe, but thankfully he was unsuccessful.)

Dan and me with our new Goddaughter (we’re so proud, you’d think she was ours!):

Anyway, she assured me that the baby isn’t here yet and that Kyle had made it safely home.  We talked about Kyle’s homecoming, her plans for the baby’s arrival, and which grandparents would be arriving when.

Then she sprung it on me -  the absolute best Christmas gift a friend could give:  an invitation for Dan and me to be her new baby girl’s Godparents.  I was stunned.  And excited!

Of course, the kids are excited too.  When I told Maria this morning that Miss Troy had called and asked Dan and me to be baby Zoë’s Godparents, she was thrilled.  “That means we get to be the Godkids!” she announced.  I guess it does.

Of course Troy and her baby have been in our nightly prayers since we found out she was expecting.  When we first started praying for them we didn’t have any idea if the baby was a boy or girl.  So, we had lots of fun each night guessing which it would be.  Some of the boys wavered, but not Maria.  She steadfastly wanted Miss Troy to have a girl so that she wouldn’t have to be the only girl in her family.

We started saying some extra prayers once Kyle deployed, leaving his three boys and pregnant wife behind.  I know Troy has had lots of help from family and friends, but I was sorely disappointed when she announced her pregnancy to me right around the time we found out about our move.  I really wanted to be there for her and the kids, especially while Kyle was away.  Maybe our prayers have helped, though, ’cause she sounds just wonderful, and has already made it through 6 months without her husband.

So, back to my Goddaughter, Zoë.  I’ve thought about her every time I see the color pink (which is quite often, having Maria around).  I also think about Troy and her new daughter when I see curly, girly things.  Or, when Maria and I have a few minutes to ourselves.  Boys are wonderful – don’t get me wrong.  And, I’m sure Troy would have been just as happy having another boy, as I would have five years ago.  But, having a girl adds a new dynamic and is a different experience.  It’s wonderful – for a mom, a dad and the brothers.

We were all sad to leave Troy and her family behind in Tennessee.  Everyone of us mentions them at least every other day.  They are wonderful people and have been great friends.  Friends, though, that I have feared we’d eventually lose touch with, as our travels usually only take us to one or two places each year, neither of which is near Tennessee.

Well, no matter.  We may go for periods without talking on the phone.  It might be years between visits, but we will never lose touch.  If we weren’t before, we are family now.  I just wish I could be there to help welcome my Goddaughter into the world.  I can’t wait for the day that I can hold her close and snuggle her and smell her sweet head.  I don’t know when that’s going to be, but I sure hope it’s soon.

Thanks, Troy and Kyle, for your wonderful Christmas gift this year.  Dan and I will certainly cherish it.

Which I left behind in the hotel room.

I told Dan, “I think it’s 322 West. I’m not sure of the number, though. We’ll just plug it in (to the GPS) and go from there. If the number isn’t right, we’ll still find it.”

So, instead of trying to find the church based on how we’d gotten there before, we simply followed the directions given to us by the lovely woman inside the GPS machine. And our kids (who love to repeat every direction given).

We went along merrily, but quickly, as mass started at 9 and the GPS showed us arriving at that exact time. (It’s a Sunday ritual. No matter what time we have everyone ready, we’re always running late.)

Nothing looked familiar, but we had the GPS. As we drew closer to our destination, Dan missed a turn. “Recalculating,” said the woman. “Recalculating!” yelled Maria from the back of the van. New directions were given, but Dan turned around instead. “Recalculating,” said the woman. “Recalculating!” yelled Maria. Dan again passed up the original turn, because there was a no-left-turn sign. “Recalculating,” said the woman. “Recalculating!” yelled Maria.

I started to laugh. We got situated, though, and finally, we arrived at our destination. Which wasn’t a church. It was a house. In a neighborhood we’d never seen before.

I laughed harder. This time so hard that tears were forming. “Let’s see if the GPS has churches,” I suggested, once I caught my breath.

Sure enough, the GPS listed places of worship. But, none of them indicated the religion associated with them. Being Catholic has it’s benefits. I saw a St. Joseph’s on the list and knew it had to be Catholic. “Let’s try that,” I said.

The GPS got us on our way once again and I hoped, as we drove, that mass at St. Joseph’s began at 9:30. We followed the directions the woman gave us…

And found the road ahead of us closed.

The laughter bubbled up again and I didn’t know that I’d be able to stop this time.

Dan found an alternate route, but the GPS lady didn’t like it. She kept trying to get us to “turn right, then turn left.” So did Jack and Maria.

Finally, we found the church. The lot was packed, which meant mass was probably in full swing. “Maybe it just started,” I told Dan. “Let’s get out. If it started at 9, we’re only 15 minutes late.” We trudged across the lot, herding our four children. As we approached the church, I looked for mass times. I didn’t see any posted, but I did see several signs for things regarding the parish school and one asking people to turn off their cell phones before entering the church. All of the signs posted, I noticed, were in English and Spanish.

“I hope this isn’t a Spanish mass,” I told Dan as he pulled open the door.

Sure enough, it was. And we were definitely late. The homily (which I’m sure was a good one) was in full swing.

I tried to pull myself together enough to at least pretend I could understand what the priest was saying. And, hey – I did pick out a few words I knew. I was in the middle of praying that God would understand our predicament this morning and let this count for mass when Dan mumbled something and left with the three oldest kids.

Great. I didn’t really want to stand in the back of the church struggling with Sam all by myself. I mean, every time I told him to be quiet everyone turned to look to see who was speaking in English.

Sam and I made our exit, too. We caught up with the others and headed to the car. “They knew more Spanish than us,” Jack said. “Yes,” I told him. (I was actually proud that he recognized what language had been spoken. He took Spanish in school last year and that’s one class I’m disappointed he won’t get at the new school.)

Having given up, we told the GPS lady we wanted to go home.

When we got back to the room, I checked the pad I had written the address on. It said 322 West MAPLE on it.

Ooops.