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Monday, January 31, 2005

Yep--they're mine.

Or, Why Rachel Is Often My Favorite Child.

Yesterday was the family mass at our parish. The central point is the homily, where the younger children gather in front of the altar while Fr. sits with them. Just to prove I'm not the rubrics cop you think I am, I don't complain and my teeth don't grind. They didn't before I had kids, either. The rest of the Mass is handled appropriately and is free from..."creative inculturation," shall we say. I've been told we're the only parish in the area that consistently kneels for consecration, so I'm willing to be indulgent on a few points once a month.

Anyway, Maddie has reached the age where she can go up and sit with her friends without supervision. Unfortunately, that means Dale has to go--the reason being that Big Sister is allowed to do it, why can't I? I held Rachel and Heather rode shotgun on The Boy because of his short attention span and love of wandering the sanctuary when given the slightest chance. Wide open spaces were meant to be raced through, don't you know?

Maddie was pretty well behaved, the slight exception being her decision to do a loop around Father to try to find a place to sit. When that proved fruitless, she returned to her previous seat.

But what of The Boy? you reasonably ask.

Sure enough, two minutes in, after prolonged squirming, The Boy made a break for the sacristy, employing his toddler Waddle-Sprint™ technique. At least he didn't use the happy shriek battle cry as he ran. Heather went charging off behind and caught him eventually, out of the sight of the amused parishioners.

I hunched down slightly. But at least the eldest is behaving well, right?

Madeleine sat primly with the rest of the group for another minute or two. Then she decided to loudly shush those who weren't paying sufficient attention to the homily, complete with hand gestures:


Three times. To kids who were, for all I could tell, mute.

Father claims not to have noticed any of it.

I've discovered it's impossible to ooze throught the cracks of a pew.

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