MSB {22}: On Gawking and Wayward Ducklings

Oh, man.

We were due.  We’ve had a lot of so-so or fine Mass experiences lately.  So we were due for a whopper.

But first– the picture.  This is my Sunday best from last week, because I didn’t get around to posting then.  It works out great because this week I didn’t get around to posing.

My face was still a little swollen after surgery, but it’s way better than it was earlier in the week!

-Sweater, belt, and shoes from Lands’ End
-Dress (Carly is the style) and leggings from Lularoe

I adore Lularoe.  It’s the only place I’ve been able to consistently find pieces that help my outside match who I am on the inside.  Lands’ End is great for classic staples.  Between the two, I feel like I don’t need anything else ever!

Now on to the Mass escapades on Saturday night.  Grab some popcorn.  Or maybe a stiff drink.

Let’s set the stage: our parish, most the young families attend on Sunday morning.  The Saturday night crowd is more mature, typically with few kids.  This week it worked out that Saturday night was an attractive option for us, even though we’re usually Sunday people.

When we went to the rheumatologist last week, he said that we should push Cee more.  It hurts to walk, but she can walk.  It’s.  Just.  Very. Very. Very. Very. Slow. And. Labored.  After that rheumy visit, we’ve tried to push Cee to move as much as possible.  It hurts, but she’s losing mobility, and we can’t have that.  She prefers the wheelchair, and it’s tough to force her to experience pain.  Since the rheumatologist encouraged it, though, we’re trying.

In talking to David before Mass this week, we decided to attempt something new.  Our plan was to leave the wheelchair in the car and have Cee walk to a pew in the front.  Then, we would talk to the priest ahead of time and have the Eucharist brought to her in the pew.  It would be a trek in and a trek out, but it sounded like a good way to ease into wheelchair weaning.

We arrived early enough for Cee to make it into church and to speak to the deacon about communion time.  He recommended we sit in a certain section, with Cee on the end.  It wasn’t where we were planning, but it made sense for the ease of the extraordinary ministers.

As we settled into the pew, I was struck with two thoughts.  1) It’s about 1,000,000 steps to get from the car to the pew (Cee was quite tired just getting to the pew) and 2) Because of the layout, where we were seated was visible by absolutely everyone at Mass.  The few times I dared look around, there was always that awkward moment where I’d make eye contact with someone.

To be fair, we are gawk-at-able.  I was on Moe (almost 4) duty.  That meant holding him, letting him sprawl out on my lap, shushing his whisper-counting and whisper-hot-cross-bunning, and reminding him that if he would please not pick his nose at Mass, he could do it at home.  Then there was Bea (18 months).  She’s very vocal when she doesn’t get her way, and so at Mass the Bea game plan is strict appeasement.  Eventually that appeasement was no longer possible, and David had to take her out.

That’s when the real spectacle started.

David had to crawl over Cee to get out with Bea.  He bumped (I was watching…it was only a slight nudge) Cee’s knee.  And she instantly started sobbing.  I don’t know which was worse, the sobbing or the fact that she covered her mouth with her hands to try to contain herself.  Because that works.  Right.  Throughout the rest of our time in the pew, there were periodic noisy cry-gasps– you know how those sneak out when you’re trying really hard not to cry.  The cry-gasps usually happened during quiet times.  Obviously.

And Elle.  Elle(6) was sulky because I had confiscated a ring she was wearing as we entered church.  Cee was raising a stink about it because the ring belonged to Cee, and Elle hadn’t asked permission.  So into my pocket it went.  This sent Elle spiraling into sullenness, which played out by her sitting on the pew and minimally participating, opting to look through the Bible storybook we brought for the littles.  Mostly I let her be because there were bigger fish to fry.

After David and Bea left, I hoped Cee would calm down.  At this point, we weren’t even halfway through Mass, but I had hopes that we could recover.

We didn’t.

As we were approaching the Liturgy of the Eucharist, it was apparent that things were neither going to get calmer nor quieter.  I told Elle and Moe that we would be leaving the next time everyone stood up.  It was my plan to enjoy more privacy by sitting with David and Bea in the childcare room, which has video/audio of Mass as it’s happening.  I told Elle and Moe to grab the Bible storybook and follow me like little ducklings.  “Follow me like little ducklings.”  Those were the exact words I used.  I told them again that we would exit when everyone stood up.

Everyone stood– I picked up Cee (who is 8 1/2) and whisper-commanded Elle and Moe to come along.  I made my way to the back as quickly as I could with Cee.

I reached the last pew and turned around.  No Elle.  No Moe. Double fails in Duckling 101.

As I started to walk back up the aisle to see what had kept my ducklings from obeying, I noticed them coming down the aisle on the other side of the pew.

I just gave up.  I could neither shout nor wave.  So I walked out the entrance closest to where I was.

That, however, was not the entrance closest to Moe and Elle.   Moe and Elle– wayward duckings looking for their mama.  Wayward ducklings unable to handle the simplest of directions.  I figured that they were already on their way to the back of the church, I might as well just set Cee down somewhere so I could gather them.  It didn’t help that all my brisk walking had jostled the already sobbish and in pain Cee.

At that point I actually wanted to leave Mass altogether.  I figured we could try again on Sunday.  I was exhausted from being a spectacle.  I didn’t want to be pitied.  I didn’t want to be thought irresponsible for having four kids.  I don’t want to be tsk-tsked.   It was pride, for sure.  But I was just spent.

I carted sobbish Cee to the childcare room, where David was holding a sleeping Bea.  That dirty-dog.  There he was, watching Mass on the closed-circuit TV holding the cutest, cuddliest bubsy ever, completely oblivious to the hullabaloo I had faced. And there I was, holding an 8 year old and having left two other kids to wander aimlessly around the church.

I plopped Cee into a chair (not very gently, I’m sorry to admit), told David we were leaving, and stormed off to find the other ducklings.

They were in the back of church, so they must not have wandered too much.  I herded them into the childcare room (also, not very gently),  and I told David that I didn’t want *this* to be my Mass experience this week.  He sort of shrugged and convinced me that we were already here and that it made no sense to try the whole thing all over again tomorrow.

I didn’t want him to be right.

But he was.

So we stayed in the childcare room.  Elle promptly fell asleep.  Cee managed to regain her composure, and Moe sat quietly on the floor with some cars.

Why couldn’t we have managed that sort of behavior IN the church, people?

The smoke eventually stopped tumbling out of my ears.  When it was time for communion, David carried Cee, and I carried Bea.  Fortunately one of the wayward ducklings was unconscious, and the other was fine playing cars on the floor.

As we were sitting there, I had a thought.  Thank goodness none of this depends on me.

There I was, as imperfect as imperfect could be, mad as an old wet hen.  Full of equal parts pride and embarrassment.

But it didn’t matter.  Not really.

Bread and wine became JESUS.  For me.  Lowly wet hen me, just as I was.

I’m still embarrassed at how things went down, but I left with an deeper understanding of God’s gift for me– a gift that I receive regardless of how well my kids behave (they don’t), how much I remember from the homily (nothing, though David assured me that it was great), or some sort of emotional high (nope).

What a relief that the mystery of the Mass doesn’t depend on me “getting something out of it.”  It’s all about showing up and offering all of myself.  That I can promise to do.  I will show up next week, and the week after that, and the week after that.  I’ll even bring the ducklings.

 

 

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