It just doesn’t feel like Sunday. Bill left early this morning to fly to Alaska for the week – his last TDY trip with this job – and we went to Mass yesterday afternoon.
Usually around this time most Sunday mornings, I’m telling Fritz to comb his hair, yelling at Billy for still being in his pajamas, wondering how long Jenny will keep the pony-tail in her hair, cursing myself for not braiding Katie’s hair last night before bed as I struggle to remove the knots, asking Bill to find Petey’s shoes (I think I saw them in the laundry room…??), yelling at Billy again for not getting dressed, sending Fritz to help Jenny find her sandals, debating Cheerios or no Cheerios for Pete, book or no book for Pete, matchbox car or no matchbox car for Pete, getting the check and some quarters for the kids, shouting “Saddle Up!” which everyone understands to mean “Get in the car and buckle up NOW!”, and running upstairs to maybe put some lip gloss on while Bill buckles the younger ones up.
Instead, I’m typing at the computer, ignoring the announcement that Pete is stinky, and well aware that none of my kids are out of their PJs yet and only half have been fed. I even took a 20 minute nap after my shower while waiting for Pete to get up. If I didn’t just have to put two of them in separate time-outs for “accidentally” kicking someone twice in the span of ninety seconds (both the kicker and the kickee are being punished – why would you put your face in the vicinity of someone’s foot after that individual just kicked you in the back?), I might be convinced that Saturday evening Mass was the way to go all the time.
But then again, probably not. Despite the chaos of getting out the door, I really prefer to begin my Sunday mornings with Mass. Otherwise, it just seems like another ordinary day.