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Browsing Tag: church

Get the Message, Already

“Hey,” I said to David on Saturday. “Let’s try to go to the 9:45 mass tomorrow so we can have the rest of the day to ourselves, okay?” “You think you can do that?” he asked. “Um, yeah,” I said. I was super sweet about it. Totally sweet. Not defensive at all. “Of course. It’s 9:45. We’re up three hours before that most days anyway. Why wouldn’t I possibly be ready?”  Fast forward to Sunday morning. I slept in (because, weekend), then scrolled through my phone for a bit with my coffee while Cian played with a Milennium Falcon on the bed beside me, right up until the moment I remembered I had to prep the chili for the crock pot or we’d be eating leftover pizza for dinner. Fifteen minutes later, in the middle of the chopping of the onions, I decided that it’d also be a good idea to also prep the rest of the ingredients for the week’s dinners. It was right around 9:30 when David approached me and said…

In the Aftermath

When you send your kiddos to Catholic school, and one of your children is in 2nd grade (first communion time is INTENSE, y’all), you find yourself at church a lot once spring rolls around. A LOT. I mean, a lot a lot. On Facebook I jokingly called the month of May Faithapalooza–sooooo many church visits–and I wasn’t really kidding. Life around here has been in Catholic Overtime. I keep looking at David out of the corner of my eye to see if he’s freaked out yet, but so far he’s staying strong. He even made it through one church visit where there was unexpected rosary time (unexpected by me, I mean. Everybody else was prepared, well-used prayer beads in hand, while I looked like the dunce who mistook the church for a coffee shop and was wondering where my latte was. I said I was Catholic. I didn’t say I was, like, Best Catholic Ever). He only gave me an incredulous look once. Or twice. I can’t remember. I was still waiting for my coffee. In the middle of Faithapalooza, I went to…

Sign of the Times

I routinely crack up (as in laugh, not have a nervous breakdown. I save those for the special occasions, like when a tick fell onto my arm the other day while I was sitting at this desk and I acted like a SWAT team had just broken into my house) when I hear Saoirse speak. So many of the phrases she uses on a daily basis–her normal, everyday vernacular–is so, so different from anything you would’ve heard me or my brother, or anyone we knew, for that matter, say when we were growing up. What, you want some examples? Why, I’m happy to oblige: 1.  At least three times a week at lunchtime, SK asks for hummus. Hummus and pita, to be exact, “but no coo-cumber in it. No. No coo-cumber. Tomorrow. You can give me coo-cumber tomorrow. I don’t like it.” My brother and I grew up in a small town in south-central Pennsylvania, Dave and his brother, in Baltimore city. We knew nothing of this stuff called hummus. We ate bologna on white bread, with Utz potato chips, silly, just like everybody…