A Peek Into My Family

My husband commented once that when our family goes to the movies, we manage to gleefully skip out the door with time spared to buy popcorn and choose our seats.  But when we go to church, even though we choose the 12:30pm service (!!!), we still walk in 10 minutes late after spending an hour fussing and fighting over stupid details. He is so right.

Yesterday  we all woke up too early and several of us went back to sleep.  I made biscuits for breakfast, but didn't have crisco.  I used butter which left the biscuits flat and uninspiring.  My husband got showered and dressed and was looking fabulous and judgemental in his black shirt. He plunked down on the couch and waited for me to get 4 kids ready.  So I, of course, ended up going to church in jeans and a t-shirt. 

On the drive over I discovered I had poop on my hand.  Whose (what, where, when)  poop? I have no idea.  It was dry and green-ish-yellow, smeared across my palm.  Honestly, I did shower. 

We arrived in time to both hit donut social hour and have two arguments about donut social hour. 

Argument #1: we arrived just a minute too early and husband didn't want us to be the first in the room to get donuts.  He says it makes us look suspicious and greedy.  So everyone waited in the hallway until several other families entered the reception hall while I washed mystery poop off of my hand.

The second argument came when my 9 year old son took two donuts. TWO. DONUTS.  Apparently the donut police told him last week he could only take one.  My 15 year old remembered this and scolded him.  My son cried.  My husband eye-rolled me and said I was looking for trouble.  Then my 15 yo looked around the room and declared the rule violation excusable because so many people were gluttonously consuming two donuts.

My husband skipped off to sing in the choir while I split up the children.  My 13 yo daughter agreed to sit in the cry area with my 7 year old.  Not because he cries, but because he is impossible.  My other two children came with me inside church.  The peace lasted for, maybe, 3 minutes.

Because that is when the dog came to church.  All four of my children rushed to the vestibule to see the hilarious sight of an elderly golden retriever who decided he needed some Jesus that day.  The door to the building was open, so I am sure he felt welcome.  He trotted in the door and sat down to the side of a pew towards the back of the room.  He proceeded to lay and roll over and listened to a sermon.

Church, for all intents and purposes, was over for my children.  I can't really blame them.  There was a dog in the Church!

I will say this in all honesty and from the bottom of my heart: That dog was more well behaved then any of my children, at any time, at any Catholic mass, ever. He sat quietly and listened.  He didn't need to go to the bathroom or get a drink or color or be entertained in any way.

Once mass was over, the dog skipped out the door with the rest of our parishioners.  I think he was rushing to get into line at the buffet.  That's what we did.