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Barefoot and Pregnant

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We’re Home!

We’re Home!

Last updated on: March 10, 2017 at 8:40 am by Calah Alexander

We’re Home! 2017-03-10T08:40:05-05:00 Calah Alexander

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I always breathe a sigh of relief when we step foot inside our own humble abode, no matter how long or short the trip. I usually try to clean the house before we leave so that sigh of relief can be accompanied by a sigh of appreciation for past Calah for being so thoughtful and considerate of future Calah, but this time the haphazard, last-minute nature of our departure left zero time for cleaning. There were even dishes in the sink and…ugh…coffee left in the pot.

Nevertheless, it’s wonderful to be home. This morning we were frantically rushing to get out the door because Sienna had her first field trip (to the Natural History Museum) today, and I had signed up to drive weeks ago and wanted to take Charlotte along. We were only a half-hour late to school, so she missed chapel but we got there in time to leave with everyone else for the field trip. It was an awesome field trip, punctuated only occasionally by Charlotte having a total meltdown from the over-stimulation and sleep deprivation of the last few weeks.

But all that stimulation was well worth it. It was hard to say goodbye to my grandfather, even though he was in a lot of pain toward the end. At the same time, though, I was glad to be able to spend Easter with my family. It’s been years since we spent Easter in Texas, and it was great to see my kids playing with their cousins. I was happy that my grandmother, my other grandfather and all my aunts and uncles got a chance to see my kids, I was thrilled to see my two little brothers and my new sister-in-law, and I was delighted about having Easter dinner with the Ogre’s family. It meant that 1) I didn’t have to cook spanikopita, koulourakia, and lamb spaghetti alone, 2) the kids got to run off their sugar-induced ADD with their cousins and 3) the Ogre and I had a chance to hang out with his brothers, their wives, and his parents.

Here’s what wasn’t cool about Easter, though: the Easter Vigil we went to.

The Battle of the Vigil Mass

In Which We Were Defeated By Our Toddlers

It was an epic battle. A battle for the ages. The parents of St. Rita’s put up a brave and valiant fight, combating oppressive heat, the world’s slowest readers, dueling languages, and our own over-sugared, over-tired children. But ultimately the victory was claimed by the smallest parishioners, who, in their Easter finery, made that Vigil Mass their own. Here’s how it went down.

It began with the lighting of the bonfire. I knew we were in trouble when the temperature outside, heavy with the sticky, palpable foretaste of a rolling Texas thunderstorm, was cooler than the temperature inside the church. Amidst the murmers of the crowd we heard that the air conditioning had broken that afternoon. I was immensely grateful for my light, airy dress and the girls’ sleeveless Easter frocks, but felt horrible for the Ogre, his brother, and our two nephews, all in heavy suits and ties.

The next warning sign came with the first reading. Liam was hysterical so I was sitting in the nursing room, slowly rocking him while he ate. The sound was piped in, and I was thoroughly enjoying the quiet, dim room in which to listen to the readings. The first reading started about nine, and I listened intently, imagining the creation of the world, picturing the separation of the dark and light, the waters and the earth, the….

I woke up with a jerk as the reader launched into the creation of man. The clock in the room read 9:30. Between the heat, the dim light, the rocking, and the reader’s slow, lilting tones, I had fallen asleep.

Things didn’t get much better after that. I immediately left the room to walk with Liam, since sleeping through Easter Vigil is a bit too Gethsemane-ish for my taste. The rest of the readers were no different. They seemed to mistake the church for a Broadway stage, and every reading was done in dramatic, slow, monologue-y fashion. In English…and in Spanish.

Then the baptisms began, two hours into Mass. There were 30 of them. While I’m always thrilled to see converts, since I’ve walked that road, it’s less thrilling when your children are melting into a whiny puddle at your feet. (Just keeping it real here, guys.)

The Ogre spent most of Mass helping his brother keep Sienna and William (our nephew) from lighting each other on fire with their innocent-looking candles. When the candles were taken away, some sort of whispered game began that would erupt, occasionally, into yelps. The Ogre and I, hands full with a flailing Charlotte and a frantic Liam, could do little aside from issuing threats in a hiss that the two impish cousins knew we couldn’t follow through on.

It was a nightmare. Everywhere we looked there were crying children, sleeping children, children screaming, children throwing tantrums, children throwing bits of paper, children throwing candles, children throwing smaller children. Halfway through the Mass, the parents throughout the church collectively gave up.

Then things got fun.

Three rows over, a little girl began barking. You could tell by her parent’s weary, glassy-eyed stares and her poor mother’s once neat, now ragged and unkempt bun that the Vigil Mass Battle had been lost. We watched, all the judgment cells we once possessed draining out of our brains along with the copious amounts of sweat rolling down our backs. The little girl in front of us, upon whose head Charlotte’s dear godmother had accidentally dropped hot wax mere hours before, began ping ponging between pews. Apparently she had relatives in nearly every aisle, and her back-and-forth pinging across the aisles quickly began to resemble a losing game of Brickle.

Sienna and William, at this point, were talking to each other in somewhat more than a whisper while pretending that their hands were Mack trucks hurtling along the back of the pew in front of them. Charlotte began repeatedly flinging herself at the feet of the crucifix in the back of the church, shouting “Jeyus!” before running back to me. Liam alternately clawed my face, the Ogre’s face, his uncle’s face, and the carpet in the back of the church.

The well-behaved little boys in front of us, riled up by their sister’s antics and pathetically trying to cool themselves, loosened their ties and began fashioning makeshift fans out of the Vigil program. Their exhausted mother made half-hearted attempts to stop them while their father stared vacantly at his ping ponging daughter.

Finally, the consecration began. Parents everywhere slumped to their kneelers in relief, glancing sympathetically at each other while our children jumped on the kneelers, banged on the pews, and whined “is it almost OVER?” in echoing voices. We no longer had any ideals about controlling our children. We were allies on the field of battle, and we were all going down together.

About this time I noticed a cute little blond toddler in a blue dress spinning in huge circles down the aisle to my left. She got closer and closer to the altar, where the priest was mid-consecration, and I wondered idly if someone would stop her before she slammed into it.

Then, I realized that I hadn’t seen Charlotte in a while.

Only my deep, inbred parental instincts propelled me up the aisle quickly enough to grab her right before she launched herself into the priest.

That was it for us. We held the kids in death-grips until communion, and without a word, communicating telepathically, if you will, the Ogre and I filed quickly out the back door.

This is not something I’m proud of. I hate leaving Mass directly after communion. It’s tacky and disrespectful…but after three hours and fifteen minutes of the longest Mass battle of my life, something had to give.

Stepping outside into the 80 degree downpour was such a relief that I almost wept. It had to have been a hundred degrees in that church.

The children quickly fell asleep after Mass, and the Ogre and I drove them back to my parents house, put them to bed, and consoled ourselves with massive amounts of chocolate. Because it was Easter, after all, and we had earned it.

Here Endeth the Tale of the Lost Battle of St. Rita’s

Speaking of Easter Vigil, though, go over to Secret Vatican Spy and welcome Kassie into the church! I was thinking about her during all of that long, long Mass, and broke into a little skip-dance after Mass when I turned my phone back on and read her text message.

Kassie and her sister Cait

If we’re in Texas again next year, I think we’ll skip the Longest Mass Ever and go to Cistercian. Nothing beats seeing the light work its way up the aisles, glimmering off the stones of that gorgeous abbey. Nothing quite says Easter like hearing the monks chanting to welcome Christ back into the world. And since we skipped Cistercian this year out of fear that it would be too long (ha, ha), I think we’ve learned our lesson.

How was your Easter Mass? Did you brave the late hours of the Vigil or did you take your kids to church on Easter morning like sensible people?

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