Mass with Kids: Week One

In this series of posts I will be chronicling my efforts to get back into a weekly mass schedule with my two young children.  For the impetus and an introduction, see this post.

This week felt like cheating, what with my wife still on maternity leave and my sister in town for a visit.  But I’ll take an easy win.  We got out the door on time (because we were all up at dawn) and stayed for the full mass.  I didn’t hear the First Reading (see Low Moment below), but I was present.

Highlight:  My toddler trying to do the sign of the cross.  Sure, it isn’t perfect and she confuses the three parts of one God (it sounds something like “Son, Son, Holy Son. Men.”), but she’s working on it during grace each night and it was great to see her make the connection at mass.

Lowlight:  Losing my cool eight minutes into mass as my toddler banged a hymnal on the pew.  Over, and over, and over again.   [Commence evacuation to the back of the church.]

Random concern about taking kids to mass:  I have no idea how I’m going to navigate the aisle with two kids by myself during communion.  At one point in our long slog up to the altar rail my toddler insisted on holding my hand while I was already holding my newborn in a carrier.  Which was fine, until the toddler decided she wasn’t going to wait in line anymore and would just bum rush the priest for the Eucharist.  Is it socially acceptable to push a stroller during communion?

Random thought about this series of posts:  I don’t like refering to my kids as “my toddler” and “my newborn,” but I’m also very jealous of their privacy (I try to limit their presence on social media as much as possible).  So I’ve got two monikers that let the reader in on their character traits:  my toddler is “The Hobbit” and my newborn “The Astronaut.”

Final Thought: “Do not let your hearts be troubled.”  Given all the worries I have about dealing with the Hobbit and the Astronaut by myself on the weekends starting in a few weeks, what an excellent refrain from this week’s Gosepl.  Around 12 noon each Sunday, covered in bruises and spit up, I will repeat this mantra and pray for peace.

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