It’s been a while since I’ve last written, and I apologize to all of my millions of readers. (Ok, I apologize to all 3 of you…a girl can dream, right?) I have been incredibly busy with various volunteer projects for the past 2 weeks, but I am now able to return to my regular schedule. I figured I would return with a post on what I know best…child driven insanity.
Church with the kids is never fun. Never. Which is a pity, because I actually really enjoy Mass. I just enjoy it much more when the heathen children aren’t with me. That sounds horrible, right? Well, before you judge, join me as I recap last Sunday’s Mass. The following sequence of events is not a compilation of weeks of headaches. No. This is my experience with The Younger Boy for one Mass. One hour.
On this particular Sunday, we got to church early so that I could go to Confession. Unfortunately, when we got there, The Ninja-Priest-Friend wasn’t yet in the confessional, so I just sat in the pew with my family. I should have just started a line or sat in the back of church by myself, it would’ve saved me a lot of embarrassment. The minute the priest went into the confessional, The Younger Boy looked at me and said loudly, “Ok, Mom. He’s back there. You can go tell him how bad you are now.”
Thank God that looks don’t actually kill, because in that moment, I may have injured my precious son. The walk to the confessional has never been so long, Continue reading