On Sunday mornings, I’m often asked this: ”Oh…where is your son?” I usually grin and just say, “at home with his daddy.”
Oh my sweet son. He’s the one who does not want to eat Cheerios in the pew….he wants to throw the entire plastic travel bowl into the aisle. He’s the one who doesn’t have an “indoor” voice…just megaphone loud and break the sound barrier loud. He’s the one who manages to crawl, jump or push his way past the blockade (our legs), and runs into the aisle. That’s normally followed by a bee-line in Olympic form to the altar. He’s the one who starts to have a temper tantrum during a quiet moment…but when you go to pick him up, his body gets as stiff as an ironing board. Yeah…if you’re a parent, than you know exactly what I’m talking about. He’s the kid that nobody wants to sit near. (although, he is as cute as can be!)
We used to take my son to Mass. But I just ended up a sweaty mess from nerves, embarrassment and chasing him up and down the aisles. I have had my fair share of people rolling their eyes at me and of course the loud sighs. All usually done by the people who didn’t have kids just yet.
When it comes down to it…I suppose I am just being selfish. I need that hour of peaceful, spiritual time. That hour to thank God for all of the blessings I have in my life. I’d rather not spend that hour secretly picking Cheerios out of the person’s hair in front of me.