Sunday Tuna Sandwich

Every Saturday when I climb into bed whether at 9:30pm or 3am (and yes, it happens, but boy do I pay for it) I think to myself, ‘tomorrow morning will be different.’ The joke is on me.

How do 98% of our Sunday mornings go down?

As you know, my kids are morning people, usually up by 6:30, if they sleep until 7 I start to think something is wrong.  They are morning people who do very little to help themselves prepare for anything – school, basketball practice, swim meets, Mass. The list is endless.  If there is nothing on our calendar, which, I don’t know the last morning we had nothing on our calendar – possibly last August because swim team had ended and school had not begun – needless to say, if nothing is going, they do okay for themselves, but I kid you not, if by 11 am we need to head somewhere I may get a “I didn’t eat anything today.”  Uh, to bad for you.

I know this reads a bit like my kids are overcommitted, but I am pretty stern on the boundaries.  Monday thru Friday, school.  Current Saturday mornings basketball. Sunday mornings mass and usually basketball.  Every morning we got be up and at ’em. As you see, I am thankful that I don’t have to pry them from their beds, but that’s about all I get.

Average Sunday morning conversation.

“Are we going to Mass?”

“Yes, we are.  Have you eaten anything?”

“No.  Why do we have to go?  I don’t want to go.”

Inside I think to myself, “You have been up for two hours, but have not eaten anything.  It’s Sunday, and unless someone is sick or we have a scheduling conflict, we are going to Mass.”  I have gotten to a place where I don’t respond much to the complaining.  Back at the beginning of the school year, I explained to both boys that it was my heart’s desire to be at Mass Sunday mornings, praising God.  I explained that it restored my soul, and prepared me for the week ahead.  I explained that I didn’t care that they didn’t want to go, but that they would go, and they would participate.  So now, when either or both complains, I look past it. (Although not without significant eye rolling on my part.  I know one day I am going to roll my eyes into the back of my head.)

This is must some basic background for the next 30 to 60 minutes depending on my kids.

There is a lot of yelling, from me.

“Get in the shower!”

“Did you wash your hair? There is no way, it’s not wet.”

Then from them it’s, “I don’t want to wear that.”

Okay, I concede.  They both where uniforms to school, and it includes a tie, so they dress nicely a lot, but some Sundays, I don’t care if they want to wear sweatpants and a sweatshirt with a Darth Vader cape on the back of it. (Which the one Sunday L2 did wear this, he was asked to help carry the eucharist gifts to the alter. I would have liked to have crawled under a pew, but when another mom text me cracking up, what could I do?)

Then back to me, “Fine if you don’t wear this, go pick something yourself.”

Five minutes passes, “Why aren’t you dressed?”

“I don’t feel like it,” or “But, I need your help.”

More eye rolling from me.

Then I am calling yelling to the other, “Are you dressed? Did you brush your teeth?  Did you brush your hair?  Do you have your shoes on?”  Because these are all things we only do once every 800 days or so, so I see how it could do easily be forgotten.  I want to roll my eyes just typing this sentence.

While all this yelling is happening, I am pulling on tights, and putting on small earrings I hope my kids don’t take much notice of because L2 still likes to play with my jewelry when sitting in the pew, and making a mental note not to forget the cash for the offering.

Back to, “Are your shoes on?”  Followed by, “It’s x degrees out with x weather, and you do you have x outwear?”  (I’ll just say it, Mass in July is easier than Mass in January.)

So now, we have come to the part of the morning, where my face is red from yelling, my eyes hurt from being rolled every 30 seconds, my blood pressure may or may not be elevated, and both the boys are in the laundry/mudroom arguing. By the time I turn the corner, it goes two ways, the more composed version of my self, gets my purse, keys and coat and starts walking to the door.  The boys respond with, “Don’t leave with out us.”  The less composed version of myself, the one that rears it’s head more often is yelling, “Do you think the hour before we leave for Mass I want to spend it yelling at you to do the things we do everyday?!  Just stop fighting with each other and get in the car! NOW!”

We all walk to the car with degrees of frustration on our faces and in our hearts.  This is the moment Satan is ready to pounce.  This is the moment I begin to think, “maybe it’s easier if we just stay home.”  In three years of this chaotic schedule it has worked twice.  Both times because I was so worked up I couldn’t imagine going to church, and both times I regretted it within 15 minutes of my choice.

We get in the car, usually with varying degrees of bickering amongst the three of us.  It can be as simple as “I wanted to sit there,” up to me screaming, “Get in the car now, or we are going to be late!”  I am not kidding when the last car door is closed, the seat belt clicked, my heart and mind begin to right themselves.  I often pray silently during that ride.  It’s usually me asking for God’s forgiveness, and asking that my heart be open to what is to come.

Typically, we arrive, and Mass goes on.  Both boys participate in varying degrees, and I can’t ask for more than following along in the liturgy and singing when a hymn plays. That’s 98 percent of our Sunday mornings.  Mass ends, and we leave to move about our day with our souls restored.

Today, oh boy, today.  Today was a 1 percent-er of Sunday mornings.  There was little arguing over the shower, I picked sweatpants out on purpose, so everyone would just get dressed, teeth got brushed without a reminder, and all three of us were dressed ten minutes before having to leave.  It was a gift.  We got in the car without issue, we had quiet time and again I was prayerful.

Our church community is very small, but loving.  It’s the right fit for our family, and we attend with many loving friends.  I love the mommas of our church so much.  For their faithfulness, their encouragement, their unconditional love, and their humor.  I really love that look that says, “we all know what it took to get here this morning with clean clothes, and everyone intact.” Some have older children, some have younger children, some are my boys’ ages. Did you know that mommas in church also have dart-ray vision?  It’s the vision you need to use to control your children’s behavior.  It hasn’t been perfected, but we all practice, every Sunday.  Even when it is working, sometimes we miss our own children and hit the other mommas by accident. It’s not dart-ray, it’s more please-ignore-my-child-as-he-tries-to-hit-his-brother-continues-to-laugh-during-the-homily-or-lay-down-in-the-front-pew type of vision.

That’s pretty close to the behavior that was exhibited from our pew today.  The calmer than usual morning was a set up. Something struck LT’s funny bone, and he laughed thru the first five minutes of the service, when he finally stopped, he purposefully stomped on L2’s foot, that’s when I moved in between them. Once I did L2 thought I was his bed, and when he wasn’t laying down, he kept talking.  By the end, I was exhausted.  I didn’t fully feel restored because I was too busy being the referee. When we got in the car, I thought, I just need a Sunday tuna sandwich, with a dill pickle and some potato chips, and a few minutes to reflect, and my soul will be restored.  Guess what?  It worked.  I ate in silence, reflecting on the hymns, and the message, and my soul was restored.

If you are doing the math, that leaves 1 percent of Sundays I haven’t mentioned – it’s the Sunday’s I go alone, usually because the boys have slept over my parents, and while it’s brief moment of reprieve, I wouldn’t want it every Sunday.

Maybe this was the end of a tough week, maybe this is the beginning of a chaotic week.  Do you need a Sunday tuna sandwich?

Keep on friends, this work is not for the weary or faint of heart.

To my momma – Thank you for always working so hard and tirelessly to get all five us bathed, and dressed, and in a church pew on Sunday mornings. Your faithfulness in God and Jesus is an exceptional blessing to me.  I hope when you read this, you are crying from laughing so hard.  I know I am not the first, I definitely won’t be the last.