Getting to Mass

As a large Catholic family, Sunday mornings are typically the most chaotic time of the week.  When I wake up in the morning, I immediately say at least one bad word and give myself one reason to get to Confession before mass.  This is really too bad, because after I am done cursing the alarm clock, I turn it off and go right back to sleep, which means that we probably won't be there early enough for Confession anyway. 

When I manage to peel my eyes open, I roll over and poke my husband in hopes that he will wake up first and start getting the kids ready, giving me another fifteen minutes to sleep.  He does not.  I roll out of bed, trip over whatever pillows the kids have dropped on the floor during their nightly attempts at getting in my bed, and turn on the shower.  There is never hot water on Sunday mornings.  I don't know why, but our water heater turns off on Saturday night in a consistent effort to keep us from being clean on Sunday morning.

On my way to reset the water heater, I wake up the kids and throw clothes on their beds for them to put on, minus the various articles that are still in the dryer or need a second round of de-wrinkling.  The kids follow my example and say things that should land them in the penalty box, as well.  I tell them to knock it off, and go make a pot of coffee.

While the coffee brews (far too slowly), I dress the baby and fix the girls' hair.  Or, more often, I dress the baby and decide not to fix the girls' hair, because I just can't tackle it before coffee.  By the time the kids are dressed and the water is hot, the baby has lost the shoes I just put on him, and all five of the other kids are searching for the spot they placed their shoes after I told them to find them last night.  As it turns out, nobody found their shoes last night, and somebody has broken into the house and stolen at least one shoe from every pair we own while we were asleep.  I take a quick, slightly cold shower while they "look for their shoes".

"Looking for shoes" consists of wandering around staring at the ground for an entire minute, then watching TV, jumping on the couch, wrestling various siblings, and coating the kitchen with the hair spray I left out. 

Post-shower, I dress in battle clothes.  There is no way I can wrangle my children into some semblance of proper Sunday attire when I am tottering around in a skirt and heels.  I come out and whack each barefoot child on the head, then offer a dollar to whoever can find the missing shoes.  This results in a race between all of the children, half of them running out to look in the car, and taking a swim in the puddle at the end of the driveway while they're out there. 

When the victorious seekers emerge with the shoes, I smack them again for getting muddy, go through closets to replace the clothes, and decide once again that maybe it's not so important that there are holes in their jeans or that they are wearing T-shirts instead of the nice collared shirts that are now dripping mud all over my laundry room.  It'll be fine.  No big deal.

I leave them to re-dress while I go find something for myself to wear.  I cannot find anything to wear, because every week, as soon as I leave mass, I change back into pants.  I then leave my skirt in the back of the car until every skirt or dress I own is in the trunk because I forgot to get it out and wash it.  I spend fifteen minutes trying to find something that counts as a dress.  When I am done getting dressed, I usually have to wake my husband up a few more times, and he either gets ready or does not.  At this point, time is of the essence, and I won't see him again until it's time to get in the car. 

I tell the kids to go load up, and they all run outside.  I run around the house putting together a diaper bag, finding cell phones and keys, changing into the stupid shoes that go with my skirt, and finding some pants to change into later.  If my husband is ready, he meets me at the door and we are ready to go.  If he is not ready, I will go check one more time.  If he's out of bed and getting ready, I move on to Loading the Kids.  If he's still in bed, I say one more word worthy of the confessional.

The kids are not in the car, they are down the street, so we spend another twenty minutes catching them one at a time and belting them into the car, closing and locking the door between each one so they don't escape.   After they are all buckled in, we head out of town, stopping at a gas station for gas, PopTarts, and coffee (because I never had time to drink any before we left, and I am unsafe on the road without it).  We have fifteen minutes to consume our "breakfast" in order to be done before the Communion fast.  The kids have no problem with this, they eat much like Cookie Monster, scattering crumbs and smearing everything in sight with PopTart jam.

We have a family-wide addiction to the country gospel music that airs on two stations every Sunday morning, so we drive the hour and fifteen minutes to church with a symphony of Amazing Grace and people trying to kill each other in the backseat.  No matter how many times I have asked, God has not granted me go-go-gadget arms to use to smack people during car rides, and my children know this.  The two in the middle keep their mouths shut, because I can reach them with my regular arms.  The four in the back are insanely loud, and I am a nervous wreck by the time we pull into the church parking lot and I discover that two kids re-lost their shoes before they got into the car, and one of them has used their shirt as a community PopTart removal system.  Thus, we approach Sunday morning mass and cause people to wonder who the new heathens are.

Catholics and Cremation

Catholics have long been opposed to cremation for two main reasons.  One, because the body is the Temple of the Holy Spirit, and should be treated with dignity.  Two, because cremation is a pagan practice, and no Catholic wants to do anything that might get him labeled a pagan.  Obviously, God can resurrect a body reduced to ashes just as easily as one buried, but, maybe for the same reason we are divided on organ donation, we just don't want to make things harder for Him.  He's going to pretty busy during the last judgment, and probably not in a really great mood, so  nobody wants to have to explain why their temple is all ashy, or how Bernie's liver is nowhere to be found, but he's walking around with one that belongs to some other guy.  Meanwhile, the other guy is so busy wondering how he's standing upright with no liver that he can't pay attention to what's going on.  You can see how this would be a worry for some folks, even though God could sort it all out in a wink.
Many times, you can take every shred of morality out of a Catholic teaching, and still see worldly benefits.  For instance, Catholics are commanded to keep holy the Sabbath.  We are not allowed to miss mass, or to work on Sundays.  This is for our own good.  Take any talk of morality out of it, and you still benefit from taking a day to relax.  Even taking the day to go to mass -- you may not enjoy it, and you may not even be Catholic, but there is a peace that comes from assisting at mass that you can't find anywhere else.  I've had full-blown charismatic Pentecostals tell me they can feel the presence of God in our little chapel, even with the silence and solemnity so opposite of what they are used to seeing.

I believe in the Church, and I believe what She teaches.  I also like to figure out why I believe them (most reasons are matters of Faith), and why I believe them even if I take out anything which requires me to be a Catholic before I believe it.  This way, I can explain a particular belief to a non-Catholic without a lot of background discussion, because, frankly, most people don't want to hear me talk for that long (hence, the blog).

Ok, so the point (and I will try to be brief, here)...How Does the Ban on Cremation Benefit Me?

Well, if you are Catholic, leaving your body around here on earth with a giant stone engraved with your name does two things:  It reminds everyone to pray for you, and it gives your family something to do on All Soul's Day.  If you had been cremated, you would probably not be getting as many prayers as all those smarties who chose to be buried.  Many Catholics are in the habit of praying for the poor souls every time they pass a cemetery, and pray especially for those buried there.  Just think how many Catholics may drive by your grave every day and pray for you...obvious benefit, but doesn't do much for someone who doesn't believe in Purgatory.

So, if I were not Catholic and didn't know about Purgatory, would I still opt out of cremation?  Yes.  Because...
1.  Cemeteries are pretty.
2.  My family can bring flowers and remember me -- it gives them a place to "visit" memories.
3.  It's weird to have a funeral service without a burial -- burials give closure.
4.  I can spend all my left-over dough on a fancy casket so my spoiled family members don't have anything to fight about.  (If you know me, you know how serious a problem this could be.)
5.  I can be buried with all my favorite things, also a way to leave nothing to fight over.
6.  If there is ever a question about how I died, forensic pathologists can exhume my body and be all detective-y...this makes for an awesome Dateline NBC. 
7.  I will finally get my hair and make-up professionally done.
8.  Sometimes, people just need something at which to throw flowers.
9.  It's kind of fun to watch people negotiate grass and mud in their Sunday best.
10.  There is no mistaking whose body is in the casket, but there is just no telling with ashes.

Growing up Trad

Growing up as a Trad wasn’t really that strange. Looking back on it, I realize that it may be a little strange to grow up a Trad and remain a Trad. Most people I go to church with are converts or grew up in with the New Mass.


It’s a blessing to see that my grandma started a love of the Faith that is still going strong in its fourth generation. (Actually, I guess her mother was a Trad, too, but I’ve never asked.)

Most of the kids I went to church with aren’t going anymore. The only kids who made it through the age of 20 are the ones who were “normies”. This is why I can’t agree with some people. I have been a Trad for longer than most of the people who attend my church. This is based on the statistic that lives in my head. It’s probably not true, but I am the writer here. I never said it wasn’t fiction.

I have a real problem with other Trads telling me how to get my kids to Heaven. (They NEVER tell me this, again, fiction.) I was raised around all the different types of Trad parents, and I am still going to church with the products of the people who got it right. It wasn’t the commune people. It wasn’t the super-strict overprotective people, it wasn’t the skirt-only people, it wasn’t the people who “let their kids figure it out themselves”, it wasn’t the people who told their kids all kinds of lies to keep them out of sin. It was the normal people.

What is normal, you ask? Why, it’s anyone who is like me. Here is a list of how normal my parents were/are: We went to mass every Sunday. We went to Catechism. We went to :::GASP!::: public school (for a little while). When my mom decided to home school, we were still allowed to talk to our public school friends. We were the Catholic part of a Protestant home school group. We wore modest clothes that looked like regular people may wear them. (Well, they looked regular back then, now they look weird, but it was the 80’s – who looked normal?) My dad went to work and my mom stayed home. My grandma helped teach us our Catechism, and we grew up discussing the Faith with our siblings and cousins. We argued our Faith with our Protestant friends (in a way which allowed us to keep those friends). I went to college some small idea of how to both get along with people and how to “say no”. I had my first steady job at age 11. At age 13 I had my second. At age 16 I was paying for my own clothes, car, insurance, gas and fun. We had extra-curricular activities. Mine included church choir, another choir, and some random sports. (Sports = Place you can meet boys, because our teams weren’t big enough to split up the genders.) We watched TV, but only things that had been rated by Mom. I smoked cigarettes and got in ginormous trouble. I did a lot of other stuff and got grounded, kicked out and banned from my siblings on different occasions. There was never a time I didn’t go to mass. There was never a time I quit trying. There was never a time my parents didn’t show me a good example, keep praying for me, and keep holding me accountable for my actions. It worked. I’m there, and I’m not leaving.

That’s how I want to raise my kids. That is the only Trad parenting style that I have seen work in the long-run. I plan to tone down the whole “getting into trouble” thing, but that won’t be a problem, because my kids are perfect and will never behave like I did. Besides, my siblings are pretty good, so I figure my parents pretty much had it figured out after me. I certainly gave them experience.

You Might Be a Traditional Catholic Mother If...

…your child knew two prayers in Latin before they knew their ABC’s.

...the stains on your shirt did not come from you.

...you have made up your own version of "The Potty Song", and find yourself singing it when nobody is around.

...PB&J is a staple food, and when it's FRIED, it's gourmet.

...you can tell exactly how many children a woman has just by what she is wearing.

...a new hairstyle means switching shampoos.

...the only massage you get is when you lay on the floor and your two-year-old walks all over you.

…you can make a pound of ground beef stretch over four different meals.

...your own spit is the best cleaner in your house.

...you rejoice over "Banana Tuesday" at the grocery store.

...grape juice from concentrate in an 89 cent plastic martini glass is the closest you have come to a glass of wine in a long time.

...you consider the five minutes in the morning that you have to share the bathroom with your husband a "date".

...you find yourself telling pregnant women all the labor stories you hated to listen to when you were pregnant.

…you think you can read someone’s character by the names of their children.

...you have argued with the manager at McDonalds about what Happy Meal toy your child NEEDS versus the one they GOT.

…your family car is big enough to hold a wedding reception.

...the few times that you remember to put on makeup, your closest friend doesn't recognize you.

...you finally understand what "back fat" is.

...the last time you painted your toenails was in the '80s.

...you have found yourself wearing shoes that don't match at least three times.

...going grocery shopping by yourself is considered pampering yourself.

...you have inadvertently called your husband "young man".

…your children have ever attended mass barefoot, and you didn’t notice until you were in the parking lot.

...there is at least one woman in your life, whose name you don't know, but refer to her as "Johnny's mom",

...you have ever gone an entire week without going outside.

...the words, "what did you do today" make you cry.

...you know the definitions to the words, "binky" "boo-boo" and "dipey".

...you have ever heard the ever-annoying question, "Do you know what causes that?"

...you suspect that your own mother somehow feels avenged for everything you did to her.

...you have ever had nail polish wear off within two minutes.

...you ask your husband if he has to "tinkle" before you get in the car.

…someone has said to you, “Oh, I didn’t recognize you without your kids!”

...you can see the beauty in a diaper full of bits of crayon.

...you know exactly which restaurant bathrooms have changing tables, and avoid the ones that don't.

...the word "sleep" is defined in your world as "lying still with eyes closed, and then jumping up at five-minute intervals to find a pacifier".

…you couldn’t cook a meal for fewer than ten people to save your life.

...you could start your own pacifier company by locating and selling the pacifiers lost in your house.

...a trip to the mailbox can take an hour.

...you have ever noticed that you have a handful of your own hair and don't even remember pulling it out.

...taking a vacation is more painful than a root canal.

...the words "don't sit on your brother" and "get your head out of the toilet" are part of your daily conversation.

...you have decided that french fries and ketchup can be considered two vegetables.

...breakfast can be anything from chocolate cake to leftover pizza.

…you have ten pins holding your chapel veil, and still can’t manage to keep it on through mass.

...there is so much laundry in your house that you can't wash it all -- if you did, the walls it's supporting would fall in.

...when you leave the house as a family, people stop and watch like you are some kind of side show.

...your friends are scared to go anywhere with you -- you are too much work.

...holidays are spent seeing who has the best-behaved children in the family.

...you have ever had a toddler show you how to work your computer.

...you have ever walked through the grocery store and had ten strangers give you advice.

…your two-year-old has ever said, “Bless thy Lord and cheese thy grits, which we are about to receive…”

Church Gossip

Ok, so here's the scoop, but you didn't hear it from me...

The Browns are moving to Utah, and I'll just leave it to you to figure out why.
The Greens are sending their kids to public school.  I'm keeping my children away from them.
The Blacks just had a pool installed -- do you think they managed to find appropriate bathing suits?
The Yellows figured out that they have a strange last name and are trying to get rebaptized when they switch to the new one.
The oldest Grey boy is finally getting married, but do you know, his fiancee is from :::whispers::: New York?
The priest is in trouble with the Bishop, his superior and the entire congregation.  Yes, I started those rumors about him, please don't interrupt my gossip.
The Purple woman (yup, I gonna' go ahead with the colors so nobody can possible think I am being serious) wasn't dressed very modestly when I ran into her at the gym. 
Mr. Red wrote an article for The Remnant, and Mrs. Burnt-Sienna didn't agree with it.  They were arguing in the parking lot last week.
Oh, and Mrs. Orange, Mrs. Blue, Mrs. Gray, Mrs. White, Mrs. Violet, Mrs. Navy, Mrs. Pink, Mrs. Silver, Mrs. Indigo, and Mrs. Gold are all expecting again.


...what was that?  Oh, well, what did you think I was going to tell you?  Not to gossip!  Huh!  I'm not in the business of telling people what they should or shouldn't do!  Only knowing what they should or shouldn't do.  Now I gotta' go tell someone that I think your blouse is too low. 

Ok, so here's what I really think about church gossip.  First of all, sometimes, people think everyone is talking about them, but they're not.  A good rule of thumb is to think about what you would say about yourself if you were somebody else...would you even notice that your hair is a little frizzy today?  Would you seek out someone to tell that you were smoking after mass?  Probably not.  If you wouldn't say it, chances are, nobody else will say it.  Face it, you just aren't that important to everybody in the world, or even everyone at your church. 

Sometimes, it happens, though.  There is no getting around it.  Everyone has gossiped at some point in their lives.  Some folks more than others.  It's human nature.  Let me make you a promise:  If you have ever left your house or not left your house, you have been gossiped about.  But don't let it get to you.  When you are at mass, you are there because God wants you to be there, and to be with Our Lord.  Be forgiving and charitable to the others around you, but never lose sight of why you're there.  Trust me:  Nobody is going to sit in front of the Blessed Sacrament and tell Jesus anything about you that He doesn't already know, and He's the MIP (Most Important Person) at church.  Don't let anyone keep you away from Him.

How to Scare People Away from the Faith

Nobody wants to scare people away, right?  So let's have a little class on how we should behave.

Do.....
...say hello when a new person comes to your church. 
...ask if they are new before you start introducing them to the lay of the land.  (I once had a woman show me the confessional and the bathroom, as well as tell me our priest's schedule, never giving me the chance to tell her I'd been going there for 25 years -- just to the later mass.  She did a great job otherwise, though.  If I'd been new, I would have come back.)
...ask if they found a bulletin or the mass schedule.
...ask about their family or whatever.  Find something you can chat about for a minute.  (Only a minute, they may be starving or something and you don't want to hold them captive.)
...invite them to any upcoming social events at the church.  (As long as the food's good.)
...SMILE.  In a non-creepy way, please.

Don't....
...ignore them and hope they go away.  Unless you are an awful person and would scare them away if you did talk to them.  Under those circumstances, it's ok to let other people handle this duty.
...start in with a list of parish rules.  Chapel veils and modesty, etc. are important, but let the priest take care of that, or let them know they are welcome and wanted before weeding out small misunderstandings.
...embarrass them.  I know, I touched on modesty once.  Nothing irks me more than someone coming to mass wearing something that should be illegal, but once they are there, chances are they will notice that nobody else is dressed that way, and will be more careful next time.  If not, we can deal with it then.  If they walk out of the bathroom with their skirt tucked into their drawers and their bootie hanging out, or some other "accidental immodesty", you are allowed to say something if you are quiet about it.  (I had to do this once, and I was more embarrassed than the woman flashing everyone.)
...say "bless your heart".  I have heard that this makes people feel judged.
...look at them funny.  Especially if they don't go to Communion.  A lot of people I have brought to mass have never come back because they felt like people were staring at them when they didn't get up for Communion.  I'm sure this wasn't the case, and they probably just felt singled out, but this may be something to watch out for.

That's all I have for now.  If anyone has anything to add, please comment.  I have never been to a new church, and I really stink at welcoming new people, so any suggestions are helpful. 

Large Families

I am the oldest of seven.

100 pairs of earrings lost or broken: $500


150 weekends of babysitting: $3000


Three first kisses tattled on: $3 (none of them were really that great, anyway)


28 years of no privacy, sharing, sing-a-longs in the car, arguing, crashing slumber parties, making up recipes and shows, practical jokes, chasing little brothers, getting in trouble, tire swings, midnight phone calls, free baby-sitting, talks in the driveway, Sweet Home Alabama, Fourth of July, nieces and nephews, sharing friends, learning that mom and dad may know what they’re talking about after all, looking for socks, fighting over clothes, cheeseburgers and fries for the “ball”, Cinderella and Barney, anniversary parties, learning to read, sticking up for each other, and learning that, just like Mom always told us, our brothers and sisters really would be our best friends for life: PRICELESS

I am thankful every day for the large family I grew up in, and for the one I am trying to raise. Anyone who thinks that children from large families are missing out on something should spend a Sunday evening at my parent’s house. My wish for my children is that they enjoy the same type of friendship which knows no bounds, and will come to realize that black eyes and broken toys are for a time, but brothers and sisters are forever – and no matter what you think now, that’s going to be a good thing.