church with kids

Last Sunday was a real doozy. I awoke to my little nursling snarfling her way across our king-sized bed to find her liquid gold, checked the clock, and listened for the daily howling of my wolf pack. Happily surprised to find out it was already 6:50 and the howling had subsided, I nursed and started my mental check list. Mass. What time should we go today? How messy is the kitchen? Did I sweep the floor to combat the ant invasion we’ve been experiencing? Is that pee on my shirt or spit up? Is her diaper leaking? Am I leaking? After a happy milk-guzzling sesh, we both made our way out into the hallway, pausing to hear the howling and wrestling in the kitchen. Kids + Dad = happiness. Why don’t we just get dressed real quick like and go to the 7:30 mass? It’s the Old Rite, low mass, and fairly quick. We usually go to the 10am orchestral Latin New Rite. Can’t be that rough and we’re all awake and seemingly stable mental places. **seemingly** So off we went. The kids dove into semi-church clothes and given the early hour, I didn’t enforce our usual “dressiness on Sunday” standards. We were going to cruise in & out so Jesus would forgive me if my daughter wasn’t wearing a dress nor my sons their bowties. You can see where all my optimism is headed. Right off that cliff. We arrived at our century+ old church, the most gorgeous in all the land in my…