Palm Sunday, or How To Torture A Young Family

Mass on Palm Sunday. Ah.

Our first mistake was to pick our mass time without reference to which priest would be presiding. Our parish has two wonderful priests, and we like both of them very much. However, one is lucid and mercifully succicint while the other is pretty elderly and not in the best of health, and a very sloooooooow talker to boot. Veeeeeeeeeery sloooooooooooow. Think Princess Bride guy, without the speech impediment.

Katie and Beth did a wonderful job. I need to state this first. Katie followed along in her new First Communion mass book, and she enjoyed reading the entire gospel as it was read. Beth couldn't quite follow the entire thing, but she could read the congregation's lines and that was enough to hold her interest.

Abbie, though, just really wanted to talk to Chris. She had a lot on her mind, I guess, and the long pauses between each word being read seemed like the perfect time to convey these thoughts to her Daddy. Claire, on the other hand, was not happy with all the attention I was giving Beth (I was pointing out the audience response ahead of time so that she would be ready) and decided that I need to read something to her. Right now. She wasn't satisfied by my efforts to show both her and the Beth the same book and in protest she began to squirm against me, evidently trying to touch as much of my body at once as humanly possible. And so Beth leaned in closer to me as well, both to see the book better and, I suspect, to defend her territory. And at that moment the baby started to kick me. Hard. I have never felt so claustrophobic in my life. Black spots were literally growing around my peripheral vision and it was becoming impossible to breathe. Meanwhile, Claire began crying because she wanted attention, Beth was shoving her head right into the part of my stomach where the baby was squirming, and the priest was up on the alter taking a full minute to read each. and. every. line. And then Abbie decided that she needed to be near Mommy as well.

We were smack in the middle of the pew, and there was nowhere for me to flee. Cue hormonal pregnant tears.

So Claire was crying, I was crying, Abbie was clearly thinking about crying, the baby was trying to break my ribs, Beth was shoving the book at me to keep on track, and Chris - from his end of the pew where there was air to breathe and just one, perfectly behaved 7 year old quietly reading, gave me a look that clearly said, "what is your problem?"

And Pilate said to the crowd, "What offense has this man committed?"
And they responded, "Crucify him! Crucify him!"

Holy Week is going to be great. No, really, it is. Because I'm getting my own pew. And we'll see then who gets to leave mass with dry eyes.