Enjoying Every Other Moment
I dread mass on Sundays. I know it will be an all-out battle from the minute our boys wake up, and figure out what day of the week it is, to the doughnut store drive-thru window post worship service. The fact that it's my only chance all week to wear dress-up clothes pales in comparison to what I have to put up with for an hour. It’s one hour of holding a squirmy baby on my lap. Sixty minutes of reminding my 4-year-old to "sit up like a big boy". Three thousand and six hundred seconds of shushing my boys and reminding them to keep their hands to themselves. Telling my son Knox at least four times to stop shoving Lil' C off of him after the fifth time I have warned Lil' C NOT to lean on his brother. Telling Slim, after about the third hug, that I don’t need another. By the end of mass I am all touched out, my hair is a mess, and at least one item of jewelry I am wearing is broken.