Things I learned on First Communion Weekend

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IMG_0096After spending much of the weekend in Church attending not only Georgia’s First Communion but my nephew Mac’s as well, I’d say that I’ve earned the right to act all holier than thou.  In between numerous Hail Marys and trips to the altar, I came up with Alex’s Five Commandments when Attending a Whole Lotta Church.

Though shalt bring small bills.  Why I never remember this is beyond me.  After the first collection on Sunday, I gave myself a mental pat on the back at having stuffed enough $5s and $1s in my wallet to parcel out to all of the kids.  When the second collection came around just minutes afterwards, it was either feast (all $20s) or famine (a CVS receipt and Qdoba loyalty card).

Thou shalt not resist bathing before church.  I’m not sure if it was because I was enforcing two consecutive early morning showers, but both times I was met with eye rolls and backtalk.  Even the blessed little First Communicant herself whined, “but I showered YESTERDAY before church!” as if I had asked her to give up a kidney or, Heaven forbid, floss.  I did what any good Christian mother would do: I threatened her with no cake and eternal damnation.  Eventually, she acquiesced.

THOU SHALT CHARGE THY CAMERA BATTERY BEFORE BIG EVENTS.  iPhones are fantastic when you’re in a pinch but when it comes to getting a clear picture as your child is speed-walking down the aisle, you’ll need an actual camera.  Lest you call me an Apple hater (I am anything but), I give you Exhibit A and B:

IMG_0092 This is my nephew Mac, doing about 65 mph on his way to the altar.

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Here’s Georgia, sprinting back to the family pew.

Thou shalt consider leaving the under-4 set at home.   

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After two days with Quinn on my hip in a hot and crowded church, wearing tight skirts and heels, trying to keep him pious and behaved (read: quiet) for hour-plus masses, I came to the realization that First Communions are simply not the activity for a child like him.  Let’s just say that while I should have been focusing on the sacraments being bestowed upon the First Communicants, I was actually praying for patience and forgiveness for the horrible thoughts I was having.  Amen.

Thou shalt let them eat cake.  FAST.  On both days, as soon as the kids came home from church they asked to dig into their cake and change their clothes. My sister Jennifer had cleverly taken all pictures immediately after mass and let her son have his cake as soon as he finished; the result was a happy (and sugar-buzzed) boy.

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I opted instead to dig my heels in, hold off for cake and presents and take family pictures when we got home.  This resulted in an extremely annoyed family and first class ticket to the very edge of my own sanity.  Behold, the most telling photo of the day (right).

Remember to keep holy The Five Commandments in your heart (and purse) during all church events – baptisms, weddings, funerals or even just a weekend Mass.  If you break even one, well…may God have mercy on your soul.

Happy Mothers Day!

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There’s nothing like a homemade card from one of your little cherubs. And when the littlest angel hands you his work of art and explains, “This is me and you with mud on our heads,” you know that you are, indeed, a MOM.

Hope all the Moms, past present and future, have a wonderful day!!

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My Mothers Day Wish List

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Dear Andy, Ben, Georgia, Quinn and of course, Elvis,

You all know (at least you BETTER know) that Mothers Day is a mere four days away.  While you have never disappointed me on this, the holiest of days for a harried mom, I am hoping that you could indulge me this year.  I mean, REALLY indulge me.  And I’m not talking about breakfast in bed or a spa day; what I have in mind is even better.

photo-16Ben – You’re a 12 year old boy, and you’re gross.  I get it.   You’re no different than every other guy your age.  But if you could stop coming home from soccer and baseball practice, taking off your nasty socks and leaving them (inside out, of course) in various places on the first floor, I’d appreciate it.  Playing “follow the smell” while pouring my morning coffee is not my idea of starting the day off right.

Georgia – My girl.  photo-18You are the one little bit of estrogen-solidarity I have in this crazy house, but my request may not be an easy one.  I beg that you never make me buy you clothes at Justice again.  EVER.  I’ve made no secret of my disdain for this store but after two years, I’ve reached my limit.   I cringe every time you receive another one of their gift cards.  My eyes hurt looking at  the neon t-shirts inside the store, and the bubble gum pop music by One Direction/Bieber/Disney-Diva-du-jour that’s being piped through the speakers makes my teeth itch.  I’ve done it for years.  I know you love it.  But it’s time…let me take you anywhere else.  From the Gap to Newbury Street, we’ll buy you an outfit in a color found on this planet.  It would be the greatest gift you could give.

photo-14Quinn – Well, my boy, your present came two weeks early as you have finally, after six months, mastered the art of pooping on the potty!  I am proud and relieved (no pun intended) that diapers are officially a part of the past.  Granted, you are SO regular that I wonder if you are part earthworm but I’m not complaining.  Now if you can just work on: learning your middle name (Andrew), not dragging the dog across the floor by his collar and that a squirrel is a disgusting rodent not to be approached while cooing, “aww, look at dat cute chick-munk!” then we’ll be good to go.

photo-15Andy – I ask that you clean the Laundry Room.  One of the 700 junk emails I got today was from Real Simple and titled, “The Space You Should Be Cleaning, But Aren’t.”  Against my better judgment (while hoovering lunch at my desk), I read it.  Did you know that we are living in a DEATH TRAP (not to mention pure squalor) by not getting through the 21 steps on the checklist?  Apparently it’s not enough to swipe the fire-hazard-of-a-lint-trap; you need to remove, wash and scrub with a toothbrush to properly clean it.  With a toothbrush, Andy!  And don’t even get me started on disconnecting the dryer hose and getting all the funk inside of THAT thing out.  Anyway, reading this article stressed me out when I realized that I’d never have the time to do it so I’d like for you to handle this.  And you know me well enough that inevitably I’ll be dissatisfied with the job you’re doing and wind up cleaning it myself, but just kick things off and I’ll be one happy mom.

photo-17Elvis – Since I recently learned the hard way that you are one of the four dogs in the history of the world who gets carsick, I’m going to have to ask that you get over your emotional issues and learn to be in the house alone without eating through metal, wood or electrical cords that are plugged into the wall.  Thanks  (and woof).

Guys, I love being your mom.  And if my Mothers Day gets me everything on this list, I will be the luckiest lady in the world.  So make your Mama proud and give me what I really want this year.  I’ll meet you in the Laundry Room.

Love, Mom

Spring has Sprung!

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“Spring Fever.” Here in my neighborhood, we’ve got it bad.

ba9f29c684cadcf1eccdfcfcd5d7994fGlobal warming aside, last weekend’s weather gave everyone I know an extra “spring” in their step (ba dum bum) as we got a taste of what’s to come.  As New Englanders, we’re all raised not to trust the Indian Summer or the early snowfall, as the weather can change on a dime.  We know that it can be sunny and warm on a Tuesday and snowing the following night.  We never put those winter boots too far back in the closet and keep flip-flops on hand at all times.

But still, when spring comes to greater Boston, no one can resist giving in to it.

Earlier in the month, the temperature had climbed towards 70 degrees and I was a little thrown by the fact that it was early April.  And although the official First Day of Spring was behind us, I resisted stripping the bed of the soft flannel sheets because with my EXTENSIVE meteorological skills, I came up with (what I thought was) a great explanation:

“The calendar is a bit of a man-made invention,” I explained to Andy.  “Mother Nature adheres more to the phases of the moon than whether it’s April 1st or 30th.”

He really didn’t care (nor did he buy my ridiculous logic), as he would be spending much of the month outside coaching baseball and was happy to not be fighting off hypothermia like he usually does during pre-season.

One of the great phenomenons of spring in New England is that neighbors behave like animals that have been hibernating all winter.  Can’t you just picture the National Geographic Special on spring in the Boston area:

“Like the North American Woodchuck, the pale New Englander carefully peers out her front door as the sun peeks into the dark home.  As the sun warms her pasty skin, she decides that the environment outside of her cave is warm enough to survive in and her young come scurrying through the opening beside her. They have shed their winter coats and having fully molted, are ready to adapt to the warmer climate.”

As all of my neighbors gathered in the street, we remarked on how big the kids had gotten and how long it had been since we’d seen each other.  Balls and bikes came out of garages.  Lawn chairs were pulled out of storage.  Wine was uncorked as we celebrated the long cold months apart and ushered in the spring.  The kids discussed lemonade stands and played with Nerf Guns until it got dark.  Spring Fever had taken over!

Of course, we fear that the cold will return for one last hurrah and we’ll be forced to close the windows and turn the heat back on.  But that taste of spring reminds us all that it’s just around the corner, and here in our neighborhood, we are ready to welcome it back.

But this time, I’ll keep the flannel sheets in the front of the closet. Just in case.

Surprise! It’s Picture Day. AGAIN.

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When I was a kid, picture day at school was a big deal.  Your parents picked your package (two 5x7s, four 4x6s and eight wallets) and you handed the envelope to the creepy photographer guy who had set up in the school gym.  In return, you received a cheap black comb and the opportunity to glam yourself up.  The background was blue, you had dressed in your ’70s or ’80s best and beamed a gap-toothed smile.  Six weeks later your elementary school mug was immortalized in the homes of your parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles.  It was a carefully managed process.

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Nowadays your child arrives home from school on a random Tuesday in April and hands you a packet of 84 pictures taken the week before when they hadn’t showered in three days, wore the sparkliest shirt in their drawer and made a game-time decision that you would really prefer “the laser backdrop.”  Why are these even an option?

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I’ll admit…Georgia’s picture pack that came home today was actually pretty tame compared to previous years.  Of course I wish her hair was neater (and cleaner) and she didn’t look like she had just come from a “Dancing with the Stars” competition but hey, it could be worse.  I remember last year’s first grade pictures had her smiling against bright disco-purple and Ben’s fifth grade shot made him appear to be attending school on some nuclear-green planet. Then there was the year that Ben had run out of clean laundry and gone to school one day – unbeknownst to us, on picture day of course – wearing a one-size-too-small red Wildcat t-shirt from High School Musical that was a gift from his grandparents.  Whoops.

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When Ben was younger, we were on a really bad roll of Murphy’s Law-type accidents the night before picture day.  With injuries ranging from falling off a ladder (cut between the eyes) to an over-zealous hug (zipper gash to the cheek), we were always waiting for DSS to show up at the door producing photographic evidence of his bruised face as proof that we were knocking him around.  Scan 41And when Georgia was in Pre-K, you can imagine our delight when we found that the photographer had combed her curly hair before snapping a picture..we still lovingly refer to that one as her “Donna Summer ‘do.”

I suppose that bad school pictures are as much a part of growing up as playing soccer or learning to read, and I don’t know why they still matter so much (it’s not like our kids aren’t photographed ten times a day).  But until I get three beauties against tasteful gray backgrounds, showing clean children wearing clean clothes and smiling angelically, I won’t be satisfied.

In the meantime, you can find me riding my Unicorn around town wearing size 2 skinny jeans.

Cheeeeese!

Here we go again.

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Wasn’t it just a few months ago that I was assuring my children they would be safe, and bad things like the Newtown shooting were really, really rare?  That they shouldn’t be scared because that would never happen to them?

Yet there I was on Monday, witnessing my 8-year old Georgia watch with wide-eyed horror as the news reported that a little boy was among those killed at the Boston Marathon Finish Line.

While I am hardly an expert when it comes to grief counseling, I had been fortunate to find this on Facebook…my friend and children’s book author Peter Reynolds had posted it shortly after the explosions:

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I sat Georgia down and asked her if she wanted to talk about it.  “This is the worst month of my life.  Everyone is dying.  Did you know that an 8-year old boy DIED?”

I knew that I couldn’t use the same line I did after Sandy Hook, as she was already beginning to doubt her own safety.  After all, she had stood at that very spot just two years ago to cheer on her own Father as he crossed the finish line.  I thought about Peter’s post and simply told her:

“There are some bad people in this world, and sometimes they do bad things.  But there are SO MANY more good people, and that’s something you need to remember.  Do you know what happens when those bad people try to scare everyone?  The good people get stronger.  They help one another.  They become braver.  And in the end, the bad people lose.  Remember, good will ALWAYS triumph over evil.”

I don’t know if it was the right thing to say or even if she believes it, but I know that I certainly do.  I feel scared, definitely.  Scared that something terrible could happen again in my city.  Scared that my kids will always be looking over their shoulder.  Scared that they will wonder, ”Will it happen to ME today?”

But more than scared, I feel proud.  Proud of the good people that are on my side.  Thankful that Boston is made up of so many heroes and so few victims.  And of course, grateful that my family is safe and happy thanks to those brave men and women that keep them that way.

In the end, all we can do is hug our loved ones and do our best to raise them to be good guys.  After all, what kid wouldn’t want to grow up to be on the winning team?