As we brought our two boys to mass on Easter morning one thought was running through my mind, “How the hell did my mom get three kids to church every single Sunday for all those years?” I mean if Colin Jost wants to give me a call, I’ve got some great material for an SNL skit of all the behind-the-scenes moms bribing, threatening, or using various other forms of coercion to get their kids to church on Sundays.
I mean for us the morning started off with our four-year-old son getting into his Easter candy minutes before leaving and wiping chocolate on his brand-new, freshly pressed dress pants. We didn’t even try to find seats in the main church, we just headed straight to the overflow mass in the gym with all the other families on the struggle bus that morning. I’m not going to lie, it made me very happy when families walked in after us, proving I’m not the only mom barely holding it together.
I must say, I love how every time you try to sneak into mass late all unobtrusively, there is always an overzealous usher that wants to parade you around the church to these hidden seats he knows of. Like, “I know everyone is kneeling and no one is talking, but let’s briskly walk to the other side, tap on some shoulders and ask people to scooch down.” You will most likely have to tell him no three times and then avoid eye contact the remainder of the mass, so he doesn’t offer again. Also, what is with the people desperate to sit on the end that refuse to scooch down? The one’s that make you awkwardly suck in your stomach while attempting to sidestep around them in the pew praying your butt doesn’t graze their body. No thanks, I’d rather stand for an hour than play that game.
Growing up in church I would always scan the room looking for people I knew. This Sunday I was looking for moms, all pious and proud with their clans, trying to imagine what mayhem was ensuing in their households’ minutes before getting in the car. Did they have to lay out not only their children’s clothes but their husbands as well? Did their husbands ask if they could wear jeans to church on Easter? Did they also respond with, “Are you insane?!”
I chuckled as I noticed a mom getting dragged out of her pew every so often by a different child I assumed “had to go to the bathroom.” I also noticed the moms giving their children “the look” and the mischievous grins of siblings contemplating their shenanigans.
Then comes the age-old question of, “Can we leave after communion?” I mean let’s face it, we all try to justify this. We have to beat the crowds to the parking lot, my baby is getting fussy, we are on a time crunch. I’m pretty sure growing up there was never a mass I didn’t try to negotiate this point with my parents.
So, to all the moms out there, fighting this valiant fight, who against all odds manage to get your families to church on Sundays, I see you. You are warriors the toughest soldiers wouldn’t want to mess with. Keep in mind, if your mom was that mom growing up, who despite soccer schedules, band practice and vacations made sure your butt was in a pew on Sundays, get on her good side. For she is in favor with the Lord, and when you haven’t got a prayer, you’ll want hers.
And if you’re like me and by the end of mass your bean pole son’s pants are all stretched out from squirming in his seat and suddenly, they drop below his Thomas the Train underwear while walking to the car, I’ll pretend not to notice. For moms at mass have a code of rules just like Fight Club. During the hour we are inside that church, we will all pretend the tantrums, stains and mishaps didn’t happen. That is until we can get home, pop open some Rosé, and tell dad he’s on duty the rest of the day. Because let’s face it, we earned it!