As Catholics, we have many rituals. One of them is confession. It sounds scary or intimidating, but it’s actually a very therapeutic experience.  It’s even better if you take a kid or two in with you. Then you get brownie points galore.

 

Right before Christmas, I went to confession. As it is almost Easter, it was time to go again. We managed to arrange it so that both the father figure and I both entered at the same time. I was wrangling X-Man at the time. It’s rather amazing how loud a child with a binky in his mouth can be.

The priest commented that I sounded like there was a lot going on in my life and that I was overwhelmed. Fairly prescient, in my opinion. He said that what I needed was time to myself. At that point, I almost dropped X-Man, who had settled himself on top of Gestating Cinco.  Father proceeded to share that he thought I needed time to myself to focus on the Lord and get re-centered  and that I would find the strength to get through the day. Again, wise words.

But I found myself thinking, “Are you kidding me? Are you not distracted by the flailing child before you, or are you so distracted that you don’t know what you are saying? I can’t even use the bathroom alone! And don’t think waiting until they’re all in bed, because they only sleep in shifts. And getting up early, well, I don’t need an alarm because I have Mac, who waltzes in about five times in two hours asking ‘is it morning yet? What’s for breakfast?’”

However, I believe that the Lord was talking to me and so I would need to attempt this. Not so much early in the morning, I had clients with whom I had to converse and that started bright and early, in a desperate attempt to avoid Mac’s breakfast orders. Then life happened.

As I was driving Mac to his afternoon class, it occurred to me that I hadn’t attempted to re-center and focus. So I thought, “Well why not now?” So I turned off the radio, and noticed a strange sound. Great. So then I turned the fan off, no weird noise, turned the fan back on, weird noise. Super. Wait, fan’s not on, still weird noise. Why is the car so loud when on the freeway? Did I completely destroy this car when I took it off roading that icy morning? You know, we can’t afford the gas for an SUV, but I’d feel a lot more secure. The father figure is committed to buying a 12 seater van. Why? I don’t know. Because as Gestating Cinco is trying to separate my ribs, I am becoming more committed to protecting my ribs and my liver and well, all my internal organs. I have been eying red Cadillac Escalades. Father figure tried to maintain that Cadillac didn’t manufacture red Escalades because HE hadn’t seen one. He still gets annoyed when I point out every red one I see. Mac had his own thoughts on the automotive situation. He voted for Optimus Prime as our mode of transportation. Hard to argue with that logic.

Wait, what am I supposed to be doing? Oh yeah, God, that’s right. Ok .Car most likely won’t blow up while I’m driving it. Quiet. Reflection. “What Mac? What do I know about sippy cups of doom? Gotta say, not much. Oh you’re going to tell me. Good. I’m fairly ignorant on this topic. Do I know where the sippy cups of doom live? Not in the local liquor store?”

Work in progress.