The Church Dance

The dance goes something like this: We take 2 cars to church because of a basketball game that Scotty needs to get to right after mass. I walk in with half the kids after my husband already is seated with half the kids. I search the usual pews...the very back of the church on the right, the very back of the church on the left, the cry room...finally find him halfway up the isle in the very middle, so I guess we're being ambitious today. The rest of us squeeze into the pew. We are bookended in by 2 other families. Interesting because we will have to decide who to step over and on during our 30 trips to the bathroom, and cry room and vestibule. The people in the row behind us give us the grins, you know those, "Ah, what a lovely family" head cocks to the side. I look down the row to my husband, give him the little "aren't we a cute family" grin. He grins back. Charlie (2) LUNGES from his arms onto the pew. His rubber soled little tennis shoes now sound like tap shoes on the pew pacing back and forth. He laughs at the families behind us. He taunts us with his moves toward the toys and crayons that the bookend families have brought. We lure him away with our lame lonely book that I manage to scrape up out of my purse. Didn't even bother to pack a ziplock of Cheerios this morning. Usually I end up on the floor of church trying to pick them all up as my 2 and 4 year old lift my skirt to show the lovely families behind us my underwear anyway. Then I always have to eventually stand back up with a big red face from all the blood rushing to my head, and my hair is all crazy looking and I try to grin like it was no big deal to scoop up a bunch of cereal while trying to avoid a kid smashing my fingers with the kneeler and climbing on my back like I'm a horse. So, because I didn't bring the food today, Charlie is on the prowl for something to entertain himself. He begins tackling Ben (4). Ben can't help himself, laughs out loud and they begin a sort of head butting thing. We separate them. They resist somewhat loudly, so we try to distract them. Elaina (6) is all over me. Kisses my cheek continually. Pets my arm. Fingers my hair. I try to enjoy this as a loving touch. I try to thank God for her sweetness. Mostly though I try to keep her from wiping most of the makeup I applied in the car on the way to church from my face. Soon I am positive I look pretty much the way I did when I rolled out of bed this morning. Meanwhile, Charlie has begun to talk out loud continually. Mostly saying "no" to me stopping him from precariously leaning over the pew threatening a fall onto his head or at best into the lovely families' laps behind us. At this point those lovely families' older children are giggling at him. A few of the other adults back there are likely wondering when I'm taking the 2 year old to that "perfect little cry room we have back in the back." I'm trying to decide if it is time to start squeezing past one of the lucky families we sat next to. I pick one and grab my talker and head to the back of church trying not to make eye contact with any parishioners on the way because for all I know at this point my top, which is of a lightweight flimsy variety, has likely either hiked up under Charlie's bum and is showing my big secret control top undies or Charlie's wandering and grabbing hands have pulled down the front of it so low that my bra is hanging out. Truly, I don't want to know what the scene is so I don't look to the crowd for clues. I choose to stay in denial. My first attempt at Charlie control is to avoid the cry room. We head into the foyer of church. Who designed this area? No one with children I am sure. There are stained glass windows (one of which we have as a family already broken and paid $300 to have fixed as one of my lovely children literally smashed his friend through it during some rough housing after mass one day). There is an intricate statue on a side table. Very breakable, very white, very expensive looking. There is a heavy gold crucifix standing on another side table. Not heavy enough to be stationary, but heavy enough to use as a weapon. There is a glass front cabinet full of photos. There is a roped off temptation. It is a cute little circular area down a couple stairs with a statue of a saint with a very delicate sword that moves (Charlie figured that out). There are hundreds of pamphlets in a little rack at my knee height! We soon are in the cry room. 2 other families are in there. With all their kids. We have no toys, no food, no reinforcements whatsoever. Charlie begins to open the door to the fire hydrant, which at this point is thankfully one inch out of his reach or we would all be wearing snow. But he starts banging the door to the fire safety equipment open and closed. I hold it shut. He screams. He climbs onto the chair by the light switch and a ridiculous knob that controls the volume of the priest and musicians. Soon we are all in the dark, startled by the sudden booming music and feel like we are at a rock concert. I try the "ignore him and he will stop" thing. Doesn't work. I block the switches. Charlie screams and smashes his head into my thighs over and over trying to get to the switches. I convince him to get a book from the bucket for us to read together. We do this. I try to get him to grab another book, but he has spied someone's Thomas trains. The train's owner is not thrilled to share, so there is threat of a scuffle, but Charlie is distracted by a nice mom offering him coloring books and crayons. This helps for a bit. Then Charlie sees the rocking chair, which incidentally is precariously placed right in front of some large pole that Charlie realized he can bang the chair up against if he rocks hard enough. Time for Communion. "Charlie, want to go see daddy and go for a walk?" Yes. We head back into the crowd. Pass Charlie to dad. 9 year old is hanging on Dad, 4 year old is hanging on him, daughter is leaning on him. He looks like the Pied Piper. We head to Communion. I pray as I walk up there that God is cool with this being my only connection with Him so far this day. (I also pray that my son stops stepping on my heals as we walk). But there is peace. For these 50 paces we are not a rambunctious crew trying not to make a scene. For these 50 paces we are going up to God as a family maybe singing, hopefully praying, but definitely "being" part of His family. These aren't just MY kids acting up a bit at church, they are God's kids acting up at church. These aren't just MY kids playing with my face as we get back to our seats. They are God's kids playing with my face. If this is how God is touching me today, let Him. So as Elaina begins to braid my hair, and Jack begins to lean on me as if he is exhausted beyond control, I just breath in and then out, and let Him in, and hope that God stays there all day, because I need Him to.