: Some things never change...
I'm back from my exciting trip to my best friend's house. The newborn baby was so cute. Her family, as per usual, were a combination of sweet and weird. We cooked. We played games. We enjoyed each other's company. And... boy, three and a half hours seems a lot longer on the way back down to Texas.
According to my best friend, the weekend could be summed up with the phrase, 'some things never change.' I would like to report that yes, some things never change. Other things do change. And if they do change, I am always, ALWAYS the last person to get the memo.
Some things never change...
I have the directional sense of a root vegetable. Of course I got lost.
I said I'd be there shortly after noon. It was one. My best friend was wondering... 'gee... I wonder if she got lost.' Sure enough, her phone rang. Her husband answered it, and I replied, 'I'm looooost...'
Fortunately, I only got lost after I tried to exit I-40 and get into Yukon. Well, I actually missed my exit, had to try to turn around. The next exit had construction, so it was a while before I could get back on the highway. Then I managed to get all turned around when I did exit. I stopped to get gas, went back the way I came, so I could go on the feeder road until it dead ends, except that it dead-ended right were I was, so I made another u-turn, ended up going the wrong direction. And technically, my best friend left out the one step in the directions... So it's not totally my fault.
At least, that's what I keep telling myself.
Some things do change
Holy shit! I have maternal instincts! or You're good with kids! Even if you don't want to admit it.
It was my best friend's week to cantor at church. Since I really didn't have the patience or the desire to sit through three whole Catholic services in one weekend. (They say I'm a masochist, but even masochists have their limit.) So I stayed behind with her older sister to help her babysit both boys.
I roughhoused with her two-year-old, read him stories, really made him laugh. Okay, that part, I knew I could handle all right. Wearing a Mr. Potato Head police hat on your head and looking innocent is the easy part.
Taking care of the baby was something I wasn't too keen about. But he was crying, so her sister wanted me to feed him. I tried, but he didn't seem to want it. She kept telling me to force him, but he didn't want it. She said I had to, because you can't re-heat breast milk. I finally managed to convince her that the baby didn't want it. He wanted it later, though. And I fed him then. But she kept wanting me to get him to finish the bottle, even after he'd had enough.
Also, she warned me that he'd scream a lot. That part was true. And I don't think I was ever successful at burping him. But I was able to quiet him down. I took him around the house, bouncing him, and he was actually quiet!
I told my best friend everything that transpired once she got home. She said her sister tended to take everything by the book, since she took so many child development classes. Babies, unfortunately, don't read textbooks, so they don't know how to do everything by the book.
"Well, at least she has some knowledge, I don't have any. I was stuck doing this totally on..." I froze.
"Instinct?" my best friend finished the sentence for me.
"... You mean, I have maternal instinct??"
"Yup."
"Take the baby... I think I'm going to faint now."
if they do change, I am always, ALWAYS the last person to get the memo.
I didn't get a host. And I didn't get donuts. I got gipped.
The baptism was lovely, and so was the mass that preceded it. My best friend was cantoring and her husband is the music director... so when they perform together, it was spellbinding. Really, I've only seen a Wiccan high priestess command that kind of spiritual feeling with music before. It was beautiful!
Her whole family (plus me) got to take up the gifts in the middle of mass. It was my idea to let the two-year-old carry a basket of offerings. And the entire congregation (but especially the mom) got the biggest kick out of it.
And had that been the entire mass, I would have left with an appreciation of the service and a feeling of honor for having participated in such an important ritual in her life. Instead, I am made to question what their priest said to me when he met me for the first time, all those years ago. 'Here at St. Nepomuk, we welcome all kinds of people."
Guess not.
I walked up to receive communion, along with everybody else. Since technically, I was baptized, raised Catholic, and even confirmed, this isn't exactly a new experience for me. I know what's supposed to happen and when.
I held out my hands to receive the host. The priest just stared at me, confused for a moment. I looked at him, confused for a moment. And then he put his hand on my head and blessed me as though I were a child. He finished. And I still stood there, my hands out, waiting for the host. I stood there for a few moments, looking at him very strangely. He just glared at me. And, being very confused, walked over to the chalice. The lady looked at me funny, probably because she was watching what happened just to her right, but I still got to drink from it.
At the end of mass, my best friend came over to apologize for what happened. Turns out, the following conversation happened earlier in the week -
"Oh, your best friend is coming up for the baptism. Is she the god mother?" the priest asked.
Her husband replied, "No. She's not really a practicing Catholic anymore. My younger sister is the god mother."
At that church, if you're not an active, practicing Catholic, you aren't supposed to receive communion. And in the eyes of the church, I'm not Catholic anymore. They knew it. The priest knew it. But dammit, nobody bothered to tell ME that I'm not Catholic anymore!!
Part of me is actually offended. And it's not easy to offend me. Yes, I might not consider myself Catholic anymore. I've found other forms of spirituality more akin to what I actually believe. But I came to the mass and baptism out of respect for my best friend. I may not agree with her religion, but I honor her beliefs nonetheless, and I honor that she wishes to make spirituality a part of her son's life. Because of that, I feel that I have just as much right to participate in the rituals as everyone else there. And no one, especially a priest, has the right to say I'm not good enough. This is one of the biggest reasons why I don't consider myself Catholic anymore in the first place.
Oh well... reverence and mirth. Reverence and mirth...
Current Lips: white, yellow and black gradient blend
I'm back from my exciting trip to my best friend's house. The newborn baby was so cute. Her family, as per usual, were a combination of sweet and weird. We cooked. We played games. We enjoyed each other's company. And... boy, three and a half hours seems a lot longer on the way back down to Texas.
According to my best friend, the weekend could be summed up with the phrase, 'some things never change.' I would like to report that yes, some things never change. Other things do change. And if they do change, I am always, ALWAYS the last person to get the memo.
Some things never change...
I have the directional sense of a root vegetable. Of course I got lost.
I said I'd be there shortly after noon. It was one. My best friend was wondering... 'gee... I wonder if she got lost.' Sure enough, her phone rang. Her husband answered it, and I replied, 'I'm looooost...'
Fortunately, I only got lost after I tried to exit I-40 and get into Yukon. Well, I actually missed my exit, had to try to turn around. The next exit had construction, so it was a while before I could get back on the highway. Then I managed to get all turned around when I did exit. I stopped to get gas, went back the way I came, so I could go on the feeder road until it dead ends, except that it dead-ended right were I was, so I made another u-turn, ended up going the wrong direction. And technically, my best friend left out the one step in the directions... So it's not totally my fault.
At least, that's what I keep telling myself.
Some things do change
Holy shit! I have maternal instincts! or You're good with kids! Even if you don't want to admit it.
It was my best friend's week to cantor at church. Since I really didn't have the patience or the desire to sit through three whole Catholic services in one weekend. (They say I'm a masochist, but even masochists have their limit.) So I stayed behind with her older sister to help her babysit both boys.
I roughhoused with her two-year-old, read him stories, really made him laugh. Okay, that part, I knew I could handle all right. Wearing a Mr. Potato Head police hat on your head and looking innocent is the easy part.
Taking care of the baby was something I wasn't too keen about. But he was crying, so her sister wanted me to feed him. I tried, but he didn't seem to want it. She kept telling me to force him, but he didn't want it. She said I had to, because you can't re-heat breast milk. I finally managed to convince her that the baby didn't want it. He wanted it later, though. And I fed him then. But she kept wanting me to get him to finish the bottle, even after he'd had enough.
Also, she warned me that he'd scream a lot. That part was true. And I don't think I was ever successful at burping him. But I was able to quiet him down. I took him around the house, bouncing him, and he was actually quiet!
I told my best friend everything that transpired once she got home. She said her sister tended to take everything by the book, since she took so many child development classes. Babies, unfortunately, don't read textbooks, so they don't know how to do everything by the book.
"Well, at least she has some knowledge, I don't have any. I was stuck doing this totally on..." I froze.
"Instinct?" my best friend finished the sentence for me.
"... You mean, I have maternal instinct??"
"Yup."
"Take the baby... I think I'm going to faint now."
if they do change, I am always, ALWAYS the last person to get the memo.
I didn't get a host. And I didn't get donuts. I got gipped.
The baptism was lovely, and so was the mass that preceded it. My best friend was cantoring and her husband is the music director... so when they perform together, it was spellbinding. Really, I've only seen a Wiccan high priestess command that kind of spiritual feeling with music before. It was beautiful!
Her whole family (plus me) got to take up the gifts in the middle of mass. It was my idea to let the two-year-old carry a basket of offerings. And the entire congregation (but especially the mom) got the biggest kick out of it.
And had that been the entire mass, I would have left with an appreciation of the service and a feeling of honor for having participated in such an important ritual in her life. Instead, I am made to question what their priest said to me when he met me for the first time, all those years ago. 'Here at St. Nepomuk, we welcome all kinds of people."
Guess not.
I walked up to receive communion, along with everybody else. Since technically, I was baptized, raised Catholic, and even confirmed, this isn't exactly a new experience for me. I know what's supposed to happen and when.
I held out my hands to receive the host. The priest just stared at me, confused for a moment. I looked at him, confused for a moment. And then he put his hand on my head and blessed me as though I were a child. He finished. And I still stood there, my hands out, waiting for the host. I stood there for a few moments, looking at him very strangely. He just glared at me. And, being very confused, walked over to the chalice. The lady looked at me funny, probably because she was watching what happened just to her right, but I still got to drink from it.
At the end of mass, my best friend came over to apologize for what happened. Turns out, the following conversation happened earlier in the week -
"Oh, your best friend is coming up for the baptism. Is she the god mother?" the priest asked.
Her husband replied, "No. She's not really a practicing Catholic anymore. My younger sister is the god mother."
At that church, if you're not an active, practicing Catholic, you aren't supposed to receive communion. And in the eyes of the church, I'm not Catholic anymore. They knew it. The priest knew it. But dammit, nobody bothered to tell ME that I'm not Catholic anymore!!
Part of me is actually offended. And it's not easy to offend me. Yes, I might not consider myself Catholic anymore. I've found other forms of spirituality more akin to what I actually believe. But I came to the mass and baptism out of respect for my best friend. I may not agree with her religion, but I honor her beliefs nonetheless, and I honor that she wishes to make spirituality a part of her son's life. Because of that, I feel that I have just as much right to participate in the rituals as everyone else there. And no one, especially a priest, has the right to say I'm not good enough. This is one of the biggest reasons why I don't consider myself Catholic anymore in the first place.
Oh well... reverence and mirth. Reverence and mirth...
Current Lips: white, yellow and black gradient blend
Current Mood: 
tired
tired