Last weekend I did a solo Mass mission. My husband was working, and my two eldest were away, so it was up to me to get the four youngest dressed, fed, and out the door before 9am. No sweat.
My first problem comes when I try to wake the girls. I give Annie, my 9-year-old, a shake. ‘Upsy daisy, kiddo – wait – what have you done to your face?’
I stare at the texta person, arms spread wide, scrawled across her forehead. The crudely-drawn figure smiles benevolently back at me. Meanwhile, Pippi has dived under her covers. I extract her and summon my best Stern Mother Voice. ‘Pippi, why did you draw on Annie’s face?’
Pippi gives a sniff of disdain. ‘She was being annoying.’
‘Wait. So she was awake when you did it?’
‘No. First she was annoying. Then she fell asleep. Then I drew on her face because she was annoying before.’
I blink, then press on gamely. ‘You know it’s wrong to draw on your sister’s face.’
‘Yes, but she was being annoying.’ She has taken on the patient tone of a teacher explaining a lesson to a confused child.
Give me strength. ‘Go to the naughty step and think about your behaviour.’
Annie munches glumly on her cornflakes-and-milk as I attack her face with makeup remover. I get most of it, but her face remains faintly tinged with blue, like some Dickensian orphan in the final throes of consumption. It would have to do.
Meanwhile, Penny, Pippi’s twin, has dressed herself. I can cope with the Batman T-shirt-pink-tutu-green-crocs combo, but I have to draw the line somewhere. ‘Darling, you can’t wear swimming goggles to Mass’.
Penny squints back at me through large blue lenses. ‘I want to look cool, Mum.’
Harry’s standing at the front door. He is dressed and ready to go. ‘I’m walking up now, Mum, OK?’ He’s leaving early to be an altar server. Is it that time already? I’d better go deal with Pippi.
I extract an apology from the pyjama-clad penitent then send her off to get dressed.
Penny has pushed the swimming goggles up her forehead. The elastic has fashioned her hair into an odd pompadour-of-sorts. It’s an interesting look.
Pippi has reappeared in a nice dress and pretty shoes. She looks at her twin. ‘If she gets to wear crocs, then I do too!’, she says, then promptly sits down to fling off her demure Mary Janes and put on garish rubber clogs.
I pause. It is 8.55am. I could insist that they change and waste another 15 minutes and have us all turn up late and upset. Or I could swallow my pride and arrive on time with Blueface Annie, Happy Goggles Girl, and her crocs-shod twin.
I guess that’s the thing about bringing children to Mass. I’m constantly trying to tread that fine line between come-as-you-are and respect for the liturgy. Mass isn’t the place where you are always in trouble. Mass is a place for warm cuddles and quiet affection.
Having said that, stern words are required when Pippi announces ‘THIS IS BORING!’ during a reflective pause in a long sermon, then sighs “Finally!” dramatically at the end. Penny remains quiet. She is studying what Father looks like when he is coloured blue.
I notice another little girl in the congregation. She looks so pretty with her hair carefully combed and tied with ribbons. Her dress is pink lace. I smother a sigh.
‘What SMELLS so bad?’, Pippi says loudly, in the reflective time after Communion.
‘That was me!’, Penny replies cheerfully.
I clutch a cup of tea afterwards while my children consume too many biscuits. The twins are chatting excitedly with the beautifully-dressed girl. It’s then I notice it. There, on the girl’s feet, is a pair of dainty pink rubber crocs. I grin back at her mum and sip my tea.
