Pop rolled over for the first time today. He had supposedly accomplished this feat on Saturday when I was in the shower (of course), but that afternoon Katydid confessed that she may have just nudged him, well, a tiny bit.
Pip, on the other hand, is still shrieking like a pteradactyl if anyone so much as lays a finger on his neck. Therapy is not progressing rapidly. But he has a sweet smile to make up for it.
The two day trip did not go as badly as I'd feared, although I have to confess that my Lenten resolve did not hold up to the Applebee's serendipitously located right across the street from our hotel. Hallelujah, Carside to Go! It's been 6 months since we've eaten anything other than McDonald's that I wasn't forced to slap together myself with babies wailing in the background. (Microwaved hot dogs and grapes anyone? No? Microwaved cheese quesadillas and, er, cheetos then?) I had buttermilk shrimp and only felt slightly guilty about it. I had been determined to live the spirit of Lent this Lent, instead of trying on the half-hearted "it's Friday so today we eat fish" version I have known so well in the past. But eating Applebee's in the hotel room after a long day of traveling was at least sustaining.
Mostly what Lent has prompted in me this year is the realization of how little I really know about what it is to be a Catholic -- or to live like one. I'm a cradle Catholic. I went to Catholic school, as far as I could -- sixth grade in the small Tennessee town where I grew up. In school we went to Mass every day and filled out religion workbooks. At home we had a few crucifixes on the wall. We went to church on Sunday, and Midnight Mass at Christmas. My father, who was (and is, I suppose) agnostic never stood in the way of my mother transmitting her religion to us. But somehow the religion wasn't transmitted very well, and I nearly abandoned it for a long while. Then I had kid #1 and had to ask myself, what is it that I really believe? What do I want to teach my child?
I guess that's a familiar story.
My journey back to the church of my childhood has been slow and complicated. I felt like I was doing better for a while -- at least I was reading the Bible to my kids and trying to share my beliefs, and my husband (who was going through a similar process) was attempting to share his own discoveries -- but then Katydid began to display a disturbing level of theological insight.
In other words, she started asking me questions I couldn't answer. Like, "If Jesus said to love our enemies, does that mean we're supposed to love Satan, too? Because he's our enemy."
Try answering that one while rocking two screaming babies on your lap.
So now here I am. It's Lent and I have a disturbing habit of sneaking chocolate cheesecake. But at least I have a better idea now of where I need to start.
And that would be at the very beginning.
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