Out of sorts
It’s snowing, first of all; big, fat, wet white flakes. Weren’t we done with winter? (Stop laughing, Pansy.) My jonquils, which just popped out yesterday all jaunty and yellow, are hanging their heads in defeat. I planted two lavender plants in the front on Thursday; I ran out this morning and covered them, so I hope they make it okay.
Hambet was awful in Mass this morning, and alas, I wasn’t much better. We went to a different church today and got there a little early. I tried walking him around the church to try to get the wiggles out and satisfy his curiosity. He liked the tour, but it did nothing for his behavior — we were in the cry room before Mass even started.
Have I blogged before about how I dislike cry rooms? Some people seem to treat them like private luxury boxes at the sports arena — the children are allowed to run wild while the adults skip the responses for Mass or even chat with each other. This morning the other little person in the room was a young lady who seemed to be about three or four, and who colored in perfect silence throughout the Mass. Her parents had packed a nice little picnic for her; when Hambet saw the sippy cup come out, he assumed there was one for him too, and loudly protested when he found out that wasn’t the case. I ended up having to remove him from the cry room several times, and was feeling pretty angry and frustrated — and easily irritated by all the pinpricks of a suburban “Mass factory” parish: the cheesy music, the priest’s endless ad-lib annotations and revisions to the Missal (no golf jokes in the homily, though, Deo gratias) and the stampede out the doors after Communion.