Was I absent that day???

I was in 2nd grade when I instructed NOT to take my regular bus home for a time. I was to join a handful of friends who, in addition to attending my public school, were also in my Catechism classes at our Catholic church. We were to walk to a street corner a block away, where a bus would pick us up and take us to the church for First Holy Communion practice (How the heck did the church coordinate with the public school to get us on a bus headed for religious instruction? Oh, the days that were and are no more.) First Holy Communion. It's a big, BIG deal in the Catholic church.

To be honest, in the second grade I was much more excited about the fact that I got to wear a veil and communion dress (which, to a 2nd grade girl, might as well be a wedding gown.) Thinking back on those days of rehearsal, I clearly received instruction on the ways of receiving communion. Or,...did I?

Was it all a figment of my imagination?

I mean, given the communion fau pauxs of my children at my own church recently, I really have to wonder. Is it possible that,...could I have been...what I'm trying to say is, was I perhaps absent on some crucial training day back in the 2nd grade?

I told you about Reece grabbing the bread with BOTH hands his first time to communion (we no longer attend Catholic church btw, so it wasn't a formal first time, but it was his first just the same.) I also told you about the second time, where he basically played tug-of-war on the bread with the petite server. Yeah, swell.

So let me tell you about last Sunday (why yes, the saga DOES continue and thank you for asking.) So it was our row's turn to rise and join the communion line. I was getting a few butterflies, wondering what Reece might pull this time. We stood up to walk out of the row and it started (why wait until we're front and center when the show can start now, eh?)

Loudly whispering (oxymoron?), "Mom. MOMMMmm! I wanna be by Daddy 'cause he hasn't ever seen me get communion."

Dad was already out in the aisle, as was big sister. They had no idea that Reece was insisting on a game of musical chairs in the communion line. But he had a point. He was excited for his dad to see him receiving communion and it's not a joy I wished to squelch. So I tapped his dad's shoulder and waved him back. Perplexed, he filed in at number 2, pushing big sis out in the lead. This commotion did NOT put Reece in position with his dad.

Frowning, I tapped him and tried to use a Clampett form of sign language to motion him and Olivia into the proper positions. Next thing I know, Liv is at the back of the line, Dad in front, then me and Reece in the middle.
Still not right, but no problem.
I'll just trade places with Reece and is right with the world (keep in mind, we're in a larger line that is moving along as we Clampetts H's jockey for position.) So I shuffle Reece in front of me, directly behind his dad.

Loudly whispering, Reece called. "Daddy. DADDddy! I wanna go fuwst because you've nevew seen me get the bread before."

OY VEY! (Bug eyes buggin')

Reece's world is rocked when it doesn't go the way he perceives it should. And on this day, he felt that he needed to be first with his dad right behind him. Wish we'd known that before we stood to join the line. But the bigger challenge still lay ahead. Could Reece get through the front of the line without an "incident"? The odds were against it, but there's the power of a praying mom, right? ;)

Imagine my surprise (and relief!) when he got his bread and juice without a hitch. Naturally, his dad had missed all the more "charming" trips to the front on previous Sundays because he had to work. And naturally, it went perfectly smoothly the day his dad was there. (I think kids purposely save some of the lovliest moments just for moms, don't you?)

Back in our seats, we waited to take communion with the rest of our church body. Being curious, Cierah pointed to Liv's tiny cup of juice to inquire. Only...
she bumped it. Three spots of grape juice splashed onto Liv's light mint green dress. Their daddy was sitting on the other side of me, oblivious to the entire scene. Naturally.
"CIERAH!" (VERY loud whisper from Liv)
"Sowwy, Sis." (not so whispering voice by Cierah)
"MommMMm!" (Whining low tone from Olivia)
"SHHHH!" (Not so quiet shhhhh-sh from Mom)

I remembered that there was a Tide pen in the bathroom, that I could quietly slip out with Olivia and spot treat her dress before the stains set. Ah, mighty nice, right? Yeah, well. We're in Toni's world, remember?

I can't be sure what brought on the next moment.
Was it carelessness on Olivia's part?
Did Cierah bump her again under the radar?
Or, perhaps, did my harsh "Shhhh-sh!" scare the bejeebies out of her?

Dunno.

But I do know this. Liv's voice was a near cry as she pleaded, "Oh, Mommm!" and I turned to see her ENTIRE CUP of grape juice dumped on her lap, slowly seeping into the once lovely fabric of her mint green dress.

Sigh.
Resigned, deflated sigh.
Nothing to do but wait for full absorption into the dress (talk about your bad options.)

So we did. We waited until the juice no longer puddled, then headed toward the doors at the back of the church, a couple of kids being punished for disturbing the class (or so it felt that way). And we went from a former plan of spot treatment only to an all out wash in the sink and dry by fanning in front of a small audience of ladies who were present in the bathroom. Naturally!

So,...I gotta wonder. Did I really go through training and rehearsal for my first holy communion? Or not? You tell me. And while you're at it, know any good communion trainers in the area? Clearly, I'm not one and frankly? I'm beginning to think it's never too late to go to clown school.

James 1:2 Consider it all joy, my brethren, when you encounter various trials

Toni