When They've Got You, They've Got You

I sometimes enjoy echoes of my former career as a choir director and musician. I am a cantor/Psalmist at the Basilica in downtown Minneapolis, and also a pianist/organist at St. Hubert's in Chanhassen. Although I try to schedule myself to play or sing on Dave's weekends with the girls, sometimes they have to come with me while I do these things. This is not easy.

At the Basilica, the best-case scenario if it happens to be a girl weekend is for me to be the Psalmist, because the Psalmist sits in the congregation and only has to go up to the pulpit for one little part. Still, this translates to about seven minutes during which I am standing alone, perched so that the entire congregation is watching me, and NO ONE is watching my kids. Of course seven minutes isn't long enough to get into SERIOUS trouble. But it is long enough for my girls to rub in my face that for those few moments I am utterly helpless to modify any behavior that is even slightly inappropriate.

During a rehearsal at the Basilica - Winter 2014

This past weekend they had to come with me to the Basilica for the Saturday evening Mass. We brought some trail mix in a baggie to eat in the car beforehand, and when it was gone the baggie became a plaything - basically a very loud and crumply balloon of some kind. It provided gleeful entertainment all the way up to the first hymn of the Mass, at which point I realized that it was too noisy a thing to have around while other people are trying to listen to readings. I took it away and shoved it in my purse.

Finally my turn came to leave my girls in the pew so that I could profess the Psalm for the congregation. I flashed them a look of "BE GOOD," then stood, walked to the front of the church, took the requisite bow at the altar, gave the priest a little wink as I walked by...(nah, I'm kidding about the wink)...and ascended the stairs to the pulpit.

In the silence immediately before beginning, I scanned the congregation and then let my eyes rest on my girls. Ellen was sitting perfectly still but grinning like the Cheshire Cat. Cecilia's face was perfectly nonchalant...BUT. She was standing in the pew with the contraband baggie in hand, and she was brandishing it high over her head like a flag. The adults sitting directly behind her (who had also seen me confiscate the baggie) were stifling laughter. What could I do? I smiled beatifically and sang the Sunday's Scripture per my training, while my daughter's staccato crumply baggie punctuations echoed through the cavernous sanctuary. Beautiful and holy public mom fail.

Now, this same weekend was a double-header, since the next morning I was scheduled to play at St. Hubert's. The girls found their seats near the piano (which is in the front of the church next to the altar, in clear view), and I began with some soft, contemplative playing to evoke a sense of worship and calm. Things were going well. The opening hymn went by without incident. Then came the Gloria. A few bars in, over the sound of the congregation's singing came the unmistakable sound of a child's distress squawk. I turned my head from the piano bench to see Ellen holding Cecilia's stuffed animal just out of her reach, and Celie jumping and squirming to attempt a rescue. Sibling love at its very best. At least if I'm playing piano, my hands know enough what they're doing so that I can continue playing while briefly locking eyes with my daughters and mouthing something to the effect of "GOD IS WATCHING YOU AND SHE IS NOT HAPPY." This is the sort of discipline that does exactly nothing. When they've got you, they've got you. Surrender.

After the closing song at the end of the service, I informed the girls that we would not be going out to breakfast as originally promised, due to their Stuffed Animal Hooliganism. Just then, a woman interrupted us to say "Ma'am, I just wanted to tell you that you play very well and your kids were great."

"Really?" I said as I looked at her then back at Ellen and Cecilia incredulously.

"Definitely," she said. "It must be pretty hard to have them up there with you."

"Well, thanks," I said. "I appreciate that. Have a great day." As she walked away I slowly turned to look back at the girls, eyebrows raised. Ellen smiled and said "Mom, don't you think we can go to breakfast? We just got a COMPLIMENT."

I suppose. If we can find a place that serves bottomless mimosas.