Pews in Time

So the school morning routine goes like this three mornings a week: drive to school, park, get both Monkeys out of the car with their backpacks, walk along the sidewalk as far as the church entrance, kiss Monkey1 good-bye on the hand (as in The Kissing Hand book), and let her walk to the school entrance as I turn off into the church entrance with Monkey2. In the warm building, Monkey2 and I sit on the sofas by the parish office and read books for until the doors to the preschool open, 20-35 minutes later, depending on our arrival time. Walk around to the preschool side of the building, remind Monkey2 through her morning arrival routine: flip over her name tag (attendance), put her snack bag in the basket, empty backpack of any folders or papers to be delivered, put her coat and backpack in her cubby, and play. I always tell her good-bye, but I'm not sure she'd notice if I did not.

Today was the Feast of St. Blaise, and a school Mass day. Monkey2 and I watched the students file in the church, the younger classes paired with older classes. The kindergartners each have a sixth grade "Buddy" that sits with them during Mass, someone that will be with them until First Communion at the end of second grade and the then eighth grader graduates off to high school. Monkey1 beamed and waved at us, and excitedly pointed us out to her Buddy, who politely smiled and waved at us also.

Mass started, and I walked Monkey2 over to preschool, and then came back, ducking in at the back. So many years ago, I sat in pews up near the front, wiggling in a school uniform under the watchful eye of teachers (nuns, brothers, and laity) and a guitar-playing nun principal, and no doubt my mother sat in the back pews with other parents and the daily Mass crowd. Today, different uniforms, no religious as teachers, and the guitar accompanying the day's Mass was held by the many-hatted middle school math teacher/ parish youth minister/ father of one of Monkey1's friends. But it's the same... except I'm the mom now.