The Routine and the Ritual

Between my mother's endless lunatic rantings, my brother's general sense of helplessness, and the usual Family Holiday Twist and Shout, I am somehow relieved to realize that even as I dodge bean balls and endure trials in my personal life, many of life's routine challenges just keep rolling along with out interruption.

It's like I'd imagine the cockroaches will be during the Nuclear Holocaust. The world will be melting in a cloud of caustic, noxious God only knows what, and they'll still be scurrying about trying to find a way into your Fruity Pebbles.

And I think for a moment, that maybe I should just go with that thought. So what if my personal life is going gloriously to Hell? Pretend it isn't! The rest of the world is! Like my friend Kate's mom used to tell us, "Smile and no one will notice." I'm going to smile and hope that I don't notice.

So I decide to dive back into some routines I'd let slide.

First Friday night the kids return from a week at Lars's Camp Crazylikealoon, we'll get pizza, have a carpet picnic and watch a favorite old movie. Even a Christmas one, even if it is too early.

Saturday morning will be a pancake feast and the kids get to do the flipping.

At least one night each week, we'll not run from the dinner table to do a 100 independent things but play a board game instead.

And on Sunday, immediately following Mass, we'll go to Starbucks and get frothy things to drink and spend a little time just talking to each other.

Sunday comes and it is a dreary, drizzly yuckfest and no one wants to get out of bed. Not even me. So the dash to Our Lady of Condemnation looks like one of those celebrity obstacle course shows. We skulk into the front row of the church just as Father is telling everyone to be seated. So we, being the only ones still standing, draw some attention.

Including that of an old neighborhood/high school chum, Casey Callahan. He and his family lived at the bottom of the hill I grew up on. He mouths "Hi" and winks. He's a winker.

My daughter immediately recognizes him. We'd bumped into him at Mass a few years back around Christmas. His brother lives in nearby and he'd been visiting, as he was now, evidently.

All of a sudden she's church whispering that I can borrow her lip gloss. And offering me her Juicy Couture perfume. And a stick of Bubbalicious. What else does she have in that bag?

I look at her quizzically and she waves me in for a whisper.

With her king-sized lisp she hisses in my ear, in front of God and everyone, "Mom, he's cute and he likes you."

I am not sure what signals her radar is picking up but suddenly I am self conscious about my outfit and am considering taking her up on the lip gloss thing.