Dear Father Jeff

Dear Father Jeff,

I will be unable to attend Mass tomorrow morning.  My husband is bringing home the troops.  And I'm not talking about our children.  They are already home.  They are always home.  Always.  Can you help me with that?  Can you take them for a few days?  You don't have any children.  Maybe you would like it.  They know how to pour wine.  They can 'cheers' too.   I'm not sure about their bread making abilities, but I'm sure they could learn.  I digress.  Anyhoo.  I am alone with my three blessings.  Yes.  Three.  Blessings.  For four days.  Yes.  Four.  Days.  I've been alone with them for much longer.  I know.  Don't think that I forget.  Four days is nothing.  But I'm hoping you'll understand that I am unable to attend tomorrow.  By myself.  With my three blessings.  Instead we will be pooping, screaming, and throwing entire bowls of Cheerios tainted with Red 40 onto the floor. 

You may not be disappointed by our lack of attendance this week.  I'm sure you remember last weeks' episode.  It started as soon as we attempted to sit down.  Before our butts even hit the pew, the woman next to us mumbled some excuse and got up to switch seats.  I think she was sacred scared.  The air conditioning was broken, as you may remember, and it was quite hot.  Grady pummeled me throughout the Mass.  The woman across the aisle gave me dirty looks the entire time.  She obviously found it shocking that I would allow my child to hit me.  I was hot too.  I wanted to hit her.  Being the good Christian woman that I am, I sent Grady over to sit next to her.  Then everyone had to go to the bathroom.  Only one of the three actually know how to use a toilet proficiently.  I'm pretty sure this was a ploy to play with the baby doll that you keep in the bathroom.  The Gospel was being read.  Normally I would try to take a break when the collection basket is being passed around.  Because like every good Catholic, I would rather save my money to buy more wine for myself.  Anyhoo.  Off we went to the bathroom.  During the Gospel.  I am sure this is frowned upon.  And I am even more sure that I definitely needed to hear it.

You wouldn't believe the party in the bathroom!  I just thought 'basket time' was the party.  This was unbelievable!  You really should start interrogating your parishioners upon exit.  Because everyone is making a break for it during the Gospel.  Me?  I'm quite embarrassed about the fact that if anyone asks me on any given Sunday, I would be unable to even give a hint as to what the Gospel was about.  Instead I am dodging flying hymnals and trying to teach my children how to properly hold it without said hymnal flying onto the alter.  Meanwhile I am deflecting crayons that come within inches of your book.  I banned all snacks two Sundays ago.  But that's another letter.

I was texting my friend Amanda, a fellow parishioner, about last Sunday's display.  I was trying to tell her about the seat changing incident.  When I attempted to type 'pew' into my phone, 'sex' came up.  Is this some cruel joke from AT & T?  Because that's exactly how we got into this mess. 

Anyhoo.  I wish I could be there tomorrow.  Because I really enjoy Mass.  And I really need it.  Instead, I will be crossing myself and praying on the floor over the Red 40.  God bless me.  Please. 

Sincerely,
Mother of the Triple Threat Blessings