First Communion

My nephew and God Son, Austin, is receiving his First Communion Thursday night. I grew up Catholic and the first communion is a really big deal. You wear a veil to show purity to God, you have a special dress and a huge party. I remember sitting with the priest having to confess my sins when I was in first grade and I couldn't think of anything so I LIED and told him I stole. He didn't really yell at me, so I confessed that I was lying about the stealing, and I felt relieved that I had something to confess. I remember him laughing. Even then I was thinking, "Are you kidding me? I am six!! What big sin could I have possibly done that warrants confession?!" That was probably the beginning of my Catholic downfall. I remember telling the monks (who wore sandals year round) during confirmation class that "It's so unfair. Nuns can't talk, but all you guys gotta do is wear sandals all of the time. I can't imagine not talking!! But it'd be fun to wear sandals." To which they replied, "It's also not fair that nuns can fly like in the flying nun, and we can not." That was my second downfall. Growing up Catholic you always feel guilt. I always had this feeling of dread. Psychiatrists call it anxiety, I call it "You're going to hell no matter what you do." Unless I am wrong in my remembering, it doesn't matter what you do or how you lived, unless you were a priest or a saint, you were destined for the place down under. If you lived a very good life, never swore, lied, cheat, steal, or thought of sex in any way unless you are conceiving a child, you might get lucky and go to purgatory and stay there for a million years. In High School, I would try to stay good by going to church every Sunday and teaching Sunday School with a classmate. However, to make my third downfall, all during church I thought about the classmate I taught Sunday School, and maybe made -out with the night before and all of the other Catholic boys. I just couldn't stop. Perhaps that's why I only dated one Lutheran. My fourth downfall is when I try to remember going to church as a Catholic the song, "My God is a Vengeful God!!!" comes to mind. I am not sure if it's a real song, but I can sing the whole thing in my head- parts of it are even in Hebrew. Therefore, it's no wonder I turned Lutheran when I got married. I jumped at the chance to change. Now I have this dilemma. Austin is getting his First Communion. I need to go to the service and probably take communion, but I feel like if I take communion from a non-Catholic church I am signing my one way ticket straight to hell. I have been Lutheran for almost as long as I have been Catholic, but I have only taken communion once- and that was at Ethan's baptism, so I HAD to. I feel like it's one of those mortal sins I promised not to make when I was six years old and lying to the priest about being naughty. I guess I am just going to need to suck it up and do it. Maybe on Easter Monday I can go confess the sin.
On a side note, all day I planned on either walking the dogs after school because it's finally nice out, or working out. Well, it turned out it was too windy to walk the dogs and I was too tired to workout, so I just ate chips instead.

Cleaning With Boys and Dogs; Why Bother?

I woke up at 8:00 and started mega cleaning. I cleaned the bathroom, started a load of laundry, cleaned off the kitchen cupboards, unloaded and re-loaded the dishwasher, wiped down the fridge, microwave, stove, cupboards and sink. I swept and moped the kitchen and bathroom, and let the dogs outside. I cleaned off and polished the kitchen table. I re-arranged the place mats, decided they look like trash, so I dug out a clean tablecloth and decided it needed to be ironed so I ironed it along with three of my shirts and one of Scott's. I put the ironing board away and the tablecloth back on the table and let all three dogs in. I noticed too late that all three had muddy feet. I herded them all into the bathroom, got them in the tub (at once) and ran water to wash their feet. Next, I realized I was cleaning the bathroom, so I had zero towels. I told the dogs sternly, "STAY- NO MOVE!" went and retrieved towels and returned to see all three dogs surprisingly still in the tub. I washed their feet, let them out one by one as I dried them. I mopped the kitchen and bathroom AGAIN , and cleaned the tub for the second time. I went into the kitchen to put the mop bucket away and saw Sam on the other side of the deck door! Asked- not so sweetly, "Who was the genius that put the dog with wet feet outside?" found out it was the biggest genius; the grown-up one. I tried to carry Sam to the bathroom. He thought this was some kind of strange torture, so he got away and ran downstairs to hide from me. I tried to carry him back upstairs, but once again he got away. I finally caught him and put him in the tub. I washed his feet. I mopped the kitchen, bathroom and landing (for the third time), and cleaned the tub. I went into the kitchen and saw Max outside. Max is smaller, so I just picked him up and carried him into the clean tub to wash his feet. While he is in there I hear Sam barking to be let out. I yell, "If anyone lets the dogs out, I will break their legs". This scared Max, so he hopped out of the tub and left muddy footprints everywhere leading to his hiding place in the corner of the living room where he sat. I told him, "Max, I can still see you. You are the worst hider ever," I picked him up and put him back in the tub. I washed his feet, dried them off and mopped up the muddy footprints for the (I lost count) time today. I cleaned the tub AGAIN. I cleaned the rest of the house, including scrubbing mud out of the carpet while the dogs looked at the backyard which was calling their name and barked to be let out. I made a nice lunch and was a little excited to eat on my clean tablecloth. Ethan didn't even sit down before he put ketchup on his hamburger, and WIPED HIS KETCUP FILLED FINGERS ON THE TABLECLOTH!!! I decided I can have a clean house one day when I live alone and I went to take a nap. In the middle of my nap Abby came out from under the bed and barked at the door to be let out. I love my dogs, but they are very close to finding new homes. I couldn't fall back to sleep so I got up and went into the kitchen. I cleaned off the counters because SOMEONE left not only crumbs of food on it, but actual big bits of food on it. I unloaded and re-loaded the dishwasher, mopped up the new muddy footprints in the kitchen and searched for the culprit. I found Sam and Max literally covered in mud on their bottom halves curled up sleeping together on the living room chair. I tried to cry a little, thinking it would make me feel better, but it didn't. I picked up Max, put him in the tub, then carried Sam like a baby (THIS he doesn't think is weird), dumped him into the tub and wash them off. I cleaned the tub once again. I looked for, and luckily found, my leather cleaner for the chair. I haven't even started on the downstairs yet. While I cleaned the chair, I told the boys (all of them) to clean downstairs and I'd be so grateful if someone would vacuum. Noah got stuck vacuuming THAT ONE STRIP, then apparently got tired and stopped- leaving the vacuum where he stopped. I shouldn't complain, at least I didn't have to drag out the vacuum again.
Thoughts I think: Dad always thought laughter was the best medicine, which I guess is why several of us died of tuberculosis.