It's the thought that counts... right?

I would be lying if I said that we have been good about going to mass lately.

Our routine used to be to go to 5:30 mass on Saturday evenings and then go to dinner afterwards. However, as Stella has gotten older going to eat at 6:30 or 7:00 is not practical. So we tried Sunday morning mass for a while.  That worked better in terms of the time, however I feel like we spend the whole time reminding her to talk quietly, pumping her full of goldfish or trying to keep her occupied. I really can't remember a homily since she was a year old.

We are wanting to get Briggs baptized, back in Peoria, next month.  In order to do this we need a letter from our perish stating we are members. I am feeling a little guilty about asking for this because we have been so spotty on our church attendance so I insisted that we go to church this past weekend. I decided that we would go to 8:00 mass. A bit aggressive, I know, especially when I made that decision at 7:00 and church is 15 to 20 minutes away. By the time we all got ready and to Scottsdale it was 8:15 before we walked into church.  But hey, it's Catholic, so as long as you're there before the Homily it counts... right?

We walk in as quietly as possible and sit down right as the priest begins the Homily, whoo we made it.  Immediately Briggs starts to get a fussy so take him out of his seat to hold him.  And then it happens, he projectile vomits his entire feeding all over himself, me, the pew and my brand new Coach purse (that Brian bought me, a whole other story for a different time).  I grab the closest thing to me to start quietly cleaning up.   I then get up to leave and take Briggs to the bathroom for a mini bath and a change of clothes.  Of course Stella needed to go with.  We get everything taken care of and head back in with enough time to hear the end of the Homily.  As Stella goes to get into the pew she cracks her head on it.  Not a little bump, but hard.  Hard enough that a people in the pew a couple rows ahead looked back.  She begins sobbing, I had Briggs to Brian and again I leave, taking her outside. 

By the time, she settled down and we went back in for the THIRD time.  Everyone was professing their faith.  We again quietly and carefully entered the pew.  Thankfully we made it through the rest of the mass with only the usual disruptions.  We practiced talking very quietly and ate an obscene amount of goldfish

As we left the church I turned to Brian and we both laughed.  Yes we went to church, we made it... But did we really get out of it what is truly intended,  or is it just that thought that counts?