Bad Day? Invite A Priest to Dinner!

Last Thursday was a gruesome day.

The masons were pouring the new deck and as it was threatening to rain had strung makeshift blue plastic tarps all around two sides of the house.

I was trapped inside with a very unhappy teething five month old who had not let me do an iota of work. I could feel my “to do” list getting longer by the second, yet all I could do was jiggle my screaming, drooling daughter in my (very tired and achy) arms.

Worse yet, Franck was leaving on a weekend long bike trip early Friday morning and I seriously began to believe that if the teething continued, I would find myself in an insane asylum by Sunday.

To top all of this off, Franck had invited our priest to dinner in order to prepare the teething monster’s baptism on June 21st.

It was 5:00pm, and our family priest was due in two hours. Clem cried. The blue tarps flapped in the bitter wind. My arms felt like they were going to fall off. Clem drooled. My computer pinged “you have new mail!”. I jiggled Clem. She writhed in pain. Everything in the house took on a strange bluish tinge from the tarps. I couldn’t sit down, or even stop jiggling for a moment as the cries would increase unbearably in volume. I cried a bit. And I had a priest arriving in two hours for dinner…

God must have noted that I hadn’t been attending Mass, and consequently sent me to Hell when I wasn’t paying attention.

To be continued…