Throwback Thursday: Holy Week prep edition...

As we near Holy Week, I was looking back through some old posts for ideas for my upcoming April piece for CatholicMom.com. I found a post that I had written just after I took Henry to an Easter vigil Mass for the very first time, the same year that he received his First Communion. It was so endearing, that I keep thinking about it, even several days later. I thought it would make a cute re-post as we inch closer to Holy Week 2019. And so here we have it, originally posted April 22, 2014...

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Hello all! I'm very glad to be back and blogging with you. It's kind of rainy and dreary here today, but Easter weekend was sublime. Let us chronicle...

*makes tea*

I had a super long day last Thursday, working the evening reference shift, and thus was extra thankful that I had taken Good Friday off. I got to sleep in and relax in the morning, and pray with my Magnificat magazine. Despite my resolution to pray Morning and Evening prayer for all of Lent, that hadn't gone very well :0 until Holy Week. Everything just really gelled for me Holy Week, and that continued during the Triduum. My Magnificat had absolutely fascinating details about all of the Triduum liturgies that I pored over. How could I have been a Catholic my whole life without knowing all of this *fantastic* information?!

Due to work, I missed the Mass of the Lord's Supper on Holy Thursday, but I was rearing to go on Good Friday afternoon. I almost didn't make it to the Celebration of the Passion liturgy, held at 3 pm at my parish, because Anne had a bad nap wake up and pitched a fit that could be heard for miles before we left the house, but I persevered. She had thankfully calmed down by the time we arrived, and was an excellent girl for the entire service. The only thing is (a) we were a few minutes late due to aforementioned fit pitching, and (b) the instant our butts touch the pew, she announces that she has to go to the bathroom. But we made it, and so I'll take it.

The entire liturgy lasted just over an hour. During the veneration of the cross, Anne was wide eyed as she watched everyone take their turn going forward, from little kids to elderly people needing help walking up. I could tell that that made quite an impression on her. I plan to make the Good Friday service an absolute must attend event each year, WOW does it pack a wallop. From the reading of the Passion in St. John's gospel, to the bare altar & empty tabernacle, I leave in tears every time.

As soon as Anne and I were heading out to the car, I was thinking about completing the Triduum with the Easter Vigil. We usually attend Mass on Easter morning, I'd only been to the Easter vigil twice in my entire life. Once before I realized how different the liturgy was on that day from every other vigil of the year, and once in 2011 when one of my best friends was baptized and confirmed and I was her Godmother.

*beams*

That was a very special Easter, obviously. After a spiritually dry year so far this year, I was loving my fruitful Holy Week and felt very inspired for the vigil Mass. So I made plans. This involved:

(a) staying awake, since the vigil starts at 8 pm and I'm usually ready for bed by 9:30. *snorts*

and,

(b) talking Henry into going with me. I thought it would be a special thing given that his First Communion is coming up in two weeks.

"It involves FIRE, Hank! But it *is* longer, so you have to be patient."

"Longer?! I don't think so, Mommy."

"But...FIRE!"

Let's just say that I prevailed.

At 8 pm Saturday evening, Henry and I were sitting in the darkened church, craning our necks to see the fire getting started outside. As our deacon processed into the dark church with the lit Easter candle, intoning "Behold, the light of Christ!" I thought to myself how very grateful I am to be Catholic. Our faith is truly a treasure.

I was teary as Hank and I had our candles lit, feeling so thankful that God is always there, even in our spiritual darkness. When the lights were flipped on dramatically as the cantor sang the Easter Proclamation, I could tell Hank was impressed. This indeed was different than any Mass he had ever seen.

Following the Blessing of Fire and Procession of the Candle, we moved to the Liturgy of the Word. This is the tough part with the Easter Vigil. :) There are 7 readings at this liturgy, each with their own Psalm and prayer, and Henry's agonized face as he flipped through his missal said it all. If I have a missal with which to follow along, *I'm* fine with that many readings, but feeling Henry's misery oozing from every pore was raining on my Easter parade a bit.

Well, at the pastor's discretion, the initial 7 readings can be pared down, and our parish ended up reading 3 of those, plus then the Pauline epistle and the Gospel, so 5 readings in total rather than 9. I thought that was an excellent compromise, and it soothed Henry quite a bit to see the readings dwindling. 

Following the homily comes the third part of this Mass, which is the baptismal liturgy. Sublime! The litany of the saints, oh!

*ANGELS WERE LITERALLY SINGING*

It was so beautiful. We had 2 catechumens (receiving baptism, confirmation and Eucharist) and 2 candidates (receiving confirmation and Eucharist). One of the catechumens was a much older man, probably approaching 90 years old! I teared up during the baptisms, and then when the congregation renewed our own baptismal promises, it was just... Only when my good friend Irena was baptized, and when I got married, have I ever been that emotional at a Mass before. 

When we moved on to the final part of the Mass, the Liturgy of the Eucharist, I could feel Hank relax. He knew exactly how long we now had to go, and so he was cool with that. I think he just likes to know what to expect, and we just didn't know exactly how long we would be there. In total, our Easter Vigil was just under 2 hours, to my mind, an ideal length. When I returned from receiving communion, he leaned over to remind me that there was only one more Mass to go before *he* could receive communion, which made me smile.

When we got home, it was just after 10 pm. Although he was impatient at the beginning of Mass, I thought Henry did a great job overall, and I'm so glad he came with me. Next year, my goal is the entire Triduum, I don't want to miss Holy Thursday again!

I'm still smiling, two days into the Easter Octave. He is truly risen! How was your Easter? Leave me a comment!

#TBT What was I doing last year at this time? Read on if you care... :0

I don't even like Throwback Thursday (#TBT) so I feel a bit hypocritical taking advantage of it's wares for my own selfish needs, but there you have it. :0 Well, I suppose I usually dislike Throwback Thursday because I have zero intention of ever posting a photo of myself on here (or Facebook or Twitter) with the #TBT appended to it, of me with my horrendous 80's styled big hair, and high-waisted jeans with sock layers overlying the cuffs. Dear God, what were we thinking?! I like to pretend that I never looked like that and I'd appreciate it if you helped me along in my delusion, dear reader. ;-) So let's not speak of the 80's ever again.

*shudder*

Instead, let's re-read a fun post from early August of 2013, since I have a packed day today of meetings and a speech evaluation appointment to take Henry to, so no time to really blog. I'll be back tomorrow for 7 Quick Takes! There's dance updates to discuss (another performance this weekend!), big girl beds, books, sewing and knitting, oh joy! Be sure to check back tomorrow afternoon. Talk to you then!
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This is what it looks like when your evening doesn't go as planned...

...me, in my pajamas, with wet hair held in a messy bun by a hair fork and glasses perched on my nose, sitting despondently on the floor amongst a pile of yarn balls and half-finished socks in the living room, wishing that I had more wine, while Jane Austen's Persuasion plays in the background and I have no idea what is happening in the story.

How did this happen?

I had children. ;-)

Nah, seriously. The day started out well, with Henry and Anne both turning in good performances at Mass. I'd give Anne an A, Henry a B - (grade reduced by repeated instances of deliberately annoying touching of toddler and then *blowing on her hair*, "that's not touching!"). As long as I bring animal crackers for Anne all is well aside from all of the pew climbing, but really, I don't think we can reasonably expect that to be any different any time soon.

We got back to the house, had lunch, napped Anne, relaxed, did some chores around the house. All was well.

Then came the evening. Mike and Henry left for a baseball game they had tickets to. Anne and I settled in for some Dora watching and playing, and then mommy was planning for a Jane Austen night with wine and knitting post-bedtime. Sounds like a rock solid plan. I very rarely get the house and tv to myself, and I wanted to make the most of it.

As I was blowing Anne a kiss in her crib and closing her door for the night, the phone rings. It's Mike.

"Hank is sick. We're coming home."

Oh sigh.

By the time I grabbed my shower, they were pulling in the driveway. Hank comes limping in with a stomachache, and I fussed over him for a bit. We got him settled, and I went downstairs still determined to get my Jane Austen night started. Mike was down there, looking sour. :) It hadn't exactly been a fun start to the evening for him, either.

He poured me a glass of wine and put my movie in for me (he's such a thoughtful hubby) but retired to bed to recuperate and read. I happily settled in with my knitting and my wine.

I was finishing up a sock for Henry as I watched. I haven't read Persuasion, but I was confident that I'd be able to follow the story anyway. And I probably would have, had I actually been able to concentrate. We had a couple of interruptions, all very sweet, by Mike letting me know how Henry was faring upstairs. That was fine, of course, but at the same time I was having a yarn crisis: Sock #1 was finished, and it was perfect. but it's a sock, and so you know, you do need TWO of them, and my yarn supply was *clearly* over halfway extinguished. Hope does spring eternal, so I weighed it. Yep. Well under 25 grams left from a 50 gram supply.

*long suffering sigh*

Therein started an internal debate as to whether I should place another yarn order for more of this specific yarn when I just placed an order on Friday (that did not include more of this sock yarn). To get free shipping, you have to spend $50, and they still have some of that nice worsted weight wool on sale...

Ten minutes later I realize that the movie plot is getting away from me. I refill my wine glass and resolve to do better. I still don't have a solution for sock #2 in Henry's pair, but the first sock is perfect, and that's a victory. For the rest of the movie, I figure that I can work on the argyle sock for myself that I've been slaving over for at least 2 months. I procure said sock.

When is a good time to try on a complicated sock-in-progress? Good and gentle reader, I assure you that that time is decidedly NOT when you:

(a) are watching a movie that you are already having a difficult time following,

(b) are on your second glass of Sauvignon Blanc, and

(c)  are already feeling quite vulnerable from misjudging size and tension in a project that is still in plain view.

Do any of these things occur to your Catholic Librarian in the heat of the moment? No they do NOT, dear reader. I'm past the heel on a cuff-down sock and am working on the foot, so I push the sock to the cable of my long circular needle and slide my (allegedly dainty) foot through.

Well, I should say that I TRIED to slide my foot through. Argyle means that you are stranding multiple colors, and stranding means that you wind up with one heck of an inflexible fabric. I knew this, of course, but I am a loose knitter so I didn't think I would have any problems.

I was wrong.

It's not even *close*. My heel cannot in any way get near the heel of the sock. And by this, I mean that I took my foot out, took a deep breath, and then violently shoved it back in in while at the same time yanking on the back of the sock determined that it would fit in properly, sort of like Cinderella's stepsister if she had on cat pajamas, a librarian up-do and wire-rimmed glasses.

That turned out pretty much like you'd expect.

I resisted performing an act of terror against the hapless sock, but I did moan and groan about it enough that I completely lost my place in the movie. This is why you should never drink and knit.

I pissily got out the scraps of wool that I wanted to use to make Anne's fall cardigan and was determining which colors to use when Mike came down to check on me. This is when he found me in the state mentioned at the start of this post.

And so ends a sad sock saga. It happens in the life of all knitters, and it never gets easier, but you have to learn to accept it and deal with it.

R.I.P. Argyle Sock. I am not ripping you back because the thought of unraveling 3/4 of a sock worth of tightly stranded yarn makes me want to gouge my own eyeballs out. I am not finishing you, and then (even worse!) KNITTING A SECOND ONE OF YOU so that I can find another purpose for you other than being my sock, because well...I'm sorry to have to tell you this Argyle Sock, but I just don't love you enough. You only cost about $6 in yarn, and I'd rather have my sanity and waste your yarn than deal with the alternative. I have moved on to Anne's 2013 Fall Cardigan and I'm a lot happier. I hope that you can forgive me and stop hating me from your perch inside the bag stuffed in my closet. I know that it hurts right now, but I'm confident that we're both going to move past this. I may even try argyle again in the future.

DON'T GLARE AT ME LIKE THAT.