Nebraska: Sunday

We began Sunday by visiting my grandparents for two hours before heading to the 10:30 Mass at the FSSP parish.

Mass was a typical experience for me, but maybe I am growing in holiness finally and eekingly slowly after all these years, as my blood pressure and temper hardly flickered. Chris took three kids inside, while I began outside with Baby David, Thomas, and Mary, whose ear was making her cry again. First, Tom was hungry and, while I never feed snacks during Mass at home, I knew were were utterly off routine, in a different time zone, and I hadn't fed him right before Mass, so I took him out to the van to eat almonds. Then we came back and he had to go potty, so we walked the long length of the basement to do that task. Following, we worked on learning how to sit quietly on the bench in the narthex, which required two more trips outside for consequences. At some point, I heard snatches of the homily on pride and humility, and smelled whiffs of incense. Then Joseph emerged asking me to escort him to the potty, so back the three boys and I went, Mary still hurting on the bench in the narthex. Chris took Thomas for me, and then I worked on helping Joseph sit still and quietly. Mass ended and I had "participated" naught at all, but I had fulfilled my duties as a mother of many. Chris asked cheerfully if I had heard much of the excellent homily (I virtually never do) and I answered no, while thinking peacefully that I was just overjoyed that when Thomas "needed!" to wash his hands three times in a row in the bathroom, I did not get angry. God will calm my irascible spirit yet, just give me another dozen years of parenting.

This was a hospital chapel, the hospital having been torn down in the 1980s.

After Mass, the parishioners went into the basement social hall for coffee and sweets, and talked for two hours--families still going strong when we departed--with the FSSP priest milling about and chatting amiably (as is the custom of all FSSP priests to linger after Masses). At one point, I checked on my missing children and found a whole bunch of them in the library playing with these delightful, little connecting toys. (I want to find out the name and buy them!)

Can anyone identify the below toys for me?

John playing the piano in the basement

After lunch at a Mexican joint, Chris dropped off me, the oldest three, and the baby at Morrill Hall, the state natural history museum of Nebraska, which I last visited 38 years ago and where I lost my baby blanket, nicknamed "Dee." What a special outing it was for me to visit such a museum with my children! Being there made me feel connected to my mom, with whom I have pictures visiting there.

I was only sad for my 3- and 5-year-old boys who missed out on the planned visit to see the buffalo at Pioneers Park (video of buffalo from another visiting family here), as, due to 'melting down behavior,' Dad made the prudent decision to take them back to the hotel for a nap instead. (I bought a resin buffalo for Thomas at the gift shop and he carried it everywhere for the rest of the trip and slept with it at home.)

The fellas picked us up and we drove straight to Valentino's for an Italian buffet dinner with the grandparents.

Below Joseph is showing his 'Backyard Bugs' book and little magnifying glass I bought him at the Morrill Hall gift shop: he declared with as much solemnity as a five-year-old can muster, "I am no longer a boy who observes birds. I am a boy who studies bugs." Joseph ended up taking his book to the restaurant, reading in the car and on the plane the next day, sleeping with it at night (having asked me to read it at bedtime), and carrying it around the first morning at home.

And, back at the house after dinner, these family photos capture what the whole visit was about! I'm exceedingly grateful that my grandparents got to meet all six of my children, their great-grandchildren. We had a grand time, my grandpa was hourly complimentary to me of the children, and they made no end of sweet and interesting conversation with the kids.