Not all pictures are worth 1,000 words. Some, of delectable food, fail to tell the adventures behind them. Like the one I took of our Easter dessert, a turtle cake made by my daughter.
Lots of the rest of the day weren’t picture perfect. I woke up with an earache which started my day in a bad mood. With Sudafed, it only sounded like ocean waves in my left ear. As I rushed before church to get dinner ready to go, I ran late. I was so busy taking care of the dinner details I neglected to make time to take care of me.
When I put on my Easter dress, I realized I either needed to shave my legs or wear hose. Except I didn’t have any hose because I threw the last pair out when they got a runner. How fast can I shave my legs and not cut them? But I got to the church in time and squeezed into the pew.
As I sat, trying to collect myself, I thought I would read this Sunday’s readings and clicked on the icon on my Droid. Except I hit the wrong button – the one that blasts Catholic radio that I thought I deleted from my phone. “Oh shit, shit, shit,” I hissed hoping I didn’t once again embarrass my family with this mistake at church. The phone volume was down. Disaster averted, except I just whispered shit in church on Easter Sunday morning and was now praying that the elderly couple sitting in front of me were hard of hearing and hadn’t heard me. I then sat pondering that you can take the girl out of the trailer park but the trailer park still stays in the girl, and my mouth is sometimes my thorn in the flesh.
Then it was time to sing the first song, and I couldn’t see the words. I’m too young for bifocals and now keep a pair of reading glasses in my purse. Once I got them on, I was able to see to read and sing. This weekend was the first time ever at church I realized I absolutely couldn’t see to sing without them.
So I’m the flawed mom. Strike one – an earache and I’m not hearing right on that side. Strike two – I just cussed in church. Strike three – I can’t see without the reading glasses and keep forgetting it till it hits me.
This time, however, I’m not out. My misadventures continued after church. I grabbed a casserole lid just out of the oven with my bare hand and burned my left hand. I’m left handed. So during our perfect Easter dinner feast, I sat with my left hand in ice water and had to have my husband cut my food because I couldn’t hold anything with my left burned hand. I’m left handed and struggled to eat our perfect lunch holding my fork in my right hand. The food was wonderful.
Four hours later, the burns are such that I can now type so long as I stop every few minutes to put my thumb on ice.
But I realized through my misadventures, that I’m a flawed mom but it’s ok on Easter Sunday. My imperfect adventures that amuse my family – most of the time – make my praise on Easter Sunday perfect. God fills in my gaps, even the big ones, and loves me just the way I am.
We sing in Mass, Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world, have mercy on us. Then we sing it again. Finally, we conclude, Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world, grant us peace.
With that perfect peace, this flawed mother can still sing perfect praise.