Lack of Organization Not All Bad

By Mary Donovan

I admire today’s parents of little kids. I see them at Mass. They are doting, patient, kind, well organized and inspiring. I particularly admire the well-organized part. I was never well organized which is why our kids never went to Mass until they were in the first grade. With me, it was either get them dressed or go to Mass.

Managing an en famille departure was tantamount to staging a Broadway review. Daddy and Mommy went to different Masses. I don't know how much this did for the kids' spirituality, but it was great for mine.

Here's the schedule. Dad went to the first Mass. Nobody thought Dad was leaving home forever, so the waving and see-you-laters were all conducted on the highest plane of optimism. After Mass, Dad went uptown and bought the Sunday candy. This consisted of Jujubes, M&M's, and other thousand-piece to a box items.

Then Mother went to Mass. The departure atmosphere was singularly different. Everybody thought mother was leaving home forever. Older kids had messages regarding their life plans, younger kids stubbed their toes or couldn't find their shoes and babies roared their objections to being abandoned. Mother left with the vision of a baby screaming for her to come back and a father waving her on like a cop at a busy intersection.

I sat behind one of these logistically gifted mothers one Sunday recently. She was fishing a baggie of Cheerios out of a baby attaché case to placate her two-year-old. The Cheerios were in the food compartment, next to the book compartment, next to the beverage compartment. I lost touch with reality.

My arm developed a will of its own; it almost reached out its palm hoping for a handout. Ever since one of the younger kids was a toddler and compensated for the competition of the day by getting up at quarter of three every night, I’ve been fond of Cheerios.

Quarter of three is the dead hole of the night. I felt like someone consigned to the netherworld. Bad things happen, its cold, the dog gets up and whines to go out. Worst of all, you know the chances of getting back to sleep diminish with every passing minute. Cheerios were my only consolation. I would sit on the couch trying not to be too awake. He would play around and be cute. And we’d both eat handfuls of Cheerios.

The mother passed a Cheerio to each one, shushing the older ones who wanted to preempt the baby. Here’s where the inspiration comes in. I thought of a great product for the Cheerios people. How about a church pack for kids? It could be designed like a miniature holy water font. When the child pressed the button on the bottom of the pedestal, a Cheerio would pop up into the bowl. It could be non-denominational.

Think of the potential. I’d even buy one myself.