I am proud to say that all 3 Henry family members made it through Toby’s first Catholic mass on Sunday. Ok, it wasn’t his FIRST Catholic mass (I hope no one from Rob’s side of the family reads this blog…) but it was his first Catholic mass since he has been walking/talking/letting-the-world-know-EXACTLY-how-he-feels-about-sitting-still-in-a-confined-pew-for-an-hour.
This past weekend, our Godson Xavier was baptized in Chatham, Ontario. With us being the Godparents, cowering at the back of the church with our vocal child wasn’t an option. We were front and centre the whole time. But the beautiful thing about Catholic church is that no one cares. There’s no daycare- -kids are fully welcomed and even EXPECTED to be there and making noise. Although Rob and I did a lot of “shushing”, no one really seemed to CARE that Toby was holding his own private loudest-shriek competition in the front row, OR that he was using the kneeling bench as a trampoline. That’s just par for the course.
The FUNNIEST moment was when the Homily was said. This is a very serious moment in Catholic masses. The Priest comes to the podium accompanied by two white-robed candle bearers and the congregation stands at attention while performing some fancy hand movement (I think it’s the sign of the cross) over various parts of their face. It was all very still and serious, and the precise moment when Toby decided to point out to everyone who the man at the front was.
“Dada!”
NO, it wasn’t Rob. That’s just what he calls people before he learns what their real names are.
But I got to hand it to him…he WAS correct. Just that's he's not quite verbally sophisticated enough to use the term "father" yet.
At the end of the day, we were saved by a lowly box of raisins. Not only is the little box intricate enough to require at least 30 seconds of hand dexterity to get it open, but it requires great finger coordination to extricate the trickly little sumptuous raisins from the package. Which all adds up to at least 5 minutes of quiet concentration on Toby’s part. Which (again, another perk of the Catholic church) is about the length of the homily.
It was a beautiful service and we were both proud and honoured to be named Godparents to the sweet sound of our healthy son’s protests…
This past weekend, our Godson Xavier was baptized in Chatham, Ontario. With us being the Godparents, cowering at the back of the church with our vocal child wasn’t an option. We were front and centre the whole time. But the beautiful thing about Catholic church is that no one cares. There’s no daycare- -kids are fully welcomed and even EXPECTED to be there and making noise. Although Rob and I did a lot of “shushing”, no one really seemed to CARE that Toby was holding his own private loudest-shriek competition in the front row, OR that he was using the kneeling bench as a trampoline. That’s just par for the course.
The FUNNIEST moment was when the Homily was said. This is a very serious moment in Catholic masses. The Priest comes to the podium accompanied by two white-robed candle bearers and the congregation stands at attention while performing some fancy hand movement (I think it’s the sign of the cross) over various parts of their face. It was all very still and serious, and the precise moment when Toby decided to point out to everyone who the man at the front was.
“Dada!”
NO, it wasn’t Rob. That’s just what he calls people before he learns what their real names are.
But I got to hand it to him…he WAS correct. Just that's he's not quite verbally sophisticated enough to use the term "father" yet.
At the end of the day, we were saved by a lowly box of raisins. Not only is the little box intricate enough to require at least 30 seconds of hand dexterity to get it open, but it requires great finger coordination to extricate the trickly little sumptuous raisins from the package. Which all adds up to at least 5 minutes of quiet concentration on Toby’s part. Which (again, another perk of the Catholic church) is about the length of the homily.
It was a beautiful service and we were both proud and honoured to be named Godparents to the sweet sound of our healthy son’s protests…
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