Skip to main content

Ash Wednesday

Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday, which means a few things for a Catholic girl like me.

1) Today was Mardi Gras!! I did absolutely nothing ridiculous for the occasion and I didn't even eat a ton of meat or candy. Fail. I was also shocked to find out that not a SINGLE one of my students had any idea what the heck Mardi Gras even was. "Um. A party?" YES. Yes, my child, one of the biggest worldwide parties in existence. So we listened to Iko Iko in the background and some Louis Armstrong, When the Saints Go Marching In, and I felt like I'd fulfilled a moral duty to the future leaders of America.

2) I need to come up with a penance for Lent. I didn't have one last year. I tried giving up coffee, but that didn't get very far. This year I'd like to come back to my faith. I feel like I've been wandering alone for a long time and maybe if I can rekindle my love for my faith, I'll start to feel more like myself again. I'll get back my energy and my desire to work and live and love, and the merely surviving will turn into thriving. That's the hope anyway.

3) I'll have to fast. Which I pretty much do anyway because I don't have time for all that "three balanced meals a day" baloney. 

Maybe I'll take up my rosary again. My last year teaching at the rural school, I prayed the rosary every day on my way to school for Lent. It brought me so much peace, I remember. Call me crazy, but there's something about intimately connecting, not just with God, but with Christ and His mother, that fills up the empty spaces. It's like being a little child again and curling up next to your mother when you're afraid and knowing everything is going to be alright; that you're safe and loved. 

I have so much laundry to do. But I'm tired. So I'm going to procrastinate because I'm excellent at it, and why do something unless you can be the best at it, amirite? 

Good night, room. Good night bed. 
Good night pillow, where I rest my head.
Good night babies. Good night, moon.
Good night, sweetheart, I'll see you soon.


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

8 Things I Wish I Could Tell You About Being a Single Mom

Well, here it is, November, and I haven't written a word since April. Not that it hasn't occurred to me. I was busy working and somewhat enjoying my "summer break" and then school started again and BAM, ice and snow everywhere. Luckily for the 12 people who read this blog, today I drank an extra large cup of caramel macchiato from the local gas station at four o clock in the afternoon, so I am ready to write. Besides the copious amount of caffeine I've consumed, the major inspiration for this post is actually something that has been rattling around in my head for sometime now. Maybe it's because I spend a lot of time sitting around feeling sorry for myself (hahahahaha! Time. See, it's a joke because I actually have no time ever. See: opening sentence) but mostly it's because it's pretty personal and I have a hard time bringing it up without feeling like a total Debbie Downer pity-party, complete with cheese and whine (not the good wine that I li...

Someday My Prince Will Come

How cliched, I know. When I was young, I was not fussy about relationships. I was low maintenance if there ever was such a thing, in part because of my fierce independent (read: stubborn) streak and a complete aversion to frivolity. I was never the girl who got highlights in her hair and spent hours on clothes and makeup each morning. I shopped at thrift stores and went to school with my hair wet 50% of the time. My requirements for "boyfriend" material were that they hold my hand sometimes and be smart enough to talk to for hours on end. I didn't seek out the best looking, I didn't expect gifts or showering, I understood not being top priority and I didn't need someone to  emotionally support me. I was a tough chick who could take care of herself, thank you very much. It should come as no surprise then, that I married a man who allowed me to take care of everything in our lives. My teenage self would have loved that, being responsible for the house, the bills,...

Tell Me About Your Kids Sometime

A few days ago, I went to a movie with an acquaintance and afterward, we decided mutually that we should get to know each other better, which, considering my lack of an active social circle, can't possibly be a bad thing. (Shut up, anxiety. I'm trying to knock those walls down. ) We were exchanging questions and he said, "You'll have to tell me about [your son] sometime." A few moments later he added, "...and your girls. They clearly have your heart." That first sentence, blinking bright against the black on my iPhone struck me so profoundly. It's a simple request. "Tell me about your son." The innocuous reason he asked that question was simply because he knows that my son is important to me and wants to know more about the people I care about. However, when I read it, it struck me how I would seriously answer what my children truly mean to me and how I would honestly describe them. Not in the funny things they do, or the sweet things th...