Our dress rehearsal on Saturday for Easter Sunday Mass went flawlessly.
Big poofy, pastel dresses on my three littlest girls, and my tween and teen looked elegant in their new clothes. Socks, and shoes were matched and shiny, and ribbons were crisp. Every hair was in place and faces were fresh and glowing. We were even on track with our schedule.
The girls were free to shed their pretty – but admittedly stiff – dresses and shoes, and throw on jeans and sweatshirts to play in the “enchanted forest” behind our house with the kids next door for the rest of the day.
Again, that was Saturday.
Seven am on Sunday was my target time to wake up in order to get everyone up and ready for 10:30 Mass, and to get the big, yummy roast in the oven (as bad as I am at making meatloaf – my roast way makes up for it). Well, the Easter Bunny needed help filling his eggs and baskets and insisted I share a bottle of wine with him as I helped, and well, let’s just say I did not get out of bed until 8. Ish.
Actually the delighted squeals of my daughters finding their baskets were my alarm clock and I hopped out of bed in overdrive – I could still accomplish everything if I just hurried.
No, I couldn’t. But, no worries – there was still noon Mass, and that meant I could again relax and enjoy my girls. At 11:15, all the girls were supposed to be dressed. They were. But we had FOUR rogue shoes and we went on a massive hunt throughout the house looking for them – the sound of little voices (and mine) repeatedly saying the prayer to St. Anthony (‘Dear St. Anthony, please come around – something’s lost and must be found…”).
Yeah, that didn’t work. I found myself resorting to the dreaded “Plan B” – sigh, sneakers and flip-flops. Deep breath, Vick – no one will be looking at their feet.
BUT…we were still on time. It was 11:30 and Mass was 12 minutes away. the only thing left to do with to quickly brush Daughter #3’s hair. She has gorgeous thick hair and feels like silk. I ran a brush through it and gathered her hair to make a braid.
And there it was. Attached right behind my 8 year old’s little year. A hideous, bloated tick – it’s creepy legs flailing as I poked at it. I froze and heard myself say, “Oh my God,” before I could stop myself, and my daughter immediately picked up on it. “WHAT IS IT??!!!!!”
My oldest daughter rushed over, “Eeeeeewwwwwwww!! It’s a tick!!”, which immediately got Daughter #3 into a sheer panic – “I’M GONNA DIE!!!!!! MOMMY, I’M TOO YOUNG TO DIE!!!”
I’m pretty convinced I dug out a good chunk of tender skin with my tweezers, along with that evil little bug in the following 20 minutes.
We piled into our vehicle at 11:57, and pretty much realized that there was no way we were going to make Mass – 12 minute drive, 20 minute parking attempt – pretty much Mass will be over as we’re walking in.
The girls had a FANTASTIC Easter egg hunt, and my roast – ahh, my roast – it, came out PERFECT.