“Mom, what are we doing today?”
It was the best of weeks, the oddest of weeks. The most sacred of weeks, the most tiring of weeks. It was spring break. And it was Holy Week. And we had two snowstorms bearing down on us to kick the week off because it is Minnesota.
I made the delicious choice to take vacation time to spend it all with our kids, rather than ask grandparents to help take a day or two to fill in the week. I was able to do this for the first time because I finally had enough vacation time accrued at my job where I could do it. And it was wonderful. It was a deep longing and calling within me to be home with them for this week and make some memories, both sacred and secular. To set aside professional work and simply mother for the week.
As the self-appointed Minister of Magic for our family, I was determined to make something out of nothing. It seemed that everyone, and I mean everyone, was traveling around the country with their families for spring break week. It is simply not in the cards for us to buy four airline tickets and then afford a week’s worth of lodging and entertainment once we get somewhere. I wonder how other families can pile on a jet and take off for warm destinations, for the mountains, the ocean, or a trip to Disney. Either they budget and manage money vastly differently than we do or are in a very different income class. Both may be true, I suspect, as I look at the salaries two church ministers make. Three master’s degrees and several decades of experience between us has not yielded financial gains. I tamp down my own feelings of envy and try not to keep up with the Jones’ as we stretch our paychecks and I repeat my mantra: I’m grateful to be employed. I’m grateful to have a home. I’m grateful to be healthy. And I’m grateful our children are not feeling envious (yet). That may come. They have occasionally asked wistfully when they get to ride on a plane as we watch them excitedly overhead when we pass the airport.
So, I wanted to make some magic here at home on our staycation. The early snowstorms brought a chance to play outside for these Minnesota kids who have strangely had no snow all winter. It made traveling early in the week a bit dicey, but nothing was postponed. It was wet and sloppy and beautiful as it came down on us at the end of March. We packed our swimsuits, junk food, books and board games and headed off for a night in the hotel, with snow falling all around. Pool time, pizza, and flopping on the beds with the TV right there was all exciting. An early all you can eat breakfast plus a stop at the nearby Dunkin’ Donuts as we left the next morning made the day extra sweet.
A conversation with another family in the pool, here from out of state and staying several nights just to visit the Mall of America (MOA) for three consecutive days (!) made us realize we forget about this national gem in our backyard, located about 20 minutes from home. So when I realized Minnesota’s Largest Candy Store wasn’t opening until mid-May, I swallowed my disappointment, scratched that plan, and subbed in a trip to the MOA for some rides at Nickelodeon Universe. We bought one wristband with a mere 30 points on it and had the kids decide how they wanted to share it, an excellent lesson in math and budgeting, as well as patience as everyone in the country descended there the same day we did.
Imagine the difference when the next day we surprised them with a trip to Can Can Wonderland in St. Paul—an all-inclusive arcade with throwback games from my childhood and just the best vibe. There was a tap wall. Onion rings. Cereal malts. Mini golf. And, for $11 per person, there was unlimited access to as many arcade games as their hearts desired. And no lines. Hit that start button as many times as you like. No limits. No asking mom or dad for more quarters. No being told no, that’s it, there is no more. Having never been to an all-inclusive resort before, I felt like I got a taste of it there.
And I lost myself a bit, too, forgetting for a stretch of time that I was a mom. Or that there was another snowstorm going on outside. Time stood still as I played Pong. Centipede. Ms. Pac-Man. Space Invaders. Skee-Ball. And pinball machine after pinball machine. For someone who wondered if I could just pay the admission for the kids, I sure became a gamer in that wonderland.
The other time I went deep within myself and forgot for a moment that I was a mom was praying at Holy Thursday Mass. We were on our knees, my kids and I, after having helped to strip the altar as the Eucharist was removed in a somber procession. We had arrived early that night to greet and pass out worship aids. We had had our feet washed and had also bent low to wash the feet of another. We were in the procession of gifts as the altar was prepared. It was a beautiful celebration of the Mass in so many ways. We had experienced so much, felt so much already. I whispered to my son that on this night, after the Passover Meal, Jesus went to the Garden to pray—knowing he would be arrested, and his friends would fall asleep and that he felt afraid. The lights were dimmed and the haunting music of “Stay With Me” repeated over and over. Tears were on my cheeks. I allowed myself to deeply feel. To begin to experience the Passion, and the beginning of Triduum—the three holy days we celebrate as one liturgy. After a space of many sacred moments and many tears, I realized my son’s face was wet too and we both left with heavy hearts. The liturgy had affected us both as we walked away in silence.
In our week, we went to church six times in five days. Once for a rehearsal, once for an Easter egg hunt, but the other four times for worship. The kids were troopers. Day after sacred day we returned to our faith community to be part of the rich rituals of Holy Thursday, Good Friday, the Easter Vigil, and Easter morning. My heart leapt when my 6-year-old daughter excitedly exclaimed, “I remember this!” as we hurried into church with our taper candles in hand on Holy Saturday just as the lights went out and we were plunged into the darkness. As we sat in the dark in our pew, waiting for the Easter fire to be lit and the light to be passed, she fidgeted with her tall white taper candle and the paper circle that would protect her little hand from dripping wax. She finally leaned over and whispered, “How do you turn these these on?” I smiled at the sweet innocence next to me and knew we were in the right place, doing the right thing.
The rituals of the church’s most sacred time of year are riveting and become part of our membranes, our lifeblood, the fabric of our being. I would not miss the chance to form my kids in the story of Christ’s great love played out in Word, song, Sacrament, and ritual during Holy Week.
The capstone to our week was a chance to see the Harlem Globetrotters play. A dream of mine since I’ve been a little girl, I was excited. My husband was excited. My kids weren’t sure what all the fuss was about, having never heard of them and not being into basketball. We saw a lot of slam dunks, amazing ball handling, and watched some hilarious antics as the players interacted with the audience and messed around as much as they played. My big surprises: their uniform had changed, I did not hear the theme song whistled, and I saw women on the team.
We ran down to the court for autographs after the game, realizing once we were in line that we had nothing to autograph—not even a scrap of paper. So each child stuck out their arm and went home thrilled to have #17, Diesel’s autograph, on the sleeve of their hoodie and winter jacket. That was a time I needed to let go of all rational sense as a mom and just go with the moment.
“Mom, what are we doing today?” was asked each day as we awoke. If it wasn’t a big thing—the hotel, the arcade, the MOA, or the Globetrotters, it was something small—running up for an ice cream cone, popcorn, or a cookie at a local shop. But each day held something special that brought delight. As I look back at that week, I made magic happen. And they knew it. Just hand me my wand and don’t let the Muggles know. My reward? My 10-year-old son said, “This was the best spring break ever!” Unbidden. Out of the blue. Twice.
Perhaps the best thing to ever hit my tastebuds…just like the classic strawberry jello “salad” every potluck line should have
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What a special week, especially combined with Holy Week.
Those simple outings are what memories are made of.
Great job mommy!
I have the feeling that your kids will be like me and my sister. Since our parents didn't have lots of extra money, we knew that treats were special and felt special when we got them. Several times over the years, my Mom has said something about how she felt bad that they couldn't give us this or that when we were kids. We just look at her like she's crazy because we felt spoiled growing up. Something that kids that just get everything they want will never really understand. Your kids will know that you made magic for them and appreciate it and you.