P = Protest

Sunday I thought it would be better to take my son to church instead of plonking him infront of the telly while I went back to bed.

A huge row on the way there. He wanted to go to the other School in our neighbourhood that he visited with his classmates, which, he told me was shaped like a cross if seen from the sky.

A good idea, I thought, but I needed to be somewhere that I knew (abit) so suggested we go next time.

He didn't understand this, and why should he really. I've bought my boundaries very close to myself while his are growing, as they should.

Anyway, we're both exhausted and it develops into a monumental row.

He wouldn't hold my hand crossing the road and when he dawdled in the path of an oncoming car, I might have pulled his arm a little too hard, because he started crying.

I said I was sorry and still he shouted at me. At the church entrance I told him to dry his eyes, I would take him to the other School.

They were all stood singing when we got to our pew. My son immediately sat down. Oh in my training I'd always be nudging him to stand up, but that day, no, I found the number in the hymn book and started to holler.

He stood up then and joined in with me.

Later, as we filed to the children's liturgy, I told the priest that he'd done his First Holy Communion down with my parents' priest. Then a nun looked at me and said "Are you new? I've never seen you before."
"We come here when we're not somewhere else," I said.

My boy went up for the bread, no questions asked, and then, not something I see with other children, he stopped for a gulp of wine. The woman looked at me for that and I nodded.

Can we do that in the other School? I don't know. We'll find out though, next time.