Eye Pins, Anyone?

Today I have to deal with my least favorite tasks of all, those of the administrative variety. It's not just bill payments and bank transfers - I'm talking passports here.


The passport application for my kid is already in, and that was bad enough. I had to drive to the place with unwilling kid in tow, arrive a few minutes late, discover I didn't have all the necessary documents, send husband home to get those documents, and fill out forms.


Yes, I'm a hot mess. Yes, I started getting itchy at this point.

Another hot mess. Fistbump!

Here's the thing: I HAVE a passport for my kid that is perfectly fine. It doesn't expire until well after the trip. But because some tools people out there are kidnappers, now it's suspicious to travel with a passport that will expire in a few months. Hence the rush.


Plus, kids need a new passport each time. You can't just renew their passport. Noooooo, you have to start from scratch with a whole new application.


Did the "man" at the "place" explain any of this to me on the phone when I set up the appointment? 

NOPE

Well, I can't blame him. It was my responsibility, to be fair. But I like to play passive-aggressive, especially when I have to send out my husband on a useless errand for forms that I should have had in the first place. It's Wife Prerogative; I'm sorry, husbands out there, but it just is. Your own fault, by the way, husbands - after all, we wives have to, HAVE TO, avoid the dreaded Eye Roll.


I filled out the forms and got the picture taken at last. At this point the "man" in the "place" said, "Oh, you don't need to order expedited service. It will arrive in plenty of time."


But it hasn't, see. He was wrong, wrong, wrong. So now I have to find those forms that I had a few weeks ago to go back into the system and up the service to expedited, like I wanted in the first place. 


I know, I know - I need a little 

with my 

WHINE

Enjoy your day. Send good thoughts my way that I find those forms. And include some eye pins, wouldja?

Her First Confession

I know I'm on a bit of a Catholic kick this week. As I explained yesterday, that's because my daughter is preparing for FHC (First Holy Communion.) And, as someone who is completely new to the church, I am watching all this with awe.


Today is the day she makes her first penance. Of course, as a writer and reader, the first thing that came to my mind was the Irish short story First Confession, by Frank O'Connor. O'Connor describes a little boy who confesses the crime of wanting to kill his grandmother because she drinks porter and takes snuff "and goes around in her bare feet."


I find myself wondering what the terrible sins will be that are confessed today. I've imagined a few of them:


"I stole Timmy's gum."


"I laughed when the teacher tripped over the trashcan in class."


"My mom punished me and I called her an Old Poop Head."


I can only think that the priest in our church is rubbing his hands right now, looking forward to some fair measure of entertainment. I have to admire him for NOT bursting out laughing in that confession box. How will he accomplish it?


In O'Connor's story, it's obvious that the priest is "kilt" with laughter. At the end of the terrible deeds, he gives the little boy a bag of "bullseyes," or peppermints. This enrages the sister, who had foretold dire punishments for her brother. She concludes at the end, "'Tis no advantage to anybody trying to be good. I might just as well be a sinner like you."


I'll never know what the Father gets to hear today. But I can imagine it, and get a chuckle too.

First Holy Cow!

We are quickly approaching the time for my daughter's First Holy Communion. I didn't grow up Catholic, so this is a whole new world for me. 

And it is a world, apparently, where the little black strip has crawled off the  back of my credit card, gotten down on its hands and knees, and begged for mercy.  First there was the dress. My kid let me off easy by picking one that was on sale.  At this point, please pause and picture a middle-aged woman doing a full fledged WOOT and punching the air. I know it's not pretty, but that's what happened.

Then there were the shoes. My daughter, who is a beautiful girl and a lovely person, just happens to have speedboats for feet. It is difficult to even find communion shoes in her size. Add to that her own requirements - no ankle strap, has to have a high heel. Add my requirements - No, she can't wear platforms, no, they can't have glitter all over them, no, they can't be anything any of the Housewives of Ocean County would wear. Add the Church's requirement - White Shoe.

Yeah, that's hard to find in speedboat size. Where is the DSW for kids? Hm?

So not wearing these, girlfriend

After the dress  and the shoes are in place, there is  a whole world of  accessories to explore! Apparently you have to have a special First Holy Communion (henceforth known as FHC) purse, bible, rosary, and wrap. Our church doesn't allow gloves. Don't have to buy gloves! Repeat image of middle-aged woman going WOOT! and doing an air punch.

Now we have come to the  crux of the matter - THE HEADPIECE. She picked out one with a tiara and an attached veil. (I would have so killed for this thing when I was seven.) In the end I got it for her, but let me tell you - at that price, it's also going to be her wedding veil. Plus she might graduate high school and college in it too. In fact, I might start wearing it while I do the air punch in the future; I feel it might add a little bling to the whole process.

Pretty, right? So are BMW's and diamond lollipop holders.

I know the day of the FHC I'll be overcome with emotion as I watch my little beauty walk up and receive the Host for the first time. After all, that's the whole point of the thing. There will be tears. And a credit card bill. But it will be  worth it.