M. gave up something big for Lent this year: playing the Wii. She had already lost access to it for a week because of a controller-related incident, but I give her credit for selecting something like that as her sacrifice.

Of course, by this weekend she was already saying she wanted to reclaim the Wii and exchange something else for it. Since we operate a very strict Catholic household, an arrangement was made. No one tell the Pope.

Speaking of all that, on Ash Wednesday I quizzed M. after school about her experience at Mass that morning. After telling me about it, she asked, “Why didn’t you get ashes on your forehead again?”

“Because I’m not Catholic.”

“What are you, Jewish?”

Nice that she already sees the world in binary terms.

We hauled the whole family to Mass Saturday night as it was the Mass at which all the scouts at M.’s school are honored. She was selected to help greet people, pass the collection baskets, and hand out bulletins afterwards, so she thought she was a pretty big deal.

She came and sat with us for a few minutes before Communion was presented. Sometimes I’ll kneel during the kneeling parts1, sometimes I don’t. Kind of depends on where we’re sitting and if there are people behind us. We were in a good spot Saturday, so I remained in my seat. M. look at me and said, “You don’t kneel because you’re too tall, right?” I have a feeling this whole My Father Has Different Beliefs Than I’m Being Raised With is going to be confusing/entertaining for a long, long time.

  1. There’s probably a proper term for those parts of Mass, but I never learned them in my Heathen home.