A Mom, a Blog, and the Life In-Between

Wednesday, August 09, 2006

Holy, Holy, HOLY Lord

Perhaps this all would have gone down more smoothly had I been better organized or more realistic about what it was I was planning. Perhaps. I’ll never know. I just know that it’ll be a long fucking time until I attempt to throw a party of any kind again.

Maybe I should start at the beginning. The beginning here is my explaining that Ben is Jewish, I’m Catholic, and we’ve agreed to raise our kids as both. Both, that is, until they get old enough to start asking the hard questions, at which point we’ll use a lot of sensitivity and open-mindedness to explain to them that blah, blah, blah. We’ll just have to explain the differences and help them figure out what path, if any, they want to follow. (And in case you’re wondering, we were married by both a priest and a rabbi. We did the Catholic preparation and the Jewish preparation – and even that couldn’t save us from falling apart later on down the line. That’s beside the point. So far, we’ve managed to live our lives with a decent balance between the two).

So with the birth of our son, we agreed to do a bris (Max was so tiny – born at 4 ½ lbs. and 18 in. long – that we couldn’t do it on the eighth day. We had to wait two weeks until he weighed 5 lbs.). I get the whole circumcision controversy, but really, I was fine with this. I respect tradition, and doing it this way was a lot faster and gentler than doing it in a hospital. Max didn’t cry during the circumcision – it was when they dressed the wound that the howling began. There were a few torturous minutes, but we’d loaded him with enough Manischewitz (that was part of the ceremony, I swear) that he soon passed out.

So now it was time to baptize him. I don’t want to get into all my issues with the Catholic Church, but I should say that despite those issues, I did have some positive experiences with my religion, and I treasure those. The decision to baptize my son had a lot to do with tradition and my belief in properly welcoming someone into a religion. Despite my current status as a lapsed Catholic, I still consider myself one. And so it seemed fitting to welcome my son into my religion.

Forget for a minute planning this baptism. Just deciding on the godparents was one of the most agonizing things I’ve ever had to go through. Mainly, this was because I didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, and I’ve been stressing that not picking someone would automatically send the message that I didn’t value them, their role in my life, or that I didn’t recognize their love for my child. So in the end, I had to do a process of elimination based on specific criteria. I didn’t choose my sisters because they’re already his aunts. They hold a special place in his life regardless of anything else. I wanted to give to a friend, and I really have only four girlfriends whom I would seriously consider. So then, I realized I wanted someone who actually practiced Catholicism, because Lord knows we’re going to need support, and it just made sense to pick someone who went to church. So that eliminated two friends who have either moved on to other religions or are just not Catholic anymore, and I hoped that since they were no longer Catholic, that my not picking them would not be an issue for them. And then I was really in a quandary, because how do you pick between two awesome friends whom you love dearly, both of whom would make great godmothers? In the end, I made my choice for various reasons. Both friends had been incredibly supportive throughout my pregnancy. They had been excited for me, loving my son before I was even 20 weeks along. But one friend was more present, calling just about every day, offering her help on every little thing, checking on my health. I think she was even keeping track of my weeks. This is not to say that my other friend wasn’t around – her life is just more complicated, she didn’t live in Miami, and between all her obligations, I didn’t expect her to focus on me at all. But I did/do have the feeling that her life is way too packed with obligations to add another one. So on the balance, I decided to ask the friend that I felt had the room and time in her life to take this on.

So that agony was over, and it was on to planning the actual baptism. I took forever to do it, mostly because I just couldn't get my shit together. When I realized that summer was approaching and I'd soon have to deal with his b-day and my friend's bridal shower and wedding, I knew I had to get to it before it was too late. By the time I was done coordinating with the church, the bishop, the godparents and ourselves, it had to be August 5th. A little over a month before his first b-day and all the wedding activity. Oh well, it would have to do.

Now, in my mind, this was going to be a simple affair. I was inviting the family, some friends, and we would do the ceremony and then a simple party afterwards. As in, Cuban pastries and cake. The godparents wanted to host it at their house, and I was fine with that. Then we started talking about decorations. And the invitation list grew. And the cake became Edda's uber-expensive confection, because godmother wanted to give that as a gift. And what about food? We had to provide a meal! And favors? Because we had to give something out! Now, my idea of a baptism favor was the little card that commemorates the day with all the pertinent details. But once I went out to try to find these, I found that things had changed and now it was common practice to give a little gift out like they do in weddings. Have I mentioned that I had budgeted about $150 for all this? HA! Silly, silly girl.

So I'm completely stressed because I don't have the money to make this a grand affair; meanwhile, I keep spending more and more money. Add to this the fact that the majority of my family never bothered to RSVP, even though the invite specifically asked for an RSVP, and a few days out from the event, I'm seething at the sheer rudeness of this.

And then it's the big day, and I'm running around since 8 a.m., helping the godparents set up their patio. Then I have to go to Publix for last-minute supplies and drinks. The plan has three of us going in different directions after the ceremony to pick up the cake, the pastries and the food. By the way, it's 117 degrees. By the time the ceremony starts, there are 70 people in the church, 35 of which never RSVP'd. You know what this means? There wasn't going to be enough food or drinks because I bought for 40.

So we get on with the ceremony in the church in which the a/c had been turned on approximately two minutes before we began. It was a lovely ceremony. My son looked so adorable and sweet and was his usual charming self. Until hunger hit, and then I had to stuff a bottle in his mouth, because nursing in front of my loved ones, the bishop, St. John Bosco and Jesus Christ? Not an option. The bottle pleased him, cheered him up, and all was well until the actual baptism, when he freaked out as the water hit his head. Some hugging and kissing later, all is well again.

We finish up the ceremony, take a shitload of pictures, and it's time to scramble to get food. Luckily, godparents' house is all the way down south close to hell, so we figure we have time. Except that when I show up to pick up the food, it's not ready. Fuck. An hour and 15 minutes later, I show up. On the way there, godmother calls me to inform me all the soda and almost all the water were gone, so I had to stop to get more. But since I took so long godfather and Ben went and got some. When I get there, all the pastries are gone. Except for like 4 pastelitos. If you'll remember I thought I was feeding the 40 people who RSVP'd, not the extra 20 (some of the extras at the church didn't go to the party) who showed up.

So I spend the next two hours running around, making sure everyone's fed, trying to keep track of my son, just generally being a hostess. At the end of it all, I was exhausted, had a headache and achy feet and felt mildly depressed. All that planning, stressing, money, food, and running around, and I didn't even enjoy myself. I was happy with the baptism itself, it was everything else that brought me down.

I can tell you one thing, though. There won't be a party for his b-day next month. No fucking way. Not that I was planning one, but now I know for sure. There'll be dinner and cake with our parents and sisters and that's it. Because all I've ever wanted is to have everyone come together and celebrate Max. And that's exactly what we'll do.

The bris:

The baptism:

That's just my side of the family...

Labels: faith, family, messes i get myself into

Posted by Tere @ 8/09/2006 | Permalink |

3 Comments

Lissette posted at 8/10/2006 4:06 PM
I absolutely must commend you for all the hard work! I had a similar situation for my wedding. I sent out I don't even know how many invitations, and by the time I had to pay off Rusty Pelican (great for the reception, but expensive as all hell!) I still didn't have a total count of who would be attending. I got on my phone and called everyone and asked them, very snippy I might add, "..so are you going or what?!" I got my total, paid it off, and there were still about 10 people who I had paid for that didn't show up. Mind you, it was a $50 a head affair, so that was $500 out the window.

I think the debt from the wedding lasted longer then the marriage. :P

Tere posted at 8/10/2006 8:07 PM
The wedding - UGH. I'm not yet ready to discuss the wedding - and it was over 5 years ago!

I mean, I'm grateful to my parents because they paid for it, but that meant we had no control over the guest list. ACK.

Jessica posted at 8/12/2006 5:58 PM
That sounds so crazy! In all that planning and running around- somehow the whole purpose of the event is lost. That happened with my son's baptism and I was so stressed. I feel ya sister!