Today I celebrated Easter with my five daughters. We went to church, the Catholic church I more often than not fail to attend.

I got in the van early in the morning and had the girls wear pretty dresses. I wore black pants and a black shirt and no make up. I consider the fact that I managed to look decent a great accomplishment, make up would have been pushing it — too much stress on myself.

Holidays are tougher for me because I always miss my loud and warm Italian family back in Rome. It’s an ache, not a pain, but my thoughts wonder to the holidays with them and my heart grows a bit heavier during these occasions.

Easter, Christmas, birthdays….back home they meant relatives, great food, gossip, more great food, more relatives, more gossip.

Today I tried to create the traditions I grew up with for my daughters. I admit, doing it alone is a bit tougher than doing it with my peeps.

The church was packed. I could tell before I even got to the parking lot. I parked on the grass, where I shouldn’t have and where many other cars had already parked because I didn’t want to walk with all the girls without the stroller. Lazy on a sunny and windy Easter day.

When we got to the church we were 10 minutes late. As soon as I approached the entrance an USHER opened the door for me and urgently informed that:

“THE CHURCH IS PACKED THERE IS NO ROOM”. I kid you not, he stared me down. And I heard attitude in his voice and saw it in his guarded posture.

I replied:
“Are you telling me that there is no room for me and my family TODAY? In this church?” You can imagine my tone. I reserve that tone when I interrogate someone hostile or when my children throw objects at each other and fail to stop at the first warning.

Of course, I didn’t wait for his reply. I just walked inside the church and shook my head vigorously mumbling some mysterious Italian words.

Is it just as bad on the sin scale if I swear in a different language in a church? No one could hear my words ….or read my lips for that matter. Maybe it’s not as bad.

Anyway, we made it inside the church and the girls and I stood in a corner. My daughters miraculously made it through the entire mass without yelling or killing each other. In fact, some good Samaritans came over to comment on how well behaved the girls were, and offered us their seats.

I tried to keep a positive attitude after the mean USHER episode, because I really wanted to make my time count. I haven’t been very good at going to church, and by going to church I mean elevating myself beyond the mundane stuff and my own torturing doubts.

I find myself inpatient or short tempered often, while driving in heavy traffic, writing for a deadline, trying to keep the girls on track, arguing with my husband about my speed and his lack of speed and the worse stressor of all:

Bad, bad pizza. It triggers bouts of anxiety and panic that there isn’t a decent pizza joint within a 50 miles radius from our home. I checked, and checked and hoped only to be disappointed.
How many times can a heart be broken?

Today I tried to forget about my broken heart, to be above the things that get me and to be thankful for all that I have which is truly a lot.

Hope you all had a great Easter.