Tipping Points

 There are moments when you simply must say "No mas."  Not "No Mass." "No Mas." 

My children volunteer to serve mass.  We used to be the go to people for the seven.  When we reached having seven, we bowed out and opted for the 8:30. (We like to go before all of them are fully roused and capable of resistance).

 Around that time, there was the proposal that the servers' families wash  the albs as part of their service.  I'm normally a go to home team kind of gal but this was not a burden I could manage.  Phoning the woman in charge, I explained that only if the church did not mind if the albs were never returned or came back pink should I be kept on the list for this duty.   My house remains alb free even if the washing machine never is.  

I learned something in that exchange, that sometimes, just because my tipping point is radically skewed, does not mean I cannot occasionally ply on other people's threshold for stress.  So when snow days wiped the schedule clean for the week, I applied my newfound wisdom over the phone in rescheduling.   

The receptionist at the doctor's for my daughter was indifferent as she languidly explained she couldn't possibly see me until two weeks from today.   Two weeks would mean I'd be on my own, I didn't want that but said, "Well, that's fine as long as you don't mind if I come with five children including a newborn." There was a brief pause on the phone.  Suddenly, there was a slot open next week when it would just be the one daughter and the newborn and me. 

At the car dealership where I get the 12 passenger serviced for free, showing up with a five, three and two year old plus being pregnant gets extra mechanics hopping on my machine.  Apparently hanging out with the happy meals and the kiddos in the waiting room makes the menfolk nervous and what would probably take an hour in normal circumstances gets done in doubletime.  I'm considering renting my offspring out for those who want to expedite cumbersome errands that no one, not even the people being paid to do the labor, enjoy doing sufficiently to do with great urgency.

So when the doctors speculated that the reason my mouth broke out in blisters after delivering my daughter was stress induced, I had to wonder, what about number ten was so much moreso than anything else that one might call stressful in my life these past few years. Then I realized, I would have had this infection three children ago, if only I'd agreed to wash the albs.