Piece on the Luminous Mystery

Hello everyone, hope you had a great Thanksgiving with your family.  I have a piece in the Register dealing with the Transfiguration. I hope you enjoy it.  This journey with my son's confirmation in mind keeps teaching me. 

Breakfast Order

This morning, my twelve-year-old came to the table irritated.  We didn’t have full servings of anything. She could have half a bagel or one blueberry waffle, but she didn’t want either, she wanted two blueberry waffles.  I offered her both.  She sat feeling frustrated her brother beat her to breakfast. 
I knew this was merely “morning-I’m-too-young-to-have-coffee-and-I-still-need-to-eat-breakfast-itis,” but I’d have to break through her stubbornness first.  The best approach is deliberate wierdness, to take her off her mood.  

“How about one of each? It’s a very Catholic breakfast.” I said.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you get a half a bagel and one waffle, so it’s a full breakfast, but it’s not either or. It’s both and.”  She gave a brief smile, but she wasn’t ready to concede yet. 

“I don’t want them.” She said. “I really want two waffles. This is only half a serving.”
“If you eat half a bagel and one waffle, it’s the same as a whole serving of breakfast, it’s just two component parts.”
“I don’t want part of a waffle breakfast.”
“You will get a whole waffle.”  I put it in the toaster.
“Don’t toast it too much, you’ll ruin it.”
“Then, it would be an awful waffle.”
“Mom!”
“Yes.  Do I get butter and syrup?”
“Of course, how else would you eat a waffle? Happy with your breakfast?"
"Yes." 
"Glad I could help.  Unfortunately, all waffleness will disappear once you eat it.  Though it might not be digested yet, it will no longer be a waffle.”
She looked at me, “Can I have half the bagel too?”  

I debated cutting the half a bagel in half, but opted to just serve her the rest of breakfast.

Siblings

So, this week I made pumpkin chocolate chip muffins for my sophomore in college.  It became a family project. 

 I'd packed them in a tin and my twelve year old wrote her a note. 

Dear Marta,

Hope you like these muffins we made. There are twelve.

Love Rita.

Her brother came by and decided to make his own note. 

I ate one. --Peter
Her father wrote a note.  "I didn't.  True love. --Dad"

Her sister Faith came by and added an additional note.  "I counted.  There are still eleven.  Love you, Faith." 

and before I could pack them off, one last brother gave his two cents.

"Faith counted wrong. There are ten." --Love Will.  

I counted before  I shipped them off. There were eleven.  When did I become the straight man in my family?