The inevitable happened on Saturday night, as I lounged in bed awaiting slumber to overtake me:
I realized that I'd forgotten to say my rosary. Sigh.
The weekends are the worst "rosary memory" days for me, because I get so wrapped up in what I'm doing at home and with the kids that it just slips my mind. During the week, I start my rosary in the car on my way in to work and I never forget.
At any rate, I know that God isn't that structured, so I just keep going with the novena. He's not going to snub me because I forgot one day out of 54.
Yesterday I was very angelic because I started my rosary in the car on the way to Mass ,which just spurs it into my head for the rest of the day. And I hadn't been at my parish for a couple of weeks, so it was just a very sweet homecoming. I've been at other parishes for Mass for a few weeks in a row. Even though I'm back to being the only woman in the congregation wearing a head covering, it felt good to be back to my neighborhood parish. I really do love the community there.
And this particular Mass was the last one for our weekend associate, the priest who says one Mass per weekend and otherwise fills in for our regular pastor when he has to be away. This precious monsignor just celebrated his 80th birthday, and finally felt that he had to cut back a bit on his schedule. :) He's absolutely adorable, and during the homily, told us how our parish is very special to him because he grew up in our small town. Our parish was his childhood parish, and he made all his sacraments there, his baptism taking place in the original church building, even. (our parish is over 100 years old, but the current church has been around since around 1950). He attended the parish school, and when he went on to become a priest, celebrated his very first Mass at our very parish in 1957. It was just such a lovely story. He's still going to be saying Mass, just at a parish in a nearby town only. He didn't feel like he could keep up with two anymore.
It was a good Sunday.