Aaron is not as strong willed as Hope. He gives things up like, looking at his baseball cards (that he can’t find) or not wearing his favorite pair of black socks (that he left down at the creek when he took them off). He is also very good at “forgetting” or “changing his mind” midstream into Lent. If he gives up video games this week (because he is grounded from them due to his tackle/pushing of one or all of his sisters) he will change his mind next week when the ban on the Wii is lifted and he just can’t take the temptation. He is a week-to-week kind of guy.

We’ve had a number of discussions of late around the dinner table about Lent.  Alex (17) will be giving up ice cream and arguing with his brother (14).  The first is the sacrifice.  The second the spiritual practice.  I told him not to tell his brother what he’s doing, to just do it.  He is sure that he will mess up frequently, but I told him that it’s okay… and that it’s a great thing to try.  He made it 25 minutes this morning after they were both awake.  He complained that Michael left his toothbrush on the powder room sink.  Michael replied that at least HE brushes his teeth before school in the morning…yakety-yakety-yak….and they were off.  Gah!

Michael, the self-proclaimed non-Catholic in the house is not giving up anything, but he will make casseroles for the Good Shepherd Centre each weekend with his father because it counts toward his community service required at school.  So that’s almsgiving.  See? We tricked him into a Catholic practice.

Z is going whole hog.  No sweets, no TV (this is HUGE), and no alcohol.  I reminded him that we will be in Mexico for a week in the middle of Lent but he insisted.  He’s so holy.  Just giving up his blessed TV5 (France) in the morning while he shaves is huge.

I am going, well, modest.  No fast food (sacrifice).  Daily meditation from Show Me the Way: Daily Lenten Readings by Henri Nouwen (spiritual practice).   On the former, I confess to planning my errands midday so that I am **forced** to stop for lunch and eat a burger, or poutine, or sushi lest my blood sugar plummet, I crash the car, and my children are left motherless.  I am such a fraud.  It’s over.  It’s over for the next six weeks, at least.  

Easter Dinner at New York Fries, anyone?