Once upon a time, we were a family with a consistent schedule. Every Sunday, we turned up in our parish church for 8 a.m. Mass, barring travel, illness or other events. Doing so was not a hardship; with early-rising young children and dogs used to crack-of-dawn walks on workdays, we had been up for a while before it came time to head out for church. It wasn’t just on Sundays that everyone got up early; when Caroline and Frank were young, I remember hitting the grocery store before school a couple of times. Fast forward a few years, and that consistent schedule has all changed. At 7:45 on a summer morning (one where no one has to be at camp), the only people in the house likely to be up are my husband and I — and, of course, the dog, who still wants her crack-of-dawn walks. Teresa might be up, or might be stirring in her crib, getting ready for her second breakfast. The first comes before 6 a.m., and she usually goes right back to sleep. So for the summer, our family has mostly been attending later Masses. The pattern actually started in the winter, when Frank played hockey and his rink had ice time available for youth hockey players from 6-8 a.m. Sundays. That, he would get up for without complaining. But he and Tony wouldn’t make it home until after 8, and then he would be in dire need of a shower. Sometimes Caroline and I made it to early Mass without them, but more often we waited. When there were hockey games at midday, or when he and Tony were napping, we’d push Mass even later. Want to find an English-language Mass after 4 p.m. on Sunday? I can help you there. Spanishlanguage Mass? We can do that too. The effort is worth it to Tony and me not only because we get sustenance from the Mass, but because if we don’t show our children that going to church is important, no one else will. When Caroline asks why we have to go, the answer I give her most often is simple: It’s what we do. Sometimes I tell her it’s only an hour a week, it’s not too much to ask for the God who gave you life, etc., but giving her an argument only continues the debate. I don’t always know how much she and Frank get out of it, although Teresa seems enthralled by the stained-glass windows. Most often, they play with Teresa, fidget with their fingers and ask if they can go outside and wait for us as soon as the closing hymn starts. But every so often, Caroline will ask about one of the readings, or I’ll catch Frank looking like he’s actually praying, and then I think it’s worth it.