O Come, All Ye Fidgety
By Melanie Sisinni
11/20/2025
Though capable and competent, my husband does not always have the most realistic expectations for our children, aged one, three, five and eight. These expectations are most apparent when we are at Mass for a holiday. We carry a quiet, beautiful vision of Christmas Eve Mass in our minds: candles glowing, voices joined in reverence, hearts lifted toward the mystery of the Incarnation. And sometimes, yes, we get glimpses of that. 
Now for reality. Picture this: It’s after communion. The church lights have dimmed. The musicians start to play, “Silent Night.” My three-year-old takes that as an invitation to voice, “Why is it dark? I don’t want to take a nap.” Which then sets off his sister, “Is this almost over? I want to go home.”
The baby somehow escapes from whoever is holding him and now has fistfuls of church donation envelopes (the prize he’s been eyeing and trying to grab the whole time), but at least the 8-year-old is quietly flipping through her Mass guide.
Cue Dominick and I desperately trying to wrangle the little ones during this not-so-silent night.
It’s unrealistic to expect perfection from our children, whether on Christmas or any other Sunday, and if that’s a hard pill to swallow, try to remember the first Christmas.
Do you think Mary wanted to deliver the baby Jesus in a noisy, messy stable, surrounded by animals, and straw scratching at his newborn skin? Do you think she wanted strangers showing up in the middle of the night to see the baby? And let’s not even talk about the little boy who believed playing drums for a newborn was a good idea.
When our kids’ attitudes take a turn for the worse, they’re not smiling for pictures, or they’re loud during quiet moments, they’re not ruining the “Christmas experience.” They’re reminding us that the Incarnation wasn’t a Hallmark movie—it was God stepping into real life, with all its noise and unpredictability. God meets us in the chaos, not in spite of it.
It’s tempting to feel embarrassed or frustrated when our child is the one who can’t sit still, cries mid-song, or asks a question a little too loudly. But these moments can be little invitations from God to let go of our picture of “perfection” and embrace his picture of presence.
When your child melts down at Mass, remember: God is just as present in that moment as He is in the most angelic choir. He came for the real, messy, loud, imperfect world—and He comes for your family, exactly as you are.
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