Elephant & Piggie
If you’re not familiar with the work of Mo Willems, I recommend you get acquainted with it. There is a series my kids love about Gerald (an elephant) and Piggie. The books are silly, and I usually do voices to match the characters’ energy.
When I was looking for activities to do in Phoenix, as a family of six, I stumbled upon the Arizona Broadway Theatre’s production of “Elephant & Piggie: We’re in a play!” I bought tickets almost on impulse. Mrs. Cantú hadn’t discussed doing something like this, but she was on board before I could ask her if we should watch the show.
The show was fun. The story and dialogue are based on several of the Elephant and Piggie books. How do I know? Because my daughter kept telling me, “That’s from the book!” The songs were fun, as was the audience participation part.
It was nice to hear my kids laugh. Especially the boys, for whom it was their first time seeing a musical. I thought it would be hard to sit quietly in the dark for a little over an hour, but they did great.
I remember the one time my parents took me to the theatre: it was a production of Pinocchio, and I was amazed at how they made his nose grow in front of my eyes. Seeing the same sense of awe and wonder was really special.
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Proof
This is the story of how I found out the date I received my first Holy Eucharist, and navigated the waters of parroquial bureaucracy.
In the fall of 2025, my former roommate and his wife invited us for lunch. They shared the news that they were pregnant with twins and wanted Mrs. Cantu and me to be godparents, to which, obviously, we said, “Yes, yes, a thousand times yes.”
In March of 2026, we received instructions on the documentation required to be a godparent at the parish where the babies would be baptized. Everything looked pretty straightforward: a form in which our pastor certifies that we’re Catholics in good standing and attending a baptism class, and copies of sacramental records for baptism, First Eucharist, confirmation, and holy matrimony.
Mrs. Cantú and I have been godparents to several children over the past decade, and until now, submitting our baptismal certificate with the confirmation date has been sufficient proof. I think since the baptisms happened in our home parish, they probably assumed we had received our first Eucharist at some point, they’re Catholics in good standing, case closed.
However, this parish is very thorough. This is not a critique, it’s an observation. This parish wanted to ensure that, without a doubt, Mrs. Cantú and I are fully initiated Catholics. The fact that I’m in the first year of formation for the Diaconate did not move the needle. In fact, we realized that the Office of the Diaconate in the Diocese of Phoenix is a bit more lax, since they didn’t ask for a First Eucharist certificate.
As if I were playing Who Wants to be a Godparent? I phoned a friend, in this case, my mom. I asked to look through the archives to see if she had kept my First Eucharist certificate and whether I could get a copy to fulfill the requirement. She told me the parish didn’t issue any certificate to the parents; however, my mom kept a little booklet in which she wrote down who was in attendance that day. And that’s how I found out I received the body, blood, soul, and divinity of our Lord Jesus Christ on August 18th, 1991.
Before I submitted a picture of this family memento, I called the parish in Monterrey and explained the situation I just told you about. Their follow-up question was, “ Did you receive your First Communion before or after the year 2000. I said 1991, and I was told that the parish didn’t keep any records of first communions in the 1900s. The lady on the phone was pleasant, even though she was delivering bad news. She then asked a follow-up question: “Did you get married in the Church?” to which I said yes. She had the idea of submitting a picture of me on my wedding day, receiving communion. I did that, and that wasn’t accepted as proof that I received my first communion (I know it was kind of a leap, because, you know, I’ve received communion several times recently). Oh well.
I phoned my mom again, because we were told a picture of my first communion would suffice the requirement. Long story long, my mom sent me the picture, and I submitted it. The photo of the photo did the trick. We persevered. God is good. Also, the baptism is today, so if you could say a prayer for our brand new goddaughters, that would be amazing.
Motivation is for Amateurs
Motivation is for amateurs is a phrase my nephew told me while he was visiting earlier this year. He said in reply to me, saying that I didn’t feel like working out that day, and it has stuck with me since. I’ve been repeating it to myself on the days I feel like skipping a training session, and so far it has worked.
This same nephew just graduated from college, and Mrs. Cantú flew to California from Sunday to Wednesday to attend his graduation and visit with friends and family. That meant I was solo parenting during that time.
Wives, if you feel like your work at home is invisible and being a homemaker is a thankless job, I’d suggest you talk to your husband about taking a weekend off and see how quickly your absence is noticed. I’m well aware of everything Mrs. Cantú does for us and how her systems work like a well-oiled machine, but while she was gone, I was faced with the painful realization that without her, we’d be in deep trouble. At some point during these days when I was by myself, I said out loud in a moment of frustration: “And this is why children need a mom and a dad!”
I like to think of myself as a hands-on kind of husband. I see a need and try to address it. However, it is easier to keep little humans alive with help. Granted, our kids still outnumber us, but life is much more pleasant when the two of us are batting (close to) a thousand.
Look, I’ve told Mrs. Cantú multiple times that it almost feels like magic when clean and folded clothes materialize in our room, or I open the pantry, and I have plenty of options to choose from. Mrs. Cantú would say that doors open on their own and everything is free, so what I’m saying is that it works.
She tried to set me up for success before she left, and for the most part, we did okay. Only one kid ran out of clean underwear, so I did a couple of loads of laundry, nothing earth-shattering. Yes, there were plenty of moments when I felt overstimulated and just wanted to hide in my room and watch YouTube videos, but as I said before, motivation is for amateurs.
You do the thing (rearing children), but it is the right thing to do, not because you feel motivated to do it. Like trying to military press a 16 kg kettlebell, it was difficult but not impossible. Was I sore the day after? yes. Still, I was happy I did it because once Mrs. Cantú returned, she was gushing about how refreshing this was for her, how she felt seen and honored, and, most importantly, missed and loved by yours truly and the children.
Mrs. Cantú is the heart of our home, and it is well known that absence makes the heart grow fonder, and that’s exactly what happened here. So, husbands, appreciate your wives, notice what they do for you, and tell them you’re grateful. And if you’re brave enough, dare to send your wife away for a weekend.
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Sobremesa
What’s your favorite children’s book?
What’s your favorite musical?
Do you know your first communion date? Do you do something special to celebrate?
What motivates you?
I totally misread question 1 the first time, so here’s take 2.
1. Define “children’s book.” Would things like Little Women or Anne of Green Gables count?
2. The Sound of Music
3. I’m pretty sure it’s July 17th, 2007. I’d have to find my certificate to know for certain, though. I don’t do anything to celebrate the anniversary, but I really ought to.
4. Usually deadlines, tbh. Also thinking of how nice it will be when the task is over. I struggle a lot with motivation, having a phlegmatic temperament.