God Will Provide

Progress here, progress there, a little progress everywhere...

2011-10-10T12:52:00.000-05:00

The carpet has been installed in the new master bedroom. There's still a bit of trim needing to be put up--there are no baseboards yet, and the door trim needs to be nailed up. One of the window frames needs to be painted, and a little bit of paint here and there on the walls needs to be touched up. The handles on the doors haven't been changed, and in fact, the doors don't stay closed at this point.

But--I absolutely could not wait. We moved the bed in on Thursday, thanks be to God!

Before My Darling picked up Frog and Pickle from cross country on Thursday afternoon and returned home with them, I had moved the bedside tables and lamps, my striped chair and footstool/ottoman, Gingersnap's little bed, and all of the bedding. We were able to move the bed easily, and I very soon had it made up.

Over the weekend, we moved the credenza into place, hung pictures, and brought in the little things that make it the quiet, welcoming, relaxing place I need it to be.

There are still a few things that need to be moved, but for now, I am very pleased. Five years is a long time to wait and plan and work toward a specific goal!

One thing I've been thoroughly enjoying is the decision-making during shifting things into the new room. What things do I truly need/use/want/enjoy? What things have I been holding onto out of habit, sense of guilt or obligation, or greed? What things could benefit someone else, or be used to make someone else happy as a gift? I'm trying to simplify, to not hang onto the false need of having something in every corner, nook and cranny. We are so blessed--blessed in abundance, for Pete's sake, and it's a fine line between abundance and excess. I don't want this beautiful room to be turned into a storage unit, so I'm taking the time now to discard junk, donate things I don't need, and remember to give thanks for the things we have.

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This past Saturday was the last cross country race of the season. The kids were satisfied with their performances--which were a bit slower than the week before, because the week before it was cold (which is perfect for runners), and Saturday was hot. The team has a banquet coming up on Friday, where they will receive rewards and recognition. It's been an incredible thing to watch my children learn, improve, meet and surpass goals, and constantly challenge themselves. It's been difficult in some respects--watching them give every ounce of effort they can and sprint at the end toward the finish line, dripping with the sweat of their effort is bittersweet.

One of my favorite things about these races, though, is seeing the kids who don't finish in 17 minutes or 20 minutes or whatever is the average. The kids who take 30 or 35 or even 40 minutes, but stick it out and still finish the race, are the ones that really get me teared up. Those kids are pillars of the virtue of perseverance. They're not in fantastic shape, and they cross the finish line after everyone has left the course sidelines. Their teammates have already had their shoes off and their water bottles refilled again and again. But when they come toward the finish line, everyone gathers again by the chute and hollers and whistles and claps and cheers for them as they finish! And that's their goal--not to shave of 10 seconds from last week's time, but just to finish, for Pete's sake! It's incredibly humbling. It's also a reminder that I don't even have the guts to start one of those races...

...until now?

At some of the events, after the various heats have been run, and while the time judges are tallying the results, there is an open race--open to coaches, parents, spectators, basically whoever wants to run--and some of us Mamas decided that we want to run next year.

This is a very silly thing for me to commit to. I cannot run. I do not run. I walk very quickly when I need to get somewhere fast, but I do not run. I used to run. I used to do lots of crazy things. But I am in no shape to run. Especially not the course in question: it's fraught with hills, and is definitely among the more challenging of the courses for the year. There is no way I can do this. I don't have the guts to even stand behind the start line.

But that's kind of the point--I'm not in good shape at all. In fact, I'm not in any kind of shape. I'm just kind of....here. That's not good. I'm tired, I'm sluggish, and Sloth has gotten hold of my ankle and is yanking with strength. Pile on the guilt factor, and it's just not a pretty picture.

So I spent $10 and bought the 30 Day Shred video. I've heard good things about from people I actually know. I've seen some tremendous results from those same people, and I'm hoping that it will help me, too. I don't know how much I weigh, because we don't have a scale. But I do know that I could stand to lose some inches just about everywhere. I figure I can hack a 22 minute workout--at least time-wise!--and hopefully it will give me the boost I need.

I definitely need the endorphin boost that I know exercise will provide, too. Even if my body aches and my muscles scream in protest, if my moods improve, it'll be worth it.

And so, as soon as my little ones are asleep for Quiet Time, I'll open the box that's had me trembling since Wednesday, and see what I can do. I might even do "before and after" pictures. I'll wait to post those though....

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Prayer requests:

*In thanksgiving for the Ordination to Transitional Deaconate for Deacon Mark! Thanks be to God!!

*For the conversion of our neighbors, who increasingly call us to patience and forbearance. Thank the Lord we have someone who draws out virtuous effort on our part, all for our sanctification.

*For Joshua P. who is desiring to feel the warm embrace of Jesus as he struggles with terminal conditions, and for his family, especially his mother, who so desperately wants to see her son's suffering end...even though it means she will bury him.

*In thanksgiving for the joyful news of our dear friends, who find themselves preparing to welcome Baby Number 11--with eight safely in their home and two little Saints praying for them in Heaven.

*For a renewed effort to promote respect for all human life, from conception to natural death, during this month of October (Respect Life Month).

*For a renewed passion for Our Lady's beautiful prayer of the Rosary, and for many souls to be brought nearer to her Son, which is all she desires for us...

*For a very specific intention, dear to my heart, which is known to the Holy Spirit and does not need to be given in detail here. He knows.

I thank you graciously for your prayers on my behalf and for those I love and who are dear to me, and I bring to Our Lord all of the prayers of your hearts, too.

For everything there is a season

2011-10-04T08:04:00.000-05:00

I'm trying to ease back into the early morning rise routine. It's actually been easier than I expected it would be, given that nights can be unpredictable and filled with many moments of staring at the clock, wondering when my little Gingersnap will allow sleep to be victorious. What I've discovered, though, is that the waking up and getting up part is not the challenge: it's staying awake through the afternoon that's giving me fits.

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This Wednesday will usher me into my 38th year, thanks be to God. (Or for a more common way of putting it, I'll be 37, for Pete's sake.) I thought I'd feel older somehow, though I'm not certain what that means anymore. I do remember carrying my little Squash and really feeling like I could never have another baby--he was definitely my last baby!! HA! And look what God really had planned!

I have found that with each passing year I find more joy in this season. The stunning colors peeking from every possible crevace absolutely thrill me in a smiliar way I once felt about fireworks. And how could it not? The carpets of muted golds and browns of the fields fairly glow when the sun hits them on the hills. The velvety red of the sumac is my favorite, but the surprising colors on some of the trees are astounding. Japanese maple leaves that turn purple at the edges and simmer into a golden syrup toward the center...the plum in my very own front yard which darkens and darkens, from a deep violet to nearly black...the brilliant gold of the birch leaves...the red of the ivy vines, climbing everything in sight and providing such an abundant variety of reds (and I know they're invasive and choking, but they are still quite lovely)...and the noble oak--dropping acorns and a veritable carpet of oranges, browns and persimmony orange leaves--which seasons such a scent into the air that it permeates every breath--how could anyone look upon these things and not be overtaken with praise and thanksgiving for the One who deems us worthy to behold them?

The Saturday morning cross country races have meant that we, as a family, rise very early in order to drive our runners to their venues. And where we live, we go through very hilly country, providing incredible views. The early mornings these days always mean sunlight filtered through fog (except for the couple of rainy race days in there for good measure). It's been inspiring to have so many moments of such beauty before us.

One particular morning as we drove toward the southeast, I was drawn into something of a meditation. There were layers and layers of fog settled over fields of corn, soybeans and wheat. The trees still have enough leaves on them to give a full silhouette, and the profiles of houses, barns and silos were prominent in some places, and obscured in others. The first layer was softened, as though peering through the screen of an open window. The next layer was like steam-covered glass. The next was even more obscured, like trying to look through tracing paper. And the next was like parchment.

I thought how our souls see Heaven was so similar...we have an idea of what Heaven is--everyone has their own idea of what the Beatific Vision will truly be like. We see in our mind's eye what we think it will be. And as we learn more and more truth in what Holy Mother Church teaches us, we realize how far removed our ideal is, like the second and third layers. What it will actually be is so far obscured, like trying to peer through the thick layers of fog. We can sense the light through the parchment layer, but nothing can be clearly seen through these frail human eyes.

God is good.

Prayer intentions:

Please keep My Darling's Grandma in prayer. She is old and tired, and some days would dearly love to go Home. God's ways are the best ways; His timing is always perfect.

Please continue to pray for Joshua P. He has had some extraordinary days of energy and healing and feeling really good, but then contracted a cold...which can be devistating, or even deadly. Please continue to pray for miraculous healing, on whatever terms God wills for him, and for peace in the hearts of his family.

Please pray intently for our Holy Father, for our dear Bishop, and for an increase in vocations to the ordained and consecrated life.

And I humbly beg for your prayers for my own needs and intentions.

Moving along...

2011-09-29T11:14:00.000-05:00

I keep neglecting my blog. I know this, and there's been no help for it save for me to put some strict limitations on other things that have kept me occupied in ways I perhaps should not be. Prudence, self control, and the other good virtues in which I seem to be lacking these days, have nudged my shoulder.
This is a good thing.

Interestingly, though, I seem to have lost the list of blogs I've been following all along--I'm not sure why this has happened. But I wonder if it's something tied to my inability to comment on any blogs as well. There has been a lot I've wanted to say in response to some excellent entries over the past few months, and every time I have attempted to do so, I'm hit with the "choose an account"--and when I do, nothing happens. It's as though I've no account and am thus unable to sign in at all.

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Home schooling is going better these days. My little ones are loving their binders, which I've outfitted with plastic page protectors covering pages of letters, numbers, shapes, names, and words for them to trace or color or circle or outline. My Squash is reading, however haltingly, the short stories which begin with Dick and Jane and Sally and Spot and Puff and Tim...and of course, Mother and Father. It's what all of my big kids learned with, and Squash seems to really enjoy himself when he realizes he can recognize a word from a previous page. I love this stage!!

Even Cuppie is enjoying tracing the things in her book, and naming the shapes and colors, and learning the letters in her name, and counting things all over the place. I was thrilled to find some math manipulatives in the dollar section at Target, and scooped up a bunch of different colored foam shapes for sorting, counting, adding, subtracting, multiplying, dividing, making patterns and so on. Cuppie and Squash have loved using them.

And Reepicheep, as my last big kid at home, has been working on things like sketching, investigating botany, reading like a fiend, knitting, and writing stories. I know she'll learn whatever she needs to know as she needs to know it, so it's been a blessing just seeing her gravitate toward things which truly interest her.

We're also working very hard toward temperance. I think it's the virtue left behind sometimes; it's almost as if it's expected for a "tween" to be sassy and short-tempered. What a perfect time to work even harder at holding one's tongue, carefully thinking before speaking and acting, and always with charity as our goal! It's definitely not without challenges, and I've found myself having to grit my teeth mightily more than once. We'll get there, though.

My little Gingersnap grows at a pace. She has begun to get beyond even squunching (which some people call creeping, but we've always said "squunching") to nearly crawling. She's been saying "Mama" quite intentionally for weeks now, generally when she is not in my arms and wants to be. And I have on my hands my very first ever baby who fits into the size clothing which manufacturers deem age-appropriate: at not quite eight months old, she fits neatly into 6-9 month sizes. She's loving whatever we give her to eat, but only if she is allowed to feed herself.

Having my two eldest both in school at the Wonderful Catholic School which we are so incredibly blessed to have available has been a true mixed blessing. On the wonderful side, they are learning so much from an incredible faculty! And the focus that is required, the self-discipline and time management--that's all definitely fantastic.

They are also both running with the cross country team, and doing unbelievably well. I've always known that junior high boys are ridiculously fast--like fleas, really. But I had no idea how, with some intense coaching and conditioning, that my Pickle boy could be hearing things like, "You have the ability to become a truly great cross country runner." I had no idea that by watching my boy run, I would be so inspired that my entire understanding of who he is and what makes him tick has changed dramatically. And watching the Frog improve her time, meet after meet, mile after mile, has been inspiring, too. She has been able to change her attitude from, "I'm running well and that makes me happy," to, "I'm running well, but I know I can run faster, so I'm going to work really hard toward that." That inspires me, too.

We've been going to all of the meets as a family, which enables us to spend a great deal of weekend time together. We have a family habit of praying the Rosary whenever we're in the van for any length of time--which is usually the case, since we're roughly half an hour from most of our destinations. It's been truly bonding for the kids, to cheer for one another, to know that their family is literally backing them every step of the way. And it's been one step in this stage of life which sees us with kids in junior high and high school who have found a niche where they are more than comfortable, they excel.

We bring our big water coolers and a little folding table, two big canopy tents with sides and tarps for the ground, and a few camping chairs. We get to the meets early, which really does mean early--most meets are on Saturday mornings, with the runners needing to report in time to walk/jog the course, stretch, warm up with their team, and prepare mentally and physically...which means they're usually arriving about 90 minutes before their race begins. We get things set up for them so that when they arrive, they can relax, get into their warm up shoes, and stay warm while they wait to run their respective races. Last year, when I was carrying my little Gingersnap beneath my heart, I stayed home with little ones (or sometimes alone!!), and now I see what I was missing out on. Even with a very small team (we have about 15 runners all together), the kids have a wonderful time.

And so we're all just going along, day by day, trying to hang in there with the intensity that beginning the school year brings with it. Some activities have been set on hold until a good pattern is established, or until cross country season is over, or both. Some activities have been stopped all together in the interest of more family time.

Though I've said it before, I really do hope to come back to writing here with some increasing frequency. I've written many posts in my head, and at some point, I need to make room for other thoughts. :)

Prayer requests: Please keep in your prayers:

* Kate and her family, who are dealing with a terminal illness within their family.

*Mary and her family, who recently welcomed their fifth child.

*Our neighbors, who could just really use some prayers--and I'll just ask the Holy Spirit to use those prayers in whatever ways are necessary!

*My Grams, who celebrated her 96th birthday this month, thanks be to God, and who is just always wonderful.

*All those suffering from depression, anxiety, stress, or any other mental ailment, especially those who are negatively affected by the change of seasons--those silent sufferings can be so terribly crippling, even though the one bearing them does not look sick.

*All those suffering with health issues which result in seasonal flare-ups, like arthritis, fibromyalgia and others--for the same reason as above.

Always know that I pray for those who ask me to do so. Your intentions are always brought before Our Lord in the Blessed Sacrament when you ask for my prayers.

2011-07-17T19:14:00.000-05:00

Blogger has changed things since my last venture this way. I have, too.

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I've decided that I'm not going to finish writing about my birth experience with my little Gingersnap. She is beloved, precious to me, and gives me cause to smile every day. I've thought and prayed and processed over and over the things that happened after her birth, and though I may change my mind in the future, for now I'm going to just move past it. It was traumatic and transformative, and that's enough for now. I am well, my health is good, and it's been a long road...but God is endlessly good. I thank you for your patience and your prayers, and always know that when someone asks me for prayer, I do remember and pray for them as well.

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Things are moving forward at a pace around here!! We have a bank inspector coming this week to see the nearly-complete addition! We've all been busy, and my projects are mounting. I've been thrift shopping, recovering, refinishing, sewing, stuffing, and painting.

My Darling is hanging drywall today. The Pantry Room is the last room which needs finishing, and it's getting the attention it's been needing at last. Eventually, the floor will be tiled, there will be a row of cupboards (on a narrow wall, so we're using upper cabinets on a pedestal) with counter top against one wall, and a large closet-style pantry cupboard against the opposite wall. The room will be our entry room, but will no longer be where we hang jackets and shuck boots. That's what the Mud Room is for!!

The Master Bedroom has been completely painted; light fixtures have been installed, and subfloor has been laid. We're waiting to make the final decision about flooring...the walls are a delicious suede-chocolate brown on the bottom, and a beautiful elegant blue on the top, with a white chair rail around to divide them. The light fixtures have an oil-rubbed bronze finish, and I'm going to have to replace the door hardware. The French doors we have for the bedroom were from the Habitat for Humanity Restore--they were a bargain for $200! They are 15-light doors in a beautiful maple, with the gorgeous grain of the wood showing through the protective coat of polyurethane. The hardware on the doors, though, is in a brushed nickle, and the door does not latch. They were initially installed in an office, and I think they were not intended to close securely. So anyway, when we replace the hardware with the same finish as the lights, we'll get them to close, too.

My projects for the bedroom have included reupholstering a chair and a little bench, spray painting the frames of some mismatched mirrors for one wall, and refinishing the top that was taken out of the dresser which is now the vanity in the laundry room/bathroom.

Oh!! The laundry room!! Good heavens, it's pretty! It's a truly pleasant place to do laundry, thanks be to God! We did not go all-out with the size of it, but we have made it work beautifully for our needs. Because it's upstairs, and just 'round the corner from the family closet, there is plenty of room to work getting things folded and put away. And because My Darling is my builder, I've been able to customize every little bit about it all.

I need to shoot over to the photobucket site and upload my pictures this week. I also have a bunch of sewing to do, and I need to finish the trim on the chair that I reupholstered. I wanted to make an effort to get over here, though, and to say that I'll be back again very soon. I know this has kind of been all over the place--I apologize. There's been a lot going on, and I'll get it all sorted in a jiffy.

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Thanks again for dropping in to read, for your prayers, and for leaving comments. :)

Yep.

2011-06-13T13:50:00.003-05:00

Yep, I'm still here.

Nope, I haven't abandoned my blog.

Yep, I'm still processing my little Gingersnap's birth, and all that I have been through since.

Yep, apparently it has affected me more than I'd initially thought.

Yep, I'm ok. Mostly.

Nope, I just haven't found the right words. Yet.

God is Good, and works all things for good for those who have faith and are called by Him. I'm clinging to that daily.

Hang in there with me, folks. Please keep me in your prayers...I covet your prayers. Know that I am keeping you in mine, too. Thanks for your patience with me. I'll be back very, very soon....it's been a long road, and I'm trying my best to keep the rubber on the road, keep it between the ditches, stay right of the center line and all that good stuff. I'll get there. Just bear with me.

Gingersnap, the Entrance

2011-02-21T23:49:00.006-06:00

Sunday, January 30th began like every other Sunday does in our home. We are gentle in our waking on Sunday mornings...the children emerge from their rooms on a natural schedule, rather than being rousted. Mass isn't until 11:00, and we leave here at 10:00 to get there in time to calm ourselves and prepare our hearts.

Somewhere around 7:45 or so, My Darling and the Squash begin making the pancakes. Squash pulls his youth chair over to the counter near the stove. My Darling hauls out the cast iron griddle, which takes up two burners on the gas stove. They mix the pancake batter in the old Tupperware pitcher, and joust just the littlest bit with their spatulas--"tings" Squash calls them, because "ting" is the sound they make when their flat blades collide. He helps Daddy to flip the pancakes on the griddle, and then flop them into the stoneware bowl from which they are served at the table.

That Sunday, I was feeling a bit nauseous, and couldn't eat even a bite of the delicious pancakes. I think Squash was a little sad about it, but he was cheerful nonetheless.

As I dressed for Mass, I was just not feeling quite right--a little off, but not enough to make me think I shouldn't go to Mass, for Pete's sake. Mass is the one time I get out of the house these days, and I wasn't going to miss it for the world!! The drive in was mostly uneventful--My Darling took us past the scene of the Great Truck Roll, and we could clearly see the imprint of the truck door and window, and we could see the place where the mirror would have been...

I was very uncomfortable all during Mass. I could not concentrate very well, and I could not sit still. Things were beginning to happen, and I knew I was in early labor. I rejoiced, thinking, "All of the saints and angels are here, and I get to begin the joyous work of meeting my baby here at Mass!!!!" What an incredible blessing!!

I had to get up and move a little bit. I used the ladies' room, and then stood in the back of the nave, just swaying from side to side...just a little, subtle dance that I was sure no one could possibly notice.

That's not really how it works though, is it? In a parish with so many large families, there is always someone who knows. And in our parish, there are midwives, doulas, and Mamas of Many--and their husbands, who have watched their wives go into the beginning dances of labor. It nearly surprised me when, after Mass, my dear friend who is Mama of Eight asked me, "You're in labor, aren't you?" Actually, she didn't really ask me, so much as she made a statement of observation. I said, "I am totally in labor!" We grinned about it, and as she hugged me, she said, "My husband pegged that about five minutes into Mass."

So much for subtlety!

We intended to shop for groceries after Mass, but I informed My Darling that we had better reconsider. It took him forever to head for the parking lot to drive the van up to the door--the parking lot, being a block away, was not in the cards for me. The entire ride home, I found myself having to very quietly vocalise through each contraction, and the timing of them and the intensifying of them told me that this was true labor, that it was moving along very well, and that it would likely be just as wonderful and enjoyable as my labor with the Cuppie had been.

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When we got home, I went upstairs and spent some time dancing around in the bedroom...swaying, rocking, lunging--just as I had done on Thursday. After a fashion, I thought, "I'd better get a little rest. I'll lie down for a bit, and then I'll fill the tub," which was, after all, where Gingersnap was going to be born.

I did lie down for a bit, and since I hadn't really felt a ton of movement through the morning, I poked and prodded my belly a little bit. I talked to my baby, saying, "I get to meet you today! I finally get to see your sweet little face!" I was a little gun-shy about it, since Chris' comfort level for a home birth is normally 36 weeks 4 days, and at that point I was only 36 weeks 3 days...but I knew she wouldn't split hairs over it.

As I was going in to fill the tub, I felt a big thudding movement from the baby--and that was the beginning of the drastic change in my labor.

I filled the tub and got into the deliciously warm water. Good thing, too, because the contractions changed and became more intense...and began to radiate way more into my back than they had initially.

I suppose it was around 2 or 3 in the afternoon when that happened--I don't really know, because though I'm sure I glanced at the clock as I passed it, there isn't a clock in the bathroom, and that's where I remained for most of the labor at that point. My Darling came and went between me in the bathroom and the kiddos downstairs. I had no idea what they were up to, but he let them know what was going on, and they seemed to be just as good as gold. Don't know what they had for supper, or what movie they watched...don't know what time the boys went to bed--the girls stayed up for the duration.

What I do know is that by the time My Darling called the midwives and they arrived, it was about 6:30 in the evening. They were cold and so comforted by our heated tiles in the bathroom! They brought in their equipment and put things where they needed them to be. They began chatting with My Darling a bit....

.......and my labor slowed tremendously. I moved between the tub and the loo, and really thought it was *time*--but when Chris checked me, I was only at 2 cm.

I was so frustrated. It was about 10:00 in the evening, and this had officially become my longest labor...and I was only at a 2?

I sat on the edge of the bed and cried...and breathed through a few contractions. They were really spaced out though. Chris said to lie down and get some rest...maybe things would pick up again in the morning.

The midwives left.

I tried to lie down, and got gobsmacked by a contraction. And another one. And another one. And good grief did they hurt in my back!!

I got into the bathroom as quickly as I could, but had two contractions between the bed and the tub. By the time I got into the water and had it warmed up again, the contractions were like sledge hammers smashing against my spine.

So much for the peaceful, enjoyable labor I had envisioned. This was serious work, and having had two back labors before, I knew it wasn't going to be any easier until it was time to push.

With each contraction, I would squat and lean forward and grab onto the water spout. I sang a very loud song of opening, and tried desperately to focus on anything. After a few contractions like that, I began hanging onto My Darling's hand with each pain. I squeezed the very lifeblood from two or three of his fingers...I figured it was the least he could do. ;)

At one point, during a break between the pains, I slept. Actually, I slept what felt like a good bit between each of them, though My Darling says I only had about 30 seconds between the end of one and the beginning of the next. But at this particular point, Our Lady came to me. She said to me in the most beautiful voice, "Look there...do you see my beloved Son? Do you see His suffering? I am bringing you to Him, to His cross. Be there with him in your suffering and know that He suffers with you, for you. I will remain here with you." I have never experienced anything like this in my life....and I will never forget it. No song could ever be as sweet as her voice was. It was like the scent of heaven, but in a sound...and to even try to explain it with words makes it sound coarse and jagged.

I was also beginning to see, in the tile on the wall, the face of a lion. The face was gentle, but strong, with an open mouth and eyes. Something in my spirit said, "As with the Lion of Judah..." and I began to think, "I can roar my baby out like a lion." I really needed to--the pains were so incredible, so powerful, so much bigger than anything I had ever experienced, I could not help but roar.

My Darling called Chris to come back at around 1:00 in the morning. My labor had begun 13 hours earlier, and I was lost trying to get from one pain to the next. My Darling held the phone out as I roared through yet another contraction, and Chris said, "Tell her she needs to calm down...I'm on my way!"

This time when the midwives came, my labor did not slow. When Chris checked me, she let me know that I was at 6 to 7 cm, with a bulging bag of waters. It wasn't too long after that that I needed to give a push...and the bag burst. It was such a strange sensation, one that I could never adequately describe. It felt like a balloon bursting in my lungs, or something near to that. There were about 2 or 3 contractions after that during which I felt relatively little pain--Gingersnap's little head was descending from where it had been floating in her watery world...and when it finished descending, the pain came right back again.

The time came to help her to leave her little warm home and come into our big, open world...there was no position I could find that felt good or right. The world was entirely pain. Everything was pain. I could not believe the amount of pain I was in. It felt like my body was being torched with a fire that burned but did not consume. An unbelievable amount of pain which I never imagined existed was now banging against my back. I kept trying to see Our Lady and her beloved Son, and it was all I could do to keep that vision in my mind's eye.

I begged for an epidural. My Darling said, "I left the stuff for that at the shop..." I implored them to just knock me out. One of the midwives said, "I don't think that's a service we offer..."

Well, then, somebody get this baby out, because I can't!!!

Finally, Chris suggested that I stand. I did, and I leaned over her shoulders and gave a mighty push to help my baby's head come forth. Chris had me lower back into the water, and as I did, there was my sweet little Gingersnap. She was looking right up into my eyes, which is, of course, why my back had felt during my entire labor exactly like forty-two legions of soldiers were marching up and down my back, as though it were a battlefield, and stabbing their spears into my spine with every step.

2:34 in the morning, January 31st, thanks be to God!!

She was so tiny--and I was so surprised that she was a girl! I really thought there was a little boy in there!

Oh, she was so beautiful, and so very, very tiny...I could barely feel the weight of her.

Reepicheep and Frog and Cuppie came up from the downstairs to see...I believe Reepicheep was the one to cut Gingersnap's umbilical cord, which had a true knot in it. By the time I was ready to get out of the tub, Frog was holding Cuppie, and My Darling was tucking Squash back into his bed (he and Pickle had made a cameo appearance to lay eyes on their baby sister) or something--so Reepicheep was the first one to hold my little Gingersnap for a minute.

The midwives got me and Gingersnap tucked into the bed for a little while so that they could clean up the bathroom, get my herbal bath ready for me, and prepare for the newborn exam. As I soaked in the tub, Chris readied to measure and weigh my little Gingersnap. I had already guessed that she wouldn't even come near six pounds. But she was pretty long--I couldn't wager a guess at how long she was. Chris measured her, and scrunched up her face--"That can't be right!" she said. She measured again, and looked at me with a puzzled expression. "Twenty inches long?!" she exclaimed. That's my longest baby yet! "Maybe she'll surprise us with her weight, too," Chris said.

Five pounds, four ounces. Tall and thin!!

She scored well on her apgars, 9 and 10 I think.

She nursed beautifully, and pooped even before the midwives left.

By 5:30, we were all tucked into our respective beds, my girls finally collapsing into their beds, although I'm fairly certain Reepicheep didn't sleep until late that afternoon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Everything went very well...until Thursday, when I began to feel so low I could have crawled underneath a snake's belly wearing a top hat. Every single muscle in my body was doing it's dead level best to remind me what I had done on Monday. My back and my legs were in a screaming match, and the rest of me felt like so much jello.

Thursday night, I was beginning to notice a twinge in my side. It seemed to come on with the after pains, which were pretty substantial, but not unendurable. But by Friday mid-morning, this twinge had begun to hurt. By lunch time, it had begun to throb. And by early afternoon, it was getting so severe that I was getting a little scared about it. I began to feel feverish, and my gut told me that this was something substantially wrong.

I called My Darling to come home. He did come just as soon as he was able, and by the time he got home, I could not stand up on my own. I couldn't straighten out, couldn't lower my right knee from my chest. We got Gingersnap dressed, and My Darling brought me pants and socks.

We headed out to the hospital just like that.

Gingersnap, the Overture...

2011-02-21T23:23:00.003-06:00

I know this is a long time coming. I just feel like every time I sit down to think about my little Gingersnap's birth story, someone needs me, someone climbs on me, someone wants to nurse, someone needs a referee...but that's just life in a big family.

So it happens that I am curled up on the couch with some Norah Jones soothing me with her sultry voice, Gingersnap snuggled in and sleeping deeply, and the house is sweetly quiet. I'm tired, but I need to get this written...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The week before Gingersnap was born was eventful. That Thursday, the 27th, I spent much of the day laboring quietly. While the little ones napped, I paced in the bedroom, rocked, danced, swayed, lunged, and just generally moved in whichever way felt the most natural with each wave that came. I didn't really think it would progress much that day, which is unusual for me. My more common response to obvious signs of early labor is, "YES!!! Come on home, Baby, we're gonna meet the next one!"

For some reason, that just didn't even occur to me on Thursday. Friday wasn't exactly the same--a bit of labor here and there through the day, but nothing remarkable. My Darling was, of course, going to work in the evening, which is the way of it on Fridays. He almost always calls me on his way home to see how the night has gone, and to let me know that he's on his way. The only time he doesn't call is when he's coming home earlier than either of us expected....then he just likes to walk in early and surprise me. I don't mind a bit.

But on Friday the 28th when he called me, and I said, "So how was your night?" he answered with, "Well....um.....I rolled the truck."

*jawdrop*

The scoop was that we had just received a couple of feet of new snow, and on that night it was snowing/sleeting/freezing raining/crapping from the sky. Well ok, it's February--we expect that. The county in which he was, where the restaurant is, uses a different mix of concrete and blacktop for their road surfaces than the county in which we live. They also treat their roads differently, and tend to use a lot more salt in crud weather like we were having. That's a good thing, for Pete's sake. So as he drove into our county of residence, My Darling did what he always does on cruddy roads: he waited until there weren't other cars on the road, and he checked to see how much traction he had, by way of letting the truck slow way down and then giving a light tap to the breaks.

It was a good thing he was going so slowly. The truck began to slide, and then to turn--he ended up facing the opposite direction in the opposite lane--almost a slow-motion half-donut-U-turn. The truck slid all the way over to the shoulder, where it stopped....but as it came to a stop, the wheels on the passenger side came up against the berm of snow left behind by the plow, and it was just enough to top the truck onto its side. My Darling said it all happened in such slow motion that he had time to hang on--he didn't end up with a single bruise, cut, or scratch--nothing, thanks be to God!! No windows were even so much as cracked. The bumper was dented, and the passenger mirror snapped off. I suppose that's to be expected, for having landed on its side in the ditch.

Well of course I completely freaked out. There was no way I would believe that he was fine, as he kept insisting. I could not see him with my eyes, so I could not believe that he was unscathed. A county sheriff had come to process the accident, and My Darling waited in the back of the cruiser for the wrecker to come haul the truck out of the snow. Even as he spoke with me from the warm shelter of the police car, I could not make myself believe that he was ok.

To make things worse--after the wrecker came to My Darling's rescue, they were only able to get about 5 miles down the road before the dispatcher contacted the driver of the wrecker to let him know he was needed urgently elsewhere...like on the Interstate. He had to drop My Darling off at a gas station on the highway--which was, of course, closed--and I had to venture out to pick My Darling up. The wrecker driver was needed for a 5-car accident...apparently, another car had slid off of the road (terribly common that night, sadly), and he was ok...until he got out of his car. And then he got hit by a car. And then other drivers smashed all around. I don't know how that man fared...but we definitely prayed for him.

The drive to the gas station to rescue My Darling takes, on a normal trip with clear, ice-free roads, takes about 5 minutes. But on that evening, it took about 15 minutes. It was horribly slick out there, and I was so incredibly happy to see My Darling that I practically vaulted out of the van to hug that boy's neck when I got to the gas station. He drove us home, and I was glad he did...I was shaking.

All the while, I had asked people for prayer for My Darling, and of course, got the comments saying, "Now don't you let him scare you into labor!" Being nearly 4 weeks ahead of my due date, I knew that some labor was normal for me, and I actually did expect to go early--but not that early!

Saturday was quiet. No labor to speak of...perhaps a few contractions here and there, but nothing significant. My Darling worked on the laundry room that day, and I stuck around the bedroom, napping, puttering, and just being near him in general.

Saturday night, I had a few stronger contractions, but again, nothing that made me think that true labor was imminent.

Aaaaaaaaaand then Sunday came.

So.....I've been a little busy.

2011-02-02T14:08:00.003-06:00

I'll write the full story later, because I'm still working on processing it all................

...............but my little Applelumpkin--who is now called my little Gingersnap--arrived into my arms at 2:34 AM on Monday, January 31. She was precicely 36 weeks, 4 days cooked.

Gingersnap measured an incredible 20 inches long, and weighed only 5 pounds, 4 ounces. She's a tiny little thing!

I am falling maddly in love with her with every passing second.....

We are fit and hale and healthy, and working on learning how to get the milkies to increase the pudge.

The big kids, which now includes the Cuppie (!!), are all in love with her, too. Everyone clamors around for the most part, wanting their turn at holding her. Cuppie checks in regularly, including in the dark of night, wanting to count Gingersnap's little toes. Squash keeps smooching her nose "so it doesn't get empty." Reepicheep is like a helicopter, hovering and grinning. Pickle has held her all of twice--I think he's afraid that he'll drop her or squish her or something along those lines. And the Frog, who LOVES school, was happy to miss it on Monday, sad to go on Tuesday, and thrilled that she has a snow day today, on account of the gigantic blizzard we're in the middle of.

Thanks be to God!

2011-01-24T14:01:00.003-06:00

I don't spend a lot of time here on my little cyber-home talking about our lives as a home schooling family. I suppose part of that is that it's just so much a part of our day each day that it doesn't occur to me as something to write about.

A friend of mine on a social networking site made a comment about the school of one of her children just not working out well for their family, and I mentioned that this was one of the big reasons we made the decision to begin home schooling our children four years ago.

Someone known or related to her made this comment in response to mine:

"As flawed as our education system is, it builds social skills that can not be built at home...I have seen this many times over...home schooled kids are less likely to be socially adjusted

"also I feel leaving the education system is not really... solving the issue, become involved, get other parents involved and you will be surprised of the changes that can happen.

"And i sure the comeback will be that "MY Kids" are very social and are doing great..Unfortunately you will not see the damage until they are older....which I have seen too many times....They can not make it because they have been sheltered.

"I personnally am glad my kids are in public school...and yes we are involved in the changes that need to be done...be voice of change a be active in your schools....I see too many times, people who complain, but do not get involved in their schools and still expect change to happen...

"get involved and see what happens...

"As E. knows, I am very passionate about my beliefs. And if you truely want change and/or advice, feel free to contact my wife or myself and hopefully we can get you some good info to get you started in your schools.

"My wife is the PTO President at our school and I volunteer my time at our school also...and we have spearheaded many changes at our own school..."

Now, without being nit-picky and taking this comment apart bit-by-bit, I responded in kind:

"Well.....

"Tell that to my kids, who have been home schooled for four years now and have markedly better "social skills" than their public school educated peers. If you think my kids or any home schooled kids for that matter) aren't socialized..., you don't understand modern homeschooling. It tells me that if you do personally know any families who home school, you likely either do not see most of what goes on, don't know them very well, or know a very small sampling of homeschooling families.

"Please don't assume that I was not involved with my children's education while they were in a building school. Our eldest was in the fifth grade when we made the decision to begin homeschooling, and it most certainly was not for lack of effort on my part, the parts of other parents, or our kids to make the most of the classroom model of education. Very simply put, it does not work for many students, and the ones for whom it does not work are marked as failures, as learning-disabled, as disruptive--when that's not usually the case at all.

"I spent many long days volunteering in their three different classrooms--three days each week, assisting teachers, and helping in ways that most parents would never take the time to do.

"Colleges and universities LOOK for home schooled students because they know that these kids know how to apply themselves academically, generally have good independent work ethics, and are not afraid to set a good example for their peers. I know dozens of home schooled college students and college graduates who have been very successful and are incredible testaments to the dedication that their parents had to their education.

"My children are not "sheltered" from much of anything. They are very involved in many aspects of their community, active in ways that they would not be able to be if they were tied down to the current model of education.

"Please don't assume that homeschooling families are hick know-nothings who could care less about education or are interested only in "sheltering" their kids from "real life." The fact is, very many of us are college-educated, and see the downfalls of the public education system, who work in effort to change it, but who realize that changes happen very slowly, and that had we not made the decision to home school our children, they would have fallen victim to a system which frequently fails kids. Had I *not* been actively involved in my children's' classrooms, I likely would not have seen this in action"

.......and just because I can't keep my big mouth shut (or in this instance, can't keep my busy-bodied fingers from typing), I continued:

" I really want to elaborate on something very specific--the social aspect of schooling. Kids who begin in pre-school and continue toward graduating high school in a classroom setting are not being educated in a way that shapes them to interact well with anyone outside of their specific age group--yet once they reach college (if that is their goal) or the work environment, they are at once thrown into a place where not only are they expected to be responsible for completing tasks under their own motivation, but they are also expected to deal immediately with people of different ages, educational backgrounds and work experiences. These are the types of situations my home schooled children encounter on a very regular basis, through volunteering, participating in activities during the day or evening which encourage them to interact with others who are not necessarily within their peer-group, and which would not be available to them if they were in a classroom from 8 to 3 every day.

"My kids are able to participate in activities structured toward learning actively about government, learning about their faith, learning the history of their community, caring for the poor and needy, tending to the aged and infirm, observing many different professional and vocational callings, and in general, helping them understand that life is not entirely about them and their friends.

"My kids do not have to worry about competing with kids their age over ownership of *stuff*, over "who's dating whom?" (and the accompanying societal peer pressures to get into things they have no desire to make priorities in their lives), over who is involved in more after school activities. They know how to sit down and talk with just about any person of any age, and it's conversation with substance. They can talk with their grandparents and great-grandmothers about family history and learn their stories. They can talk with me and their dad--and do, frequently--about their thoughts and dreams and fears and hopes. They can even talk with the parents of their friends about what's going on with them, what's happening in their lives, their schooling, and their families. They can talk with kids younger than they are and even *play* with them appropriately, without the fear of being laughed at by their friends. They are capable of performing just about any household task that is asked of them. They are able to go to work with their dad and see first-hand what makes the family business run. They are learning to be responsible for more than just getting their Math and English work done!

"All of these things have helped to enrich our children in ways that could never be accomplished in a classroom setting, and each element of their day-to-day living and learning here at home is helping to build great character in each of them.

"I don't mean to imply, so please don't infer, that children who attend building school don't have character or are not capable of building character...but there are many dozens of lost opportunities for learning when you put a child into a classroom for seven hours each day and expect them to fit into that district's idea of the mold of a model student.

"E. is right--there are some children who just do not fit into that mold. Public--even private-- classroom education is not for everyone, just as homeschooling is not for everyone...but for some families, homeschooling can make the difference between a very bright, successful adult and one who has been marginalized by teachers and peers alike throughout their schooling experience."

Now, I didn't get into all of the reasons that went into our decision to home school. There are, for starters, simply too many. But what I've found is that it really doesn't matter, fundamentally, to anyone but us--and the fact of the matter is that the biggest reason we made the lap from building to home education is that it is, plainly, what God was calling us to do. Most people don't understand this, and it would be frustrating and fruitless to try to explain it.

Because we are strongly anchored in our Catholic faith, and because we knew that God was calling us to more fully live that faith, we knew that allowing our children to daily remain in the hands of people who are disinterested in instilling the truths of our faith in every aspect of their education was not only not in the best interest of our children, but for all intents and purposes, quite frankly, to their detriment. Why would we daily immerse our children into a system which undermines the moral values which we have instilled in their hearts and souls since their births? Why would we choose to put them into situations which would make the question the decisions and foundations of their parents? Why is it seen as "healthy" or "good" or "normal" to put children into situations which cause them to have to question the authority in their lives which ought to matter most?

Well, we decided, along with many other parents, along with Holy Mother Church, that it is not healthy, good, or right at all. Parents have the right to educate their children, and the moral responsibility to do so to the best of their ability, and so we took that right and responsibility seriously and began on our home schooling journey.

What do we have to show for it?

I'll let my comments above speak for themselves on that, and perhaps I'll ask the kids to start writing the occasional entry for my little cyber home here at God Will Provide.

I would encourage those of you who have chosen to educate your children at home to chime in with your thoughts--why did you begin home schooling? What have you found to be the positive aspects--and what have you found to be the greatest challenges? Do you have the support of your family? Of your friends? Of your church? Of a home schooling support or cooperative group?

Patience? A virtue, you say?

2011-01-17T09:35:00.003-06:00

Patience has just not been one of those beautiful gifts with which I have been blessed. I have had to work for every little bit of patience I have ever possessed (thanks be to God, perseverance is one of the gifts I've been blessed with!), and the results are not always what I would call virtuous. Perhaps I judge myself a bit harshly, but then...don't we all?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The snow is blowing and coming down at a pace. A blanket three to five inches deep is what is expected by nightfall, and I'm convinced that I'm the only one perfectly fine with it. I don't mind a bit being snowed in, especially this winter, while I wait for the small Applelumpkin to make a decision about a birthday.

The weekend wasn't super-snowy, but it was cold and bright, and afforded wonderful light by which to work on the quilt! AND--I FINISHED IT!!!! I am so thrilled to have this part done, and now I truly feel that I can just..........wait.

You know, patiently.

Pictures? You want pictures?? Well, I HAVE pictures!!

First, the co-sleeper. I was very fortunate to spot a listing for a co-sleeper on the infamous craigslist, for a fantastic price. We happened to have some Christmas money just waiting for some special use, and between the two of us, My Darling and I decided that this co-sleeper would be a wonderful gift for our little Applelumpkin.

Now, usually, we would side-car the crib--that is, remove the front side of the crib (which is very sturdy, heavy, OAK even, and can withstand having only the three sides by merit of the fact that it is a convertible crib and meant to be used as a toddler bed down the line), raise the mattress height by adding a second crib mattress, butting it up to my side of the bed, and taking certain precautions to ensure that there is absolutely no gap between the two. It's a lovely arrangement, really, because it gives the baby plenty of room, and means that our queen-size bed does not begin to feel like a camp cot, for Pete's sake.

The downside of this arrangement is that, well, the crib is gigantic. Once it's in place, we don't move it until we're ready to transition whoever is sleeping in it to a room with a sibling, which means it's in our room for about a year. Because I like to have my bedside table handy--for my reading lamp, my glass of water, a place to put my book--you know, the whole reason one would have a bedside table...anyway, the crib is generally centered alongside my side of the bed. This means that my access point at the foot of the bed is only about 18 inches. It's doable, for certain, but it's not in the least bit ideal. Plus, with the size of our room being what it is, and walls not being movable, there are about FOUR inches left between the back side of the crib and the wall. Noooooooooot a whole lot of wiggle room there.

Enter the co-sleeper. It's the length of a bassinet, plus about 6 or so inches. It's the width of a bassinet, plus about 6 or so inches. It is a lovely proportion, and will allow Applelumpkin to be directly beside me, just as though the crib were there, though perhaps not for quite as long. But the good news is, hopefully (she said to herself, secretly praying in earnest that it was a legitimate hope...) the new master bedroom will be finished not too long after this little Applelumpkin makes an appearance--and then the room will be so gigantic--cavernous, even--that having the crib side-car arrangement will not be an inconvenience!

So, in the meantime, I give you...............the CO-SLEEPER!

See the lovely plaid fabric on the back there? It's just for decoration at this point, but I need to find a way to incorporate it. I'm not sure how I'll do that just yet. It's actually a small tablecloth which was found in My Darling's grandmother's cedar chest...it's ridiculously soft, both in texture an the beautiful muted colors. I have a *thing* for antique fabrics and linens, so this fits my bill quite nicely. And as you'll see, the colors are perfect for our needs as well.

When we bought the co-sleeper, I had looked at many reviews of it, and noticed (too late) that several owners reported that the "sheet" which came with it was scratchy, thick, and if laundered in washer and dryer (um......how else would I launder it??) would shrink in such a way that it would no longer fit the mattress. If I had gotten the full-size co-sleeper, a sheet made for a Pack & Play would fit. But the mini? Well, no standard sheet of any kind will fit.

BUT--a standard pillow case does the trick! I used a flannel case, and secured the open end with three diaper pins. Problem solved!

This is where the co-sleeper will eventually be placed. In the very, very beginning days (and nights), Applelumpkin will probably just sleep on My Darling's chest, for that is how all of our babies have begun. And with the number of feedings and diaper changes which happen throughout the night, it's really most convenient. But the day (or night) will come when Applelumpkin will begin to put on the pudge and become squirmy...and need a place to sleep...and that is when the co-sleeper will be employed.

This is my side of the bed. The little plaques with lambs on them hung on the wall at Grandma's house, in what was Aunt M's bedroom. I remember the wallpaper in there was a similar color to my bedroom walls here, and covered in beautiful birds. I'm almost certain, though, that the lambs got their start over my mother's crib back in 1942.

Grandpa made the little wall chest. He loved to craft things out of wood--all of them have this same finish and color. There are bookshelves, sewing organizers, and tables which he made. Grams gave me this little chest and one of her sewing organizers when she moved from her little house. I am honored to have this on the wall in our home.

My bedside table is my touchstone...it holds my glass of water through the night, and I always have some worth-while reading there. The book on top at the moment is Jan Karon's In This Mountain, and just underneath that is Pope Benedict XVI's Jesus of Nazareth. Both are wonderful, and I pick up the one most suited to my mindset. The little shelf next to the table holds more books--the Mitford books are on top, and there is another shelf packed with all different books, from the Mary Poppins books by P.L. Travers to books by Archbishop Fulton Sheen.

I've frequently talked about The Basket. This basket is where my mother, her sisters, my sister and brothers and I, our four maternal cousins, and each of my children have slept in infancy. When I was a baby, Pop rigged hooks on the ceiling and a way for Mom to hang the basket to keep my brother's sticky hands off of my face. I like that I can put it on the kitchen table, or on the gigantic ottoman, or wherever I need to. I can pop it in the back of the van and take it with us to family gatherings if necessary. And for the moment, I like that it so neatly holds all of the things Applelumpkin will need, from tiny t-shirts to receiving blankets to sweet little gowns.

The Towels are there, too. There, on the left, is the towel which will be warmed up in the dryer while I'm busy holding our little Applelumpkin, so that when the time is right, My Darling can hold his youngest child for the first time. That towel, I promise you, is impossibly soft and will be delicious when it's warmed so nicely.

By comparison, here is the Squash as a baby, lying in the basket and playing with his little elephant rattle:

And the Cuppie, barely awake, snuggled into the basket:

So snuggly and cozy that I almost want one for myself.

Well then--a glimpse of the quilt.

I made six nine-patch flannel blocks, ran strips of creamy colored chenille between the blocks, and backed the quilt with the chenille. To finish the edges, I had pondered using a satin binding, but opted to just turn the chenille and tack it around the edges with a decorative zig-zag stitch. I love the way the chocolate brown and the aqua blue work together.

I also found the adorable polka dots in the same aqua and chocolate, and pieced them with the aqua pea pods....I love the print!

The finished product is pretty big--I have it spread across our bed, and it nearly covers the surface of the queen-size mattress. Definitely big enough to snuggle beneath! Oh--and check out the blanket underneath the quilt....my mother-in-law must have had some divine inspiration while she was Christmas shopping. She gave me this king-size plush blanket as a gift for me and Applelumpkin. I could not believe it when I saw the color!! This plush blanket will go in the dryer after The Towel comes out, to be warmed up and then wrapped around me and the little Applelumpkin as we're tucked into bed together. I cannot wait!!

I am definitely not a professional quilter, but my babies don't seem to mind. I am very pleased with the way this quilt turned out, and am very eager to snuggle my newest little one in it.

Wishin' and prayin' and hopin'....

2011-01-12T23:59:00.003-06:00

Really, I would love to be asleep, but that's just not been the way of it lately. I catch bits and snatches of sleep here and there as I can, but mostly I'm resigned to the pattern of being tired, dozing here and there, and knowing that in just a few short weeks I'll be tiredly awake and staring at a beautiful, pudgy, sweet little face. That'll do, for now.

Since the Squash loved hearing, many months ago, that the baby was about the size of an apple, he started calling it Little Apple. Several months later, we told him the baby was the size of a pumpkin, but he said that name was already taken (because that's what we called Cuppie for so long!). Now, he's settled on a mishmash of the two words: Applelumpkin! I *lurve* it.

I sent out a notice yesterday to our home school group that I am looking for a Mother's Helper to hire, just a few days each week, for about the first 3 or so weeks after the little Applelumpkin is born. I did this because with the Frog away at school all day and My Darling not being able to take days off from work, I know that I will need some extra hands, feet and eyes to help out with the Squash and the Cuppie. Reepicheep and Pickle do a great job, but for Pete's sake, they are kiddos themselves. They do so much by way of helping to keep the house running (because in a big family, everyone pitches in...), and to expect them to help me do what needs to be done for Squash and Cuppie while I snooze with the Applelumpkin...well...that's just too high an expectation by my estimation.

I've gotten a couple of very encouraging responses: one from a Mama whose daughter would probably be able to lend a hand here and there, and another from a Mama who has many contacts through the friends of her older kiddos who are in college rather locally, and who would likely be able to come up with something! I am greatly encouraged by this, because this issue in particular has been the source of a great deal of anxiety. My Darling reminds me: GOD WILL PROVIDE (seen that anywhere recently?!), and that things will fall into place. My intense need, my instinct to have everything in place before the baby is actually born is just part of the nature of Mamahood, I think. It's part of nesting. It's part of protecting my territory and being sure that the perimeter is sound and secure before I bring my sweet baby forth, and not waiting until I am needing to rest, recover, snuggle, nurse, and get to know every beautiful square millimeter of my newest baby.

I have everything else in place--almost. The list of supplies that has served me for the past two births has been stocked and restocked, save for only two remaining items. They are on My Darling's "to pick up" list. The baby clothes have been washed and folded and tucked into the traditional wooden basket in which three generations have slept. The only thing that remains is that quilt..........which I have still not even begun, save for in my head. I have come very close to making peace with the possibility that I may not get it finished--but that's not really satisfactory, now is it? Perhaps even writing about it will give me the giddyup to move on it.

After I sleep.

Which I dearly hope happens tonight.

Did you know that on the Hallmark channel, beginning at 1:00 AM, "I Love Lucy" runs for three hours?

Found that out the other night.

Did you further know that if a pudgy little foot encased in a sleeper kicks your eyeball smack on the lens and you are wearing a contact lens because you were too stinking tired to remove the contact lens before you finally fell asleep, you will be jolted most rudely awake, but your eye will survive?

Found that out last night.

I'm hoping for exactly ZERO odd revelations tonight.

G'night!

......aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand the New Year starts with a bang!

2011-01-03T20:51:00.004-06:00

Well, ok...that might be an attempt to make things sound more exciting than they truly are.

The New Year started with the January Thaw coming a little early...meaning temps in the mid 40's, lots of the beautiful snow melting, the grey, slushy stuff increasing, lots of puddles forming, mud seeping, and then.......a freeze. You know, ice is really nifty, when you're opting for the crushed variety from the door of the refrigerator. It's not so nifty when it's stretched across the driveway, the streets, into intersections, and no help for it--because the salt has all been washed away by the rain. In December. In Wisconsin. Um..........ick. A lovely summer rain? Why yes, thanks. A December rain? I'd rather not. So really, the New Year started with more of a "drip" than a *BANG*!

On New Year's Day, it was supposed to snow. But it didn't. The good part of this is that fresh snow on top of fresh ice is bbbaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad....very, very bad. The sad part of it is that it's still kind of ugly out there, visually speaking. And now it's cold again. So, it feels like January, but it looks like November. Ew. As I tend to say in November, "If it's going to be cold, at least let it be pretty!"

There was one pretty part of it--with the warmer temperatures for a few days, there was a tremendous amount of fog. When there is fog in the winter, and the temperatures plumet overnight, in the morning comes the hoar frost...and that is beautiful stuff. Would that I had the camera on those mornings and could have gotten a couple of snaps...it really was beautiful, thanks be to God.

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The other *BANG* (or nearly that) is that once again, I find myself hovering between low levels of activity and nothingness, because if I get up and do too much, my belly misbehaves. Boo! Or as The Crescat would say, "Hiss!Spit!Growl!"

The trouble with this is that I never really know ahead of the need--sometimes things kind of sneak up on me. The contractions--well, those I'm used to. Even the ones that are productive, even this early. It's happened in all of my pregnancies, so why not this one?

The part that takes me by surprise is when my blood pressure and my blood sugar bottom out at the same time. The result is that I end up drenched in a cold sweat, shaking, and nearly passing out. When it passes, I am completely exhausted and end up needing a nap--like, a two hour nap. It happened yesterday, even after having been up and moving, even after having eaten breakfast, causing me to stay home from Mass. I hate missing Mass. I know that it's permissible when a person's sick, but I still hate missing Mass. The family left at around 10, as usual, leaving Reepicheep behind to make sure I had anything that I needed, and came home at around 2. I slept almost the entire time they were gone, waking only to eat a bit more and keep well-hydrated.

It happened again this afternoon, too. The good thing about the timing today was that I was already taking it easy, had nothing planned, and it was nearly nap time for Squash and Cuppie, so I just snuggled with the two of them. I'm not keen for it to happen again tomorrow--consistency is not always a good thing.

I know that this, too, shall pass. Sometimes it feels like it'll be forever until that day comes, even though my brain knows that it's only a matter of a few more weeks. I've never claimed to have been blessed with patience as my reigning virtue (if I have any virtues at all, for Pete's sake!), and the end of pregnancy is always a test of what patience I do have!! I guess that even if consistency is not always a good thing, in some ways, it's...well, constant. Ha! And double ha! HA!!

It's good to be tested this way, I think. The patience that I will learn from this, as with all of the others, will benefit both me and the sweet little baby I await.

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All of the things for the baby are washed and ready to go. The towels, always chosen so carefully for their velvety softness are ready to greet a brand new velvety baby, fresh from birth. Sweet little diapers are ready to cover a soft little bum. Receiving blankets are ready to receive. Tiny hats are prepared to sit atop a sweet little head. Adorable t-shirts are ready to envelop a pudgy little body. And my arms are more ready than ever to hold all of it. But--it's a bit early, my little love. Do not be so impatient, my temperamental belly.

So......I will fill the remaining days by scheming up a sweet blanket. I make one for each of my babies, and I have the fabric ready to go for this one--this, and this, and this (but in a coordinating aqua blue), and this (in a lovely cream). Once I figure out how I want to block it, it will only take a couple of days at most to get it made so that I can snuggle with it.

Then, I'm going to make one of these. Is it not absolutely delightful?? And simple?? I am going to make it a little differently--I'll use fusible interfacing rather than adhesive, since I think the adhesive part is a tad bit overkill...but it will be incredibly adorable!! I will use scraps from the quilt, along with various scraps of coordinating materials that I have from other projects. I think it's a simple enough project that the kiddos will be able to help with it, too, which will be fun.

And I really need to get some pictures updated--here, through e-mail, and just in general. We kind of usurp the Frog's camera, since the only other cameras around here either take film (*gasp*!!!) or are phone cameras with not-so-spectacular quality. I've yet to have any belly photos taken with this wee one, and here we are, almost done! And I need to get fresh photos for the kids' frames on the living room wall. The one of the Squash, for instance, dates back to when he was eight months old. Yeah, an update on that is overdue.

I'd like to get some pics of the Christmas Tree while it is still decorated and lit, and of each of the Nativity scenes which grace the living room and sun room. Come to think of it, I should post pics of the sun room!

At least I have things to keep me busy--in addition to keeping the kids involved with their lessons (not a seriously difficult chore, but they do definitely require direction, for Pete's sake!).

MISSING: Sleep. Generous reward offered.

2010-12-27T01:21:00.005-06:00

I'm certain that I've experienced this before...but these days, sleep is more elusive than a blade of grass beneath the thick blanket of snow in my back yard. I've had the most horrible nights. I'm tired--exhausted--and yet I cannot sleep. Even when my mind is not racing, I can't sleep. Even when I read until my eyes are closing and I begin to read the same sentence five times, when I shut off the lamp, sleep runs from me at Olympic sprinting speeds. Even when I pray the Rosary and get stuck saying twelve or fifteen Hail Marys because I lose count, sleep does not come. It's ridiculous.

Tonight, I cannot sleep because of a truly impressive amount of pain running down my left hip and leg. Sciatic! GAH!! It started just before Mass this morning, and it's probably directly related to all of the driving of the week. And combined with the SPD that I've been experiencing for a few weeks now...well...it's really....um....special.

The week was crazy-busy, and mostly relating to all things Christmas and church.

Thursday, the kids and I went to town to go to daily Mass. After Mass was over, we helped to decorate the church for Christmas...which I *love* doing. It is all so beautiful and elegant--really well done. One tall lit tree in the sanctuary, lots of red and white poinsettias, and two of the most beautiful Nativities--one more elaborate set-up in the narthex, and one very simple ensemble in front of the ambo.

Friday, being Christmas Eve, found us having supper with some dear friends. Between the four couples there, we had 23 children! What a lovely time it was! We departed for Midnight Mass according to what part we had; four of the servers and I left early, they to vest and prepare for the junior servers, and I to rehearse with the choir.

Unfortunately, Friday began a little differently. It was the second day in a row during which I longed for sleep. I had fallen asleep at four-thirty in the morning, and accumulated about 3 hours' worth of sleep by the time we had to leave the house. It really seemed on Friday that anything which could go wrong went wrong, as though Satan were attacking my desire for a peaceful Christmas. The stinker. But you know how he works--he sends his nasty little minions to do his bidding, a la Screwtape and Wormwood.

I wanted to just rest up, and since My Darling was home, he let me hole up in the bedroom for most of the day. I rested, but did not sleep. When I came downstairs, though, it was to a room which had been clean the night before--now completely trashed. THREE apples lay on the floor, because no one had been watching Cuppie. This made for a crabby Mama who then informed the three older children that they could rinse off the apples and have themselves a snack.

I received a package from UPS, but the box, labeled "2 of 2" lacked it's companion. Of course, when calling UPS, one never really gets to speak to a person. One is encouraged to say various things to trigger the automated response, which sounds very much like an actual person, but which is really a tool of evil designed to drive perfectly sane people completely and very directly mad. And of further course, the company from which I had ordered this shipment was understandably not open on Friday--it being Christmas Eve and all. Was this understandable to Yours Truly on Friday afternoon? Not on your life.

Well ok then--I decided to have a shower in the afternoon so that I would have plenty of time to dress carefully and attend to my ridiculous hair, which has plagued me since I was about twelve. While I used to have to do strange things with chemicals to make it curl, after I had the Frog, that all changed. What used to be a lovely wave in my hair is now a combination of frizz and pseudo-curl, with which I can do very little. I must put all sorts of things in it to make it behave, but it has to be done while the hair is still wet...if it's even the slightest bit dry, then all the products in the world will do nothing, and my hair mocks me as I stare at it in disbelief. I think I actually saw a little man within my riotous locks dancing a jig of glee and sticking his green tongue out at me the other day.

After the Battle of the Locks was fought and...settled...I turned to cosmetics. With the dark circles making my eyes appear akin to skid marks left behind by a race car, and the bags beneath my lower lids looking like Santa's bag of presents stolen from his sleigh, there was no way I was going out of the house without attempting to do something to improve my appearance. I began washing my face and realized not once, but twice that I was using the wrong substance to cleanse my skin. Good grief. The nasty little man danced.

After finally getting my face clean, I went through the usual three minute routine: loose powder for foundation, light eye liner and shadow, blush, and mascara. I am always a little bit nervous about mascara, because it has the power not only to thicken and beautify the lashes, but also to create absolute havoc on a freshly made-up face. And which potential did it fulfil on Friday? Why, none other than the latter, of course! First, the tip of the brush collided with the inside right corner of my nose, making it look like a gigantic black tear had squeezed from my tear duct and landed squarely next to it. Then, even though the brush never touched my left eyelid, I blinked. Anyone who has attempted to apply mascara knows what happens when you blink. It leaves a perfect print from the brush on the skin beneath the lower lashes.

Oh, this was perfect. Juuuuuuuussssssssst perfect. It is nearly impossible, without completely starting over, to remove mascara from skin. If you rub it, it smears. If you try to wipe it away, it rubs in. Again, in the mirror, the horrible little man with the green tongue began to mock me with his nasty little jig. I did get the majority of the mascara off of my face, but was left with what appeared to be an even darker circle beneath my left eye and next to my right eye--making me look, oddly enough, even more tired than I did when I began!

I came downstairs, looking tired and frazzled, but determined to make the "Happy Birthday Baby Jesus" cakes as pretty as they did in my mind: two white cakes, nicely frosted, with the words written in red, and holly leaves and berries in the corners. I found My Darling swirling the frosting onto the cakes, and I reached for the can of frosting and the finishing knife to smooth it all out--only to drop the can of frosting onto the cake. "HA!" shouted the little man, his feet tapping furiously on my shoulder.

After I came back to the kitchen, having walked away to cool off (but not before stamping my foot and complaining rather loudly that nothing could go right today!), I looked for the icing and the decorating tips to do the writing and drawing of holly leaves. Now, I'm not a professional cake decorator. I totally buy those nasty tubes of "icing," colored with horrid chemicals. I use the plastic screw-on tips that come attached to the "flower nail" that I never use. But I do know enough to keep them all together, in a baggie, in a bin in the cupboard, so that I can find them when I want to do things like...oh, decorate a cake.

But they weren't there. The decorating tips weren't there. They weren't in the bin, or on the shelf that the bin lives on, or on the other shelves in the cupboard. And since I only have two cupboards which hold food items (the other used to store canned goods), pretty much they were missing entirely. And the nasty little man danced some more. I wanted to swat him like an insect, but since My Darling was already looking at me a little sideways because of the Mascara Incident, I resisted the temptation to bat at something only I could see.

The cakes were for dessert for this Christmas dinner which we shared with friends. The beautiful thing is that I didn't even have to explain...I just said to the Mamas, "They're Happy Birthday Baby Jesus cakes, and they're white for purity. Also, I couldn't find my decorating tips." They've all had Those Days, too, so they understood.

At least from the dinner on, things would get better.

Right?

Except that we left for church later than I had thought we would (I wasn't driving, or we would have left well sooner)--but not being a regular part of this particular choir, I wasn't in on all of the details, so I didn't know what time I was supposed to be there...and it turns out I was quite late. It did work out ok rehearsal-wise. When we were finished running through the things we needed to, I left the choir loft to run to the ladies' room. A friend was there with her mother and three small ones--one sleeping in Grandma's arms, one being terribly tired and less-than-cooperative, and one being only three months old. She asked me if I could hold the baby while she ran to the ladies'...and I ought to have said no...but I cannot resist the lure of a cute, pudgy baby..........and the choir started singing. Without me. And it's a chamber choir, which is very, very small. So I passed the baby to the Grandma, who I'm sure juggled the two of them just fine as I huffed and puffed my way back up the stairs to the loft, having missed singing Dixit Maria, which is one of my favorites. The nasty little man danced so much I was sure everyone else could see him.

Thanks be to God, that was the last of him though. The beauty and grace of Midnight Mass actually at Midnight and not at ten or ten-thirty, like some places do (and still call it Midnight Mass...), seemed to cause the nasty little jig-dancing, green-tongued man to evaporate into thin air. And good riddance!!

There were so many priests, deacons, seminarians and servers in attendance, one had to look for the miter to know where the Bishop was. The incense was lovely and pungent. The music was sacred and beautiful. The people were rosy-cheeked and alert. The ancient prayers and rituals were reverent and inspiring. And even though we didn't get back home until around two in the morning, our children were well-behaved and polite and helpful with the little ones.

We are a family which goes not only to Midnight Mass, but also to Mass on Christmas Day. This year, I was scheduled to cantor, and it's the first time I've done so in months. I prayed hard for good stamina to make it through Mass, and I was well-rewarded. The odd thing was that since almost all of the families of our parish, of which there are a great number, had attended Midnight Mass, most of them had planned not to attend on Christmas Day. Two of the families who had planned to attend didn't--one family had sudden and severe illness (of the intestinal variety) go through, and the other family had a last-minute change of plans. This meant that my Pickle Boy was the lone server--on Christmas Day, mind you, only one server! Unheard of in our parish, which usually sees about a dozen on any given ordinary Sunday!! But the boy did us proud. He did an excellent job, lighting all of the candles, setting things to right on the credence table, carrying in the Crucifix, holding the book, setting the altar, bringing forward the cruets, helping Monsignor to wash his hands, ringing the bells at Consecration, cleaning everything up, holding the book once more, and carrying the Crucifix again as they recessed. I was so proud of him I think I cried a tear or two. It was lovely to see him move gracefully, with confidence and concentration. I think he was pretty proud of himself, too.

When we got to Mass this morning (because it's Sunday--or it was when I rolled out of bed last--I do realize that it's not quite Sunday anymore...), the boys who grouped up to serve were surprised and impressed that Pickle had done the job on his own. Several of them wished that they were old enough to drive so that they could have been there...but that will come soon enough, for Pete's sake.

The pain that began this morning has been unrelenting. I've iced it, My Darling has massaged, I've propped with pillows, I've soaked, I've done everything I know to do as I bide the time, waiting for the chiropractor's office to open in the morning. In the mean time, I am offering my suffering as a prayer of sacrifice for Candy Rant's mom...and I would encourage you to pray for her, too. I know that my pain will not last forever, and that the cause of it is something to rejoice in. Pain and suffering can be joyful!! But this dear woman's pain is not joyful...and is taking a great toll on her and her family. Read her story and offer your kind prayers for her, and for all those who suffer during this time of year, especially those who are cold, who are hungry, who yearn for love, who cannot find relief of their suffering in grief, and for those whose pain and suffering is not visible to our eyes, but only palpable to the soul.

May the profound joy of the coming of Our Lord as a tiny baby more than two thousand years ago ring deeply in your heart and soul, and may His Peace reign in your home and in your family today and each day in the year to come.

Between the moments and moments

2010-12-17T16:47:00.003-06:00

I have been soaking up the last days of my sweet Cuppie's babyhood. She comes to sit with me, climbs into my lap, and asks for her "nulkies." I happily oblige her.

She brings me the stuffed monkey puppet and says, "Hep me, Mom!" I press the button on the hidden box within and the monkey makes monkeyish noises.

She comes to me and puts her little hand on my expanding midsection and says, "Baybee bellee!" and "Wuf-oo, Baybee!"

She pats my cheek and says, "Wuf-oo, Mama!"

She toddles in sometime in the night and starts to climb up onto the bed. All the while, she softly says, "Mom?" and I answer her, "Yes, sweetie." "Mom?" she says again--are you still there?--"Yes, sweetie." "Mom?"--still??--"Yes, sweetie." When she has climbed atop the mound of sleeping Mama, she lays her little head on my cheek, tucks her feet into the blanket, and says, "Mom."

And then she sleeps, too.

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This has happened each time. Each time a new life is coming into our family, I go through a small bit of mourning for the babyhood of the youngest. With the Frog, being my first, I had no idea what to expect when the Pickle came. With the Pickle, I was so sad that he had ended our nursing relationship--he was ready, but I was not. He was the type of baby who only let me hold him when he was nursing...he was not a snuggler, and I knew that the days of holding him close were ending. And even when we were expecing the Squash, and Reepicheep was nearly seven years old, I mourned the loss of her being the "Babyest" of the family. I always said to her, "You're all my babies, but you are the babyest!" ....and then that wasn't true anymore.

When Cuppie was the expected one, Squash and I would snuggle and he would put my Rosary around my belly, and we would pray our way around the Pumpkin within. He has always been a snuggler--he still is--and he sucked up every single minute that he could of it being Just Him in my arms.

And now the Cuppie. In her small ways, and in the best of her understanding, I know that she anticipates with joy the coming of this baby. I know that she will still be a snuggler, and that she will happily share her Nulkies with the baby.

...and I know that very soon, she will no longer be The Baby of the family.

She will be a wonderful big sister though.

Better than a month

2010-12-15T13:27:00.005-06:00

Bad blogger. Bad, bad, bad little blogger.

What can I say--things here have been pretty even-keeled, which doesn't inspire me much for writing.

The snow finally came. I'm not a fan of cold weather, but I'm even less of a fan when it's cold and gray and brown outside. If it's going to be cold, I want it to be pretty, too. I think I anticipated our snowfall as much as the kids did...as soon as that "S" word was in the forecast, being tossed around like so many flakes, I became excited, anticipating the frozen winter wonderland that was sure to come.

Eight to ten inches, they said. Blizzard conditions, they said. Beginning late evening, they said.

Well no wonder I was disappointed when, upon waking up multiple times in the night to visit the water closet, there was not only a lack of snow on the ground, but also a clear, starry sky above.

They only missed the timing by about.....twenty-four hours. What was supposed to fall on Friday night waited until Saturday.

Better late than never, I suppose, although it did also mean that we wondered until about 9:00 whether we would be able to make it into town for Mass. The comedy was that we left at 9:30, which is a half hour earlier than usual--to give ourselves extra time, of course, because the roads were terrible, of course. But they really weren't! Of the three lanes usually open on the interstate, two were drivable, and one was really just sloppy. So by the time we arrived at church, we had FIFTY minutes before Mass began.

Better early than never, I suppose, although it did also mean that we had the kids run around like wild people in the basement so that those other intrepid souls who braved the city streets (which were not anywhere near as passable as the interstate) were not disturbed in their prayer time before Mass.

The church, as one might imagine, was sparsely populated. But those who were there sang with gusto, responded boldly, and prayed earnestly. It was inspiring!

The drive home was not quite as impressive as the drive in. We took a different road--a state highway, which goes more-or-less directly home just as well as the interstate. As happens every year, the closer we got to home, the worse the road was. For some reason beyond all human understanding, the county in which we live has made the idiotic decision not to use snow fencing. For those of you in warmer climates, snow fencing can be either stick-and-wire fencing or plastic construction site type fencing. The function is to catch the snow on the back side as it blows through, creating a gigantic drift against the fence--and preventing drifting on the road (or your driveway, or whatever you're trying to protect).

Now, I'm just a tax-payer, so I probably have no idea what I'm talking about...but I'm just going to hazard a guess that this fencing is cheaper than sending out plows multiple times, especially when they are sent out when it's not even snowing. The drifting across this particular highway is notorious, and happens anytime it's windy, for Pete's sake, because the wind picks up whatever loose snow is on the surface of the surrounding fields. With no hills and no tree lines to protect the road, the snow just blows right across and covers, usually, an entire lane, and sometimes part of the other for good measure.

I'm thinking, since this is a state highway as well as an interstate alternate, wouldn't it be a priority to make sure it's clear? And wouldn't that priority include, perhaps, making sure that it doesn't become snow-covered when it's not even snowing, for Pete's sake??

Right, I know. Crazy talk. I'll stop. ;)

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I had such a lovely talk with my Grandma yesterday afternoon. She just cheers me up every time we speak. I love hearing her stories, and I ask her various questions every time we talk, just so I can soak her up a little more. When your Grandma is 95 years old, you want to soak up every drop of her that you can.

Yesterday's story was about my mom. Grams and I share the experience of having a baby in February, which tends to be the coldest part of our winter here. The temps plummet well below zero degrees, and the wind chill is even more impressive. The day my Squash was born, for instance, the mercury struggled to read -17 degrees. Chris, the loveliest of midwives, made a note of it in my folder. It was so cold and clear that your eyes felt frozen if you poked your head out the door.

Grams loves to tell the story of when my mom was born. It was February of 1942, and the coldest day of the year. The hospital where Grams delivered was at the top of a hill, which was covered in ice. The tires in those days were no latch for the ice, so it took a long while to get up the drive.

They made it eventually, of course, and my mom was born. She weighed a bit over five pounds--she was right on time, just very small. She's always been very small. The nurses nick-named her "Dolly" because of her petiteness.

Grandpa's mother tried to get hold of him. She called the people and places she knew to call, and finally called the Red Cross. "In those days," says Grams, "Papa didn't think much of the Red Cross. They were do-gooders, but it was nothing then like it is now." Well, they were able to find Grandpa, which was more than anyone else could do!

Since the Japanese had attacked Pearl Harbor just two months before, Grandpa was off with the Army, and his Division was conducting exercises in advancement. Up the East Coast they were preparing to move, and the men took turns going in groups to scout ahead to find a suitable place for the entire Division to stop, make camp, prepare and eat their evening meal, bed down, and then make their way again in the morning. When the Red Cross found Grandpa, he was in one of the scout groups. He was a Captain, so he was the man in charge. The Division was crossing Northern Florida at the time.

Grandpa was able to get leave for seven days, and it took almost two days for him to get home. He made his way to the hospital to see his first child, expecting a somewhat larger baby...his mother had been so embarrassed by her smallness that she had told Grandpa that Mom weighed six pounds, five ounces, rather than five pounds five ounces.

The nurse said to Grandpa, "Would you like to see your baby?" He said, "Oh, I don't need to. I've seen babies, and they all look the same." Well, that nurse huffed and puffed and stormed out of the room, only to return a few moments later with two babies: my mom tucked into one arm, sweet and tiny and content, and in the other arm, a great big red-faced, squalling, nine pound baby boy with a shock of black hair stuck to his head like bristles on a brush.

"NOW!" said the nurse to Grandpa. "Do you still think all babies look the same?"

Well of course, Grandpa was terribly sheepish, and happily took his daughter into his arms.

They named her and brought her home and had her Baptized. Grandpa had five days left of his leave. He was supposed to get on the train to head East to meet up with his Division, but he received a call from some higher-up officer. This man had a car which he wanted brought to the East Coast so that he could take it on the transport ship with him over to Europe, and he asked Grandpa to drive it.

Grandpa's sister had just been married a few months earlier, and her husband was also on the East Coast waiting to ship out, so she rode along with Grandpa to keep him company, and so that she could say goodbye to her new husband. Grams said it was a good thing, because Grandpa squeaked out every minute he could of that leave, knowing he wouldn't be home for a very long time...and so he had planned to drive straight through. Having his sister along meant that he had company--and someone to keep him awake!

When he got out East and met back up with his Division, Grandpa learned that General MacArthur had ordered their Division to Australia. Australia was under attack from the Japanese at the time. So the men, who had advanced all the way up the East Coast in preparation to ship out to Europe, found themselves getting on a train instead of a boat, and crossing the country to the West in preparation to ship over to Australia. Of course, they didn't know where they were going; they just knew that it wasn't Europe.

Grams said how glad she was for that time of leave with Grandpa. He left when Mom was ten days old, and the next time he saw his daughter, she was a week shy of turning three years old.

Thankfully, Grandma's younger brother was just returning from some army training, and was able to finish out the winter helping Grandma with household things like cleaning the chimney and splitting wood.

I had heard the story many times about the coldest day of the year, the icy hill, Grandpa's mother misreporting Mom's birth weight, the remark about all babies looking the same--but I hadn't heard the part about Grandpa and the army.

Things are stressed for us right now. We are feeling the financial pinch of a much smaller paycheck than we should be getting, and the house is much cooler this year than last year in an effort to shrink the heat bill. But I stand in awe of my Grandma and her contemporaries who shipped their men off to a war that killed hundreds of thousands of a generation in an effort to protect the world. It is a staggering and sobering thing to ponder, and I am inexplicably grateful to God that I am living and raising my family right here, right now.

Drawing nigh

2010-11-11T14:58:00.005-06:00

I suppose that with nearly a month having gone by, I ought to update the things that need updating.

Life in our home has continued much as usual: rising, praying, breaking fast, sending two off, schooling, playing, reveling in the gorgeous sunshine and unseasonably mild days, gulping great quantities of fresh air throughout the house, lunching, napping, praying, tending chores, schooling, playing, welcoming home, cooperating, praying, supping, playing, bathing, praying and sleeping.

That's the general of it.

The extras have been...well, not profuse, but present.

There have been births within our home school group and parish family, with the requisite ministering to the Mamas, celebration of Baptisms, and loving on sweet, new, beautiful babies.

There have been deaths within the family, with the expected and mixed blessings of late-in-life passings and the shock of heart attack and death, and the requisite ministering to grieving families, prayers for the souls of the departed, and the always mixed emotions of gathering with those we love to speak of memories, sweet and sorrowful.

There have been celebrations of feasts and solemnities, including a grand party to celebrate the great Feast of All Saints, at which my sweet Squash won--to the very pure delight of his four-year-old-heart--an authentic Buzz Lightyear, who shares his days and nights, being set down only briefly, and only for bath time. He may have been aided by some awesome big kids who knew that Buzz was the desire of his little heart, and who may have been having Squash's name written on their tickets for playing games, and they may have then popped those tickets into the bucket in front of Buzz from which the winner's name would be drawn at the end of the night. Yep. That may just be what happened. Perhaps.

That party was pretty cool. It's a tradition several years old now, and for the past seven years, has also served as a fund raiser for the Frog's school. The high schoolers all set up and run little-kid games in a big shed, where the little kids (as mentioned above) receive tickets for having played, have their names written on the tickets, and then put them into buckets to be drawn to win donated prizes. There is a pot-luck supper (amazing amount of delicious goodies!), a lovely bonfire, including last year's Christmas tree, the singing of the Litany of the Saints, the parade of saints (very cute costumes, and some of them quite elaborate!), and the saints trail (middle school-aged kids handing out candy to the little ones on a lit trail through the woods, with daddies watching to ensure safety!).

I did *not* go through the haunted trail. Totally left that up to the big kids who just really seemed to enjoy having the stuffing scared out of them (no little ones allowed, thanks--in fact, most of them leave before the haunted trail even opens) by the returning college kids and upper-grade high schoolers who put the thing together and man the various stations. I like my stuffing exactly where it is, and continued to sit through the evening near the warmth and comforting light of the bonfire.

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The Frog continues to shine at school. Her grades, save for one class, were definitely worthy of a hearty hug and congratulations. That other grade happens to be in a class where my dear friend (and the Frog's teacher) assures me that a low grade is completely within the realm of normal when a student is brand spankin' new, as is the Frog, not only to the school, but also to the classroom setting. There are quite a number of formerly-home schooled students, and it just plain takes time to adjust (or in the case of the Frog, to readjust after years of being home schooled) to being in building school. And since that grade in that class was given for the first quarter of the Frog's freshman year, I'm holding perspective and trusting that she will adjust and that her performance in that class will improve.

The Pickle and the Reepicheep are also doing very well. We are able to incorporate most of their subjects, so that they are learning about the same things at their own levels on everything except math, which they pretty much share. They have made up nearly a dozen games in the back yard, and cannot get enough, it seems, of pumping that beautiful fresh air into their systems. They trek to the library each week, delighting in reading until their eyeballs practically roll straight out of their heads and onto the floor. They love going to our weekly enrichment activities with our home school group. They participate in art, phys ed, science and schola. They're learning physics, multi-media applications, doing the Presidential Fitness tests, and learning Gregorian chant (!!!!!). It's a blessing--it's a long day, but generally a good day.

The Reepicheep has been growing closer to the little Cuppie. The two of them play tea party, dance, dress up like Cinderella (whom Cuppie calls "Reela") no matter what the dress really looks like (did you know that a blue t-shirt with a picture of a fish on it is a "Reela Dress"?--even, or perhaps especially, if it's worn over pajamas!!), dance some more, sing songs together, dance a little, and snuggle in the rocking chair to read books. This is so good for both of them. It's good for Cuppie, because though she misses the Frog greatly during the day, she has discovered that she has a good and trusted friend in her other big sister. It's great for Reepicheep, because she is learning that she is capable of caring for someone smaller than she is. She's learning that when little ones depend on her, and when Mama expects it of her, she really can do things that a lot of big kids just aren't expected to do--and so they just don't do them. She regularly changes diapers, gets snacks or sandwiches, snuggles for snooze, and makes a general invaluable helper of herself. I'm really proud of her!

Squash and Pickle have been learning to play better with one another, too. Squash is a wonderful, energetic four-year-old, and Pickle is a wonderful, focused twelve-year-old. They definitely clash on occasion, but almost always find a way to work with (or around) their differences. They play legos, knights, baseball, sandbox, bikes, and made-up imaginary games galore. They race and wrestle, they fight and argue, and they love one another fiercely. Squash willingly lets his brother play with Buzz....which is a gigantic deal.

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Squash participates in the enrichment activities, too, attending the Junior Saints group. He learns songs and activities, plays games, works on crafts, and just grows and fills me with wonder and astonishment.

The other day, I was leaving a response on a message board. Squash saw my pregnancy ticker in my signature--it's a baby floating around in a circle, drawn to represent "about" what our baby looks like right now. He asked me if that was the way babies grow inside of Mamas. I explained that it's a picture that probably looks a lot like the way our baby looks right now, except that the picture is really small. And I said to him, "Our baby probably isn't bouncing around like that, because there isn't that much room...but there is some water in there for the baby to float in."

He said, "I know. There was water in there with me, too."

Now, we've talked a lot about when I was pregnant with him. He remembers the glow from light, and he remembers seeing what he calls "bloody grapes"--which is a pretty darned accurate description of the texture left behind from other placentas. He *loves* watching the PowerPoint slide show that I made of the pics of his birth, and listening to the music that I labored to. (He calls it, collectively, "Baby Water"--because he was born in the water.)

So I said to him, "What else was in the water with you?"

And he said, "God. God was in the water with me."

I said, "You remember that God was with you?"

He looked at me like he was sure I was a little bit confused, and said, "He's always been with me, Mom."

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My sweet Cuppie will swiftly turn two. TWO. TWO. I cannot even begin to believe it. And the Reepicheep, merely days later, will turn eleven. I have no idea to where the years have fled. I've searched my memory for them, and they only seem to exist in tiny fragments of memories, but even then, as mere wisps of the richness of experiences I know they once held.

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There are only fifteen weeks left of this small child growing beneath my heart. We've come up with the nickname "Little Apple," because, once-upon-a-time, one of those nifty compare-your-unborn-baby-to-the-size-of-a-common-fruit-or-vegetable websites said, "Your baby is about the size of an apple," and the Squash was utterly charmed. In our prayers each night, we say the names of each member of our family, concluding with "Little Apple." When he types the names of everyone in our family, Squash always includes "Little Apple." So even though it's currently about the size of a lovely squash, it's still our "Little Apple."

I'm looking forward to a visit with Chris tomorrow. I'm starting to notice, unfortunately, some of the signs that my body always gives me that my muscles are just a bit touchy. Some people call it "irritable uterus." I call it "stretching ligaments and sore, achy Mama, with plenty of cramping to boot." We probably won't even say the words "bed rest" this time, but I will definitely take it easy as I need to.

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I am not as anxious for this baby to come as I have been with most of the others. I am anxious about what February will bring. Will people be willing to venture out in the winter weather, with the cold, the ice, the wind and the snow, to visit with us? Will I have the energy to keep up with the little ones and the baby, and the patience to make it through each day? It's a whole different ball game with the Frog at school, but the Pickle and Reepicheep have definitely been stepping into more responsible and charitable roles with their younger siblings. That's been a comfort, to be sure. Will postpartum depression make a return, and will I be able to cope with it?

My depression continues to hover, like a storm that refuses to calm. Though I don't feel mired down quite so much most days, it lurks, waiting for my weak moments, and then it sinks in like a weight on my spirit. There are so many parts of it: guilt, sadness, loneliness, anxiety, shame, doubt and lingering grief. I recently spoke with a very dear friend who helped me to think differently on the suffering that comes with depression. I was feeling much as though perhaps God was asking me to learn how to suffer in the right way, like I'm just not getting it the way He wants me to. I don't remember her exact words, but I do remember her bringing up Blessed Mother Teresa, who walked the valley of doubt and darkness much of her life. And I remember well reading the words of Fr. Neuhaus in his book, Death on a Friday Afternoon, in which he reminds us to remain with Our Lord at the foot of the Cross, with Him in His suffering, rather than rushing too soon to the joy of Easter.

It's hard to remain in suffering willingly. It's even hard to think of Mama Mary, waiting with Him in His suffering--and very much in her own. To know that God has something for me to learn from this depression, this suffering, is a joy! But it is a joy unknown and unseen and even unimaginable.

Ah..........faith.

"Lord, I believe! Help me in my unbelief!" Saint Thomas, pray for me!

Advent, 2011

2010-10-13T16:53:00.003-05:00

If you're Catholic, and if you've been paying attention, you know that the beginning of Advent next year means that the new, corrected Translation of the Roman Missal will be implemented by churches throughout the world.

What does it mean? Does the use of a translation other than what we use now during the NO Mass mean a step backward? Does it mean that the people attending Mass will somehow be less able to participate in the Mass?

Read the Order of Mass for yourself here, and then think about it. It's not difficult, I promise.

The thing is, there seems to be a huge debate rising about what it means to have this "new" translation. But it isn't a new translation at all--it's a corrected translation. Fr. Z frequently presents to us the beautiful prayers and collects in the original Latin, then with a literal translation, then what has replaced the literal translation, which has nearly always been watered down so far as to change the original meaning. Take a look at his post of last Sunday (Oct. 8th) here.

How does it serve the faithful if the original meaning of our prayers is removed? And how in the world could anyone see anything negative in that original meaning being restored? Does it somehow change the tenets of the faith, the very foundation that the Catechism has laid out for us? It is not an edict demanding a return to singularly Latin Masses being said; it is far more in keeping with the "Spirit of Vatican II" that people rave on and on about. How does this equal somehow moving backward? And what's wrong with Latin, anyway?

To my mind--admittedly rather young, in all things Catholic--the corrected translation is an incredible blessing! The removal of "every day" language from the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass is something to which I very much look forward. To have Heaven on Earth be brought just a little closer by the reverence of the very words spoken is something the heart and soul ought to long for.

When things are phrased in a particular way, it makes us perceive things in a different way. If the phrasing is crude, choppy, disconnected, then the idea will not be properly conveyed. If the phrasing is smooth, eloquent and refined, would logic not then bring us to the conclusion that our minds would be collected in such a way that we might perhaps be further drawn into contemplative thought? Isn't that what Mass is supposed to be about?

What would you do?

2010-09-26T17:01:00.002-05:00

What is the charitable thing to do in a difficult situation? Here's the set-up:

There's a family of four--two little girls and Mom and Dad--who've been attending the same Mass as our family (and loads of other families) for about 2 years now. They seem like very nice people. The children are roughly 3 and 5, though they might be a bit older. It is obvious that there is no mental illness nor disability on the part of any member of the family.

The trouble is that the girls chatter like squirrels throughout Mass, and they do so without correction. They ask for (and are given) snacks. They ask for (and are given) paper and pen. They dance on the pew. They balance on the kneeler, as though on a beam, pulling hair and pounding arms of those in front of them.

When a parent does speak with them, it's usually Mom--and she actually speaks to them. At a conversational volume. Regardless of what is happening in regards to the Mass. She does this during the homily, during the readings, during the hymns, and even during the crux of the Mass--the Consecration. Her speaking to her children is never to correct them--just to answer and pacify them. The children are never removed, for any reason. The younger one has cried loudly during Mass before, and nothing was done.

I think this might be one of the families (though I've not seen other families with this type of issue at the Mass we regularly attend, but there are also three other Mass times within our parish) which prompted the message written by our dear Monsignor about six months ago, regarding behavior during Mass, and when it becomes necessary to remove a child from the nave in order to allow other parishioners to worship appropriately.

It is maddening. It is distracting, and it is completely disrespectful of Our Lord during the Mass.

So I ask you--what would you do?

I understand what it's like to wrangle children during Mass. I have five, for Pete's sake, and am not looking to be out of the Narthex Crowd anytime soon!! I know what it is to sit in the narthex as close to the speaker as I can, or where I can watch through the glass panel on the door, knowing that I can hear the Mass just fine from there, and that my small ill-behaved child is out of hearing and sight range of the rest of the people, and that this leaves only me as the distracted one. I definitely know what it's like to have the strong desire to be in the nave, seeing the beauty of the Mass, immersed in the ways in which the Mass stirs our senses, and feel as though I'm not really there at all. In other words, I've been in their shoes--but rather than sit there, I've gotten up and moved my feet!

I am finding it terribly difficult to remain charitable in my heart, especially in those moments during Mass when I am left to strain to hear Monsignor's homily, because the woman behind me refuses to whisper. I found this to be especially so this morning, when this family sat down directly behind our family. Finding another pew at that point was not possible.

So, besides "offer it up"--which, believe me, I have been doing!--what in the world would you do??

The autumn comes

2010-09-23T15:09:00.004-05:00

Leaves are swirling in the autumn wind and falling onto the lawn, making a tapestry of beautiful colors. They are soft and damp, and the husky smell of them blows in through the open windows. Birds are calling to one another, signaling their end-of-summer plans to find sheltered places to build their winter nests.

Mama Cardinal keeps her eyes sharp against squirrels and bees.

The house is quiet today: Squash is at work with My Darling, and Reepicheep and Frog are both on an adventure with my sister-in-law. (While normally the Frog would be in school, when an Auntie purchases tickets in April for a big Broadway show staged in September...well, the Mama might just excuse a Frog from the afternoon school hours....) Pickle and Cuppie are puttering from outside on the swings, to inside, to the basement to play blocks.

I am content.

I began, about two weeks ago, to feel the small, quiet flutterings of a certain Someone. Though my sweet babe measures only about eight inches from head to toe, I am daily aware of the goings on within. Last night, for the first time, My Darling felt the soft thump of--what, a knee? an elbow? a little hand or foot?--and murmured something sweet.

This afternoon, I find myself daydreaming about frozen, deeply snowy winter afternoons, with a small, warm babe snuggled on my chest, breathing quietly, moving slightly, eyelids fluttering, sighing in satisfaction and thanks for the warm belly full of Mama's milk.

Perhaps it's that I slept better last night and then into the morning. I feel better today than I have in a long time. The Nausea Bug and Major Pukey, thanks be to God, have packed their meager belongings and ordered the retreat of their Miserable Minions. Late this morning, I started a shoulder roast in the crock pot, with onion soup mix, carrots and potatoes hedged around the sides. The smell is so tantalizing that I am eager for suppertime to roll around.

Perhaps it's that I am currently comfortably set up in the sunroom. That would be the main common living space which was included in the addition--the addition that began Four Long Years Ago, when we first broke ground. It's completely drywalled, wired and painted. The only things remaining are trim and flooring--but we do have a temporary carpet over the plywood subfloor. We moved the living room furniture out here about a month ago, and it's just as beautiful and spacious as I dreamed it would be when we were planning our scheme years ago. (The bedroom still isn't done.........but progress is being made here and there, and I know that it will be done eventually.............................)

Perhaps it's that I have been leaning back into the comforting arms of Our Lord more lately, allowing Him to fill my heart with His peace. I definitely have my days--we all have our days (as my last entry will attest)--but they are becoming less frequent. The bad days are intensely bad, but they are fewer. My Lord is pulling me ever closer to His Sacred Heart.

Whatever the reason, whatever the circumstance, I am infinitely grateful to be where I am in this moment--enjoying carrying this small child, this beautiful soul beneath my heart. I am learning to be without my Frog each day, and though I miss her terribly, I am able to see the fruits of her attending The Wonderful School. I am loving the time that I've been able to spend with each of my other children, watching them learn and grow. Reepicheep has been busily knitting things--booties, hats, small squares--for the baby. Pickle has been reading nearly non-stop about all things space and engineering. Squash has learned to write his name (!!) and is learning to read here and there. And Cuppie is talking so much that we can almost always understand what she wants and needs.

God is so very, very good.

Bad days happen even here...

2010-09-09T18:08:00.004-05:00

Disclaimer: Gratuitous whinging ahead. Read at your own peril. Even Catholic homeschooling happily-married Mamas have bad days.

I am grumpy. I'm in a terrible mood, and no help for it.

I know, I know...this funk is not something of Heaven; rather it reeks with the foul stench of the other place. And I know that eventually the clouds will lift.

But it's been a rotten afternoon, and part of me just wants to sulk in it for a few minutes, get it off my chest, and move on.

I'm trying to adjust to my Frog being gone from me each day to the wonderful school. I know full well what a blessing it is--especially for her--but it's been really hard on this Mama's heart. I miss my girl! I miss her companionship, and I really miss her capable help.

I am becoming increasingly frustrated with my Pickle. I'm stretching myself each day to find the wonderful qualities that make him the lovable boy he is, but for Pete's sake, when you have to tell a 12-year-old to look on the floor for things like shoes, rather than staring at the walls and saying, "...but I don't see them!".....it just gets old.

The Reepicheep is trying. Ten is a really difficult age. It's physically awkward, and it's psychologically worse. She wants desperately to be more capable than she is at lots of things, and frequently tries to do things with disastrous, or near disastrous, results, and sometimes at the peril of others. She wants to stay up late and have the privileges that come with being a teenager, but she's really not even close to teenagerhood. She rebels at the things that we know are best for her (like the earlier bed time and the necessity of school work and chores) sometimes, but other times (at this very moment, for instance), I'll say, "I need the counter spiffed up," and she'll practically scrub all of the counters, sweep the floor, shine the sink and set the table. It's just so blasted unpredictable! I know she'll grow out of it, and I know it won't be long...if we could go from eight to eleven, and skip the two years in between, that would be fabulous.

My little Squash boy....well, he just melts my heart almost every minute of the day. When he's not smooching my nose (because, you know, sometimes it's empty...) or snuggling with me and sighing and saying, "Mama......I just love you..." he's unfortunately squabbling with either the Pickle or the Reepicheep. And his squabbling generally takes the form of a very loud, insistent voice which is audible throughout the entire house, for Pete's sake, and which does not cease until the world bows to his short little whim. If you're playing for points, that's a long way down to bow.

The Cuppie......well, she's on the cusp of two. She has two volumes: tolerable and sweet, and LOUD AND HORRIBLE. If she has what or who she wants, life is good and she's terribly cute. If she does not have it or them and she wants it or them, then you'd better grab your ear plugs. The squeaky wheel gets the grease, and she's apparently in need of a great deal of grease. We could buy an industrial vat of olive oil and pray that it would be enough. In other words, there is a great deal of my day which is spent attempting to entertain or appease my sweet Cuppie, and the rest of my day is spent in grateful thanksgiving to my merciful Lord that she is peacefully napping.

And may I say, I would just like one. evening. with. my. husband? We're so busy, it really feels like I can barely come up for air. I'm trying to figure out when we even have time to go grocery shopping, because we're running out of staples like bread and cereal, and I totally consider grocery shopping to be a date, but only if we have no children with us.

The upside? I'm feeling markedly better. In the last week, I've only had to battle Major Pukey and his Miserable Minions thrice. The Nausea Bug is still around, but is showing himself to be pitifully battle-weary, thanks be to God. Now if I can just get my blood pressure up a bit--you know, not in the I'm-having-a-terrible-day-and-will-probably-explode way, but in the I-can-stand-up-for-more-than-two-minutes-and-maybe-even-stand-at-the-appropriate-parts-of-the-Mass-and-not-pass-out way.....well, that would really make my day.

I guess perhaps there could be some help for it after all.

And the time has gone.............yeah, I don't know where.

2010-08-24T12:24:00.005-05:00

Before I start my long-overdue update, I need to plug a new blog by a wonderful priest who just happens to be very close to our family (and also has fabulous hair!). With as much of a flourish as I can muster on a blog, I give you...........the Commune of Cufflinks! At the moment, being very new, Fr. E has only a couple of his homilies posted for a listen--but they are most definitely worth a listen. Visit him and leave a comment, and encourage him to give us more!!

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Yeah, I know August is almost gone. It's been busy here, and in the mean time, I've been entrenched in the battle with Major Pukey. The Nausea Bug has become a permanent resident, for Pete's sake, and it turns out he's one of the worst neighbors ever. His thug friends are annoying and show up at all hours, and I'm so over their frat-boy schedule of parties. But all things continue to move like the tide, and I find myself on the other side of the trimester markers. The Little Peach has been growing beneath my heart for nearly 14 weeks now, and that puts us into the Second Trimester. God is good!

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The Frog has been running. I had a phone call from the cross country coach, and she wondered if it was something the Frog would be interested in. I asked the Frog, and she said, "No way!" so of course I signed her up immediately. I feel badly for kids of all ages whose parents never make them try things they're certain that they'll hate. If I never made my kids try things, they'd never do anything, for Pete's sake! At any rate, she didn't hate it right off the bat, so she stuck with it, running her beginning training runs with My Darling, and quickly starting to out-pacing him, much to his chagrin.

We figured if she was going to go the whole season, we ought to get her some decent running shoes, so we went to a place which specializes in just that, and gives a hefty discount to high school cross country runners to boot. Bonus for us, since good running shoes are really not cheap....

Her endurance is fantastic, and she's working on her speed now. It's an impressive thing to see your child blossom in ways you never dreamed you'd see! Best of all is that the team has taken as their patron saint Blessed Pier Giorgio Frassati. His is a truly inspirational story and I love that the Frog and her teammates have such a wonderful role model in him.

The Pickle, the Reepicheep and the Squash are all settling into their schoolwork already. I'm not starting them out with everything at once, rather I'm having them do "subject days," where we pick a subject for the day and see where it takes us. They don't always want to do the same thing, so it's fine with me if Pickle chooses one thing and Reep chooses another. Squash isn't exactly going to get into the finer points of history or science the way the big kiddos do, so we work together on things more his speed.

And the Pudge? The Cuppie? Her latest trick is gigantic temper fits of impressive proportion. If it's true that the squeaky wheel gets the grease, then she must be greased for good. It's tiresome, but I know it'll pass. She'll be 2 in November, so this is right on track, I suppose, for what many toddlers go through. We've been blessed to never have to deal with it this way before, so we're definitely learning as we go.

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Yesterday, My Darling and I celebrated thirteen years of marriage together. As I said to him last night (after soundly whooping him at cribbage...), "It certainly hasn't been an easy thirteen years, but it surely has been a good thirteen years." His response? "If it had been easy, I would have taken it for granted."

Bingo.

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To keep in your prayers: Richard, who suffered a major stroke and is recovering slowly. He has been almost single-handedly responsible for coordinating the volunteers and regularly-scheduled adorers for our parish perpetual Eucharistic Adoration.

AJ and Sarah, who welcomed their beautiful little baby girl a couple of weeks ago, and are learning so well what it is to love and parent your first child!!

All those who are suffering from unexplained or undiagnosed medical troubles, and for wisdom for their doctors.

All pregnant Mamas, those families waiting to adopt, and those praying to become parents.

All married couples, to live their vocation together in the Grace of Our Lord.

Changing and unchanging

2010-08-06T21:30:00.002-05:00

The unchanging:

Things are still putrid concerning Major Pukey. He is using all of his most effective weapons...and I am reduced to Carnation Instant Breakfast for most of my calories. I gotta say, of course I realize the blessing of this beautiful life growing within, and of course I am unendingly thankful--but for Pete's sake, it's tricky to keep that point of view with scarcely 500 calories a day, nurturing this new life, and still nursing my Cuppie. My least favorite is that lately everything I drink leaves a metallic-sweet aftertaste in my mouth......this does not bode well with the liquid calories I've been needing, for lack of anything else.

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The changing:

We have purchased the Frog's school uniform. The clothing comes from Land's End, which is of notoriously superb quality. Many years ago, the Frog received a Land's End footed sleeper...it lasted us through the Frog, the Pickle and the Reepicheep. We ended up cutting the feet off only because after 3 children and 6 years of wear, the toes finally started giving out--and the Reepicheep still wanted to wear them, even after her feet were pushing through the ends. Suffice it to say, we bought things as they were on sale, and I have no doubt that they will last a good, long time.

The Frog and I attended a school meeting the other night which was an introduction to cross country. When I received the call about it last week, I assured the mom/coach that I would be "making" the Frog run, because I think it's important to at least give it a try. When I told the Frog, she rolled her eyes, teenager-style, and said, "Well, who else is running?" I told her the one child I thought would be, and then said, "So at least you'll have one friend you know of." When we got to the meeting, her enthusiasm immediately sky-rocketed upon seeing the students in the room whom she knew. At this very moment, she is out running with My Darling, working on her pre-season work outs. They ran last night and this morning as well, and will be running every day until the season begins--and then probably at least 2 or 3 times a week together. She has discovered, much like soccer, that she likes it very much.

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And that's the changing and the unchanging. I have had so little energy of late, and though My Darling instructs me to, "...just be patient and let that baby grow and don't worry about the house," I still feel guilty for letting some things pile up the way they do. I am eternally grateful for the help from my children. Mostly they are uncomplaining, and mostly they are readily obedient, and always they end up doing the things that I need done. I have much to be thankful for, and I am aware of God's constant outpouring of blessings on me, unworthy though I am.

Please continue to pray for Sarah and AJ as they patiently await the birth of little Pip...we are all waiting for you, little one!!

Rejoice with me in the birth of the second daughter of Monica and Ryan...she is a beautiful baby and so blessed by the abundant love around her!!

And please continue to pray for all those who suffer in any way, body, mind and soul, from the pains which we cannot see with our eyes. Monsignor once spoke of them as the Unseen Hurts that we all carry with us.

Major...victory?

2010-07-13T17:38:00.003-05:00

As in, Major Pukey has declared victory. It's not so much that I've surrendered at this point--it's just that when I am having to sprint for the "oval office" in the middle of the night...twice...and then several times today...well, I know when I've been rousted. Beaten. Defeated. Trounced.

Major Pukey has brought in his entire legion of pukey little minions--Private Bile, Sergeant Uvula and Lieutenant Dry Heave...and all the little thugs they boss around.

Today's impressive nutritional list includes none other than the physician himself--Dr. Pepper. He brought along some chips of the potato variety, for texture and salty flavor. Even water doesn't seem to settle well.

I know that it all adds up to hormones doing what they're supposed to do, and the strong liklihood of a healthy baby....it's awfully hard to see that particular angle of it from a rim shot though! But I know, as with all challenges, this too shall pass--thanks be to God!

Well ok then--I guess we'll try again tomorrow.

I do like to think of others, and it brings me comfort to hold intentions in prayer...so pray with me for AJ and Sarah as they celebrate their wedding anniversary and draw near to their due date, Maggie as she travels in this general direction for a wedding (and a visit!), all Mamas who are nurturing small loves beneath their hearts...and most especially all those women who long to be Mamas. May God grant them the desire of their hearts, in perfect conformity to His will.

Nausea Bug Returns with a Vengance

2010-07-05T19:18:00.002-05:00

Drat.

I was hoping it was just a passing thing, but clearly the little rascal means to stick around.

I've only run into Major Pukey once so far. It was in the middle of the night at some point last week...and it was a pitiful response, I admit, but I did feel much better afterward and slept well. I'm not so sure that was the last frontier for him though, as he seems to be on the march this evening.

Camping with the Nausea Bug is a blasted nuisance. He is petulant, insistent, and just plain bothersome. Things like the unavoidable smell of the camper, the fragrance of the campfire, and the various aromas from other people's food make it unpleasant, even though the company was fine, the conversation was delightful, and the change of scenery was a relief. But such was life over the weekend. I was thoroughly relieved, though, that the porta-lets seemed to be a bit "fresher" this year than in years past--that made it much easier to face the prospect of heading to the loo.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today's attempts at eating have been largely unsuccessful. I was lucky with a couple of waffles, but they pretty much turn to sugar immediately on impact. I really wanted some ravioli, which My Darling brought to me with love--but I could barely choke one of them down and had to settle for a small cup of applesauce. This evening's fare was a cheeseburger, which I surprised myself by ingesting rather quickly--I only hope it wasn't too quick, because for the past several minutes here, I've been hearing the rumblings that tend to mean the Major is on the move.....I hope it's a slow march!

Making it right in my heart

2010-06-28T10:17:00.003-05:00

This weekend was a very joyful time. On Friday evening, my choir sang at the Ordination Mass for two exceptional young men who we are now blessed to call Father.

I love ordination!! It's a wedding, really--a man taking the vows of obedience and fidelity to Holy Mother Church. I am humbled when I witness the anointing, the vesting, the laying on of hands by the bishop and each of the priests present--and my favorite part: the first blessings given by each of the new priests are to his mother and father, and then to the bishop. I am an absolute wreck at that point, just the same as when a daddy walks his little girl down the aisle to give her hand to her groom...to see these men bless their parents and then the bishop is a very intimate moment of tenderness and love. Thanks be to God!!

On Saturday, My Darling and I attended the wedding of one of his many cousins. This dear young woman was like a sister to My Darling when they were young, because she stayed with his family for a summer. What a pleasure it was to see her, so elegant and confident in her white dress--trimmed with red, no less!--taking her place as a married woman!

On Sunday, I cantored at Mass. It's been a go so far--no blood pressure issues just yet, though that blasted Nausea Bug continues his plodding march. Looking out into the congregation, I spied a dear friend walking in with her family, and she looked a bit--well, smaller than she had the last time I saw her. Bringing up the rear, I spotted her husband, carrying a baby seat! Ahh....the blessing of seeing new (again) parents holding their tiny baby for the first time at Mass!! He was to be baptized afterward as well, so the joy of it really was overwhelming.

When I went to speak with them after Mass, another friend, Mary, was there as well. She and I hadn't seen each other since My Darling and I discovered our New Life, so she gave me a hug of congratulations. She looked me in the eye and said, "This one will be better, don't you think?"

I knew exactly what she meant.

It's something I've really been thinking a lot about, but I've been working hard to convince myself that when the Cuppie was born, the circumstances filling the following week were so incredibly extraordinary that they are just not likely to ever, ever happen again. Ever.

I hope.

There are those friends--like Mary--who understand the fear and anxiety so well that for them to voice it feels absolutely natural. I am so glad that she did, because I almost instantly felt better, like the lancing of a swollen wound. To know that my thoughts were not just some random obsession or some unfounded fear was incredibly comforting.

So now, I truly am completely joyful in this pregnancy, despite the marching of the Bug.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Prayer intentions: For Fathers David and Gregory, for their ordination--Thanks Be to God! For AJ and Sarah, as they approach the due date for their little Pip, and for AJ's birthday today--Thanks Be to God! For the "changing of the guard" in an important ministry office in our parish, as one lovely lady leaves the office to care for her babies at home full time, and another lovely lady comes to continue the good work of that office--Thanks Be to God! For our Dear Bishop who continues to teach us the Truth in love, unfailingly in line with the teachings of Holy Mother Church--Thanks Be to God!

And for all those who continue to search, to listen carefully, to desire the Will of God the Father in their lives, Thanks Be to God.

Any other prayer intentions today?

Well, it's out there now!

2010-06-25T01:21:00.003-05:00

My belly, that is..........I have achieved the Poof of Proof of #6!!

We are joyfully expecting our next blessing to arrive in February, God willing.

The Nausea Bug began his march today.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I chart very carefully. We. We chart very carefully. So we knew precisely what was what, when, and apparently were very blessed at that particular moment.

I could not help myself. I know in my brain that before around 8 days post ovulation, a home pregnancy test will not give anything but, what is known in the world of charting women as a "BFN"--Big Fat Negative, for those of you playing at home. But way back then, I had tested late in the evening of that 8th day, only to see a faint line taking shape before my very eyes.

This time was no different....except that I did, I confess, actually begin testing on the 7th day. Ah, that Seventh Day! The Day of Rest! Of Regeneration! Of Renewal! Of BFNs!!! Rats!!!! But I can't say I wasn't expecting it. (Get it? "Expecting"? Hahaheh.........I know. Groan away.)

But on the 8th day--well, on the 8th day, there was that little line that I had been hoping to see, once again. (And in that girl world of all things pointing toward conception, we call that a BFP--a Big Fat Positive.) Just to be certain, I called My Darling and asked him to pick up another box containing two plastic cartridges which would soon be soaked....and not with water......so that I could make absolutely certain that this was not the same as the evil false positive we had seen two months prior.

He made the purchase, and I tore into the first package, and immediately used the plastic thing the way it's meant to be used, for Pete's sake, and My Darling and I both watched as a line, a little darker than the last time, appeared next to the control line. It looked like this:

Better try once more, just to be certain. It's a bit faint.

And the next morning, I tried once more.

And there was that second line, again. This time, a bit darker:

And so I write to you in the very wee hours of the morning, exhausted, but nauseous, fending off that dastardly thug, the Nausea Bug. Now, I will admit to being encouraged. Though my first four pregnancies were completely defeated by this formidable adversary, the last was not too bad, all things considered. The reason I find hope in this is that so much of my last pregnancy had to do with prayer and visualization. I firmly believe that the reason I had such an incredibly calm and comfortable labor and delivery (save for that particular 20-ish minutes, which really packed in every bit of pain possible!) was because I prayed for it to be that way, and because I had spent many moments leading up to then visualizing the kind of labor and birth that I wanted to have. So here's the thing: I am visualizing very little nausea. Teeny, tiny bugs. Like, smaller than chiggers, which must be reeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaallllllllllly small because you Can't. See. Them. At. All. Little bugs which can be swatted into oblivion by the mere movement of my eyelashes as I blink.

It's terribly handy, because My Darling has forbidden me to be sick, so Major Pukey had just better keep his bags packed wherever he is.......

Praise God from Whom all blessings flow!!

The Joys!

2010-06-08T00:34:00.003-05:00

I needed to make another, completely separate post. That one, just down there...well, that was a necessary re-introduction. My mind is bubbling with the events of the past weeks--a graduation, a Confirmation (!!), a Grand Decision, and just general life, which, really, adds up to quite a bit.

My Little Frog was confirmed a couple of weeks ago, on Pentecost Sunday! What a joyous day--gorgeous outside, an amazing Mass, and the beautiful hearts of her classmates confirmed with her. Two days prior, she graduated from 8th grade. Again, it was a wonderful event, with Mass and a shared meal with friends. We are so blessed to be among so many families who share our faith and our lives! It really helps to make these important and sacramental milestones more joyous, more deeply meaningful, and more memorable.

Our beloved Bishop prepares to confirm the candidates--LOVE the Fiddleback and lace!!

Back in early April, we received an e-mail about a local private school needing players for their soccer team. When a school is so small that their graduating class includes all of 6 students, it's difficult to put together a team big enough to have people on the field and on the bench. By opening up the roster to local home schoolers, they were able to make it happen. I replied to the e-mail by saying, "I think the Frog would like to participate."

Well, except that she didn't want to participate. But I'm a mean Mama, and I made her go to the first practice.

She loved it!

We had been given shoes, and the socks, shorts and shin guards were relatively inexpensive, and all of a sudden--I became a soccer Mom! AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!! But no--not one of those soccer moms. I was the Mom who grabbed the big orange drink coolers and hauled them to the practices and games. I was also the Mom who came to the tiny school to help transport the kiddos from school to the practice field. I was further the Mom who decided that kids who are playing soccer should also have something delicious to eat every now and then, and that cupcakes (filled with cream cheese, of course) were definitely on the menu.

No, wait--I guess that does make me one of those soccer moms.

So be it.

In the mean time, here's what happened: We came to know the kids from some of the families of our parish with whom we don't get to spend a lot of time, because they're not homeschooling the kids who are my older kids' ages, and they don't have little ones crying through Mass in the narthex (like Cuppie does). We also met and came to know some other amazing kids from families in other parishes--families we'd heard about, but we'd never had the blessing of meeting. Most of the kids were familiar to the Frog because of a diocesan-wide retreat she attended in February. Some of them were in her confirmation class.

This tiny little school, with the itty-bitty classes, is made up largely of families who were homeschooling and wanted to pool their resources into an intense, classical curriculum, and in turn allow their kids to absolutely flourish academically in an authentically Catholic atmosphere. The kids wear beautiful uniforms, attend Mass 3 days a week (easily done, because the facility they use adjoins a church!), and they have Eucharistic Adoration and silent reflection time the other two days. Their days begin and end with prayers, their class periods begin and end with prayers, and the teachers are all wonderful, dedicated professionals, who also happen to be practicing Catholics--some of them are parents of students. God is Good!

And now......this tiny little school will have a new student in the fall. My little Frog is going back to Building School!

The very best part about it is that we have absolute, complete peace about this decision. We can't even come close to affording it, but there are financial aid and fund raising and volunteer opportunities. And sometimes, the Holy Spirit makes things so very plain that it is easy to know that He will take care of the financial side--and so we're trusting Him to do just that!

There really is so much more in my heart......but I'll be back--soon and very soon, I'll be back.

Rediscovering Me

2010-06-08T00:24:00.002-05:00

I've been gone a long time. I've been thinking about coming back to post, but have just not been in the right place in my head--or my heart.

What's changed?

So much. So very much.

I stopped taking my medication. I stopped for lots of reasons, but mainly because so much of my heart has healed that I just wanted to see if I remembered who I was before it all began.

So much ground was covered, so many new rooms built in my soul, and all of them have finally found a way to fit together comfortably, like old jeans or a favorite sweater. It feels good.

I have learned that I am stronger than I thought I was, and that sometimes to get stronger, you have to feel the hurt and truly grow from it. I haven't felt the true pain of my depression in so long, I almost forgot it existed. There was a dull ache for months, and a fog of near-contentment that was just a little off, the way you can't quite get comfortable on a hot summer night. Now that I'm not taking my medication, I've had to face some things head-on: anxiety, having opinions, noticing that I can pray through my day successfully, and remembering that no matter how small my tasks, My Lord is with me.

I have learned that it's ok to go through something which shocks the soul so greatly and come out alive, joyful, radiant, and peaceful.

I have learned that when there is a blessing amid the hideous darkness, that it is important to hang on to that blessing and celebrate that blessing with every breath, until the light begins to glimmer again.

I have learned that when the windows of the soul are left open, fresh life comes in, and the Holy Spirit makes things new. I have learned that new is good.

I am grateful for my time in the valley. I am grateful for the wisdom I've found there, for the lessons learned, and for the beauty I have come to see in suffering.

Thanks be to God, it seems the climb is on!

Pardon me, may I sit here?

2010-04-18T23:29:00.003-05:00

It's been a long few weeks. Long and eventful, for Pete's sake.

*Easter was awesome. Holy Week was absolutely jam-packed, but the Holiness aspect of it all was phenomenal--and then Easter iced the cake. I hope to collect my thoughts a bit more on that and do an entirely separate entry.

*We watched the crocuses come up and bloom beautifully purple, and then shrivel under a late freeze. The tulips are not far behind, and in the meantime, we have the white hyacinths to perfume the air between here and the mailbox. I'm still waiting on my plum tree.

*I have been torn between saying something and saying nothing about the persecution of our Holy Father and Holy Mother Church. I am sick to my very heart over the whole thing, and continue to read, until my eyes are dry, everything I can in order to understand the different aspects of it all. The bottom line is, the teachings of the Church are infallible, but the human beings who make up the Church are human beings...and if Christ became human and was like us in all ways but sin, then I guess we must understand that people err, even though they have the Word of God as their guide. No exceptions. The exceptions come when there is remorse, reform, repentance and forgiveness.

*I broke my toe. It's not even a good story. It happened on Tuesday afternoon while I was making the bed with clean sheets. I kicked a shoe, for Pete's sake, and it resulted in my left pinky toe being broken clean in half. The bruise is spectacular, at least, and I shall return and post pictures just as soon as I can find the USB cable.

*Things are moving at a pace on the addition. Drywall has gone up in the mudroom and is going up in the sun room--it is amazing what even sheet rock can do to make a shell look more like a room. Same deal as above with the pictures.

*Hopefully I'll be back more frequently, though the Frog just joined soccer--which makes for two days a week being gone in late afternoons. I can't believe how busy we are around here, but I love it...I love it!!

**Prayer intentions: AJ and Sarah (!!!), several friends who are carrying babies beneath their hearts, several single friends who are quietly pondering God's plan for them in their hearts, my sweet nephew who will receive the Body and Precious Blood of our Lord in First Communion one week from today, my dear sweet Frog who will be Confirmed in the Holy Spirit in scarcely a month, and of course continued prayers for the sanctification of all priests, for an increase in vocations to the ordained and consecrated lives, and for our Holy Father and Bishop. +JMJ+

Life changes

2010-03-25T09:38:00.003-05:00

It often amazes me how quickly things can change.

He is beside me, flinging a plastic beaded necklace from the Saint Patrick's Day parade around like a wild man, engaged in some sort of four-year-old tribal dance. His feet scarcely touch the ground, and the necklace is a blur of flashy green. His laugh delights me, and his unfamiliar song is composed from thin air.

Suddenly, his little feet stop. His face crumples, and fat tears squish from the corners of his big, brown eyes. I hear the beginning of an "0w," mixed in with a wail of betrayal. He clutches the offending beads and bows his little head, his shoulders drooping, his back and chest heaving with his cries.

In his fury of dance, the necklace had leaped into the air and slapped his eyes. His immediate instinct is to come into my arms...and not surprisingly, my instinct is to hold him. His small body curls into my lap, his arms around my neck, his breath and tears hot on my cheek.

When his cries subside, he still hangs on. He rubs his forehead on my cheek and kisses my chin. I smooch the top of his ear, the sweet sweaty neck, the soft tufts of hair. He breathes deeply and sighs heavily. He snuggles in a little more.

He pets the back of my neck and says softly into my ear, "Mama, we just have a lovely home, don't we?"

I wipe his tears and kiss his little cheek. "Yes, we do, sweetie."

He asks if he can watch Foghorn Leghorn.

It's a good perspective.

Coulda, shoulda, woulda...

2010-03-10T17:42:00.003-06:00

I used to be in really great physical shape. When I was in high school, even though I was skinny and socially awkward, I was in awesome shape. I ran three days a week after school, clocking a couple of miles just running the halls around the school (really--the school I attended was like a giant square-shaped 8, and the outer halls were open to runners after school) and did calisthenics. The other two days I did strength training. My strength training included lifting weights, push-ups and sit-ups. The sit-ups were done inverted, because I couldn't stand pressure on my tail bone...so I would hang from my knees on the pull-up handles on the universal gym and do them from there. Like, 50 at a time.

In my late teens, I was in drum corps. Our days were extremely physically demanding. We were up at 7:00 AM, had eaten breakfast by 8:00, and were in block formation for warm-ups by 8:15. We stretched, did marching warm-ups, and then blocked to march and run. Always beginning out marching, we ended up running in step, military-style, usually 2-3 miles. We finished up with a group cool-down, and were on the field for the remainder of the day, often times going well past dark. During our rehearsals, the general rule was that for each mistake you made, you had to do ten push-ups. I could handle it. I could mess up 5 or 6 times and still be ok. I thrived on it. I loved it.

These days........not so much. I can do one, maybe two push-ups, if I really try hard. Though dreams of running have plagued me for years, lately they seem to have intensified. They started out badly--the kind of running where I was running from something, but I wasn't really sure what. I don't think it was a bad something--just something I needed to run from. So I'd start running and running, and little bit by little bit, one leg would get longer than the other one, and I ended up really lop-sided and not able to run. Lately though, I just dream about stretching, snapping the leash on the dog, and going out for a run. Sometimes it's in the morning, sometimes it's while the kids are having quiet time. Sometimes I'm alone, and sometimes My Darling or the Frog come along.

Until today.

Today I just couldn't take it anymore. My legs were twitching as I sat like a comfortable lump on the couch. A comfortable lump with a laptop and a can of Cherry Coke, switching from e-mail to facebook, viewing the world through a virtual window, listening to the thawing snow drip from the roof onto the awning over the living room window.

I've been wanting to get in better shape for a long time.

"Frog," I said to her. She was in the kitchen, mixing up the batter for her birthday cake. "Frog, I'm going to go for a run."

I don't think she understood me. I kind of doubt that she did, since in all of her years, I've never uttered that particular phrase before. She gave me a look which was both confused and sympathetically supportive. "Uh, OK," she said tentatively.

I don't think she believed me, either.

I went to the bedroom and snatched up the running shoes that My Darling helped me choose months ago, because I wanted to start getting in shape way back then. They're really pretty, and very clean. They're super cheap--whatever Target had that day that fit me and in colors that I kind of liked.

I stretched, just like in my dream. I threw on a long-sleeved T-shirt over my tank and tied on my shoes. I snapped the leash on the dog and headed out.

Disclaimer: At this point, I would suggest using the loo, hitting the head, taking a leak--whatever. If you choose not to exercise this option, I take no responsibility for your clothing or furniture....

So off we went, me and my dog. We headed to the end of the driveway, and eased into a gentle lope to the end of the block. We rounded the corner. I was counting my breath, like I used to do in corps: "In-2-3-4-5-6-out-2-3-4-5-6-in-2-3-4-5-6-out-2-3-4-5-6..." and eventually, "In-2-3-4-out-2-3-4-in-2-3-4-out-2-3-4..."

By the end of the second side of the block, my lungs were burning as though the air had become molten lead. My breathing was shallow and harsh: "In-2-3-out-2-3-in-2-3-out-2-3-in-2-out-2-in-2-out-2--" until I knew. My legs were fine. My feet were swell. Not swelling--just swell. But for the love of all good, sweet, holy things under Heaven, I could no longer breathe.

The boys playing basketball would never notice. They would walk right past, never seeing the woman laying on the pavement, her dog long gone. There are no driveways on that one-block street. I could literally lay there for weeks without anyone noticing, because it's not yet warm enough here for my decomposing flesh to begin to stink.

Great.

My daughter doesn't believe that I'm really out for a run, and no one will miss me until it's time to change a poopy diaper.

I decided to just give up the run I'd dreamed about and let it go......just walk. One *gasp* foot *pant* in front *choke* of the other *wheeze*.

I walked. It took me the remaining two sides of the block to begin feeling like perhaps death was not quite as imminent as I thought. I was still panting harder than my dog though. She was giving me a look that said, "Man, I really hope none of my friends see us together. You're such a wimp. I'm so embarrassed."

I walked around an additional block so that when I came back home, the sound of their Mama hyperventilating wouldn't send my children into hysterics. Hey, it could happen. They could have been concerned. Of course, they'd have to look past the alien sight of their mother in running shoes and smelling slightly of sweat.

I stretched a little to cool my muscles down. After I released the dog from her leash, she glanced back at me as she slunk away, too humiliated to admit that she'd actually gone along with this farce of physical activity.

I called My Darling. I said, "I did something so completely out of character for me--you will never in a million years guess what I did!"

He said, "You went for a walk."

He was serious. I was crushed. Like he'd believe that I had gone for a run.

My muscles are rebelling. This activity is more than they've been engaged in for a long time--but if I have my way about it, they'd better get used to it.

The blessings of alms giving

2010-03-03T23:40:00.004-06:00

It's amazing how God blesses faithfulness. I'm seeing it all around me, everywhere I turn, no matter the hour of the day, the day of the week, or the seemingly smallness of the sacrifice.

Some cases in point........

My dear friend AJ, for whom many of you have been praying, has received some amazing news. You can read about it here. For now, just know that the power of prayer should never be underestimated.

My dear friend Sarah has an incredible story. After a year of challenges that most people could not even begin to fathom, this lovely young woman has held fast to her faith, and faced with another challenge--she turned to prayer and faith. Rock solid faith. Her prayer--answered very quickly, positively, abundantly....Gracefully.

Another dear friend who was grieving the loss of her sixth child due to early miscarriage has found that she and her husband are again expecting. She is feeling wonderfully nauseous, aware that the worse she feels, the stronger her baby grows.

Last week, my girls and I were so blessed to spend a few hours in the company of three Sisters of Life. At the request of my dear friend Deacon Greg, we transported these wonderful Sisters from one retreat venue to another, in cities which lie roughly 3 hours from one another. It was obvious to me that the Holy Spirit had moved Deacon Greg to ask me, even though he is in Rome--and that the Holy Spirit had moved me to respond affirmatively. For Pete's sake, what's the good of having a van like Bucky if you never take it on an unknown adventure which promises to do nothing but bless in return? When we picked the Sisters up, they were so thankful to have transportation! They were joyful, excited, and effervescent in their love for the Lord. We prayed together, we talked about our lives up 'til now, we did our best Bronx accents, and we thanked God for the flawlessly clear, sunny blue sky.

At the end of that journey, I began another. When we arrived at the convent where the Sisters were to spend the night, my dear friend Fr. Eric met us. He had brought with him a bag, containing, as he said, "something for you, which, as it turns out, is also something for me." His cassock was in the bag, with a small tear in the back that I had noticed back in January. He hoped I would be able to spare the time to mend it.

I had offered to mend the cassock, so it didn't come as any surprise to me that he sent it home with me. But the "something for me" bit took me off guard. Fr. Eric, though, has a way of infusing words, just a few at a time, with deep wisdom. He has given me books to read which have been difficult to pick up, much less get through...but the Holy Spirit has always guided the timing of my reading them, and I have never failed to grow and to be blessed in turn by whatever God has intended me to glean from the things I've read. So I figured that this latest comment would likely fall into that category.

I was right.

I had assumed that the repair would be an easy one, but it proved to be rather difficult after all. To conceal a mend on a hem is one thing. Even a seam can be cleverly disguised. A pleat can usually be pulled into line with a little work. But this tear involved a pleat pulled into a central back satin-stitched dart with no seam in sight. And worse, it extended beyond the dart--meaning that even after I had resewn the pleat to the satin-stitched dart, I would have to mend the fabric back together in a place where there was no possible camouflage for it. It measured about a centimeter, but as I carefully pieced it together, tiny stitch by tiny stitch, it appeared to be a gaping slash, covering half of the back panel, and I may as well have been using neon green yarn.

As I sat on the couch, mending tools at hand, with this garment laid across my lap, the scent of Mass wafted gently toward me. I don't know how else I could possibly explain it. This cassock had been worn by my friend, a priest, who stood at the altar and offered the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. It was positively intimidating to even attempt this repair.

I relied heavily on prayer while I completed this small task. I didn't do it all in one sitting; though it was what some would deem a minor thing, I prayed for God to steady my hand and to help me make it just right. It turned out better than I had hoped for, though I was still a little less than pleased...but what can you do when the fabric tears where it wants to tear? It needed to be mended, otherwise it would have pulled into a bigger tear, which would have been far more obvious after mending.

When I returned his cassock to him, Fr. Eric was very thankful. It was so humbling to find him sitting in the church, meditating on the day's prescribed readings and just being in the Presence of the Lord.

My reward was his thanks, but more so the time that I had been able to spend in prayer while even contemplating how to begin repairing the cassock. *And that was it*! There was the wisdom! My heart has been so heavy lately with the lack of time to spend in prayer, but Fr. Eric was allowing me to see that it is there, after all.

Thanks be to God for the small, everyday ways in which He allows blessings to come into our lives. Since our venturing out last week, I have been far better able to sleep, to truly rest, and to look at each morning with a welcoming spirit than I have been in months.

Speaking of sleep.............................................................

Lead me into the desert, Lord

2010-02-18T21:58:00.004-06:00

Those days come in so unexpectedly. Those days which begin with the gaze of the sun warming my window. The light sifts through the drapes, filtering in softly as though being whispered. My Darling has brought my coffee in, and I am tucked in with my warm and snugly little Cuppie (she who so recently was the Pudge.....). Her whiffles indicate her sleep, though her fluttering lids hint at the pleasure of her dreams.

So many of my mornings begin this way. So often, I roll over to the smiling watch of the Monkey, or perhaps the quarrelsome whinge of the Reepicheep.

Yesterday was actually a sweet morning. I was really looking forward to the day--for once--rather than dreading it's length, the hours stretching before me like taffy that's been pulled and re-pulled. Ash Wednesday. The beginning of Lent. The prime season in which to lay bare the soul, asking God to call me to decrease so that He may increase. The season when everything feels as it should--penitential, because that's how I've been feeling for so long. Lent feels like coming home.

I was scheduled to cantor for the Mass. The plan was that My Darling would meet us, and then he and the children would depart for destinations unknown. The afternoon would be mine, and I had planned to meet up with my very good, Dear Friend--who was once called Tiffany by a complete stranger in a little diner (which is a hilarious story that I promise to tell another time). She and her family relocated last month, coming from a couple of hours away and now residing a mere 25 minutes from my very door. The bliss! The blessing! God is good!

And He is. He is so good to know when we need the challenge of a bad day.

Mass was beautiful. It was the liturgical shock that the beginning of Lent always is--the silences, the barren sanctuary, the somber hymns, and the fasting from the great prelude to the Gospel, that word which we do not utter these long days, which we reserve for the great joy of the Resurrection.

Then there was that verse. The hymn which was sung during the distribution of ashes was done as a Psalm is done--with me leading the people in the refrain, and then me singing the verses alone, bringing the people in after each verse to repeat the refrain. But it was unexpected and unfamiliar, and I was arrogant enough to believe that the two verses which were beneath the staves would just fall into place. You know how it is when six or seven verses are printed directly beneath the notes, and then a few more verses are just typed in stanzas below? The problem is, of course, that the words are not near the notes...and when the tune is unfamiliar and one is the only voice heard, well, it can present a difficulty.

It was disastrous.

I picked up the first words of the fourth verse, but completely lost my place in the music. The refrain was at the top of the page. The verses began in the middle. I was trying to put the words of the fourth verse to the notes of the refrain, and felt like someone had picked up my brain, my eyes, my voice, and the beautifully played notes of the very confused organist, put them into a blender, and just started tapping away at whichever buttons caught their eyes.

Oh, the train wreck that was me. My face burned. My knees became jello. And I knew that I could not stop. I just had to plod forth, like a camel in so much sand, until the merciful end of the verse. For short little verses, this one certainly seemed to take it's sweet time, for Pete's sake.

I realized my error as soon as the refrain began again, and the next time the fourth and fifth verses came around, I corrected my error. But it sure was a great tap on the shoulder in humility.

And thus began the falling-apartness of my day.

After exchanging pleasantries with a few parishioners after Mass, speaking with the Bishop, and thanking my friend the organist profusely for covering my pitiful self, we headed out to the van. My Darling informed me that his day was not going as he had hoped, and this required me changing my plans. I knew that my Dear Friend would understand, because she's beautiful like that, so we went on our separate ways.

It was when I reached into my purse to retrieve my wallet that I nearly freaked out. It was not there. My wallet was gone. I snatched my phone and fired off a call to My Darling to ask him if it was perhaps in his jacket. He didn't answer.

I hastily reviewed the way the morning had gone: After leaving the house, I stopped to fill the tank with gas. I had used my check card, and in the cold, I tucked it into my coat pocket. I never did have the chance to return it to my wallet. We drove into town, we parked, I took a fortune in quarters from my wallet to plug the meter (only to discover that since the last time I had used one of the blasted things, they raised the bloody rates), I stuck my wallet back into my purse. We went into the church, I had my purse with me while I ran through the Psalm and Gospel Acclimation (and even that blasted hymn, though apparently, not enough...), I carried it downstairs with me, slid it into the pew with my family, and took my place in the sanctuary for the duration of Mass. From that time until we left, either My Darling or one of the children took charge of my purse, and I don't believe it was ever unattended. Reepicheep let me know that she had taken my wallet from my purse during the collection, but then she put it back afterward. The kids dumped out my purse and the diaper bag and sifted through the contents of both. No wallet. They searched the entire van, all of the nooks and crannies, under the seats, in the bins, behind the car seats. No wallet.

Good grief. I turned around. I drove back to the over-priced metered spot where I had been parked. No wallet. I ran into the church, and Monsignor helped me search the several rows of pews in the area where my family had been during Mass. We looked on and beneath the pews, walking from one end to the other, checking in the hymnal shelves and under the kneelers. No wallet. I drove to the lot where My Darling had parked, since we had driven him there after Mass. No wallet. I finally heard from My Darling. No wallet.

Oh, this was so not good.

I called my Dear Friend. She did understand, because she truly is beautiful like that. She and I both prayed for the intercession of Saint Anthony. I began to thank God for the blessings in this thing. My check card was safely in my pocket. I had just used my last check and had not replenished with a new book. I only had one credit card and one store card. I had perhaps a dollar in cash and some change. I almost never carry cash, unless I intend to stop for a meal--and even then it's not guaranteed.

I began to pray that if someone had picked up my wallet, that they did so with a good heart and pure intentions of returning it. Or that if someone picked it up because they needed money, that the little bit that I did have would somehow bless them and ease even a small burden.

When we got home, I immediately called the bank and cancelled our credit card. We talked about the options concerning our checking account. I called the DMV to see about my license. I e-mailed Monsignor with a description of my wallet.

And then I just waited. When My Darling came home, I departed for my Dear Friend's house.

Such joy to be in the presence of her spirit and the warmth of her family! There is a balm in Gilead after all! Ah, the balm of a sweet friendship, tempered with hours of prayer and the strengthening of years.

We talked, we laughed, we played, we prayed. We drank water and watched the Olympics, and gawked unashamedly at Shaun White, while he demonstrated once again his blatant refusal to remain tethered to the earth like the rest of the peasants. We reminisced and filled each other in on what had been going on in our lives. I listened to her eldest daughter read a story--a flashback for the two of us, since she listened to the Frog so many years ago read her first book. It was such a wonderful and fulfilling visit, and in the presence of my Dear Friend, I felt God gently mending some small, faraway place in my soul.

I heard my phone ring at some point, and after a while, returned My Darling's call.

That Saint Anthony is one fast worker! Monsignor had called to let me know that some kind soul had found my wallet following the evening Mass! And where was it? In the pews, where we had looked, with unseeing eyes.

Sometimes the Lord keeps hidden from us the very basic, everyday things, and He offers us a chance, as our dear Bishop said recently, to run toward holiness. We are given plain chances to grasp at faith, to reach toward Him in prayer and to fill our hearts with the desire for Him and Him alone. We are given opportunities to bless or to curse, to display our tempers or to remain composed, to give in to temptation or to avoid the near occasions of sin. Thanks be to God for the awesome blessings He lavishes on us in the uncountable details of our days.

What an end to the day, anyhow. Thanks be to God, Who heard my small prayer for such a trivial thing as to reunite me with my wallet, for Pete's sake.

The day ended as blithely as it had begun. The calm warmth of my sweet little Cuppie, the inviting embrace of My Darling, and the knowing that He will again walk me through the desert, through the fire, through the darkness of Lent and into the Light of Easter.

A fruitful Lent to you all.

Update on our friends' son

2010-02-18T11:25:00.002-06:00

From my e-mail in-box:

"His vision test on Friday was very long, but showed no vision problems. Which is good, especially since he only has hearing in one ear.

The neurologist got back to us yesterday. He showed the MRI to 4 of the best radiologists. They still aren't sure what it is. It looks to be benign, and appears to be a tumor, as in something that will grow. He said optic nerve glioma is the most likely. He said it would need to grow 50% to affect vision and it would result in a narrowing of the visual field.

He gave us the choice of operating right away versus checking again in 6 months. He said that if we do the surgery there is a 90% chance he will come out with no impact on vision, but there is a 10%, or as he said "very rare only seen once in 30 years" chance that it could be the type of tumor that has grown into the optic chiasm in such a way that Avery would have vision loss as a result of removing it.

He seemed to lean towards immediate surgery (he is a neurosurgeon!) based on the fact that he felt it would grow and cause problems and the smaller it is the easier the surgery and off course you want to take it out before you have problems. But he was giving us the option to watch and see and perhaps it won't grow or grow very slowly and we could put off surgery, or avoid it entirely. Signing your kid up for brain surgery is no easy thing.

So not a fun decision to make, please pray that we make the best choice and especially that Avery will come through this with no vision loss.

And the Dr did say that this is not related to his hearing loss, we just happened to catch it while investigating his ears. Isn't that funny? In a "the world is a crazy place and why do we even pretend we are in control" sort of way?

Thanks so much for prayers!"

Keep up the prayers. Funny how, at the start of Lent when many of us are praying and offering alms and mortifications how God sometimes places squarely before us something truly worthy...

Fantastic Video

2010-02-10T12:57:00.003-06:00

I found this while just browsing through some songs from my youth. The original poster says, "Billy Joel sings about the Blessed Mother. I bet you didn't know he was Catholic, did you? (I know he's not really, but the song fits quite well wouldn't you say?)"

Very well said.....and the images chosen are gorgeous.

Prayer Request--Urgent

2010-02-09T12:51:00.003-06:00

Please remember in your prayers the 8-year-old son of dear friends. He is the second-eldest child of the five children in his family.

He was discovered to be very (completely?) deaf in one ear. They decided to get all of their kids' hearing checked and get this particular son a CAT scan. In the scan, they saw a mass of some kind behind his eyes. The doctors decided he should have an MRI. Yesterday he was sedated (thankfully he didn't have to go under general anaesthesia) and it was determined he has a mass that looks like a tumor. They don't know if it is benign or malignant, yet. They meet with the neurologist on Thursday to determine the next step in this process.

His mother is trying not to think the worst as she had a tough year with her mom dying last year from cancer. Please pray for this little boy's healing and that his parents and the doctors make all the right decisions.

I admit, I've copied and pasted the gist of this from the e-mail I received from our Homeschool group, but I don't think they'll mind.

Saint Raphael, the healer, pray for us. Saint Luke, the physician, pray for us.

Under a Sleeping Pudge

2010-02-09T00:54:00.002-06:00

She's snoring.

My eyes are dry, but wide open.

Things are quiet here.

We're supposed to get snow over the next couple of days, and that suits me fine. There's no point in whingeing about it, for Pete's sake--what do people think is supposed to happen in February?? So, tomorrow, as it snows and snows, we'll bake cookies or brownies and make some chicken soup.

The light is increasing, which makes me happier each day. It's so difficult to get through the darkness of December with my spirit intact, and I feel blessed to have done so.

Maybe I'll feel more inspired tomorrow......

Oy vey.

2010-01-29T16:59:00.004-06:00

I just haven't had much to write about lately. Things happen, life goes on, and not all of it is blog-worthy.

This is why I love being a mom.

Reepicheep says to me this afternoon, "Mom, I'm just so tired." I asked her if she slept well last night. She says, "Yeah, but I think I'm just short on Vitamin D."

I told her to bundle up and go outside, for Pete's sake. There's still Vitamin D floating around out there in what little winter sunshine we're getting.

So she put on her outside clothes and made her way out the door. An hour later, we walked our friends out to their van, and there sat the Reepicheep, on the swing, messing around with the snow. Her brothers spotted her and got the brilliant idea to join her.

Two more kiddos, bundled up so well that they can't bend, out the door.

All was well and very well................................................until I heard the Pickle calling for his sister.

I thought it sounded a little weird, but he's the Pickle , after all, and known to use character voices from time to time. Heaven only knows where he got that, she typed in her very most proper English accent.

He really sounded a little muffled, and perhaps toward the edge of panic, so I had the Frog look out the window to see what was what. She hollered, "OH MY GOSH!!!"--and in rushed the Pickle. "You better rinse that off!" I heard the Frog saying behind him.

When he came through the door, I saw his face absolutely dripping with blood.

Good grief, I thought, he must have been hit in the mouth, and his braces tore through his lips. Or maybe he fell down and bit through his tongue. Or maybe he smashed his nose--he's rather prone to bloody noses.

No, no. None of those tragic things happened. Nothing quite so accidental as all that.

No, it became quickly evident that my son, the Pickle, one whom I love with all of my motherly heart, ate peanut-butter and stupid for lunch today. And I say this with all Christian charity. Really. There is no other explanation.

For what?

For the part where he licked a pole. It is 12 degrees outside. Twelve. That would be below freezing, for those of you not wanting to think when it's colder than 50. (I'm one of those, by the way.) You know, the kind of cold where if you were to be so silly as to lick something metal--like, perhaps a pole--your lips and/or tongue might perhaps just stick to the metal.

He licked a pole. He licked a pole. I have to keep typing it, because it's so incredibly boy that I can't even stand it, much less believe it. I took a peek out the window at the offending pole, and lo and behold, there is actually flesh remaining, adhered to the pole, frozen there like a little trophy. Little pieces of his lips, just stuck there to the pole. Because he licked it.

I instructed the boy to stick his mouth under the running faucet in the bathroom and rinse it until the bleeding stopped. Now he has a fat lip and a good story.

When I asked Reepicheep why she didn't lick the pole, she looked at me as if it were the silliest thing I had ever asked her (which, let's face it, it actually is), and she said, "Because that would have been foolish!"

Retreat anyone?

2010-01-15T17:29:00.003-06:00

Cabin fever has set in around here, big time. This mama is seriously aching for something to do outside the house, and with our budget extremely tight these days (tight isn't the word--it's more like a vacuum.....), the options are limited (to say the least).

I have been feeling poured out lately. I don't know why I don't see this coming every year, but it really seems like it comes around annually. I know that seasonal depression is common, and I suppose that with the post-partum depression I've been dealing with it will probably be a little more intense this year. Yet, I was hoping somehow that it wouldn't affect me as much, that being aware of it would somehow stave it off or offer some shield of protection.

I have really great days, when I feel the Hand of the Lord lifting me out of the valley and setting my feet upon the promised Rock. Those days are almost enough to tide me over, for Pete's sake, and in the mean time my human feet forget how to stand, and I find myself slipping right back down into the valley.

My images of the valley from the mountaintop are not all that bad--I can see lovely green pastures, flowing streams of living waters, gentle rolls and pleasant copses of trees providing cooling shade and plentiful fruit. But I never seem to make it to that particular valley--it's as though I keep climbing the mountain, straining my eyes, seeking that goal, and then somehow always missing it and landing, instead, in the desert. The place I end up is always scorched, filled with brambles and thorns, crawling with hungry predators and laid with mazes of random pits and traps.

My prayer life is suffering. I have not been taking the time I need for my heart to rest in Him, and even as I make room for these words, my heart aches for quiet time with My Lord. I sit here among the chaos of late afternoon with my children, waiting for My Darling to come home, though his arrival is literally hours away. I so desperately need a retreat, a true, honest, actual retreat. I need time to reflect, to read, to journal, and to be filled again with His sweet Spirit. The times between Mass and Mass seem to stretch me so thin that I begin to see through myself and wonder who that poor pallid and thin woman is.

The thing is, I know this journey. I've been on it before--I know it so well, I drew the map. I know that this, too, shall pass. And I am clinging to My Lord in faith that He is walking with me through the valley. I know that He walked the valley before I did, suffering the temptations and fears and lonely lengths of road. I know that He created the valley, and that one day I will find the pasture that I can see from the mountain top. I don't want the excitement of the mountain top......I'd afraid of heights, so the mountain top is never that much of a thrill for me anyway. It's windy up there, and you have to balance just so in order to keep from toppling head over heels to the bottom. I much prefer the solace of the verdant plains, with the sweet woods, gentle breezes, soft grasses, and the company of His fold.

Rats. I don't like this place, and I'd covet your prayers to get the heck out of it. While we're at it, please keep in your prayers AJ and Sarah (and Pip!), little Zelie, Charlie, Rebekah, JP, my Grandma, Ray, Chris, Andy, Veronica, and all the others whose names He already knows.......

A different animal

2010-01-07T22:36:00.006-06:00

I must confess, I tend to scoff when anyone suggests treating boys and girls the same. The fact of the matter is, they are not the same, and it's just plain silly to pretend otherwise. They are not the same physically, emotionally, mentally, or any other -ally, for Pete's sake.

Case in point: The shower.

Take one:
Frog: Mom, may I please go take a shower?
Me: Didn't you just take one last night?
Frog: Well yeah, but I kind of feel gross. Please?
Me: OK, but don't use all the the hot water, and remember to use the timer.
Frog: Yes, Mom.

30 minutes pass, during which we hear the whirring of the exhaust fan, the running of the water, and the tell-tale splooshes as the Frog rinses her hair. Eventually the Frog emerges from the ~~sauna~~ bathroom, accompanied by a cloud of steam to rival the great cloud which led Moses and the Israelites in the desert by day. She has neatly hung her damp towel on the bar, and trots her dirty clothing up to the hamper. The aroma of floral-y soap wafts through the household, and the Frog fairly glows for having been thoroughly scrubbed. Her hair gleams under a coating of conditioner, and all is right with the world. Of course, we'll have to wait a week for the hot water to replenish in the tank, but that's completely beside the point. The Frog is clean.

Take two:
My nose wrinkles as the Pickle passes by, living up to his briny nickname.
Me: Pickle, go take a shower.
Pickle: I just took one.
Me: When?
Pickle: Uh...............(he thinks, but can't recall.)
Me: Pickle, go take a shower.
Pickle: Yes, Mom.

(Don't let the similarity fool you. In this house, the manners are required. Keep reading.)

5 minutes pass, during which we've heard the toilet flush twice, the shower drip a few times, and a little bit of singing. The Pickle emerges wearing the same clothing he wore into the bathroom. His hair is still completely dry. I can't identify any particular towel as having been used, and the fan has not been employed.

Me: What part did you wash?
Pickle: Huh? (Accompanied, of course, by the typical blank stare of a 12-year-old boy when asked a common sense question about an every-day activity having anything to do with personal hygiene.)
Me: Did you wash your hair?
Pickle: My hair? (As though he is suddenly surprised to learn what that fluffy stuff atop his head is called.)
Me: What about your pits?
Pickle: silence, and again with the confused stare....
Me: Pickle, go up to the closet and bring down with you clean underwear, clean pants, a clean shirt and a clean pair of socks.
Pickle: Yes, mom.

10 minutes pass, during which I hear dawdling footsteps, assume something shiny has attracted my boy's eye and completely distracted him, and eventually he comes back with the required articles of clothing. They are not too-badly rumpled, and since I can't smell them from 5 feet away, they must be reasonably clean. I'm not sure I can see socks in his hands, but that's just a minor detail.

Me: Pickle, go into the bathroom and turn on the hot water. Remove your clothing. Stand under the water. Get your entire body wet, including your hair. Use shampoo on your hair. Scrub your whole head. Stand under the water and rinse all of the soap from your hair. Use the bar of soap on your entire body, especially your pits, your crack, and your front. Rinse all of the soap from those places or you will itch horribly. Stand under the water for a little bit longer to make sure that all of the soap is gone. Do you have any questions?
Pickle: Nope.
Me: OK, then go take a shower.
Pickle: Yes, Mom.

10 minutes pass, during which we hear the fan turned on, the water turned on, and a great deal of singing. Eventually the Pickle emerges from the soggy bathroom, which now smells just a little funky--kind of like a middle school locker room...I can tell he must have used shampoo, because there's just a little bit of foam left in his right ear. I'm pretty sure he used soap, because I think I can kind of smell the Irish Spring, though it's been reduced to more of a Norwegian Trickle. His wet towel remains in a lump on the floor, and his dirty clothes are strewn from one end of the room to the other.

Me: Grab your towel and hang it up, please.
Pickle: Yes, Mom.

The towel is stuffed over the bar.

Me: Collect your dirty clothes and take them to the hamper, please.
Pickle: Yes, Mom.

The clothes are snagged and he shuffles up the stairs to the laundry room.

Yes, boys and girls are a little different....it's a waste of time to try to figure out ways to treat them as though they are the same. You can give a girl a truck, but she's still a girl. She'll wrap it up in a blanket, give it milk, read it a story, rock it to sleep and put it to bed. You can give a boy a doll, but he's a boy. He'll remove it's arms and legs, and after he's done shooting dinosaurs with them, he'll set them up at one end of the room, bowl them over with the head, and boogie when he gets a strike. Then he'll toss the torso around like a football, and pump his little fist in the air when he manages to catch it.

I love seeing the differences between my sons and my daughters. I thank God for their uniqueness, for the many blessings they bring to our family, and for the gifts and challenges that raising boys and girls has brought to me as their mother.

The Solmnety of Mary, Mother of God

2009-12-31T22:14:00.003-06:00

--Not a little-known feast, exactly, but I do know some folks who seemed genuinely surprised that January 1st is a holy day of obligation...and not because it's the beginning of a new year. As Catholics, we celebrated the coming of the new year on the first Sunday of Advent, for Pete's sake. Tomorrow, January 1, 2010, we celebrate the Solemnity of Mary, Mother of God.

At any rate, we shall celebrate here with some music.

Happy New Year...may God Bless you and your family with every good thing.

Resting in the Joy

2009-12-29T00:57:00.004-06:00

I know it's been a while. Things here are crazy busy once again, and no help for it.

Last week Wednesday, the kids and I made our way through wet slushy streets to midday Mass. It's something I would rather do on a far more regular basis, but the distance means that the time involved eats up the better part of our day. It's just not practical. Rotten excuse, I know, but there it is. At any rate, we made it, and afterward we helped several other families to decorate the Narthex, the Nave and the Sanctuary for Christmas.

What a blessing! What a joyful task! There were several Nativities from which to choose, and we ended up using just two of them. The one in the Narthex is raised up, and properly housed in a rough stable. The pieces are full-color, and large. An angel hovers above the stable, suspended from the ceiling with strong wires.

The other was placed just in front of the Ambo. This was my job, and it was an incredible honor. I used wooden platforms beneath fabric to place the figures of the Holy Family and two sheep. They are surrounded by white, pink and red poinsettias, and that's it. The pieces are plain, but elegant.

(That's your humble blogger there, proclaiming the Psalm. The Holy Family is there in front of the Ambo.)

The kids made good helpers, ferrying plants from the rear of the Nave to the front, attaching festive bows to every other pew on the center aisle, and taking great joy in helping to make the church a pretty place to come and worship the Infant King on the Feast of His Nativity.

I think the most humbling thing for me was to help change the Altar linens.

When we finished our work, we left to discover driving rain and lashing wind had come to usher in the storm we were expecting. We made our way carefully home, and were blessed to have that afternoon, evening, and the following morning--Christmas Eve--to just spend time together at home. We found ourselves decorating the tree, and doing puzzles, watching Polar Express and White Christmas, and just hanging out. It was lovely.

On Thursday, our supper plan was to gather in the home of dear friends with three other families (12 adults, 26 children!), and then proceed to church for Midnight Mass. The snow and ice storm meant that we had to leave a bit earlier than anticipated, but we all made it in time.

What a gorgeous Mass! With the humongous tree lit up with white lights, a brass quartet joining the organ, the choir singing beautifully, the packed pews, the legions of servers and seminarians, the occasion was absolutely everything that Christmas should be. The Proclamation of the Birth of Christ and the Gospel were both chanted, the hymns were sung with gusto, and a Canon and two Deacons joined the clergy.
(Those middle two servers kneeling there are the Thurifer [the taller one, on the right] and the Boat Bearer [the smaller one, on the left]. The Boat Bearer also happens to be my Pickle! There were about nine other servers and seminarians who are not shown here...and we only had a handful of our 28 seminarians with us that evening.)

It was nearly 3:00 in the morning when we finally arrived home from Mass. Santa visited the stockings and placed the modest collection of gifts beneath the tree.

Christmas Morning dawned grey and stormy, and so, though we had planned to make the trip back in to town for Mass, we decided to stay in after all. The children were thrilled with their gifts: Reepicheep with her Littlest Pet Shop edition of Monopoly, Pickle with seven Loony Tunes videos (because when Santa finds things like that at the second hand store, he shows no measure of self control!), the Frog with the entire Love Comes Softly series of movies on DVD, and the Monkey with his collection of coloring books, pencils, books about gross bugs, and little airplane. The Pudge? Well, she was happy with all of the wrapping paper. Santa is almost ashamed to say that he did, in fact, bring for the Pudge two really cool dog toys. Dog toys?! Yep, well, they are spiffy little rubber chewy ballish things with knobby ends all over, and with molars coming through, Santa knew that was just the thing for the Pudge. She loves 'em.

On Christmas Evening, I found myself absolutely unable to keep my eyes open. Odd-it's nearly 2:30 AM as I write this, but that night, I just couldn't make it. It was all of 8:30 when I said to My Darling, "I am going to bed!" I did, too. I went to bed and managed to get some great sleep that night. I also took a nice, long nap on Saturday. I got caught up on sleep that I've been missing out on for months, and the past couple of days have been wonderful.

Pickle substituted for some friends serving Mass this afternoon for the Feast of the Holy Innocents, and I get to cantor on New Year's Day. The following day, our choir will travel to another cathedral to present our Lessons and Carols again, and to sing at Mass.

While January is not nearly as heavily scheduled as December was, the dates are beginning to be filled in with various activities. In the midst of it all, I hope each of you was blessed to celebrate the Birth of Our Lord with the ones you love, in the warmth of a sturdy home, with plenty of good food to eat, and the knowledge of being so richly blessed.

Do not forget that Christmas is not yet finished--we must keep in mind that the Magi have yet to arrive...Epiphany awaits!

Whaddya know 'bout that?

2009-12-22T12:25:00.003-06:00

Gah! For Pete's sake!

Apparently, some people think I can sing.

I enjoy singing. Actually, I love singing. It's something that I've worked at for many years, learning from many teachers throughout my life. I remember things that I learned from my elementary school music teacher (named, appropriately, Mrs. Staff!), tidbits from junior high school--though I didn't as greatly enjoy being in that particular group--and the legions that I learned in high school. In high school, our teacher was (and still is) one of the best anywhere in the Midwest. She learned choral teaching and conducting under Dr. Robert Fountain, and was absolutely born to do what she does. Many of the student teachers who progressed through her classroom were also students of Dr. Fountain, and had more and more to teach those eager to learn. Many of the techniques that I still use, I learned from them. Methods of breathing, of focusing tone, of releasing phrases, of enunciation--all of the mechanics of singing--I picked up here and there.

But in all of this time, save for the required course work, I've not ever really studied singing. I wanted to; when I went to college for a whole semester (!--before I ran out of money), my major was vocal performance. One semester, however, does not make a vast amount of difference. I learned, yes, from my vocal professor, but have always been a little sad at how much more I could have learned had things worked out differently.

The choir with which I now sing is a very good choir. We focus on sacred music from various genres, always keeping in mind the liturgical applications. This year, one of the pieces selected by our director, Pat, is the aria and chorus from Messiah, "O thou that tellest good tidings to Zion." Back around October, Pat asked me if I would be willing to take a shot at the aria. Well, ok...I'm familiar with it, since I sing along with the CD in my van, and I was hearing it plenty when I was in the Messiah choir beginning in August (we performed on the 11th). So I gave it a shot.

I have a hard time performing anything solo. I love singing in a choir--to work to blend with those around me, to be amidst the harmonies and conspire to weave beautiful tapestries of music with a group of musicians is pure bliss! Ah, but to have the eyes and ears of listeners focused on my voice alone is terrifying. And with a work so well known and loved as Messiah, well, that just takes plain guts. And work. Lots and lots of work.

So to prepare, I asked the Lord what I always ask Him, chiefly to let my voice be silent and His be heard, for His glory. I do this at the beginning of every Mass when I am the cantor, and any time I have even the smallest of parts which might stand out.

I also spent plenty of time with my CD, hearing Carolyn Watkinson croon to me, and doing my best to join her.

Amazing, isn't she? And I must say, I kind of enjoy it when people surprise me and don't match their voice. When I found this video this afternoon, it was the first time I'd laid eyes on this lovely person. I somehow imagined her to be somewhat older, rather larger, with bouffant-ish red hair, and wearing something flouncy, sparkling, and overflowing with chiffon. Idn't she cute? :) Just sayin'.

At any rate, I sang the aria, because I like to do as I'm told.

It was gushed over. Which, of course, translates to "I" was gushed over. I hate that. I don't mind that people appreciate, but it was a huge relief when my dear friend Amy understood when I said that it didn't feel the greatest, and that I wasn't entirely happy with it.

It was enough, though, for another friend to let me know that he intends to broadcast it on the radio, for Pete's sake.

FOR PETE'S SAKE!!!

Huh. Whaddya know 'bout that?

It's WHAT time?!

2009-12-17T01:53:00.006-06:00

On the one hand, it's really nice to be in a quiet house. The lights around the Creche glow warmly, the lights around the windows shine gently, and the slow, steady breathing of my Pudge falls on my ear. She is resting peacefully on my chest, the smell of warm milk sweet on her cheeks.

On the other hand, I could totally do without insomnia. Really. I am so tired that I can't even stand it, but my mind just will not let up.

It's been a strange Advent. My heart has been trying and trying to prepare Him room, but it's been complicated somewhat by the turn of events following Pudge's measles.

People are afraid of measles. Think about it--when was the last time you were in the presence of a person with the measles? Probably doesn't happen very often. Most people in my mom's generation had measles when they were kids, and most people of my generation and younger have been vaccinated.

The thing people are afraid of is not knowing enough about this virus to keep cool when they hear that it's "out there."

So the Pudge got measles. We don't know where, and we don't really even know how or when. It could have been at the library, or the grocery store, or even in the Narthex at church. She could have gotten it because some baby slobbered on the handle of the cart at the store and then she touched the handle and then sucked on her pudgy little fingers, or because she was drooled on by a playmate who had just been vaccinated.

So what happened? She had a fever, which we controlled easily with acetaminophen and ibuprofen and tepid baths. She had a rash which lasted a few days and then faded. She had two runny diapers. She may have had a headache and sore throat--both of which would have been alleviated with the meds. She had goopy eyes and a runny nose, which, considering her age, is not so surprising--perhaps what is surprising is that this bout with measles is the second time ever in her little life that she has been sick. And oh, yes, I do count that puny little Piggy Flu as the first.

Oh--and just to get it out there, as soon as we knew that measles was what was had, we were on the phone with those we knew to be at risk, those we thought might possibly be at risk, and those we knew would pray for the Pudge. And for Pete's sake, we kept her home until we knew she was past the possibility of passing it on.

Most of the people with whom we are in contact vaccinate. Some of them don't. Whether we or they do or don't doesn't really matter in this case--Pudge, having just turned a year, was too young to have received an MMR shot, so she fell into the category of "unprotected" by default. And those who choose not to vaccinate do not do so thinking that their children will never get______(measles, mumps, chicken pox, etc......). Generally speaking, they are a very well-educated, well-informed bunch who make decisions after weighing pros and cons, and with the support of their doctors.

But I gotta tell ya, there was mass hysteria out there. Grown, thinking, mature adults absolutely freaked out about this--and mostly because they had no idea what measles is, how it progresses, how it spreads, who's at risk and who isn't, and what they should do about it--because for Pete's sake, we'd better do something!

And why, you might ask, would this affect our Advent?

Well it's like this. We discovered Pudge's measles on Thanksgiving evening. That would be November 26th. That following Sunday (the First Sunday of Advent), November 29th, she and I did not go to Mass (though I was able to go to an evening Mass, thanks be to God). That Monday, Pickle went with My Darling to the boys' club that they always go to on Monday, and someone was very upset about that. Never mind that Pickle is vaccinated and boostered. He cannot carry measles. But whoever was upset about it started The Panic. The Panic spread, the rumors began, the gossip flowed like cheap wine from a box, and the phone began ringing off the hook.

Oh wait--actually, it didn't.

On Sunday, My Darling let a couple of people know that Pudge had the measles, and I received one e-mail from a very lovely woman asking how Pudge fared, and would we like her to send a meal along with her husband and sons to give to My Darling on Monday evening? God bless her!!

The next day, our whole home school group received an e-mail stating that measles was "making the rounds"--because, you know, one child in one family equals "making the rounds." Someone heard about this and passed it on and passed it on and passed it on (because sometimes we women........well, sometimes we talk.). And someone threatened to call a doctor whom they knew who kept track of infectious diseases. And someone called someone else and said that we were using this as an excuse to drop our home school group like a hot potato because we wanted to participate in a different one. And someone called someone else and said that they heard that our daughter said to someone else's daughter that we might not be homeschooling all the way to high school anyway, so what did it matter?

Yes, really.

Everything kind of happened behind closed doors and spilled onto keyboards and screens.

Now, I love e-mail. I use it all the time and think it's groovy that I can send quick updates and notes to my Grams, and print off menus for Mass when I'm scheduled to cantor. But when something like this happens, I truly wish that all e-mail service in the 100 miles surrounding us would crash. People grew not only afraid of measles, but of the phone.

Some of the e-mails we received were near threats--"Don't show up to First Friday Mass!" Some of them were piggybacks of gossip--"We hear MamaMidwife's Lovey and Flower have measles, too--we're praying for them!" (.....except that they didn't have them....not that anyone bothered to call her to find this out.......) Some of them were directed to MamaMidwife, and were Just Plain Hurtful--"Don't come to this event because I'm terrified that you'll give measles to others there!" (.....even though she's vaccinated and cannot carry measles.....)

The fear, I tell you, was palpable.

The worst e-mail--the kindest, but the worst--was the one from our beloved Monsignor. Someone had called or e-mailed him very, very late on Saturday evening, the night before the Second Sunday of Advent. We had already made the decision that the big three were going to Mass with My Darling and the little ones would stay home with me. And at 11:00 at night, I received an e-mail letting our family know that we had all been dispensed of our obligation to attend Holy Mass, the Holy Mass celebrating Immaculate Conception, and all Masses until we were confident that the risk of exposure had passed.

Yes, really.

And what was the risk?

The risk was that because the Monkey, who has not been vaccinated, lives with his dear sister the Pudge, he might carry the measles and hand it off to some unsuspecting unvaccinated child.

Not that we could arrange to not have him at First Friday Mass. Not that we could make sure he stayed--literally--within our arms at Sunday Mass, and in the back of the church, or on the side where very few people ever sit because the lighting is horrible. Not that we were out to expose the families whom we know and love like our own families, for Pete's sake, wishing them all to suffer the wrath of the measles!

And how long was this a risk? Well gosh, I don't know. It probably still is, because here it is, December 17th, and he has yet to get the fever, the Koplik's spots, the rash, the goopy eyes, the sore throat, the headache, the diarrhea, or for pity's sake, the anything associated with measles. But, you know, it could happen at any time.

This Sunday, Gaudete Sunday, REJOICE Sunday, we went to Mass as a family, in the parish to which we belong.

Not the First Sunday of Advent. Not First Friday. Not the Feast of the Immaculate Conception. Not the Second Sunday of Advent. And Heaven knows, none of the daily Masses in between.

And as a result of the fear, gossip, panic and lack of communication, we are now considering leaving the home school group with which we'd felt such a strong bond. We hadn't considered it before this whole thing erupted. But having been on the receiving end of a lot of muck being slung about, we're not sure it's really the place we want to nurture our children. (Our children, who, by the way, were witness to their mother reading e-mail after e-mail, talking with friends and those whom she thought to be friends, trying to sort out and assure that we were not trying to infect people with some deadly disease, and for Pete's sake, would they please ask us what our plans for our family are, rather than relying on what someone's daughter said that our daughter said months ago??!! Yes, REALLY!)

A lot of damage can be done when people allow fear to take hold. With the refusal to ask questions, research anything, talk with any doctor who actually deals with measles, rather than studying it from a book, so much has been accomplished on the side of evil--hurt feelings, motives questioned, friendships destroyed, faithful people alienated.....

So it's been a strange Advent.

I'm trying so to keep it all in perspective, to focus on the joy of this season. It's been mighty difficult. There's so much other crud going on that Mass has been all I've had to look forward to...and when you're told not to come to Mass, it's like a stab to the very soul, with a twist of the blade for good measure.

Thanks be to God, my Pudge is well. Thanks be to God, the Monkey is, too. Thanks be to God we can now fully focus on Advent, on preparing our hearts to welcome the Lord Jesus, the Infant King, Emmanuel, God with us.

Pondering

2009-12-08T09:53:00.002-06:00

Many choir rehearsals these weeks. Lots of sacred music. Plenty to feed the soul. One of the choirs with which I sing is preparing to offer is our annual Lessons and Carols. This is not my choir, but it is perhaps the most famous to offer a Lessons and Carols service each year--King's College, Cambridge, England. I was searching for my favorite carol of this year, and found a treasury. Please take the time to hear each of these pieces, perhaps with a cup of tea, or while placing the figures for your family's Nativity set, as we are doing this snowy morning. Savor Advent. Long for Him. Ponder the Gift.

You know you're Catholic when....

2009-11-29T23:47:00.004-06:00

When I was on bed rest, pregnant with the Pudge, the thing that grieved me the most was missing Mass. I longed for the familiarity and the simplicity of the rituals of signing myself with holy water, hearing the organ and the choir, participating in the liturgy as one of the faithful...and partaking of the Eucharist--receiving my Lord, Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity.

When My Darling and the children would return from Mass, they would give me their sweaters, and I would spend the next hours inhaling the sweet fragrance of incense, which is used every week in our parish. With so many young men gathering to serve every Sunday in the vesting sacristy, there are always plenty of jobs to hand out, including Crucifer, candle bearers, thurifer, boat bearer, zuchetto, Vimpas for the miter and crosier, book bearer, etc., etc., etc.....Last year, because he was new-ish and rather on the small side, my Pickle was frequently boat bearer--which meant that he stuck to the thurifer like glue, and came home plastered with the smell of incense all over his clothes, in his hair, on his skin...you know, until he started to smell like boy again.

So today, because of the Pudge's measles, for Pete's sake, we went to Mass in shifts (which we pretty much never do!). My Darling went to our traditional Mass this morning, taking with him the Frog, the Monkey, and the Pickle. Reepicheep and Pudge and I stayed home. Pudge and I got a wonderful nap in, and Reepicheep was able to watch The Lord of the Beans unhindered by the Monkey, who often begs for the funnier scenes to be repeated many times over, until the whole point of even watching the movie becomes moot.

When the first shift returned home, My Darling sat next to me on the couch.

I could not help myself. I smashed my nose into his shoulder and took such a deep breath that fibers from his shirt landed in my very toes. He smelled sooooooooooooooooo good. The kind of good that makes you want to keep breathing it in until you absolutely explode from having so much goodness inhaled into your lungs, and upon exhaling, you groan involuntarily simply because.

I said to him, "They used a different incense today."

He responded, "Well, you know dear, it is Advent, after all."

Yes--Happy New Year, liturgically speaking. Welcome to cycle C of the readings. And since the priest now wears purple--now you can play the Christmas-y-type songs.

The measles, by the by, are on their way out the door--thanks be to God! The rash is fading quickly from her face--her forehead now looks slightly tanned, rather than angrily burned. The spots are still there, but a bit lighter, and mostly when she's overly warm or has been playing hard or crying. Last night marked the first night that she truly slept in better than a week--meaning that I, too, got a bit of sleep, which I desperately needed.

Keep up the prayers for our friends AJ and Sarah, for Rebekah and ber baby sibling, and for her cousin JP. They need them.

Bloggy Wonderfulness

2009-11-29T13:36:00.003-06:00

My dear friend Mama Midwife sent me a link to the most craftylicious, pretty, eye candy I've seen in a long time. And besides all that, it has a fabulous name!

I give you: The Angry Chicken! The category which is the feast for the eyes is this one, and I do encourage you to Ooh and Aah over it as I did. I squealed. I daydreamed. I planned.

My girls and I shall be whipping bunches of these up for Christmas presents...............now all I have to do is pick one to start with, for Pete's sake!

Just a quickie--

2009-11-28T02:19:00.001-06:00

I'm catching up on my blog reading, and spotted this gem for Advent preparation. What a wonderful resource! A nod to Pat for posting this.

Huh? Who, me??

2009-11-28T01:06:00.002-06:00

I'm so sorry. I've been neglecting my poor blog, and now I think it's wincing from the sudden onslaught after days and days of disuse.

We have the measles around here. Well, actually, the Pudge has the measles.

Also, SHE'S ONE!!

Yeah--it's been crazy.

When the heck was my last entry, anyway? Way back in the dark ages of the Swine Flu (or as My Darling likes to spell it, "The Pig Flew"--get it? Get it???? Now all that other crazy stuff can happen.....) which was better than a month ago? No, surely I've written since then.

My Pudgie's birthday was a whole week ago. We celebrated just as a family, choosing to gather with our dear friends--and Pudgie's Godparents--in December, on the anniversary of her baptism. The Frog made a cake, and the Pudge totally went for it. We cleared the table so that only the cake remained, then we lit the candle, sat her on the table, and sang to her. I had to hold her back to keep her from grabbing that little flame, but after the Monkey helped her puff it out and I let her go, she had a fantastic time! I promise pictures will be posted. I just have to get my hands on the Frog's camera.

The Reepicheep also had a birthday--she entered the Double Digits! Since her birthday falls so close to Thanksgiving, that's when we've traditionally celebrated with family. Her big present this year meant that she finally got her ears pierced. She's hemmed and hawed about this for around four years, for Pete's sake. We allowed the Frog to get hers done for Christmas when she was in first grade, and offered the same opportunity to the Reepicheep. She flatly rejected it, and happily ignored the possibility for about ten minutes, after which she began reasoning out every single aspect of being able to dangle various shiny objects from her earlobes.

Having spent the better part of the last four years pinching her ears to see Just How Much It Really Would Hurt, she finally said that she perhaps just might possibly want to reconsider her hastily made decision, and would we think about maybe talking about discussing whether or not we might permit her to try again? (Really--when she talks, she takes her time and says nearly all of these things!!! It's slightly maddening.....but terribly cute!)

So we did. On Wednesday, we hopped over to the shopping center and popped into the Girly Girl Store and she sat up in the chair and squeezed the fingers right off of my left hand, and choked nearly to stuffed animal death the teddy bear she was given to hold, and when all was said and done--she came away with sparkly little flowers on her dainty lobes. She is fairly smitten, and has been seen casting grinning glances into whatever reflective surface is within ten feet.

On about the measles.

Did you know that in the generation before mine, the mothers who carried their babies passed on all kinds of natural immunity to things we now immunize for? Like measles, mumps, chicken pox....just to name a few. This meant that when their children got those diseases, their immunity was for life, with no need for a booster. Since I was immunized as a child, I haven't passed those immunities on to my children--which means that they need boosters for their immunizations that I didn't need--which means that in just a few generations, what in the world will we be able to do??? Just a thought.

So last Saturday, my little Pudgie, Freshly Turned One, began sporting a fever. It rose pretty quickly, as fevers are wont to do, and parked at about 102. I Motrined her back to sleep, and woke up with a sweaty, feverish little thing plopped onto my back by the Frog.

I figured, well, she's probably teething those molars in. After some more Motrin, we loaded up in the van and went to Mass. There was nothing else going on afterward, so we came home to have our quiet time. Her fever climbed right back up again--this time getting to 104. We began with the tepid bathing, cool washcloth for the head, nursing-like-a-newborn, Tylenol and Motrin regimen, and didn't look back until Wednesday. I put a call in to our wonderful doctor, Dr. Renee, and had a phone consult. We had just a couple of runny diapers, a drippy nose, and teary eyes--but nothing else, save for the fever. She said to keep an eye, and that with no clear signs of any infection, it was likely viral anyway, so there wasn't much to do for it but watch and wait. It was Wednesday evening that I noticed the little white spots in the Pudge's mouth--and later that night that just above her brow became reddened. It spread p into her hairline, covered her scalp, poked it's rashy little nose in behind her ears, and looked like it meant business.

Thursday dawned, and the fever was completely gone, thanks be to God! We got through the day hosting My Darling's parents and his sister's family, and after the turkey had been eaten and stored and everyone left, My Darling gave the Pudge a bath. It occurred to me that I hadn't changed her all day--it had fallen to others, since I was busy playing hostess. When she was brought out of the bath, I had my first peek at the spots which now covered my little sweet Pudge.

I will say it looks a lot less menacing than chicken pox. This rash is red, raised little dots, but they're only about the size of the head of a pin. There are a lot of them, to be sure, but they're not those big nasty blistery things of the pock nature.

Her nose has dried up a little bit. Her eyes are still runny, and red--it looks like she's been having a marathon cry, though goodness knows she hasn't.

She's tired, but restless. I know that when I go up to the bed, it will be not to sleep, but to hold my little Pudge while she wrestles with the idea of sleep, but never really gives in completely.

Everything I've read says that she should be markedly better in about two more days. We're weighing whether or not she should go with us to Mass on Sunday, or if we'll go in shifts so that My Darling and I both get to go.

I will check in again tomorrow.....hopefully with pictures and a promising update.

Please pray for my little Pudge, continue your prayers for AJ and Sarah, and add Rebekah and her baby sibling.

As Fr. Longenecker would say....

2009-11-15T19:53:00.001-06:00

....chust for nice. (Ok, really for a big, fat laugh. Because it's really that funny.)

2009-11-10T16:59:00.001-06:00

I've posted this song before, with a different video, but this one is a little better. It's just really been on my heart lately, and I have a minute to post it. AJ and Sarah, this is for you, friends. Steph, Rebekah, you too.

Love you all so much.

Buffer Zone

2009-11-09T23:30:00.004-06:00

It's late. Really, I'd much rather be in bed, but My Darling took the Pudge up just a short while ago, and I need to give him time to get her to sleep.

Besides, I need time to get my thoughts in order, and this is where that happens. Please excuse any lack of cohesion, but this is where you, the reader, are captive audience to my thought-spew. Great visual, isn't it?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Saturday.........what an absolutely glorious day! Indian Summer made its return to the Midwest, and we welcomed it with arms wide open. My Darling needed to take care of sighting in his gun for deer hunting, so he took Pickle, Reepicheep and Monkey with him up to Mama Midwife's house. Her husband and My Darling went out onto their land and, well, shot at things. Word has it they used a barrel for a target, and it only took 3 shots for him to get the job done. Pickle and Reepicheep each got to take one shot with a .22--under the watchful eyes of both men, mind you, one of whom is not only a county deputy, but also a hunter safety instructor. Pickle said it was awesome. Reepicheep said she's done. :) Atta girl!

While they were gone, the Frog, the Pudge and I were outside. Because when it's 75 degrees in November, you dang skippy better be outside! I've been waiting and waiting to plant my bulbs. I grabbed them several trips back at ~~our second home~~ the home improvement store, and finally it was pleasant enough outside to get my attention. When the wind came through some weeks ago, it brought this oppressive cold, grey sky with it, and it's been windy, cold and rainy ever since. This weekend began a lovely trend of fair weather that I would far prefer lasting into December....but I know it won't. At any rate, the Frog brought the Pudge outside, along with a blanket. The two of them sat and soaked up the Vitamin D, while I yanked the weeds out of a bed My Darling put in for me three years back.

I had originally intended this bed to be full of red and yellow flowers, and even planted seeds--but nothing ever came of it. So for the past two years, I've been working in compost and letting it go weedy--and then pulling everything out. I've mulched it and enriched it, so that this last time, there were some weeds, but not many by any stretch. On Saturday, I planted red and white parrot tulips, pink fringed tulips, red double late tulips, white hyacinths, and purple/yellow/white crocuses. I still need to get more mulch on top of them, but the weather is to be wonderfully fair for the rest of the week.

While I was working on planting the bulbs, the Pudge was working on planting her little eyelids shut. She ended up napping on the lawn (nestled in with her boppy pillow and blankie) for nearly two hours! The Frog stayed outside with her, and when I went in to clean up my hands and throw open every window in the house, I ended up sprawling across the bed and dozing off myself.

The afternoon brought the final lawn mowing of the year, with the Monkey riding on the tractor with My Darling, grinning that humongous grin that he gets around any motor. It was a truly fantastic Saturday afternoon.

Sunday began as usual--we shared breakfast together and prepared for Mass. My Darling drove us in to town, while I applied my make-up. I'm absolutely proficient at applying mascara whilst bouncing around at highway speeds! So we got to Mass, settled in our pews, the boys processed in with the Crucifix, incense, and candles. Monsignor censed the altar, we prayed, we sang the Gloria, we prayed some more..........and the fire alarm went off.

In a church where incense is used--heavily--every single Sunday, the usual routine has been to silence the alarm. But apparently there was a day last week when the company which services the alarm system had to come do some maintenance, and the thing hasn't worked right since.

The lector read the first reading, but there was no way the cantor could sing the Psalm with the incredibly loud noise beating in her ears. Not that I would know--by that time (about 5 minutes), those of us with little ones had gone outside to the front steps to protect our babies' ears. After what seemed an interminably long time, people began streaming through the doors and onto the sidewalk--Monsignor had dispensed everyone's Sunday obligation, encouraging them to attend the later Mass at the other church in our parish.

Whoa.

Now, I had been mulling over in my mind whether or not to receive the Eucharist, but for Pete's sake, to just have it not offered presented quite a shock to my spirit.

I've definitely been given a wake-up call as to just how blessed we are to live where we do, and have the luxury of just attending a later Mass--of having that option! What an amazing thing!! And how often do people take it for granted? How often does my family take for granted that we can just pop in to Mass any day of the week, at almost any hour we want?

Never again, My Lord, I promise.

We did go to the later Mass, thanks be to God.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Between the Mass-that-wasn't and the Mass-that was, we were visiting with some friends. Our family and three others came together at another family's home. The dads and boys were going out with wagons collecting food for a local Catholic food pantry, so the moms, sisters and little ones got to stay back and have a nice afternoon. The older girls watched the little ones, and the in-betweens played outside. We women were left with our nurslings to discuss.

What did we discuss? Our Husbands, of course! We are all couples who take part in the diocesan Marriage Preparation ministry, and it was so awesome to talk with other women who strongly value our marriages, and know well how to keep things in perspective. It was so uplifting, and great to have honest feedback about things that we all experience in our marriages.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I found out this morning that my grandma has been hospitalized with a heart ailment. She's in ICU again tonight, but they anticipate being able to move her to a regular room tomorrow sometime. They are switching her from an IV med to the same medication in pill form, and just want to be sure that she tolerates the change. God willing, she'll go home Wednesday. Please keep her in your prayers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Well, there it is. Sorry it's not more inspirational, more organized.....whatever. I'm just not up to it. The good news is--I think the Pudge is asleep.

Small Success Thursday

2009-11-05T23:50:00.005-06:00

I'm so discombobbulated today, I guess I ought to get this posted before it's Friday--uh, that gives me ten whole minutes.

I suppose it's a success that I snuck in a nap. Since I upped my meds, I'm feeling a bit more like myself, but I'm still struggling to get the rest I truly need...so napping is good. I snoozed with the Monkey, which is always a treat.

I sat in the kitchen with My Darling this evening. We ate nearly alone, after the kids inhaled their supper and scooted down to play in the basement. It was almost a date--and it was only interruped three or four times. And we only had to tell the interlopers to leave five or six times before they got the hint.

When I was hungry today, I reached for actually healthy food, rather than just plain empty calories. Empty calories are so delicious........Nutty Bars are my heroin, for Pete's sake. But they are really helping to "Widen My Assets," if you catch my drift. And I think you do. I'd rather not widen anymore, thankyouverymuch.

And so, my final success is a bit of a pre-success--perhaps more of a statement. I hereby endeavor to use the exercise equipment I have here in my home. I have some little hand weights, resistance bands, yoga block dealios (um, the lumbar pad of which currently resides in my seat in the van....), and an exercise ball (which was bought for use in labor--which definitely counts as exercise!). You know, this whole statement feels vaguely familiar. I'll have to check back through my old stuff to see if I've made this particular statement before................

There are lots of other people here celebrating their successes today.....what are yours?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Please continue to pray for AJ and Sarah. Their news today was not as good as they were hoping for. Please pray for strength, peace and grace to carry the Cross He has seen fit to bless them with.

Prayer Request

2009-11-05T00:06:00.001-06:00

Would you please keep my friend AJ and his lovely bride Sarah in your prayers? It would mean the world to them. Any time at Adoration, any Masses, any mortifications, any Rosaries--any and all, however the Holy Spirit moves your heart would be fantastic.

Small Success Thursday

2009-10-29T17:23:00.003-05:00

Well, well, well. Here we are again at another Thursday, and looking back at the week, I have some small things to celebrate. So, here we go, folks!

1. I have managed to assist My Darling in the priming and painting of the Family Closet portion of the Addition. Photos shall be forthcoming.

2. Last night at Messiah Rehearsal, I was able to correctly sing a few trouble spots without letting them get the best of me--a good thing, since we only have one more rehearsal before we meet up with the orchestra. It's fish or cut bait!

3. I spoke with my doctor and increased the dose of my medication, which I've been needing to do. She totally understood when I explained that I can talk to my other Mom friends 'til the cows come home about it, but when it came to actually picking up the phone, it seemed to become a poisonous cactus. At any rate, it's done, and I'm feeling much the better for it.

4. I managed to resist the siren call of the Dr. Pepper that's nice and cold and fizzy and delicious and a mere 30 or so steps away. Sleep is more important. And caffeine is bad for the singing voice, too. And Heaven knows I have some singing to do.

There are other folks celebrating their everyday triumphs here as well. What are you thankful for this week?

Two down....

2009-10-28T23:04:00.002-05:00

The Pudge has fully recovered, thanks be to God, from her bout with the flu. It's totally up in the air as to whether or not she had the Bonafide H1N1 Swine Flu--after all, with the empirical treatment and complete lack of testing, it seems to me there's a whole lot of assumption going on. Better safe than sorry? Always. I guess we'll just be glad that it wasn't terribly awful, that there were no complications for my dear little Pudge, and that no one else in our family became ill. Praise God for all blessings, great and small!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is one of the heaviest weeks, musically, that I've had in a long time. It's not Holy Week, and it's not Christmastide, but this week takes the cake for Most Musically Stressful Week of Ordinary Time by a ~~head~~ full length.

Here's why: Last night, I had choir rehearsal with our Diocesan Choir. Tonight I had rehearsal with the Messiah Choir. Tomorrow night, I have rehearsal again with the Diocesan Choir. Sunday, I cantor at Mass. And then Sunday afternoon, the Diocesan Choir is partnering with a Lutheran choir for a Vespers service to commemorate All Saints Day.

Lutherans, for Pete's sake! Nothing against Lutherans, mind you--some of my dearest and oldest friendships are with faithful Lutherans. But the piece we're singing as a joint choir is not at all something which would be chosen, liturgically speaking, for use in a Catholic choir. It's something quite out of our usual repertoire, and has consumed many chunks of rehearsal time. It's gorgeous, really, with a lush and rather romantic sound to it. But we're frankly just coming into feeling at ease with it, I think. Good thing we have another rehearsal tomorrow night to polish it a bit more.

I'm afraid my voice this evening, upon return home from my second rehearsal in a row, is a little worse for wear. I am banking on my cup of Lady Grey and two full days of rest to restore it, that I may worthily and properly sing the Psalm on Sunday. It's so humbling to be part of the liturgy, to lead the faithful in singing the Psalms of King David. David! He who slew the great giant with a pebble, who led the people of God when the Ark of the Covenant was finally returned once again, who penned the Psalms to the Lord and sang to Him amidst the sheep of his family. And how could I ever be worthy, really, to proclaim the Psalms?

Of course, the answer lies in Grace and Grace alone. My voice should never be heard apart from the Holy Spirit raising it. He has called me to this ministry, and I must answer in obedience.

Must Post

2009-10-23T10:28:00.003-05:00

Has anyone seen this movie? My thanks to Monstrous Regiment for posting this trailer. Looks fantastic.

Mother Teresa Movie Trailer @ Yahoo!7 Video

A Little Something New

2009-10-22T18:01:00.003-05:00

I've been seeing this on some other Catholic Blogs, and I like the idea. The whole "Small Success Thursday" thing seems like a worthy way to inject the late-middle of the week with a little pick-me-up.

So, without further ado, my Small Success This Week:

1. I've managed to keep my sanity amid the Swine Flu. (Saying it like that, and adding it to some sort of "official" list makes it sound more like the black plague the media's making it out to be!)

2. I've done, folded and PUT AWAY around 25 loads of laundry. And it's only Thursday!

3. When grocery shopping last night with My Darling, I kept our cart to my list. Really, this should go on another list which includes considerations for national awards, but I'll keep it here in an effort to stay humble. ;)

Want more inspiration? Check the efforts other folks have put forth here.

What successes have you had this week?

Ok, all right.......I can't avoid it any longer.

2009-10-22T13:51:00.003-05:00

There's just way too much great political-parody stuff out there that MUST be posted. We all need a good laugh! Enjoy this:

Many thanks to The Crescat for being the first place I saw this gem.

Pudgy Little Update

2009-10-21T23:19:00.004-05:00

So here's the scoop:

The fever remains gone. Adios and good riddance! The cough, however, remains. We've given it the eviction notice, but it takes it about as well as my old nemesis the Nausea Bug did. In other words, it's still here.

But the fever is gone, which is what counts, for Pete's sake.

So now we just pray that the fever stays far, far away from the Little Pudge, and that the cough packs up and leaves soon.

Swine flu, begone!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This sleeping at odd hours during the day and sleeping for beans at night is for the birds. Really. But it's done a couple of interesting things. First of all, the big kids have been working on their own school projects. They're deeply involved in engineering their own building design, utilizing a spiffy architecture set that My Darling brought home. And the girls are writing stories, in which they are required to use proper sentence structure, punctuation, handwriting and spelling.

I love homeschooling!

The Monkey, who shall shortly be re-named the Squash, has been learning the finer points of mudding drywall. He has a small spatula tool (I'm told it's a knife, but I do not let my children play with knives, for Pete's sake!) with which he slathers the stuff on, creating all manner of interesting sculptures on the wall. Now, he knows that these will all be sanded down to nothing when they dry, but he goes on about his business with the happy heart of a three-year-old boy. Perhaps we could all take a lesson from the joy of a small child.

The Pudge, despite her cough, is back to her delightfully funny little self, thanks be to God. She has been exploring language of late, and we're beginning to be able to relate her words for things to the things she's naming. She has a name for the Frog that is pretty close to her actual name. And to her beloved Daddy, she coos, "Daddoo.....Daddoo...." It melts him like so many chocolate chips in a double boiler!

I realized yesterday that we passed Monday with hardly a glance--but on Monday, my little Pudgy Bug was Eleven Months Old. We are now in the countdown to Birthday Number One. I shudder to acknowledge that she is growing up so fast, but I suppose they all do, then, don't they?

Even she knows how BIG she is!!

Dreaming with her eyes open

2009-10-18T23:59:00.003-05:00

She's on my lap, my little Pudgy Bug. She's snoring, which I ordinarily find quirky and cute, but tonight would rather not hear.

She's more congested than she was the other day, and her cough is awful. But the fever is gone, for the most part, and we pray it stays gone, for Pete's sake. The danger of pneumonia as a complication is at the ~~back of my mind~~ top of my forehead. Saint Rapheal the Healer, pray for my baby. Saint Luke the Physician, pray for my baby.

I've had such encouraging news from many friends recently--marriages being strengthened and healed, families settling into new homes far away, healthy children being born into loving families...

In the beloved style of Fr. Z., tell me some of your good news. And for Pete's sake, please keep praying.

Well, if you're going to be up in the middle of the night..........

2009-10-17T01:17:00.004-05:00

The clock in the corner of my screen reads 1:17 AM. There are two sleepers next to me: My Darling on my left and the Pudge on my right. I'm up anyway, listening to my baby breathe, so I figured I might as well update my humble home on the web.

What a day.

What a few days.

On Wednesday, the Pudge was a little run down--just a little fussy, a little stuffy-sounding, but no cough or dripping or anything. Ah, well, I thought, she's a baby. Sometimes babies are fussy.

By around midnight, she was starting to spike a temp. We gave her Motrin (not a product plug--it's just what we happened to have on hand) and she fell into a fitful sleep. I fell into a fitful non-sleep, as mothers are wont to do when their little ones are under the weather. The last time I looked at the clock was 3:45.

Thursday was a tough day. She was even fussier, and I was giving her Motrin throughout the day to keep her temp down. When it works, it works well; she resumed playing happily, babbling at her siblings and being adorable as usual.

But last night, everything changed. Last night, her breathing became labored. Her fever didn't respond as well to the Motrin. She went from being ok to being just plain sick. We ended up giving her a tepid bath at 1:30 in the morning to help her body cool down enough to get her the rest she needs. And even then, it was fitful for her and worse for me. I didn't close my eyes until around 5:00. My Darling took the Pudge downstairs with him and snuggled her on the couch. Being upright seemed to help her breathe better.

I put in a call to our doctor. My Darling, knowing that there was no way I was good for much of anything, took the day off from work, intending to go to his second job this evening.

When the doctor called back at around lunch time, I described to her what was going on with my Pudge. I told her that she has a fever, and how when she breathes hard, like when she's crying, her ribs can be seen because of the skin sucking in around them. She didn't need long to say, "You need to take her in. We don't have x-ray equipment up here, so just head to urgent care. She needs chest x-rays."

Oh, that is not what I wanted to hear. I wanted to hear, "She probably just has a cold. She'll be fine."

We headed to town with our dear one. She was so brave and good. We got to the hospital, and found ourselves donning those ridiculous masks. She would not keep hers on, and she was already miserable enough without me making her wear something over her little face. Then we sat in a room and waited. And waited. And held her through a throat swab and rectal temp, and then waited some more. Finally, we were taken to radiology for x-rays.

Her chest x-rays were torturous. The first one went ok, I thought, but then she was crying and crying...and with her breathing the way it is now, her cry is a raspy grunt barely louder than a whisper. The tech, whom I knew in high school, was kind enough to let me wear the heavy lead apron and hold my baby so that they could get the films they needed.

We waited some more, and received the good news that the x-rays look good--no pneumonia, thanks be to God. The strep culture came back clear, so no strep, either.

But they are no longer running the tests for H1N1. It's too expensive (around $300), and takes so long that by the time the results come in, the patient is either recovered or being treated in the hospital for complications. So they are now doing what they call "empirical treatment," which means that with certain symptoms, they run less expensive, faster tests, and then treat for H1N1.

My baby has the swine flu.

We're keeping a very close watch on her breathing, because if it doesn't improve, we'll have to go back in for more x-rays, and possible admission. So many people are already praying like mad for my little Pudgy Bug, and we're hopeful that it won't come to that. For the first time in recent memory, our family will not be going to Mass. I hate thinking it, I hate writing it...but it is the prudent thing to do. In a parish with lots of pregnant Mamas and elderly people, we don't want to put anyone else at risk. And My Darling did not go to his second job this evening.

The clock now reads 1:35. I'm sure I'll be up for quite a while yet, watching my baby breathe.

Quiet? Here??

2009-10-08T13:53:00.005-05:00

You must be kidding. It's not quiet here. It can't be quiet here. I have four extra children entrusted to my care, running from one end of the house to the other, chasing the dogs, testing the limits, and otherwise having a rousing good time. But believe it or not, it is actually rather quiet at this very moment.

These four children are the middle four of dear friends of ours who are currently traveling in Europe (they have the baby and the eldest with them). They were blessed to attend the ordination to the transitional deaconate for two of our diocesan seminarians in Rome on Tuesday, and, God willing, shall return home on Saturday. Other families have taken turns caring for the kids, and beginning yesterday, they are here for the last leg.

Here's what I love: I love that there is someone for everyone in my family to play with. I love that this family disciplines much the same way we do, so there is no guessing on their part--or on mine. I love that these parents have taught their children to respect adults, whether in their family or not. I love that even though there are NINE CHILDREN in this house at this very moment, three of them are sleeping, and the other six are in the basement making up plays and messing around with legos. I love that when I led the kids in the Angelus at lunchtime, everyone knew the prayers, and said them. I love that when we sat down for the Rosary last night, everyone settled in and prayed along.

I love thinking that someday down the road, when I say that there are nine children in this house, they might all be my children. :) Just sayin'.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Since my last post, I have had yet another trip to the dentist. If I really tried, I could count them all up since July, but that will have to wait. This last trip was for the permanent crown on the lower right side. Now I have two. Two crowns ought to make me a double queen.....? Does that mean something special in a game of checkers or chess? Does it mean someone else will come in and do my laundry and mop my kitchen floor? No? Rats.

Ok. So the first trip was just a consult. The second was for a root canal. Then another root canal. Then some fillings and a temporary crown. Then more fillings and another temp. Then a permanent. Then a cleaning, and later that day Tooth Number Seven left the building. Then the current permanent. So that makes.....9 visits since July 1st. That's got to be some kind of record. It also means a whole lot of really (no, I mean it) great reflection time. And some really great nitrous oxide.

The next visit will be in December....and it will be the beginning of the end, for Pete's sake. On the next visit, which will be hours long, I will have a partial done which will cover teeth numbers six through nine, with a "dummy tooth" in place for number seven. Then they'll crown over two other front teeth to make them all nice and straight and pretty.

I've only wanted this done since I was ten years old. What's 25 years in the grand scheme?

My girls went to have their teeth cleaned this morning, and Reepicheep came back with a referral for the orthodontist. I love that our insurance will cover her braces.....I also love that when Pickle goes on Monday and brings home his referral, insurance will cover his, too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Here's hoping everything continues smoothly with our extra kiddos. Please keep their parents and their other traveling companions in your prayers for a safe return home to their family.

Ode to Tooth Number Seven

2009-09-30T13:56:00.004-05:00

I had an adventure at the dentist yesterday.

Ok, really, I had a tooth extracted yesterday. Only it really wasn't a tooth anymore, it was a "root tip." That's what they call the thing that remains where a tooth has broken off.

Broken. Off.

This tooth, Tooth Number Seven, was the bane of my existence for a very long time. It grew in horribly crooked some twenty-five years ago, and my parents never thought it was enough of a concern to correct. I longed for braces--not just to straighten out my tooth for aesthetic reasons, though that was certainly a huge factor in my own motivation. It also caused me no end of pain, for Pete's sake. Bump the lip? Cut the lip. And suffer the wrath of the ever-present canker sore. Seriously, if I slept wrong, I'd end up with a canker sore.

It was impossible to floss around, being so tightly wedged against its neighbors as to disallow the floss, even the really thin kind, to swipe between them. This meant that despite frequent brushing it fell into rapid decay once the cavity began. I had it filled and re-filled, but the fillings never really sat well...and eventually the thing broke off.

Broke. Off.

In a cheeseburger.

A McDonald's cheeseburger, no less. With no pickles. I don't like pickles.

You know, filling enough to stave off rabid hunger, but soft enough to cushion the head of a sleepy toddler.

In other words, nothing requiring much chewing.

This occurred at the beginning of June, and yesterday, I had the resultant "root tip" removed. Sitting in the chair, sucking like mad on the stream of nitrous oxide, I remember thinking absolutely clear, lucid thoughts. One of them was this: why is it that when that gas hits your brain, you can think clear thoughts but cannot speak clear words? Some things are a bit funnier, yes, but for Pete's sake, why can't I tell these people about the things I'm thinking? It's as if physical actions will only go in slow motion where your voice is concerned, and your lips have turned to inflated rubber raft sides flapping uncontrollably in the wind. But in my mind, I was thinking about blog entries, soup recipes, thing on my t-do list (which certainly must extend from here to the moon) and every-day, ordinary things--and all at average speed.

Despite the inability to speak while gassed, I had not a care in the physical world. Where normally I would have stiffened a bit at the jabs which delivered the numbing medication into my gums and the roof of my mouth, I just sat there and thought about how many cans of red beans I need for minestrone soup. And instead of balking at the idea of someone taking hold of something firmly implanted into my jaw, I wondered if I should make stroganoff again soon or think of something else to fit into the menu. At the end of it all, I discovered that I now display a gaping hole in the space where Tooth Number Seven used to comfortably (or not-so-comfortably) ~~protrude~~ reside. My gums and jaw are a bit tender, but my lip rejoices in its delicious freedom of movement, delighting in the soft friend it's found in the space the tooth left behind.

I must confess, I almost like going to the dentist. This is probably because the people in the office we now patronize are kind and have an excellent rapport, both among themselves, but also with their patients. It's a clean, homey place, and the radio station piped into the treatment rooms is versatile and kept at a low volume. What's not to love? Besides that, they are compassionate, never once uttering phrases which used to ramp up my anxiety--things like, "Boy, do you ever brush your teeth?" (Of course I do.) And, "Haven't you ever thought of braces?" (Daily, since I was ten.) And, "Why don't you come to the dentist more often?" (Um, because you people make me feel sad and inadequate.)

My present dentist and his assistant (who really should be called something more like Guardian Angel, for Pete's sake) are fabulous. They get on so well together, have a delightful banter with each other, and have treated me with compassion and dignity, which I so greatly appreciate. It's terribly important, because I've been spending a lot of time there since my first appointment in July. I've had two root canals (done at another office, but the complements extend to them as well), two temporary crowns, with the second permanent scheduled to be placed next Tuesday, lots of fillings, with a few more scheduled in a couple of weeks, a cleaning, and when the vacancy left by Tooth Number Seven heals, I will be having a partial done which will cover five teeth and make me have a nice, pretty, straight smile.

I have also found that the long appointments afford an excellent time for interior prayer. With your mouth open and capable hands working therein, what else can you really do? There are only so many ceiling tiles to be counted, only so many times you can look for the hidden deer in the wildlife art, and since you already know the settings on the x-ray machine, you might as well throw in a bit of prayer here and there. I've offered Rosaries, prayed to my dentist's (and his assistant's) guardian angel, prayed for those who cannot afford dental care (which really counts me, but my Mother-In-Law is an angel herself!), for those who need far more dental work than I do, and so on. It's wonderful.

When was the last time you were blessed by a trip to the dentist?

....And that one goes in the "keep" file.

2009-09-28T23:40:00.005-05:00

It's blustery. Like that cute song that Winnie-the-Pooh sings in the classic movie, "It looks like a rather blustery day to-day." Even though it's not Wednesday, it was definitely a Winds-day here.

The Frog had her first Confirmation class last night. There were about 20 kids there, all on fire in their hearts in love with Our Lord, and it was a beautiful thing to behold. The not-so-beautiful part was the onset of this front. There we were, kneeling in the darkened nave, the scent of incense hanging in the air from the morning's Mass. The silence was such a treasure--no squawking babies to be taken out into the Narthex, no shuffling of hymnals. We moms waited together for our kids to come join us, and together we prayed the Litany of the Holy Spirit.

We were deep in reverent prayer, our voices melding together praising Our Lord. It was beautiful. And then the wind came.

Oh my goodness. The church shuddered. Hail pounded against the ancient stained glass windows, as if to crash in on top of us. I was certain that we were doomed to rise directly into the heavens, for Pete's sake. (I do not like wind. At all. Ever. Not even to fly a kite. Perhaps to ruffle the curtains at my kitchen window, or sift through my baby's hair, but that's it.)

The wind carried through to today. All day, it howled outside, truly bringing down the leaves and dropping the temperature like a stone. The prelude to this front has taken the better part of a week, and has left me and the Frog with mega-headaches. She was adjusted this morning and this afternoon, and it still persists.

I shall gladly shoulder my suffering and pray for an end to hers.

This cold, blustery weather called for soup.

Ah, soup! That comfort of all foods, capable of warming a home, a body and a spirit all in one fell-swoop! I relish the preparation, I delight in the simmering, and I just plain lurve to eat the stuff.

Today's soup was potato. I've been craving it for a few days now, and have been mulling over a recipe in my mind. I checked a cookbook for the basic make-up, but then flew on my own from the bland concoction listed by Better Homes and Gardens, who insist that water, chicken stock, milk, butter, potatoes, salt and pepper make a good soup. Perhaps a good base, but to call such simplicity soup??!! I think not.

So here's what I did.

Roughly 3 quarts chicken stock
Roughly 1 cup whole milk (I would have used cream, but wouldn't have had enough for my morning coffee, which is a requirement, for Pete's sake!)
1 tbsp butter
1 tsp Blessed salt
1 tsp freshly ground sea salt
1 tsp freshly ground black pepper
6 cups red potatoes, scrubbed and diced
1/2 pound fresh breakfast sausage, cooked and drained
2 large cloves garlic, minced
3 large carrots, peeled and diced
1 large onion, diced
1 tbsp extra virgin olive oil

I combined the stock, milk, butter, salt and pepper. I let it heat to a boil while I prepared the potatoes, and then plopped them into the pot, along with the sausage. The garlic, onion and carrots were sauteed in the olive oil, until the onions were translucent and the carrots were tender. It was lovely. All the while, I kept an eye on the simmering pot. I admit, it did boil over once, but it was while I feverishly chopped carrots. And the worst I said was, "Rats!" I promise.

After they were cooked, I added the veggies to the soup and let the whole thing mingle about while the Frog made those delicious crescent rolls that are so cheating! but soooooooooo good....especially when baked on a stone and dipped into homemade soup.

This recipe goes directly into the "keep" file.

The New Element

2009-09-26T23:31:00.002-05:00

Now that I look at that title, I realize it makes this post sound very scientific: "Attention everyone, your author has discovered a new element. Prepare to modify your Periodic Tables."

No, really, I am so not science savvy. It's just a new element here on my humble WebHome.

Scroll to the bottom to see it.

All the way. To the bottom of the page.

It's cute.

The Herald

2009-09-22T15:12:00.004-05:00

The Lord saw fit to herald in the first day of Fall--according to the calendar--with a steady, gentle rain. Though the forecast called for a high of near 80, the mercury has yet to reach 60 degrees.

The smell of brownies warms the air this afternoon, and the Frog, the Pickle and the Reepicheep are settled on the living room floor with the Scrabble board. The Pudgy Bug snoozes on the couch.

I've just come from the bedroom, where the Monkey sleeps on his daddy's pillow. I couldn't help but just stare at him and reflect on the beauty of my little son.

His brow is smooth, but damp and warm with sleep. The delicate veins which cover his eyelids like lacework hint at the vibrant life flowing through them. His ears are so intricate, so perfect. I wondered to myself, could I draw this? Could I ever get it right? Would I be able to shade it, to color it properly, so that it looked even close, for Pete's sake? Of course not. Only the Lord could do something such as this.

His right hand settles around his favorite Bunny, the first two fingers barely resting against his lip. His left hand is curled gently, completely relaxed.

My heart pondered: My Lord, You were once this small. Your Mama kissed your brow, your cheeks as you slept and marveled at your beauty. Your hands were soft and clutched her skirt as she kept Your home a place of serenity, holiness, warmth.

What an inspiring way to begin a new season....

2009-09-18T23:48:00.002-05:00

I'm growing each year to appreciate the fall more and more. Driving on the country road, I pass corn, soybeans, and winter wheat. The corn has begun to wither on the stalks, fading to a sandy brown. The soybeans meld from green to gold, the mottled colors running together like a watercolor painting. The winter wheat is the only thing which does not change.

We have a huge honey locust tree in the back yard. All summer long, its leaves give shade and cover to the east side of the yard. The leaves are tiny, grouped on stems together. They are smaller than the petals of my sunflowers. In the fall, the leaves turn a brilliant yellow, and flutter to the grass, flitting on their way down. The shadows cast through my kitchen windows and onto the bamboo wood floors each morning are enchanting.

As the air cools and dries, the windows stay open all day. In the summertime, they are open only in the mornings and evenings, and closed to the humid heat through the afternoon. But today, the fresh air wafted through the house all day long, bringing the bird song in with it.

I rearranged the kitchen this afternoon. Since the washer and dryer made their way upstairs into the new laundry room, and the walls of the old were torn apart to access the plumbing, the kitchen had become something of a catch-all (as though I needed another one of those, thankyouverymuch), and was starting to make me a little nuts. Not only that, but the old laundry room is now far larger, thanks to My Darling flooring over the old basement stairs (since we now have the new basement stairs) and taking out the walls which enclosed it. It's 81 square feet, for Pete's sake. Eventually the wall separating that room and the kitchen will come down...but that's not exactly on the top of the priority list. I've been trying to figure out a way to make it a little more welcoming, since it's the first room one enters when coming in through the back door. I moved a large shelving unit from the kitchen into the Room-Formerly-Known-As-The-Laundry-Room (and now I have no idea what to call it, for Pete's sake!). It holds a gigantic plant and all of my food storage containers, canning supplies, and stock pots. My kitchen now looks humongous. I mean, it really looks like we could have a much bigger table and have five or six more kids sitting around it.

Just sayin'.

Good thing we have five more seats in the van.

Harkening

2009-09-15T00:11:00.004-05:00

A post over at Fr. Z's blog has a discussion about baptismal rites in the com box. I had to mention my Little Pudgy Bug's baptism, and remembered that I longed to share photos back then.

Perhaps it's time to try again.

The water is poured:

Receive the Light of Christ:

We all posed afterward:

And then she talked with Monsignor! (I love the expression on his face...)

My original post tells the better story.

Little Girl

2009-09-14T10:51:00.002-05:00

My friend is going through something that has broken her heart. I can't take this burden on for her, but I can give her small words of hope and encouragement as I find them. My spiritual reading lately has brought me back to Bishop Sheen. I found a wonderful book of his quotes (at a second hand store--for 99 cents!) which has become more and more worn as I page through it each night. I have been blessed to pray for my friend and the cross she finds herself carrying while I meditate on these truths.

And then there's this.

I've always found it far easier to relate to others through music, and this situation is no different....so this post is for you, H.

Crescat Poll

2009-09-05T14:59:00.001-05:00

The Crescat has a poll running. Since I don't generally post things political, I'll just direct my faithful readers over there. Go vote!!

Allergy Season

2009-09-04T12:18:00.004-05:00

The annual crop of ragweed has been spewing it's pollen into the late summer air, and my sinuses have been greedily ingesting all they can.

It's allergy season in the Midwest, big time.

Every afternoon, all year long, we have Quiet Time in this house. The Frog, the Pickle, and the Reepicheep are all expected to find something which will occupy their time until the little ones finish their snoozes. They can color, write, read, paint, knit, make collages, play with legos--whatever--as long as it does not involve conversation. I do permit the use of their MP3 players (the little $10 versions which store music, and do not do anything fancy like take pictures or show videos...), and if it's kept to a volume which cannot be heard past a closed door, I allow the Frog to listen to the local Christian radio station.

Last Thursday during Quiet Time, I really needed to snooze with the Monkey and the Bug. I'd been to the dentist in the morning and had a choir rehearsal in the evening, and I was feeling a bit under the weather. Following lunch, the big kids chose their afternoon activities (we had just hit the library, so there wasn't too much else they wanted to do besides grab one of their new books anyway), and the Bug, the Monkey and I settled into the Big Bed to snuggle and snooze.

I slept like a rock. That doesn't happen a lot. Ever since becoming a Mama, there have been fewer than a dozen times when my head has hit the pillow and I've slept so soundly that I am completely unaware of the goings on of the household. Usually, I am in a perpetual state of awakeness. If a feather floats to the floor, I know about it. If a mouse drops a crumb, I sense it. If one of my children blinks, I hear their eyelashes brush their cheeks. Thursday, though, was one of those days when I was so completely unconscious that I didn't even hear My Darling come home from work.

When I woke up from my nap, someone had already come and plucked my happily cooing Pudgy Bug from her little nest beside me. The Monkey was downstairs messing around with blocks. And my head pretty nearly burst from the pressure therein.

Good grief. Holy cats and marbles. I was so plugged up I could hear virtually nothing, and though I could breathe through my nose just fine, there was enough pressure in my sinuses to burst a fire hose. I could actually see the swelling in my face. My eyes watered enough to fill a rain barrel.

It's very interesting to sing in a choir rehearsal when you cannot hear those around you. I can feel in my voice whether or not I am in tune if I'm singing alone. To be able to blend and tune to others, though, generally requires a careful ear. Rats. The ladies on either side of me said I sounded fine. I trust their honesty, because even if I had sounded like an alley cat, I would have been entirely unaware.

Saturday morning, I peeked at the clock at a little past six. I thought, surely I can sleep in a little. I closed my eyes and drifted back into another sound sleep, only to reawaken at 10:30! Good gravy! I slogged downstairs, where My Darling took one look at me and said, "Oh for Pete's sake, you look absolutely miserable. Get back to bed." Sometimes, I have absolutely no trouble at all with obedience. ;)

My fever hovered around 101.5 all day. I tried to read a few times, but each page I managed to turn felt as though it weighed as much as a Mack truck. My eyes felt heavy and sticky. My lids pulled toward my cheeks with every word I tried to comprehend. I pretty much slept the day away.

Sunday, I was to cantor at Mass. I did, too. There are times when I stand behind the ambo and hear something come from my mouth, not knowing at all how it got there. The Holy Spirit uses my voice to proclaim the Psalms, and many times I am greatly surprised by what I hear. On Sunday, I sniffed my way through the Mass, and was so stuffed up I could barely hear myself pray through the petitions. But when I opened up to sing, there was the Holy Spirit, carrying my voice. I love that He does that. It's another reminder that I can do nothing at all without My Lord.

I am beginning to recover this week. I think. I'm less stuffed up than I was over the weekend. Now if this pesky cough would just go away...

Metaphor Monday

2009-08-24T15:30:00.004-05:00

What if we lived the way she does?

Explored each thing as though for the first time...

Peered intently into the depths of the sand...

Looked not just with eyes, but also with heart...

And felt everything as though with a baby's hand?

How much more would we see, would we love, if we opened our eyes wide like hers?

Or if once in a while we would just look down, would we love where we are in the world?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sometimes, I just know I'm being tapped on the shoulder. I believe that God loves me enough to talk just to me from time to time. Slow down, he says, and look at all that I have made. Soak in the beauty. Remember that I created everything, and that I proclaimed it all to be good.

Humankind was created for His pleasure and delight. But what wonders are around us that He created for our delight?

Like this

and this

and these

and this

Find your childlike faith. Look with the eyes of your heart, and see that He makes all things new.

Wrapping it up

2009-08-22T10:59:00.003-05:00

The week, that is.

Last weekend, I had two of our precious Godchildren with me here while My Darling assisted Mama Midwife and her husband and assorted others move their earthly possessions ~~to the other side of the planet~~ about 45 minutes north of here. We all ended up there for supper, and then the Frog and the Pudgy Bug and I stayed with Mama Midwife while her husband gave some of the help a ride home. I continue to wallow in my denial of the fact that I no longer have a geographical neighbor who can come over on a moment's notice for a cup of delicious tea and help me finish salvaging the day's crossword. Good thing we live in the age of technology, so we can do those things over the phone.

Still. It's just not the same. She should move back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sunday was such a beautiful inspiration! Our family volunteered for our diocesan celebration for couples observing their 50th year of married life together. My Darling and I will be celebrating 12 years of marriage tomorrow, so these folks are definitely heroes to us!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rehearsals for this choir are trotting along at a pace. I've found that it's best to prepare myself mentally before heading in to the choir room. It's just really intense--you know those days where by bed time you feel like it's been an entire week since the day began? Yeah. Like that. Only musically. Again with that whole music nerd thing. But the totally cool thing is that our rehearsal director can give us a 7- or 8-note example of what he doesn't want, followed by what he does want, and the entire choir just does it. It's the way a choir should work, and it's absolutely mind-blowing. I lurve it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I discovered an awesome blog, written by some very knowledgeable fellow from Madison, WI, having to do with all things Liturgical. Great for the GIRM nerd who wants some good, relevant reading, and excellent ideas for music, general intercessions, understanding anything to do with the Church and why we do what we do liturgically. Give him a read. I hear he's a superb musician, as well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And now for the best part of my week.

Last night, as we settled down for our Rosary, I was feeling a bit ruffled. The evening was one full of domestic challenges, minor squabbles, small bits of disrespect, and general family life late on a Friday evening. I was at that point of just wanting the kids in bed so I could catch up on some reading or something--I was looking toward morning with the hope of things being better...or as He tells us in His Word, "His graces are new every morning." I love that promise.

BUT. (Always with the "but".)

In the book I finished reading not long ago, Death on a Friday Afternoon, by Fr. Richard Neuhaus, we are admonished, "Don't rush to the joy of Easter!" In other words, to some extent, savor the suffering. Be with Our Lord in His suffering by not rushing through our own. Find Him in the small moments of frustration just as we seek Him in greater earthly sufferings. (A decent review of this wonderful book is here; another, more in-depth can be found here.)

So I sat on the couch with my Monkey in my lap, his plastic Rosary clutched in his little fist, his head leaning back against my shoulder. The Pickle and the Reepicheep curled up with their blankets in their customary spots, and the Frog held the Pudgy Bug close.

I held my Rosary stretched between my hands, to show the Monkey how it goes. We've been encouraging the kids to each lead "their" decade. Always, we go through the children, asking them what the Mysteries are for the day: "Frog, what's the first Luminous Mystery?" "Reepicheep, what's the third Joyful Mystery?" -And so on. So this week, I've been asking them what the mystery is, and then, "Would you please lead the decade?"

My Darling holds the Pudgy Bug and leads us in the Rosary. Months ago, mind you. The Pudge is far pudgier now.

Last night, though, I was leading, because I just wanted to immerse myself in the prayers, meditating on Him, and be more interior than having to monitor the kids. Sinful, I know. But there it is. As we came to the third Sorrowful Mystery (the crowning with thorns), I said to the Monkey, "Now we pray the Our Father, because there is a bead here all by itself." He pinched the bead between his little fingers, and began, "Our Father, Who art in heaven..." (Except that in his little toothless way, he says, "Our Fazzer..."--like he's German, but without too much accent...terribly adorable...). I hadn't asked him; it was completely unprompted.

Now, just the other night, it had been next to impossible to get him to even pray out loud, much less lead anything. But here he was, leading first the Our Father, and then the entire decade of Hail Marys. We came to the fourth Sorrowful Mystery, Our Lord carries His Cross, and he did it again. He led the decade.

And then the fifth Sorrowful Mystery, the crucifixion and death of Our Lord. And he led that, too.

I was dissolved into tears. I was a pile of mushy heart. I was laid bare by a three-year-old dear boy.

You know, sometimes, if you wait just long enough, being with Him in your suffering, He shows you His mercy and love in such concrete ways that you can't not be aware of His presence.

Thanks be to God.

Wordless Wednesday: Applesauce

2009-08-19T12:28:00.003-05:00

Humility....again.

2009-08-14T15:04:00.004-05:00

A couple of months ago, I received an e-mail in my inbox with an invitation. It had been sent out by my choir director to a few members of each of the choirs which he directs, and was meant to gauge our interest in singing with a collaborative choir to perform Handel's Messiah in December. Not a sing-along, mind you--a performance.

At the time, I weighed the opportunity carefully, decided I would like very much to participate, and responded affirmatively.

I had no idea.

I knew that we would be performing with the city's symphony orchestra. I knew that the conductor was an international sensation, because I followed the news when they were searching for a new director. What I didn't know was that this vocal group is comprised of the best of the best in the area. From professional musicians to members of the city's opera company to musicologists to university professors...and apparently to little me, homeschooling Mama of five delightful children, with no degree, and very little vocal training--just the desire to praise my Lord.

Apparently, my choir director thinks this is enough. He himself is a professional, so it's not as though his opinion is a minor factor here. It's a little hard to swallow though. I guess I just don't hold myself in the same esteem as the singers around me. I very much enjoy singing in my regular choir, and I have cantored for nearly 20 years because I love being involved so intimately in that form of worship. It is the outlet which draws my heart in most strongly, and which truly engages my mind the best. I love attending rehearsal--the fellowship before and after, the attention to musical detail, the fact that we sing exclusively sacred text--all these things make it a time of deep spiritual and personal reflection for me. I feel so much closer to Our Lord when all of those components come together. Then add to the mix that we rehearse in the chapel from time to time, which means we directly face the Tabernacle.

Man. A professional choir?? Last night, I felt the claws of the devil starting to sink in. It was as though he had his hands so close to my flesh that he was snagging my skin with each pass. You know you're not really that good. Those people are all way better than you. Smarter, too. Not a single one of those women are bland enough to stay home with their kids. They're all out in the professional world, with multiple degrees and high-paying careers. Just who do you think you are, to be sitting in that room with them, with an internationally renowned conductor, singing one of the most beloved works ever written? You can't keep this up, you know. Just drop it. Just walk away. Just tell them you're too busy. Tell them this is no place for a Catholic mom with a mess of kids at home. Go back to your little life, your little house in your little town. Sing in your little church, but don't think it means anything to anyone, especially not to HIM.

He's rotten to the core.

It's true. This is an incredible group. Our first night of rehearsal, there was never a point during which we stopped to tune--ever--and still managed to produce overtones (link warning--music theory nerd alert!) in an acoustical nightmare of a room (padded carpet, heavily padded pews--enough to seat 600). I have never heard such an immediate blend--most choirs take at least several rehearsals to meld their voices together this well. It's a true honor to be among them, even to rehearse.

And the people in the group are amazing. Last night, I met a research fellow with the university, a science teacher, an astro-physicist, for Pete's sake (uh, that would be "rocket scientist"--!!!), and a woman who works for the symphony.

Didn't meet any other stay-at-home moms. Felt kind of dwarfed by these voices. Kind of wondered what in the world my director was thinking.

Brooded all the way home.

Really.

After singing the sacred text of the Messiah, straight from Malachi and Isaiah, words which foretold the coming of the Savior, Christ the Lord, then from Matthew, Luke, John, Psalms, Hebrews, Romans, Revelation, and I Corinthians--the words that tell the story of Our Lord....even then, I could feel him creeping in and taunting.

I said to My Darling, "What is this that I've been asked to do? I thought it would be such a joy to be part of this, such an exciting endeavor. Why am I even there? I can't hold my own with those people. I'm not of the same caliber as they are musically, let alone intellectually."

And the Lord touched his heart, and he spoke to me.

"What you have is an incredible gift. It's the gift of humility. Why do you need to be on anyone else's level? You are exactly where God intends and needs for you to be. He has given you what you need to fulfill your role in His Plan. Just sing for Him and let it be enough."

Folks, I just need to say it again. I am married to Saint Joseph.

And so...............

I will let it be enough. If this is where He wants me to be, living this life as a wife and mother, raising up His children in my home, teaching them about Him and bringing them to Him every chance I get, singing His Psalms at Mass, praising Him with my small voice in whatever way I can muster, then it is enough for me.

First things first

2009-08-11T10:30:00.003-05:00

I absolutely must apologize for my extended absence. Suffice it to say it's been busy here, busy there, busier than I would have hoped, for Pete's sake.

Construction inside and out has been the order of the day, with camping and furious play interspersed. Our gas lines are being converted from old-style metal lines to new-fangled PVC. This means digging. And with digging must come pictures, because I have a three-year-old Monkey who grunts at the mere thought of big orange constructiony things.

And in the middle of it all--I have discovered an embarrassing but delightful truth: the tree in my front yard with beautiful pink flowers in spring and purple leaves spring, summer and fall is not a crab apple tree! Purely by accident, I happened to stoop down yesterday after retrieving the mail. There on the ground was a fruit of the tree, fallen from its stem, and split open. The juicy, sparkling fruit inside was certainly not crab appleish, and so I plucked one from the tree to take inside and bisect. Understand, we've lived here for years and never picked the fruit--because what in Heaven's Name would I do with crab apples?? I've left them for the appreciative winter birds, and have been completely unaware that my very own tree in my very own front yard is, in fact, a PLUM TREE!!!

I am now on the hunt for delicious recipes for my lovely plums, and shall be experimenting. Praise God!

The saga of camping deserves it's own entry, but I refuse. If I promise a story and one is not forthcoming, you'll be sad, and I'll feel guilty. So on we go.

We camped at a county park two hours north which was rumored to have several sites right on a lovely beach, sloping down to a clear lake with shallows going 50 yards out. Well, the beach part was true enough, but the clear lake left a bit to be desired. It had been drained (a year ago? two years ago?), and tall weeds have now grown throughout the shallows. The kids didn't care; they spent most of the weekend on the beach anyway, mucking in the weed sludge, frolicking in the water, and kayaking through the weeds pretending to be pirates. (Of course, pirates need good hiding places and don't care about mud and sludge, so they were happy.) They fished (with my Monkey hollering at one point, "Dad! DAD!! Something stole my worm!!") and we ate fish. They roasted marshmallows and ingested more sugar than a vendor could spin into cotton candy.

When we arrived to set up camp on Friday afternoon, the rain had just lightened into a sprinkle, and the weather in general was much cooler than we had expected. I kept my jeans on and my sweater close at hand. Even the work of keeping house didn't warm me into a sweat. My Darling popped up the camper, and I busied myself making the beds, spreading the the rugs, setting out pajamas, folding out chairs, and making sure that everything was just so. The kids ran off to explore the four adjoining sites and play with their cousins. It looked like a normal weekend of camping with My Darling's sisters, cousins, and all of their kids. Supper was a delicious fish fry, and everyone had more than enough to eat.

When bedtime rolled around, the Pickle headed to the tent he shares with the only other boy cousins there, and the girls and the Monkey settled into their beds in the camper. The Monkey fell asleep in the middle of our prayers, and the Reepicheep and Frog were not far behind. The Pudgy Bug snuggled in with me for her milkies and was soon snoring lightly. My Darling was sleeping almost immediately, because as we all know, his only requirement for sleep is to start out awake. As usual, I laid awake, with dozens of thoughts swirling in my mind like an eddy. As the minutes crept silently around, I began to hear gentle rolls of thunder far off in the distance. It wasn't until about midnight that I noticed lightning flashes. I counted the seconds between flashes and booms, applying the common rule of one mile for every seven seconds, and estimated that the storm was better than ten miles off.

By quarter past midnight, though, the storm had closed in to only about two miles away. I nudged My Darling awake and asked him if we were set for a thunderstorm. Not having television available anymore, I only had the internet forecast to rely on, and since we were two hours from home, I didn't know what was coming for the county we were in. He stepped outside to roll up the sides of our canopy and put the stroller underneath the bunk end of the camper to keep it dry.

We figured we were safe.

We were wrong.

Beginning at about 12:20 AM, there was constant lightning, thunder, and downpours of torrential rain. The let-ups, when they happened, lasted for five or ten minutes. And by one o'clock, everyone but the Monkey was wide awake. The Bug, wide-eyed, was snuggling with her Daddy. The Reepicheep and the Frog were playing notebook games with a flashlight. I was praying fervently, and worrying, as usual, about everything under the moon and stars, because goodness knows there was something I had forgotten to put away or that would be completely ruined by the rain. This time my neurosis wasn't too far off track, although mercifully, nothing was ruined beyond repair.

Around 1:30, we heard a crack of thunder accompanying a flash which seemed to light the sky more brightly than the sun. The explosion which followed rattled my teeth, and caused me and the girls to yelp as though in pain. It was the kind of thunder boom that makes you think you'll see a charred pit right behind your house. Again, we weren't too far off the mark.

The storm continued the entire night. It finally let up at around 6:00, leaving a stiff wind in it's wake to usher out the front. By this time, we were utterly soaked, the battered canvas having given way to the six hours of continuous rain. Our pillows, sheets and blankets were dripping, and the breeze was welcomed by everyone as we hung our bedding out to dry.

We gathered around the picnic tables to find breakfast, and heard the news shared by each family as to how they had weathered the storm. The Pickle and the boy cousins had found refuge in my sister-in-law's camper. My other sister-in-law reported that the three inches of water beneath the floor of her tent made it feel like they were atop a giant, tented water bed. Because there was little wind during the actual storm, there was no damage, really--nothing lost to the lake or blown over the fire (what little there was left of the coals)--but the rushing water was host to sand, seeds, sticks and general crud. Rugs from outside campers and tents were in need of a good hose-down. Shoes which had been left underneath campers--in otherwise safety--were completely soaked through. And my stroller had succumbed to the river of rainwater which had coursed beneath the camper, washing away the formerly solid ground and creating a mini mud slide. The stroller was on the ground, covered with clumps of dirt and sand, sopping wet, and looking pitiful.

The day remained cool enough that after hanging out items in need of drying, many from our group ventured out to see how the rest of the park fared.

About a half-mile down the road from our site, this was the view.

The crack which had shaken the earth beneath us was the result of an actual explosion. A forty-something foot tall pine tree had been split down the middle. The bark laid in strips as though a giant vegetable peeler had sliced down the length, exposing the smooth, wet wood beneath. The smell of raw pine and singed earth hung around the remains of the tree, and the thought that it could have been any tree in that park was the unspoken sentiment. Miraculously, though there were hundreds of people camping, there was no one on this particular site. The tree fell in shards and splinters all around, but no one was hurt. The people in the site across the road reported that their lips literally tingled in the charged air.

The sunset that night was gorgeous--a comforting reminder that all storms do, eventually, come to an end.

The gentle rain which fell on Saturday night was barely noticed.

I must say, we were all happy to camp together, but vastly relieved to be home on Sunday night. We even had enough time (and almost enough hot water) for everyone to have a shower before we went to Mass on Sunday evening. The laundry is all finished, folded, and put away, and the next camp out is being plotted.

Heaven only knows what weather adventures we'll face next time.

Now how'd THAT get in THERE?

2009-07-21T22:52:00.003-05:00

There are questions which should not be asked. There are questions which cannot be answered. Sometimes, both crop up at once. The result: Even if I knew what to ask, I don't think I'd want to know the answer........

It's a small frog. Apparently, it was tired, and a box fan seemed the best place for a nap. And there it stayed.

Closer? You want to see it closer? Well ok. You asked for it.

Again with this hiatus thing

2009-07-21T22:34:00.005-05:00

It's not as though I plan them, for Pete's sake; they just seem to happen here and there. While I do love having my blog, it's nice to know that I can just come here and write when I need and want to, and when I need to take a break, I can. :) Just sayin'.

Things here are steady. I've been about as busy as I usually am, but in different ways. This is the third week in a row during which one of my children is off at camp for the week. The first week, it was Reepicheep's turn. Last week, the Pickle went. This time, it's the Frog's week away.

Now, I miss all of my children dearly when they're apart from me. It's as though an entire segment of my heart is just on hold somewhere, waiting for me to pick it up at the end of a line I can't seem to find. Then when I see them again, my heart is made whole, and I can breathe. You Mamas out there know that of which I speak. Probably Dads as well, but likely in a bit of a different sort of way.

When the Frog is gone, though, I'm missing not just part of my heart, but pretty much my left arm and my right foot, too. While the Reepicheep and the Pickle are immensely helpful and do their chores for the most part without too much aggravation, the Frog is a terribly responsible helper. The little ones cling to her in much the same manner they cling to me. And though we have reached the golden age of Thirteen, and though there is no end of eye-rolling and interminable sighing, she really is a lovely girl, outside and in, and would rather give my teeth than be without her for more than a week!

For a moment, I feel as though I'm hearkening back to the days when I was the Mama of three very young children, the Frog three, the Pickle one, and the Reepicheep brand new. I felt as though the house was closing in on me. I dreaded each new day, longing through the morning for nap time to come, longing through the afternoon for My Darling to come home from work, longing through the evening for bed time, and then longing through the night for sleep to last longer than two or three hours at a time.

It's a bit of an exaggeration, I know, since the Pickle and the Reepicheep are here, and do lend a hand (!!), and the Monkey is 3, and my little Pudgy Bug is a delight......but it seems as though without the dynamic of the Frog, the kilter of the whole house is off balance.

Anyway. I shall pick her up on Friday, and things will come back to the balance I crave.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My prayer life is gearing up again. I really don't know how else to phrase what's been happening. God has again been showing His Hand in ways I cannot possibly question as being anything other than His Will at work in my life, and in the lives of those around me. I don't know if they perceive things the way I do--if they, too, are looking always for signs of God working in their day to day living. I think a great deal of it is that I feel my heart being called to spend every moment, offer every task for my Lord. For whatever purpose He would have, I fold the laundry. For however He chooses to use the sacrifice of my time, I stand at the sink and wash dishes by hand, rather than pop them into the dishwasher. I have found it more pleasant, and easier to offer the small, menial things of my day lately, thanks be to God! This is something I've been praying for and longing for in my heart for a long, long time. What a blessing!!

Another blessing is that last week I was able to have a root canal. Blessing??? you say? Yes, indeed! Oh, the pain! The agony! The only way possible to endure it was to hope that through my suffering I could be closer to My Lord....but I must say, I was thrilled to sit in that chair and have it end! Next week I get the first of two crowns; the second will come the following week. Modern dental care is amazing!

The times, they are a-changin'

2009-07-13T19:15:00.003-05:00

Check my blogroll over there on the left sidebar...I've been adding like crazy today. I don't often "surf," since one never knows just what will come of it, for Pete's sake. I felt safe, though, linking from one blog to another--especially when I started out with Fr. Longenecker! There are some great new links to check out.

Have fun!

Must watch.

2009-07-09T16:27:00.003-05:00

A while back, My Darling attended a men's retreat, and they watched an amazing vocations video. Because this is the Year of the Priest, and because it is awesome, and because this is my blog, for Pete's sake--so I can--I am putting it here. Watch.

For the birds

2009-07-08T11:33:00.004-05:00

This journey that the Lord has me on these days is teaching me a lot.

It's teaching me that every single moment with each of my children, though at times difficult, is so far beyond precious that I cannot measure it on a human scale. That even in the moments of anger and frustration, my vocation is of His choosing, and that He has made me for each moment. That the more I breathe and find Him in the worst of my frustrations, the more I find Him in the calm moments. That, for Pete's sake, "lilies and sparrows, lilies and sparrows," is a great mantra, and a reminder that He clothes the beautiful flowers whose fragrance I cannot get enough of, and feeds the birds I love to watch--and that He loves me more than a rose or a robin.

I am learning to speak clearly, to give voice to my fears and anxieties, and allow My Darling to be the husband God knew I needed, even before the moment that He created me.

I am learning that my instincts and convictions as a mother are very purposeful, and that there are some who claim love and understanding who at times carry more judgement than anything.

I am learning that the steadfast and Sacred Heart of Jesus is a refuge which will not falter, even in the most violent storm, and that all I have to do is seek His refuge, and He will cover me with His Graces.

I am learning that a good confession, even when the devil would have me fret that it wasn't, goes a long way to quieting a restless heart.

I am learning that saints were human, with fears, frustrations, shortcomings and anxieties of their own, and that maybe--just maybe--I am in good company.

I am learning that I cannot judge myself by others' eyes, even my own; that God's eyes are the only ones that matter.

I am learning that I am learning.

Sometimes a day brings more storm than sunshine, and that's ok. Sunshine, without rain, will leave even the most verdant pasture parched.

Muppet hilarity

2009-07-06T13:17:00.002-05:00

Sorry folks, I just can't seem to stop. Happy Monday!

Statler and Waldorf classics!

Old Kermit Classic!

Ok--let that give you a good laugh for the day.

Enjoy!

Patriotism!

2009-07-06T13:08:00.002-05:00

Ha! Love the Muppets! I found this fantastic video here at the advice of Fr. Z. Be sure to give her a good read...and thank her for the link!

The Firework.

2009-07-05T23:53:00.004-05:00

Doesn't that look weird? When you watch colorful explosions in the summer night sky to celebrate the independence of this great land we call The United States of America, you are viewing what are commonly referred to as fireworks. Of course. This is something you knew.

But I speak tonight of just one--which, I assume then would be called a firework. Singular. One. Fire. Work.

The word just looks odd.

But I digress.

So we traveled down the road about 20 minutes to the town where I grew up. The celebration there begins with a parade in the country. Literally, this parade goes down a country highway, beginning at the T-intersection which includes a corn field, a hay field, and a large farm. It ends several farms down the road, where there are about a dozen more houses, a big pavilion, a nice park, and that's it. The end. That's the parade.

It's a huge parade. Ok, maybe I should say that for such a small town area, it's a huge parade. There are fireworks from one of the hay fields that night, too.

Those aren't the fireworks we attended.

The ones we watched were down by the river. (No, we were not in our van...down by the river!--thank you, Chris Farley. We did get there in our van. We parked it at the top of the hill, though.) They close the road to traffic about two-ish hours before the fireworks begin, and hundreds of people come from near and far to get a good place on the bridge.

My idea of a "good place" would be about two blocks west of the bridge. My family let me know that this was unacceptable. They wanted to see the pretty reflections of the fireworks on the water. I'm sure it's beautiful. I may never know. I refuse to believe that being on a bridge for any longer than a millisecond is safe--and probably not even that long. My logic then leads me to believe that sitting on a bridge for an hour or more is probably just really, really bad. We settled for (I cannot believe I'm writing this...) sitting half way between the yellow lines and the white line.

All this being said, I refuse to believe that there is any situation presented in life which does not hold a blessing somewhere in it. Even in the midst of trials and pain, blessings can be found. The blessing of sitting on a bridge over a river to watch a fireworks display is that the air over and under the bridge is in constant motion. Even on a still day, the current in the water disturbs the air above it into a breeze. The end result for us? No mosquitoes. It's been a horrible year for mosquitoes, and yet, we came away biteless, thanks be to God. Apparently the mosquitoes are smart enough to stay off the bridge.

There were four families together. Eight adults. Twenty children. Those big enough to stand mostly did--right at the rail of the bridge. Holy heart failure, Batman. I could picture the water below, black and swirling, just hungry for the snack one of my kids would be for it. *Sigh* Of course, it was fine, but I can never stop my mind from traveling down the Road of Doom, even if it's only a couple of steps.

So then my mind starts swirling, too. It happened earlier yesterday, too. The laundry had piled up in the hamper, we had been running around busy, I had been canning and making jam, the kitchen was a mess, and my head was ready to explode. So here we are, now, on this bridge, and all of a sudden I see my brain, for Pete's sake, exploding above me in the sky.

Picture it: a beautiful, multi-colored circle of tiny lights, popping open, with hundreds more beautiful much smaller circles opening up inside it. It was huge and beautiful and nicely symmetrical, like fireworks would be in a child's drawing.

And then the little circles went nuts. They spiraled all over the place, bringing disarray to what had once been order, creating chaos in the inky night sky.

"Good grief," I shouted, "it's a portrait of my brain!" I was absolutely shocked at how accurately that one firework depicted what had been happening in my brain, for Pete's sake. My Darling hooted. Our friends guffawed. I felt absolutely satisfied--vindicated somehow, as though whoever designed that particular firework was thinking of me, with all of the crazy happenings in my life at this particular moment, and wondered what it would look like against the black sky on the Fourth of July.

Even better? I know I'm not alone. Mama Midwife said she felt the same way this evening.