Leaving the nest

The day has come.  My oldest, my Frog, is leaving home.

She is working full-time now, and is going to live with my mom.  Mom needs companionship and help with things like cleaning and cooking and grocery shopping and laundry, and those are all things that the Frog is very capable of taking on...and although her house is a mere 25 minutes from here, it seems much farther.

I *sigh*.

I haven't yet processed how I'm feeling about this.  I am happy for the Frog.  I am optimistic for her future and for her time at my mom's.  But I'm sad and wistful, too.  She's my first little bird to leave the nest!!

The little ones are all anticipating with a sort of anxiety and beginning to miss her even before she's gone.  We're reminding them that there will be plenty of opportunities to visit and even have sleep-overs with their big sister, who has been like a second Mama to them.  I'm sure it will all be ok.

It's interesting to be in this place: my oldest leaving home, and my youngest still climbing into my lap for milkies--to have one foot taking it's first steps in one life season, and the other foot still firmly planted in the season I've been in for nearly two decades now.  It's surreal and exciting and scary and affirming and suspenseful all at the same time.

My prayer is that my Frog will continue to make good choices for herself, that she will remain rooted in the Faith of her upbringing, and that our relationship will remain strong and loving.  I pray that she will be happy, that she will be able to work through moments of frustration and anxiety, that she will be able to see the things of her past and remember the lessons she's learned, and draw from all of those things to grow into a confident woman who knows that she is supported and loved, and that she is worthy of that love no matter what.

The practical things are not a concern for me.  I know she will be fine in all of those areas.  She is a very capable, hard-working, knowledgeable young woman.  It's hard for me to step back sometimes and see that for the reality that it is.  My instinct is to help--that's who I am!  I'm a helper!  I want to see the people around me be ok, have the resources and supplies they need, and share with them where I see that they're lacking.  I want to check in with people and be certain that they don't need my help.  And although I know that my Frog will ask for help if she needs it, there's part of me that doesn't want to wait for her to ask...and that's not always a good thing, either.

Letting go is hard.  And this is the first of many letting go moments for our family.

But it's not ever really letting go, is it?  Just as parting ways isn't always saying goodbye.

I wouldn't mind your prayers in this.  Pray that I would be able to know when I am needed, and to know when I am not needed, and to respect that boundary in a way that allows my Frog dignified in beginning her life as an adult.

My prayers are very much with Syria, with the suffering people in that country who are persecuted because they profess their faith in Jesus Christ, or because members of their families do.  My prayers are also with the people or Nigeria who seek the faith despite the imminent danger posed to them and their families by organizations who want to see that faith snuffed out.  Please join me in praying for these people.

Encountering Marriage

Our Marriage Encounter weekend was an incredible blessing.  It was work, it was grace, it was balm, and it was something My Darling and I would do again with absolutely no hesitation.

It began in the evening on that Friday.  We arrived at an absolutely beautiful retreat center not terribly far from home (I think our drive time was about 3 1/2 hours, but we had two stops to make on the way).  The setting was just lovely--pastoral, blooming, peaceful country, and well off the beaten path.  There was no noise from traffic, no view of other buildings, no disruptions whatsoever.  We were escorted to our private room, and given time to freshen up and lay out our things.

Once we were settled, we met with nine other couples in the conference room, where we were introduced to three of the couples, who would be presenting talks for us, and a dear priest, who was also presenting.  We were given an overview of what the weekend would look like, and we spent some time that night working on how to dialogue.  This form of dialoguing is accomplished by agreeing on a particular question, spending some individual writing time answering the question with a few sentences reflecting on thoughts and a few paragraphs on feelings, and then meeting together privately to read one another's writing and talk about it.  A decent portion of time in the conference room was learning the important distinction between thoughts and feelings--because the two are not the same thing.  Each time throughout the weekend that we had a new question for dialoguing, we were separated into groups of husbands and wives for the writing portion--so the husbands would stay in the conference room while they wrote, and the wives would be dispersed to the private rooms.  At the end of the allotted time, the husbands would join the wives in the private rooms so that the reading and discussion could take place.

I found the whole thing to be very laid-back, very informative, and not in the least bit emasculating--and I say this having heard it from My Darling, so it's not just the view of a sometimes emotional woman.  ;)  The topic of feelings was approached by the presenting couples and priest in a way that did not seem to make any of the attending men squirm in their chairs.  I saw no rolling eyeballs, heard no throat-clearing, noticed no twitching.  I think one of the reasons for this is because we were encouraged to use descriptors that fall under general categories--happy, sad, angry, and "other"--that help to be specific, rather than wishy-washy.  But that's just what I think.

There was no group discussion, no pressure to share anything that we had written or talked about, and there was ample time for us to be together as a couple.  We were able to talk with other couples during meals, and the presenting couples and priest as well.  In our setting, we had a generously-sized cafeteria available.  Each presenting couple had "their table," with Father at one of them, and we couples rotated where we sat.  They had place cards indicating where we would sit, which made it easy to not get stuck sitting in the same place with the same (lovely) people at every meal.  We had predetermined topics of discussion at each meal, which helped conversation flow easily.  And there were plenty of snacks (each couple brought something to share) and always coffee, tea and water available.  We were encouraged to pick up a snack on the way to the conference room each time.  Another one of the wives and I remarked that it seemed to be like a cruise--lots of time with your husband, and plenty of food at every turn!

We also had plenty of opportunity for confession--Father made himself available to us on both Friday and Saturday night.  The Holy Sacrifice of the Mass was offered on both Saturday and Sunday morning.  And the chapel was located directly across the hall from the conference room, so if a person wanted to, they could just go spend some time with Our Lord.  It was a pretty great set-up.

I think we engaged in the dialogue process about a dozen times throughout the weekend.  Some of them were fun, and some of them were just....really difficult.  I mean, the questions ranged from, "What quality of yours do I appreciate the most?" (in which we were encouraged to mention traits, and not behaviors--e.g. "I appreciate your work ethic," is different from, "I appreciate that you made our dining room table.") to, "What were my expectations of our life together when we married?" to, "In what area do I find it most difficult to listen to you?"

Y'all, there were more than a few tears shed sometimes.  There were some topics that were really difficult to dialogue about, because there were seriously strong feelings involved on both sides.

 Now, they made it very clear that these weekends are not intended to problem-solve.  And as much as that sounds difficult, it did get easier as we went along.  And in the end, the method of communicating that we learned has made it possible for us to actually approach some of our problem areas far more peaceably than we have in the past.  We have been able to take elements of these areas and break them down into questions that we can work on in the dialogue format.

So healing.  And it's tremendously gratifying to hear My Darling actually talk about his feelings--his feelings!--and not feel so shut out.  And it's incredibly comforting to know that my feelings are not only valid, but heard and respected by My Darling.

We needed that weekend, and we'll probably go on another one...or two.....or more.

I strongly encourage anyone who is married, or anyone who is ordained or consecrated, to attend a Worldwide Marriage Encounter weekend.  It doesn't matter how long you've been married, nor how strong your marriage, nor how ably you communicate.  Even if your marriage is a great one, a Marriage Encounter weekend will make it better. 

Take a few minutes to check out the opportunities available to you.  You won't regret it.

Thursday thoughts

I've found it rather refreshing to be away from the facebook thing over the past week.  Though it wasn't specifically asked of me by Fr. Eric, I decided that a fast from something I spent a lot of time looking at was a good idea.  I do miss the interaction with my friends.  Facebook connects Mamas like me, who are home all day to school and raise up our families, with the outside world.  The added factor of living a fair distance from the main action means that I frequently feel isolated and lonesome.  I know there are other Mamas out there who will know just what I mean.  Although I am surrounded by my babies, I long for the conversation and company of other adult people, mostly other women.  I need the connection of hearts and souls that comes with the bond between women.

It's more challenging than one might think.  Trading child-minding with other Mamas is a good idea, but it falls more difficult for me.  My anxiety sometimes makes it difficult for me to prepare to leave the house, even for things I ought to look forward to.  And if it's a flare day for my fibro pain or my back, leaving the house can sometimes prove nearly impossible.  Sounds like a lame couple of excuses, I know, but it's what's put before me.

I continue to pray for so many friends.  I also continue to pray about just how much I can truly write here.  There are things which have happened that need to be thought out carefully and processed fully in my heart, but they are things which affect other people.  It's not always up to me what I can put down in my little space here.  Please pray for me in this.

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?

MISSING: Sleep. Generous reward offered.

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.

Drawing nigh

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!

Bad days happen even here...

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.

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.

Making it right in my heart

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.

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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?

Pardon me, may I sit here?

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

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.

The blessings of alms giving

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.............................................................

Whaddya know 'bout that?

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?

Buffer Zone

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?

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

Two down....

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!

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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.

Humility....again.

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.

Must watch.

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.