For rent: very small Cape Cod single family home in Hamilton Square, NJ. Three bedrooms, 1 bath. Nice yard. Great neighborhood. Monthly rent: TBD. Available: June 1st.
Any takers?
Friday, March 31, 2006
sins of ommission...
...and how they come back to haunt me.
We moved into this house in March of last year. I was just entering my third trimester of pregnancy with Pete. I had to finish school with Fritz, and I learned that I had to do a standardized test to comply with Virginia law.
Those first 50 boxes or so that I unpacked were all put away in my new home in a neat and orderly fashion. But then...
Sin of Omission #1: I failed to finish unpacking. Somethings just simply didn't have a good spot in the new house. My sewing machine got shoved into the back of a closet. Ditto with boxes and boxes of photos (a future project...for my old age, I guess). Some decorative items didn't have shelves, and there are boxes and boxes of Bill's stuff that I had (have) no idea what to do with and he hasn't had time to deal with either.
This haunts me as, time and again over the last year, one particular thing is needed from a buried box and retrieving said item becomes an olympic sport requiring strength and stamina. For months I avoided sewing the patches on Fritz's uniform because it meant digging in the worst closet in the home. I finally managed to get the machine out, but the items surrounding it have collapsed making a return impossible without serious work (think about a mine shaft overcoming its supports).
So, my sewing machine is now a doorstop.
Sin of Omission #2: I failed to prep well for this school year. Pete was born just weeks after I finished the last school year. I bought school supplies for the coming year shortly after he was born, because I knew it would take lots of time with a newborn around to get things ready for the next year. But over that summer, I failed to scan those reproducable workbooks and tests and failed to assemble little workstations for my preschooler who requires (demands) more of my attention during the school day than my school-age boys.
So all school year long, I've been scrambling to scan weekly assignments and tests which delays the school day and makes for a nice mess of my school supplies. And every day is a struggle to provide interesting, educational and, most importantly, time-consuming and independant work for Katie and, more and more, Jenny. I have the stuff, it's just not in a presentable format.
Sin of Omission #3: I failed to properly clean for my annual Oktoberfest. I pride myself on a neat, orderly and clean home. Please note the deadly sin of pride, because I want to kill myself over this one. Since we were having a yardful of people (over 100 this past year, I believe), I wanted to present a nice home for them to traipse through. My home is usually neat, but at this time, Pete was only 3 months old, so the clutter-monster had begun to take over. So, to get ready for the party, I took tons of clutter and deposited it in closets.
The house looked great, but the closets reminded me (still remind me) of the closet on Zaboomafoo, if you know what that show is.
And finally, Sin of Omission #4: I failed to clean properly after the Oktoberfest, and after Christmas too. Since those closets were already a wreck, what would it matter if I shoved the decorations from the party in there as well? And instead of going out to the shed and findng the right box for those chocolate molds I used at Christmas time and had in a cupboard, why don't I just shove them back in the cupboard and worry about it some other time?
Well, that time is now.
The end result of all these dirty deeds is that my closets and cupboards are all big big messes. And now it's time to move, so I finally have to face those disaster areas.
It will be like a mini-purgatory. Getting the soul of my home in order, purging the trash, putting things where they belong, and emerging in perfection.
And trying to avoid these sins in my next house.
We moved into this house in March of last year. I was just entering my third trimester of pregnancy with Pete. I had to finish school with Fritz, and I learned that I had to do a standardized test to comply with Virginia law.
Those first 50 boxes or so that I unpacked were all put away in my new home in a neat and orderly fashion. But then...
Sin of Omission #1: I failed to finish unpacking. Somethings just simply didn't have a good spot in the new house. My sewing machine got shoved into the back of a closet. Ditto with boxes and boxes of photos (a future project...for my old age, I guess). Some decorative items didn't have shelves, and there are boxes and boxes of Bill's stuff that I had (have) no idea what to do with and he hasn't had time to deal with either.
This haunts me as, time and again over the last year, one particular thing is needed from a buried box and retrieving said item becomes an olympic sport requiring strength and stamina. For months I avoided sewing the patches on Fritz's uniform because it meant digging in the worst closet in the home. I finally managed to get the machine out, but the items surrounding it have collapsed making a return impossible without serious work (think about a mine shaft overcoming its supports).
So, my sewing machine is now a doorstop.
Sin of Omission #2: I failed to prep well for this school year. Pete was born just weeks after I finished the last school year. I bought school supplies for the coming year shortly after he was born, because I knew it would take lots of time with a newborn around to get things ready for the next year. But over that summer, I failed to scan those reproducable workbooks and tests and failed to assemble little workstations for my preschooler who requires (demands) more of my attention during the school day than my school-age boys.
So all school year long, I've been scrambling to scan weekly assignments and tests which delays the school day and makes for a nice mess of my school supplies. And every day is a struggle to provide interesting, educational and, most importantly, time-consuming and independant work for Katie and, more and more, Jenny. I have the stuff, it's just not in a presentable format.
Sin of Omission #3: I failed to properly clean for my annual Oktoberfest. I pride myself on a neat, orderly and clean home. Please note the deadly sin of pride, because I want to kill myself over this one. Since we were having a yardful of people (over 100 this past year, I believe), I wanted to present a nice home for them to traipse through. My home is usually neat, but at this time, Pete was only 3 months old, so the clutter-monster had begun to take over. So, to get ready for the party, I took tons of clutter and deposited it in closets.
The house looked great, but the closets reminded me (still remind me) of the closet on Zaboomafoo, if you know what that show is.
And finally, Sin of Omission #4: I failed to clean properly after the Oktoberfest, and after Christmas too. Since those closets were already a wreck, what would it matter if I shoved the decorations from the party in there as well? And instead of going out to the shed and findng the right box for those chocolate molds I used at Christmas time and had in a cupboard, why don't I just shove them back in the cupboard and worry about it some other time?
Well, that time is now.
The end result of all these dirty deeds is that my closets and cupboards are all big big messes. And now it's time to move, so I finally have to face those disaster areas.
It will be like a mini-purgatory. Getting the soul of my home in order, purging the trash, putting things where they belong, and emerging in perfection.
And trying to avoid these sins in my next house.
Thursday, March 30, 2006
moving date
Well, yesterday I called housing and set our moving date for April 27th. I am not confident that this date will actually be our move date. I went to the house last Sunday - the door was open so I walked in to look around. The bathtubs were in and the bathroom tile done. Other than that, no bathroom or kitchen fixtures were installed. No paint on any walls. At least the walls were up.
According to housing, the house will be done by April 10th. We'll be able to get our keys and move stuff in, if we want (we want). So, every Sunday (when very few workers are around), we'll sneak over and see what the progress is. Housing has been notorious in waiting until the last second to tell people that their new house won't be ready. One neighbor was supposed to get her keys on a Friday and move on the following Monday and was told that Friday, uh, no, you won't be moving for 3 weeks. That delay affected every family in that 3 week period. More than a week later, another family scheduled during that period had still not been contacted and informed of the delay. My guess is that they were waiting for the most inconvenient moment to tell them.
Anyway, with a move date less than a month away, I'm beginning to sort and organize. I did the toys. I wish I could give more away, but...we have a big bin of Rescue Heroes that the boys don't play with, but I know in a short time (6 months or so) Pete will be thrilled to have them. And so, I store stuff.
According to housing, the house will be done by April 10th. We'll be able to get our keys and move stuff in, if we want (we want). So, every Sunday (when very few workers are around), we'll sneak over and see what the progress is. Housing has been notorious in waiting until the last second to tell people that their new house won't be ready. One neighbor was supposed to get her keys on a Friday and move on the following Monday and was told that Friday, uh, no, you won't be moving for 3 weeks. That delay affected every family in that 3 week period. More than a week later, another family scheduled during that period had still not been contacted and informed of the delay. My guess is that they were waiting for the most inconvenient moment to tell them.
Anyway, with a move date less than a month away, I'm beginning to sort and organize. I did the toys. I wish I could give more away, but...we have a big bin of Rescue Heroes that the boys don't play with, but I know in a short time (6 months or so) Pete will be thrilled to have them. And so, I store stuff.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
The Awakening
We went into DC again this weekend to see the cherry blossoms, but they weren't ready. It was pretty cold. We picnicked at Hains Point, not far from the Tidal Basin. There is a cool sculpture there called The Awakening.
It was made in Princeton, NJ by Johnson (sorry, can't remember his first name).
Not far from Princeton, in Hamilton Square, is a really awesome park called The Grounds for Sculpture with tons of sculptures, mostly by Johnson, and the same ability to climb on/around/under them.
At last!
I've been trying for months to get a picture of Pete sucking on his toes. Finally - with Fritz's help, I got some.
The Agony in the Living Room
My usual morning routine consists of getting out of bed at "O-Dark-Thirty" to spend a few minutes with Bill before he leaves for work. O-Dark-Thirty is mil-speak for "A Time Before Even Bakers Awake or Cocks Crow".
He usually leaves for work at 515 am, and I sit on the living room couch and begin to pray the rosary. If I'm really lucky, I can get through 3 or 4 decades before Pete starts crying for me.
Today, I was mediating on the Agony in the Garden (the FIRST decade) when I heard the baby. So, as usual, I go up to bed, nurse him back to sleep and then slip back downstairs and pick up the rosary where I left off.
I was mid-way through the Scourging at the Pillar (decade #2) when I heard the boys in their bedroom, which is a downstairs room. It was 550 am. My already distracted thoughts are now completed shattered as I ponder why in the world they are up so early. Besides, of course, the fact that it's beginning to be daylight.
I hear them come out of their room and peer into the living room. Then I hear Fritz whisper, "Billy, let's go back to our room." "Why?" "Mom's praying." And off they go.
Good, I think. They'll stay there for a half hour or so. They have interrupted my early morning prayers before and they've been given three options: go back to bed, pray with me, or sit silently in the same room. The confines of their bedroom are much more appealing.
But I'm wrong. Each successive decade is interrupted by the sound of their door quietly opening, little feet trying to be stealthy, and an exasperated sigh as they discover that Mom is STILL praying. And so, instead of meditating on Jesus carrying the cross, I'm stuck in the Agony in the Garden as I ponder how Jesus prayed for a long period of time despite the distractions of unsupportive disciples, plotting betrayers and enemies and approaching soldiers.
He usually leaves for work at 515 am, and I sit on the living room couch and begin to pray the rosary. If I'm really lucky, I can get through 3 or 4 decades before Pete starts crying for me.
Today, I was mediating on the Agony in the Garden (the FIRST decade) when I heard the baby. So, as usual, I go up to bed, nurse him back to sleep and then slip back downstairs and pick up the rosary where I left off.
I was mid-way through the Scourging at the Pillar (decade #2) when I heard the boys in their bedroom, which is a downstairs room. It was 550 am. My already distracted thoughts are now completed shattered as I ponder why in the world they are up so early. Besides, of course, the fact that it's beginning to be daylight.
I hear them come out of their room and peer into the living room. Then I hear Fritz whisper, "Billy, let's go back to our room." "Why?" "Mom's praying." And off they go.
Good, I think. They'll stay there for a half hour or so. They have interrupted my early morning prayers before and they've been given three options: go back to bed, pray with me, or sit silently in the same room. The confines of their bedroom are much more appealing.
But I'm wrong. Each successive decade is interrupted by the sound of their door quietly opening, little feet trying to be stealthy, and an exasperated sigh as they discover that Mom is STILL praying. And so, instead of meditating on Jesus carrying the cross, I'm stuck in the Agony in the Garden as I ponder how Jesus prayed for a long period of time despite the distractions of unsupportive disciples, plotting betrayers and enemies and approaching soldiers.
Monday, March 27, 2006
week 27
Yessiree, we started week 27 this week. Can you guess who wants the school year to end most? We have 6 weeks to go in our curriculum, so if all goes well, we can take the week before Easter off and be done - totally - by the time Fritz makes his First Holy Communion on May 14th.
The big wrench in the gears, potentially, is that Housing claims my new house will be ready for our occupancy by the end of April. I may be good, I may be determined, and I may want to be done already, but I really think moving into another house - even a local move done by movers - will set me back by at least a week. I plan to spend all of Holy Week doing my spring cleaning - as I usually do. But this time, the focus will truly be on sorting, organizing, and weeding things out in prep for the move.
The big wrench in the gears, potentially, is that Housing claims my new house will be ready for our occupancy by the end of April. I may be good, I may be determined, and I may want to be done already, but I really think moving into another house - even a local move done by movers - will set me back by at least a week. I plan to spend all of Holy Week doing my spring cleaning - as I usually do. But this time, the focus will truly be on sorting, organizing, and weeding things out in prep for the move.
Friday, March 24, 2006
the joys of having a big family
Holly Pierlot, author of A Mother's Rule of Life, has a website as an extension of her book. Moms who have questions about how to apply a "mother's rule" to their life can ask Holly, and other readers are encouraged to respond as well. Recently, one woman, pregnant with her 5th child, asked for advice on handling those annoying people who feel like commenting on the size of your family.
One person offered this link which has some pretty funny retorts - not that I would ever remember any of them when the opportunity presents itself - as it does...OFTEN. And from there I found this t-shirt and suggested (to Bill) that it would be a great gift for mother's day for the next time I have to spend all day in a public place - like the zoo - and I'll meet person after person who will say the same thing (with some slight variation) all day long.
Meanwhile, my advice to those who are not as thick-skinned as I: leave a couple of kids home or with a neighbor whenever the opportunity presents itself. I try to do this to make errands a bit faster and less stressful, even though the comments are pretty amusing to me.
Wednesday, though, all the kids came along for the trip to the doctor for Pete's 9 month check up.
They waited patiently in the waiting room.
They followed nicely to the exam room.
They used indoor-small space quiet voices in the room (mostly).
They entertained the doctor, who thinks they're the greatest kids she knows.
They followed closely as we marched across the hallway to the immunization clinic.
They waited patiently again for our turn.
They were good in the tiny room where shots are given (next time, the appointment will be more controversial, but so far the shots he's gotten are ok).
They said please and thank you for the stickers the nurse gave out.
They followed (again) nicely as we went to another part of the building to drop off the records.
They continued to stick together and not block traffic (too much) as we went to this horrible, huge, central waiting area for multiple offices and purposes including the pharmacy.
Pete has a diaper rash that's become a yeast infection and I needed stuff to treat that. I got my "number" and found seats to wait. My ticket estimated my wait time to be 6 minutes. I thought we could manage that. We had been at the hospital for 1 hour and 20 minutes at this point. Six minutes was probable do-able, but seven would be pushing it.
Sure enough, 6 minutes came and went very quickly with no indication that our turn would ever come up. In those 6 minutes I managed to nurse Pete to sleep, which was really good because I needed to focus my attention on Jenny who wanted to be home eating noodles and everybody knew it because she was telling me so in a very loud voice. Even the other kids started to push the limits, but responded well to my lowly voiced death threats. We waited for about a half hour altogether, the latter 10 minutes of which I held a squirming toddler on my lap (with Pete sleeping on my chest). FINALLY, our number was called and we picked up the lotion and left. Boy, did I need a nap.
Yesterday, I really needed to go to the grocery store, but was not up to taking the whole crew after that whole deal at the doctor's. Plus, we really needed to do school work. So I waited until last night when Bill was home. I took Pete, who wouldn't have behaved as well for him as for me and drove my relatively empty 12 passanger van to the commissary.
In the store, I was happily pretending that I was a normal mother. One of those women who has one little baby. Remember those days? Quiet baby interested in all the sights and sounds. Nobody climbing on the cart. Nobody selecting other products from the shelves. Nobody walking backwards with his eyes closed.
Ah, peace.
And then, about 90 seconds into my bliss, a woman I have never seen before in my life with her toddler in the basket of the cart says, "So, are the other 4 children not yours?"
She was smiling. I was pink. "Oh, you've seen me somewhere with the rest?"
"Yes, I saw you yesterday at the pharmacy." eeks!
"Oh. Yes. They're all mine. Not the best day, yesterday. Bye." And I hastily turned to the honeydew and canteloupe.
Gee, God, couldn't I have had just a half hour to pretend to be something I'm not?
One person offered this link which has some pretty funny retorts - not that I would ever remember any of them when the opportunity presents itself - as it does...OFTEN. And from there I found this t-shirt and suggested (to Bill) that it would be a great gift for mother's day for the next time I have to spend all day in a public place - like the zoo - and I'll meet person after person who will say the same thing (with some slight variation) all day long.
Meanwhile, my advice to those who are not as thick-skinned as I: leave a couple of kids home or with a neighbor whenever the opportunity presents itself. I try to do this to make errands a bit faster and less stressful, even though the comments are pretty amusing to me.
Wednesday, though, all the kids came along for the trip to the doctor for Pete's 9 month check up.
They waited patiently in the waiting room.
They followed nicely to the exam room.
They used indoor-small space quiet voices in the room (mostly).
They entertained the doctor, who thinks they're the greatest kids she knows.
They followed closely as we marched across the hallway to the immunization clinic.
They waited patiently again for our turn.
They were good in the tiny room where shots are given (next time, the appointment will be more controversial, but so far the shots he's gotten are ok).
They said please and thank you for the stickers the nurse gave out.
They followed (again) nicely as we went to another part of the building to drop off the records.
They continued to stick together and not block traffic (too much) as we went to this horrible, huge, central waiting area for multiple offices and purposes including the pharmacy.
Pete has a diaper rash that's become a yeast infection and I needed stuff to treat that. I got my "number" and found seats to wait. My ticket estimated my wait time to be 6 minutes. I thought we could manage that. We had been at the hospital for 1 hour and 20 minutes at this point. Six minutes was probable do-able, but seven would be pushing it.
Sure enough, 6 minutes came and went very quickly with no indication that our turn would ever come up. In those 6 minutes I managed to nurse Pete to sleep, which was really good because I needed to focus my attention on Jenny who wanted to be home eating noodles and everybody knew it because she was telling me so in a very loud voice. Even the other kids started to push the limits, but responded well to my lowly voiced death threats. We waited for about a half hour altogether, the latter 10 minutes of which I held a squirming toddler on my lap (with Pete sleeping on my chest). FINALLY, our number was called and we picked up the lotion and left. Boy, did I need a nap.
Yesterday, I really needed to go to the grocery store, but was not up to taking the whole crew after that whole deal at the doctor's. Plus, we really needed to do school work. So I waited until last night when Bill was home. I took Pete, who wouldn't have behaved as well for him as for me and drove my relatively empty 12 passanger van to the commissary.
In the store, I was happily pretending that I was a normal mother. One of those women who has one little baby. Remember those days? Quiet baby interested in all the sights and sounds. Nobody climbing on the cart. Nobody selecting other products from the shelves. Nobody walking backwards with his eyes closed.
Ah, peace.
And then, about 90 seconds into my bliss, a woman I have never seen before in my life with her toddler in the basket of the cart says, "So, are the other 4 children not yours?"
She was smiling. I was pink. "Oh, you've seen me somewhere with the rest?"
"Yes, I saw you yesterday at the pharmacy." eeks!
"Oh. Yes. They're all mine. Not the best day, yesterday. Bye." And I hastily turned to the honeydew and canteloupe.
Gee, God, couldn't I have had just a half hour to pretend to be something I'm not?
Thursday, March 23, 2006
sacrifice
Since Bill wasn't home in time to take him, we all went last night to Fritz's Cub Scout den meeting. Fortunately, the meetings are in the Scout Hut and not someone's house, so there was enough space to accommodate my family.
I chatted with another mom. She had seen Bill's ashes at the beginning of Lent and was asking me a few questions. How long was Lent? When was Easter? It turns out that a girl in her daughter's Brownie troop had said that she had given up beverages other than milk and water for Lent. Most of the girls had no clue what Lent was (South of the Mason-Dixon you'll find pockets of Catholics, but whole swathes of country with nary a Catholic Church to be found), and this woman had explained Lent as best as a non-Catholic could.
Now I thought that it was a great sacrifice for a 9 year old girl to give up juice boxes and Kool-Aid and all those other beverages. It seems that every activity my kids belong to - from CCD to baseball - requires the parents to take turns bringing snacks and drinks. I am pretty sure that I never had snacks at my CCD classes oh so many years ago, and wonder about a generation of kids unable to go 2 hours without food or drink, but whatever. Giving up juice boxes when you're 9 is a big deal. Kudos to her.
But then the woman said she just wanted to know how long the troop needed to continue to supply the girl with a water bottle in lieu of a juice box.
Now hold on there.
First of all, we are supposed to fast in secret. I don't think it's a big deal to add a "I gave it up for Lent" to a "No, thank you" when offered chocolate chip cookies or cake or some other treat at someone's house. Sometimes it's easier to say that than to have your declination be perceived as a rejection of the homemade delicacies. Such a statement implies, "I really WANT one of those brownies, and am being tortured by their very sight, but I can't. Just ask me again in a few weeks and I'll devour the whole plate!" And this will mollify a proud and sensitive baker (like me).
But if you are offered a juice box at a club meeting, all that is necessary is to say, "No, thank you." No one will be offended if you don't drink the store-bought Juicy-Juice. Maybe you're just not thirsty.
Secondly, what sort of a sacrifice are you making if you give up something and then expect everybody to kow-tow to your situation? A friend of mine said her husband gave up cooked food one year for Lent. She then felt compelled to get creative in her meal preparation: chopping vegetables and fruit for him, shopping and scouring the aisles for acceptable alternative foods, etc. His sacrifice became her sacrifice. Perhaps a better Lenten sacrifice would be to fend for oneself for food during Lent - proclaim any dish prepared by someone other than yourself off limits.
Now, I don't expect a 9 year old to be fully aware of the social niceties surrounding Lent. Besides, around here, at least, children are taught that everybody should accomodate their special requirements. Not only am I expected to provide a snack for my kids' social functions, but I'm made aware of all the banned foods due to allergies. I'm lucky that my kids are, so far, free from allergies. I guess I should be more sympathetic to those who have to deal with and worry about this issue. But when I was a kid (yeah, one of those awful phrases), kids who had allergies brought their own snacks.
So, it's no wonder that a young girl would expect the same treatment: I am entitled to a snack and drink; I can't have juice; you must bring me water. But when the woman suggested mentioning the situation to the parents of the girl, I agreed completely. She really should bring her own water bottle.
We all need to look at our Lenten sacrifices and make sure others aren't suffering with us. If we give up American Idol to pray the rosary - great! If we give up reading bedtime stories to the kids to do it - not so great.
I chatted with another mom. She had seen Bill's ashes at the beginning of Lent and was asking me a few questions. How long was Lent? When was Easter? It turns out that a girl in her daughter's Brownie troop had said that she had given up beverages other than milk and water for Lent. Most of the girls had no clue what Lent was (South of the Mason-Dixon you'll find pockets of Catholics, but whole swathes of country with nary a Catholic Church to be found), and this woman had explained Lent as best as a non-Catholic could.
Now I thought that it was a great sacrifice for a 9 year old girl to give up juice boxes and Kool-Aid and all those other beverages. It seems that every activity my kids belong to - from CCD to baseball - requires the parents to take turns bringing snacks and drinks. I am pretty sure that I never had snacks at my CCD classes oh so many years ago, and wonder about a generation of kids unable to go 2 hours without food or drink, but whatever. Giving up juice boxes when you're 9 is a big deal. Kudos to her.
But then the woman said she just wanted to know how long the troop needed to continue to supply the girl with a water bottle in lieu of a juice box.
Now hold on there.
First of all, we are supposed to fast in secret. I don't think it's a big deal to add a "I gave it up for Lent" to a "No, thank you" when offered chocolate chip cookies or cake or some other treat at someone's house. Sometimes it's easier to say that than to have your declination be perceived as a rejection of the homemade delicacies. Such a statement implies, "I really WANT one of those brownies, and am being tortured by their very sight, but I can't. Just ask me again in a few weeks and I'll devour the whole plate!" And this will mollify a proud and sensitive baker (like me).
But if you are offered a juice box at a club meeting, all that is necessary is to say, "No, thank you." No one will be offended if you don't drink the store-bought Juicy-Juice. Maybe you're just not thirsty.
Secondly, what sort of a sacrifice are you making if you give up something and then expect everybody to kow-tow to your situation? A friend of mine said her husband gave up cooked food one year for Lent. She then felt compelled to get creative in her meal preparation: chopping vegetables and fruit for him, shopping and scouring the aisles for acceptable alternative foods, etc. His sacrifice became her sacrifice. Perhaps a better Lenten sacrifice would be to fend for oneself for food during Lent - proclaim any dish prepared by someone other than yourself off limits.
Now, I don't expect a 9 year old to be fully aware of the social niceties surrounding Lent. Besides, around here, at least, children are taught that everybody should accomodate their special requirements. Not only am I expected to provide a snack for my kids' social functions, but I'm made aware of all the banned foods due to allergies. I'm lucky that my kids are, so far, free from allergies. I guess I should be more sympathetic to those who have to deal with and worry about this issue. But when I was a kid (yeah, one of those awful phrases), kids who had allergies brought their own snacks.
So, it's no wonder that a young girl would expect the same treatment: I am entitled to a snack and drink; I can't have juice; you must bring me water. But when the woman suggested mentioning the situation to the parents of the girl, I agreed completely. She really should bring her own water bottle.
We all need to look at our Lenten sacrifices and make sure others aren't suffering with us. If we give up American Idol to pray the rosary - great! If we give up reading bedtime stories to the kids to do it - not so great.
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
freedom of religion for the insane
Too bad they didn't have an insanity defense 2000 years ago. Or even a hundred years ago in Mexico. Think how many martyrs might have been spared a quick death, and just left to rot in a loony bin for the rest of their lives.
Regarding the Christian who is being tried for the crime of being a Christian in Afghanistan:
...prosecutor Sarinwal Zamari said questions have been raised about his mental fitness.
"We think he could be mad. He is not a normal person. He doesn't talk like a normal person," he told The Associated Press.
Of course not! Normal people aren't willing to die for their beliefs. Time and time again, oppressors have managed to subdue the masses with threats of death for those who countered their mandates. You've GOT to be insane to stand up against that.
We got involved with this country, why?
Regarding the Christian who is being tried for the crime of being a Christian in Afghanistan:
...prosecutor Sarinwal Zamari said questions have been raised about his mental fitness.
"We think he could be mad. He is not a normal person. He doesn't talk like a normal person," he told The Associated Press.
Of course not! Normal people aren't willing to die for their beliefs. Time and time again, oppressors have managed to subdue the masses with threats of death for those who countered their mandates. You've GOT to be insane to stand up against that.
We got involved with this country, why?
Happy Birthday, Glenny-boy.
Happy Birthday to my big brother, Glenn.This photo is from 1973 or 1974. Glenn is the gallant youth in blue and that's me in pink/purple. Aren't we cute? My daughter, Jenny, who is now 2 1/2, could have been the model for this photo of me. It's nice to know she looks like me. My other daughter, Katie, is BEAUTIFUL, and looks nothing at all like me. Jenny, is BEAUTIFUL, too, so I get a nice ego-boost when people compliment her adorable features.
But Glenn is 36 today and he hasn't changed a bit in the last 30 years!
Happy birthday, also, to my neice, Morgan who is 7. I'll try and post her picture here later. I managed to get the one of me and Glenn posted, and the one of my family at bedtime in "In the Trenches Again" below. But blogger is too tired now, apparently. grrr.
NFP - It Doesn't Work
OK, this was too funny to not post altogether. Monica, my apologies, but this article speaks more to my experience than yours. Here's the link.
Making Babies: A Very Different Look at Natural Family Planning
By H. W. Crocker III
Natural family planning (NFP) needs a slogan, because as a “product”—if I might adopt business-speak—it’s not selling too well. According to some surveys, about 90 percent of professed Catholics reject the Church’s teaching on birth control. Even among priests, fewer than one in three considers artificial contraception to be “always” sinful.
So let me propose a new rallying cry: “Use NFP: It Doesn’t Work!”
You think I jest.
The case for NFP should, by rights, be the case for more babies. To have them is good. Not to have them is to be deprived. Every wife deserves to be a mother, and every mother’s son deserves a brother and a sister. And since a cat-o’-nine-tails has nine tails, surely having nine children is the proper way to scourge selfishness right out of one’s family.
As a slogan, “Use NFP: It Doesn’t Work!” has many strong arguments in its favor. First, it is true. NFP proponents tout its 99 percent effectiveness rate, but they neglect to mention that this is true only if the husband is in the Navy and assigned to extended, uninterrupted sea duty of three-year tours or longer. Otherwise, for most Catholics I know, NFP means a baby every two years or so, though the rate can slow with age, as the couples learn a proper respect—that is, fear—for each other and are too tired in any event for what Catholics call “the conjugal act.”
Now I know there will be inevitable protests and testimonials by those who swear by NFP. And who am I to say that my own experience is not colored by the fact that I am excessively virile? Indeed, there is plenty of evidence that this is the case.
But another reason for NFP’s allegedly high success rate is that couples who use it are prepared to welcome children and so don’t blame NFP for unexpected pregnancies. Four of my own five children came the NFP way—that is, totally unexpectedly—and that’s a good thing, because without them bouncing in as surprises, excuses to delay (the sort of excuses one might hear from a recruit in parachute training) might have gone on for a very long time. As it is, in a mere matter of ten years, my wife and I assembled a complete basketball team. And if menopause doesn’t strike my wife soon, who knows what sort of team we might assemble.
Rather than bite one’s nails to the quick at the prospect of baby number ten—which, if one marries in one’s early 20s and practices NFP, is a definite possibility—we should encourage the attitude of the more the merrier, which is a far more attractive case to make than all the goo-goo language about how NFP helps couples “communicate” and about the joy of charting temperatures and discharges and plotting one’s conjugal acts as a captain might chart a course for his ship.
Frankly, as far as I’m concerned, the charts can be thrown away (what’s so “natural” about them?). And to hell with improving “communication” as a dogmatic defense of NFP. For men, the whole point of marriage is to avoid communicating; all that dating conversation stuff can finally be foregone. Married communication, as successful husbands know, is best limited to grunts and hand signals—one upraised finger meaning, “I need a beer”; two upraised fingers meaning, “You need to change the brat’s diapers”; three upraised fingers meaning, “Honey, why don’t you mow the lawn while I watch football?,” and so on. No words are more doom-laden than a wife’s sitting down and saying, “Let’s talk.” Communication is, of course, the first step toward divorce.
Tom Hoopes pointed out in a recent issue of crisis that there are no apparent data to support the widely touted statistic that only 2 percent of NFP couples divorce [see “Letters,” page 8]. If there is any validity to this number, I suspect it lies in the fact that NFP couples have no time to communicate. The husband has to hold down several jobs to pay the family’s bills, and a wife with little ones barely has time to shower, let alone talk to her husband, save to pass a pregnancy test result across the breakfast table through splodges of spilt porridge as she sighs, “Here’s another fine mess you’ve gotten me into.”
I grant you, there is one form of communication that NFP certainly does advance—it makes a public statement. Not so very long ago, I was invited to speak at a Confederate Memorial Service. There I was with my Robert E. Lee tie, my wife (a blond California beach babe) wearing a Confederate battle flag scarf, and the five little members of our own Critter Company lined up in a row. A friendly chap meandered over and told us, apropos of nothing, “My daughter’s a Catholic, too. Three kids.”
No need for a secret handshake. Kids tell the story.
As a slogan, “Use NFP: It Doesn’t Work!” puts the focus where it belongs—on babies—and away from a technique, a technique that wrongly strikes most lay Catholics as medieval. If only it were medieval, then it would be effective: a sturdy, padlocked, handsomely designed, pewter chastity belt.
Instead, NFP is shiny, modern, and scientific, as its advocates are always quick to emphasize. In his book The Truth of Catholicism, George Weigel approvingly quotes several paragraphs from a woman in love with NFP. She reminds us that:
Natural Family Planning is not the justly ridiculed rhythm method, which involves vaguely guessing when the woman expects to ovulate and abstaining for a few days around day fourteen of her cycle. The full method involves charting a woman’s waking temperatures, changes in cervical fluid, and the position of the cervix.
Nothing unnatural or artificial about that, is there? Her raptures climax with NFP apparently transformed into “Narcissism For Pleasure”:
But the turning point came for me as I watched, month after month, as my temperature rose and fell and my hormones marched in perfect harmony. I had no idea I was so beautiful. I found myself near tears one day looking at my chart and thinking, “Truly, I am fearfully and wonderfully made.” My fertility is not a disease to be treated. It is a wonderful gift. I am a wonderful gift.
Er, if you say so, missy. If my wife talked like this, I’d have her committed. Happily, my wife, bless her heart, takes a more robust line: “Barefoot and pregnant is better than high-heeled and professional!” That’s the spirit!
There is no shortage of people wandering around these days thinking they are wonderful gifts. In fact, there are rather too many of them—and they shouldn’t be encouraged. What’s lacking are married couples who think that having a family big enough to fill up a minivan (or for the younger, stronger, and more ambitious, a small bus or modified hearse) is a wonderful gift.
A neighboring priest has noted how many young married women these days are without children but doting over dogs. One suspects that such women are less in need of NFP training than they are of a push into motherhood (and thereby full-fledged adulthood) with a reminder that children are what marriage and life are all about.
So rather than focusing on NFP, premarital preparation should go like this:
Father O’Counselor: “Now I want you two to understand that the primary and fundamental purpose of marriage is not companionship, not romantic love, not moonlit strolls on the beach, or any other balderdash but the begetting and raising of children—lots of ’em, and starting soon. The optimum number is enough so that you can lose a few at the grocery store and not notice. That’s giving without counting the cost, and at that point, you won’t care anyway. As a priest, my sacrifice for the good of the Church is celibacy. As a married couple, yours is to propagate children—who will incidentally annually propagate fierce storms of influenza in your house. If you haven’t already studied up on communicable diseases and basic first aid for children jumping off sofas, I’d do it now. But you will find children and their challenges to be the great tutor of not only the medical but the moral virtues.”
Potential Husband: “You mean, I’m screwed?”
Father O’Counselor: “In a manner of speaking, yes.”
Potential Husband: “Is it too late to enroll in the seminary?”
We can thus improve Catholic marriages and alleviate the priest shortage at the same time.
In fact, we forget how inspiring parents’ confessions are to priests:
Penitent: “Forgive me, Father, but I lost patience when my children used my wedding china as Frisbees, took my necklace and used it as a line and fishhook in the toilet, and took my toothpaste to give the cat a bath.”
Priest (sotto voce): “Thank God I’m celibate.”
Penitent: “What did you say, Father?”
Priest: “I mean to say, why not just laugh about it? These years will pass all too quickly. And when they’re over, you’ll know why you have gray hair and high blood pressure. Now, a Hail Mary and an Act of Contrition, if you please.”
So, let us step out boldly and fly the banner high. Say it proudly—“Use NFP: It Doesn’t Work!” But babies sure as heck do.
H. W. Crocker III is the author of Triumph: The Power and the Glory of the Catholic Church, A 2,000-Year History; the prize-winning comic novel The Old Limey; and Robert E. Lee on Leadership. All are available in paperback.
Making Babies: A Very Different Look at Natural Family Planning
By H. W. Crocker III
Natural family planning (NFP) needs a slogan, because as a “product”—if I might adopt business-speak—it’s not selling too well. According to some surveys, about 90 percent of professed Catholics reject the Church’s teaching on birth control. Even among priests, fewer than one in three considers artificial contraception to be “always” sinful.
So let me propose a new rallying cry: “Use NFP: It Doesn’t Work!”
You think I jest.
The case for NFP should, by rights, be the case for more babies. To have them is good. Not to have them is to be deprived. Every wife deserves to be a mother, and every mother’s son deserves a brother and a sister. And since a cat-o’-nine-tails has nine tails, surely having nine children is the proper way to scourge selfishness right out of one’s family.
As a slogan, “Use NFP: It Doesn’t Work!” has many strong arguments in its favor. First, it is true. NFP proponents tout its 99 percent effectiveness rate, but they neglect to mention that this is true only if the husband is in the Navy and assigned to extended, uninterrupted sea duty of three-year tours or longer. Otherwise, for most Catholics I know, NFP means a baby every two years or so, though the rate can slow with age, as the couples learn a proper respect—that is, fear—for each other and are too tired in any event for what Catholics call “the conjugal act.”
Now I know there will be inevitable protests and testimonials by those who swear by NFP. And who am I to say that my own experience is not colored by the fact that I am excessively virile? Indeed, there is plenty of evidence that this is the case.
But another reason for NFP’s allegedly high success rate is that couples who use it are prepared to welcome children and so don’t blame NFP for unexpected pregnancies. Four of my own five children came the NFP way—that is, totally unexpectedly—and that’s a good thing, because without them bouncing in as surprises, excuses to delay (the sort of excuses one might hear from a recruit in parachute training) might have gone on for a very long time. As it is, in a mere matter of ten years, my wife and I assembled a complete basketball team. And if menopause doesn’t strike my wife soon, who knows what sort of team we might assemble.
Rather than bite one’s nails to the quick at the prospect of baby number ten—which, if one marries in one’s early 20s and practices NFP, is a definite possibility—we should encourage the attitude of the more the merrier, which is a far more attractive case to make than all the goo-goo language about how NFP helps couples “communicate” and about the joy of charting temperatures and discharges and plotting one’s conjugal acts as a captain might chart a course for his ship.
Frankly, as far as I’m concerned, the charts can be thrown away (what’s so “natural” about them?). And to hell with improving “communication” as a dogmatic defense of NFP. For men, the whole point of marriage is to avoid communicating; all that dating conversation stuff can finally be foregone. Married communication, as successful husbands know, is best limited to grunts and hand signals—one upraised finger meaning, “I need a beer”; two upraised fingers meaning, “You need to change the brat’s diapers”; three upraised fingers meaning, “Honey, why don’t you mow the lawn while I watch football?,” and so on. No words are more doom-laden than a wife’s sitting down and saying, “Let’s talk.” Communication is, of course, the first step toward divorce.
Tom Hoopes pointed out in a recent issue of crisis that there are no apparent data to support the widely touted statistic that only 2 percent of NFP couples divorce [see “Letters,” page 8]. If there is any validity to this number, I suspect it lies in the fact that NFP couples have no time to communicate. The husband has to hold down several jobs to pay the family’s bills, and a wife with little ones barely has time to shower, let alone talk to her husband, save to pass a pregnancy test result across the breakfast table through splodges of spilt porridge as she sighs, “Here’s another fine mess you’ve gotten me into.”
I grant you, there is one form of communication that NFP certainly does advance—it makes a public statement. Not so very long ago, I was invited to speak at a Confederate Memorial Service. There I was with my Robert E. Lee tie, my wife (a blond California beach babe) wearing a Confederate battle flag scarf, and the five little members of our own Critter Company lined up in a row. A friendly chap meandered over and told us, apropos of nothing, “My daughter’s a Catholic, too. Three kids.”
No need for a secret handshake. Kids tell the story.
As a slogan, “Use NFP: It Doesn’t Work!” puts the focus where it belongs—on babies—and away from a technique, a technique that wrongly strikes most lay Catholics as medieval. If only it were medieval, then it would be effective: a sturdy, padlocked, handsomely designed, pewter chastity belt.
Instead, NFP is shiny, modern, and scientific, as its advocates are always quick to emphasize. In his book The Truth of Catholicism, George Weigel approvingly quotes several paragraphs from a woman in love with NFP. She reminds us that:
Natural Family Planning is not the justly ridiculed rhythm method, which involves vaguely guessing when the woman expects to ovulate and abstaining for a few days around day fourteen of her cycle. The full method involves charting a woman’s waking temperatures, changes in cervical fluid, and the position of the cervix.
Nothing unnatural or artificial about that, is there? Her raptures climax with NFP apparently transformed into “Narcissism For Pleasure”:
But the turning point came for me as I watched, month after month, as my temperature rose and fell and my hormones marched in perfect harmony. I had no idea I was so beautiful. I found myself near tears one day looking at my chart and thinking, “Truly, I am fearfully and wonderfully made.” My fertility is not a disease to be treated. It is a wonderful gift. I am a wonderful gift.
Er, if you say so, missy. If my wife talked like this, I’d have her committed. Happily, my wife, bless her heart, takes a more robust line: “Barefoot and pregnant is better than high-heeled and professional!” That’s the spirit!
There is no shortage of people wandering around these days thinking they are wonderful gifts. In fact, there are rather too many of them—and they shouldn’t be encouraged. What’s lacking are married couples who think that having a family big enough to fill up a minivan (or for the younger, stronger, and more ambitious, a small bus or modified hearse) is a wonderful gift.
A neighboring priest has noted how many young married women these days are without children but doting over dogs. One suspects that such women are less in need of NFP training than they are of a push into motherhood (and thereby full-fledged adulthood) with a reminder that children are what marriage and life are all about.
So rather than focusing on NFP, premarital preparation should go like this:
Father O’Counselor: “Now I want you two to understand that the primary and fundamental purpose of marriage is not companionship, not romantic love, not moonlit strolls on the beach, or any other balderdash but the begetting and raising of children—lots of ’em, and starting soon. The optimum number is enough so that you can lose a few at the grocery store and not notice. That’s giving without counting the cost, and at that point, you won’t care anyway. As a priest, my sacrifice for the good of the Church is celibacy. As a married couple, yours is to propagate children—who will incidentally annually propagate fierce storms of influenza in your house. If you haven’t already studied up on communicable diseases and basic first aid for children jumping off sofas, I’d do it now. But you will find children and their challenges to be the great tutor of not only the medical but the moral virtues.”
Potential Husband: “You mean, I’m screwed?”
Father O’Counselor: “In a manner of speaking, yes.”
Potential Husband: “Is it too late to enroll in the seminary?”
We can thus improve Catholic marriages and alleviate the priest shortage at the same time.
In fact, we forget how inspiring parents’ confessions are to priests:
Penitent: “Forgive me, Father, but I lost patience when my children used my wedding china as Frisbees, took my necklace and used it as a line and fishhook in the toilet, and took my toothpaste to give the cat a bath.”
Priest (sotto voce): “Thank God I’m celibate.”
Penitent: “What did you say, Father?”
Priest: “I mean to say, why not just laugh about it? These years will pass all too quickly. And when they’re over, you’ll know why you have gray hair and high blood pressure. Now, a Hail Mary and an Act of Contrition, if you please.”
So, let us step out boldly and fly the banner high. Say it proudly—“Use NFP: It Doesn’t Work!” But babies sure as heck do.
H. W. Crocker III is the author of Triumph: The Power and the Glory of the Catholic Church, A 2,000-Year History; the prize-winning comic novel The Old Limey; and Robert E. Lee on Leadership. All are available in paperback.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
grrr
Well it seems a universal problem with Blogspot. I can't post photos, and neither can Raising Angels. I can't even post comments to her, and haven't tried anywhere else because my time is too precious to deal with this. ugh.
In the Trenches Again
As Bill bid me adieu for work yesterday, he had the air of one saying goodbye before heading to the executioners. I assured him it wouldn't be that bad. We survived Kosovo. We survived Hurricane Katrina.
School is nearing an end for us, and once we get into summer, the other neighborhood kids will be out and I'll have no limit of mother's helpers and babysitters available.
However, yesterday's workday of 12 1/2 hours (plus commute) would seem to be the norm for a "good" day, so I think this might be the extent of the kids' time with Daddy during the week:
Bedtime stories with Dad. My view as I nurse Petey to sleep.
School is nearing an end for us, and once we get into summer, the other neighborhood kids will be out and I'll have no limit of mother's helpers and babysitters available.
However, yesterday's workday of 12 1/2 hours (plus commute) would seem to be the norm for a "good" day, so I think this might be the extent of the kids' time with Daddy during the week:
Bedtime stories with Dad. My view as I nurse Petey to sleep.
Monday, March 20, 2006
All God's Creatures
On the 5th or 6th day, give or take a few millenium, God created camel crickets and He declared them good. Who am I to argue with Him?
Instead, I'm trying to see things from His perspective. I suppose they must be an important link in some food chain - perhaps providing sustenance to song birds that entrance my ears or the Cardinals and Blue Jays that delight my eyes.
Or perhaps their raison d'etre is to invade the homes of wimps like me to give me a brief, harmless lesson in courage. I mean, if I can't defend my home and family against a little bug, what would I do if a rabid dog or wild boar attacked us?
Friday, March 17, 2006
discipline technique
~ Tough Love vs. Spanking ~
(a psychological conundrum)
Most of America's populace think it improper to spank children, so I have tried other methods to control my kids when they have one of "those moments." One that I found effective is for me to just take the child for a car ride and talk. They usually calm down and stop misbehaving after our car ride together. I've included a photo below of one of my sessions with my son, in case you would like to use the technique.
(a psychological conundrum)
Most of America's populace think it improper to spank children, so I have tried other methods to control my kids when they have one of "those moments." One that I found effective is for me to just take the child for a car ride and talk. They usually calm down and stop misbehaving after our car ride together. I've included a photo below of one of my sessions with my son, in case you would like to use the technique.
Thanks, Barb.
It's actually not THAT big...
We dubbed our new van "Moby".
And don't worry. No alcohol was abused in its "christening" - after all, that's a bottle of Asti. I would never waste Asti on such frivolity.
Went to the grocery store. Despite its Government Surplus color, it stood out pretty clearly at the post commissary. Fritz pointed his arm and said:
"Thar she blows!"
Are we just dorky homeschoolers or is that normal for a 7 year old?
Happy St. Patrick's Day
The best thing about St. Patrick's feast day falling on a Friday is that corned beef will be heavily discounted at the commissary tomorrow when I can buy/make/eat the stuff.
eating disorder-ly
Last night, Peter was happily devouring green beans all by himself. Fritz declared that he was eating like a barbarian.
This is a pretty strong statement from a kid who recently asked, when he noticed a fork by his plate, "What's THIS for?"
I've already said all that I can about domestic barbarism here. At least now my kids have some sense of decency at the table, even if they aren't perfect in execution. Let's just say that they are very good at seeing the splinter in their siblings' eyes.
This is a pretty strong statement from a kid who recently asked, when he noticed a fork by his plate, "What's THIS for?"
I've already said all that I can about domestic barbarism here. At least now my kids have some sense of decency at the table, even if they aren't perfect in execution. Let's just say that they are very good at seeing the splinter in their siblings' eyes.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
Thank you, Kathy, for making me laugh
The Hormone Hostage knows that there are days in the month when all a man has to do is open his mouth and he takes his very life into his own hands! This is a handy guide that should be as common as a driver's license in the wallet of every husband, boyfriend, or significant other!!
DANGEROUS: What's for dinner?
SAFER: Can I help you with dinner?
SAFEST: Where would you like to go for dinner?
ULTRASAFE: Here, have some chocolate.
DANGEROUS: Are you wearing that?
SAFER: Gee, you look good in brown.
SAFEST: WOW! Look at you!
ULTRASAFE: Here, have some chocolate.
DANGEROUS: What are you so worked up about?
SAFER: What did I do wrong?
SAFEST: Here's fifty dollars.
ULTRASAFE: Here, have some chocolate.
DANGEROUS: Should you be eating that?
SAFER: You know, there are a lot of apples left.
SAFEST: Can I get you a glass of wine with that?
ULTRASAFE: Here, have some chocolate.
DANGEROUS: What did you do all day?
SAFER: I hope you didn't overdo it today.
SAFEST: I've always loved you in that robe!
ULTRASAFE: Here, have some more chocolate.
My husband, not happy with my mood swings, bought me a mood ring the other day so he would be able to monitor my moods. When I'm in a good mood, it turns green. When I'm in a bad mood, it leaves a big red mark on his forehead. Maybe next time he'll buy me diamonds! Here have some chocolate.
{Note: that bit above is part of the joke. My husband would never buy me a mood ring.}
DANGEROUS: What's for dinner?
SAFER: Can I help you with dinner?
SAFEST: Where would you like to go for dinner?
ULTRASAFE: Here, have some chocolate.
DANGEROUS: Are you wearing that?
SAFER: Gee, you look good in brown.
SAFEST: WOW! Look at you!
ULTRASAFE: Here, have some chocolate.
DANGEROUS: What are you so worked up about?
SAFER: What did I do wrong?
SAFEST: Here's fifty dollars.
ULTRASAFE: Here, have some chocolate.
DANGEROUS: Should you be eating that?
SAFER: You know, there are a lot of apples left.
SAFEST: Can I get you a glass of wine with that?
ULTRASAFE: Here, have some chocolate.
DANGEROUS: What did you do all day?
SAFER: I hope you didn't overdo it today.
SAFEST: I've always loved you in that robe!
ULTRASAFE: Here, have some more chocolate.
My husband, not happy with my mood swings, bought me a mood ring the other day so he would be able to monitor my moods. When I'm in a good mood, it turns green. When I'm in a bad mood, it leaves a big red mark on his forehead. Maybe next time he'll buy me diamonds! Here have some chocolate.
{Note: that bit above is part of the joke. My husband would never buy me a mood ring.}
mobile baby alert
After Fritz, I learned that it isn't wise to teach a baby new tricks. A first-time mom can't wait for her baby to start solid food, sit-up, crawl, walk...
...then a first-time mom learns how sad it is that the child is developing so quickly and you can never go back to those sweet days of holding the baby all day long.
OK, holding a baby all day long is a pain, but from what I gather, once you're out of that stage you look back with longing. I'll let you know in another decade or so when I'm out of that stage, since I think I'll be doing this f.o.r.e.v.e.r.......
So, beginning with Billy, I really didn't encourage new development. I remember having everybody coo at Jenny, since she hadn't started doing it and the docs thought she should be. That's different. I remember trying to teach Fritz to crawl. He was about 9 months old and up on all fours, but going nowhere. I remember when he was a toddler trying to teach him to use a stool to climb on a chair, since he annoyed me so much asking to be helped up, then down, then up. Billy was pushing around on his belly by 6 months of age, and I had to hide the stools, since he would relocate them to climb up wherever, and then fall off.
But now, Child #5 has gotten several lessons on getting from his belly to a crawl position. He keeps scooting around, but then falling forward and landing on his tummy. Sometimes he would then roll to his back and complete the impression that he was a stuck bug kicking his feet and waving his arms and begging for rescue. This has been going on for weeks. I, the confident mom, was sure he would figure out what to do eventually. But he hadn't and I was tired of coming to the rescue more and more as his desire to get around increased (and so his falling increased).
So, two days ago, I began to assist him in walking his arms back and pushing up. He's needed very little help, just that beginning part where I put his hands on the ground and walk them back a few steps...he would immediately put his knees down and rock backwards.
And now, my older boys have just informed me that they witnessed him do it all by himself.
yikes.
...then a first-time mom learns how sad it is that the child is developing so quickly and you can never go back to those sweet days of holding the baby all day long.
OK, holding a baby all day long is a pain, but from what I gather, once you're out of that stage you look back with longing. I'll let you know in another decade or so when I'm out of that stage, since I think I'll be doing this f.o.r.e.v.e.r.......
So, beginning with Billy, I really didn't encourage new development. I remember having everybody coo at Jenny, since she hadn't started doing it and the docs thought she should be. That's different. I remember trying to teach Fritz to crawl. He was about 9 months old and up on all fours, but going nowhere. I remember when he was a toddler trying to teach him to use a stool to climb on a chair, since he annoyed me so much asking to be helped up, then down, then up. Billy was pushing around on his belly by 6 months of age, and I had to hide the stools, since he would relocate them to climb up wherever, and then fall off.
But now, Child #5 has gotten several lessons on getting from his belly to a crawl position. He keeps scooting around, but then falling forward and landing on his tummy. Sometimes he would then roll to his back and complete the impression that he was a stuck bug kicking his feet and waving his arms and begging for rescue. This has been going on for weeks. I, the confident mom, was sure he would figure out what to do eventually. But he hadn't and I was tired of coming to the rescue more and more as his desire to get around increased (and so his falling increased).
So, two days ago, I began to assist him in walking his arms back and pushing up. He's needed very little help, just that beginning part where I put his hands on the ground and walk them back a few steps...he would immediately put his knees down and rock backwards.
And now, my older boys have just informed me that they witnessed him do it all by himself.
yikes.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Since I'm in a T S Eliot mood recently
Blessed sister, holy mother, spirit of the fountain, spirit of the garden,
Suffer us not to mock ourselves with falsehood
Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still
Even among these rocks,
Our peace in His will
And even among these rocks
Sister, mother
And spirit of the river, spirit of the sea,
Suffer me not to be separated
And let my cry come unto Thee.
Ash-Wednesday by T S Eliot
Suffer us not to mock ourselves with falsehood
Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still
Even among these rocks,
Our peace in His will
And even among these rocks
Sister, mother
And spirit of the river, spirit of the sea,
Suffer me not to be separated
And let my cry come unto Thee.
Ash-Wednesday by T S Eliot
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
this is the way it ends
Kansas
Quantico
Kansas
Quantico
Move
Stay
Move
Stay
Oh, we've been back and forth for quite a while on what we're doing this summer. And now we know.
Is it school at Fort Leavenworth?
Or is it school at Quantico, VA?
And here is how the debate ends...
...not with a whimper, but a bang.
The answer is "none of the above."
We're staying here, but Bill's deferring school for a year. He will be a general's AXO (that is just a fancy way of saying "aide") for a bit and then he will be THE General's AXO until it's time for him to go to school NEXT year.
An interesting turn of events.
Quantico
Kansas
Quantico
Move
Stay
Move
Stay
Oh, we've been back and forth for quite a while on what we're doing this summer. And now we know.
Is it school at Fort Leavenworth?
Or is it school at Quantico, VA?
And here is how the debate ends...
...not with a whimper, but a bang.
The answer is "none of the above."
We're staying here, but Bill's deferring school for a year. He will be a general's AXO (that is just a fancy way of saying "aide") for a bit and then he will be THE General's AXO until it's time for him to go to school NEXT year.
An interesting turn of events.
Monday, March 13, 2006
Sunday, March 12, 2006
yesterday's field trip
The hallowed ground of Arlington National Cemetery, including a glimpse of Robert E. Lee's house:
The tomb of the Unknown Soldiers:
The Tomb, the guard, and a view of DC (not a good shot - you can see the Jefferson Memorial from that spot...and the Washington Monument is just behind that big evergreen on the left):
The changing of the guard...a "must-see" ceremony, and the whole reason we went. Did I see it? nope.
The day was very sunny and even hot. Bill got his first sunburn of the year - the earliest, I think. The father of a boy in Fritz's cub scout den is in the Old Guard and told Bill that they were still on Winter hours and were changing the guard every half hour. I don't know what happened between Wednesday and Saturday. We arrived at the Cemetery at the top of the hour and missed that ceremony. We got to the Tomb around 10:15 am and loitered in the area for a while before we realized that there wouldn't be another ceremony until 11 am. I kept deferring the hungry baby, and he was quite happy in the shade, but when I tried to watch the ceremony, he just got too fussy for a rite that demanded SILENCE. So Bill watched it - for the second time - with the 3 older kids while the little ones and I sat on a bench a bit away and listened. It's ok. The boys really liked it and Billy has been imitating the robotic movements of the guard every since.
As we were leaving, we stopped by the grave of Audie Murphy, which is the second most popular (JFK is #1). Bill was pretty disgusted that I didn't know who Audie Murphy was. He is the most decorated WWII vet. And then he went into Hollywood.
His grave is very plain and at the end of a row near a sidewalk. There is a little sign near his grave that requests that no coins be thrown. Sure enough, there was a quarter on the grass in front of his grave. As we turned to leave, I noticed a pile of coins on the sidewalk next to his grave. I asked Bill if he knew what it was all about, and he said no. Then Billy asked why you weren't supposed to throw coins. I said you aren't supposed to throw coins because it makes lawn mowing difficult...but the question really is this: why would anyone WANT to throw coins?
As we left, we passed memorial after memorial. The whole way to the car, BIlly asked, "Who died here, Mom?"
"Nobody died here, Billy. This is a memorial saying that this tree is dedicated to the soldiers from this unit."
"Oh....who died here, Mom?" At the next tree.
"Nobody, Billy. It says that THIS tree is dedicated to the soldiers from THIS unit."
"Oh...who died HERE, Mom?" At the next tree.
It was a long walk to the car.
mea maxima culpa
Even if I were a rookie parent, there's simply no excuse for my stupidity. Every time I eat an excessive amount of dairy, Pete has a reaction. I've been eating a lot of cheese recently, but I thought, "Gee, Pete seems to be doing ok?" Why did I think this? Because he wasn't spitting up, having excessive gas or having long bouts of inconsolable crying. But I also said to myself, "Oh, what is this boy's problem? Why is he so fussy at night? I'm not getting any sleep."
But did I add 2 and 2? Oh no. I continued to eat cheese.
And that right there is the problem, really...I mean, why did I feel the need to "test" Pete to see if he would have this reaction? Or at least, why did I have to OD on cheese for a week? Why couldn't I just have a little bit more and see how that was and slowly introduce more dairy into my diet?
And so, this goes on for a week - me eating cheese and more cheese, and Pete being more and more miserable between 2 and 5 in the morning. And finally I asked myself, "How long has this been going on?" And I answered, "About a week." And then I asked myself accusingly, "And how long have you been indulging in a 10 am cheese break?" "About a week," came my sheepish reply.
So it is all my fault that I've been missing sleep...and will continue to miss sleep for at least 3 or 4 more nights as the proteins leave my body.
Mea culpa.
But did I add 2 and 2? Oh no. I continued to eat cheese.
And that right there is the problem, really...I mean, why did I feel the need to "test" Pete to see if he would have this reaction? Or at least, why did I have to OD on cheese for a week? Why couldn't I just have a little bit more and see how that was and slowly introduce more dairy into my diet?
And so, this goes on for a week - me eating cheese and more cheese, and Pete being more and more miserable between 2 and 5 in the morning. And finally I asked myself, "How long has this been going on?" And I answered, "About a week." And then I asked myself accusingly, "And how long have you been indulging in a 10 am cheese break?" "About a week," came my sheepish reply.
So it is all my fault that I've been missing sleep...and will continue to miss sleep for at least 3 or 4 more nights as the proteins leave my body.
Mea culpa.
Friday, March 10, 2006
Spring!
Today's forecast: morning rain but high of 75 degrees. All weekend long we have the same forecast.
I can't wait to open the windows!
I can't wait to open the windows!
Thursday, March 09, 2006
math - practically applied
Yes, math is best understood when one can see how it applies to your everyday life.
So, Billy's math every so often has a series of addition problems with the answer given, but one of the addends missing. Today, they all equalled 9. Three plus what equals nine? Five plus what equals nine? Zero plus what equals nine? He has had a tough time figuring these out. I use Base Ten blocks so he can visualize it, but it really didn't click for him.
Today, though, there was a picture of a birthday cake with nine candles on it. So I said, "Let's suppose it's your ninth birthday. Your mom puts six candles on the cake before she has to go and change your brother's stinky diaper. How many candles do you need to put on your cake so it's ready?" Amazingly, it took mere seconds for him to reply: "Three!"
Again, I said, "Let's suppose it's your ninth birthday. Your mom puts two candles on the cake before she has to go and break up a fight between your two sisters in the living room. How many candles do you need to put on the cake then?"
"Seven!"
"Good job! Now, you do one."
"OK. Let's supposes it's my ninth birthday. My mom puts five candles on my cake before she has to go and clean up a mess that Jenny made. How many candles do I need to put on the cake? Hmmm...four! OK...It's my ninth birthday. My mom puts three candles on my cake when..."
He got them all right.
So, Billy's math every so often has a series of addition problems with the answer given, but one of the addends missing. Today, they all equalled 9. Three plus what equals nine? Five plus what equals nine? Zero plus what equals nine? He has had a tough time figuring these out. I use Base Ten blocks so he can visualize it, but it really didn't click for him.
Today, though, there was a picture of a birthday cake with nine candles on it. So I said, "Let's suppose it's your ninth birthday. Your mom puts six candles on the cake before she has to go and change your brother's stinky diaper. How many candles do you need to put on your cake so it's ready?" Amazingly, it took mere seconds for him to reply: "Three!"
Again, I said, "Let's suppose it's your ninth birthday. Your mom puts two candles on the cake before she has to go and break up a fight between your two sisters in the living room. How many candles do you need to put on the cake then?"
"Seven!"
"Good job! Now, you do one."
"OK. Let's supposes it's my ninth birthday. My mom puts five candles on my cake before she has to go and clean up a mess that Jenny made. How many candles do I need to put on the cake? Hmmm...four! OK...It's my ninth birthday. My mom puts three candles on my cake when..."
He got them all right.
A Day of Rest?
From Catholic Exchange:
When I am able to remember these things and keep my focus, I realize that my children help me attain holiness. Perhaps, without their needs, I would be drawn towards the capital sin of sloth. Maybe, if they behaved perfectly at Mass, I would be guilty of pride. If my food was ever warm, I might fall into gluttony. The Lord knows my weaknesses. In His mercy, my kids are actually protecting me from myself!
This article could have been written by me!
When I am able to remember these things and keep my focus, I realize that my children help me attain holiness. Perhaps, without their needs, I would be drawn towards the capital sin of sloth. Maybe, if they behaved perfectly at Mass, I would be guilty of pride. If my food was ever warm, I might fall into gluttony. The Lord knows my weaknesses. In His mercy, my kids are actually protecting me from myself!
This article could have been written by me!
9 months on, 8 months off
Yesterday I ran 3 miles. That seems to be the new distance now - 3 to 3 1/2 miles. The best thing is that it's not the distance that makes me stop - it's the time. I'm very slow, so it took me 40 minutes to run 3 miles plus a cooldown walk. I had to head home to take care of my other obligations. I know if I keep it up, my speed will increase, but I'm so impatient.
And if you really want to beat your body up, here's a site to show you how. Bill modified the routine for himself and is doing most of it (I quote: "donkey kicks are dorkey."). And he hurts. My goal is to be able to do a dozen pushups without looking like an idiot. I can't do even one. Bill, ever one for good ideas, suggested leaning on the staircase and gradually moving to a lower step. I'm on step 5. I am practically vertical when I do them. I did 15 normal pushups, 10 wide arm and 10 diamond - not all at once. I looked like an idiot. And I hurt, but just a little.
Ah, but the best news of all - the weight I gained from my pregnancy is off. But I never did lose 10 pounds from Jenny, so I still have work to do.
And I wonder if the dress I bought a month ago for the fancy dinner will fit me at the make-up date in 2 weeks. It's a good thing I can sew and can shorten the spaghetti straps if necessary.
And if you really want to beat your body up, here's a site to show you how. Bill modified the routine for himself and is doing most of it (I quote: "donkey kicks are dorkey."). And he hurts. My goal is to be able to do a dozen pushups without looking like an idiot. I can't do even one. Bill, ever one for good ideas, suggested leaning on the staircase and gradually moving to a lower step. I'm on step 5. I am practically vertical when I do them. I did 15 normal pushups, 10 wide arm and 10 diamond - not all at once. I looked like an idiot. And I hurt, but just a little.
Ah, but the best news of all - the weight I gained from my pregnancy is off. But I never did lose 10 pounds from Jenny, so I still have work to do.
And I wonder if the dress I bought a month ago for the fancy dinner will fit me at the make-up date in 2 weeks. It's a good thing I can sew and can shorten the spaghetti straps if necessary.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
great idea, poor execution, great results anyway
Ah, leave it to me, the non-crafty person that I am, to punish myself with an art project for the kids.
It WAS a great idea: placemats for the dinner table. Using Lenten purple construction paper and various holy images and Bible quotes to decorate it and using clear Contact paper to protect it from the elements.
The execution was poor. I am easily frustrated by my own ineptness and hence was short-tempered and impatient with the Contact paper with seems to have a mind of its own (closely resembling that of an obstinate donkey), so instead of peacefully, meditatively guiding the children in what could have been, should have been, a spiritual odyssey reflecting on the Passion of Christ, instead I was angrily fighting with this inanimate object that was thwarting my every move.
Oh, and I misjudged how much Contact paper I had/needed, so only 3 mats (out of 6) were "laminated".
But the results are fabulous, and I'll probably suffer through it again in a few weeks and make some for Easter. The kids had fun and will be able to enjoy the fruit of their labor for many weeks. Hopefully the pictures they covered and will see at every meal will keep them ever mindful of the season, and their sight might remind ME that a little bit of suffering bring great rewards.
It WAS a great idea: placemats for the dinner table. Using Lenten purple construction paper and various holy images and Bible quotes to decorate it and using clear Contact paper to protect it from the elements.
The execution was poor. I am easily frustrated by my own ineptness and hence was short-tempered and impatient with the Contact paper with seems to have a mind of its own (closely resembling that of an obstinate donkey), so instead of peacefully, meditatively guiding the children in what could have been, should have been, a spiritual odyssey reflecting on the Passion of Christ, instead I was angrily fighting with this inanimate object that was thwarting my every move.
Oh, and I misjudged how much Contact paper I had/needed, so only 3 mats (out of 6) were "laminated".
But the results are fabulous, and I'll probably suffer through it again in a few weeks and make some for Easter. The kids had fun and will be able to enjoy the fruit of their labor for many weeks. Hopefully the pictures they covered and will see at every meal will keep them ever mindful of the season, and their sight might remind ME that a little bit of suffering bring great rewards.
Monday, March 06, 2006
Gotcha
Last night - 9 pm. All the kids are asleep...except Jenny. Bill and I are in the kitchen talking, cleaning up and prepping for morning. The baby monitor is on and cranked up to hear any noise above breathing. Bill might have thought that I was listening for the baby.
Oh no.
Suddenly, we heard some slight noise. I turned to Bill and said, "Now! Quick! Upstairs and get her out of the baby's room!" He dashed up the steps and flipped on the hall light. There she stood like a deer in the headlights in the middle of the baby's room. Pete was blissfully unaware of the impending wake-up call that had just been thwarted.
Her hands were covering her face - half because of the blinding light, half with the classic toddler logic of If-I-Can't-See-You-Then-You-Can't-See-Me. This saved her hide because Bill finds it to be so absolutely adorable. The old softy.
Her silently led her out of the room and back to bed where her threatened her with a tremendous spanking if she got out of bed again. She stayed put and went to sleep.
Oh no.
Suddenly, we heard some slight noise. I turned to Bill and said, "Now! Quick! Upstairs and get her out of the baby's room!" He dashed up the steps and flipped on the hall light. There she stood like a deer in the headlights in the middle of the baby's room. Pete was blissfully unaware of the impending wake-up call that had just been thwarted.
Her hands were covering her face - half because of the blinding light, half with the classic toddler logic of If-I-Can't-See-You-Then-You-Can't-See-Me. This saved her hide because Bill finds it to be so absolutely adorable. The old softy.
Her silently led her out of the room and back to bed where her threatened her with a tremendous spanking if she got out of bed again. She stayed put and went to sleep.
Friday, March 03, 2006
culture shock
Culture shock: the confusion that results when one person of culture tries to have a conversation with a person lacking culture.
Billy was trying to talk about one of his favorite stories, Treasure Island. An older neighborhood boy accused him of watching Dora the Explorer, which has a show with the same name. I had to explain to Billy that the boy apparently didn't know about Robert Louis Stevenson's novel.
Billy was trying to talk about one of his favorite stories, Treasure Island. An older neighborhood boy accused him of watching Dora the Explorer, which has a show with the same name. I had to explain to Billy that the boy apparently didn't know about Robert Louis Stevenson's novel.
Stations of the Cross
On Fridays during Lent, I like to pray the Stations of the Cross as a family. We light 14 candles and the kids take turns snuffing out one candle for every station. This will keep the attention of most children, even the toddler (ooo, fire!). Thanks to Monica for sending me the text for the children's stations I posted below. I added the opening and closing prayers which I found on-line with much searching. There are many on-line versions of the stations, including this one for children with illustrations done by a 5th grader. Very nice.
Friday Stations of the Cross for kids
Opening Prayer: God of power and mercy, in love your sent your Son that we might be cleansed of sin and live with you forever. Bless us as we gather to reflect on his suffering and death that we may learn from his examplethe way we should go. We ask this through that same Christ, our Lord. Amen.
V: We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you.
R: Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.
1. Jesus Must Die.
Some of the people wanted Jesus to die. Jesus, You are willing to die for us. Thank you, Jesus.
Hail Mary…
V: We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you.
R: Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.
2. Jesus Takes His Cross
Jesus took the heavy cross with love. Jesus, help me to do hard things with love.
Hail Mary…
V: We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you.
R: Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.
3. Jesus Falls
Jesus, it was hard to carry the cross. You carried it for us. Thank you.
Hail Mary…
V: We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you.
R: Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.
4. Jesus Meets his Mother
Mary was sad to see Jesus suffer. She knew He must die for us. Thank you, Mary, for giving your son for us.
Hail Mary…
V: We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you.
R: Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.
5. Simon helps Jesus
Jesus found it hard to carry the heavy cross by himself. Simon helped him. Jesus, show me how to help others.
Hail Mary…
V: We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you.
R: Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.
6. Veronica helps Jesus
Veronica was sorry for Jesus. She wiped His face. Jesus, help me to be kind like Veronica.
Hail Mary…
V: We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you.
R: Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.
7. Jesus Falls the Second Time
Jesus fell a second time. He got up and carried the cross again. Thank you, Jesus, for carrying Your cross for us.
Hail Mary…
V: We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you.
R: Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.
8. The Women are Sorry for Jesus
Some women cried to see Jesus suffer. He spoke to them. Jesus, teach me to be sorry when I do wrong.
Hail Mary…
V: We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you.
R: Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.
9. Jesus Falls Again
Jesus fell again under His cross. He was very tired but did not stop. Jesus, help me to keep on trying to be good.
Hail Mary…
V: We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you.
R: Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.
10. Jesus' Clothes are Taken
The soldiers took away Jesus' clothes. They hurt him. Jesus, You suffered for us. Thank you.
Hail Mary…
V: We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you.
R: Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.
11. Jesus is Nailed to the Cross
Jesus forgave the men who hurt Him. He prayed, "Father, forgive them." Jesus, teach me to forgive others who hurt me.
Hail Mary…
V: We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you.
R: Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.
12. Jesus Dies on the Cross
After three hours, Jesus dies on the cross. Jesus, You died so we can live with God in Heaven. Thank you for loving us so much.
Our Father…
V: We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you.
R: Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.
13. Jesus is Taken Down
Mary held Jesus in her arms. Mary, help me to love Jesus as you love Him.
Hail Mary…
V: We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you.
R: Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.
14. Jesus is Buried
The friends of Jesus put him in the tomb. Jesus, you died to save us. You rose again to bring us new life.
Hail Mary…
V: We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you.
R: Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.
15. Jesus Rises
Jesus you rose from the dead on Easter. You gave God's life to us. Thank you, Jesus!
Glory Be…
Closing Prayer: Lord Jesus Christ, your passion and death is the sacrifice that unites earth and heaven and reconciles all people to you. May we who have faithfully reflected on these mysteries follow in your steps and so come to share your glory in heaven where you live and reign with the Father and the Holy Spirit one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
V: We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you.
R: Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.
1. Jesus Must Die.
Some of the people wanted Jesus to die. Jesus, You are willing to die for us. Thank you, Jesus.
Hail Mary…
V: We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you.
R: Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.
2. Jesus Takes His Cross
Jesus took the heavy cross with love. Jesus, help me to do hard things with love.
Hail Mary…
V: We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you.
R: Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.
3. Jesus Falls
Jesus, it was hard to carry the cross. You carried it for us. Thank you.
Hail Mary…
V: We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you.
R: Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.
4. Jesus Meets his Mother
Mary was sad to see Jesus suffer. She knew He must die for us. Thank you, Mary, for giving your son for us.
Hail Mary…
V: We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you.
R: Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.
5. Simon helps Jesus
Jesus found it hard to carry the heavy cross by himself. Simon helped him. Jesus, show me how to help others.
Hail Mary…
V: We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you.
R: Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.
6. Veronica helps Jesus
Veronica was sorry for Jesus. She wiped His face. Jesus, help me to be kind like Veronica.
Hail Mary…
V: We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you.
R: Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.
7. Jesus Falls the Second Time
Jesus fell a second time. He got up and carried the cross again. Thank you, Jesus, for carrying Your cross for us.
Hail Mary…
V: We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you.
R: Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.
8. The Women are Sorry for Jesus
Some women cried to see Jesus suffer. He spoke to them. Jesus, teach me to be sorry when I do wrong.
Hail Mary…
V: We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you.
R: Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.
9. Jesus Falls Again
Jesus fell again under His cross. He was very tired but did not stop. Jesus, help me to keep on trying to be good.
Hail Mary…
V: We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you.
R: Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.
10. Jesus' Clothes are Taken
The soldiers took away Jesus' clothes. They hurt him. Jesus, You suffered for us. Thank you.
Hail Mary…
V: We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you.
R: Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.
11. Jesus is Nailed to the Cross
Jesus forgave the men who hurt Him. He prayed, "Father, forgive them." Jesus, teach me to forgive others who hurt me.
Hail Mary…
V: We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you.
R: Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.
12. Jesus Dies on the Cross
After three hours, Jesus dies on the cross. Jesus, You died so we can live with God in Heaven. Thank you for loving us so much.
Our Father…
V: We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you.
R: Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.
13. Jesus is Taken Down
Mary held Jesus in her arms. Mary, help me to love Jesus as you love Him.
Hail Mary…
V: We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you.
R: Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.
14. Jesus is Buried
The friends of Jesus put him in the tomb. Jesus, you died to save us. You rose again to bring us new life.
Hail Mary…
V: We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you.
R: Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.
15. Jesus Rises
Jesus you rose from the dead on Easter. You gave God's life to us. Thank you, Jesus!
Glory Be…
Closing Prayer: Lord Jesus Christ, your passion and death is the sacrifice that unites earth and heaven and reconciles all people to you. May we who have faithfully reflected on these mysteries follow in your steps and so come to share your glory in heaven where you live and reign with the Father and the Holy Spirit one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
Thursday, March 02, 2006
who needs tv?
Earlier today, I fed Pete some diced pears. Sounds pretty dull, right? Not to my kids. Pete had never had pears, so the new taste had him making some faces. Pete hasn't had many chunky things to eat and is still getting the hang of chewing things (gumming them, really), so quite a bit was being spit out. The kids thought this was a riot. Who needs TV?
Later, Pete tried to stick his tongue out. He's tongue-tied, so this is an effort for him. See him practice:
The pictures are dark because I'm using the "action" mode on the camera and we're indoors and there are 4 children and one dopey adult with a camera crowding around and blocking the light.
Such over-stimulation has us all ready for a nap.
Later, Pete tried to stick his tongue out. He's tongue-tied, so this is an effort for him. See him practice:
The pictures are dark because I'm using the "action" mode on the camera and we're indoors and there are 4 children and one dopey adult with a camera crowding around and blocking the light.
Such over-stimulation has us all ready for a nap.
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