My sister sent me this link with this t-shirt: Why do we have a large family? We're trying to outnumber the liberals!
They really should make it in maternity sizes.
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Big family fashions
I actually don't like to wear t-shirts with words, slogans, pictures or corporate logos. But when going en masse to a large public venue like an amusement park, it is nice to have a "shut-em-up-before-they-even-open-their-mouths" option for apparel.
My sister sent me this link with this t-shirt:
My sister sent me this link with this t-shirt: 
Bacon for breakfast
My running partner, Greta, is injured. I haven't been running without the dog since October, when I ran the Army Ten Miler. I'm not sure I know how to do it alone anymore.
Last night I found myself in an awkward corner. A friend of mine had one of those parties where you come and buy stuff. Worse yet, it was jewelry. I just don't wear jewelry, and I have a difficult time thinking things like, "Oh, this would look just simply adorable on my mother!" I really should have declined the invite, as I have done with all the other invites I've gotten for similar parties during Lent, but the friend wasn't sure many people would really come and I wanted to support her. So the checkbook and I went, leaving the kids with their doting father who put them all nicely to bed.
There were only a few people there when I arrived, and so the hostess gave me a personal tour of the food selections which she had made herself. It was a limited array, because it wasn't a big party: brownies, mini-pecan pies dipped in chocolate, cheese pinwheels with marinara sauce, stuffed dates wrapped in bacon and sesame bread sticks wrapped in bacon. And after proudly showing off the result of her labor, she stood expectantly waiting for me to sample them and tell her what I thought.
I felt badly. I really would have enjoyed tasting her food, but I had no good excuse for eating bacon on a Friday in Lent. Had I found myself at a seated dinner at which my presence was required, and the host served roast beef, it would be awkward indeed to refuse the food. But these were appetizers in the evening, and I had already eaten dinner. I politely explained that if there were any leftovers, I would happily sample them the next day, but that I couldn't eat the bacon on Friday. Naturally, as a hostess, she was terribly upset that two-thirds of her finger foods were off limits to her guest. She asked about the desserts, and I told her I had given up chocolate too. I tried to reassure her that I would not starve, that I had eaten dinner, that those cheese pinwheels looked yummy (they were!). Thankfully, the doorbell began ringing, and she was soon distracted by the needs of other guests.
My two Catholic friends who came later were spared a similar scene because there were enough people there that the hostess just waved in the direction of the food and drinks. Mental note: arrive a half-hour after the start time of the party next time.
I did try these bacon wrapped delicacies this morning, and they were delicious. I'll have to call my friend to tell her so, and I will have to clarify that she should never feel she has to cater to the dietary limitations of a Catholic. I do know how she feels, having frequently had vegetarian guests and once having hosted a boy who was allergic to pork (hooray for Hebrew National hot dogs!). But still, I don't expect a non-Catholic to remember the no-meat-on-Friday rule and to provide a vast selection of acceptable alternatives.
Last night I found myself in an awkward corner. A friend of mine had one of those parties where you come and buy stuff. Worse yet, it was jewelry. I just don't wear jewelry, and I have a difficult time thinking things like, "Oh, this would look just simply adorable on my mother!" I really should have declined the invite, as I have done with all the other invites I've gotten for similar parties during Lent, but the friend wasn't sure many people would really come and I wanted to support her. So the checkbook and I went, leaving the kids with their doting father who put them all nicely to bed.
There were only a few people there when I arrived, and so the hostess gave me a personal tour of the food selections which she had made herself. It was a limited array, because it wasn't a big party: brownies, mini-pecan pies dipped in chocolate, cheese pinwheels with marinara sauce, stuffed dates wrapped in bacon and sesame bread sticks wrapped in bacon. And after proudly showing off the result of her labor, she stood expectantly waiting for me to sample them and tell her what I thought.
I felt badly. I really would have enjoyed tasting her food, but I had no good excuse for eating bacon on a Friday in Lent. Had I found myself at a seated dinner at which my presence was required, and the host served roast beef, it would be awkward indeed to refuse the food. But these were appetizers in the evening, and I had already eaten dinner. I politely explained that if there were any leftovers, I would happily sample them the next day, but that I couldn't eat the bacon on Friday. Naturally, as a hostess, she was terribly upset that two-thirds of her finger foods were off limits to her guest. She asked about the desserts, and I told her I had given up chocolate too. I tried to reassure her that I would not starve, that I had eaten dinner, that those cheese pinwheels looked yummy (they were!). Thankfully, the doorbell began ringing, and she was soon distracted by the needs of other guests.
My two Catholic friends who came later were spared a similar scene because there were enough people there that the hostess just waved in the direction of the food and drinks. Mental note: arrive a half-hour after the start time of the party next time.
I did try these bacon wrapped delicacies this morning, and they were delicious. I'll have to call my friend to tell her so, and I will have to clarify that she should never feel she has to cater to the dietary limitations of a Catholic. I do know how she feels, having frequently had vegetarian guests and once having hosted a boy who was allergic to pork (hooray for Hebrew National hot dogs!). But still, I don't expect a non-Catholic to remember the no-meat-on-Friday rule and to provide a vast selection of acceptable alternatives.
Friday, March 30, 2007
Will you, or will you not, bow and sing the bunny song?
You have to have seen the Veggie Tales video, Rack, Shack, and Benny to be able to laugh at this story.
"We're obviously surprised by the overwhelming response and offense people have taken," said Semler, adding that the Holy Week timing was an unfortunate coincidence. "We are certainly in the process of trying to figure out what we're going to do next."
Surprised, huh? Come on, don't they know by now that Christians have no sense of humor? Gosh, we're almost as bad as the Muslims who get all offended when you desecrate a copy of the Koran. Sheesh, what is up with these fanatical types?
I don't find the "artwork" amusing at all, but I'll leave the ranting to others. In the meantime, you'll find me singing:
Da bunny, da bunny -
Ooo - I love da bunny.
H/T: The Cafeteria Is Closed
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Another day, another dollar
Fritz has been feeling under the weather since this past weekend. Nothing terrible or needing medical attention, just a run-down feeling, some stomach achiness, headache, stuffy ears. On Sunday, Bill told Fritz they needed to go get him some cleats and a new glove for the upcoming baseball season, and he begged off - a sure sign that he was sick.
So when he told me yesterday morning, in tears, that his ear hurt really badly, I was not at all surprised. And even though he hadn't had one in years, I was positive that he did have an ear infection.
But, boy oh boy, was I mad at him. You see, he woke up at his usual time between 6 and 630 am. He asked to watch the two episodes of Lost in Space that he hadn't seen yet on the Netflix DVD. After that he got dressed and then set to work at the dining room table on his first drawing of the day. {My three oldest kids draw multiple pictures every day from their imagination. I do not know if this is normal for most kids, but it is quite the usual thing around here. The drawings have gotten more and more detailed as the kids have gotten older. Billy now adds word bubbles, asking me if he spelled "RETREAT!" correctly - can you guess what his drawings look like? Katie did one the other day with snooty-looking women walking snooty-looking dogs. It was hysterical.} And this is where I found him at 9 am when I suggested we begin with math.
That's when the tears came. And I asked him why he didn't happen to mention the earache in the previous 3 hours he'd been awake. Why suddenly tears when it's time to start school, but no tears when he's busy working on his drawing?
I called the doc and got an appointment for later that morning (sort of - the post had a power surge and after the guy on the phone told me to come in at 11 am, the power went out and the appointment wasn't finalized. I went in anyway, and they accommodated me, thankfully). In the meantime, I made him do his schoolwork, because I am a mean teacher and an even meaner mom.
Off we go to the doctor, and we get out of that office before noon, but we need to go to the pharmacy for antibiotics (yes, he had an ear infection). Jenny decides she's had enough and wants to go home, so she moans and sprawls on the floor. I cheerfully remind her several times that there are big men wearing big boots who will not see her and will accidentally step on her and it will hurt and perhaps she ought to not lay herself quite so much in the aisle. After a while, she grew tired of the hard floor and relocated to the chair into which she proceeded to contort her little body into a myriad of ever-changing shapes. At least she was no longer moaning.
I suppose I could have picked her up from the beginning and made her sit in a chair. Or tried to hold her and Pete in my arms. But the floor area wasn't particularly high-traffic, and I figured that her low moaning and inconvenient location was preferable to everyone within fifty feet than the full-blown tantrum that simmered just below the surface and would have boiled over at the first sign of a battle of wills. And despite her imperfect behavior, she was well within the normal for her age and only those in the immediate vicinity were aware of her presence: I judge acceptable behavior not by how many people tell me my kids are well-behaved but by how few people notice their even being there to begin with.
In the meantime, Pete did some squirming and back-arching in my arms and then finally settled down and went to sleep. I really would have preferred he squirm and arch his back, though. He slept for about 10 minutes before they called our number. Five minutes later, as I'm getting him in the car, he woke up. And that was the end of naptime. Three hours later, he was a mess, and his usual two-hour midday snooze was sorely missed.
What's a mother to do? Make dinner, take the kids to baseball practice, and thank God Almighty that both little ones fell sound asleep on the way home (and not on the way there!), and that they stayed asleep, and that the older ones didn't give us (much) bedtime grief.
And then rise this morning to begin a fresh day.
So when he told me yesterday morning, in tears, that his ear hurt really badly, I was not at all surprised. And even though he hadn't had one in years, I was positive that he did have an ear infection.
But, boy oh boy, was I mad at him. You see, he woke up at his usual time between 6 and 630 am. He asked to watch the two episodes of Lost in Space that he hadn't seen yet on the Netflix DVD. After that he got dressed and then set to work at the dining room table on his first drawing of the day. {My three oldest kids draw multiple pictures every day from their imagination. I do not know if this is normal for most kids, but it is quite the usual thing around here. The drawings have gotten more and more detailed as the kids have gotten older. Billy now adds word bubbles, asking me if he spelled "RETREAT!" correctly - can you guess what his drawings look like? Katie did one the other day with snooty-looking women walking snooty-looking dogs. It was hysterical.} And this is where I found him at 9 am when I suggested we begin with math.
That's when the tears came. And I asked him why he didn't happen to mention the earache in the previous 3 hours he'd been awake. Why suddenly tears when it's time to start school, but no tears when he's busy working on his drawing?
I called the doc and got an appointment for later that morning (sort of - the post had a power surge and after the guy on the phone told me to come in at 11 am, the power went out and the appointment wasn't finalized. I went in anyway, and they accommodated me, thankfully). In the meantime, I made him do his schoolwork, because I am a mean teacher and an even meaner mom.
Off we go to the doctor, and we get out of that office before noon, but we need to go to the pharmacy for antibiotics (yes, he had an ear infection). Jenny decides she's had enough and wants to go home, so she moans and sprawls on the floor. I cheerfully remind her several times that there are big men wearing big boots who will not see her and will accidentally step on her and it will hurt and perhaps she ought to not lay herself quite so much in the aisle. After a while, she grew tired of the hard floor and relocated to the chair into which she proceeded to contort her little body into a myriad of ever-changing shapes. At least she was no longer moaning.
I suppose I could have picked her up from the beginning and made her sit in a chair. Or tried to hold her and Pete in my arms. But the floor area wasn't particularly high-traffic, and I figured that her low moaning and inconvenient location was preferable to everyone within fifty feet than the full-blown tantrum that simmered just below the surface and would have boiled over at the first sign of a battle of wills. And despite her imperfect behavior, she was well within the normal for her age and only those in the immediate vicinity were aware of her presence: I judge acceptable behavior not by how many people tell me my kids are well-behaved but by how few people notice their even being there to begin with.
In the meantime, Pete did some squirming and back-arching in my arms and then finally settled down and went to sleep. I really would have preferred he squirm and arch his back, though. He slept for about 10 minutes before they called our number. Five minutes later, as I'm getting him in the car, he woke up. And that was the end of naptime. Three hours later, he was a mess, and his usual two-hour midday snooze was sorely missed.
What's a mother to do? Make dinner, take the kids to baseball practice, and thank God Almighty that both little ones fell sound asleep on the way home (and not on the way there!), and that they stayed asleep, and that the older ones didn't give us (much) bedtime grief.
And then rise this morning to begin a fresh day.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Recipes
I tried this bread recipe from Barbara at Praying for Grace. I was skeptical. Less than 5 minutes to get all the ingredients through the food processor. Rest the dough for 10 - 30 minutes. Roll it out, roll it up, let it rise and bake. Easy. It was yummy. I made a second loaf with one cup of whole wheat flour and two cups of white, and that is good too. Next time, I'll try half and half wheat/white. Tastes great toasted and slathered with butter, but doesn't everything?
And here's the recipe I made last weekend for my friend Doug's party: Kells Guinness Meatballs. They are similar to Swedish meatballs, but the cream sauce has Guinness beer in it. I do not like beer at all, but this sauce is really good - sweet. Double the recipe uses about one can of Guinness, which is sold in packs of four. Those other three cans will keep, if you don't happen to have a close family member who will gladly finish them off.
And here's the recipe I made last weekend for my friend Doug's party: Kells Guinness Meatballs. They are similar to Swedish meatballs, but the cream sauce has Guinness beer in it. I do not like beer at all, but this sauce is really good - sweet. Double the recipe uses about one can of Guinness, which is sold in packs of four. Those other three cans will keep, if you don't happen to have a close family member who will gladly finish them off.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Photos
Fun with braces. These are paperclips. He calls them fangs. He had fun playing with magnets too - seeing just how many he could get to dangle in a drooping line.
And I lopped off all my hair. I like it better today than yesterday. I guess it's growing on me (awful pun intentional). Bill, in trying to say something positive, said that it was a good cut for running. Because there are so many people I'm trying to impress at 5 am.
There are those who do...and those who tell others what to do
The other night at dinner, Bill and I were discussing the Great Books curriculum at Thomas Aquinas College in Santa Paula, California. We agreed that if our kids wanted a liberal arts education, this would be the program we would encourage them to consider.
"But honestly, Bill, I really would like them to enroll in a Bachelor of Science program. I just, uh, well, no offense, but I just don't see the use of a liberal arts education."
"Face it, Michelle, people with a Bachelor of Science degree work for people with a Bachelor of Arts degree."
Harumph.
Dear, sweet husband, please note that I did not argue with you.
"But honestly, Bill, I really would like them to enroll in a Bachelor of Science program. I just, uh, well, no offense, but I just don't see the use of a liberal arts education."
"Face it, Michelle, people with a Bachelor of Science degree work for people with a Bachelor of Arts degree."
Harumph.
Dear, sweet husband, please note that I did not argue with you.
Monday, March 26, 2007
Because everybody deserves the same treatment we give our wounded soldiers...
...be sure to vote for Hillary in the next elections.
Make no mistakes about it: the Walter Reed fiasco is the tip of the iceberg when it comes to problems with government sponsored health care. It is not the care that wounded soldiers get, it is the care that every single person in the military health care system gets. It is wounded soldiers, healthy soldiers, spouses, children and retirees. What is happening at Walter Reed is happening everywhere that the military, the former military and their dependents receive care.
And it could be your health care system, too. Just vote for her. Watch it happen. No, you won't pay a dime for that office visit. Will that be any consolation when the care you receive is inadequate? How about when it takes a month to get an appointment? And guess what? If your child has an earache, you will be directed to the nearest emergency room, because their offices will be too booked to accommodate you. But you won't mind spending 3 hours waiting for a doctor to see you and another hour waiting for your antibiotic at the pharmacy, because that ER visit and the prescription will be totally free.
Go here to read about Lorri's nightmare, and then think long and hard about the real cost of a universal health care system. Is that really better than what we have now?
Do you want more examples? The ER doc who wasn't sure if Petey's arm was broken. My neighbor who had constant menstrual bleeding for six months and was repeatedly told that it was an "hormonal hiccup." The doctor who told another neighbor that she could not possibly have strep throat despite the fact that all three of her kids had it - she had to demand a throat culture.
Tricare: when it is good, it is very very good; and when it is bad, it is horrid.
I know, two daily rants in one day. I'll calm down soon.
Make no mistakes about it: the Walter Reed fiasco is the tip of the iceberg when it comes to problems with government sponsored health care. It is not the care that wounded soldiers get, it is the care that every single person in the military health care system gets. It is wounded soldiers, healthy soldiers, spouses, children and retirees. What is happening at Walter Reed is happening everywhere that the military, the former military and their dependents receive care.
And it could be your health care system, too. Just vote for her. Watch it happen. No, you won't pay a dime for that office visit. Will that be any consolation when the care you receive is inadequate? How about when it takes a month to get an appointment? And guess what? If your child has an earache, you will be directed to the nearest emergency room, because their offices will be too booked to accommodate you. But you won't mind spending 3 hours waiting for a doctor to see you and another hour waiting for your antibiotic at the pharmacy, because that ER visit and the prescription will be totally free.
Go here to read about Lorri's nightmare, and then think long and hard about the real cost of a universal health care system. Is that really better than what we have now?
Do you want more examples? The ER doc who wasn't sure if Petey's arm was broken. My neighbor who had constant menstrual bleeding for six months and was repeatedly told that it was an "hormonal hiccup." The doctor who told another neighbor that she could not possibly have strep throat despite the fact that all three of her kids had it - she had to demand a throat culture.
Tricare: when it is good, it is very very good; and when it is bad, it is horrid.
I know, two daily rants in one day. I'll calm down soon.
Just another reason to homeschool
When Bill and I decided to homeschool, there was a long list of reasons why. Among the top five was his military career. We knew he would deploy during Fritz's kindergarten year, and we knew that if he continued his employment with Uncle Sam, there would be many other times when it would be more convenient to have a school schedule that suited our needs.
Sure enough, six months after he returned, he began working in DC on temporary orders that did not give us an allowance to move. Unwilling to pay out of pocket to relocate the family from New Jersey, we put up with his weekend commute for about 6 months. It wasn't fun, but it was better than deployment.
During the week, Bill lived in a one-bedroom hotel suite. He had a kitchen with a full-sized fridge, a microwave, full-sized range/oven and even a dishwasher (I didn't have one of those in NJ!). The dining area had a table and four chairs, the sofa was a sleeper, and the bedroom contained a king size bed. I would have moved in at once, but it was in the city of Arlington and dragging four kids to the little playground a few blocks away would have been tedious to do 3 or 4 times a day. And keeping the kids quiet in a hotel for hours on end was not realistic.
We did go down for a few days at a time on more than one occasion, hauling Fritz's 1st grade books with us. It was just an attempt to have a bit more family time. We were desperate.
Every day I was thankful to have the ability to homeschool. I'm not stupid. I know that administrators and teachers don't appreciate it when kids miss school. I doubted I would have much trouble with the particular parochial school to which I would have sent Fritz, especially not in those really young grades. But now or a few years from now? You expect 3rd or 4th or 5th graders to spend much of their school day learning. Not learning in an ambiguous osmosis sense, but actually learning facts like history dates and state capitals and multiplication tables. How much of that does a good parent want their kids to skip? How often would I have pulled Fritz out to go have dinner with Dad in Virginia? I doubt more than once - if at all. School is important.
And so when I read this article, and I see that envisioned nightmare of mine happening to another military family, I am reminded that this reason of mine to homeschool is a very valid one. Dad is due back for a two-week leave from Iraq. One week falls during their spring break, but they'd like to keep the kids home the other week too. The principal initially told the mom the kids would get zeroes for the missed work - that it was an unexcused absence.
My bet is that the media stink will make this principal a wee bit more tolerant of the family's request to do the schoolwork at home. Oh, and the best line from the article:
Yes, sir, I support you, I will just do absolutely nothing within my power to make your life even the tiniest bit easier or happier or nicer. But if you give me your APO address, I'll be sure to send you some beef jerky and gum.
Thankyouforyoursacrificetoourcountryhaveaniceday.
Sure enough, six months after he returned, he began working in DC on temporary orders that did not give us an allowance to move. Unwilling to pay out of pocket to relocate the family from New Jersey, we put up with his weekend commute for about 6 months. It wasn't fun, but it was better than deployment.
During the week, Bill lived in a one-bedroom hotel suite. He had a kitchen with a full-sized fridge, a microwave, full-sized range/oven and even a dishwasher (I didn't have one of those in NJ!). The dining area had a table and four chairs, the sofa was a sleeper, and the bedroom contained a king size bed. I would have moved in at once, but it was in the city of Arlington and dragging four kids to the little playground a few blocks away would have been tedious to do 3 or 4 times a day. And keeping the kids quiet in a hotel for hours on end was not realistic.
We did go down for a few days at a time on more than one occasion, hauling Fritz's 1st grade books with us. It was just an attempt to have a bit more family time. We were desperate.
Every day I was thankful to have the ability to homeschool. I'm not stupid. I know that administrators and teachers don't appreciate it when kids miss school. I doubted I would have much trouble with the particular parochial school to which I would have sent Fritz, especially not in those really young grades. But now or a few years from now? You expect 3rd or 4th or 5th graders to spend much of their school day learning. Not learning in an ambiguous osmosis sense, but actually learning facts like history dates and state capitals and multiplication tables. How much of that does a good parent want their kids to skip? How often would I have pulled Fritz out to go have dinner with Dad in Virginia? I doubt more than once - if at all. School is important.
And so when I read this article, and I see that envisioned nightmare of mine happening to another military family, I am reminded that this reason of mine to homeschool is a very valid one. Dad is due back for a two-week leave from Iraq. One week falls during their spring break, but they'd like to keep the kids home the other week too. The principal initially told the mom the kids would get zeroes for the missed work - that it was an unexcused absence.
"I said, 'We're not talking about Disneyland here. Their father has been at war for the last eight months and all we have is this little bit of time together.' God forbid if he goes back to Iraq and something happens to him," Keila Rios said.
My bet is that the media stink will make this principal a wee bit more tolerant of the family's request to do the schoolwork at home. Oh, and the best line from the article:
Griffin (the principal) told the Star he is a former soldier himself, and that he supports the troops and sympathizes with the family.
Yes, sir, I support you, I will just do absolutely nothing within my power to make your life even the tiniest bit easier or happier or nicer. But if you give me your APO address, I'll be sure to send you some beef jerky and gum.
Thankyouforyoursacrificetoourcountryhaveaniceday.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
What business it is of yours?
Don't you know about birth control?
For those of you who didn't catch my first hint or my second, I am about eleven weeks pregnant. This fact was one topic of conversation at our friend Doug's welcome home party yesterday. I got the birth control question. Someone else asked my husband if he didn't happen to know what caused that sort of thing. Bill politely laughed and said he knew it was the water, and henceforth he would only be drinking beer.
I wonder what sort of response these people expected?
Do they really want to hear about how much we love our children? Would they possibly understand how awestruck I am whenever I hold a newborn? How fascinated I am by their sweet smells and ultra soft skin?
Or would they rather hear of my love of the Church and my trust in her wisdom? How being open to new life with every procreative act has deepened my intimacy with my husband? How my respect for myself and my sexuality (and also my respect for the dignity of all people) has matured through the use of NFP? How I have discovered that in all the world the only institution that has stood solidly and consistently for centuries against behavior that hurts both the individual and society is the Catholic Church and that to ignore her teachings on human relations is foolish and destructive?
Or do they want to learn about how I love my vocation of motherhood? How with every child I become less selfish and self-centered? How I have learned to surrender all my thoughts, words, desires and actions to do what is best for the family (and by extension, all of society) not just me?
Would the woman who asked me if I knew about birth control really want to hear that this child was intentionally conceived? Although I've had plenty of not-quite-planned pregnancies, this one particular one was quite deliberate. And even if it had not been planned, would she understand the difference between unplanned and unwanted? Never, never have I had an unwanted pregnancy.
The negative comments I get don't really get me angry. I'm not surprised or shocked or upset or bothered. At least not in the sense that my blood pressure rises, and I get red in the face. It's a bit silly to react that way when I've been hearing similar things since my third pregnancy in three years.
But at the same time, I am upset in a cool, logical sort of way. I think it's outrageous that someone would say something like that. Really. The woman who asked about birth control is open about having her tubes tied. I'm sure she would consider it offensive if I told her she was foolish for doing that. I would never say such a thing. She's obviously quite happy and comfortable with her decision...what purpose does it serve to make her feel badly? It's not as though she could wave a magic wand and reverse her tubal ligation.
Just like I can't wave a magic wand and change my pregnancy. Would these nosy commenters prefer to see me break down into tears, saying that I was overwhelmed with my five kids and couldn't handle another? Would they counsel me to have an abortion? Or are they just trying to "help" me for next time? Point me in the direction of the pill or an IUD?
Is it that I look unhappy with my life or simply that they cannot imagine anyone truly being happy with a large family? I am not thrilled to have wrinkle lines beginning to form on my face, but I am pleased with this: the wrinkles are forming around my eyes and mouth from where I smile. And the "worry" lines on my forehead are mainly from squinting against the sun (curse these sensitive blue eyes), not from truly being anxious or even scowling. Perhaps when my kids hit their teen years, less pleasant wrinkles will begin to develop, but for now my life is more joyous than anything. And I know this feeling of contentment is projected to others because I get those "good mother" compliments all the time (not that I think I'm so good, but that I have that calm that comes after years of successfully outwitting and outmaneuvering the younger crowd).
And so today, since it's a Sunday and the popular thing seems to be to relax our Lenten resolutions a bit on that day of the week, I'm opening comments. Tell me how thrilled you are that I'm having a baby. I need to hear from happy people.
Addendum: I know that lots of people don't blog on Sundays - spending time with their family, blahblahblah - so I'll leave the comments open through mid-week.
For those of you who didn't catch my first hint or my second, I am about eleven weeks pregnant. This fact was one topic of conversation at our friend Doug's welcome home party yesterday. I got the birth control question. Someone else asked my husband if he didn't happen to know what caused that sort of thing. Bill politely laughed and said he knew it was the water, and henceforth he would only be drinking beer.
I wonder what sort of response these people expected?
Do they really want to hear about how much we love our children? Would they possibly understand how awestruck I am whenever I hold a newborn? How fascinated I am by their sweet smells and ultra soft skin?
Or would they rather hear of my love of the Church and my trust in her wisdom? How being open to new life with every procreative act has deepened my intimacy with my husband? How my respect for myself and my sexuality (and also my respect for the dignity of all people) has matured through the use of NFP? How I have discovered that in all the world the only institution that has stood solidly and consistently for centuries against behavior that hurts both the individual and society is the Catholic Church and that to ignore her teachings on human relations is foolish and destructive?
Or do they want to learn about how I love my vocation of motherhood? How with every child I become less selfish and self-centered? How I have learned to surrender all my thoughts, words, desires and actions to do what is best for the family (and by extension, all of society) not just me?
Would the woman who asked me if I knew about birth control really want to hear that this child was intentionally conceived? Although I've had plenty of not-quite-planned pregnancies, this one particular one was quite deliberate. And even if it had not been planned, would she understand the difference between unplanned and unwanted? Never, never have I had an unwanted pregnancy.
The negative comments I get don't really get me angry. I'm not surprised or shocked or upset or bothered. At least not in the sense that my blood pressure rises, and I get red in the face. It's a bit silly to react that way when I've been hearing similar things since my third pregnancy in three years.
But at the same time, I am upset in a cool, logical sort of way. I think it's outrageous that someone would say something like that. Really. The woman who asked about birth control is open about having her tubes tied. I'm sure she would consider it offensive if I told her she was foolish for doing that. I would never say such a thing. She's obviously quite happy and comfortable with her decision...what purpose does it serve to make her feel badly? It's not as though she could wave a magic wand and reverse her tubal ligation.
Just like I can't wave a magic wand and change my pregnancy. Would these nosy commenters prefer to see me break down into tears, saying that I was overwhelmed with my five kids and couldn't handle another? Would they counsel me to have an abortion? Or are they just trying to "help" me for next time? Point me in the direction of the pill or an IUD?
Is it that I look unhappy with my life or simply that they cannot imagine anyone truly being happy with a large family? I am not thrilled to have wrinkle lines beginning to form on my face, but I am pleased with this: the wrinkles are forming around my eyes and mouth from where I smile. And the "worry" lines on my forehead are mainly from squinting against the sun (curse these sensitive blue eyes), not from truly being anxious or even scowling. Perhaps when my kids hit their teen years, less pleasant wrinkles will begin to develop, but for now my life is more joyous than anything. And I know this feeling of contentment is projected to others because I get those "good mother" compliments all the time (not that I think I'm so good, but that I have that calm that comes after years of successfully outwitting and outmaneuvering the younger crowd).
And so today, since it's a Sunday and the popular thing seems to be to relax our Lenten resolutions a bit on that day of the week, I'm opening comments. Tell me how thrilled you are that I'm having a baby. I need to hear from happy people.
Addendum: I know that lots of people don't blog on Sundays - spending time with their family, blahblahblah - so I'll leave the comments open through mid-week.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Random comments
Last night at bedtime prayers, Pete sat with his hands nicely folded. He has no idea what all these words are that we say, so instead he just randomly said words that he did happen to know. "Hail Mary..." "JUICE!" "...full of grace..." "DADDY!"
With the change in seasons and clothes, Jenny now has a new wardrobe consisting primarily of things that Katie was wearing not too long ago. I love seeing these old favorites on another child. I only wish my boys hadn't progressed to the point where the destruction of clothing didn't seem to be their primary goal in life.
My kids like to go "back and forth" when eating their breakfast and lunch (this is not permitted at dinner). No non-food items are allowed at the table while they are eating, and so my children will go from one activity (like drawing a picture at the dining room table) to the kitchen table to get a bite of sandwich and then back. I really don't prefer this behavior in my older children, and I keep telling them that it is hazardous to leave their food unattended. Sit and eat, or else. This is a very real threat. Between Pete and the dog, there is no guarantee that your meal will be waiting for you when you get hungry for another nibble. Jenny has just come in crying because Peter ate all of his pancake and then moved on to her (unattended) pancake as well. This seems to be one situation where natural consequences are not enough to convince them to change their evil ways.
My husband needs to go to the eye doctor. He's having trouble reading and needs to put paper farther away from his face than normal to read the fine print. Yes, we're getting old. I remember a time when I knew exactly how old I was at all times. If you ask a kid how old he is, you don't expect him to have to think about it. Last night, though, I had to do the math to calculate what my age will be in two weeks when I have a birthday. Sadly, if you ask me in May how old I am, I'll have to do the calculation again: 36. Despite the gray hair, I didn't realize that 36 would feel so young!
We're having a mini-Easter today. Yes, it's early. Friend Stacy's husband Doug got back from Afghanistan about two weeks ago, and they are having an open house welcome home party pretty much all day today. "How can the guests of the bridegroom mourn while he is with them?" (Matthew 9:15). No, he's not Christ. But it is fitting to celebrate his return. I'm making meatballs that taste like Swedish meatballs but the sauce is made with Guinness beer. And since Bill drank all the Guinness he bought in honor of St. Patrick's Day, he will just have to go out and buy more. Twist his arm.
There is an offensive odor coming from Pete, and I want to get in a run before it rains. Two weeks until Easter!
With the change in seasons and clothes, Jenny now has a new wardrobe consisting primarily of things that Katie was wearing not too long ago. I love seeing these old favorites on another child. I only wish my boys hadn't progressed to the point where the destruction of clothing didn't seem to be their primary goal in life.
My kids like to go "back and forth" when eating their breakfast and lunch (this is not permitted at dinner). No non-food items are allowed at the table while they are eating, and so my children will go from one activity (like drawing a picture at the dining room table) to the kitchen table to get a bite of sandwich and then back. I really don't prefer this behavior in my older children, and I keep telling them that it is hazardous to leave their food unattended. Sit and eat, or else. This is a very real threat. Between Pete and the dog, there is no guarantee that your meal will be waiting for you when you get hungry for another nibble. Jenny has just come in crying because Peter ate all of his pancake and then moved on to her (unattended) pancake as well. This seems to be one situation where natural consequences are not enough to convince them to change their evil ways.
My husband needs to go to the eye doctor. He's having trouble reading and needs to put paper farther away from his face than normal to read the fine print. Yes, we're getting old. I remember a time when I knew exactly how old I was at all times. If you ask a kid how old he is, you don't expect him to have to think about it. Last night, though, I had to do the math to calculate what my age will be in two weeks when I have a birthday. Sadly, if you ask me in May how old I am, I'll have to do the calculation again: 36. Despite the gray hair, I didn't realize that 36 would feel so young!
We're having a mini-Easter today. Yes, it's early. Friend Stacy's husband Doug got back from Afghanistan about two weeks ago, and they are having an open house welcome home party pretty much all day today. "How can the guests of the bridegroom mourn while he is with them?" (Matthew 9:15). No, he's not Christ. But it is fitting to celebrate his return. I'm making meatballs that taste like Swedish meatballs but the sauce is made with Guinness beer. And since Bill drank all the Guinness he bought in honor of St. Patrick's Day, he will just have to go out and buy more. Twist his arm.
There is an offensive odor coming from Pete, and I want to get in a run before it rains. Two weeks until Easter!
Friday, March 23, 2007
A wing and a prayer
There was a time when I dutifully made long to-do lists. And I dutifully checked off the things that I did as I did them. I would refer to this list throughout the day, re-prioritizing as the day progressed, adding new things as I remembered them. And the next day, I would take the old list and rewrite it with any new obligations for the new day.
It was a very good system.
But I stopped using it about four years ago. Bill deployed. I was pregnant with Number Four. I started homeschooling Fritz. At that time, my to-do list was the same thing every day:
1. Pray.
2. Get self and children dressed.
3. Feed self and children.
4. Pray.
5. Do school.
6. Wash obvious dirt off children.
7. Pray.
8. Put children to bed.
9. Cry/pray/fall asleep.
I really didn't need a list to keep me on track.
That was then. I've been telling myself for the last three years that school is my priority and everything else I can manage to accomplish is gravy. I still make to-do lists, but they are usually for the weekends, and I don't check them constantly, and they're not the full and detailed ones of the past. Basically, I'm winging it.
This is not a good system.
First of all, school continues to be a top priority, but it doesn't (always) take all day long. Especially now that we are in the home stretch - the last 10 weeks - the workload is easing as we complete workbooks and other projects. And especially now that the days are longer, there seems to be more time available. I have projects and planning and reading that I need and want to do.
Secondly, school is very important, but there are other very important things. And sometimes these very important things don't take that long to do, but they need to be done. And sometimes these very important things need to be done at the right time. Like calling your mentally handicapped brother on his birthday. Not the day before, not the day after, but on his birthday. Because that really matters to him.
And when I fail in such a little, important thing, it is time to go back to a system wherein I not only look at the calendar and say, "Gee, Glenn's birthday is this week," I actually write down on my list: Call Glenn on Thursday.
And then I do it. And then I check it off. And then I'm happy knowing that the very important things in life are being done.
It was a very good system.
But I stopped using it about four years ago. Bill deployed. I was pregnant with Number Four. I started homeschooling Fritz. At that time, my to-do list was the same thing every day:
1. Pray.
2. Get self and children dressed.
3. Feed self and children.
4. Pray.
5. Do school.
6. Wash obvious dirt off children.
7. Pray.
8. Put children to bed.
9. Cry/pray/fall asleep.
I really didn't need a list to keep me on track.
That was then. I've been telling myself for the last three years that school is my priority and everything else I can manage to accomplish is gravy. I still make to-do lists, but they are usually for the weekends, and I don't check them constantly, and they're not the full and detailed ones of the past. Basically, I'm winging it.
This is not a good system.
First of all, school continues to be a top priority, but it doesn't (always) take all day long. Especially now that we are in the home stretch - the last 10 weeks - the workload is easing as we complete workbooks and other projects. And especially now that the days are longer, there seems to be more time available. I have projects and planning and reading that I need and want to do.
Secondly, school is very important, but there are other very important things. And sometimes these very important things don't take that long to do, but they need to be done. And sometimes these very important things need to be done at the right time. Like calling your mentally handicapped brother on his birthday. Not the day before, not the day after, but on his birthday. Because that really matters to him.
And when I fail in such a little, important thing, it is time to go back to a system wherein I not only look at the calendar and say, "Gee, Glenn's birthday is this week," I actually write down on my list: Call Glenn on Thursday.
And then I do it. And then I check it off. And then I'm happy knowing that the very important things in life are being done.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
She was blind before she was pregnant
This article doesn't say where the seven year old child lives: with his biological mother or with a family who actually loves him.
Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you! Isaiah 49:15
I'd give my life for my kids...but my eyesight? I dunno, let me think about it.
Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you! Isaiah 49:15
I'd give my life for my kids...but my eyesight? I dunno, let me think about it.
Sleep, baby, sleep
Jenny threw up in the car on the way to Bill's office.
She threw up in the car on the way home.
She spent the remainder of the day sleeping, and her poor little body was burning up. At 5 am, after about 14 hours of sleep and 24 hours of limited activity, she appeared in our bedroom and decided to climb in bed with me. The fever was down, and she seemed chipper compared to yesterday (although it is too early to tell if this is due to her good rest or if the virus has truly worked its way out of her system). She closed her eyes and lay quietly beside me, but when I got up 20 minutes later, she was still quite awake.
I told her I would come back soon, right after I said goodbye to daddy. And after I checked email. And after I drank some coffee.
When I did finally go up, about 45 minutes later, to retrieve Peter, she had relocated to her bedroom. I guess she decided to get up and get dressed. She got halfway through this task - namely, she got her pajamas off - when she must have been consumed with exhaustion. So, she took a break and fell sound asleep, wearing only panties, on her bedroom floor.
She threw up in the car on the way home.
She spent the remainder of the day sleeping, and her poor little body was burning up. At 5 am, after about 14 hours of sleep and 24 hours of limited activity, she appeared in our bedroom and decided to climb in bed with me. The fever was down, and she seemed chipper compared to yesterday (although it is too early to tell if this is due to her good rest or if the virus has truly worked its way out of her system). She closed her eyes and lay quietly beside me, but when I got up 20 minutes later, she was still quite awake.
I told her I would come back soon, right after I said goodbye to daddy. And after I checked email. And after I drank some coffee.
When I did finally go up, about 45 minutes later, to retrieve Peter, she had relocated to her bedroom. I guess she decided to get up and get dressed. She got halfway through this task - namely, she got her pajamas off - when she must have been consumed with exhaustion. So, she took a break and fell sound asleep, wearing only panties, on her bedroom floor.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
This is the day that the Lord has made
I have to love days like this. Ones where nothing goes according to plans. After all, they really just remind us how little control we have over our lives anyway, right?
So, long to-do list: more spring cleaning, sewing, laundry, bills, trip planning, and, naturally SCHOOL.
Then the phone rings:
Bill: Michelle, I'm really sorry. I need to go to that dinner tonight in civilian attire. Would you please bring me a suit and tie?
Me: Sure, honey. No problem.
{click}
Jenny: Mommy, I don't feel well.
And then vomiting. And now she's passed out on the dining room floor.
So, short to-do list: visit Bill at the office, extra laundry, and hopefully, SCHOOL.
So, long to-do list: more spring cleaning, sewing, laundry, bills, trip planning, and, naturally SCHOOL.
Then the phone rings:
Bill: Michelle, I'm really sorry. I need to go to that dinner tonight in civilian attire. Would you please bring me a suit and tie?
Me: Sure, honey. No problem.
{click}
Jenny: Mommy, I don't feel well.
And then vomiting. And now she's passed out on the dining room floor.
So, short to-do list: visit Bill at the office, extra laundry, and hopefully, SCHOOL.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Monday, March 19, 2007
Do small black moustaches show up on ultrasounds?
Eric Scheske, who is certainly not the master of politically correct verbiage, had this to say regarding the high numbers of babies aborted due to a Down's Syndrome diagnosis:
I'm sure most people will find this comment to be horribly insensitive. I, however, am reminded of the conversation my mother relayed to me that occurred after the birth of my brother, Glenn. Glenn will be 37 years old on Thursday. Back then, they didn't have AFP screens with high false positives, nor did they have ultrasound. And since my mother was in her early 20s, who would have suspected that her child might have a genetic abnormality usually found in children of older parents?
My husband, when describing his own father to people who do not know him, mentions that he looks like Adolf Hitler - a look I think my very nice father-in-law cultivated to frighten his own children and those in the neighborhood.
My father, on the other hand, looks more like Napoleon. Now Napoleon hailed from Corsica, not France. But the historically xenophobic French accepted him as their leader, so he must have passed himself off fairly well as one of their own.
How can they tell whether the fetus is mongoloid or merely vibrantly French?
I'm sure most people will find this comment to be horribly insensitive. I, however, am reminded of the conversation my mother relayed to me that occurred after the birth of my brother, Glenn. Glenn will be 37 years old on Thursday. Back then, they didn't have AFP screens with high false positives, nor did they have ultrasound. And since my mother was in her early 20s, who would have suspected that her child might have a genetic abnormality usually found in children of older parents?
But after his birth, the doctors and nurses looked at him and then approached my mother with the likelihood of his mental retardation. What makes you think he has Down's Syndrome, my mother asked. They then proceeded to point out his physical characteristics, one by one, to which, each time, my mother responded that her husband had similar features. In fact, my brother does have Down's Syndrome (and my father does not). But it does make one wonder if some of the babies are not misdiagnosed with Down's, when in reality, they just look like their parents.
My husband, when describing his own father to people who do not know him, mentions that he looks like Adolf Hitler - a look I think my very nice father-in-law cultivated to frighten his own children and those in the neighborhood. 
My father, on the other hand, looks more like Napoleon. Now Napoleon hailed from Corsica, not France. But the historically xenophobic French accepted him as their leader, so he must have passed himself off fairly well as one of their own.
A real idealist
Do you know one of those couples who can finish each other's sentences? Perhaps you are one of those couples. Some say it comes from a decade or two or three of living with someone. I once knew a couple who would relate stories of their shared experiences at the same time. It was a bit like watching a tennis match. My head would jerk back and forth from one to the other as one would begin a sentence, the other would overlap in speaking and then finish the sentence, and so on. It was...cute, in an annoying way.
This is not Bill and I. Try though we may, we think so differently at times that for one of us to finish the other's sentence results in a rebuke from the speaker: that's not what I was saying. And I'm perfectly happy with our differences. Otherwise, I would not experience amusing conversations like the one we had yesterday.
We were discussing the most charitable way to handle one of those tricky "love thy neighbor" situations. Or rather, Bill felt, I was criticizing his methods. That's not really true. I just had some suggestions for how I felt he could have handled it differently..."better" I think I may have said. Of course, there is no right answer on how to deal with obnoxious neighbors. Perhaps calmly and politely explaining to them that their behavior is unacceptable is a good thing to do. Perhaps the situation requires silently offer up your personal suffering.
The end result of this discussion, though, is my husband's conclusion (which he reaches every time we discuss something ambiguous like this), is that I am always right and he is always wrong. Unlike my husband, I make it a point to avoid arguments that I don't think I can win. Naturally, he is permitted to be right quite often and without debate, whereas I am forced to defend my positions every single time. So I pick only winning battles which only lends credence to his claim that I am always right and he is always wrong - a statement which I am not fool enough to argue, so therefore he must be right.
Following his usual pronouncement of my victory, he said that such discussions were to be expected since one of us was an idealist and one a realist...he being the idealist. Oh no, dear husband, I said, I am the idealist and you are the realist. We then went on to explain why each of us was what we thought ourselves to be and the other was the opposite. But I don't know why he even bothered to argue with me.
After all, he had already said that I was always right and he was always wrong.
And he was right.
This is not Bill and I. Try though we may, we think so differently at times that for one of us to finish the other's sentence results in a rebuke from the speaker: that's not what I was saying. And I'm perfectly happy with our differences. Otherwise, I would not experience amusing conversations like the one we had yesterday.
We were discussing the most charitable way to handle one of those tricky "love thy neighbor" situations. Or rather, Bill felt, I was criticizing his methods. That's not really true. I just had some suggestions for how I felt he could have handled it differently..."better" I think I may have said. Of course, there is no right answer on how to deal with obnoxious neighbors. Perhaps calmly and politely explaining to them that their behavior is unacceptable is a good thing to do. Perhaps the situation requires silently offer up your personal suffering.
The end result of this discussion, though, is my husband's conclusion (which he reaches every time we discuss something ambiguous like this), is that I am always right and he is always wrong. Unlike my husband, I make it a point to avoid arguments that I don't think I can win. Naturally, he is permitted to be right quite often and without debate, whereas I am forced to defend my positions every single time. So I pick only winning battles which only lends credence to his claim that I am always right and he is always wrong - a statement which I am not fool enough to argue, so therefore he must be right.
Following his usual pronouncement of my victory, he said that such discussions were to be expected since one of us was an idealist and one a realist...he being the idealist. Oh no, dear husband, I said, I am the idealist and you are the realist. We then went on to explain why each of us was what we thought ourselves to be and the other was the opposite. But I don't know why he even bothered to argue with me.
After all, he had already said that I was always right and he was always wrong.
And he was right.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
corned beef and cabbage...on Jewish rye, please
I do know that the Reuben sandwich is not Irish, but neither was St. Patrick. The Reuben is my favorite way to eat corned beef and is traditional fare at my home on March 17th.
If you have never tried a Reuben, it is likely that some or even all of the ingredients are not foods you prefer. I introduced this sandwich to Bill early in our marriage. He balked. He didn't like corned beef, swiss cheese or sauerkraut. I assured him that I didn't like them or rye bread either, but somehow, grilled together, they produce a most satisfying meal.
Yesterday, I made them for lunch. When dinner rolled around, he asked me what I was making. "Well...," I said. "Reubens?" he asked. "If you don't mind...," I said. "YES!!" was his jubilant response. He'll be happy to know there's just enough rye and corned beef left for one more sandwich today for each of us.
If you have leftovers from yesterday's corned beef dinner, I highly recommend making Reuben sandwiches, even if you don't think you'll like them. And for all you Irish purists out there, I did also make Irish Whiskey Soda Bread. Yummy.
If you have never tried a Reuben, it is likely that some or even all of the ingredients are not foods you prefer. I introduced this sandwich to Bill early in our marriage. He balked. He didn't like corned beef, swiss cheese or sauerkraut. I assured him that I didn't like them or rye bread either, but somehow, grilled together, they produce a most satisfying meal.
Yesterday, I made them for lunch. When dinner rolled around, he asked me what I was making. "Well...," I said. "Reubens?" he asked. "If you don't mind...," I said. "YES!!" was his jubilant response. He'll be happy to know there's just enough rye and corned beef left for one more sandwich today for each of us.
If you have leftovers from yesterday's corned beef dinner, I highly recommend making Reuben sandwiches, even if you don't think you'll like them. And for all you Irish purists out there, I did also make Irish Whiskey Soda Bread. Yummy.
Saturday, March 17, 2007
Who's There?
It took me a minute to figure it out, but it was quite clear what he was doing once I interpreted the baby pronunciation.
Peter was trying to tell me a knock-knock joke.
He's TWENTY MONTHS old. Comedy Central, here we come.
Peter was trying to tell me a knock-knock joke.
He's TWENTY MONTHS old. Comedy Central, here we come.
Spring cleaning
Well, I did it. And it wasn't too too painful either. The big clothing swap.
This past week, we've taken a spring break of sorts. We had just completed nine straight weeks of school with no field trips, no fun, no days off. Work, work, work. We needed some down time.
I picked a good week, too. The temperatures soared into the 70s on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. Yesterday it was cold, blustery, and ended up sleeting in the evening. We enjoyed some time at the playground, had a picnic at the park with friends, and pulled bikes, skateboards and roller blades out of the garage and into the alleyway for hours of good exercise.
I stripped all the beds and washed everything - comforters and blankets too. Moved beds and dressers to vacuum underneath and behind. Removed broken toys and other junk to the big garbage can, and collected 6 bags of clothes and 2 bags of toys to drop off at the thrift store.
And that's just the upstairs.
The warm days were great for airing out the house, and then the last cold, rainy day was perfect for scrubbing grime off white bedroom furniture (no fantastic weather luring us outdoors and away from chores). But of course, with only winter apparel in our drawers and closets, the kids began begging me to get out the summer clothes.
It's mid-March. It's northern Virginia. This is not the Deep South. Wednesday: 78 degrees. Friday: 38 degrees. In another month, perhaps, the kids will regularly be wearing shorts and t-shirts and sundresses, but even then, sweaters and long pants will need to be kept available for rainy days or chilly evenings. And I had already planned my big clothing swap for the first week of April - right before we head off to sunny Florida and Alabama.
But then again, I look at all of Fritz's pants which are about a half-inch too short, and his "church" pants no longer fit. The kids will need stuff for Easter and for vacation, and did I really want to be scrambling that week doing shopping instead of packing and battening down the hatches? And so, I took a deep breath and dove in. As expected, Fritz needs everything from tennis shoes to a bathing suit (except for t-shirts...I actually made him give some away). And Jenny needs nothing except for sandals and a pair of light-weight tights. I'm relieved the chore is mostly done - still some heavy clothes in the laundry or the dressers because it is still winter. And I have several weeks to get to the stores and find some good deals.
Today, I'll finish scrubbing the crib rails which were shockingly yucky and haul the giveaway bags to the car (if I can sneak them out without the kids noticing). And I'll try to get my husband to help me with one remaining closet in our room with mostly his stuff (just to straighten it up). Next week, we'll go back to school, but I'll begin working on my downstairs spring cleaning. Two and a half weeks until vacation time!!!!
This past week, we've taken a spring break of sorts. We had just completed nine straight weeks of school with no field trips, no fun, no days off. Work, work, work. We needed some down time.
I picked a good week, too. The temperatures soared into the 70s on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. Yesterday it was cold, blustery, and ended up sleeting in the evening. We enjoyed some time at the playground, had a picnic at the park with friends, and pulled bikes, skateboards and roller blades out of the garage and into the alleyway for hours of good exercise.
I stripped all the beds and washed everything - comforters and blankets too. Moved beds and dressers to vacuum underneath and behind. Removed broken toys and other junk to the big garbage can, and collected 6 bags of clothes and 2 bags of toys to drop off at the thrift store.
And that's just the upstairs.
The warm days were great for airing out the house, and then the last cold, rainy day was perfect for scrubbing grime off white bedroom furniture (no fantastic weather luring us outdoors and away from chores). But of course, with only winter apparel in our drawers and closets, the kids began begging me to get out the summer clothes.
It's mid-March. It's northern Virginia. This is not the Deep South. Wednesday: 78 degrees. Friday: 38 degrees. In another month, perhaps, the kids will regularly be wearing shorts and t-shirts and sundresses, but even then, sweaters and long pants will need to be kept available for rainy days or chilly evenings. And I had already planned my big clothing swap for the first week of April - right before we head off to sunny Florida and Alabama.
But then again, I look at all of Fritz's pants which are about a half-inch too short, and his "church" pants no longer fit. The kids will need stuff for Easter and for vacation, and did I really want to be scrambling that week doing shopping instead of packing and battening down the hatches? And so, I took a deep breath and dove in. As expected, Fritz needs everything from tennis shoes to a bathing suit (except for t-shirts...I actually made him give some away). And Jenny needs nothing except for sandals and a pair of light-weight tights. I'm relieved the chore is mostly done - still some heavy clothes in the laundry or the dressers because it is still winter. And I have several weeks to get to the stores and find some good deals.
Today, I'll finish scrubbing the crib rails which were shockingly yucky and haul the giveaway bags to the car (if I can sneak them out without the kids noticing). And I'll try to get my husband to help me with one remaining closet in our room with mostly his stuff (just to straighten it up). Next week, we'll go back to school, but I'll begin working on my downstairs spring cleaning. Two and a half weeks until vacation time!!!!
Friday, March 16, 2007
Do you have Office Depot near you?
Do your kids have an incessant craving for "scrap" paper for their various art projects?
I got these instructions in an email, and followed them. Yup, 10 reams of copy paper and a box of paperclips for $16, including delivery. I didn't need paperclips, but I think they're the cheapest thing you can get that ensures your order is over $25 (which you need for the $10 off coupon - spend $0.29, save $10, quite a deal there).
Follow these step by step instructions so that you can apply the coupons.
1. Go to www.officedepot. com
2. Search and Add 345603 ( Price : $5.59 ) - Buy 10 of these
3. Search and Add 429266 ( Price : $0.29 )
4. Coupon Price : -$31.00 Code : 73649244
5. Coupon Price : -$10 off $25 Code : 44141777
Final Price : $16.25 Shipped (mine was $15.95...different state taxes, I guess)
Offer ends soon.
I got these instructions in an email, and followed them. Yup, 10 reams of copy paper and a box of paperclips for $16, including delivery. I didn't need paperclips, but I think they're the cheapest thing you can get that ensures your order is over $25 (which you need for the $10 off coupon - spend $0.29, save $10, quite a deal there).
Follow these step by step instructions so that you can apply the coupons.
1. Go to www.officedepot. com
2. Search and Add 345603 ( Price : $5.59 ) - Buy 10 of these
3. Search and Add 429266 ( Price : $0.29 )
4. Coupon Price : -$31.00 Code : 73649244
5. Coupon Price : -$10 off $25 Code : 44141777
Final Price : $16.25 Shipped (mine was $15.95...different state taxes, I guess)
Offer ends soon.
College drinking
I don't mean to pooh-pooh this article. As a mother of future college students (I hope), a culture that promotes dangerous behavior is worrisome. But perhaps quite a bit of my concern stems from personal experience where I can soberly and seriously consider my own college behavior and say, "My goodness, that was stupid!"
Certainly, through the grace of God and not my own savvy or inner strength, I survived. But survive I did.
I can't help but wonder who the alarmists are who are responsible for this article and the research that went into it. Are they people who themselves rarely drank, never skipped class in order to recover from the previous night, never did homework half-lit? Or are they ones who were funneling yards of beer while the entire frat house chanted, "CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!"? Does puritanical disdain or the sagacity of experience motivate their panic?
{snip}
Is this truly shocking? A 20 year old in college drinks more than a 20 year old not in college? Could it be that the non-college student has to get up and go to work or risk being fired, while the college student can blow off Professor Peabody's chemistry lecture without anyone even noticing?
Ah, yes, when I was a student, we only drank socially. These hoodlums of today just want to get drunk. Sorry, buddy, take off the rose-colored glasses. Even if you yourself did not participate in binge drinking or illegal drug use, surely you were aware of others who did? Or did you wear those rosy lenses back then, too?
Either I went to the best kept secret of party schools (it didn't make the Top Party School list when I was there), or the woman who said this lived at home and didn't experience campus life in its fullest...or spent her free time in the library or dorm studying. Or she's 80.
And the concluding quote:
How bright are you if you kill yourself with booze or get yourself addicted to prescription drugs? Here is the bottom line: it is not the campus culture that is victimizing helpless students. These are adults making personal choices. If your "friends" are pressuring you to drink an entire bottle of vodka, find different friends. If there are no sober people to be found on campus, find another campus.
And if you are a parent, I suggest you encourage your children to seek a Bachelor of Science degree. In my experience, the workload required to cut it in those programs naturally reduces the opportunity for binge drinking. It's all those Bachelor of Arts students with excessive free time who are out drinking 3 or 4 times a week!
Certainly, through the grace of God and not my own savvy or inner strength, I survived. But survive I did.
I can't help but wonder who the alarmists are who are responsible for this article and the research that went into it. Are they people who themselves rarely drank, never skipped class in order to recover from the previous night, never did homework half-lit? Or are they ones who were funneling yards of beer while the entire frat house chanted, "CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!"? Does puritanical disdain or the sagacity of experience motivate their panic?
The report by The National Center on Addiction and Substance Abuse at Columbia University, argues substance abuse isn't an inevitable rite of passage for young adults. Rather, it argues a particular culture of excessive consumption has flourished on college campuses, and calls on educators to take bolder stands against students and alumni to combat it.
{snip}
Young adults in general have higher abuse rates, so a higher rate for college students is to be expected. But other research indicates that college students drink more than high school peers who don't go to college.
Is this truly shocking? A 20 year old in college drinks more than a 20 year old not in college? Could it be that the non-college student has to get up and go to work or risk being fired, while the college student can blow off Professor Peabody's chemistry lecture without anyone even noticing?
At the University of Kentucky, longtime administrator Victor Hazard says he too has noticed a change, with more students drinking simply to get drunk.
"To the extent there is such a thing as a social drinker, it was more of a meet-and-greet type of environment in the earlier years when I was here," said Hazard, Kentucky's associate vice president for student affairs and dean of students.
Now, he said, students are "drinking to become intoxicated as fast as they possibly can."
Ah, yes, when I was a student, we only drank socially. These hoodlums of today just want to get drunk. Sorry, buddy, take off the rose-colored glasses. Even if you yourself did not participate in binge drinking or illegal drug use, surely you were aware of others who did? Or did you wear those rosy lenses back then, too?
"It's getting more intense," she said. "Drinking games that were happening in private parties or houses or bonfires 10 years ago are now happening in public venues. That to me reflects a sort of larger acceptance of extreme drinking."
Either I went to the best kept secret of party schools (it didn't make the Top Party School list when I was there), or the woman who said this lived at home and didn't experience campus life in its fullest...or spent her free time in the library or dorm studying. Or she's 80.
And the concluding quote:
"People need to step up and realize this is not a rite of passage, this is not something we should tolerate. If it keeps going, we're going to destroy our best and brightest."
How bright are you if you kill yourself with booze or get yourself addicted to prescription drugs? Here is the bottom line: it is not the campus culture that is victimizing helpless students. These are adults making personal choices. If your "friends" are pressuring you to drink an entire bottle of vodka, find different friends. If there are no sober people to be found on campus, find another campus.
And if you are a parent, I suggest you encourage your children to seek a Bachelor of Science degree. In my experience, the workload required to cut it in those programs naturally reduces the opportunity for binge drinking. It's all those Bachelor of Arts students with excessive free time who are out drinking 3 or 4 times a week!
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Mom to Mom, Day to Day by Danielle Bean
I will never forget the day I met my future friend, Kathy. Kathy had just given birth to her fourth child, and mutual friends were organizing meals for her family. My oldest child was 9 months old, and I thought it quite heroic for me to manage to make her very large family a meal considering I had an infant of my own. I drove to her house and anxiously left the baby in the car (I couldn’t carry him and the meal, naturally). She let me in, and I stood dumbfounded as she calmly introduced me to her mother, showed off the newborn babe in her arms, and attempted to point out her other three children among the dozen or so running amok throughout the house. The parents of the playmates were nowhere to be found.
Fast forward to a month or so ago. I offered to take a meal to a neighbor – a friend of a friend – who had just had her second child. I made a double batch of stew (for her and for us) and some homemade rolls in between my regular duties like laundry and school. I put the toddler and the food in the double stroller, bundled the four others in their coats and mittens, and walked everyone around the corner to her home. And I smiled inwardly as she and her husband stared in obvious shock and amazement that I was even able to get everyone dressed, let alone to make and deliver her a meal.
Danielle Bean’s newest book, Mom to Mom, Day to Day, is just the book for both of those young, struggling mothers described above. How do you do it? I often get this question, sometimes actually spoken, sometimes as a pleading look in their eyes. Being a wife and mother, managing a household, passing on the Catholic faith – these responsibilities are challenging even to a battle-hardened woman with nearly a decade of experience. To a young mother who hasn’t yet acquired a taste for cold or reheated coffee, the job seems daunting or even impossible.
Many parenting books just make things worse: do it just like this or you are a failure, they seem to say. Mom to Mom, Day to Day is refreshingly different. Instead of a list of musts and shoulds, Danielle encourages women to discover what is best for their family. She de-emphasizes perfectionism without encouraging sloth, recommends a positive attitude without condemning our occasional fits of impatience, and suggests ways to live out our Catholicism as a family without overwhelming us with lists of things we simply must do in order to fulfill our obligation to teach our children the faith.
Mom to Mom, Day to Day has short, easy to read chapters – perfect for the hectic mother of little ones who snatches reading time between diaper changes and the cleaning of spilled Cheerios. If a woman ever wanted to pick the brain of an experienced mother just to get to the essence of how to live out that vocation, this book is it. I found myself nodding in agreement throughout, and had Danielle, myself, and another mother been sitting at a playground together sharing advice about raising families, I’m sure all I would have to add is, “Yeah, what she said.”
It is high praise for me to recommend a book – higher still if I actually give it to someone. I’ve already purchased a few more copies of Mom to Mom, Day to Day and can think of a couple of women from my church who could use it. And I need a spare copy, of course. So the next time an exhausted woman juggling her toddler on one hip and a newborn on the other asks, How do you do it? I can simply say, Here, read this.
Fast forward to a month or so ago. I offered to take a meal to a neighbor – a friend of a friend – who had just had her second child. I made a double batch of stew (for her and for us) and some homemade rolls in between my regular duties like laundry and school. I put the toddler and the food in the double stroller, bundled the four others in their coats and mittens, and walked everyone around the corner to her home. And I smiled inwardly as she and her husband stared in obvious shock and amazement that I was even able to get everyone dressed, let alone to make and deliver her a meal.
Danielle Bean’s newest book, Mom to Mom, Day to Day, is just the book for both of those young, struggling mothers described above. How do you do it? I often get this question, sometimes actually spoken, sometimes as a pleading look in their eyes. Being a wife and mother, managing a household, passing on the Catholic faith – these responsibilities are challenging even to a battle-hardened woman with nearly a decade of experience. To a young mother who hasn’t yet acquired a taste for cold or reheated coffee, the job seems daunting or even impossible.Many parenting books just make things worse: do it just like this or you are a failure, they seem to say. Mom to Mom, Day to Day is refreshingly different. Instead of a list of musts and shoulds, Danielle encourages women to discover what is best for their family. She de-emphasizes perfectionism without encouraging sloth, recommends a positive attitude without condemning our occasional fits of impatience, and suggests ways to live out our Catholicism as a family without overwhelming us with lists of things we simply must do in order to fulfill our obligation to teach our children the faith.
Mom to Mom, Day to Day has short, easy to read chapters – perfect for the hectic mother of little ones who snatches reading time between diaper changes and the cleaning of spilled Cheerios. If a woman ever wanted to pick the brain of an experienced mother just to get to the essence of how to live out that vocation, this book is it. I found myself nodding in agreement throughout, and had Danielle, myself, and another mother been sitting at a playground together sharing advice about raising families, I’m sure all I would have to add is, “Yeah, what she said.”
It is high praise for me to recommend a book – higher still if I actually give it to someone. I’ve already purchased a few more copies of Mom to Mom, Day to Day and can think of a couple of women from my church who could use it. And I need a spare copy, of course. So the next time an exhausted woman juggling her toddler on one hip and a newborn on the other asks, How do you do it? I can simply say, Here, read this.
Kindergarten biology
Some of the best conversations happen in the car.
Katie: Mom, we need to get another baby.
Me: OK.
Katie: Hooray! {pause} When?
Me: October? I hope that's OK. It's takes a while, honey.
Jenny: How do you get another baby?
Me: Well...I need Daddy and some help from God...
Katie: She and Daddy have to hold hands or something, right, Mommy?
Me: Uh...
Katie: You and Daddy hold hands and then God puts a baby in your tummy, right?
Me: Uh...something like that...
Thank goodness, for once, Fritz sat silently in the back of the van.
Katie: Mom, we need to get another baby.
Me: OK.
Katie: Hooray! {pause} When?
Me: October? I hope that's OK. It's takes a while, honey.
Jenny: How do you get another baby?
Me: Well...I need Daddy and some help from God...
Katie: She and Daddy have to hold hands or something, right, Mommy?
Me: Uh...
Katie: You and Daddy hold hands and then God puts a baby in your tummy, right?
Me: Uh...something like that...
Thank goodness, for once, Fritz sat silently in the back of the van.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
blogging and bloglines
If you give up commenting on blogs for Lent, and then you just turn what you would have said into a blog post, does that break your commitment? Nah, I didn't think so either.
This is mostly for Denise at Ordinary Grace who wants to know how often one should blog. I think it depends on what your motivation is for blogging.
If you are trying to appeal to an audience, to generate regular readers, to provide some sort of service (source for news, source for spiritual comfort, source for amusement), then I would suggest daily posts as a minimum. If you consider blogs like Open Book and The Cafeteria is Closed, they post multiple times per day. Danielle Bean and Eric Scheske generally post once a day.
If you are writing primarily for you, then you should write as often as you feel like it.
I write, primarily, for me and for my family. Sometimes I post every day, even more than once. Sometimes, generally on the weekends, I post not at all. I'm trying to capture bits of this crazy life with these kids. There are things I want to remember about them, and about me, and about daily life, and I'm just not a big scrapbooker or photo journalist, and a written diary with a little lock and secret thoughts just isn't what I care to do. I want my kids to remember or to learn what life was like when they were little - so when they're adults and they claim to have been perfectly well behaved children who never gave their mother any grief and why is such-and-such niece or nephew such an awful brat, I can laugh at their sketchy memory and remind them (and myself) just how normal the child really is. And I want to share these glimpses of personality with family and friends who don't live nearby and who see the kids infrequently.
Plus blogging cuts down on the amount of time I would otherwise spend talking to myself.
Denise also asks about tracking feeds. Someone else already clued her in to bloglines, which I began to use this Lent and absolutely love. I have it set to check for updates every six hours, so if I pop over to my computer to send an email or check the weather forecast, I'm not always tempted to click the link which screams "new updates!!" I really wish I had subscribed sooner.
The only downside to bloglines is that you don't necessarily go to that person's blog. Most blogs offer full feeds, so you can read the latest entry in it's entirety from the bloglines page. There is a bit missing when you don't experience first-hand the fonts, colors and layout that enhance a post or add depth to personality.
And if someone should happen to make a minor change to their sidebar, you might never notice it. Of course, even those reading a blog at it's source might not notice such a change either...
This is mostly for Denise at Ordinary Grace who wants to know how often one should blog. I think it depends on what your motivation is for blogging.
If you are trying to appeal to an audience, to generate regular readers, to provide some sort of service (source for news, source for spiritual comfort, source for amusement), then I would suggest daily posts as a minimum. If you consider blogs like Open Book and The Cafeteria is Closed, they post multiple times per day. Danielle Bean and Eric Scheske generally post once a day.
If you are writing primarily for you, then you should write as often as you feel like it.
I write, primarily, for me and for my family. Sometimes I post every day, even more than once. Sometimes, generally on the weekends, I post not at all. I'm trying to capture bits of this crazy life with these kids. There are things I want to remember about them, and about me, and about daily life, and I'm just not a big scrapbooker or photo journalist, and a written diary with a little lock and secret thoughts just isn't what I care to do. I want my kids to remember or to learn what life was like when they were little - so when they're adults and they claim to have been perfectly well behaved children who never gave their mother any grief and why is such-and-such niece or nephew such an awful brat, I can laugh at their sketchy memory and remind them (and myself) just how normal the child really is. And I want to share these glimpses of personality with family and friends who don't live nearby and who see the kids infrequently.
Plus blogging cuts down on the amount of time I would otherwise spend talking to myself.
Denise also asks about tracking feeds. Someone else already clued her in to bloglines, which I began to use this Lent and absolutely love. I have it set to check for updates every six hours, so if I pop over to my computer to send an email or check the weather forecast, I'm not always tempted to click the link which screams "new updates!!" I really wish I had subscribed sooner.
The only downside to bloglines is that you don't necessarily go to that person's blog. Most blogs offer full feeds, so you can read the latest entry in it's entirety from the bloglines page. There is a bit missing when you don't experience first-hand the fonts, colors and layout that enhance a post or add depth to personality.
And if someone should happen to make a minor change to their sidebar, you might never notice it. Of course, even those reading a blog at it's source might not notice such a change either...
pathetic
I guess my shoulder is too bony. He fussed on my lap, then climbed into his dad's unpadded wooden chair. A moment later, with his head on his little stuffed puppy, he was snoring.The flash woke him up, so he spent a few minutes fussing on my lap, but now he's climbed back into the hard chair.
I didn't wake him up this morning. I would have preferred he stay in bed. But no, he had to get out of his crib.
{sigh}
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Coming soon
The Kitchen Madonna would be pleased. I was at the fabric store yesterday. As I paid for my selections, the lady asked me what I was making with such pretty fabric. "Aprons," I told her.
"Everybody seems to be making aprons," she mused.
Everybody must be getting ready for National Wear an Apron Day: Monday, May 14th!
Phileas Fogg loses his wager
Mr. Fogg crosses the international date line and actually does manage to win his bet when he realizes it is Saturday, not Sunday. Lucky him.
My husband did not cross the international date line. He left Germany last Thursday morning when "engine trouble" made it "necessary" for his plane to land in Scotland. There were "no parts or mechanics" for their type of plane in all of the U.K., and so they sat awaiting rescue via another plane returning from a trip to Afghanistan. Until Saturday.
He complained bitterly about his horrible luck in being "forced" to stay in Scotland, when he would much rather be home with us. Just to pass the time, he went to Edinburgh Castle, saw the crown jewels of Scotland and St. Margaret's Chapel, and learned how they make Scotch whisky.
But he had very little fun without us, of course.
And I'm not jealous, at all, because I happened to give up haggis for Lent and the temptation would have been too great, I fear.
And so, instead of an 8 day trip, it was 10 days. And instead of a 3 day weekend, he took yesterday off and had 2, which I'm sure that as he is staring at his desk right now for the first time in nearly two weeks, I'm sure he regrets, but not really, since he really did miss us.
My husband did not cross the international date line. He left Germany last Thursday morning when "engine trouble" made it "necessary" for his plane to land in Scotland. There were "no parts or mechanics" for their type of plane in all of the U.K., and so they sat awaiting rescue via another plane returning from a trip to Afghanistan. Until Saturday.
He complained bitterly about his horrible luck in being "forced" to stay in Scotland, when he would much rather be home with us. Just to pass the time, he went to Edinburgh Castle, saw the crown jewels of Scotland and St. Margaret's Chapel, and learned how they make Scotch whisky.
But he had very little fun without us, of course.
And I'm not jealous, at all, because I happened to give up haggis for Lent and the temptation would have been too great, I fear.
And so, instead of an 8 day trip, it was 10 days. And instead of a 3 day weekend, he took yesterday off and had 2, which I'm sure that as he is staring at his desk right now for the first time in nearly two weeks, I'm sure he regrets, but not really, since he really did miss us.
Sunday, March 11, 2007
All God's Creatures
While driving...
Fritz: Hey! Look! Geese!
Everybody: Oooh! Wow! Look at all the geese!
Katie: Fritz, what do geese do?
Fritz (dryly): Lay eggs...make more geese.
Fritz: Hey! Look! Geese!
Everybody: Oooh! Wow! Look at all the geese!
Katie: Fritz, what do geese do?
Fritz (dryly): Lay eggs...make more geese.
Friday, March 09, 2007
Dress fitting
My niece tried on the dress with her veil. It looks much better on her than it did on Fritz.
Thanks for the pics, Barb!
What was that address again?
For Lent, I've clamped down on the random kid-channel surfing my kids like to do. We've gone on-line and printed out the TV lineups for PBS and Playhouse Disney and Nick Jr. They have to tell me what they want to watch.
Jenny asks, "Mom, can we go on the computer to dot com to see what I want to watch?"
Jenny asks, "Mom, can we go on the computer to dot com to see what I want to watch?"
Feast of Saint Dominic Savio
Saint Dominic Savio is the patron of boys, children's choirs and juvenile delinquents to name a few. A good patron for Billy?
The very first thing this son of mine said to me this morning was, "Happy Feast of St. Dominic, Mom!" He has recently realized that every saint has a feast day, and our Picture Book of Saints lists that day under their pictures. He obsessively flips through this book reminding me of upcoming feasts. I think he's afraid that we might forget to honor someone. Wait until he learns that this book doesn't list every single saint, and that hardly a day goes by without a saint's association to it!
The very first thing this son of mine said to me this morning was, "Happy Feast of St. Dominic, Mom!" He has recently realized that every saint has a feast day, and our Picture Book of Saints lists that day under their pictures. He obsessively flips through this book reminding me of upcoming feasts. I think he's afraid that we might forget to honor someone. Wait until he learns that this book doesn't list every single saint, and that hardly a day goes by without a saint's association to it!
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Ingratitude
I'm definitely going to bake this bread today. Thanks, Suzanne.
I have to laugh at myself sometimes. I don't know how many times I have read the book of Exodus. There the Israelites are, led by a pillar of fire or a pillar of cloud (depending on the time of night or day), and what do they do? Complain. They moan and whine from thirst, and God gives them water. They cry from hunger, and God gives them manna. And what do they do? Claim that things were better when they were slaves because they had meat and honey.
Every time I read this account, I marvel that a people could be so ungrateful. Every morning, they wake to find a miracle: thin wafers of life-sustaining bread resting like the dew on the field. There is plenty for everyone to get their fill. Nonetheless, after a bit, the Israelites dream of better meals: heartier breads, fresh fruit. This daily gift from God is taken for granted and even despised.
Before meals, we ask God to bless us and the gift of food He has bestown upon us. Yes, perhaps I labored to make that lasagna or bake that pie, just as the Israelites had to labor to gather the manna, but ultimately, those dishes are from God. The more removed I am from the creation of the dish, the harder it is for me to appreciate its Divine origins. And so, during Lent, I avoid restaurants and take out food. I avoid social situations where someone else prepares the food. I eat simpler meals, no sweets, very little meat, and I try to avoid extras like salad dressing and mayonnaise.
Nothing makes a ripe juicy pear taste sweeter than having no other source of sugar.
My main food options are soup and bread. Often, the soup is from scratch. This week I made tortilla soup from a package. I didn't want to put the effort into a flavor I wasn't sure I would like. Oh, goodness, this soup is fantastic, and I can't wait to try one of the many recipes I've seen for it. And most of the breads I eat are homemade. I use the bread machine to make the dough, and then put it in a loaf pan. For the kids, I use this pan to make mini-loaves, and they love the slices that are just right for their hands. But the little slices don't go in the toaster well, so I prefer normal loaves for my cinnamon-raisin bread and onion-rye bread. And, since I am very weak, I did not give up the butter that I generously spread on each delicious slice.
Unlike the Israelites, I am not at a loss for flavor. I'm not restricting myself to broth and plain bread. My food is quite enjoyable. And yet...
And yet, I found myself looking longingly at the lunchmeat I was serving my children yesterday. Under normal circumstances, I eat lunchmeat about once a month. It's not my first choice for lunch, when I typically eat leftovers. But there I was thinking that a few slices of salami slathered with some Hellman's on my homemade bread would really hit the spot.
{sigh}
In my misery yesterday, I recalled my judgement of the Israelites as ingrates. They did not even have cinnamon-raisin bread or the decadent cream-of-tomato soup that is in my freezer for next week. Two weeks of Lent, and I am longing for salami, yet I dare criticize those who had plain wafers for months for not being happy with what they have? Oh, how the Lord knows us so well.
Every Lent, I am reminded just how attached to this world I truly am. Perhaps I don't need a big house or a fancy car, a plasma TV or a spa tub. Perhaps I can pat myself on the back because I do recognize the obvious blessings in my life like a high-speed internet connection and central A/C. But the bottom line is that I take for granted my basic requirements of food, clothing and shelter. I pray "...give us this day our daily bread..." the way my children mutter "thank you" out of habit and not true appreciation and with the expectation that there is always more just waiting for them.
I have a long way to go.
I have to laugh at myself sometimes. I don't know how many times I have read the book of Exodus. There the Israelites are, led by a pillar of fire or a pillar of cloud (depending on the time of night or day), and what do they do? Complain. They moan and whine from thirst, and God gives them water. They cry from hunger, and God gives them manna. And what do they do? Claim that things were better when they were slaves because they had meat and honey.
Every time I read this account, I marvel that a people could be so ungrateful. Every morning, they wake to find a miracle: thin wafers of life-sustaining bread resting like the dew on the field. There is plenty for everyone to get their fill. Nonetheless, after a bit, the Israelites dream of better meals: heartier breads, fresh fruit. This daily gift from God is taken for granted and even despised.
Before meals, we ask God to bless us and the gift of food He has bestown upon us. Yes, perhaps I labored to make that lasagna or bake that pie, just as the Israelites had to labor to gather the manna, but ultimately, those dishes are from God. The more removed I am from the creation of the dish, the harder it is for me to appreciate its Divine origins. And so, during Lent, I avoid restaurants and take out food. I avoid social situations where someone else prepares the food. I eat simpler meals, no sweets, very little meat, and I try to avoid extras like salad dressing and mayonnaise.
Nothing makes a ripe juicy pear taste sweeter than having no other source of sugar.
My main food options are soup and bread. Often, the soup is from scratch. This week I made tortilla soup from a package. I didn't want to put the effort into a flavor I wasn't sure I would like. Oh, goodness, this soup is fantastic, and I can't wait to try one of the many recipes I've seen for it. And most of the breads I eat are homemade. I use the bread machine to make the dough, and then put it in a loaf pan. For the kids, I use this pan to make mini-loaves, and they love the slices that are just right for their hands. But the little slices don't go in the toaster well, so I prefer normal loaves for my cinnamon-raisin bread and onion-rye bread. And, since I am very weak, I did not give up the butter that I generously spread on each delicious slice.
Unlike the Israelites, I am not at a loss for flavor. I'm not restricting myself to broth and plain bread. My food is quite enjoyable. And yet...
And yet, I found myself looking longingly at the lunchmeat I was serving my children yesterday. Under normal circumstances, I eat lunchmeat about once a month. It's not my first choice for lunch, when I typically eat leftovers. But there I was thinking that a few slices of salami slathered with some Hellman's on my homemade bread would really hit the spot.
{sigh}
In my misery yesterday, I recalled my judgement of the Israelites as ingrates. They did not even have cinnamon-raisin bread or the decadent cream-of-tomato soup that is in my freezer for next week. Two weeks of Lent, and I am longing for salami, yet I dare criticize those who had plain wafers for months for not being happy with what they have? Oh, how the Lord knows us so well.
Every Lent, I am reminded just how attached to this world I truly am. Perhaps I don't need a big house or a fancy car, a plasma TV or a spa tub. Perhaps I can pat myself on the back because I do recognize the obvious blessings in my life like a high-speed internet connection and central A/C. But the bottom line is that I take for granted my basic requirements of food, clothing and shelter. I pray "...give us this day our daily bread..." the way my children mutter "thank you" out of habit and not true appreciation and with the expectation that there is always more just waiting for them.
I have a long way to go.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Around the World in 8 Days
Actually, he went halfway around the world and then turned around and came back.
Bill has called me twice today, on his cell phone, from Germany. I was wondering what we would ever do with all those rolled over minutes that we have been accumulating. He's on his way back from a brief visit to Afghanistan. He spent two days there and the rest of the time through his return tomorrow afternoon (about 6 days) is travel time.
While "in country" he sent me this email:
War is hell. Now, in 18 months, when he gets deployed as I predict he will, he'll try to tell me just how safe the place is. The emphasis added is mine - that's all I saw when I read that note.
Bill typically gives up beer for Lent, but not this year. I'm willing to bet, knowing he'd be spending the night in Germany tonight, he intentionally did not give up beer just so he could indulge in one today. What amazing foresight. The man has his priorities straight.
A month or so ago, Bill had to fly out to Missouri and then California over the weekend. As he was saying goodbye to all the kids that Saturday morning, Billy blithely said, "Bye, Dad. Hope nobody shoots your plane down." Bill assured him that it wouldn't happen, but I pulled him aside and mentioned that planes don't get hijacked in this country either, huh? I don't like to speak in absolutes to children, unless it really is an absolute (death, taxes, God's love, and the way somebody will urgently require your attention the moment after you pour milk into the cereal that tastes really nasty when it's mushy).
Billy's comment stemmed from his knowledge of a helicopter crash in Iraq that killed soldiers from my husband's office. We didn't include the kids in most of the conversations about the incident, but they hear things, they know things. Obviously, though, he just didn't grasp the meaning of it all. That people don't generally live through those situations doesn't seem to enter his mind.
When Billy asked me at the school table last Wednesday where Dad was going on his trip, I very lightly said, "Afghanistan." "But that place is dangerous," he spluttered and immediately was in tears. I calmed him somewhat by mentioning all the people we know who are over there ***although I am most happy to know that as of today, my friend Stacy's husband is on US soil...she will see him on Friday!!!*** and by telling him that people live there: families, children. Eventually though, I had to forbid him any tears in front of his sisters lest he upset them, and I made him stay in the den until he could get a grip on his emotions. (That's right, son, repress those tears, be a man.) He's been weepier than usual about little things this week, and I'll be happy when he sees his dad tomorrow.
Fritz argued, "But this is the second time Dad has been deployed." As if deployment were a disease like chicken pox that you became immune to once you got it. I wish. I explained that two days in country does not count as a deployment.
Nonetheless, Billy, my talker, went around to everyone he saw (clerks at the grocery store, people at church), telling them his dad was in Afghanistan. Living on a military installation, we would get sympathetic clucks. Then Billy would say he was coming home in X days, and they would get all excited for us. It was quite embarrassing.
Both boys have been pestering me the entire week about making Dad a welcome home banner. Not a picture, but a big ol' banner like you'd hang on the front porch, if we had a front porch. No, I tell them. If you can plan making a banner the day after the man leaves, it's really too short of a trip to warrant such displays. They look at me as though I've just declared their Dad unworthy of love.
I'm just grateful that the girls seem oblivious to the hullabaloo. Their normal shenanigans are enough for me. And I'm grateful that Bill will be getting up in a few hours and heading for home.
Bill has called me twice today, on his cell phone, from Germany. I was wondering what we would ever do with all those rolled over minutes that we have been accumulating. He's on his way back from a brief visit to Afghanistan. He spent two days there and the rest of the time through his return tomorrow afternoon (about 6 days) is travel time.
While "in country" he sent me this email:
Leaving soon ... good trip overall..had dinner w/ Perry this evening...it was great to see him!!! {The Boss} recognized him from his visit and called on him frequently. This place is a dump but I feel guilty being in my position. I get VIP coattail treatment while everyone else is ... well deployed. I'll have a beer in a couple of days, they won't. Heck they may not live a couple of days. You'll be pleased to know security has been real tight and I feel quite safe. Hope things are well there.
War is hell. Now, in 18 months, when he gets deployed as I predict he will, he'll try to tell me just how safe the place is. The emphasis added is mine - that's all I saw when I read that note.
Bill typically gives up beer for Lent, but not this year. I'm willing to bet, knowing he'd be spending the night in Germany tonight, he intentionally did not give up beer just so he could indulge in one today. What amazing foresight. The man has his priorities straight.
A month or so ago, Bill had to fly out to Missouri and then California over the weekend. As he was saying goodbye to all the kids that Saturday morning, Billy blithely said, "Bye, Dad. Hope nobody shoots your plane down." Bill assured him that it wouldn't happen, but I pulled him aside and mentioned that planes don't get hijacked in this country either, huh? I don't like to speak in absolutes to children, unless it really is an absolute (death, taxes, God's love, and the way somebody will urgently require your attention the moment after you pour milk into the cereal that tastes really nasty when it's mushy).
Billy's comment stemmed from his knowledge of a helicopter crash in Iraq that killed soldiers from my husband's office. We didn't include the kids in most of the conversations about the incident, but they hear things, they know things. Obviously, though, he just didn't grasp the meaning of it all. That people don't generally live through those situations doesn't seem to enter his mind.
When Billy asked me at the school table last Wednesday where Dad was going on his trip, I very lightly said, "Afghanistan." "But that place is dangerous," he spluttered and immediately was in tears. I calmed him somewhat by mentioning all the people we know who are over there ***although I am most happy to know that as of today, my friend Stacy's husband is on US soil...she will see him on Friday!!!*** and by telling him that people live there: families, children. Eventually though, I had to forbid him any tears in front of his sisters lest he upset them, and I made him stay in the den until he could get a grip on his emotions. (That's right, son, repress those tears, be a man.) He's been weepier than usual about little things this week, and I'll be happy when he sees his dad tomorrow.
Fritz argued, "But this is the second time Dad has been deployed." As if deployment were a disease like chicken pox that you became immune to once you got it. I wish. I explained that two days in country does not count as a deployment.
Nonetheless, Billy, my talker, went around to everyone he saw (clerks at the grocery store, people at church), telling them his dad was in Afghanistan. Living on a military installation, we would get sympathetic clucks. Then Billy would say he was coming home in X days, and they would get all excited for us. It was quite embarrassing.
Both boys have been pestering me the entire week about making Dad a welcome home banner. Not a picture, but a big ol' banner like you'd hang on the front porch, if we had a front porch. No, I tell them. If you can plan making a banner the day after the man leaves, it's really too short of a trip to warrant such displays. They look at me as though I've just declared their Dad unworthy of love.
I'm just grateful that the girls seem oblivious to the hullabaloo. Their normal shenanigans are enough for me. And I'm grateful that Bill will be getting up in a few hours and heading for home.
Recent photos
If you get a camera out around here, everybody wants to get in front of it, even the dog.
Katie has that "Queen Esther from Veggie Tales" thing going on with her hair. She likes it like that. Boy, do I have flashbacks to being an adolescent and having my mom tell me to get my hair out of my face. So, just another decade or so of pictures like this...
This is the photo I wanted most of all. This is Jenny's favorite dress. She was on a dress-wearing marathon and made it at least FIVE days with this same outfit. And then walked around half naked the next day waiting for me to cycle it through the laundry. I suppose that's better than where we were a month ago when she would go through six outfits a day. This dress is cute, but it's really too small for her. It looks fine with the black tights, but usually she prefers pink or purple socks (yes, with red plaid), and the skirt barely covers her bum. I was struck by how much she looks like me in this photo. I usually have a hard time seeing it.
And this one...what will be more embarrassing to him in ten years: the strutting around completely naked, or the wearing of his sister's pink shoes? I assure you, he was quite unabashed in his traipsing around the house as only a child can be. And the only shoes he prefers to the pink ones are the shiny black tap shoes, which he loves to wear, while naked, while dancing on the kitchen floor.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
What I Just Found...
...on my way upstairs.
That's Jenny.
Out cold.
Because the stairs are so much more comfortable than the bed...
Monday, March 05, 2007
C'est fini
I took my sister's wedding dress and turned it into her daughter's First Holy Communion dress.
It shouldn't have been that hard, but we wanted to use the existing hemline from the adult dress with a train. The front came out all right, because there was a slight curve to the adult dress and it manged okay on the kid-sized dress. But the back panels of the kid-sized dress were made from a completely straight hem along an adult dress with a train. There was no way to force a curve. So, the middle back is longer on the Communion dress than the front. I think it will look okay - a bit like a train perhaps. I'll take pictures when my niece wears the dress in April.
If you click on the photos, they get really big and you can see the details, like the beading I hand-stitched around the neckline...or how lousy my zipper is!
Lots and lots of prayers went into this dress. I really was unsure that I could pull it off. Definitely, all that is good about this dress is from God, and all those imperfections are mine.What I like best is that the dress is completely recycled. Even the zipper is off the wedding dress. The only thing I had to provide was thread, which I happened to have already. So, total cost was $0.00 plus three months labor. It was worth every minute. I plan for my daughters to wear it as well, and so I was working for three dresses, not just one.
And now, if you will draw your attention to the wedding dress - or rather, if you will consider the setting of the photo, you must realize that this is my bedroom. That is a picture of General Patton on my bedroom wall. It hangs right above the valet, where my husband hangs his uniform when he's home. I think it's a nice juxtaposition. Also note the pictures to the left of the dress. There are eight mini-pictures of cavalry soldiers and a medium sized picture of a cavalry soldier above my dresser. On the next wall (out of view) is a pretty big print of this painting.
Fortunately, my husband is quite aware that I spoil him rotten by providing this masculine sanctuary. He is most grateful, and in return, allows me free reign in the rest of the house. I'm not a real flowery kind of person anyway.
Conversion
Interesting dilemma. I can't imagine how difficult it must be to tell everyone you know that you've gone over to the perceived "dark side" of conformity. I, too, once thought Catholicism and all of Christianity was all about conformity. I, too, now realize that conforming to Christ is definitely not the same as conforming to society. Oh no, conforming to Christ is much much harder and definitely means ostracism in most quarters. Even among "good" Catholics, I find myself holding back lest I be seen as some saintly, perfect creature I know myself to not be. It is pretty easy to be a generic goodfellow and live by the motto, "no harm, no foul." But to "be who you are, and be that well" is a most daunting challenge indeed.
Sunday, March 04, 2007
Easter Bunny - the Legend
First off, let me preface this post with the following:
I don't care what traditions your family has for various holidays. I mean, I care in that I believe they are important to you, and I may think them interesting, but I don't feel like imposing my family traditions on your family, and really would resent you doing that to me. Do not take anything in this post to imply that what my family does is what your family should be doing.
When my husband and I were children, we thought that a large, furry animal with long ears filled our Easter baskets with chocolate and marshmallow chicks. Somehow we managed to discover "the truth" and neither of us was psychologically damaged in the process. However, I could not keep a straight face and tell my own little kids this same tale. I was not personally attached to the Easter Bunny, and, in fact, I, as an adult, am a bit frightened at the thought of a large rabbit hopping around...have you seen The Curse of the Were-Rabbit? Scary stuff.
Side notes: the Tooth Fairy does happen to stop by here every so often and generally leaves a whole QUARTER (perhaps we have the cheapest Tooth Fairy in the whole world?). And Saint Nicholas (aka Santa Claus) visits us, not once, but TWICE a year (December 6th AND December 25th). I don't see that either of these visitors has anything to do with each other (one being wholly secular and the other being a saint), and I don't think either has any bearing on the Easter Bunny legend.
I do think that the whole Easter Bunny thing is quite a stretch. I've read the stories, folks, and I still don't see what the little rabbit has to do with the Resurrection. I just don't get it, and I don't want to get it. I'm truly happy in my ignorance. Blissful, even.
I have never mentioned the Easter Bunny to my kids. I've never told them he/she/it was coming. We don't go to the mall where he/she/it sits and has children tell him/her/it I don't know what...whether they prefer the yellow chicks or the pink bunnies? Nonetheless, my cloistered, sheltered, unsocialized, homeschooled children know all about the Easter Bunny.
Tonight at dinner, they were talking about this creature. I ignored them, as I do whenever they discuss kid stuff. At one point, Billy asked me if I had ever seen the Easter Bunny, and I said that I had not. Katie tried to ask me another question, but I told her I knew nothing about the Easter Bunny. Finally, though, Fritz said that he knew who the Easter Bunny was - mom and dad.
"Aren't you guys the ones who hide the eggs?" he demanded.
"Of course we are," I replied. "I never told you that the Easter Bunny did."
"And aren't you the ones who put candy in our baskets?"
"Yes, of course."
"Then you're the Easter Bunny!"
"I am definitely not the Easter Bunny."
And that was that. There were no shocked faces, no tears, and no more questions. They returned to their discussion about what the Easter Bunny looks like and how he/she/it occupies his/her/its time. Katie continues to hop around pretending to be a large furry animal and wondering how to make rabbit noises. And I continue to marvel at where these kids have gotten such a wealth of knowledge.
And I think I hear the death knoll for both the Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus. I don't care too much about the tooth thief. But that other guy...he's a big deal. I think next autumn, Fritz and I will need to have a private chat about public speculations.
I don't care what traditions your family has for various holidays. I mean, I care in that I believe they are important to you, and I may think them interesting, but I don't feel like imposing my family traditions on your family, and really would resent you doing that to me. Do not take anything in this post to imply that what my family does is what your family should be doing.
When my husband and I were children, we thought that a large, furry animal with long ears filled our Easter baskets with chocolate and marshmallow chicks. Somehow we managed to discover "the truth" and neither of us was psychologically damaged in the process. However, I could not keep a straight face and tell my own little kids this same tale. I was not personally attached to the Easter Bunny, and, in fact, I, as an adult, am a bit frightened at the thought of a large rabbit hopping around...have you seen The Curse of the Were-Rabbit? Scary stuff.
Side notes: the Tooth Fairy does happen to stop by here every so often and generally leaves a whole QUARTER (perhaps we have the cheapest Tooth Fairy in the whole world?). And Saint Nicholas (aka Santa Claus) visits us, not once, but TWICE a year (December 6th AND December 25th). I don't see that either of these visitors has anything to do with each other (one being wholly secular and the other being a saint), and I don't think either has any bearing on the Easter Bunny legend.
I do think that the whole Easter Bunny thing is quite a stretch. I've read the stories, folks, and I still don't see what the little rabbit has to do with the Resurrection. I just don't get it, and I don't want to get it. I'm truly happy in my ignorance. Blissful, even.
I have never mentioned the Easter Bunny to my kids. I've never told them he/she/it was coming. We don't go to the mall where he/she/it sits and has children tell him/her/it I don't know what...whether they prefer the yellow chicks or the pink bunnies? Nonetheless, my cloistered, sheltered, unsocialized, homeschooled children know all about the Easter Bunny.
Tonight at dinner, they were talking about this creature. I ignored them, as I do whenever they discuss kid stuff. At one point, Billy asked me if I had ever seen the Easter Bunny, and I said that I had not. Katie tried to ask me another question, but I told her I knew nothing about the Easter Bunny. Finally, though, Fritz said that he knew who the Easter Bunny was - mom and dad.
"Aren't you guys the ones who hide the eggs?" he demanded.
"Of course we are," I replied. "I never told you that the Easter Bunny did."
"And aren't you the ones who put candy in our baskets?"
"Yes, of course."
"Then you're the Easter Bunny!"
"I am definitely not the Easter Bunny."
And that was that. There were no shocked faces, no tears, and no more questions. They returned to their discussion about what the Easter Bunny looks like and how he/she/it occupies his/her/its time. Katie continues to hop around pretending to be a large furry animal and wondering how to make rabbit noises. And I continue to marvel at where these kids have gotten such a wealth of knowledge.
And I think I hear the death knoll for both the Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus. I don't care too much about the tooth thief. But that other guy...he's a big deal. I think next autumn, Fritz and I will need to have a private chat about public speculations.
New Neighbors
I planned to head to my friend Stacy's house as we were out in the warm, sunny weather yesterday. Then I saw a family with four kids (four kids, my goodness, what a huge family) ringing her doorbell. I thought perhaps I should not go over there, because I really don't like to intrude, but then decided to just keep moving toward the playground if my presence there was awkward.
They were all hanging out on front lawn talking. Stacy introduced me to the new neighbors who had moved into "Crystal's" house. That's the thing about a military housing community - you always live in a house identified by the previous occupants. And then Stacy, herself a homeschooler, identified them as homeschoolers too.
We're taking over the world.
Now, I wrote before about how people sniff each other in a manner similar to dogs. Once again, it happened. Interestingly enough, it was the husband who asked me what curriculum I used.
"Mother of Divine Grace," I replied. Even if you've never heard of it, it screams CATHOLIC, does it not? Naturally, I asked him what they used.
"Sonlight." Yes, Protestant: Son + Light, get it? And they seemed like such nice people...
I'm just kidding! When we moved in to this neighborhood it was only 1/3 full. I did ask God to give me lots of Catholic homeschooling neighbors. So far, I've met one. My second choice, I told God, was lots of Catholic neighbors. I do have some of them, and two families have children too young for grade school. I guess God understood my third choice to be lots of homeschoolers. And that we have in abundance.
UPDATE: Lorri, of The Mac and Cheese Chronicles, confesses to being a Catholic who uses Sonlight, and she claims she's not the only one. I'm pretty sure this new family is a more traditional Sonlight user, though. They didn't know the secret Catholic homeschooler hand signal.
They were all hanging out on front lawn talking. Stacy introduced me to the new neighbors who had moved into "Crystal's" house. That's the thing about a military housing community - you always live in a house identified by the previous occupants. And then Stacy, herself a homeschooler, identified them as homeschoolers too.
We're taking over the world.
Now, I wrote before about how people sniff each other in a manner similar to dogs. Once again, it happened. Interestingly enough, it was the husband who asked me what curriculum I used.
"Mother of Divine Grace," I replied. Even if you've never heard of it, it screams CATHOLIC, does it not? Naturally, I asked him what they used.
"Sonlight." Yes, Protestant: Son + Light, get it? And they seemed like such nice people...
I'm just kidding! When we moved in to this neighborhood it was only 1/3 full. I did ask God to give me lots of Catholic homeschooling neighbors. So far, I've met one. My second choice, I told God, was lots of Catholic neighbors. I do have some of them, and two families have children too young for grade school. I guess God understood my third choice to be lots of homeschoolers. And that we have in abundance.
UPDATE: Lorri, of The Mac and Cheese Chronicles, confesses to being a Catholic who uses Sonlight, and she claims she's not the only one. I'm pretty sure this new family is a more traditional Sonlight user, though. They didn't know the secret Catholic homeschooler hand signal.
Saturday, March 03, 2007
The challenge
For the last week, Pete has decided that 530 am is a good time to get up. And he doesn't wake up with a happy, take-on-the-world attitude. No, he wants the lights kept low, mommy to snuggle with him until he falls back asleep, and mommy to keep holding him while he finishes the rest of his night's slumber.
Bill usually leaves for work at 530 am, so I'm generally already awake at this hour. Prior to Lent, 530 to 600 am had been email and computer time in a comparatively silent house. All "me" time. On Ash Wednesday, I turned that time over to spiritual reading. All "God" time.
Now it's all "Pete" time. And I'm a bit unhappy about it. I want that "God" time back, because that "God" time was really, after all, "me" time. Quiet, uninterrupted time when I am relaxed and not in danger of falling asleep is very rare for me. At the end of the day, I will fall asleep or lose my concentration very readily. My mind is still going 100 mph, and I can think of a thousand tasks that should be done before I retire for the evening. In the middle of the day, there is constant background noise, interruptions from the doorbell or the phone, and the incessant demands of little children plus the fact that I have a job to do: school, housework, meal prep, laundry. It is only in the early morning before children awake, but after I've begun sipping coffee, that I feel my brain functions like an intelligent adult's brain.
But isn't Lent about surrender, after all? It's not about "me" time, no matter how much I disguise it as "God" time. "God" time is all the time. "God" time is attending lovingly to my duties as a mother of needy, little children with a happy heart. This does not mean that I should neglect formal prayers, excuse myself from reading anything deeper than the church bulletin, or pretending that this daily drudgery is enough sacrifice and penance for me.
I really loathe the notion that a Catholic housewife need only to attend to her family's needs with a cheery disposition offering this labor to God with mini-aspirations throughout the day and she can be assured of her own and her family's salvation. Perhaps that is enough for some: don't we all know those unblemished souls who think that some back talking their parents while they were a teen qualifies as a rebellious and sinful youth? Most of us though, I'll wager, have a bit more atoning to do. And some of us have a LOT more atoning to do.
And so the challenge is not in finding quiet "me/God" time but rather in doing my best to focus in the midst of chaos. It is forcing myself to put off the load of laundry until later (I can sort, rotate and fold with half a brain in the evening hours) and sitting down right now when there is a relative lull. It is saying the rosary, perhaps for the second time that morning, while holding the drowsy child because there is no rule that says two rosaries in one day are a waste of time. It is including my children as much as possible in spiritual exercises with a "can't beat 'em, join 'em" attitude (my kids love the Stations of the Cross).
AND it is attending to my duties with joy. Life, even my life, is not at all about me. It's not about what I get out of it. It's not about what kind of a person I make myself into. It's about responding promptly, dutifully, and happily to the challenges God sets before me, including an early rising toddler.
Bill usually leaves for work at 530 am, so I'm generally already awake at this hour. Prior to Lent, 530 to 600 am had been email and computer time in a comparatively silent house. All "me" time. On Ash Wednesday, I turned that time over to spiritual reading. All "God" time.
Now it's all "Pete" time. And I'm a bit unhappy about it. I want that "God" time back, because that "God" time was really, after all, "me" time. Quiet, uninterrupted time when I am relaxed and not in danger of falling asleep is very rare for me. At the end of the day, I will fall asleep or lose my concentration very readily. My mind is still going 100 mph, and I can think of a thousand tasks that should be done before I retire for the evening. In the middle of the day, there is constant background noise, interruptions from the doorbell or the phone, and the incessant demands of little children plus the fact that I have a job to do: school, housework, meal prep, laundry. It is only in the early morning before children awake, but after I've begun sipping coffee, that I feel my brain functions like an intelligent adult's brain.
But isn't Lent about surrender, after all? It's not about "me" time, no matter how much I disguise it as "God" time. "God" time is all the time. "God" time is attending lovingly to my duties as a mother of needy, little children with a happy heart. This does not mean that I should neglect formal prayers, excuse myself from reading anything deeper than the church bulletin, or pretending that this daily drudgery is enough sacrifice and penance for me.
I really loathe the notion that a Catholic housewife need only to attend to her family's needs with a cheery disposition offering this labor to God with mini-aspirations throughout the day and she can be assured of her own and her family's salvation. Perhaps that is enough for some: don't we all know those unblemished souls who think that some back talking their parents while they were a teen qualifies as a rebellious and sinful youth? Most of us though, I'll wager, have a bit more atoning to do. And some of us have a LOT more atoning to do.
And so the challenge is not in finding quiet "me/God" time but rather in doing my best to focus in the midst of chaos. It is forcing myself to put off the load of laundry until later (I can sort, rotate and fold with half a brain in the evening hours) and sitting down right now when there is a relative lull. It is saying the rosary, perhaps for the second time that morning, while holding the drowsy child because there is no rule that says two rosaries in one day are a waste of time. It is including my children as much as possible in spiritual exercises with a "can't beat 'em, join 'em" attitude (my kids love the Stations of the Cross).
AND it is attending to my duties with joy. Life, even my life, is not at all about me. It's not about what I get out of it. It's not about what kind of a person I make myself into. It's about responding promptly, dutifully, and happily to the challenges God sets before me, including an early rising toddler.
Friday, March 02, 2007
Not too bright...
...OK, I fixed it. Comments really are open now on the resolutions post.
Please, somebody say something....
Please, somebody say something....
Waiting for warm weather
After weeks of sub-freezing temperatures, we've begun to have periods of mild weather. We may have two or three days in a row or temperatures in the 50s, and if the sun also suns, it is quite wonderful. I like all the seasons, but especially, I like the turn of the seasons and enjoy the mild days of spring and autumn the best. If the dreariness of winter and the languidness of summer were but 4 or 5 weeks long, I would be most happy.
Last week, on a particularly bright day with the temperature around 56 or 57 degrees, my kids, "hot" in even their light fleece pullovers or sweatshirts, asked me if we could get out the kiddie pool later. Uh, letmethinkaboutthatforasecond, no. It's not that warm, I told them. My sister, down in Alabama, is freezing with temps in the fifties.
Yes, warm weather will definitely be most welcome to our bundled bodies. And some green on the trees and ground will be a delight to our eyes (although I fear there is no hope for the mud that is now the backyard). It will be nice to open the windows, and wonderful to not spend more time dressing and undressing little ones than they are able to spend outdoors playing.
But I have some very practical reasons for needed the weather to turn soon. While sorting laundry, I espied another pair of Fritz's pants with the knee completely shredded. I think he is now down to three pairs of pants, including his dress khakis for church which are about a half inch too short now. Jenny, I swear, grew three inches in February, and all her pants are pushing the boundaries of acceptable length (acceptable in a fashion sense, of course, but that really does matter, at least to me). And both Katie and Billy, for whom I struggled to find pants that would stay up around their skinny little waists back in September, can barely get those same pants buttoned (Katie's pants are the adjustable waist kind, too).
I've written before about the pain that accompanies the "changing of the clothes" for five kids every season. I've managed to get it down to twice a year, because I happen to have an extra dresser that can store the heavier layers in the summer once spring's final chill has passed and can hold the really bulky layers needed for winter while they are still enjoying the last warm days of fall. But that semi-annual headache is rapidly approaching. I've actually scheduled it for Holy Week, because we are heading to Florida for Easter - they have to have summer clothes. Perhaps, because it is the last hurrah of Lent, I will have the fortitude to slog through that dreaded task with good cheer and a happy heart.
I just hope the kids can make it the next month with what they've got. We'll be quite the ragtag bunch by the end of the month.
And new this time: my friend Rachel has given me a definite works-for-her-answer as to how many outfit a kid needs. Rachel has six kids seven and under. She does laundry every day. She limits the kids to FOUR outfits each (obviously more for non-potty trained little ones). She never has difficulty finding soccer uniforms and socks on game day - with small laundry piles generated daily, she is always on top of it all. There is something to be said for this. And so, I will do my best to severely limit the number of t-shirts, shorts and sundresses that fill my washer. I'll let you know how it goes.
Last week, on a particularly bright day with the temperature around 56 or 57 degrees, my kids, "hot" in even their light fleece pullovers or sweatshirts, asked me if we could get out the kiddie pool later. Uh, letmethinkaboutthatforasecond, no. It's not that warm, I told them. My sister, down in Alabama, is freezing with temps in the fifties.
Yes, warm weather will definitely be most welcome to our bundled bodies. And some green on the trees and ground will be a delight to our eyes (although I fear there is no hope for the mud that is now the backyard). It will be nice to open the windows, and wonderful to not spend more time dressing and undressing little ones than they are able to spend outdoors playing.
But I have some very practical reasons for needed the weather to turn soon. While sorting laundry, I espied another pair of Fritz's pants with the knee completely shredded. I think he is now down to three pairs of pants, including his dress khakis for church which are about a half inch too short now. Jenny, I swear, grew three inches in February, and all her pants are pushing the boundaries of acceptable length (acceptable in a fashion sense, of course, but that really does matter, at least to me). And both Katie and Billy, for whom I struggled to find pants that would stay up around their skinny little waists back in September, can barely get those same pants buttoned (Katie's pants are the adjustable waist kind, too).
I've written before about the pain that accompanies the "changing of the clothes" for five kids every season. I've managed to get it down to twice a year, because I happen to have an extra dresser that can store the heavier layers in the summer once spring's final chill has passed and can hold the really bulky layers needed for winter while they are still enjoying the last warm days of fall. But that semi-annual headache is rapidly approaching. I've actually scheduled it for Holy Week, because we are heading to Florida for Easter - they have to have summer clothes. Perhaps, because it is the last hurrah of Lent, I will have the fortitude to slog through that dreaded task with good cheer and a happy heart.
I just hope the kids can make it the next month with what they've got. We'll be quite the ragtag bunch by the end of the month.
And new this time: my friend Rachel has given me a definite works-for-her-answer as to how many outfit a kid needs. Rachel has six kids seven and under. She does laundry every day. She limits the kids to FOUR outfits each (obviously more for non-potty trained little ones). She never has difficulty finding soccer uniforms and socks on game day - with small laundry piles generated daily, she is always on top of it all. There is something to be said for this. And so, I will do my best to severely limit the number of t-shirts, shorts and sundresses that fill my washer. I'll let you know how it goes.
Thursday, March 01, 2007
New Month's Resolution for March
How about those New Year's Resolutions? Has everyone forgotten them already? Yeah, me too.
That's why I like New Month's Resolutions. One baby step for just one month.
This month, I intend to memorize the Ave Maria and the Pater Noster. I'll let my aunt teach me (it's her voice on the audio at this link). If the German Shepherd says to do it, well then, I better get crackin'.
What's your resolution for this month? Comments allowed this time - I love to hear what people will try to do. It gives me ideas!
That's why I like New Month's Resolutions. One baby step for just one month.
This month, I intend to memorize the Ave Maria and the Pater Noster. I'll let my aunt teach me (it's her voice on the audio at this link). If the German Shepherd says to do it, well then, I better get crackin'.
What's your resolution for this month? Comments allowed this time - I love to hear what people will try to do. It gives me ideas!
Post under construction
A la Kitchen Madonna:
Coming Soon!! March's New Month's Resolution.
I have to get the kids out the door for an orthodontist appointment right now.
Sarah has already gotten a head start. And I will allow comments, just on this upcoming one, so you can link to your own resolution. Got one?
Coming Soon!! March's New Month's Resolution.
I have to get the kids out the door for an orthodontist appointment right now.
Sarah has already gotten a head start. And I will allow comments, just on this upcoming one, so you can link to your own resolution. Got one?
HPV revisted
Milehimama has a post on the HPV vaccine. I am not linking to her, because she is aware of and is avoiding attention given to bloggers who write about this controversial vaccine. She's right to do so. My post from early last month gets lots of attention via Google searches, and I know that Catholic Mom, who has written more than once about the vaccine, has noticed the traffic too. I've already had one troll, but of course now that comments are off, there have been no others.
I find it interesting to note that Merck actually has hound dogs out searching for true public opinion on the matter. Have they realized that twisted questions posed by automatons to the small percentage of Americans who don't screen their incoming calls with CallerID do not generate accurate poll results (the media and Zogby don't seem to understand this)? I also find it interesting that pediatricians and family practitioners seem horribly unaware of the average (educated) mother's concern over all vaccines. {I use "educated" as a qualifier only because I know there are plenty of moms for whom the thought of questioning a doctor would never occur, or who do not run in circles where one vigilante mom feels the need to educate all the other moms at the playgroup, or who themselves do not scour every vaccine's side-effects listing praying that these terrible things don't happen to their kid. Educated means "educated about vaccines" not "having a PhD."} Although it is possible to find pediatricians who favor delaying or avoiding vaccines or who do not immediately pooh-pooh parental concerns about any potential link between the MMR vaccine and autism in boys, most are pro-vaccine having studied or lived through life without them.
Merck seems to be nicely drawing the battle lines, and those of us opposing a mandate are labeled as right-wing fanatics who want to condemn young women to death by cancer as punishment for their past sins. When you're a Catholic homeschooler, you get labeled as a religious wacko and no amount of reason will convince an irreligious wacko that you could possibly have legitimate non-religious arguments against something.
I have no "Catholic" reasons to avoid this vaccine for my daughter. It was not immorally manufactured, unlike the MMR vaccine (also by Merck) which was made using tissue from aborted fetuses. Although it is transmitted via sexual contact, sex (hold on, everyone, big shocker here) is not necessarily sinful. There are plenty of folks in this world who routinely have licit intercourse, and in fact, Catholicism delightfully encourages it! My daughters could remain virgins, grow up, get married to wonderful men who might happen to have had less than pure pasts and unknowingly might have contract HPV and innocently might pass it on to them. There was no sin committed here, assuming that the son-in-law was unaware of the HPV and that it was contracted prior to the marriage. And if he contracted it after the marriage, the sin is his, not my daughter's.
I do not (yet) argue that this vaccine be banned. Although I am skeptical of its efficacy and its safety and am happy to have years before I would even be able to give it to my daughters, I do not feel the need to prevent other mothers from vaccinating their daughters. I have no desire for any woman to suffer; I do not feel that misery here on earth is God's righteous punishment (see Book of Job); I do not necessarily think that girls with this vaccine will feel even more liberated to fall into bed with any guy at any whim (no, our society does more than enough to encourage that by disassociating sex from marriage and telling virgins that they are "abnormal"). As time goes on, I will perhaps become convinced that this vaccine is too risky, health-wise, to girls and women, but for now I fully support parents' informed decisions to vaccinate their daughters.
However, I do feel it is immoral for governments to override parental rights without due process. This is not Catholic morality, this is the same generic Christian morality upon which our Constitution, Bill of Rights, and founding principles rest. Now I realize that it is in vogue to separate God completely from the realm of government. Giving credit where it is due, the following concept was articulated to me by my father-in-law years ago: if we do not set above the government some Higher Power, then our highest authority is our government. This is a thought that terrifies every American. Even the atheists shudder at the thought that our imperfect system is IT for determining right and wrong. This is why those who want to throw out God would substitute some international authority over our national government, as if that that would be better. Government is, at its roots, human, and humans are, at their roots, flawed. Putting all of one's faith in a flawed system is a very bad thing (see histories of communism and national socialism for more on this topic). It is much better to set above us a Supreme Authority, even a generic one, as long as IT is Perfect.
Our founding principles demand a government of, by and for the people. They hold that government is accountable to the people and should serve the people and not itself. By assuming responsibility for issues that are not of public concern, the government removes personal autonomy and dictates policies that may not be in the best interest of the people. There are bad parents, and there are laws to force bad parents to make good decisions, and there is a minimally effective system to remove children from the care of routinely bad parents. But it is one thing to make it illegal to drive with a child on your lap (clearly dangerous, life-threatening behavior), and another to mandate a vaccine that may or may not be effective for a disease that is not transmitted via casual contact, and even quite another to mandate a vaccine that is not yet proven effective and safe.
In the case of Rick Perry's decision to unilaterally mandate the vaccine for all school girls, we do not have a decision made even remotely "by" the people (he acted alone), and it is dubious that it is "for" the people since it is of questionable good and since he has received political funding from Merck (see quote in my previous post, the link has since expired). One can not serve both the people and the pocketbook.
In the case of state legislatures debating a mandate, at least there is a nominal idea that a decision would be "by" the people, since the legislature is an elected body (not just one elected official like a governor). But there continues to be doubt about politician's motives when Merck donates money to them, and, despite Merck's PR campaign to the contrary, this is not a public health issue. One can not get HPV by sitting in a classroom full of infected teens. Governments must tread lightly when it comes to laws that usurp power from the people. Even if this vaccine were completely safe and 100% effective (it is not), without a clear risk to public health, government does not have the moral authority to decide for all parents that their children must be vaccinated.
In conclusion, I really must quote Merck's prescribing information for Gardasil (thanks to Milehimama for the link):
Yes, Merck, that's right. Not Rick Perry. Not the state legislature. Not you. Let me talk my MY doctor about MY daughter.
For more on the HPV controversy, the questionable efficacy and safety, and financial shenanigans between Merck and politicians, visit the Overturn RP65 blog.
I find it interesting to note that Merck actually has hound dogs out searching for true public opinion on the matter. Have they realized that twisted questions posed by automatons to the small percentage of Americans who don't screen their incoming calls with CallerID do not generate accurate poll results (the media and Zogby don't seem to understand this)? I also find it interesting that pediatricians and family practitioners seem horribly unaware of the average (educated) mother's concern over all vaccines. {I use "educated" as a qualifier only because I know there are plenty of moms for whom the thought of questioning a doctor would never occur, or who do not run in circles where one vigilante mom feels the need to educate all the other moms at the playgroup, or who themselves do not scour every vaccine's side-effects listing praying that these terrible things don't happen to their kid. Educated means "educated about vaccines" not "having a PhD."} Although it is possible to find pediatricians who favor delaying or avoiding vaccines or who do not immediately pooh-pooh parental concerns about any potential link between the MMR vaccine and autism in boys, most are pro-vaccine having studied or lived through life without them.
Merck seems to be nicely drawing the battle lines, and those of us opposing a mandate are labeled as right-wing fanatics who want to condemn young women to death by cancer as punishment for their past sins. When you're a Catholic homeschooler, you get labeled as a religious wacko and no amount of reason will convince an irreligious wacko that you could possibly have legitimate non-religious arguments against something.
I have no "Catholic" reasons to avoid this vaccine for my daughter. It was not immorally manufactured, unlike the MMR vaccine (also by Merck) which was made using tissue from aborted fetuses. Although it is transmitted via sexual contact, sex (hold on, everyone, big shocker here) is not necessarily sinful. There are plenty of folks in this world who routinely have licit intercourse, and in fact, Catholicism delightfully encourages it! My daughters could remain virgins, grow up, get married to wonderful men who might happen to have had less than pure pasts and unknowingly might have contract HPV and innocently might pass it on to them. There was no sin committed here, assuming that the son-in-law was unaware of the HPV and that it was contracted prior to the marriage. And if he contracted it after the marriage, the sin is his, not my daughter's.
I do not (yet) argue that this vaccine be banned. Although I am skeptical of its efficacy and its safety and am happy to have years before I would even be able to give it to my daughters, I do not feel the need to prevent other mothers from vaccinating their daughters. I have no desire for any woman to suffer; I do not feel that misery here on earth is God's righteous punishment (see Book of Job); I do not necessarily think that girls with this vaccine will feel even more liberated to fall into bed with any guy at any whim (no, our society does more than enough to encourage that by disassociating sex from marriage and telling virgins that they are "abnormal"). As time goes on, I will perhaps become convinced that this vaccine is too risky, health-wise, to girls and women, but for now I fully support parents' informed decisions to vaccinate their daughters.
However, I do feel it is immoral for governments to override parental rights without due process. This is not Catholic morality, this is the same generic Christian morality upon which our Constitution, Bill of Rights, and founding principles rest. Now I realize that it is in vogue to separate God completely from the realm of government. Giving credit where it is due, the following concept was articulated to me by my father-in-law years ago: if we do not set above the government some Higher Power, then our highest authority is our government. This is a thought that terrifies every American. Even the atheists shudder at the thought that our imperfect system is IT for determining right and wrong. This is why those who want to throw out God would substitute some international authority over our national government, as if that that would be better. Government is, at its roots, human, and humans are, at their roots, flawed. Putting all of one's faith in a flawed system is a very bad thing (see histories of communism and national socialism for more on this topic). It is much better to set above us a Supreme Authority, even a generic one, as long as IT is Perfect.
Our founding principles demand a government of, by and for the people. They hold that government is accountable to the people and should serve the people and not itself. By assuming responsibility for issues that are not of public concern, the government removes personal autonomy and dictates policies that may not be in the best interest of the people. There are bad parents, and there are laws to force bad parents to make good decisions, and there is a minimally effective system to remove children from the care of routinely bad parents. But it is one thing to make it illegal to drive with a child on your lap (clearly dangerous, life-threatening behavior), and another to mandate a vaccine that may or may not be effective for a disease that is not transmitted via casual contact, and even quite another to mandate a vaccine that is not yet proven effective and safe.
In the case of Rick Perry's decision to unilaterally mandate the vaccine for all school girls, we do not have a decision made even remotely "by" the people (he acted alone), and it is dubious that it is "for" the people since it is of questionable good and since he has received political funding from Merck (see quote in my previous post, the link has since expired). One can not serve both the people and the pocketbook.
In the case of state legislatures debating a mandate, at least there is a nominal idea that a decision would be "by" the people, since the legislature is an elected body (not just one elected official like a governor). But there continues to be doubt about politician's motives when Merck donates money to them, and, despite Merck's PR campaign to the contrary, this is not a public health issue. One can not get HPV by sitting in a classroom full of infected teens. Governments must tread lightly when it comes to laws that usurp power from the people. Even if this vaccine were completely safe and 100% effective (it is not), without a clear risk to public health, government does not have the moral authority to decide for all parents that their children must be vaccinated.
In conclusion, I really must quote Merck's prescribing information for Gardasil (thanks to Milehimama for the link):
Only a doctor or healthcare professional can decide if GARDASIL is right for you or your daughter.
Yes, Merck, that's right. Not Rick Perry. Not the state legislature. Not you. Let me talk my MY doctor about MY daughter.
For more on the HPV controversy, the questionable efficacy and safety, and financial shenanigans between Merck and politicians, visit the Overturn RP65 blog.
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