Dear Mary,

STOP GROWING!! I mean it. Just for a few months, okay? You are really cute. You are easy to please. You don't move when I put you down. You sing these really sweet gurgle-y baby songs. Sometimes you even nap for an hour or so. Your smile makes everybody smile back. You tame tough nine year old boys into gentle baby-talkers. Stay just.like.this for just a little while longer, okay?

Love,
Mom

And, yes, it is still there

Monday, nap time

Peter: Where's my race car?

Me: I put it on top of your dresser. You can have it after nap time.


Monday, bed time

Peter: Where's my race car?

Me: It's still on your dresser. You can have it tomorrow.


Tuesday, nap time

Peter: Where's my race car?

Me: Buddy, it's still on your dresser. You can't have it until after nap time.


Tuesday, bed time

Peter: Where's my race car?

Me: On your dresser. Tomorrow, Petey.


Wednesday, nap time

Peter: Where's my race car?

Me: On your dresser. Sorry, honey. I'll get it down after you nap.


Wednesday, bed time

Peter: Where's my race car?

Me: It's on your dresser. Still.

Peter: That's not my race car. That's Jenny's race car. My race car is downstairs.

Argh!

Baby Talk

Peter's latest addition to his vocabulary: horrible.

I don't know if he knows what it means. I think he just likes the way it sounds.

Ha-roar-bull.

Ha-roar-bull.

Ha-roar-bull.

Sixteen...seventeen...eighteen...Ha-roar-bull.

That's how he sang himself to sleep tonight.

Birthday Boy

When Billy was a toddler, he liked to get up between his father and I. He would grab us by the head and pull us in so that we three would all have our head resting on each other. It was sweet.

Bill deployed a few days after his third birthday. Billy didn't do this with just me - it was something he did with all three of us. As time went on, I completely forgot about it. Bill returned a few days before his fourth birthday. Several weeks later, we took a train from Philadelphia to Orlando for one of the worst vacations of my life (it's another story, and so is my trip to Paris which ranks as the worst trip). At one point, Bill and I were sitting on aisle seats opposite each other. Billy stood in the aisle, his head on level with ours, and pulled us close. Suddenly, I remembered that he used to do it all the time, and I've never forgotten it since, though that was the last time he ever did that.

That little boy turned 8 yesterday. He declared it was the best birthday ever. With Billy, everything is "the best" or "the worst." It's tough to be the second son, especially when your brother is less than two years older. But where Fritz has taught me everything I know about unconditional love, Billy has taught me the magic of the multiplication of love. It is not that my love is divided between my children but that our family love increases.

Happy birthday, big guy.

The Evolution of a Side Dish

The boys had their Cub Scouts' Blue and Gold Banquet yesterday. Every family was supposed to bring a side dish. The theme was "Chinese New Year" and our $5 per family contribution was paying for Beef with Broccoli, Sweet and Sour Chicken, rice and drinks. Since my kids don't like Chinese food (and probably half the kids I know don't either), I thought I'd make macaroni and cheese.

That was THE PLAN.

When I went to the grocery store early in the week, I completely forgot about THE PLAN. For the rest of the week, I kept reminding myself I needed to go back there for virtually every ingredient in the recipe. I even made a list. The week progressed into Friday morning, then Friday afternoon, then Friday evening, and I was too tired to summon the strength to go to the store. I looked in the fridge and saw grapes and a melon and apples. Suddenly, I had a NEW PLAN: fruit salad.

A little voice in my head told me I'd better do it right after the kids went to bed. But I was tired from my usual long day, and wanted to sit for just a few minutes. I reminded myself that if I didn't do it that night, I wouldn't have time the next day. But my few minutes of sitting was all the free time I had. My adoration hour is from 10 pm to 11 pm, and by the time I got back from that, I crawled straight into bed.

The next morning, I thought about my NEW PLAN, and told myself that I would still be able to do it. It would only take about ten minutes. But I had a house full of kids to get ready, Mary would not let me put her down, and I was trying to help Billy decorate the cake he was entering in a contest at the Banquet. Finally, it was time to go.

I washed the grapes and put them in a bowl. It was MY SOLUTION.

In the end, there was more than enough food. At least two other people brought macaroni, and several brought spaghetti. All my grapes were gone.

Next time, MY SOLUTION will be THE PLAN.

Adoration Hour (a sonnet)

I come slowly to this holy hour,
Within my heart deeply regret my pace.
In truth do I long to receive His grace,
Knowing this time in prayer it does shower.
Time and again witness to His power,
I should eagerly run and take my place.
Seeing Him there contained in that gold case,
Incomprehensible Truths; I cower.
How can it be that God, Maker of all,
Deigned to be there for all of us to see?
Crumb of Divinity captured and shown.
Something so great found in something so small.
God speaks softly in a whisper to me,
Blinking back tears trembling before His throne.

Clothes shopping

I'm shopping for clothes...ack.

I wouldn't mind shopping for clothes if my size were in the single digits.

{sigh}

The idea of spending money on something that really had better not fit me in 3 months is depressing. But so is getting dressed every morning.

And it doesn't help that I'm very picky. My arms are short, so nothing long-sleeved. I like 3/4 sleeve best unless it's hot. No V-neck (always too low). No boat-neck (they always slip off my shoulders). No trim at the neck or cuffs that might irritate my sensitive skin. Must be nursing-infant accessible. And what is up with cowl-necked sweaters? Can we please move on to the 21st century? Or at least the last decade of the 20th?

And then there are color issues. I like blue. Outside of that, my taste is very limited. Black and gray and navy are great...for winter. But spring is coming (right? spring is coming? sometime?) and I prefer lighter colors in the spring. But a wardrobe of blue shirts ranging from pale blue to robin's egg blue is rather boring. Lilac is cool. And, uh, that's about it. I'm actually considering pink, because coral just won't look good on me.

And then I look at pants. I prefer boot cut. Tapered legs seem plentiful. Yeah, I'll order one of them and a cowl-necked sweater and play some Go-Gos.

I'm just glad I'm doing this all online and not in a store. I'm exhausted and I'm not even physically trying on clothes.

Thank goodness I'm not looking for a bathing suit.

P.S. Holy cow! Spell checker worked!

They should be sleeping

Instead, they're going loon-y.

Must be Lent

Let's see...

Yesterday, at a store, an old man told me I should get myself fixed because I had one too many kids already.

I had only my three daughters with me.

...moving on...

At another stop, I sat in the car with the kids while Bill ran in for something, quick. But quick doesn't happen when there are long lines. One child had to go to the bathroom. We waited, but the issue became urgent.

So, I interrupted Mary's snacking, put socks and shoes on the one who kicked them off, got everyone out of the car and across the busy parking lot, went into the store (no husband in sight - I think he hid when he saw us coming), found the bathroom, and got the child into a stall.

She was a bit...stopped up, shall we say? No pressure, honey, I kept thinking. There are only six people standing here waiting for you to go. "How about we try again later," I suggested. Nope. We were there for ten minutes.

...then, a new day dawns...

This child has been battling a cold for nearly a week and is still pretty miserable. And misery loves company. She really should just take a nap, but instead, she's using naughty words and annoying her siblings for no good reason. To cap it off, she mooned her sister.

What the...?

And because we have been emergency room-free for way too long now, Peter whacked his mouth on the window sill and cut it from left to right between the lip and the chin. We thought it went all the way through, but the doctor wasn't sure. He ended up using dermabond on the outside and leaving the inside alone. I had to give Peter Advil this evening, and expect I'll have to do it tomorrow too. This poor kid's chin now has three scars.

The only thing that bothers me about this is the doctor's instructions to keep an eye on the inside laceration and wash food out of it if necessary. Oh, the joy.


But this is all good stuff. Really. I'm smiling in the midst of it all. Even the desire to punch the old man in the nose was more an after-thought than a true wish. I'm sure he meant well.

It must be Lent. Ever notice that the more charitable you wish to be, the more difficult it is?

Shopping with kids

On Saturday, Katie and Jenny were moaning because there were no little girls around to play with. I needed to go to the grocery store, so I invited them along, and the proposition did cheer them. Of course, I took the baby, too. But by the time we headed for the door, Peter was up from his nap with shoes on and coat in hand. He has a sixth sense.

"I want go too." Nevermind that he has no idea where we're going.

"Use this time wisely," I scolded my husband wondering why I was taking four little children to the grocery store on the busiest shopping day of the week.

It wasn't too bad. Mary didn't get fussy until the very end, and Katie was very helpful in putting the items on the belt for the checkout.

But I could tell I've grown weak from lack of doing such an exercise in quite a while. I bought kid yogurts AND drinkable yogurts AND a big container of pretzel rods AND a bag of generic fruit loops. Believe it or not, I said no to twice as many things.

Let's talk about sex

My friend, Rachel, emails me: "P.S. Did you hear about the Christian sex toys thing on NPR?" No link, no other info. Well, goodness, who could resist googling that?

Here's the story, and here's the NPR blog post with the comments ranging from medieval "Christians" who think sex is a necessary evil to secularists who think sex is the Ultimate Good. Eventually, it just became the latest web-based pressure-release valve for anti-Christian vitriol.

Reading through, I've noticed that many people on both extremes have swallowed a few fallacies about good, Christian living.

Myth #1: It is immoral for Christians to make money. Folks, there is no manna falling from heaven. God expects us to provide for ourselves and our misfortunate neighbors, too. Unless you own a farm, the best way to do that is with cold hard cash. It is immoral to hoard your money, it is immoral to steal someone else's money, it is immoral to practice unfair lending. But it is not immoral to make money.

Some commenters criticized the company for selling the exact same products as any other sex toy supply store. A dildo is a dildo is a dildo. Making one with a "Christian" theme would be blasphemous (think: The Exorcist), don't you think? One person complained that the company used the same immoral suppliers as all the other stores and suggested that these people should be manufacturing their own supplies. Gee, I guess they just didn't have a few spare million dollars to get that idea off the ground.

Then there were the people who thought it was all a gimmick. If by that they mean that these people have come up with a marketing tool to distinguish themselves from all the other sex toy suppliers, then they are right. But that's not immoral. It's all part of doing business. If by gimmick they mean "false advertising," then we'd need some evidence that these people aren't Christian. Like maybe membership cards for the local Satan worshipper's church.

Myth #2 Sex is immoral. No, lust is immoral. But if you've never experienced sex within the context of a loving, selfless marriage, then I can't blame you for being confused.

I guess this is why so many commenters had problems with the idea of praying regarding your sex life (kind of like praying that your planned bank heist went smoothly). One person actually mused that Jesus had bigger concerns to deal with and others felt (snarkily) that Christians should spend their time praying for world peace instead of satisfaction. It's no wonder that they don't believe in God. That God they describe is so small, so limited. The Christian God is capable of caring about all things from world hunger to that annoying hangnail on your little toe.

Myth #3 Sex is only about making babies. Being "open to life" is not the same thing as restricting sex for fertile times only. Christopher West writes:

This is how husbands and wives build an authentic spirituality: by loving one another according to the Holy Spirit in and through their bodies. Marital love is shown in numerous ways, but spouses who are filled with the Spirit realize "among the possible manifestations of affection, the singular, or rather, exceptional significance of [the conjugal] act" (Nov 21, 1984). They come to understand that their sexual union "bears in itself the sign of the great mystery of creation and redemption" (Nov 14, 1984). In a word, they come to understand that their union is "Eucharistic."

Sex is primarily about union. Children are the fruit of that union.

Myth #4 Sex toys are immoral. It's all how you use them. Onanism is immoral. Lust is immoral. Orgasms are most definitely not immoral. Within the context of foreplay, if a couple requires a little assistance, it is not immoral to get some.

Of course, finding assistance is difficult. As the NPR article wrote, the couple who started the business wanted to buy massage oil without viewing pornographic images. Hence, their store.

I wish them good luck.

Top Ten Conservative Catholic Pickup Lines

My friend emailed me this list. I've seen it elsewhere, but still think it's funny the second time around.

Top Ten Conservative Catholic Pickup Lines

10. May I offer you a light for that votive candle?

9. Hi there. My buddy and I were wondering if you would settle a dispute we're having. Do you think the word should be pronounced HOMEschooling, or homeSCHOOLing?

8. Sorry, but I couldn't help notice how cute you look in that ankle-length, shapeless, plaid jumper.

7. What's a nice girl like you doing at a First Saturday Rosary Cenacle like this?

6. You don't like the culture of death either? Wow! We have so much in common!

5. Let's get out of here. I know a much cozier little Catholic bookstore downtown.

4. I bet I can guess your confirmation name.

3. You've got stunning scapular-brown eyes.

2. Did you feel what I felt when we reached into the holy water font at the same time?

1. Confess here often?

** Update: I think I loaned my copy to my sister, so I can not confirm. But my memory tells me that I first saw this list in The Bad Catholic's Guide to Good Living.

**Update again: yes, page 47.

It's not the screaming I mind, it's the pain

I brushed and combed Katie's hair this morning. As usual, I was as gentle as I could be. As usual, she cried crocodile tears and screamed and whimpered and yelped her way through the ordeal. I know I was the exact same way when I was her age, and I remind myself of that the entire time I brush her hair. It's the only thing that keeps me from being completely disgusted by her behavior.

This evening, after dinner, she asked me, "Mommy, when you had Mary, did you scream the way I did this morning when you brushed my hair?"

"When I had Mary it hurt much worse than having your hair brushed. I screamed much more than that."

"Oh. Then I'm not having children because I don't like to scream."

This is fine for now. Should she get married, though, I'll be sure to explain everything she needs to know about epidurals.

Craft Day

The baby had three shots Monday afternoon. "Fussy" is a vast understatement in describing her mood Monday night through this morning. "It's no wonder you have tendonitis," said Bill as he played the role of baby-crib so I could get dinner on the table yesterday. Yes.

Before I had even had my coffee this morning, the girls were hard at work making Valentine's Day cards. Bill and his school chums have a fine motto: Embrace the suck. (Sorry, men in the military are not well known for polite language.) That's what I did today. I embraced. I did crafts. All.day.long.

I will not have another craft day for at least a year.

Here's the scene of destruction. Note the math book on the floor. I managed to squeeze in a few lessons.

The piano was used for finished pieces needing to dry. Poor beat up piano.

As I was making dinner, Bill asked if the kids were supposed to be clearing the table. "Honey, even I don't know where to start in there." It was overwhelming. If I liked arts and crafts I would get organized, but since I don't like messes, I don't like arts and crafts, so I don't get organized, so the messes are bigger, so I hate arts and crafts more...

I'm saving it all for when I'm a grandma. Yeah, that's the ticket.

I thought I heard Katie telling Fritz something about no school tomorrow, and sure enough, he asked me before he went to bed if we were having it. I had to disappoint him. Despite Katie's idea that Valentine's Day is a big deal, I see no reason to take the day off. The poor martyred priest. Little did he know he'd end up the patron saint of greeting cards.

Good news

The last time I had my cholesterol checked was in 1995, and a nurse-friend of mine intimated recently that I was being vaguely irresponsible in not checking it more regularly. I hate having blood drawn.

Back in 1995, I regularly obtained meals from the fast food drive-through. I was a working woman, and five days a week, I ate a hot lunch off some menu somewhere. On the weekends, my not-yet-husband and I ate out more often than not. Breakfast at a Jersey diner was routine, and I didn't even glance at the "heart-healthy" choices.

I can't remember the exact number, but I think my total cholesterol was about 94. Yes, that's a two-digit number.

I thanked God and good genes and decided that I was just "blessed" in this regard. I rested assured on the matter for more than ten years. Then over the last year or so, I'd have an occasional nagging doubt. What if there was a mistake? What if the results were inaccurate for some reason? I have convinced myself that no matter how many Big Macs I eat, no matter how often I partake in covered and smothered potatoes, my cholesterol will naturally remain low, but what if I'm wrong? I could be a heart attack waiting to happen, and I don't even know it.

Finally, the friend's chastisement convinced me to just do it already. I'm older now, and these levels tend to go up as we age. Sure enough, mine did. To 117.

So, I'm thanking God and god genes, praying the kids take after me and not their dad, and making a mental note to check my cholesterol levels again. Like in ten years.

Betwixt them both

"When you blog about our Lenten diet..." he begins.

When? I wasn't planning on it...

"...you should mention the rhyme about Jack Sprat."

"Mm. But it's backwards. 'The wife could eat no lean.' You are the one not eating lean. Right?"

Bill is not eating starches: bread, pasta, potato, rice. He's not supposed to anyway. They send his triglycerides through the roof and reduce his good cholesterol to an insignificant amount. It's the Atkins diet for life - a healthy, but miserable life with no lasagna or pizza or (gasp!) beer. Generally he does this diet for Lent, and then he adds back beer and then an occasional pizza dinner, and then by autumn, he's eating starch in some form most days. By Christmas, he's eating very poorly, and can't wait to begin Lent and start all over again.

For Lent, I gave up meat. We're eating loads of fruits and veggies here.

"Noooo. The lean is the meat."

"But there's fat in meat. So the 'fat' must be meat and the lean something else."

"Harumph." Or something like that was his concluding remark.

I sat thinking about Jack Sprat and his wife licking the platter clean. What the heck was lean anyway? Bloody nursery rhymes...

A few minutes go by. He interrupts my thoughts.

"I'm not interested in arguing with you. But you're wrong. The lean is the meat."

And he doesn't say it, but I can see the really big PERIOD at the end of his statement. For the record, I wasn't arguing, I was thinking out loud. He was right; lean does refer to the meat part of meat and the fat refers to the fat part of meat, if that makes any sense.

And then he said something about giving up yes-dearing me for Lent which I guess means he's going to be telling me I'm wrong with a big don't-argue-with-me period at the end.

Yes, dear.

Out of the tunnel, into the light

FINALLY!

I ain't gonna weigh her no more, no more!
I ain't gonna weigh her no more!
Come on down, Everybody Sing!
I ain't gonna weigh her no more!


* Barb, was I whining about this to you just yesterday? I weighed her today and she was WAY UP! She has her four month well baby on Monday, but I'm done with this scale. No more bottles, no more worries. God is good!

Trees and prayer journals

Matilda and Melissa have their cute lambs. I have a tree. We're adding a leaf per person per day if we're good little boys and girls (and the term is loosely applied).

Note that brown paint, folks. We had no brown paint, but I made do with purple and yellow. I suppose I do have a crafty trick or two up my sleeve when necessary.


I got the tree idea from The Forty Days of Lent from the Celebrating the Faith in the Home series. I love these books. I own them all and have gifted them out. If you need a resource with good ideas for making the Church seasons real for yourself and your children including the research as to why we Catholics do the things we do, these are the books for you.



I've a lot of thoughts in my head this Lent, and I'm trying to sort these ideas out. Such heavy concepts and I feel like there is an elusive lightbulb moment. I read a bit here or a bit there and they all seem interconnected, but I'm not getting it. Yet.

Four years ago, I took a blank book and labeled it the Reitemeyer Family Prayer Journal. We began listing things for which we were thankful and things for which we were praying. We did it for three whole days. But I kept the book, and have decided to use it for my Lenten reflections. Maybe in a few weeks some of these random thoughts will make more sense. I hope.

It's a shame that we didn't keep that book up. I enjoyed remembering our prayers from years ago. We prayed for healing for a man with cancer. He has since died, so I remembered to pray for his soul. We were praying for my sister's move (that was three moves ago). She assured me today that her memories of that move were that all went well. We listed being grateful that Bill was home from his deployment. But my absolute favorite prayer was:

In thanksgiving for...fond and selective memories.

Amen.

Life's messes

On Monday the temperature hit the mid 60s. That meant that my house became an island amidst a sea of mud. It is very icky here on warm days. Here is the bathtub after I washed some boots. Gross.


Just for your information, do not take the wet linings out of muddy boots and put them in your dryer. Do not let the whimpers and whines of four children who see all their friends off school and sledding across the street convince you that a half hour in the dryer will make everybody much happier. Those linings are filthy, and will coat the inside of your dryer with a thin veneer of mud. More gross.





At dinner, I told the kids, "Kids, your father has given up losing his temper for Lent. This means you all must give up annoying behavior."

The response? "But we already gave up TV!"

Peter, who did not give up TV, has no excuse then for this.

Catholic Carnival 158

Sarah, the Snoring Scholar, is hosting the latest Catholic Carnival, and I finally got off my duff and put something in.

7" of snow delayed Bill's school day, and he didn't get home until after the late Mass tonight. I love God, but I don't love the idea of dragging 6 children through snow covered streets and sitting through an hour plus Mass with no help, so no ashes for us. Mea culpa.

Have a blessed Lent

Last year, I turned off comments during Lent, and I really think that helped me to ignore the computer during the day. It's hard to ignore the computer since it is in a high traffic location and is right next to the kitchen where I spend the majority of my non-school hours. There it is, humming away, as I measure ingredients or scrub pots. The little alert tone taunts me as I nurse the baby on the couch telling me I have mail, who could it be? Come see! Come see!

So, I'm turning off comments for the duration. In fact, I plan to turn off the computer at night and leave it off for as much of the day as possible. I'll still be blogging, but I need to spend some extra time thinking, and reading, and praying. As always, my email address is in the sidebar, and I'd be happy to hear from you that way.

I hope you have a blessed Lent. I pray that we may all draw closer to God and, through Him, to each other in perfect charity.

Chivalry, humility and charity

Last week I posted about one of my boys thinking that girls should go first (note: this would be done out of love for God, and, being a fallen creature, one would not expect him to actually do this, routinely, especially not when his sisters would be the ones benefitting). My sister commented that she had read an article where the consensus among four young women was that chivalry was creepy.

Sad.

I wasn't raised to think I needed a man (or a boy) to open doors for me. I certainly never expected a man (or a boy) to stand when I walked into the room. But I don't think I ever thought chivalry was creepy.

As my little group approaches doors, I'll say, "Where are my gentlemen?" It's my way of reminding the boys to move forward and open the door and hold it open for the rest of us. My girls are not usually strong enough to open heavier doors, but I do encourage them to hold them open as well. I think the main point in these exercises is to teach all of my children to be situationally aware, to be polite to others, and to help out. I'm sure that mother carrying a baby can open the door all by herself, but how nice to have a considerate person offer assistance.

Is there anything more annoying than a door slamming in your face just as you reach it?

I think that the issue of chivalry being perceived as creepy is also a matter of lack of humility. I know I am certainly guilty of this. It is very difficult to accept help. Having a man open a door for me is polite. I can accept good manners. But having a man or even a woman offer to help carry something? No, sir! Thank you very much. I can manage just fine. This is pride in the worst way.

We have a big dog, so I frequently find myself in the dog food aisle, very pregnant or with a baby in a sling, wrestling a 40 pound bag of food onto the bottom of the cart. Almost always, somebody stops and asks me if I need some assistance. If I could take a step back, I might see myself looking absolutely ridiculous as I insist that it's no trouble for me at all to get that bag loaded in without banging the baby's head on the cart or dropping her out of the sling. Who am I kidding?

I've been trying hard over the last few months to supress that instinct to decline help. Yet, even in my acceptance of assistance that ugly pride rears its head. There now, I say to myself. They can feel that they did a good deed by helping me. It isn't me who needs help so much as they need to feel good about themselves, right?

It's a long road. Fortunately, I discovered that the 20 pound bag of dog food is cheaper per ounce than the 40 pounder!

I'm learning that as I work on humility, I need to teach my children not just how to help others but also how to accept help graciously. In The Four Loves, C. S. Lewis echoes this in an example of a young man struck down with an incurable disease who is tended lovingly by his wife. "The man who can take this sweetly, who can receive all and give nothing without resentment...in such a case to receive is harder and perhaps more blessed than to give."

As I begin Lent, I can reflect on receiving forgiveness when I have nothing to give in return. Am I humble enough to accept the gift?

American Karnival

We invited a family over. Just a casual gathering for beer, chili, and football. Then we invited another family. And then another. So, I guess I just have to admit we're having a Super Bowl Party.

I'm hoping for one of those fishes and loaves miracles, especially since that can of what I thought was refried beans was actually enchilada sauce, so no bean dip. I just can't do yet another "quick trip" to the grocery store.

I think it's fitting that this weekend falls so close to Lent this year. We'll have two days to get rid of all that carne (and chocolate and soda and chips) before the fasting begins.

Pretty in Pink

Mom, fix the flash setting, will you?

Hey, kid, you're kinda funny.

But please tell me we're not related.

We ARE? Interesting...perhaps I should be concerned?

What's that, Mom? It's not genetic? Phew!

New Month's Resolution for February

This month, I am going to read the directions to my treadmill and to the digital camcorder that my sister-in-law gave us for Christmas. I'd really like to know why it takes 8 1/2 to 9 laps to make a mile. I'm just curious. And we've been recording videos with the camcorder, I just can't figure out how to get them to play on the computer. You'll know I've been successful when I start torturing you with sharing videos of the kids.

{Side note: this camcorder was the best gift we received this Christmas. The responsible sister-in-law is also guilty of the worst gift of Christmas as well.}


What is a New Month's Resolution? I've been doing these for over a year now. Every month I look at where I need to focus my attention. Perhaps I've been procrastinating on certain chores. Perhaps I need to spend some extra time with one or more of the kids. Perhaps I'd like to try a new habit. New Month's Resolutions are not grandiose plans to lose ten pounds or declutter the entire house or give up smoking (of course, I don't smoke, but if I did, this would not be the venue in which I would give it up). New Month's resolutions are short-term commitments; they are easily attained goals; they focus on what is needed right now, instead of what is best for a lifetime.

Do you have a New Month's Resolution? Share your goals for this month in the combox!