Tomorrow's (projected) schedule:
530 am wake up, get dressed, leash dog, run 2 miles
woke up on time, but so did Mary: no run, just coffee
615 am pour coffee, collapse in sweaty heap
616 am fetch crying baby
700 am shower, get dressed
baby fell asleep about 715 am and I got in the shower then
800 am start telling kids they need to eat and get dressed
check
815 am kiss Bill goodbye
check
830 am hunt down children for lessons
check
1030 am organize children in mid-morning cleanup
at 10 am the packer called and asked if he could come early (like now), I declare recess to cheers
1045 am send the one child who hasn't completed school work to bedroom to work
at 910 am I sent an easily distracted child to his room to do math
1100 greet Mr. Packing Company Guy, show him around my tidy home, point out things like 100 year old piano that weighs 750 pounds and has no working wheels
Mr. PCG was gone by 11 am, house was not at all tidy; I had to push toys aside and feared greatly that this man who was easily in his 70s would trip; he was unfazed by the piano (he's not the one moving it!)
1130 am greet friends coming over for playdate, wonder how many more closets Mr. PCG has left to view
Bill got out of class early and got home a few minutes before friends showed up
1145 am shake hands with Mr. PCG, rush out door with a mixture of children leaving little ones at home with friend, go to Mass
took Bill with me to Mass
1200 pm bask in the relative quiet of Mass with no toddler
ha! Mary is babbling now, and loudly
1210 pm irritatingly note that Mass with five school-aged children is a lot of work too
Bill and I sat behind the five kids and could easily monitor and correct chit-chatting
1230 pm ask another friend over for lunch and playdate
check
1235 pm arrive home and note uncomfortable husband conversing with woman he found in his house when he came home from school
110 pm suddenly remember Katie has a doctor's appointment and beg Bill to take her despite him not being done with his lunch
he knew, but lunch was rushed
300 pm greet Bill and Katie as they return, say goodbye to friends leaving, realize I haven't even thought about dinner, panic
Well. Friend A left her kids and took car for an oil change. Bill and Katie came back. Friend B and her kids went home. Bill left for his own doctor's appointment. Friend A called because she left her wallet at my house and couldn't get back on post. I round up 10 children and load van to deliver wallet. At some point, my hairdresser called and asked if we could reschedule for 730 pm instead of tomorrow afternoon. Sure!
315 pm organize another pickup-the-house party, threaten slackers with no outside playtime
Upon return from delivering wallet, told kids they had to clean up before they could go out, nearly went deaf from the protests, but at least they had their friends to help them
420 pm round up children and have them don uniforms for baseball games, remember that I haven't thought about dinner since 3 pm, panic more
this involved complete changes of clothing for all kids because they partook in a water gun fight
440 pm take everyone but Jenny to Fritz's baseball game, Bill takes Jenny to their parent-child baseball class
we drove to Burger King first and ordered take-out
550 pm leave Fritz at game and take everybody else to Billy and Katie's baseball game
at 530 it started to rain. The worst part is that Fritz's game was only in the 2nd inning; had they completed the inning it would have counted, but now he has to make it up on Tuesday.
630 pm greet Bill, Fritz and Jenny at the game
Bill and Jenny met us at home around 545 pm
715 pm shepherd the starving children into the van, really panic
at this time, I left for my hair appointment, Peter opened the door and the dog escaped chasing a squirrel, got dog, got in car wondering how long I would feel guilty if I fled to Aruba
720 pm feed everyone PB&J and ice cream
750 pm scrub dirt off Peter, tell everyone to get ready for bed
Peter had a proper bath before I left
815 pm say prayers, nurse Mary to sleep
I returned home, prayers were done, everyone was ready for bed, I wash Mary up and get her in her PJs
910 pm blog about how inaccurate my prediction was
I did my other blog post first, Mary woke up and I nursed her again, then worked on this one
1015 pm go to bed
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Spring flowers
Two weeks before Mary was born, I planted several hundred bulbs. It hurt.
But the pain is a distant memory, especially as we've enjoyed the splashes of color: first the yellow daffodils...then the purple tulips...then the yellow streaked with orange tulips...then the pinkish tulips...and now just a tiny bit of purple irises.
Recently, Katie realized that bulb plants come up year after year. "Will the people who live here after us see the tulips, Mommy?"
She, like I, thought that was neat. Next spring, some other family will be watching little plants push up through the ground and wondering what surprises await them. Even if they recognize tulip plants, they won't know what color until it opens up and shows the world.
It was probably just a federally paid worker and not a private gardener who planted the azalea bush in the front that is finally losing its purple flowers. Same thing with the cherry or crab apple tree in the back. But it doesn't matter who planted them or why. I just wonder if the gardener anticipated the joy his or her work would bring to me years later.
The leaves of the tree in my back yard are now pushing the flowers off. Pink gives way to the green. Bill installed a birdhouse Billy made for Scouts on that tree, and sparrows seem to have claimed it as their home. How lucky we are to be able to watch them from our dining room table as we do school.
My only disappointment, if you could call it that, has been the irises. Unusually hot weather in October caused the bulbs to grow instead of sleep. By November, they were all out of the earth and wondering why the days were not getting longer. In early spring, while tending to the beds, I pulled the dead leaves off, but left the green ones. A few weeks ago, I considered trimming them to the ground, but they just looked so hardy that I decided to wait. Sure enough, I have a few blooms and see more coming. But they are pathetic looking! The fall growth and improper dormancy caused them to be stunted. That's okay. Next year someone else will see them in their full glory.
But the pain is a distant memory, especially as we've enjoyed the splashes of color: first the yellow daffodils...then the purple tulips...then the yellow streaked with orange tulips...then the pinkish tulips...and now just a tiny bit of purple irises.
Recently, Katie realized that bulb plants come up year after year. "Will the people who live here after us see the tulips, Mommy?"
She, like I, thought that was neat. Next spring, some other family will be watching little plants push up through the ground and wondering what surprises await them. Even if they recognize tulip plants, they won't know what color until it opens up and shows the world.
It was probably just a federally paid worker and not a private gardener who planted the azalea bush in the front that is finally losing its purple flowers. Same thing with the cherry or crab apple tree in the back. But it doesn't matter who planted them or why. I just wonder if the gardener anticipated the joy his or her work would bring to me years later.
The leaves of the tree in my back yard are now pushing the flowers off. Pink gives way to the green. Bill installed a birdhouse Billy made for Scouts on that tree, and sparrows seem to have claimed it as their home. How lucky we are to be able to watch them from our dining room table as we do school.
My only disappointment, if you could call it that, has been the irises. Unusually hot weather in October caused the bulbs to grow instead of sleep. By November, they were all out of the earth and wondering why the days were not getting longer. In early spring, while tending to the beds, I pulled the dead leaves off, but left the green ones. A few weeks ago, I considered trimming them to the ground, but they just looked so hardy that I decided to wait. Sure enough, I have a few blooms and see more coming. But they are pathetic looking! The fall growth and improper dormancy caused them to be stunted. That's okay. Next year someone else will see them in their full glory.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Even more on HPV
On Friday I received an email from Russell Goldman of ABC News. He had seen my blog entries about the HPV vaccine, and wanted to interview me for an article.
OK, I'm game, I thought, as I emailed my phone number.
A few minutes later, I was telling him my problem with the vaccine: that the government mandating its use without sufficient proof of its safety and for something that is only spread through sexual contact is wrong.
I don't have a problem with a parent making that choice for their child (although I do fear that parents are overly trusting and ignorant of the risks, including death). I'm not saying my children will never receive the vaccine, and I can think of reasons why they should get it. My problem is with governmental interference and the use of my children as human lab rats.
After several minutes of making my point and sticking to it, Mr. Goldman thanked me for my time, but he admitted he was looking for someone who was basically just opposed to the vaccine because they felt it would encourage their children to have sex.
No kidding, I thought.
His article is here. He did manage to find a mother who could provide the quotes he wanted, so my voice of reason is missing. It reminds me of research papers in high school and college where I would blatantly ignore any literature that didn't agree with my thesis and selectively quote those that did. In essence, the HPV vaccine is all good, and the only people who are opposed are religious nuts.
Now, that last sentence was sarcastic, but certainly somebody could quote me out of context to make it seem like I approve of the vaccine.
OK, I'm game, I thought, as I emailed my phone number.
A few minutes later, I was telling him my problem with the vaccine: that the government mandating its use without sufficient proof of its safety and for something that is only spread through sexual contact is wrong.
I don't have a problem with a parent making that choice for their child (although I do fear that parents are overly trusting and ignorant of the risks, including death). I'm not saying my children will never receive the vaccine, and I can think of reasons why they should get it. My problem is with governmental interference and the use of my children as human lab rats.
After several minutes of making my point and sticking to it, Mr. Goldman thanked me for my time, but he admitted he was looking for someone who was basically just opposed to the vaccine because they felt it would encourage their children to have sex.
No kidding, I thought.
His article is here. He did manage to find a mother who could provide the quotes he wanted, so my voice of reason is missing. It reminds me of research papers in high school and college where I would blatantly ignore any literature that didn't agree with my thesis and selectively quote those that did. In essence, the HPV vaccine is all good, and the only people who are opposed are religious nuts.
Now, that last sentence was sarcastic, but certainly somebody could quote me out of context to make it seem like I approve of the vaccine.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
School on Saturday
I had to run an errand in St. Joseph, Mo yesterday and dragged the kids away from the usual Saturday mid-day neighborhood happy hour where adults and kids alike were outside enjoying the pleasant weather. They were not excited to be leaving their friends to go to a museum for mandatory family fun. Heck, I didn't want to go myself. But I wasn't going to waste all that gas to get to St. Joe's and not do something else while there.
We went to the Pony Express National Museum. It was great. Well, good. I wouldn't build a major travel vacation around visiting it or even visiting St. Joseph's, but it was worth the 45 minute drive, and Bill was happy to have four hours of peace and quiet.
Peter in the saddle.
Katie pumping water for the horses.
The kids at a relay station waiting for the mail.
Fritz in buckskin.
Billy in a coonskin cap.
Across the street at a playground they had this stagecoach. Katie is the horse, of course.
We went to the Pony Express National Museum. It was great. Well, good. I wouldn't build a major travel vacation around visiting it or even visiting St. Joseph's, but it was worth the 45 minute drive, and Bill was happy to have four hours of peace and quiet.
Peter in the saddle.
Katie pumping water for the horses.
The kids at a relay station waiting for the mail.
Fritz in buckskin.
Billy in a coonskin cap.
Across the street at a playground they had this stagecoach. Katie is the horse, of course.It cost $4 for adults and $2 per kid over age 7. In the bookstore, I picked up three books for kids, including two based-on-fact easy readers. Total cost for tour, books and one piece of candy per child for good behavior: $30.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Dining Out
Yesterday evening, I was putting on my coat, and Bill was buckling the baby in her seat when the phone rang. The restaurant where we had dinner reservations at 6 pm was calling to apologize, but the entire place had been booked for a private party, and they couldn't accommodate us that night. Had this guy waited another minute to call us, we would have been out the door.
We went to the Kansas City Originals website to look for another restaurant. This website is great:
The Kansas City Originals exists to promote dining in local independent area restaurants, to provide diners with a unique local flavor and to raise awareness of independent restaurants both locally and nationally.
I totally dig that idea. When we traveled out here from Virginia last summer, we stopped at chain restaurant after chain restaurant. It was fine, because I needed to feed little children and didn't need any extra stress related to noses turned up at the different ways individual chefs prepare similar dishes. McDonalds chicken nuggets in Ohio taste just like McDonalds chicken nuggets in Missouri.
But when we got to town, I pointed to the local Applebees and said, "We will never eat there." And so far, we haven't. We don't go out often, but when we have, it has been to privately owned places (although we have done take out pizza and an occasional chicken nugget lunch at nationally known chains).
So, last night we picked another place and off we went. It is so nice to eat at a place that does not have a children's menu. Mary was the only person in the joint under 25. She received lots and lots of attention, and behaved perfectly. She made me look like a fantastic mother. There was a pregnant woman dining nearby, and I really hope it's not her first. She'll be sadly mistaken that babies are really easy, and cry herself to sleep when her little one doesn't sit nicely for twenty minutes quietly babbling a chorus of "uh-BUH-buh-buh" before settling down to discreetly nurse to sleep and allow herself to be placed on the upholstered bench next to mom.
Babies, by the way, kill the social life of a woman. I haven't been hit on for ten years. If you are a single woman looking for love, do not take your little niece or nephew out in public.
But babies do wonders for men. I don't know why it is, but single women flock to guys with babies. My husband, who is a dashing fellow, has been hit on more times in the last ten years than he ever was in his whole bachelor life. And the more children he has, the more attractive he becomes. Go figure.
Apparently, single gay men also are attracted to men with babies. I did not hear the man, who was obviously flirting with my husband, when he asked, "Yours?" If I had, I would have quickly said, "Oh, we're just friends," just to see if my husband could have scored a phone number. But Bill proudly admitted to being the father of six and ruined any fun.
All in all, it was a pleasant evening out. The house was trashed when we got home (why did I bother to straighten up before the babysitter came?), but everybody was happy.
We went to the Kansas City Originals website to look for another restaurant. This website is great:
The Kansas City Originals exists to promote dining in local independent area restaurants, to provide diners with a unique local flavor and to raise awareness of independent restaurants both locally and nationally.
I totally dig that idea. When we traveled out here from Virginia last summer, we stopped at chain restaurant after chain restaurant. It was fine, because I needed to feed little children and didn't need any extra stress related to noses turned up at the different ways individual chefs prepare similar dishes. McDonalds chicken nuggets in Ohio taste just like McDonalds chicken nuggets in Missouri.
But when we got to town, I pointed to the local Applebees and said, "We will never eat there." And so far, we haven't. We don't go out often, but when we have, it has been to privately owned places (although we have done take out pizza and an occasional chicken nugget lunch at nationally known chains).
So, last night we picked another place and off we went. It is so nice to eat at a place that does not have a children's menu. Mary was the only person in the joint under 25. She received lots and lots of attention, and behaved perfectly. She made me look like a fantastic mother. There was a pregnant woman dining nearby, and I really hope it's not her first. She'll be sadly mistaken that babies are really easy, and cry herself to sleep when her little one doesn't sit nicely for twenty minutes quietly babbling a chorus of "uh-BUH-buh-buh" before settling down to discreetly nurse to sleep and allow herself to be placed on the upholstered bench next to mom.
Babies, by the way, kill the social life of a woman. I haven't been hit on for ten years. If you are a single woman looking for love, do not take your little niece or nephew out in public.
But babies do wonders for men. I don't know why it is, but single women flock to guys with babies. My husband, who is a dashing fellow, has been hit on more times in the last ten years than he ever was in his whole bachelor life. And the more children he has, the more attractive he becomes. Go figure.
Apparently, single gay men also are attracted to men with babies. I did not hear the man, who was obviously flirting with my husband, when he asked, "Yours?" If I had, I would have quickly said, "Oh, we're just friends," just to see if my husband could have scored a phone number. But Bill proudly admitted to being the father of six and ruined any fun.
All in all, it was a pleasant evening out. The house was trashed when we got home (why did I bother to straighten up before the babysitter came?), but everybody was happy.
Prayer Warriors: To Arms!
Yesterday, I received the following comment on this old blog post:
We found a lump under my daughter's chin on Tuesday. After 2 antibiotic shots and oral antibiotics the doctors have decided it may not be a swollen lymph node and have arranged for a CT scan. I was scouring the internet for info and found your blog. I found your words comforting and identified with your thought of only God can truly comfort you at a time like this..our husbands may try but that is too much to expect of one person. I pray our outcome is as positive as yours, but covet the prayers of your family and any other prayer warriors who read your blog for our 2 year old daughter, Sarah.
Please pray for little Sarah, and also for her family.
We found a lump under my daughter's chin on Tuesday. After 2 antibiotic shots and oral antibiotics the doctors have decided it may not be a swollen lymph node and have arranged for a CT scan. I was scouring the internet for info and found your blog. I found your words comforting and identified with your thought of only God can truly comfort you at a time like this..our husbands may try but that is too much to expect of one person. I pray our outcome is as positive as yours, but covet the prayers of your family and any other prayer warriors who read your blog for our 2 year old daughter, Sarah.
Please pray for little Sarah, and also for her family.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Katie at Bat
Billy and Katie are on the same coach-pitch baseball team: the Orange Dragons. Their first game was yesterday evening. Billy is a solid player and has last year's machine pitch experience to build upon. Plus boys naturally like to play with balls and bats. I'm not being sexist; this is merely based on observing two girls with older brothers who will set up "house" or "school" with each other and friends and their stuffed animals and dolls in the same yard where the boys are assembled wearing their favorite team colors as they try to decide whether the Cincinnati Marlins will play the Washington Braves or the Atlanta Nationals.
Peter, who is not yet three, has played more ball than my girls.
So, I was concerned that Katie would be like most girls I see who play ball and are clearly one of the weakest members. It's not that I want her to be a great player. But I want her to have fun. And she won't have any fun if she can't hit the ball. And one bad season could make her unwilling to try again the following year.
Happily, I watched her get a hit each of the three times she batted. She was forced out at third one time, but she was able to score the other two times. Good for her! She was clearly pleased with her ability.
Now I just need to work on her fielding ability.
What remains to be seen is if her enthusiasm continues post-season. But I'm willing to bet that the dolls and the tea sets will once again dominate her time come June.
Peter, who is not yet three, has played more ball than my girls.
So, I was concerned that Katie would be like most girls I see who play ball and are clearly one of the weakest members. It's not that I want her to be a great player. But I want her to have fun. And she won't have any fun if she can't hit the ball. And one bad season could make her unwilling to try again the following year.
Happily, I watched her get a hit each of the three times she batted. She was forced out at third one time, but she was able to score the other two times. Good for her! She was clearly pleased with her ability.
Now I just need to work on her fielding ability.
What remains to be seen is if her enthusiasm continues post-season. But I'm willing to bet that the dolls and the tea sets will once again dominate her time come June.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Songs about girls
My whole life, I've had the Beatles' song, "Michelle," sung to me. When I was little, I thought it was cute. When I was a teen, I thought it was embarrassing. By the time I was in my twenties, I thought it was old. I think I dated my husband because he didn't sing that song. When I worked, after college and before "retiring" to be a stay-at-home mom, I spent a lot of time on the phone with slimeballs salesmen. At least half of them would sing that to me...and think it clever and original.
Since naming our daughter Mary, I've had the line, "Mary, Mary, why you buggin'?" running through my head. This past weekend, Bill and I found Run DMC's video. It's pretty funny. But I think you had to be a teen/young adult in the 80's to truly appreciate it.
Here are the lyrics:
Mary Mary Mary you cold thumb suckin
Lookin for you, but you keep duckin
I wanna find you, I gotta tell you somethin
So just be quiet and don't say NUTTIN
Mary Mary Mary why you out there stuntin?
Supposed to be with me, but now you're FRONTIN
We started out new, you used to be true
Now you're buggin, what's wrong with you?
"Mary, Mary.." WHY YA BUGGIN?
"Mary, Mary.." I NEED YA HUGGIN
Now that I've heard the line in context, I'm trying to get it out of my head. "Michelle, my beautiful" might be annoying, but it's nice. "Mary, why are you prostituting yourself?" is not a question I'd like to sing to my little girl! (Although the line after that isn't bad.) I asked my neighbor, named Mary, if she knew of any songs about a girl named Mary. She didn't.
{sigh}
I spent the first year after Jenny was born singing "867-5309." I still haven't found a good song with her name in it.
Katie, though, is much luckier. My parents started singing this one right away, and I sang it often when she was a baby.
K-K-K-Katy, beautiful Katy,
You're the only g-g-g-girl that I adore;
When the m-m-m-moon shines,
Over the cowshed,
I'll be waiting at the k-k-k-kitchen door.
Since naming our daughter Mary, I've had the line, "Mary, Mary, why you buggin'?" running through my head. This past weekend, Bill and I found Run DMC's video. It's pretty funny. But I think you had to be a teen/young adult in the 80's to truly appreciate it.
Here are the lyrics:
Mary Mary Mary you cold thumb suckin
Lookin for you, but you keep duckin
I wanna find you, I gotta tell you somethin
So just be quiet and don't say NUTTIN
Mary Mary Mary why you out there stuntin?
Supposed to be with me, but now you're FRONTIN
We started out new, you used to be true
Now you're buggin, what's wrong with you?
"Mary, Mary.." WHY YA BUGGIN?
"Mary, Mary.." I NEED YA HUGGIN
Now that I've heard the line in context, I'm trying to get it out of my head. "Michelle, my beautiful" might be annoying, but it's nice. "Mary, why are you prostituting yourself?" is not a question I'd like to sing to my little girl! (Although the line after that isn't bad.) I asked my neighbor, named Mary, if she knew of any songs about a girl named Mary. She didn't.
{sigh}
I spent the first year after Jenny was born singing "867-5309." I still haven't found a good song with her name in it.
Katie, though, is much luckier. My parents started singing this one right away, and I sang it often when she was a baby.
K-K-K-Katy, beautiful Katy,
You're the only g-g-g-girl that I adore;
When the m-m-m-moon shines,
Over the cowshed,
I'll be waiting at the k-k-k-kitchen door.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
The art of digital photography
The best thing about digital photography is the ability to take lots and lots of pictures and merely delete the bad ones. If you have kids who want to express themselves through this medium, you won't have to pay a ton of money to discover two dozen blurry shots of stuffed animals.
This is Pink Puppy. I fear Pink Puppy will one day accompany a certain daughter on her honeymoon.
Every so often, a kid takes a shot that makes me laugh. I'm pretty sure Jenny is the photographer here. I think kids will ham it up differently for each other than for mom.
Love the eyes.
So what if I have to download 30 or 40 pictures...of pictures...
...to get to the one good one? It's worth the time.
This is Pink Puppy. I fear Pink Puppy will one day accompany a certain daughter on her honeymoon.
Every so often, a kid takes a shot that makes me laugh. I'm pretty sure Jenny is the photographer here. I think kids will ham it up differently for each other than for mom.Love the eyes.
So what if I have to download 30 or 40 pictures...of pictures...
...to get to the one good one? It's worth the time.Aloha!
Monday, April 21, 2008
Evolution of Spaghetti
Katie said, "Mom, can you show Jenny how the Spaghetti was invented?"
spaghetti
macaroni
macarena
Got it.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Signs of Life in Bikini Bottom
Bikini Atoll's Nuked Coral Reef Bounces Back to Life
The tiny island was the site of hydrogen bomb testing in the 1950's. One test in particular was devastating:
The massive explosion vaporized everything on three islands in the atoll, raised water temperatures to 55,000 degrees and left a crater that was 1.2 miles (2 kilometers) wide and 240 feet (73 meters) deep.
But there's good news:
A team of scientists recently led a diving expedition into Bravo Crater and found an unexpectedly thriving coral community.
Some bad news:
Though ambient radiation readings are fairly low at Bikini, radioactive material accumulates in the soil and in produce such as coconuts, making them unsafe to eat.
I guess that means The Krusty Krab wouldn't be a recommended spot for hungry travelers?
The tiny island was the site of hydrogen bomb testing in the 1950's. One test in particular was devastating:
The massive explosion vaporized everything on three islands in the atoll, raised water temperatures to 55,000 degrees and left a crater that was 1.2 miles (2 kilometers) wide and 240 feet (73 meters) deep.
But there's good news:
A team of scientists recently led a diving expedition into Bravo Crater and found an unexpectedly thriving coral community.
Some bad news:
Though ambient radiation readings are fairly low at Bikini, radioactive material accumulates in the soil and in produce such as coconuts, making them unsafe to eat.
I guess that means The Krusty Krab wouldn't be a recommended spot for hungry travelers?
Saturday, April 19, 2008
What child is this?
Fritz set his alarm by himself with no prompting so he could get up early to watch cartoons.
***
Yesterday, Fritz asked me if he needed to watch his Latin DVD. No, we had done Friday's work on Thursday. Peter the Parrot must have heard us. A few minutes later, he came up to me waving the Latin DVD.
"Mommy, I watch Latin DVD?"
***
Wednesday morning, Mary had her well-baby checkup, but I didn't have time to stay for shots. When I went back in the afternoon, Katie and Jenny begged to come with me. As the nurse filled out all the paperwork, my girls stared at all the stickers and lollipops. Since once I actually had a nurse at a different facility tell my kids that only the child getting shots could have a sticker(prudently protecting the government's pennies, I suppose) and not wanting them to get their hopes up, I told them they wouldn't be getting anything.
Jenny asked, "Can I have a shot, Mommy, pleeeease?" And since I admitted to her that she's due for her DTaP booster, she's asked me every day since when I'll take her back.
***
Yesterday, Fritz asked me if he needed to watch his Latin DVD. No, we had done Friday's work on Thursday. Peter the Parrot must have heard us. A few minutes later, he came up to me waving the Latin DVD.
"Mommy, I watch Latin DVD?"
***
Wednesday morning, Mary had her well-baby checkup, but I didn't have time to stay for shots. When I went back in the afternoon, Katie and Jenny begged to come with me. As the nurse filled out all the paperwork, my girls stared at all the stickers and lollipops. Since once I actually had a nurse at a different facility tell my kids that only the child getting shots could have a sticker
Jenny asked, "Can I have a shot, Mommy, pleeeease?" And since I admitted to her that she's due for her DTaP booster, she's asked me every day since when I'll take her back.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Stumbling blocks of sin
I have a friend. I haven't known her very long, but every time we get together, I like her more and more.
She is a convert to the faith, and she has an incredible story of her journey from being raised in an atheist and dysfunctional household through drug dependency and to the brink of suicide where she stumbled into a Catholic Church near the end of Holy Week and found physical healing. She and her husband, with a conversion story of his own, joined the Church several years later as an engaged couple and were married within a week of their initiation.
They were young - early twenties - and, like most young adults, still had a lot of growing up to do. But neither of them had any idea about how to be Catholic. Of course, adult catechises is practically non-existent in most parishes, and most Catholics assume that the majority of us are cradle Catholics or married to cradle Catholics. Those who somehow find their way to the Catholic Church on their own are pretty much left to figure it all out by themselves. And this just doesn't work well for those who don't have a Catholic support system.
As an example, her two sons are three years apart. When the younger one was a baby they sought baptism - for both of them. The priest couldn't believe that their three year old wasn't baptised yet. They had no idea that it was something you should do as soon as you reasonably could. It was out of ignorance that they neglected it.
Anyway, my friend, like all of us, is still on the journey to holiness. About a year or so ago, she began to evaluate her wardrobe, especially what she wore to church. She hadn't really thought much about her appearance before, but she was starting to consider that perhaps the current fashions were not appropriate for Mass. She had worn spaghetti strap tops and a halter top dress. But on her own she was starting to consider what an educated Catholic would call the virtue of modesty. This was the Holy Spirit whispering to her.
Just at this point, a pious mother of many left a book on her car about how women should dress modestly for Mass. She had anonymously done this to several women at the church who had all felt hurt, but nobody had said anything to her. My friend, who had admired this woman from afar for her devotion, confronted her. The woman admitted putting the book on her car, said that she had been wanting to say something for six months (the whole time my friend had been a parishioner there), and called my friend "a stumbling block of sin to the men of the parish."
Well, now.
The spiritual works of mercy are:
To instruct the ignorant;
To counsel the doubtful;
To admonish sinners;
To bear wrongs patiently;
To forgive offences willingly;
To comfort the afflicted;
To pray for the living and the dead.
There is no question that my friend could have used some instruction and admonishing, but...
We can not know fully where someone is on their journey to God. We can not expect that with conversion of heart will naturally follow sin-free behavior or even understanding of the basic rudiments of faith. We can not compare our journey of 30 or 40 or 50 years from childhood with wonderful role-models to someone else's journey of 10 years with no assistance save that of the Spirit.
Of course, this woman did not know of my friend's journey. She didn't know that my friend was open to advice and counsel if done charitably. She didn't know that my friend was already thinking about modesty. And that's exactly my point.
Because now this pious woman, who likely meant well by her actions, has become a stumbling block of sin for my friend. Her method was so blunt, so hurtful, that my friend still struggles to forgive the injury. She's only human.
There are many ways to be a witness for Christ. There are many ways to perform the spiritual works of mercy. Only the Spirit knows the best way for each person at any particular time, which is why prayer is so necessary when trying to serve the Lord.
I only hope that in my own zeal I have not been a stumbling block of sin for someone else.
She is a convert to the faith, and she has an incredible story of her journey from being raised in an atheist and dysfunctional household through drug dependency and to the brink of suicide where she stumbled into a Catholic Church near the end of Holy Week and found physical healing. She and her husband, with a conversion story of his own, joined the Church several years later as an engaged couple and were married within a week of their initiation.
They were young - early twenties - and, like most young adults, still had a lot of growing up to do. But neither of them had any idea about how to be Catholic. Of course, adult catechises is practically non-existent in most parishes, and most Catholics assume that the majority of us are cradle Catholics or married to cradle Catholics. Those who somehow find their way to the Catholic Church on their own are pretty much left to figure it all out by themselves. And this just doesn't work well for those who don't have a Catholic support system.
As an example, her two sons are three years apart. When the younger one was a baby they sought baptism - for both of them. The priest couldn't believe that their three year old wasn't baptised yet. They had no idea that it was something you should do as soon as you reasonably could. It was out of ignorance that they neglected it.
Anyway, my friend, like all of us, is still on the journey to holiness. About a year or so ago, she began to evaluate her wardrobe, especially what she wore to church. She hadn't really thought much about her appearance before, but she was starting to consider that perhaps the current fashions were not appropriate for Mass. She had worn spaghetti strap tops and a halter top dress. But on her own she was starting to consider what an educated Catholic would call the virtue of modesty. This was the Holy Spirit whispering to her.
Just at this point, a pious mother of many left a book on her car about how women should dress modestly for Mass. She had anonymously done this to several women at the church who had all felt hurt, but nobody had said anything to her. My friend, who had admired this woman from afar for her devotion, confronted her. The woman admitted putting the book on her car, said that she had been wanting to say something for six months (the whole time my friend had been a parishioner there), and called my friend "a stumbling block of sin to the men of the parish."
Well, now.
The spiritual works of mercy are:
To instruct the ignorant;
To counsel the doubtful;
To admonish sinners;
To bear wrongs patiently;
To forgive offences willingly;
To comfort the afflicted;
To pray for the living and the dead.
There is no question that my friend could have used some instruction and admonishing, but...
We can not know fully where someone is on their journey to God. We can not expect that with conversion of heart will naturally follow sin-free behavior or even understanding of the basic rudiments of faith. We can not compare our journey of 30 or 40 or 50 years from childhood with wonderful role-models to someone else's journey of 10 years with no assistance save that of the Spirit.
Of course, this woman did not know of my friend's journey. She didn't know that my friend was open to advice and counsel if done charitably. She didn't know that my friend was already thinking about modesty. And that's exactly my point.
Because now this pious woman, who likely meant well by her actions, has become a stumbling block of sin for my friend. Her method was so blunt, so hurtful, that my friend still struggles to forgive the injury. She's only human.
There are many ways to be a witness for Christ. There are many ways to perform the spiritual works of mercy. Only the Spirit knows the best way for each person at any particular time, which is why prayer is so necessary when trying to serve the Lord.
I only hope that in my own zeal I have not been a stumbling block of sin for someone else.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Late to bed, late to rise
I would like to get up at 5 am. There is so much that I can accomplish in those early morning hours: uninterrupted, quiet, calm, peaceful. I love that time of day.
Unfortunately, in recent weeks, we've been living in the Land of Nod. Bill's classes have him "burning the midnight oil" - notice the lamps on his unit patch? They aren't kidding.
Bill would like to get up at 6 am. He doesn't have to leave, usually, until after 8 am, and he hates to rush. But two hours for breakfast, getting ready, and reading the Drudge Report is plenty for him.
Unfortunately, in recent weeks, we've been living in the Land of Nod. Bill's classes have him "burning the midnight oil" - notice the lamps on his unit patch? They aren't kidding.Bill has been going to bed between midnight and 2 am, and I, stupidly, have been pushing my own bedtime later as well, I guess because I'm not used to going to bed without him. Well, I am used to going to bed without him, but without him physically anywhere nearby. I'm not used to saying goodnight to him and going to sleep while he, poor man, is making himself a cup of tea at 11 pm to help him stay awake.
Yesterday morning, I woke up at 6:53 am. (I had been up an hour earlier with the baby, but fell back asleep.) I nudged Bill to get him up, and then snuggled back into the pillow. A minute later, Bill leaned over me and broke the bad news, "You have a doctor's appointment." I had a half hour to get out the door with Mary for her 6 month well baby.
She went in her pajamas.
Last night, I went to bed at 10 pm. I'd like to say it was an act of discipline that put me there, but, honestly, I was loading the washing machine when Mary started to cry. Had I not had to respond to her, I would have gone on to fold the clothes I had taken out of the dryer and possibly tried to put the play room in some sort of order (read: hid 25% of the toys until I can smuggle them out of the house to donate them to the thrift store).
I'm going to force myself to drop everything at 930 pm. Maybe I'll even set an alarm. I just can't compete with my husband, and I shouldn't try. Early to bed, early to rise.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
In Memoriam
by Alfred, Lord Tennyson
LXXXIII.
Dip down upon the northern shore,
O sweet new-year delaying long;
Thou doest expectant nature wrong;
Delaying long, delay no more.
What stays thee from the clouded noons,
Thy sweetness from its proper place?
Can trouble live with April days,
Or sadness in the summer moons?
Bring orchis, bring the foxglove spire,
The little speedwell’s darling blue,
Deep tulips dash’d with fiery dew,
Laburnums, dropping-wells of fire.
O thou, new-year, delaying long,
Delayest the sorrow in my blood,
That longs to burst a frozen bud
And flood a fresher throat with song.
Today: praying for Margaret.
LXXXIII.
Dip down upon the northern shore,
O sweet new-year delaying long;
Thou doest expectant nature wrong;
Delaying long, delay no more.
What stays thee from the clouded noons,
Thy sweetness from its proper place?
Can trouble live with April days,
Or sadness in the summer moons?
Bring orchis, bring the foxglove spire,
The little speedwell’s darling blue,
Deep tulips dash’d with fiery dew,
Laburnums, dropping-wells of fire.
O thou, new-year, delaying long,
Delayest the sorrow in my blood,
That longs to burst a frozen bud
And flood a fresher throat with song.
Today: praying for Margaret.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Too busy for beauty?
The experiment at L'Enfant Plaza may be symptomatic of that, he said -- not because people didn't have the capacity to understand beauty, but because it was irrelevant to them.
Take the time to read this article. It made me heartsick.
h/t Mary Poppins Not...thank you for reminding me to stop and listen to the violin.
Take the time to read this article. It made me heartsick.
h/t Mary Poppins Not...thank you for reminding me to stop and listen to the violin.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Guns, wrenches and spatulas
I think sexism comes naturally to boys. I have one (a sexist boy), but he didn't get that from me. I can't really blame Bill either. I can accuse my husband of many things, but not sexism.
A few days ago, he (the sexist boy) casually remarked about women and guns not mixing. Something about how women don't shoot them. My husband, in shock, informed him that his Nana (my husband's mother) owned several handguns and was a better shot than he was. This boy of mine thought that it was illegal for women to shoot guns, or at least that it had been at some point in the past!
I reminded him of the female soldiers he's seen. Asked him if didn't he think they knew how to use a gun. The problem with logic is that it ruins one's misperceptions!
Today I bought one of these (but I didn't pay nearly that much!). The boys had one last year and used it a lot, but it didn't survive the winter. My boys and two friends set out to put it together, but quickly decided the directions were too complicated. Sexist boy of mine wanted his dad to help. Bill was working on stuff for school, so I dropped all of my womanly work, you know, cooking, cleaning, and baby-tending, to see if my pretty little head could make heads or tails of the instructions. We did a few steps easily, but when I stopped to carefully read the next step, this kid sighed a heavy sigh and said, "Shouldn't I just go get Dad?"
I was a little annoyed.
Just as we were finishing putting the net on, Bill came down to get more beer (it helps him write better) and stepped out back to see how we were doing. I informed him of his son's comments, and my hero leaped to defend my honor by reminding the boy, "Your mother is an engineer!"
I don't know what I'm going to do with this kid.
A few days ago, he (the sexist boy) casually remarked about women and guns not mixing. Something about how women don't shoot them. My husband, in shock, informed him that his Nana (my husband's mother) owned several handguns and was a better shot than he was. This boy of mine thought that it was illegal for women to shoot guns, or at least that it had been at some point in the past!
I reminded him of the female soldiers he's seen. Asked him if didn't he think they knew how to use a gun. The problem with logic is that it ruins one's misperceptions!
Today I bought one of these (but I didn't pay nearly that much!). The boys had one last year and used it a lot, but it didn't survive the winter. My boys and two friends set out to put it together, but quickly decided the directions were too complicated. Sexist boy of mine wanted his dad to help. Bill was working on stuff for school, so I dropped all of my womanly work, you know, cooking, cleaning, and baby-tending, to see if my pretty little head could make heads or tails of the instructions. We did a few steps easily, but when I stopped to carefully read the next step, this kid sighed a heavy sigh and said, "Shouldn't I just go get Dad?"
I was a little annoyed.
Just as we were finishing putting the net on, Bill came down to get more beer (it helps him write better) and stepped out back to see how we were doing. I informed him of his son's comments, and my hero leaped to defend my honor by reminding the boy, "Your mother is an engineer!"
I don't know what I'm going to do with this kid.
Balmy weather
Today's high temperature was in the lower 50s. Depending on the wind or sun conditions at any given moment, my kids varied their dress from a t-shirt to a winter coat. Jenny, mainly favoring a winter coat, even came in at one point for mittens. I had to help her put them on. Later, she came through on some errand which required her to remove her mittens, so I had to help her put them on again. She stopped to chat.
"It's very warm outside, Mommy."
"Is that why you're wearing gloves?"
"Well, my hands are cold!"
"Mmmm."
"But the rest of me's not cold. {pause} In the sun, it's maybe even...hot."
"Mmmm." I'm wondering where this is going.
"Mommy, do you think we could get out the kiddie pool?"
"Uh, NO."
I know, I know. I'm such a party pooper.
"It's very warm outside, Mommy."
"Is that why you're wearing gloves?"
"Well, my hands are cold!"
"Mmmm."
"But the rest of me's not cold. {pause} In the sun, it's maybe even...hot."
"Mmmm." I'm wondering where this is going.
"Mommy, do you think we could get out the kiddie pool?"
"Uh, NO."
I know, I know. I'm such a party pooper.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Running in place
My number one thought while up from 230 to 330 AM with a gassy baby was, "Yippee! Now I have an excuse to not get on the treadmill in the morning!"
I hate the treadmill.
Recently I read an article that said one should always set the elevation to at least 1.0 on a treadmill, because they tend to have a reverse slope, so running on a treadmill is actually easier than running on the street. Well, my treadmill is kicking my rear end more than street running ever did. I can't believe it's easier.
Currently, I can run 2 miles at a 12 minute per mile pace. That's pretty pathetic. 18 months ago, I was doing 3 miles at a 9.5 - 10 mpm pace, which is not exactly speedy, but at least I didn't feel like a total slug. I was ready to convict myself of delusional timing and wishful thinking, but my official time on the Army Ten Miler in 2006 put me at a 10.5 mpm pace, so I know I was doing better than I am today. I have to keep reminding myself that I do weigh 20 pounds more than I did then, and surely it is harder to propel that extra weight around, right?
Besides the extra weight and the limited running due to pregnancy and newborn care, the treadmill, I think, contributes to a more laborious run. There are no birds chirping or other animal wildlife scampering about and teasing my dog, no smell of honeysuckles or cherry blossoms, no cars to evade or other runners to impress with my sleek, regular strides and excellent form (ha!), no sun barely peeking out over the horizon or late moon lingering in the lightening sky.
Instead, it's the whirr of the machine and the nagging beeps that remind me I've done another lap of the 1/8 mile loop in the computer's mind, it's the bleak walls of an unfinished basement and the sight of toys jumbled on the floor or in mixed up bins, it's the sound of the washing machine and the buzz of the dryer reminding me that I have stuff to do.
Today's morning temperature was barely above freezing. In fact, they're calling for snow today and tomorrow. But as next week progresses, the temperatures are expected to go up and the morning air might not be as frigid. I am going to try to go outside for a change. Even if I still plod along slowly, at least I'll enjoy the run.
And since we're moving back to the area, I've already registered for this fall's Army Ten Miler. It's not as ambitious as Laura doing a half-marathon four months after having a baby, but it's motivation nonetheless. Perhaps this summer, I will do some 5k races just so I have experience racing a more manageable distance.
I hate the treadmill.
Recently I read an article that said one should always set the elevation to at least 1.0 on a treadmill, because they tend to have a reverse slope, so running on a treadmill is actually easier than running on the street. Well, my treadmill is kicking my rear end more than street running ever did. I can't believe it's easier.
Currently, I can run 2 miles at a 12 minute per mile pace. That's pretty pathetic. 18 months ago, I was doing 3 miles at a 9.5 - 10 mpm pace, which is not exactly speedy, but at least I didn't feel like a total slug. I was ready to convict myself of delusional timing and wishful thinking, but my official time on the Army Ten Miler in 2006 put me at a 10.5 mpm pace, so I know I was doing better than I am today. I have to keep reminding myself that I do weigh 20 pounds more than I did then, and surely it is harder to propel that extra weight around, right?
Besides the extra weight and the limited running due to pregnancy and newborn care, the treadmill, I think, contributes to a more laborious run. There are no birds chirping or other animal wildlife scampering about and teasing my dog, no smell of honeysuckles or cherry blossoms, no cars to evade or other runners to impress with my sleek, regular strides and excellent form (ha!), no sun barely peeking out over the horizon or late moon lingering in the lightening sky.
Instead, it's the whirr of the machine and the nagging beeps that remind me I've done another lap of the 1/8 mile loop in the computer's mind, it's the bleak walls of an unfinished basement and the sight of toys jumbled on the floor or in mixed up bins, it's the sound of the washing machine and the buzz of the dryer reminding me that I have stuff to do.
Today's morning temperature was barely above freezing. In fact, they're calling for snow today and tomorrow. But as next week progresses, the temperatures are expected to go up and the morning air might not be as frigid. I am going to try to go outside for a change. Even if I still plod along slowly, at least I'll enjoy the run.
And since we're moving back to the area, I've already registered for this fall's Army Ten Miler. It's not as ambitious as Laura doing a half-marathon four months after having a baby, but it's motivation nonetheless. Perhaps this summer, I will do some 5k races just so I have experience racing a more manageable distance.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Birthday cards
It would be silly to purchase birthday cards when I have a whole bevy of artists right here. And if the recipient is a neighborhood kid, it's really a waste of money to get a store-bought card. If I spend $3 on a card for my mother, I know it will spend at least a few days (weeks?) on display in her home. She will look at it at least twice (once when she gets it and once when she gets rid of it), and likely think some pleasant thoughts about me. Children only look at cards because their parents make them look at cards to see from whom the gift is.
Although the artwork is cute, what I really love about these cards is the generosity. Here, Fritz includes Peter in the "from." We all know Peter can't make a birthday card (at least not one that does the job of wishing a happy birthday and identifying the giver of the gift).
And this one says it's from Katie. Billy drew the pictures and Katie colored them. What team work!
Jenny drew her own card, but somebody, probably Fritz, wrote the words. Can you identify Princess Leia with her blaster?
At least I appreciate my children's efforts.
Although the artwork is cute, what I really love about these cards is the generosity. Here, Fritz includes Peter in the "from." We all know Peter can't make a birthday card (at least not one that does the job of wishing a happy birthday and identifying the giver of the gift).
And this one says it's from Katie. Billy drew the pictures and Katie colored them. What team work!Last I saw, Billy's card wasn't done. He'll spend days working on a "masterpiece."
Jenny drew her own card, but somebody, probably Fritz, wrote the words. Can you identify Princess Leia with her blaster?It's evidence such as this that makes me feel like I'm doing something right.
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
High-fiber dessert
Would you like to add some fiber to your diet? Years ago, when I was pregnant with Fritz (and therefore, being my first child, had the leisure to stand around the cereal aisle at the grocery store comparing labels for a half hour) I found myself in desperate need of, ahem, regularity. I scoped out every single cereal on the market and discovered that Fiber One was, by far, the most fiber-laden of all. Ten years later, there is some competition, but from what I've seen (sorry, I no longer have hours to spend looking at labels), Fiber One is still top dog.
The downside is that it looks like gerbil-food.
Fortunately, I don't have a desperate need to eat the stuff. Bill had been eating it, and I stocked up the last time it went on sale. But then Bill tasted their Honey Clusters version. The Honey Clusters tastes infinitely better than the Original flavor and has almost as much fiber. Unfortunately, it also has high fructose corn syrup and other junk. Bill doesn't care, but some people do. Me? I eat oatmeal now.In any event, Bill's been eating the Clusters and ignoring the two boxes of Original on the shelf. What to do?
Well, Fiber One helped me out by putting a Crunchy Fudge Cookie recipe on the box using two whole cups per batch! And you know what? Add enough sugar to something and it really isn't tough to eat it. I only had one kid turn her dainty nose up at them. The rest begged for just one more (again and again and again). I don't think I'll have any trouble using the rest of the box. I mean, if health food tastes this good, how can I not make more?
In fact, when I started this post, there were four lonely cookies left. I wondered what I should do with four cookies. Six of us like them. They couldn't be saved for another evening's dessert - heavens! the squabbles. No, somebody must finish off those cookies to keep the peace. As I wrote this post, deeply considering how very little my family would appreciate the sacrifice should I choose to eat them all, but how, in the long run, it would perhaps be the right thing to do, Bill and then Peter wandered into the kitchen and noticed the cookies. Apparently, they had the same thoughts about how the cookies simply could not be left and that somebody needed to just eat them to save us all.
And so they did. My hips thank you, dearies.
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
Six months old today
HELLO, WORLD!
Pretty girls.
If I pinch you really hard will you quit with that flash already?
Yes, he does hold babies every now and then.
If I don't look at him, he'll go away, right?
She told you to stay, and if you don't, my head is gonna hit that hard floor. So you better, or I'll chase you mercilessly in about 4 or 5 months. Oh, who am I foolin'? I'll chase you mercilessly in 4 or 5 months anyway. Sunday, April 06, 2008
The French Connection
Last week's illness has reminded me of my worst vacation ever, since I was similarly afflicted during that trip.
It was November of 1990. I was spending that semester of my "college experience" in Brussels, Belgium. Included in the tuition costs were several long weekend trips to various places, and the weekend before Thanksgiving our group headed to Paris.
Now things do not have to go perfectly for me to have a good time. I am very flexible and can make the best of most situations. But in Paris, I was sick, and so even the finest of luxuries would have left me grumpy. The fact that there were no luxuries only made things pure misery. The youth hostel was the worst I'd ever experienced in Europe: no seats on the toilets, no hot water (not even tepid), dubiously clean linens, obviously unclean floors. I had forgotten my blow dryer, so after a frigid shower, I went sightseeing in the gray November chill with a damp head. It is small wonder that after this weekend, I ended up with a double ear infection.
I did have some good moments on this trip. Mass at Notre Dame was lovely, except that I had no idea what they were saying, and I was a bit distracted by all the people. They don't close down the cathedrals for Mass in Europe (not in any that I was in). So the priest might be consecrating the host while half the nation of Japan filters around the altar taking flash photos.
The view from the Eiffel Tower was fantastic, especially at night. But even more impressive was the wind. Buried in an album somewhere are photos of my friends acting like they're about to be blown off the side.
I went to see Huis Clos performed just to say I saw Huis Clos performed. It's a good thing I had read the play, because I don't speak much French. In fact, I really only practiced two sentences much to my French teacher's annoyance: Je ne parle pas français and Avez vous un briquet?
I remember purchasing some trinket from a street vendor. He "didn't have any change", though, so he suggested I select another item (I was 19, okay? One is permitted to be gullible when one is that young). I picked a black, leather whip, because I thought it was funny.
We went to the Louvre, but all I really remember is running running running. We must not have had much time. I remember seeing how small the Mona Lisa is, and I think I found the Venus de Milo, but everything else is a blur. Can you really appreciate art while dashing by?
We returned to Brussels a few days before Thanksgiving and the one American professor invited us all to his home for Thanksgiving dinner. I was still plodding through my illness, thinking any day I would start to feel better. Somehow I found enough energy to participate in a game of touch football that afternoon, but by the time I got to the professor's house for dinner, my head was throbbing, and then my ear drums burst. Both of them.
I left before the turkey was carved and stood in the rain waiting for a tram. An elderly woman stood with me complaining about the weather and for once I wished I could do more than nod my head and say, "mais oui." The next day I went to the doctor, but the recovery was long. I was completely deaf in one ear and mostly deaf in the other. Instead, I heard a high-pitched ringing that nearly drove me mad. I remember wishing I had a gun, so I could blow my brains out. I didn't want to die, I just wanted the ringing to stop.
So, while Paris cultivates an image of romance and urban chicdom, all I think about is it being cold, wet and dirty and making me so sick I was suicidal. I had another ear infection in my early twenties, but not again until this past week. I don't know why I didn't "tough it out" as I usually do with illnesses, but I'm happy for the instincts that had me calling the doctor for an appointment last week. I can't imagine re-living the agony of burst eardrums while trying to take care of my family. As it is, they suffered tremendously without homemade waffles and pancakes, clean laundry and hot lunches. Had Bill not been able to go to the grocery store or fetch take-out pizza, the world might have come to an end, I tell you.
Sartre should have known. Hell isn't other people. Hell is a sick mommy.
It was November of 1990. I was spending that semester of my "college experience" in Brussels, Belgium. Included in the tuition costs were several long weekend trips to various places, and the weekend before Thanksgiving our group headed to Paris.
Now things do not have to go perfectly for me to have a good time. I am very flexible and can make the best of most situations. But in Paris, I was sick, and so even the finest of luxuries would have left me grumpy. The fact that there were no luxuries only made things pure misery. The youth hostel was the worst I'd ever experienced in Europe: no seats on the toilets, no hot water (not even tepid), dubiously clean linens, obviously unclean floors. I had forgotten my blow dryer, so after a frigid shower, I went sightseeing in the gray November chill with a damp head. It is small wonder that after this weekend, I ended up with a double ear infection.
I did have some good moments on this trip. Mass at Notre Dame was lovely, except that I had no idea what they were saying, and I was a bit distracted by all the people. They don't close down the cathedrals for Mass in Europe (not in any that I was in). So the priest might be consecrating the host while half the nation of Japan filters around the altar taking flash photos.
The view from the Eiffel Tower was fantastic, especially at night. But even more impressive was the wind. Buried in an album somewhere are photos of my friends acting like they're about to be blown off the side.
I went to see Huis Clos performed just to say I saw Huis Clos performed. It's a good thing I had read the play, because I don't speak much French. In fact, I really only practiced two sentences much to my French teacher's annoyance: Je ne parle pas français and Avez vous un briquet?
I remember purchasing some trinket from a street vendor. He "didn't have any change", though, so he suggested I select another item (I was 19, okay? One is permitted to be gullible when one is that young). I picked a black, leather whip, because I thought it was funny.
We went to the Louvre, but all I really remember is running running running. We must not have had much time. I remember seeing how small the Mona Lisa is, and I think I found the Venus de Milo, but everything else is a blur. Can you really appreciate art while dashing by?
We returned to Brussels a few days before Thanksgiving and the one American professor invited us all to his home for Thanksgiving dinner. I was still plodding through my illness, thinking any day I would start to feel better. Somehow I found enough energy to participate in a game of touch football that afternoon, but by the time I got to the professor's house for dinner, my head was throbbing, and then my ear drums burst. Both of them.
I left before the turkey was carved and stood in the rain waiting for a tram. An elderly woman stood with me complaining about the weather and for once I wished I could do more than nod my head and say, "mais oui." The next day I went to the doctor, but the recovery was long. I was completely deaf in one ear and mostly deaf in the other. Instead, I heard a high-pitched ringing that nearly drove me mad. I remember wishing I had a gun, so I could blow my brains out. I didn't want to die, I just wanted the ringing to stop.
So, while Paris cultivates an image of romance and urban chicdom, all I think about is it being cold, wet and dirty and making me so sick I was suicidal. I had another ear infection in my early twenties, but not again until this past week. I don't know why I didn't "tough it out" as I usually do with illnesses, but I'm happy for the instincts that had me calling the doctor for an appointment last week. I can't imagine re-living the agony of burst eardrums while trying to take care of my family. As it is, they suffered tremendously without homemade waffles and pancakes, clean laundry and hot lunches. Had Bill not been able to go to the grocery store or fetch take-out pizza, the world might have come to an end, I tell you.
Sartre should have known. Hell isn't other people. Hell is a sick mommy.
Saturday, April 05, 2008
Friday, April 04, 2008
New Month's Resolution for April
Through the miracle of 20th century medicine, I am feeling much better. Thank you all for your kind words and prayers.
A little late this month, but I haven't been doing much these last few days anyway: I bring you this month's resolution: get stuff out of my house.
First I have six packages that need to be mailed. I'll need my helpers just to get in the post office.
Then there's the glass turntable I saved from my microwave when it caught on fire last month (and I didn't even blog about that little excitement). I think I could sell it on eBay for $10-15 which makes it worth the hassle. I've never sold on eBay before. I need to either do it, or get rid of it.
Then I have several piles of clothes I've set aside for people I know with younger boys. Perhaps the Used Clothing Fairy needs to make some early morning covert drop offs, just so the errand doesn't take an hour.
Then there is the huge pile of kids clothes that are too worn or I don't prefer or that we simply don't need. They must go. And I can't wait to relieve myself of the onerous presence of certain articles of clothing that have seen me through the early post-partum months of several kids. The very sight of them makes me feel fat. If I have another baby, I will get other clothes.
And lastly, there are other things I've been setting aside to donate to the thrift store. These little piles are cluttering various corners of different closets.
If I have time, I'll glean the kids' toys and games, but for now, the main focus is just getting out what is already marked for removal.
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?
A little late this month, but I haven't been doing much these last few days anyway: I bring you this month's resolution: get stuff out of my house.First I have six packages that need to be mailed. I'll need my helpers just to get in the post office.
Then there's the glass turntable I saved from my microwave when it caught on fire last month (and I didn't even blog about that little excitement). I think I could sell it on eBay for $10-15 which makes it worth the hassle. I've never sold on eBay before. I need to either do it, or get rid of it.
Then I have several piles of clothes I've set aside for people I know with younger boys. Perhaps the Used Clothing Fairy needs to make some early morning covert drop offs, just so the errand doesn't take an hour.
Then there is the huge pile of kids clothes that are too worn or I don't prefer or that we simply don't need. They must go. And I can't wait to relieve myself of the onerous presence of certain articles of clothing that have seen me through the early post-partum months of several kids. The very sight of them makes me feel fat. If I have another baby, I will get other clothes.
And lastly, there are other things I've been setting aside to donate to the thrift store. These little piles are cluttering various corners of different closets.
If I have time, I'll glean the kids' toys and games, but for now, the main focus is just getting out what is already marked for removal.
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?
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
Better get me a fainting chair
On Palm Sunday, a boy a few rows behind us fainted during the long Gospel reading. Just in case you didn't know this, locking your knees while standing will make you faint. You never know when that information might be useful. We explained to our children what had happened so that they wouldn't be alarmed.
Billy is struggling with long division. Until it clicks, we're doing basic math worksheets with 6 multiplication problems like 148 x 4 and 6 division problems like 105 / 5. His method of getting through it is to avoid doing it in the hopes that his (still) feverish mother would just quit. So I told him to bring his worksheet and pencil over to my desk to stand by me and complete those final two problems.
He wanted to bring a chair. I said no. This is punishment, by golly.
"But what if I lock my knees and faint," he wailed.
Well, that would be one way to avoid doing your math. One day, I'm sure, one of them will have to try this.
Billy is struggling with long division. Until it clicks, we're doing basic math worksheets with 6 multiplication problems like 148 x 4 and 6 division problems like 105 / 5. His method of getting through it is to avoid doing it in the hopes that his (still) feverish mother would just quit. So I told him to bring his worksheet and pencil over to my desk to stand by me and complete those final two problems.
He wanted to bring a chair. I said no. This is punishment, by golly.
"But what if I lock my knees and faint," he wailed.
Well, that would be one way to avoid doing your math. One day, I'm sure, one of them will have to try this.
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
Please pray...
...for a man at the end of his life.
For a peaceful passing, and for comfort for his friends and family.
For a peaceful passing, and for comfort for his friends and family.
New Month's Resolution for April
Coming soon!
I'm on day 3 of a fever. Perhaps after my cup of tea I'll feel better.
mwah! (just don't breathe that air, okay?)
I'm on day 3 of a fever. Perhaps after my cup of tea I'll feel better.
mwah! (just don't breathe that air, okay?)
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