Free Amazon Prime for Students

I found out tonight that Amazon.com is offering a free year of Amazon Prime for college students! Big Brother will definitely be signing up for this.

You can't miss with this deal.  Pass the info along to any students you know.

A Snuggie for All Seasons

Whoever thought that Snuggies were just for winter use has never met Little Brother.

It's nice to have air conditioning, especially with the weather this hot. But the family room (on the lower level of the house) gets pretty chilly when the air's on. If we turn it down, it's too toasty in the bedrooms upstairs.

So Little Brother has come in from the pool, dried off, and refuses to put on a shirt. Instead, he's wrapped his chilly self in his Snuggie and is happily sitting on the floor with a big bag of grapes.

He's making quite the fashion statement with his Snuggie and his "goggle tan."

Keeping an Eye on Things

With the pool in the yard up, running and, as predicted, attracting all the neighborhood kids (as well as some who live outside our zip code), I am in full Multitasking Mom mode. That means that in addition to being Kool-Aid Mom, Towel Mom (but only for people who live here), Snack Mom, and Referee Mom, I'm also Lifeguard Mom.

As I'm not much of a swimmer, that takes some doing.

It's not too hard when Little Brother and his friends are in the pool, since it's always daylight then. But in the after-dark hours when Middle Sister has friends over, things get a little more complicated.

I'm not sure that the outdoor lighting we have is going to do the job. We've got one little bulb on the back porch that barely lights up the porch, and one floodlight that's great for the fire pit area (though with this hot, dry weather we've banned fires for the time being, much to the Boy Scouts' chagrin.) I'd love to hang about ten of these around the perimeter of the back porch, so no matter where in the yard (or pool) the kids hang out, it would be bright as day.  I wouldn't even have to turn on the lights--the motion sensors would do it for me.

Yeah, I'd be popular with the neighbors (about as popular as I'd be with the teenagers.)  But that's a small price for me to pay to have peace of mind!

Disclaimer: The FTC requires me to tell you that this post is related to an upcoming review for which I will be compensated with a free product.

Book Review: Saint Clare - beyond the legend

One thing that was lacking in my formation as a Secular Franciscan was learning anything about Saint Clare.  As the first woman Franciscan, certainly there are many ways in which she can inspire those who wish to follow in the footsteps of the saint.  But I hadn't had much of an opportunity to learn about her life.

Author Marco Bartoli dissects the writings of early Franciscan biographer Thomas of Celano, who wrote a life of Clare as well as much about Francis and the Franciscan.  In Saint Clare - beyond the legend, Bartoli describes the differences in how Clare is depicted in various works by the same author.

This book is not a "birth to death" biography of Saint Clare, but instead a topical treatment of her life.  Some topics include Penitence, Conversion, War and Peace, and the Papacy.  This is a scholarly book; it demands attention and concentration (and sometimes a dictionary!)  It draws on history, both secular and sacred, as well as etymology and spirituality.

I'd recommend this book to readers who are interested in learning more about a fascinating Franciscan woman and who want to avoid "fluff" in favor of meatier reading.

This review was written as part of The Catholic Company product reviewer program. Visit The Catholic Company to find more information on Saint Clare - beyond the legend. I received a review copy of this book, but no other compensation, for the purposes of this review.

A Good Deal

It always gives me a little lift when I get a great deal on something. And today's Walgreen shopping trip: SCORE!
I did this in two transactions so I could roll over some Register Rewards on the second purchase.

First purchase:
3 10-packs Papermate pens, 19 cents each
3 5-packs Papermate automatic pencils, 19 cents each
1 Milky Way, 49 cents (with store coupon)
1 pack looseleaf reinforcements, on clearance for 60 cents
Gillette Fusion razor, on sale for 9.89

less a $4 coupon for that razor brought the total to:  8.97 with tax.

And I got a $5 Register Reward, which I rolled over to buy:

1 4-cup coffeemaker for Big Brother to take to college, on sale for $7.99.  After that $5 RR, I paid $3.55 out of pocket for the coffeepot.

My total OOP was  $12.52

My total savings including Register Reward, manufacturer coupon, and store sale was $18.19

Except for the Milky Way (mine!) and the reinforcements (needed for my sheet music for church), all of that went right into Big Brother's Box of Stuff to Take to College.  Not bad!

Happy Birthday, America!

We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal; that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights; that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

Take that statistic with a grain of salt

I've been going through some back issues of magazines this evening, since the recycling truck will be by next week and I need to get them out of the living room. Of course, I want to grab the recipes and coupons out of the magazines before I pitch them.

In the process, I skimmed a few articles I'd missed the first time through. And I noticed just how much magazines love statistics. "Recent studies show," or phrases like it, regularly appear in sidebars.

It takes a little discernment to deal with those statistics. If 31% of women prefer perfume as a birthday present, that means that 69% don't. But it's the 31% that gets the column inches, because that number proves some point.

Magazines seem to be about as reliable as Wikipedia when it comes to real information. Sure, they're entertaining; they sometimes have good tips, great recipes and, of course, coupons. But do a little fact-checking on your own before you believe a lot of what you read.

Overheard

in my family room:

Middle Sister's friend: "Hey, can I get on facebook from this computer?"

Middle Sister: "Sure."

Me: "Hey, if you're on facebook in here, you've gotta keep it friendly."

Middle Sister's friend: "What does that mean?"

(Sheesh.)

Middle Sister's other friend: "That means you can't say any mean stuff."

Me: "Right, and keep it G-rated, guys."

It might be time to install that keystroke logger...

The Kool-Aid Mom and the Kid Magnet

So here we are, 10 days into summer vacation for Little Brother, 17 for Middle Sister, and 6 business days into summer job for Big Brother.

Summer's getting old already, I have to say.

TheDad is home from work this week and the big project has been the installation of an above-ground swimming pool, AKA Kid Magnet.

That makes me the Kool-Aid Mom.

The pool's not quite up and running just yet; we need electricity for the filter and the ladder is not assembled completely. But already the neighborhood kids are looking to swim.

One of the eighth-grade Boy Scouts who hangs around here in the hopes that one of Middle Sister's friends will visit has already threatened promised that he'd be here swimming often. Oh, joy. Between the pool, the fire pit, and the never-ending supply of eighth-grade girls, there's plenty to attract those Boy Scouts.

And then there are the Three Musketeers who live down the street, whose number includes Adventure Boy. I imagine that once the pool opens, they'll be here with nothing but a bathing suit (no shoes, no shirt, no towel) and expect to stay the day. Every day. If I let them swim on nice days, can I ask them to stay home when it rains?

Advice on a pool-rules policy would be most welcome. (I've already decided that if you live on this block and you show up without a towel, you can go home and get it.) Of course, invited nonswimmers need to bring their own parent and flotation devices.

I like that my kids are playing here and they want to invite their friends over. But the under-18 crowd needs to be supervised (the 14-year-olds even more so than the 8-year-olds, for different reasons) and that can be plenty exhausting.

How many more weeks until school starts?

A Final Resting Place

Little Brother wandered outside to kick his soccer ball, but came running in after only a minute or two. "Big Brother, you ran over a bird," he declared.

Big Brother hadn't driven anywhere today, and we hadn't seen a dead bird in the driveway earlier (though three birds have flown into the front window already today. They could make one of those Windex commercials here!)

Middle Sister convinced Little Brother that since Big Brother will be off to college soon, Little Brother is going to have to be "the man of the house." So he grabbed Big Brother's army shovel from the back seat of his car (do I want to know why that's there?) and set out on a bird-removal mission.

The next thing I knew, Little Brother was walking toward the house, carefully balancing a dead sparrow on the end of the shovel blade. "Don't bring it in here," we yelled.

Middle Sister told him to put the bird under the big tree out front and bury it. Instead, Little Brother dumped the bird under the bird feeder and tossed a couple of shovelfuls of mulch on top of it, then banged on the whole thing a few times with the shovel.

Lovely. Just wait until the mailman trips over it tomorrow.

Going Underground

We got some new furniture for the living room last week. I've been getting used to it (translation: I've been falling asleep in the new love seat a lot). But what has taken even more getting used to is the fact that my desk no longer fits into the living room.

Middle Sister, you see, talked me into investing in a "chair and a half" which is about the size of the old love seat. Plus we got a love seat and a couch. There's lots of seating in that room now, which is great. But there's no room for my desk.

That's OK, in a way...I like that the living room seems less cluttered without my desk. But putting it in the family room means that I am right in the middle of all the action--rather than close to the action, where I can see and hear it, but not in a spot where Nerf basketballs regularly rebound off my laptop screen (note to self: close laptop when not in use).

Summer's coming--two kids are already out of school and Little Brother only has three half-days left. I'm not yet used to having kids at home during the day--and the combination of one child who leaves the radio on in one room and the TV on in another, which happens to be the room I'm in, and another child's musical experimentation with a homemade didgeridoo is making me crazy. I can hardly wait to add an eight-year-old boy, who's in motion so much that he's blurry in nearly every picture he poses for, to the mix.

I'm jealous of Barb's "teacher's meetings" at Panera. I think I'm going to have to work in one of those every week or so. Middle Sister can babysit, since Big Brother starts work on Monday. (What are the odds that he'll be taking that didgeridoo with him?)

We have an empty desk in the basement that my husband was going to use for his home business. He doesn't use it--ever. So I may be taking my laptop downstairs, at least to get my work done (see "Blogging for Coupons" in the sidebar). I'll see how that goes.

What Kids Think About in Church

Grownups are not the only ones prone to distraction in church. Case in point:

As Father H began his homily today, he mentioned that he was going to use a Really Big Word: Transubstantiation. Little Brother's eyes opened wide. That's a BIG word! I grabbed a pen and wrote it on the front of his "Magnifikid" so he could see just how big it is.

He pondered the word for a few seconds, then poked Big Brother to show it to him. Then he appeared to be sitting and listening nicely--until he tapped me on the arm and whispered, "Do cones have vertices?"

Hermit would be a better word

Middle Sister has this pet peeve: she can't stand to be around anyone else when they're chewing. Little Brother with bubble gum can chase her out of a room in record time.

Mealtimes are not pretty around here with all of this going on.

Right now Little Brother is eating a toasted bagel. Middle Sister flew off the handle again: "You chew so weird! I can't stand it."

I commented, "You know, it's going to be really hard for you to live with other people when you grow up if you're going to be like that."

Little Brother suggested, "Maybe she'll be a nun!"

Orientation

Now that graduation's out of the way, Big Brother and I are heading over to LaSalle on Monday for orientation. Yes--this early. That's good, I guess; it will help me to get his shopping list together.

It's been a long time since I went to college--almost 30 years--yikes. And students' needs have changed in those 30 years. So if you have any kids in college or have recently been there yourself, what are some things he'll need--or need to ask about?

So far on my list to find out:
--what stores are in the shopping center across the street from campus? I know there's a branch of the bank that we use at home, so that makes cash-flow stuff easy. I think there's a drugstore, some sort of supermarket, and a few others.
--twin sheets, or twin XL?
--does his cell phone work in the college buildings? (Does anyone's? Do we need to switch providers?)
--what furniture is provided in each dorm room?
--does he need his own tp, cleaning supplies, etc?
--does he need his own printer for his laptop? Or are there school printers around for student use? If so, how does that work?
--what cooking items are allowed in the dorms? What ones are available for common use?

And I've got Barbara's pack-for-college list to work from, so that's a big help.

Mom Gets Sentimental

It's Graduation Day, which ranks right up there behind flu season and the DVD release of a tearjerker chick flick in total tissue sales.

This is the first of two graduations in our family in a span of eight days, so the tissues will be in short supply indeed.

Tonight Big Brother will graduate high school and will be launched into the big, exciting, and even a little scary world of college and beyond. I couldn't be more thrilled.

He'll be attending LaSalle University in the fall, which I believe is a wonderful choice for him. When we went to the school's open house, I was impressed by the level of personal attention the students and prospective students received. I don't want my kid falling through the cracks, and I loved the environment the university created. The university's neighborhood, not so much...I'll worry about that part of it, but moms need something to worry about.

Big Brother has really grown a lot during his school career. During his primary-school years, he was a very cautious kid. He wasn't one to take risks or go on "scary" amusement-park rides. And when presented with a choice of doing two fun things that happened to be mutually exclusive due to schedule constraints, he'd agonize over which thing to pick.

This same kid was voted "Most Likely to Become a Pirate" by the senior class. On the class trips, he rode every roller coaster at least once. There's a full-page picture of him in the yearbook dangling from a rock-climbing wall, and he's learned that he loves whitewater rafting and canoeing.  He took flying lessons for a while, earned his Eagle Scout rank, and in the span of one short year learned to play the guitar well enough to secure a music ministry scholarship for college.  Now he's working on the mandolin, bass, and banjo, and is figuring out how to build his own didgeridoo.  (I don't know if that one's going to college with him, though!)

Over the years, Big Brother has grown in many ways.  His lawn-mowing skills have progressed from decapitating a forgotten Fisher-Price person to completely shredding the cap to our sewer-drain cleanout pipe, as well as at least one tennis ball.   His artistic achievements include stamping, in 6-foot letters in the snow, "PANTS ON THE GROUND" in front of his school (yes, that made the yearbook too).   He has built couch-cushion "bunkers," snow forts, cardboard-box forts for Little Brother and for his own friends when they participated in the 30-Hour Famine, Homecoming floats, stage sets, and Habitat houses in Philadelphia and post-Katrina Mississippi.   He has made toast over the flame of an Advent candle and helped his Boy Scout troop win the Iron Camp Chef competition.

I'm very proud of Big Brother and looking forward to seeing what the next few years will hold for him.  I'm going to miss him when he is off at school, but I'm very excited for him at the same time.  (And think of all the money I'll save when I don't have to constantly stock up on pretzels and Dr. Pepper!)  Congratulations to him and to the whole class of 2010!

Happy?

I am mystified by all the people who have wished others "Happy Memorial Day" on facebook, twitter, store signs and more.

This is not the kind of holiday I think of in the same vein as Halloween, Thanksgiving, Easter, or New Year's.

Like Veteran's Day, it is a day to remember service and sacrifice. And while it is absolutely right to celebrate the fact that so many in this country have been willing to serve--even to the point of the ultimate sacrifice--so that all of us Americans, no matter who we are, can enjoy the same freedoms, it is wrong to celebrate without remembering.

People died in the service of this country. That's what today is all about--that's who we are remembering.

Is it a happy day? Yes, because we are able to enjoy those hard-earned freedoms. But that happiness is bittersweet. It came at a great personal price for a great many people. When the flag passed you by at the parade today, carried by proud veterans, did you bother getting up from your chair and saluting or clapping or singing along to the band playing "God Bless America?" An awful lot of people at the parade I attended couldn't be bothered.

So I'm just not sure that "Happy Memorial Day" is the way I want to be greeted.

Sigh

It's Prom night for Big Brother.

Due to a multiple-schedule conflict, I am unable to attend "Promenade," the two-hour-plus pre-prom event at his school. I was not invited to stop at the house where the bus that his group of friends rented would be picking them all up.

So I have no pictures. I wasn't even here to see him leave.

I hope he remembered the flowers--the ones I had to order yesterday because he hadn't remembered the flowers.

I was hoping to be able to show up at his school around the time that the prom bus did, so I could at least see him and his friends as they headed in the door.

For that, I have to depend on a text message from my son regarding the timing of said arrival. I haven't gotten that text yet. And I have to go get Little Brother at his friend's house in 15 minutes, get him and Middle Sister fed, and then take Little Brother to the cemetery where the Cub Scouts will be placing flags to honor veterans, in advance of Memorial Day.

Big Brother doesn't seem to care that I'll be missing this. He seems to prefer it. And I can understand that, because I'm like him, playing many things close to the vest--especially big rites of passage.

However, now that I'm on the other side of the fence, I know just how hurt my parents were when I excluded them, in whatever way, from my own rites of passage.

Growing up is tough. Even when you're 44.

Reconsidered

So I'm working on a spotlight article on the Power Wheels Escalade for the product blog I write over at The New Parents Guide. It'll be live on Thursday.

And I wanted to think of a catchy title.  Those are important in this line of work.

However, I didn't think it was a wise move to go with my first idea.  Something tells me that it's not smart to title a post on a baby-products blog "Pimp My Ride."

It's just a hunch...

More Study Needed

I'm not sure Little Brother has a future ahead of him as a meteorologist.

"There's a 40% chance of rain today," he told us this morning. "Mom, how much percent do you think it's going to rain?"

Middle Sister told him that it doesn't work that way, but he's insisting that the possibility of rain is somehow related to the percentage of people who think it's going to.

So Much for Idealism

There's a song from the musical Barnum that goes, in part:

Bigger isn't better,
Taller isn't smarter,
Stronger isn't always wise.

It's a lesson I've always tried to teach my kids--all of whom started out as little "peanuts."

But last night my kids learned, without a shadow of a doubt, that the one with the memory foam pillow wins the pillow fight.

Suddenly, it all makes sense

Little Brother is on his third lunchbox of this school year, and I'm hoping it will make it through four more weeks.

He doesn't lose them; he beats them to death.

And I had no idea how that was happening, until yesterday. When I arrive for my library volunteer time, the primary and intermediate age groups are out playing after lunch. I always go onto the playground and get a hug from Little Brother before heading into the school.

Yesterday they were playing kickball. It looked like a fun game, and I was watching Little Brother as he had his turn to kick. Another boy was jumping up and down on first base--also known as little Brother's lunchbox.

That explains it.

Guess I'll be buying lunchboxes in bulk next year.

Translation, Please

What the Panera "barista" says when she hands you a latte with no lid on it: "I'll just pass you the lid. This way you can enjoy the beauty of the latte."

What she means: "I put too much whipped cream on this latte, and I won't be able to put the lid on without making a huge mess and spilling all over the place. I'll let it be your problem."

Honestly. "The beauty of the latte?!" Yes, for $3.59 it had better be beautiful. But don't think I'm snowed by all that. I'm happy if it tastes good (and doesn't make a mess.)

Communion Practice

Poor Little Brother.

Since his First Holy Communion weekend (May 1) he has only received Communion twice--once on First Friday and again on Ascension Thursday.

On Mother's Day, he sat with the folk group at church. He was very well-behaved and sang along enthusiastically. But in our parish, the musicians receive Communion last. It was the last Mass of the weekend, and they ran out of hosts. Or as Big Brother put it, "They ran out of Jesus."

The deacon apologized after Mass; he said that by the time they realized they had to start breaking the hosts in half, it was too late for the ten or so of us in the choir who still needed to receive.

I felt a little deprived myself; it was Mother's Day, after all.

Then this Sunday, Little Brother had a fever, so we pulled a "Divide and Conquer." TheDad and Middle Sister attended Mass at a different time. So once again, no Communion for Little Brother (though he did read the readings in his Magnifikid.)

I hope it will work out for him this weekend, though I am a little nervous about what will happen when he goes to receive from the cup. At the parish where he attends school, the wine is suspiciously like grape juice; at the parish where we generally attend on Sundays, it's definitely wine. He has practiced receiving from the cup at school, but I'm wondering if there's going to be a grimace when he tastes the wine at our parish!

That's a Relief

I went for that followup mammogram this morning and the radiologist gave me the results right then and there. I'm fine. Everything is normal. Come back next year for my regularly-scheduled scan.

So it's all back to what passes for normal around here--shuttling kids around, avoiding dust bunnies, trying to clean off my desk, and ordering a pizza for dinner tonight because the kitchen-sink drain is pouring water into the cabinet below.

Fortunately, we keep our "recycle bucket" there, so the only thing that got wet was a bunch of empty cans. Now there's an empty bucket there. But hey, it's an excuse not to cook (or clean up) when I'm feeling lazy. Yes, I have called for a plumber.

Just Routine

Last week I went for my routine annual GYN visit. The doctor sent me along for a routine mammogram and an ultrasound to follow up on a few minor issues related to January's surgery.

I've had a mammogram before, so I knew what to expect. And I didn't expect to worry. I was more concerned about the ultrasound, especially when the technician called in a second technician to view the images.

But today I had put all of it out of my mind. I got everyone off to school. I made my grocery list, went to daily Mass, stopped at Dunkin' Donuts to get my free iced coffee, then went food shopping. As I opened the front door juggling my keys, purse and half a cup of iced coffee, I heard the phone ringing and dropped the coffee just inside the door.

It was the imaging center, calling to let me know that I needed to schedule a followup mammogram as well as a breast ultrasound. And I get to wait until Friday to have this done--and who knows how long before I'll have the results.

Good luck putting that out of my mind.

I think my new rosary will be getting quite the workout these next few days!

The Real Thing

Grabbing the milk when we were ready to sit down to dinner, I noticed some writing on the red cap. After I poured my glass of milk I flipped over the cap to read it.

"Organic."

"Drat, I bought organic milk," I complained, turning the milk bottle around to see if the label matched the cap. (It did.)

"So what's wrong with that?" Big Brother inquired.

"I paid twice as much for the same gallon of milk," I explained.

He responded, "At least you know it came from real cows."

Beetles and Orchids

Like Barbara, I am not much of a flowers person.

Must go with the name.

But yesterday morning, when I was heading outside to put my guitar, my music bag, and the amplifier and electric bass that Big Brother is borrowing into the car so we'd be ready to leave for church, I found a little box sitting next to the front door.

A pink paper was sticking out of it.

The box contained an orchid corsage, and the paper was a homemade card featuring a colorful flower and Herbie "The Love Bug" and signed "Sincerely Adventure Boy your god son."

Adventure Boy thinks that Herbie is the coolest EVER. He's been Herbie for Halloween, and his cars in the last two Pinewood Derbies have both been Herbie variations.  So it's no surprise that Herbie was featured on my card.

I'm not a flowers person, but I proudly wore that corsage to Mass and to the diner afterward, because it was so sweet of Adventure Boy, my godson, to tiptoe over here early in the morning and leave it for me.  I think the real treasure is the card, though.

Shiny New Learning Curve

Happy Mother's Day!

I had little doubt in my mind that my family would give me a Mother's Day gift of some electronic item. There's a history here...it's either electronics or a gift card.

My husband went a lot overboard this year and presented me with a shiny new laptop. Brand-spanking-new with a whole different operating system and everything. Hello, Windows 7!

I was instructed to go to the store sometime soon and purchase a book about how to use Windows 7. My husband has dealt with my frustration over learning new operating sytems in the past (cough, cough...Windows XP...Windows 98...Windows 95...) and while he loves giving techie gifts, he doesn't love it when I'm stuck in that learning curve.

Right now he is in the middle of backing up all my pictures and documents and what-have-you from the old computer, which my mom will inherit. I, on the other hand, am getting used to a keyboard with things in different places (where are you, DELETE key?) and these flat keys. Ooops. I keep hitting the wrong things and turning on the caps lock when I want the shift, and...oh my, what are THOSE keys for?

If I'm late for tomorrow's routine mammogram, it's because I was busy playing.

Question du Jour

Sometimes on my way to church for daily Mass, I hear the readings of the day on Sirius/XM radio's Catholic Channel.

And then I get to church, and I hear the same first reading, same responsorial pslam, and a completely different Gospel.

If it happened just once in a blue moon, I'd think that Father had just turned one page too many in the Lectionary. Mistakes happen, after all. But I'm beginning to suspect, as one of the Blues Brothers band members famously observed, "these lights are off on purpose." Father's reading a certain Gospel because he wants to.

This only happens at weekday Masses. And based on the homily that's delivered after the Gospel reading, he came prepared to read that Gospel and preach about it afterward.

But it's kind of weird, and it definitely bothers me. I just don't know what to do with it. Just attend daily Mass at some other parish? Speak to the pastor, who hardly ever celebrates daily Mass at our church, leaving Father to his own devices each morning? Just let it go?

Spiritual Exercise

All that recuperating I've been doing this year hasn't been so great for my waistline. So with the beautiful weather today, I knew that I had to just get out and get walking.

Walking by itself, though, is pretty boring. Unfortunately, there's no one around to be my walking buddy, so I decided that this would be a good opportunity for me to get caught up on the podcasts I keep downloading but don't always get a chance to listen to. So I grabbed a string bag to hold my cell phone, ID, house key and iPod, as well as a bottle of water, and I cued up a two-week-old edition of Among Women, since I've gotten a little behind in listening lately.

Boy, did I luck out. Pat Gohn began the podcast with a discussion about St. Bernadette--how appropriate that I'm listening to her story in May, the month of Mary! And then I got to hear an interview with Laraine Bennett, whose books on temperament are both fascinating and useful. In fact, I want to dive back into them, because I think that a little refresher course will help me understand my kids better. A little awareness of temperament is a really good thing in family relationships.

So now, I'm looking forward to tomorrow's walk! I wonder what I'll get to hear next.

Sarah's on the same page as me--last week she had a guest blogger, the author of The Rosary Workout. Sounds intriguing--especially in May!

A Sick Sense of Humor

Someone at Fox29 in Philadelphia has a pretty sick sense of humor. I love it!

When the local news returns after a commercial break, they play a quick clip of a song while showing video of some local sight--a park, William Penn atop City Hall, someone rowing on the Schuylkill River.

A few minutes ago they played a bit of Van Halen's "Jump!" while panning the camera up a large building with many balconies on the side. Turns out they were watching a goose that was pacing up and down the railing of one of the balconies on an upper floor.

I have the feeling we'll be seeing more of this goose this morning, unless he flies away before the news show goes off the air. The anchors have been speculating on whether he'll poop on anyone walking on the sidewalk below. Lovely.

A Little Chant

You might think that just because I play guitar in church, my favorite religious music consists of tunes like "They'll Know We Are Christians By Our Love" and "Abba, Father."

You'd be wrong. (Actually, I'm not a big fan of either of those tunes, and I call them "tunes" on purpose. There's much better church music for guitar out there.)

One hymn that really sticks with me is the Salve Regina. I learned it in college; Father Campbell, the chaplain, held Night Prayer and Benediction each Sunday night. He "guilted" a few of us campus-ministry "folk groupies" into going, so that there'd be somebody there.

Father Campbell was smart. He knew that he'd only have to use the guilt trip once or twice. After that, we were hooked--we wanted to be there.

Having grown up on guitar Masses, Sunday Night Prayer was the first time I ever heard Gregorian chant. We concluded Night Prayer with the Salve Regina. It is so simple, spare but beautiful. I know all the words, and I love to pray it by singing it.

In honor of Mary's month, here is the Salve Regina:


Thanks go to Barb at Praying for Grace, who is hosting a whole month of Marian topics on her blog.

Blessed!

Today, Little Brother received his First Holy Communion. He has been waiting and waiting and waiting for this day. And I was pleased to see that Father put this day into excellent perspective.

At the beginning of Mass and during the homily, Father reminded everyone that today is a very special day for the Church. The boys and girls who received their First Holy Communion today are welcomed--and always welcome. They are welcoming Jesus into their hearts and lives, and they are following the words of Jesus, "Do this in remembrance of Me."

I noticed that Father was careful not to tell the children (and their parents) that this is their special day. It seems that he doesn't buy into that kind of thing. WTG Father!

He also began his homily by talking about how bread has many forms: bread, rolls, bagels, donuts...and how even though the Host looks like just another form of bread, it is not bread--it is Jesus. We can't see the change happen during the Consecration, but we believe that it does.

I'm thankful for Father's words today (and his words last night as he helped the children with their last-minute preparations at practice.) I'm thankful for Little Brother's wonderful teacher who had her class on fire to receive the sacraments this year. Those kids were ready, and they knew what to do. You could pick the parochial-school kids out of the lineup at practice last night, because they were the ones who knew that the correct response to the words "The Body of Christ" was not just to stand there with their hands at their sides, but to say "Amen" and joyfully receive the Lord.

God bless Little Brother and all of this season's First Communicants!

We Don't Want Any

...nanny state, that is.

I'm getting tired of the government's efforts to protect people from their own stupidity.

Michelle discusses a California law that removes toys from the Happy Meals. Because the TOY is what causes child obesity. Uh huh. Who knew toys had that many calories?

And here in New Jersey, they've passed a law that few people want--one that makes young drivers a target for police profiling as well as criminals who prey on young people--in a misguided effort to keep inexperienced drivers from hurting too many people.

My son already has a "Cinderella" license, as a first-year driver. He has to be in by midnight. Now, Kyleigh's Law will require him, until he's had his license for one year or turns 21 (whichever comes first), to be in by 11. He will also be allowed ONE passenger in the car, unless a parent is present, at which point he can have as many people as he has seat belts in the car. This means he can't have both his siblings in the car at once. So much for his ability to pick them up at school if I'd need him to! Sorry, not allowed! He's got to show that he's a new driver by displaying a special sticker on his license plates, stickers that we have to pay extra for AND make a special trip to get. These same stickers will identify him as a new driver to police, and as a teenager to criminals and predators. This is especially disturbing to any parents with daughters!

This law is supposed to help discourage behind-the-wheel cell-phone use as well. Now I realize that teens are heavy phone users, but sit near a traffic light sometime and see just how many adults are on their phones while they're driving. Check those soccer moms leaving the athletic fields and texting dinner plans behind the wheel. Bet there's no limit to how many kids they can have in the car while they use their phones. After all, they're over 21.

What's next? No listening to the radio while driving? No refereeing squabbling kids? No eating McDonald's french fries? (Wait, I forgot, that's probably already against the law.)

Unsettling

While I don't generally put much stock in dream interpretation, there's no argument that some dreams can really unsettle a person.

Normally the dreams that stick with me are the ones in which I am annoyed by something a family member is doing. Then I spend the day trying not to be annoyed at that family member for something they hadn't done in real life.

Last night's dream was weird, though. (Aren't they all? But this was stranger than usual.) I dreamed that something bad had happened to a faraway friend. I'm fuzzy on the details, but not on who the friend was. Anyway, in my dream, I traveled there to be there for my friend--and for some reason, brought along an entourage of around 8 people with me. I can't remember who those people were, but it was a strange combination.

I know I'm going to spend the day wondering if all is well with my friend.

Adventure Boy, the Franciscan

Adventure Boy, Little Brother and two other Boys From Down the Street are playing outside. One of the boys was smacking at a spider on the swingset.

"Stop killing bugs," Adventure Boy instructed him. "Those are not your bugs. Those are God's nature."

Translation, Please

To a mom, the phrase "tidy up the family room" means things like: pick up your toys off the floor, put away the video-game controllers, and put books back in the bookcase.

To Little Brother, the same phrase means: get a big piece of clear package-sealing tape, stick it on the (finished-wood) toy box, and write on it, in silver Sharpie, "Basketball place." Then put the basketball on the floor in front of this label.

It Does Take a Village to Raise a Child

Lest you think I am in any kind of agreement with Hillary Clinton on this subject, I am not. A more accurate rephrasing of Mrs. Clinton's position would be that it takes a state to raise a child. And I'll never buy that.

The village, however, is another matter. Now that Big Brother is 18 and getting all set for his high-school graduation and enrollment at LaSalle University, I've been reflecting upon everything that the village has done, and meant, for him--and for me as his mother.

In our world, the village (outside our own immediate and extended families) is composed of three parts: church, school, and Scouts. In no case did we abdicate our parental responsibility and leave church, school, and Scouts to pick up the pieces. But church, school, and Scouts influenced our son, and our parenting, in many ways. All three were truly part of his growing up.

At church, Big Brother learned about sacrifice and about ministry. He grew up watching me particpate in music ministry; he was an altar server during his middle-school years, and in the past year he's gotten quite involved in music ministry himself. He plays in the folk group at our church, in the contemporary group at another church (with his friends) and at school. He'll continue that next year. He's gone from a cautious beginner at guitar to being unafraid to tote that same guitar, as well as a mandolin and a harmonica, to church--and he's learning as he goes. All of this would not be possible without the acceptance and welcoming spirit of the adults in our folk group. They know that you have to start somewhere. They know that teens are the future of the Church. So they make sure to nurture the gifts of any teen who wants to sing or play with us.

Big Brother is completing his thirteenth year at Catholic school. He's had more than his share of outstanding teachers who are there for the love of it--they're certainly not there for the salary! He's been challenged and inspired, and he's definitely the better for it. He's part of a school community in which the principal will hear of a kindness a student has done for a teacher or staff member--and take the time to send that student a handwritten thank-you note.

At Scouts, from the time he was a first-grader in that Tiger-Scout t-shirt right up until he earned his Eagle Scout rank, he has been challenged to live up to the high ideals of Scouting:
A Scout is trustworty, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean and reverent.
He's encountered many committed leaders whose own sons are long done with Scouting--but who give up several hours each week (and one weekend a month for camping) to pass along these ideals to the next generation of boys.

Without this village, our son would not be where he is today--and neither would we, because his village is our village. We are thankful to be part of it--and hope that we can be a part of someone else's village as well.

The Things Moms Put Up With

(and wouldn't have any other way)

Little Brother and our two backyard neighbors are playing some kind of complicated imaginary game involving pretend "ships" and lots of writing on my husband's enormous whiteboard.

I have just been instructed to pretend I'm on the "black ship" and that I don't see Little Brother (who's wearing a really bright yellow T-shirt) as he sneaks around the house. So I sat here, reading and enjoying my coffee, and pretended to ignore him as he crept up close to me and pantomimed a hit over my head.

"Wait a minute, did you just murder me?" I had to ask.

Like it's so reassuring when he told me that he wasn't killing me, just hitting me over the head.

Thanks for that.

Senior-Mom-itis

Two of my kids will be graduating this year: one from high school, the other from eighth grade. And I've got Senior-Mom-itis.

Both my graduates have senioritis pretty badly. My daughter's teachers aren't helping; there's not much homework being assigned these days. And once Big Brother made the commitment to accept the very generous scholarships offered him by LaSalle University, it was like a switch had been flipped.

Turn him over--he's done.

I'm just as bad. Today is report-card-and-conference day at his school. They don't mail these report cards home; parents must show up at school and pick them up. If they want to, they can have a short conference with any of their child's teachers as well. I usually take advantage of that. There's almost never a problem, but it is nice to go in there and hear nice things about my kid from several teachers. Conference day is good for my ego.

I think, though, that my ego's going to survive without today's conferences. Big Brother has three A's and one B in his four classes. He's only got six weeks more of school. He's done. And I'm done. I'm proud of his hard work and thrilled that he's been accepted into a good college and rewarded for his studies and other commitments. So I'm going to pick up his good report card, thank the secretary who's handing them out at the door, and head back home.

Discretion is the better part of motherhood

Otherwise known as: You've got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em."

Things I'd like to say to my daughter's friend, but don't: "If you're that interested in the clothespins that you've got them hanging from your ears, perhaps you'd like to take the laundry down from the line and fold it neatly."

Things I'd rather not have to say to my daughter's other friend, but do, since he's a neighbor and I've picked him up at school once in the past 2 weeks, in the pouring rain, because of a foot injury: "Don't you have a sore foot? Should you be doing barefoot gymnastics?"

Truer Words Were Never Spoken

"Little Brother, if you had just gone up to take your shower when Mom told you to, instead of whining and arguing about it, you'd already be clean and back down here playing."

"No, I wouldn't! I'm just getting started!"

Overheard

"Little Brother, why did you want to sleep in our room last night? Did you have a bad dream?"

"No, but I was about to."

The "Easter Fast"

Father H. mentioned at Mass the other day that we are coming up on the time of the "Easter Fast." That term was a new one on me. He explained that this fast begins after the Mass of the Lord's Supper this evening and extends until the beginning of Saturday evening's Easter Vigil. But it is not the same as our Lenten fast, in which we might give up chocolate or fast food or (gasp!) coffee.

Instead, we fast from the celebration of the Eucharist.

Of course, you only notice this if you go to daily Mass. Today is a weird day. It's 9 AM, and I'm feeling like I should be somewhere. Normally at 9 AM, I'm at Mass. I will be at Mass tonight, but my morning is a little off-kilter.

That makes me think about what Jesus' morning must have been like on the very first Holy Thursday. What was he doing? He was preparing to celebrate the Passover meal with his disciples, one of whom would betray him, one of whom would deny him, and many of whom would abandon him. He knew exactly what was going to happen to him, and he was prepared to accept the physical and emotional pain that he would go through.

These Triduum days force us to break out of our routine--even good routines like daily Mass. That's because these days are anything BUT routine, and the Church wants us to realize that.

Blessed Triduum!