The Big Switch

One of the occupational hazards of being a musician at the last Mass in the building on a Sunday is that, every feast of Christ the King, you are enlisted to help switch out the hymnals.  Our hymnals don't contain the extra "daily Mass" sections anyway, so they get this job done on Sunday after the noon Mass when there's a captive audience of musicians and their kids to help with the job (not to mention the deacon's teenage grandson!)

A couple of people wanted to take home a copy of the old hymnal.  That's never a problem, as they're just going to be recycled anyway.  But I observed to a friend, after someone asked us if they could take an old book home, that these hymnals are even more out of date than the hymnal usually is, come Christ the King Sunday.

Our parish has done a commendable job of preparing everyone for the Big Switch, and I don't mean the new hymnals:  the change to the new translation of the Roman Missal.  Once a month, the priests would devote the homily to this topic.  Several workshops were open to the entire parish to explain the translation in detail, review the Scriptural connections, and go over what we can expect beginning next Sunday.

Before Mass yesterday, instead of singing a prelude, we reviewed the new Creed with the assembly.  My observation was that people were good sports about giving it a chance, and there wasn't even any audible stumbling over "consubstantial."

My only issue with the whole thing is a musical one.  Many changes have taken place in the words to the sung acclamations.  Some phrases are added, some subtracted; with the exception of the Great Amen and the Lamb of God, the acclamations needed to be rewritten to accommodate those changes.  I'm only familiar with two settings for the new Mass, and while Mass of God's Promise was done quite well, the retrofit didn't work as nicely with Heritage Mass.  Guess which one we're currently using at our parish?  Sigh...

The folk group I sing with is really going to miss the acclamation that the teenagers in the group call "The Happy Gloria"--the one by the St. Louis Jesuits.  Last I checked, this was not on the slate to be redone in the new form.  It's not our pastor's favorite, because it takes so long to sing, but it really is a happy Gloria.  We just can't help but sing it like we mean it--and isn't that the point of the Gloria, after all?  There have been many times, after singing the last notes of that acclamation, that we musicians have met each others' eyes and just known that we're all thinking the same thing:  we have BEEN TO CHURCH.  We have WORSHIPED.

So I really hope they fix that one, because we haven't found another Gloria that moves us to sing with such gusto that we don't have much voice left for the Responsorial Psalm.

Next weekend, we'll have to pay extra attention.  Musicians, especially, since some of our usual verbal cues might be different.  That's a good thing, though.  Every once in a while, you need to get off auto-pilot and pay attention.  Everyone will have to pay attention, and, for a time, read along.  It'll take time, but we'll get there.  Musically, too.  But most of all, I'll miss that Happy Gloria.

Are the Stars Out Tonight?

So my husband and I went over to the Boy Scout Spaghetti Dinner in 2 separate cars because the Cub Scouts are planning to leave right after spaghetti for an astronomy field trip.

I'd been gone all day, so at dinner, my husband (Mr. Cubmaster) gave me the scoop on the plans for the evening.

"After dinner I'm going over to where they're meeting and I'll make sure everyone has directions and see them off.  Then I'm going to come back here and hang out with the Boy Scout leaders.  Little Brother will be with me because he wants to help with the dinner."  (Translation:  Little Brother wants to hang out with the Big Boys.  And they put up with him, so it's all good.  And sometimes he actually helps, a little.)

So I ate my dinner and enjoyed the '80s music provided by the Troop's own DJs, the Clubmasters.  (Nice job, guys.  I particularly enjoyed "Addicted to Love," for the record.)

I asked my husband, the meteorologist, if this trip was even going to happen.

"It's cloudy," he said.  "There won't be anything to see.  Even if they go, I'm not going."

"What if Little Brother wants to go?"

"I'm not going.  After they all leave, I'll bring Little Brother back here."

OK.  Middle Sister and I finished our food; she visited with her friends among the Scouts and we left.  I wasn't expecting them back for about another hour anyway--and then my cell phone buzzed to signal a new text.

"We're in the middle of nowhere."

Yup.  They went.  Should be interesting to hear all about how that went down.

An Island Never Cries

When I first heard Simon & Garfunkel's "I Am a Rock" I felt an instant connection.  That's me!

A winter's day 
In a deep and dark December; 
I am alone, 
Gazing from my window to the streets below 
On a freshly fallen silent shroud of snow. 
I am a rock, 
I am an island. 

I've built walls, 
A fortress deep and mighty, 
That none may penetrate. 
I have no need of friendship; friendship causes pain. 
Its laughter and its loving I disdain. 
I am a rock, 
I am an island. 
[ Lyrics from: http://www.lyricsfreak.com/s/simon+and+garfunkel/i+am+a+rock_20124809.html ] 
...

I have my books 
And my poetry to protect me; 
I am shielded in my armor, 
Hiding in my room, safe within my womb. 
I touch no one and no one touches me. 
I am a rock, 
I am an island. 

And a rock feels no pain; 
And an island never cries.

Well, except for the poetry part (I prefer fiction, thankyouverymuch.  Failing that, a good cookbook will do.)

Sometimes, though, I find a few chinks in my emotional armor.  Today, I am not a rock.  Or an island.  And there is no perfectly good explanation for that.  I want to be in control of my emotions--and I pretty much knew, the second I woke up today, that such control is beyond my abilities today.

Unfortunately, I do not have the luxury of staying home and sipping tea and finishing the last book in the Hunger Games trilogy today.  It's going to take every ounce of strength I have--plus plenty of strength I do not have--to keep it together today.

It's easier, sometimes, to be an island.  But when you can't, make sure you bring along plenty of tissues.

Things Parents Say

...and an indication that Standards Are Slipping around here:

"When you eat a Hot Pocket in the bathroom, please clean up what you drop on the floor."

Prepositional FAIL

Little Brother misses his brother.  (We all do, really.)  And he doesn't understand that Big Brother gets more nocturnal with each passing year, so when we do get to see Big Brother, he spends half the day sleeping and half the night wide awake while most of the rest of us are sleeping.  Except for Middle Sister, who can be semi-nocturnal when she needs to, being a teenager and all.

The other day, Little Brother was complaining about this.  He said, "I hope that next time Big Brother comes home, he spends more time playing with me, instead of just sleeping around all the time."

The kid had no idea why I nearly drove off the road after he said that.  Bad choice of words, Little Brother.  But it did give me a good laugh.

In Harmony

(I'm in this picture, but I'm not telling where.)

One of my favorite activities in high school was the choir.  We were probably about 60 strong--that's half the school!  I loved the chance to sing in harmony.

We only had 3-part harmony (soprano, second soprano, alto) since my high school was not coed.  I was a second soprano, but over the years I've migrated to alto.  (And I'm not above throwing in a tenor or baritone part now and again, just for the fun of it.)  I do not harbor any illusions of having a solo-quality voice, but I do just fine in a group and I can sustain a harmony line without being near anyone else who's singing that same part.

Right now, I'm thoroughly enjoying a chance to stretch my musical muscles.  Over at the school parish, preparations are under way for a Festival of Lessons and Carols, scheduled for the Tuesday before Christmas. It's a mixed group in many ways.  First of all, we've got soprano, alto, tenor and bass--and a children's chorus.  WOW!  It's amazing to be part of creating that wonderful sound.  We're coming from at least 4 different parishes and at least as many different choirs/ensembles.  There are kids (as young as second grade), teens, college students, young adults, parents with kids of all ages, and empty-nesters.  

Soon, we're bringing in the musical instruments!  And we all come together to make music.

Christmas music is wonderful, and there is a huge repertoire of beautiful Christmas music out there.  As a musician at church, though, I'm pretty much limited to standard carols.  And that's fine--people attending Mass during the Christmas season expect, and should find, those old familiar carols.  It makes things easy when people visit from other parishes, other traditions, or just haven't been to church in a while.  When we play and sing at Mass, we're there to lead people in prayer through song, not to perform for them.

This Festival of Lessons and Carols is a combination of Scripture readings and beautiful music, most of which is not your standard carol.  It's a performance, but don't think for a moment that it is not also worship.

Last year Big Brother played bass at this Festival.  The rest of us came along to be part of the audience.  I loved it and was thrilled to be asked to take part this year (along with Little Brother and Big Brother, who will participate again).

That whole "singing is praying twice" thing?  For me, it's completely true.

I love that we pray before we rehearse, thanking God for the gift of music, for the opportunity to share that gift and to give God honor and glory by using that gift.  (That's the gist of the prayer; the music director does a better job phrasing it than I just did).

And I love being a small part of this large group.  Some people in the group are like me, with ordinary musical skills.  Others are incredibly gifted.  When I sing with them, I am challenged beyond what I think I am capable of doing.

Great joy!

High Anxiety

Remember that prayer that was on all those posters in the 70s: "Lord, help me to remember that nothing is going to happen today that you and I together can't handle"?

I've been letting anxiety get the better of me a little (a lot?) more than usual recently. And really, this has got to stop. When I was talking about this with a good friend, she mentioned that, lately, she has been making an effort to pray when anxiety starts to overcome her. She asks God to help her hand over the situation, to guide her words and actions.

Good advice.

But I don't want to pray that prayer from the 70s posters. To be honest, I find that prayer a little arrogant. 

As Father Cavanagh says in the movie Rudy, "I have come up with only two hard incontrovertible facts: there is a God, and I'm not him."

Better to pray that God will guide me through a situation. I prefer this prayer, attributed to Father Mychal Judge, OFM, who perished in the 9/11 attack on the World Trade Center:

Lord, take me where you want me to go;
Let me meet who you want me to meet;
Tell me what you want me to say, and
Keep me out of your way.

There's only one thing I may need to add to that: "Keep my foot out of my mouth."

Amen.

For All the Saints, For All the Moms

In a month that begins with the celebration of All Saints, what better time to begin learning about the Saints of our Church?  And what better place to start than A Book of Saints for Catholic Moms by Lisa Hendey?

Subtitled "52 Companions for Your Heart, Mind, Body and Soul," this book is packed full of encouragement, challenges, and reflections about saints who can be especially inspiring to moms.

As soon as I received this book, I immediately opened it to the table of contents to see who's in there!  I had to check for my favorites, of course, and they were there in abundance:  Saints Francis and Clare of Assisi, Saint Martha of Bethany, Saint Anthony of Padua, and more.  But there were plenty of other saints with whom I'm much less familiar, such as Saint Sebastian, Saint Jane Frances de Chantal, and Saint Josephine Bakhita.

This book is bigger than I expected, with each chapter composed of a short biography of the saint, lessons from the saint's life and/or writings, traditions of the saint's feast day celebration, a quote from the saint, Scripture passages and reflections--one for each day for a week, activities for moms to complete on their own and with their children, a family prayer and thoughts to ponder.  That's a lot of inspiration packed into just over 300 pages!

This is not a book that you have to begin at chapter 1 and work your way through.  You can choose to read and reflect on the life of a saint that relates to a particular challenge you're having at the time.  That's easy to do, because the table of contents shows not only the saint's name, but a virtue for which the saint is well-known.

A Book of Saints for Catholic Moms isn't going to lose its place on my bedside table anytime soon; it's a devotional that will serve as inspiration for a long time to come.

I wrote this review of A Book of Saints for Catholic Moms for the Tiber River Blogger Review program, created by Aquinas and More Catholic Goods. For more information and to purchase, please visit Aquinas and More Catholic Goods.

Tiber River is the first Catholic book review site, started in 2000 to help you make informed decisions about Catholic book purchases.

A review copy of the book was provided to me. I did not receive other compensation for this review.

Kitchen Conversation

Little Brother's been on a rye-toast kick for breakfast these days.  Specifically Jewish rye, with seeds.

This morning when I was getting breakfasts and lunches going, I asked him if he wanted toast.  When the answer was yes, I said, "Regular, or Jewish?"

That's when the questions started.  (Not like I could answer them...)

"Why do they call it 'Jewish'?"  Aren't Jewish people from Israel?  Was it always called Israel?  What was it called before it was called Israel?"

And then we moved on to...

"Is Galilee a country?"  (No, it's a small town.)  "Is the manger where Jesus was born still there?"  (Well, they THINK they know where that is, but they can't be totally sure because it's not like Mary and Joseph made a big sign for it when they were running away from King Herod who wanted to kill Jesus:  "The Son of God was born here.")

"It should be easy to find." (No, there were lots of barns with mangers around Bethlehem.)

"Barns with mangers and a cow and a sheep and a pig?"  (No pig.)

"Why not?"  (Jewish people don't eat pigs.)

"Why not?  Are they afraid they're going to get gout?"

Oy.

This, That and the Other Thing

This morning when I went outside to grab the newspaper, I could see the morning star.  Had to rush in and get Little Brother away from his breakfast so he could see it too.  (He thought it was worth it.)

Speaking of breakfast, Little Brother is a major-league toast eater.  He'll go through 6 to 8 slices each morning.  But that wasn't enough to get him through until snack time.  Now I serve him 1/2 cup of vanilla yogurt before the toast.  For snack, he has fruit and a string cheese.  He says mornings are much better now.

I am doing my best to resist the open bag of candy corn that's sitting in my kitchen.  But I've got some Count Chocula in the house...my kids had never eaten it before so I just HAD to get a box.

Generally I am not a flavored-coffee person.  But I highly recommend Godiva Coffee's Pumpkin Spice.  It pairs equally well with candy corn AND Count Chocula.  Note to self:  go back to Wegman's and get another bag of this coffee before it disappears!

Looking forward to tonight's activities.  I schlep the kids around a lot to things they do.  But tonight's event is really for me.  It's the first rehearsal for the Festival of Lessons and Carols in the parish where Little Brother attends school.   Little Brother will be in the children's chorus, and Big Brother will play various musical instruments.  I'll be singing and playing guitar.  I have no illusions of having the kind of musical ability that many of the other singers/musicians possess.  This is an amazingly talented bunch of people!  But I find that I sing and play better when I'm challenged by being among musicians who are better than me.  Time to stretch!

I don't get to bring my guitar tonight, though.  It's just a vocal rehearsal for the first day, which kind of freaks me out because my guitar is definitely my security blanket.  It's hard for me to sing when I don't have something for my hands to do.

I'm still hoping against hope that I find the earring I lost the other day.  It's not a valuable or expensive earring, but it was a really cute pair of earrings and I liked them a lot.  I should have an earring more than 8 days before I lose it, I think.

Last night I took Middle Sister shopping.  She had a really weird shopping list:  shoes for the Homecoming dance and a blanket sleeper (known in this house as a "woobie.")  The sleeper is for her Halloween costume.  The last time I saw her wear one of those, she was 4!  After trying on a lot of shoes with insanely high heels, platforms, sparkles and the whole nine yards, she settled on a beautiful and feminine pair of black silk pumps.  Grown-up shoes and little-kid pajamas, all in the same shopping trip.  I guess that's life with a teenager.

Advanced Math

Math has never been my strong point.  I managed to get through college by fulfilling my math requirement with "Introduction to BASIC."  And I always send the kids to TheDad when they need help with math homework.  He had several semesters of calculus, so he's way above my pay grade in math.

But math has been plaguing me all day today.  First, I got an email from my New York Cousin, who wanted to know how many servings one of my favorite potluck recipes (Dr. Pepper Baked Beans) would make.

That became a word problem:  How many 1/2-cup side-dish servings do you get from a dish that fills about 3/4 of a 4-quart cooker?

For the record, I'm guessing 20 to 25.

Figuring all that out was a lot easier than helping Little Brother with his math homework this afternoon.  Unlike me, he has always been good at math (he gets it from TheDad).  I don't know if the school changed its math curriculum this year or what, but suddenly he's having a really hard time figuring out what to do with the homework problems.  "I don't get how to do this," is a daily refrain around here.  He used to whiz through his math homework, and before this year, my biggest concern was getting him to slow down enough to write the numbers legibly.

I'm not very good at helping him with the homework, either.  I can add, subtract, multiply and divide.  I can even manage fractions and decimals, usually.  But they're asking the kids to do things in strange ways.  I can find the answer, but not using their method.  It's strictly "Old Math" for me.

The Eyes Have It

...and it's pink.

No, not breast-cancer-awareness pink (ironic when you consider that Susan G. Komen foundation funnels money to Planned Parenthood--and their contraception and abortion industry is linked to higher rates of breast cancer).

Just plain old pink.  As in pink-eye.

Don't worry; I'm not contagious.  I am 100% certain that this is an allergic reaction.  Unfortunately, I am 0% sure of the cause.

Yesterday I went to my Secular Franciscan meeting about an hour early so I could catalog some new books for the fraternity's library.  When I opened up the meeting room, I could smell something--kind of perfumey, but nothing I could put my finger on.  Being asthmatic, I made sure I had my inhaler and worried that as I spent the next few hours in the room, I might need to use it.  Then, after looking for candles and plug-in air fresheners and other likely suspects and finding nothing, I opened the 2 small windows that could be opened and got to work.

Within the hour my nose started running.  At least that symptom is manageable.  Partway through the meeting, my eyes started itching.  By the time I locked up the room after the last person left, I looked like I'd spent the entire afternoon crying.

I knew I needed Benadryl, but I had to take Little Brother to a track-and-field awards ceremony last night and was afraid to take Benadryl before driving somewhere, so I toughed it out until I got home.  It didn't do much good; this morning, my eyes are still red and swollen and painful.

It'll pass.  It's an inconvenience and big discomfort, but it'll pass.  What I really want to know is:  what was in that room that caused this?

Sweet!

Fall is my favorite season.  I love the colors at this time of year!  So I loved the "Real Life Adventures" comic in this morning's paper.

image credit

Normally, this is not one of my favorite comic strips.  Dads/husbands are usually portrayed as idiotic buffoons.  Maybe that's why I loved today's strip even more!

Reelin' In the Years

Middle Sister had four of her friends here earlier, and they were all lining up to primp in front of the bathroom mirror before I drove them to the football game.  As she left the room, one of them asked, "Is there a guitar pick in your bathroom?"

She never asked about the Army Guy, who stands only about an inch away from the guitar pick.  He's been guarding the bathroom for at least 3 years now--possibly more.  It's been so long that he's part of the landscape, and when I clean the bathroom I just put him back on the counter, in the same place he was before.

Sure, it would be easy enough to carry the Army Guy over to Little Brother's room.  It's only across the hall.  For that matter, I could just toss the Army Guy in the trash can.  Earlier this week, I cleaned out the family-room closet and toy box, and boxed up all the Army Guys along with the other stuff Little Brother no longer uses.  My guess is, he'll never notice it's gone.  After a suitable interval, I will donate the usable toys to our school's pre-K or Goodwill.  (Tuesday's good.)

I can't get rid of everything, though.  When I pulled the battered copy of The Very Hungry Caterpillar off the bookshelf, there was no way I was putting that into the donation box.  The same goes for the entire "Little Critter" series (Middle Sister was a big fan) and The Little Engine That Could, which we memorized during Big Brother's childhood and hid during Little Brother's.  We just couldn't go down that road (track) again.

Some people have scrapbooks, all beautifully decorated and labeled, full of photos of their kids.  I've got their entire libraries, as well as a few Army Guys, Matchbox cars, and an American Girl doll.

"The things you think are useless I can't understand..."

The Disorganized Student

I was very happy to see that the fourth-graders were required to have "trapper" binders, loose leaf paper, and pocket folders this year. Little Brother has a good handle on academics but not on organization.  In his school, the fourth- and fifth-graders share two teachers for the major subjects, so there is some traveling between classrooms and getting used to two different sets of expectations.  It's a good way to ease the kids into the middle-school mode.

I figured that since his teachers asked for a particular type of binder, they'd be devoting some time, early in the school year, to good use of this organizational tool.

And week after week, I'd see him come home with all kinds of loose papers stuffed into one of the pockets inside his binder, which also contained his homework planner, pencil case, 200 sheets of looseleaf, 5 dividers, and 3 pocket folders.  The looseleaf?  Unused.  Dividers?  Divided nothing.  Pocket folders?  Empty, except for one which had a paper from Spanish class inside it.  Other Spanish papers were stuffed into that same pocket that held Scholastic book order forms, tests I'd signed, and a homework project due September 27--completed, but never handed in.

One month into the school year, it wasn't looking like his teachers were doing anything to make sure the students were using the supplies they'd been required to have.

So this morning, since there was no school, I had Little Brother empty out that binder.  He recycled all the papers he no longer needed (most of them).  He put all the Spanish papers into the Spanish folder.  He's already sort of in the habit of keeping Spanish stuff together, as that teacher encourages that habit in class.  And we labeled one pocket folder "Take Home" and "Hand In."  He will put anything to come home in the "Take Home" side.  When it's finished (homework complete, tests signed, forms filled in) it will go to the "Hand In" side.  We'll see if this works, and I can reinforce this system at home.

We labeled the dividers too, though there's nothing to divide at the moment.

I hope this helps him.  Next step:  dealing with the "flash cards" that are floating around his backpack.  I like that the teachers encourage the kids to make flash cards when they need to remember important terms or lists.  But they do no good when they wind up in the bottom of the backpack, in a jumble of subjects and topics!  Does anyone have ideas for how he can organize and carry these index cards around?  It's not like he can put a 3X5 file box in his backpack.

I really think he'd be better off with an accordion file, but I still think that teachers require things for a reason.  There will be conferences with the teachers in mid-November, so I'll give this another month and see how we roll.  If it's not working out, I'll talk with the teachers about it then.

Ideas for organizing a smart but scatterbrained 9-year-old will definitely be appreciated!

Bright as Butterfly Wings

No matter how sad the day (and it was a very sad day) there are always those bright spots that help get you through it. I'm grateful for these:

• hogging a baby (did I say hogging? I meant hugging. I would never hog a baby. No, not me) whom I'd only seen in pictures up until now, and who was so absolutely good-natured about being passed around among cousins who couldn't wait to give him a squeeze 
• cousins.  So many cousins.  12 out of the 15 in my generation were there
• lots of reminiscing, lots of comfort carbs
• the chance to rib my dad about the very fashionable (in 1974) plaid sport coat he wore in one of the many old photos
• Snoopy, hand-me-downs, and good news about cousin John's cancer treatment using his own stem cells
• a phone call from a friend to find out how I was getting through the day--and to let me know that the Irish were winning the game
• and coming home to a lovely sympathy card that a teenager in the church folk group cared enough to send

After the Mass, we gathered outside the church while my aunt, who teaches her first-graders a fascinating science lesson each year using Monarch butterflies, explained that in Mexico (the endpoint of these butterflies' migration) there is a legend that if you whisper a message to a Monarch, it will carry that message to a loved one in Heaven as it flies.  She and her oldest grandson then released a big bunch of butterflies into the air.  Many loving messages went up to Uncle Pat with those butterflies.

And then there's that moment that makes you laugh instead of cry--and you always need at least one of those moments on that kind of day.  The priest explained that when Uncle Pat was baptized, the Paschal candle was nearby, burning brightly.  Then he gestured toward the Paschal candle standing near the casket.  Little Brother turned to me and said, "It's the same one?"

Going the Distance

It's time my kids learned something about doing the right thing with the right attitude. It's not a lecture I want to deliver, but I think I'm going to have to. The thing is, while the lecture is needed, I don't think I'm going to be able to manage a graceful delivery. And since TheDad is out of town for the next couple of days, I'll have to fly solo on this one.

My uncle passed away Monday night. Until very recently, we didn't know just how sick he was. While we had mentioned a few times to them that he was in the hospital, kids are kids and teenagers are teenagers and some things just don't get through their heads very well, especially when they concern a relative who lives 2 hours away and whom we've seen 3 times in the past year.
I gave Big Brother, who's away at college (but not TOO far away) a heads-up on Monday evening when I heard that Uncle Pat had taken a turn for the worse. I hate to deliver that kind of news via text message, but there's just no good way to do it. Texting him to say "call home" isn't any better, really. And he was as gracious as you can get in a text, commenting "that's not good" and "let me know if you hear anything else." Tuesday morning, after I heard the news and dithered about how I was going to let him know, I got back a :[ and "ok." For him, that's as compassionate as it's going to get, I guess.
I have the feeling that my daughter, when I told her, was busy calculating just how many soccer games/soccer practices/trips to the mall/bonfires with friends she'll have to miss to attend the out-of-town funeral this weekend.
Little Brother is going to absolutely blow a gasket when he is informed that he won't be playing soccer on Saturday. To his credit, he did give me a hug and kiss when I told him the sad news.
Meanwhile, I grieve for my aunt and my cousins and my cousin's kids, two of whom are infants and who will have to grow up with no memory of their grandfather. I grieve for my dad, who has lost all 3 of his younger siblings to cancer. I mourn the loss of a veteran, a firefighter, the "fun uncle."
May you rest in peace, Uncle Pat. And may I find the grace and the words to guide my children through this time of mourning.

The Blunt Truth

Don't miss this on the feast of St. Francis--The Crescat puts into words, in no uncertain terms, the real deal about the "patron of animals and ecology."

Stop selling St. Francis short and read this article.

Pretty pictures

Big thanks to the very talented Esther (the Catholic Mom in Hawaii) for my beautiful new header image!  I had to redecorate to show it off to its full advantage.

It's a Catholic High School

I wish my high school had offered these opportunities!  Below is a quote from the daily newsletter at Middle Sister's school, describing the Campus Ministry's new activities for the year.  I'm impressed.

1. Communion Service is offered daily at 7:40 AM in the Chapel.
2. Weekly on Thursday at 2:35 PM there will be an opportunity for whoever is interested to come together to share experiences, ideas and prayer pertaining to the past Sunday’s Readings.
3. Weekly on Tuesday at 2:35 PM there will be Exposition of the Blessed Sacrament.  If you are interested in signing up to be a guardian for 5, 10, 15 minutes please let the Campus Ministry Director know.  Exposition will take place from 2:35 PM until 3:00 PM.  Remember, you do not have to sign up to be present for one minute or 25 minutes.
4. There will be a Book of Intentions in the Chapel for anyone who wishes to place their personal intentions in the Book. 

I'm thankful to the Campus Ministry, the principal, and anyone else who was instrumental in bringing this to the school.

One Up on Dad

Remember the dad in the movie "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" and how he used Windex for everything?  My dad is the same way--with Brown Soap.

He swears by the stuff, and I'll bet that my brother and sister have a bar of it in their homes, just like I do.  It's probably in the basement, but although supermarkets sell this soap in the laundry section, we don't use it for laundry.

Dad has many ways to use this soap, but the one that has stuck with us kids is its anti-itch properties.  If Dad even sees poison ivy, he rushes home and scrubs down with Brown Soap.  I've really put it to the test this summer, what with the Kamikaze Mosquitoes that have taken up residence around here.

How to use Brown Soap on itches:  Get an edge of  your bar of soap wet.  Rub the wet bar of soap on the poison ivy or bug bites.  Do not rinse.

Little Brother picked up a few mosquito bites at soccer practice tonight.  After he went to bed, he wandered out of his room asking me for anti-itch medicine.  Instead of pulling out a tube of hydrocortisone cream, I took a page from Dad's playbook.

"Go into the bathroom and get a little soap from the dispenser.  Rub it on the bug bite and don't wash it off."

"Hey, that really works," he observed a minute or so later.

Yes, it does.  And a little extra soap on that kid won't hurt either.

If It's From the Fightin' Irish, It Can't Be Junk Mail

Little Brother noticed the pile of junk mail I'd tossed on the table (with the intention of ignoring it for a while before tossing it into the recycling bin.)  "Notre Dame!  You got mail from Notre Dame!"

"They're just asking for money.  You can throw it out," I told him.

He misunderstood.  "They're sending you MONEY?"

"No, they're asking me for money.  You can go ahead and open it if you want."

"Why don't you send them some?" he asked while tearing into the envelope.

"Because right now I send money to your school, Middle Sister's high school and Big Brother's college.  I don't have extra to give to Notre Dame right now."

Inside, he found a letter and a reply envelope.  He peeked in.  It was empty.

"Awww--a trick envelope!  I hate those!"

In Costume

I'm thinking in theater terms these days, since Little Brother has been rehearsing for a community-theater production of MAME, which opens on Friday.  Now that they're in dress rehearsals, I've been scrambling through his wardrobe assembling costumes.  And that's exactly what I was doing for myself yesterday afternoon.

I had to find myself a costume for Back to School Night.  And then I had to get into character.

While I love "back to school" time, I can't stand Back to School Night.  It's not so bad at the high school, though I still do call it the Handbag Fashion Show.  (When a nickname works, you go with it.)  Because of the school's block scheduling, a semester at a time, I have to attend two of these a year.  But with 700+ students, it's easy to get lost in the crowd while still running into a few parents of my kids' friends or teammates as we wander by looking for the next classroom to visit.

At the elementary school, though, Back to School Night is another matter.

There's a reason I don't do theater.  I'm just not cut out for this sort of thing.

It really doesn't matter what I wear to Back to School Night.  It's not going to make a difference.  What's important on that day is hearing what my child's teachers have to say:  their goals for the year, their expectations of the students, the ins and outs of the classroom routines and policies.

It really doesn't matter that I will never be part of that group of squealing moms who just saw each other at the 3 PM car line, but who act like this is the first time in years they've reunited.  Not only don't I have the clothes (or the handbag) to fit in there, but I don't squeal.

It really doesn't matter. I keep telling myself that, but I'm not convinced.

I was grateful, when we all proceeded to the cafegymatorium for a slide show and PTA meeting, that a parent whose older children are friends of my older children sat near me; we had a few moments to chat and she kindly offered to give Middle Sister a ride home from soccer games if it was ever necessary.  Then we both observed how very young the parents around us looked; we were both there with our youngest kids, and in both our families there's a 10-year age gap between oldest and youngest.

Back to School Night humbles me.  I guess that's a good thing.  I'm not a mover and a shaker in the PTA world; never was, never will be.  Schmoozing and small talk don't come easy to me, and we're not even going to talk about my wardrobe.

Walking back to the theater across the street where dress rehearsal was in progress, I couldn't wait to stop at my car, ditch my shoes and put on my comfortable sneakers.  I grabbed my favorite "Grumpy" sweatshirt in case it was cold inside.

Costume shed, I stepped back into my familiar role as Mom.

Ten Years After

Five years ago, I reminisced about where I was, what I did, what I thought, on that terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day.

There's not much to add to that.

Little Brother's teacher talked to his class yesterday about 9/11.  Most of those kids, like Little Brother, had not yet been born, and they came into a world that was forever changed and defined by that day.  Little Brother has been "processing" this lesson for the past two days.  Every now and again he approaches me and mentions something his teacher said.  Then we talk about it some more.  It's been good, to do that.

Tomorrow I will be at a rehearsal with Little Brother and Middle Sister, who's the stagehand for this play.  The plan is to rehearse from 1 to 4 and then take a break to go to the park next door to the theatre for a 9/11 memorial ceremony.  After that, potluck supper and more rehearsal.

It's good that we should pause in our day, to remember.

We're blessed to be able to do that.  We're blessed to be free to do that.  We're blessed to be alive to do that.

For those who gave their lives that day, and for those who have given their lives over the past 10 years to fight for freedom, I pray:  Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord, and may perpetual light shine upon them.  May they rest in peace, and may the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace.

Her Logic Escapes Me

image credit

Middle Sister was complaining last night about the fit of her new soccer uniform.  Apparently, the tops are cut small and the bottoms are cut large, for the pear-shaped soccer player.  (Note to manufacturers:  not too many soccer players are pear-shaped.)

She was worried about the shorts being too big, so I offered to see if I could take a tuck in the waistband or something so they wouldn't fall down during the game.

"You CAN'T do that!"

"Why not?"

"Because they're not MINE.  That would be like, vandalizing or something."

Things I Forgot Over the Summer

It's not only the kids who regress academically over the summer.  I'm really surprised what I've forgotten during the 2 1/2 months of summer vacation.

This is probably due to all the "Phineas & Ferb" exposure.  I've spent way too much time wondering where those kids go to school that gives them 104 days of summer vacation.  I know that's more than I could take.

I've been refreshing my memory this week regarding the ins and outs of getting through the school year.

Little boys who have been cooped up in school all day because they can't play outside at lunch during the Everlasting Rainstorm that is September around here are WAY more likely to bounce off the walls in the after-school hours than little boys who have been in the house all day on a rainy summer day.  Fortunately, little boys don't mind playing outside when it's drizzling.

School buses are great examples of Murphy's Law.  When you're outside all nice and early (and it's raining) they're late.  When you're running late, they're early.

I should really make part of Little Brother's packed lunches the night before.  He's not a sandwich fan, but he likes "ham-alami."  Here's the recipe:  Take a slice of salami.  Fold a slice of ham to go on top.  Add another slice of salami.  Roll up.  3 "ham-alamis" in a container is good for lunch, along with another container of fruit and a snack.  I find salami a little disgusting at 7 AM.

And then there's the pleasant surprises, like when I was cutting up brownies for lunchboxes today.  Some of those brownies never made it to the lunchbox.  Brownies go great with that first cup of coffee in the mornings.  Breakfast of champions!  (Just don't tell Little Brother.)

Geometry and Physics, All Rolled into One

It's probably mean to be laughing at this, but I am finding Little Brother & the Street Urchins hilarious as they try to retrieve a 4-inch diameter Nerf basketball from the exact center of a 21-foot diameter pool.  I'm not sure how long the pole is, but I know their arms are too short to make this work.

This is what happened after I sent them to play OUTSIDE, since they were tearing up my family room.  9-year-old boys denied "after-lunch recess" because of rain get pretty rambunctious, let me tell you.

(That's Little Brother in the center, with pole.  It comes within a few inches of the ball, but not quite far enough.)

Finder of All Lost Things

Yesterday I got a text message from my son at college.  He rarely actually calls home, and we do communicate via text, but generally I'm the one initiating the conversation.  So it was surprising to hear from him first.

Until I read the message:  "Did I bring my brown flipflops home?"

He had come home for a brief hour before Hurricane Irene blew through, to pick up work boots, bottled water and a swimsuit--and to appropriate his dad's rain poncho.  

I remembered that he had been wearing the flipflops at the time, and texted that back as I walked through the house, cell phone in hand, looking for where the stray beach shoes might be.

Of course, if he had the shoes on when he was here, he had to wear something on his feet to drive back to Philly.  They're certainly not here.

Even though my kids (and husband) firmly believe that my superpower is finding the stuff they lose, I'm pretty sure that my internal radar for such things can't cross the Delaware River or the Roosevelt Boulevard.

When we concluded the conversation, he told me that his roommate had rearranged the furniture this week, and that he'd go look under his roommate's bed for the shoes.  Good idea.  Maybe he is learning something at college.

But I have to admit--it's nice to be needed.

My Ultimate Playlist

Just for fun...since I am battling some sort of stomach bug today that left me too tired to do much else, I sat down with my iTunes and set up my Ultimate Playlist (Secular Version). I'll do a Sacred-Music Version another time, as well as a Motivational Version, which will include peppier tunes. Tracks are in alphabetical order by song title, and I can mix them up anytime I want by hitting SHUFFLE. Fun! I love that I can add or subtract from this list anytime I want, too.

• America by Neil Diamond
• Blowin' in the Wind by Peter, Paul & Mary
• Border Song by Elton John
• Brooklyn Roads by Neil Diamond
• Carolina in My Mind by James Taylor
• Carry On by Crosby, Stills & Nash
• Closer to Fine by the Indigo Girls
• Deacon Blues by Steely Dan
• Dear Amy by Minor Motion
• Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me by Elton John
• Eclipse by John Denver
• El Condor Pasa by Simon & Garfunkel
• End of the Line by The Traveling Wilburys
• Everybody Wants to Rule the World by Tears for Fears
• Fly Like an Eagle by Steve Miller Band
• Goodbye Yellow Brick Road by Elton John
• Happy Together by The Turtles
• How Long by The Eagles
• I'll Follow the Sun by The Beatles
• I Am a Rock by Simon & Garfunkel
• I Am...I Said by Neil Diamond
• I Got a Name by Jim Croce
• I Pray for You by Big & Rich
• I Want to Live by John Denver
• Lean on Me by Bill Withers
• Let It Be by The Beatles
• The Living Years by Mike & The Mechanics
• The Logical Song by Supertramp
• The Long & Winding Road by The Beatles
• Looking for Space by John Denver
• Mona Lisas & Mad Hatters by Elton John
• My Little Town by Paul Simon
• No One is To Blame by Howard Jones
• On the Road to Find Out by Cat Stevens
• Part of the Plan by Dan Fogelberg
• Put It There by Paul McCartney
• Run for the Roses by Dan Fogelberg
• Sailing by Christopher Cross
• Secure Yourself by The Indigo Girls
• Seven Bridges Road by The Eagles
• Shower the People by James Taylor
• Sigh No More by Mumford & Sons
• Something in the Way She Moves by James Taylor
• The Sound of Silence by Simon & Garfunkel
• Southern Cross by Crosby, Stills & Nash
• Suite: Judy Blue Eyes by Crosby, Stills & Nash
• Sunshine on My Shoulders by John Denver
• Sweet Surrender by John Denver
• Take It to the Limit by The Eagles
• Take the Time by Freddy Jones Band
• Teach Your Children by Crosby, Stills & Nash
• Tears in Heaven by Eric Clapton
• Turn! Turn! Turn! by The Byrds
• The Voice by The Moody Blues
• Walk of Life by Dire Straits
• Walking Man by James Taylor
• Wasted on the Way by Crosby, Stills & Nash
• Watching the River Run by Loggins & Messina
• We May Never Pass This Way Again by Seals & Crofts
• The Weight by The Band
• Where Do the Children Play? by Cat Stevens
• Wooden Ships by Crosby, Stills & Nash
• You've Got a Friend by James Taylor
• Your Smiling Face by James Taylor
• Yours is No Disgrace by Yes
• The 59th Street Bridge Song by Simon & Garfunkel

Put it all together and I've got 4 1/2 hours of my very favorites! What's on YOUR ultimate playlist?

Giveaway at Mom's Fridge

I'm hosting a giveaway over at my recipe blog!  It's a FREE code for the HomeRoutines app for iPad.  Read all about it and enter the contest here.

Comments are closed on this post. All entries must be made at Mom's Fridge.

Tiber River Review: The Bad Catholic's Guide to the Seven Deadly Sins

Don't be misled by the title of this book.  The Bad Catholic's Guide to the Seven Deadly Sins is not written for people who want to get around the teachings of the Church.   It's funny, but not irreverent.  This book does not mock the Church in any way, but inspires and instructs the readers through hilarious anecdotes and examples from history.
You'll find some of the world's greatest saints and sinners featured in this book by John Zmirak.  But this is not a light read.  It's definitely a challenge to the reader.  Even the "Cosmo-style quizzes" on ethical problems are more Philosophy 102 than Trashy Magazine.  Each set of two chapters ends with hints on how to turn a vice into a virtue:

• Lust can be turned toward Chastity
• Wrath can be turned toward Patience
• Gluttony can be turned toward Temperance
• Greed can be turned toward Generosity
• Sloth can be turned toward Diligence
• Vainglory can be turned toward Humility
• Envy can be turned toward Magnanimity

Learn through the mistakes and successes of such people as Francis of Assisi, Betty Friedan, Aristotle, Margaret Sanger, Catherine of Aragon, John Henry Cardinal Newman, Josef Stalin, Solzhenitsyn, Mitterrand, Chesterton, St. Benedict, Julia Child, Sarah Palin, Tolkien, Andy Warhol and Mao-Tse Tung.

If you're a fan of literature, references to Dante, 1984, Oscar Wilde, C.S. Lewis, Dr. Faustus, and Flannery O'Connor abound.  Movie buffs will find everything from the sublime to the ridiculous, including The Godfather, The Third Man and Nighmare on Elm Street 4!  Even Harry Chapin gets a mention.

And don't miss the hilarious illustrations.  You'll learn plenty just by looking at the pictures.

The Fine Print:
I wrote this review of The Bad Catholic's Guide to the Seven Deadly Sins for the Tiber River Blogger Review program, created by Aquinas and More Catholic Goods. For more information and to purchase, please visit Aquinas and More Catholic Goods.

Tiber River is the first Catholic book review site, started in 2000 to help you make informed decisions about Catholic book purchases.

A review copy of the book was provided to me. I did not receive other compensation for this review.

Productivity On the Go

...because when you're a Soccer Mom and a Stage Mom, sometimes you just have no choice.

After-dinner hours around here used to include washing dishes, hanging around, reading a book and having ice cream before presiding over showers, tooth-brushing and other going-to-sleep rituals. Now the kids are older and busier. And while Middle Sister, as a high-school sophomore, can be dropped off at sports practices and play rehearsals, the same is not true for nine-year-old Little Brother. Someone's got to stay with him. More often than not, that someone is Mom.

7 PM is my slow time of day, when I'm just concentrating on staying awake long enough to make sure that Little Brother brushes ALL his teeth. Not anymore. Now I'm headed for rehearsals that last until 10 or later! The director had dangled the carrot of "sensitivity to his bedtime when school starts" but what neither she (nor I) realized when she asked him to audition was that this was affecting my bedtime too.

I'm trying to get some stuff done when I'm sitting in a straight chair in a small rehearsal space for 3 hours on end. The other day I had a stack of the "Personal Journal" sections from The Wall Street Journal. I love to read those but don't always get the chance, and they pile up in a corner. It's not like most of them have time-sensitive articles. I got through a whole month's worth on Tuesday night.

Tonight I'm bringing my copy of Apocalypse Chow and my shopping list; a hurricane is on the way here and I want to have some ideas of how to cook and otherwise prepare in case we lose power. If I finish that, I've got Michele Buckman's Death Panels with me too--although that book is downright terrifying.

It's pretty impressive what I can get done, even without Wi-Fi.

But no matter how productive I manage to be at rehearsal, I'm still going to walk out of there with "Mame" stuck in my head.

Who's In There?

Lisa Hendey of CatholicMom.com has a new book coming out soon!  Titled A Book of Saints for Catholic Moms, this book highlights "52 companions for your heart, mind, body and soul."

But who's among the 52?  I can think of lots of possibilities.  Not having seen this book before, I don't know if Lisa Hendey chose to discuss only female saints, only saints who were moms, only modern saints...there are so many ways to go here.

I'm hoping, though, that she included a chapter on that go-to patroness of homemakers, St. Martha.  I've got a soft spot for St. Martha, and I imagine that many moms feel the same.  (I think Jesus did, too--or he wouldn't have told her to get over it when her sister wasn't helping with the dishes.)

This book will be published by Ave Maria Press on November 1 of this year.  I'm looking forward to it!

Hail, Holy Queen

In honor of today's celebration of the Queenship of Mary, here's a how-to for my favorite variation of the Rosary:  the Franciscan Crown.

It's got that name because, according to legend, the Blessed Mother asked an aspiring Franciscan friar to weave her a crown of prayers.

The Franciscan Crown is a 7-decade Rosary.  If you don't have a 7-decade set, use your regular Rosary and just backtrack a bit.  Unlike the regular Rosary, you start at the medal and end at the cross.

For each decade, pray 1 Our Father, 10 Hail Marys and 1 Gloria.

Here are the meditations for each decade:

1. The first Joy in the Crown of Mary is the joy of Our Lady at the Annunciation.  "Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it done to me according to Your word."  May I become your humble servant, Lord.
2. The second Joy in the Crown of Mary is the joy of Our Lady at the Visitation.  "Rising up, Mary went into the hill country and saluted her cousin Elizabeth."  Grant us true love of neighbor, Lord.
3. The third Joy in the Crown of Mary is the joy of Our Lady at the Birth of Jesus and the Adoration of the Magi.  "She brought forth her first-born son...and laid him in a manger."  Give us true poverty of spirit, Lord.
4. The fourth Joy in the Crown of Mary is the joy of Our Lady at the Presentation and Purification.  "They carried him to Jerusalem to present him to the Lord...as it is written in the law of the Lord."  Help me obey all just laws.
5. The fifth Joy in the Crown of Mary is the joy of Our Lady at the Finding of Jesus in the Temple.  "Not finding him, they returned to Jerusalem seeking him."  May I never lose you through serious sin, Lord.
6. The sixth Joy in the Crown of Mary is the joy of Our Lady at the Resurrection of Jesus.  "The Lord is not here; He is risen."  May we share your glory, Lord.
7. The seventh Joy in the Crown of Mary is the joy of Our Lady at her Assumption into Heaven and her Coronation.  "A woman clothed with the sun; upon her head a crown of twelve stars."  Mary, may we share your crown of eternal life.

After you have prayed the seven decades, pray two more Hail Marys to make a total of 72--honoring the 72 years of Mary's life (according to legend).  Then, for the intentions of the Holy Father, pray one Our Father, one Hail Mary and one Gloria.

Friar Charles has some more details on the Franciscan Crown.  You don't have to be a Franciscan to pray this beautiful devotion.  Join me today, in honor of the Queenship of Mary.

Another Altar-Server Debut

Adventure Boy showed up at my house 2 hours before we leave for church (don't panic--we go to noon Mass, so he wasn't here at the crack of dawn...THIS time).  His hair was (mostly) combed.  He was, for him, formally dressed in a golf shirt and cargo pants and basketball sneakers--a step up from flip-flops.  And he announced that he was coming to church with us.

A couple of hours earlier, Little Brother had woken up, and he came downstairs announcing that he wasn't going to be an altar server anymore.  Last time he served, it was VERY hot in church, and our altar robes are made of a fabric that's closer to burlap than it is to seersucker.  It was his first day flying solo as a server, there was a baptism of twins during the Mass, and he passed out right before the Lamb of God.

I couldn't even go over to help him out, since half our folk group was on vacation and I was leading the band.  But at least 5 others came to his rescue and got TheDad, who didn't have Little Brother in his line of sight.  Once he was hydrated and out of that hot robe, he was fine.  (A Slurpee helped.)

Anyway, Little Brother was pretty nervous about getting back on the horse.  And apparently on the way to church, he and Adventure Boy cooked up a plan.

When I got to church (I leave earlier than the non-musicians in the family) Father asked me how Little Brother was.  I explained that he was fine, but nervous; I hoped that there would be a pre-Mass pep talk in the sacristy.  I saw Little Brother and Adventure Boy arrive, and both headed into the sacristy.  The next thing I knew, the two of them were wearing their robes and marching up to get the candles off the altar so they could carry them in the procession.

I'm not sure what Father was thinking, letting those two carry LIT candles.  There was some during-the-Mass coaching going on (Adventure Boy wasn't holding the finger towel the right way, apparently) and quite a bit of fidgeting by the boys.  Little Brother noticed me watching him and would occasionally flash me a thumbs-up to let me know that he was feeling fine.

Two very proud altar servers carried LIT candles off the altar after Mass and (a little too quickly) led the procession out.  TheDad and I are very proud parents--and godparents.

And after Mass, Father asked TheDad (AKA The Cubmaster) to encourage the other Cub Scouts who are old enough to consider being altar servers.

You Go, Girl!

It's time to give credit where credit is overdue.  I'm proud of my daughter and what she has made of this summer.  While she has had plenty of time to hang out with friends, eat pizza, swim, and stay up late watching movies, she has also made time to get involved in a couple of interesting activities.

After discovering that field hockey is not her thing (she was good at the sport but didn't like the team atmosphere--very sorority-like), she decided to pursue soccer this fall.  The last time Middle Sister played soccer, she was 6.  Our town is big on soccer; we produced a player on the most recent women's Olympic soccer team.  And apparently soccer parents in this town are big on how much playing time their kids get, because there were only two extra kids per team.  6-year-olds play on full-size fields, and with very few substitutes, 6-year-olds get tired pretty quickly.  Middle Sister didn't want to sign up for soccer the next year, and we didn't push it.

But now, as a sophomore in high school, she wants to try it.  So we invested in the cleats and the shin guards and the soccer ball and the week of soccer camp--and we'll see how it goes once practices start.  She seems to like it, and I have to give her credit for starting a new sport at 15 when most kids her age have been playing for 10 years already.  She says she's made some "newbie mistakes," even some funny ones, but she has been eager to try, working to improve, and trying to make up for her lack of technique and finesse with heart and determination.

And she hasn't gotten a lot of rest this week after spending 6 hours a day in the hot sun playing soccer--because she's been spending her evenings at the community theatre with her brother.  They're both in the theatre's Intern Company, a summer program of about 40 teens that produces a play.  The kids write, direct, compose music, build sets, design special effects, advertise, sell tickets--they do it all, and have been working hard since June.  Middle Sister is running the light boards for the play, which ends its run tomorrow night, and she also helped build and paint sets.  She's been having a great time.

Finally, she spent a week pet-sitting for our neighbor.  They have a lizard (that required live insects for food), a guinea pig, and a dog.  The dog spent most of the week here, and she really did a good job caring for him.  He was very sad without his family, and Middle Sister tried everything short of feeding him from the table (she was super-strict about that) to make him happy.  Sometimes her pet-sitting responsibilities interfered with her social life, but she didn't complain or beg someone else to do her job.

No, she hasn't yet completed (or even started, for that matter) her math packet or her summer-reading book. But I don't think she's wasted her time this summer.  She's still got a couple of weeks to buckle down and get the schoolwork done.

A VBS Letdown

Our parish participates in a community Vacation Bible School with 3 other churches:  Lutheran, Moravian and Episcopal.  They've been doing this for years.  And for years (probably 15 years, give or take a couple) my kids have participated.

We're done now.  Little Brother, at 9, has pretty much aged out of VBS.   He grudgingly decided to sign up this year because a few of his friends would be there.  But he persevered through the whole week.

I can't say enough about the hard work by all the volunteers (ranging from older tweens to senior citizens).  The decorations were amazing, though that panda is pretty creepy.  The four churches got together to donate materials for crafts and food for snacks.  And the music was pretty fun.  I didn't receive any reports about snacks that represented the plague of boils or leprosy, which is an improvement from previous years, though there were complaints the day the snack contained copious amounts of Cheese in a Can.

Yesterday Middle Sister and I attended the "finale show" of VBS.  As usual, it was Hot and Crowded, and you have to sit in certain places in the Very Tiny Church or the VBS police will make you move (though the seats are not marked; one year I had to try 3 different locations before I sat somewhere acceptable).  The VBS kids did a good job of singing the songs and waiting patiently during a few Technical Difficulties.

The audience, however, was another matter.  The little boy in the pew directly in front of us spent the entire hour kicking, punching, smacking and pushing his mother/grandmother (I'm not sure which).  This child was no more than 3 1/2 (and he was a little, wiry guy), and the grown woman with him was actually cringing as he beat on her.  Middle Sister was horrified.  The little boy directly behind me spent most of the hour kicking the back of my pew.  3 adults were with him.  Nobody stopped  him.

After the show, the kids trooped off to pick up the craft projects they made during the week, and Middle Sister and I waited in the parking lot with our neighbor.  I mentioned the behavior of the little boy in front of us.  She responded that her kids had come home every day reporting bad behavior on the part of the VBS participants, so she wasn't surprised.

What is that child going to be like when he's 8, 12, 16, 20 if before the age of 4 he is beating on his adult caregiver?  In church, no less.

Sigh.

Today's Weirdness is Brought to you by Twitter

When you've only got 140 characters to play with, it's hard to express things.

And when you're a newspaper, using your Twitter feed to share headlines for story after story after story, you might wind up with the following CONSECUTIVE posts:

Pair charged with stealing wire in Medford
Missing Medford man found safe and unharmed

If you're reading that newspaper's Twitter feed, you might very easily (and probably wrongly) conclude that there was some connection between those 2 stories.  You might even imagine a very interesting story behind the story.  I'm sure it was much more interesting than what actually happened.

Book Review: Seamus O'Flynn

It's the coming-of-age story of an Irish-Catholic New York City boy during the Great Depression and World War II.  It could be your great-uncle or grandfather telling the story, if you're Irish.  It's a young boy's version of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.

Bill Tobin's book Seamus O'Flynn is an engaging story that reads like a memoir.  Subtitled "New York Diaries of an Immigrant Son 1931-1945," this book chronicles young Seamus' adventures, from the first day of school to pickup baseball games.  Bill Tobin eloquently describes all of Seamus' haunts:  his apartment building, a few wooded areas in the Bronx, his favorite swimming spots.

Life is not easy for a child of immigrant parents during the Depression and war, and the reader learns of Seamus' struggles with hunger as well as his technique for avoiding subway turnstiles.  There are funny moments, sad moments, and a seemingly-gratuitious moment of abuse by a priest (I really felt that the story could have done without that one--it just feeds into stereotypes).

Overall, it's a good novel that feels like a biography.  I had to keep reminding myself that it's fiction.  If you liked Angela's Ashes, you'll like this book.