Rejected

Opposites might attract when it comes to spouses, according to an article in today's Wall Street Journal, but I don't think it works that way in mother-daughter relationships.

Right now I'm responding in a completely irrational manner to my daughter's announcements that, 1, she's going vegetarian for Lent, and, 2, that she doesn't want what I was going to make for dinner tonight either. Completely irrational. Because I'm feeling rejected by this. She doesn't get that. Not only does she not get it, she's mad at me.

But I have lost all steam in the dinner-prep process after she started making herself a bean burrito. We can't both cook in the kitchen at the same time anyway--the room is too small for that. So I left the room. I'm being ridiculously oversensitive and I can't seem to stop it.

Cooking is a big part of the way I nurture my family. I work around the silly preferences (she's off soy sauce; Big Brother doesn't like corn) and the dietary needs (husband with gout, Little Brother with lactose intolerance). I make broccoli that they like instead of Brussels sprouts that I like. I enjoy cooking and making meals that my family likes. And then TheDad skips dinner every Spaghetti Night and Middle Sister (and now Little Brother) announces that tonight's meal is not a favorite.

I cannot believe I'm sitting here losing it over the dinner plan.

 

Monday, Monday

...can't trust that day...

Normally I like Mondays because they signal the beginning of a new week.  Everyone is back to work or school and my house is quiet again and it's back to routine.

I love routine.  It makes my world go 'round.

Mrs. C with my kids, 2004

Today was not a routine Monday.  No one had work or school.  Instead, Middle Sister and I had a funeral to attend (I know!  Another one!!)  This funeral was for the son of the lovely woman who babysat Middle Sister twice a week when she was 4 and I had a part-time teaching job.  At the time, Mrs. C was mourning the loss of her husband, who'd had Alzheimer's; she had cared for him at home for the better part of a decade.  Middle Sister kept her company, learned to play Chinese checkers, took walks around the block with her, and discovered the magic of microwave pancakes thanks to Mrs. C.  With her own grandparents living upwards of 75 miles away, Middle Sister adopted Mrs. C as an extra grandmother.

Today Middle Sister towered over her former babysitter, who had stayed with Big Brother and Middle Sister the night Little Brother was born.  Today, as always, Middle Sister was quick to hug Mrs. C.  And after we sat down in our pew, Middle Sister wondered if she might be needed as an altar server.  Since the parish school closed, they haven't had servers for funerals (that's 8 years ago now.)  Usually one of the deacons, or Mrs. Deacon, or a member of the Bereavement Committee does the job.  But Middle Sister purposefully marched to the sacristy, high heels and all, and asked if she could help.

It was a full-court press on the altar today, with two priests (present and former pastors), one deacon, one server, and another deacon "behind the scenes" babysitting the incense.

The former pastor, whom I haven't seen in almost 10 years, greeted me as he walked by my pew before Mass.  "How are your kids?" he asked me.  I replied that one of them was his altar server for the Mass.  He looked puzzled until I mentioned her name.  "OH MY GOD!!!!!!" was his response.  He hadn't seen her since kindergarten.  She's grown a bit in 10 years.

Being at that Mass today, listening to that former pastor pray and preach was healing for me.  Some priests are good administrators.  Others are good in ministry to the sick and the bereaved.  This priest definitely falls into category "B."  Unfortunately, all of my dealings with him while he was our pastor were in category "A."  There was a lot of hurt that I've been carrying around for about 12 years now, hurt caused by administrative decisions this priest made that I took personally.

Middle Sister isn't the only one who's grown in the past 10 years.

I left that church carrying the burden of grief for Mrs. C, for her daughter-in-law, two grandchildren, and newborn great-granddaughter.  I left behind the burden of hurt that I'd been carrying around, for no good reason, for more than a decade.

I had no idea, walking into that funeral, that once again I'd be made proud of the young woman my daughter is becoming, and that I'd be able to let go of something I didn't need to lug around in the first place.

In your kindness, remember the C. family as they grieve, and pray for eternal rest for Tom, who made serving God through others his life's work--and his life's joy.

Sometimes You've Just Gotta Break the Rules

I have a thing about working on Sundays.  If I don't have to, I don't.

Work that gets done on Sunday is work that can't possibly wait until Monday (or be done ahead on Saturday).  I don't do laundry on Sunday unless there is a True Laundry Emergency.  The same goes for vacuuming and other housecleaning.  After all, when you're a homemaker, you do all that stuff every day of the week.  It's good to remember to take a day of rest, to separate the day in some ways from all the other days.  The same goes for my freelance-writing work.

I do cook on Sunday, but I enjoy that.

Today, though, I emptied out 3 kitchen cabinets, one appliance cart, and one dining-room cabinet.  I took everything out and decided what would go back in--and where it would go.

I present the Leaning Tower of Bakeware.  I can cook 5 1/2 dozen regular-size muffins or cupcakes.  (Not that my oven could hold that many at once, but I've got the pans to make it happen).

And the pots and pans and bowls and colanders and...yikes.  It was like the clown car of kitchen cabinets.  More stuff just kept coming out.

I have a huge bucket (one of those party buckets with the rope handles) OVERFLOWING with stuff that didn't make it back into the cabinets:  stuff that's used maybe once or twice a year, so I'll keep it elsewhere; and stuff that I just don't use, so I'll donate.

Now, all my bakeware is in ONE place.

The rewards of treating Sunday as a day of rest are great.  This afternoon, I worked.  I spent about 2 hours not resting so that I can make my future time spent in the kitchen much more pleasant.  (There's even a tablecloth on the table!)  On a weekday, I don't get 2 hours in the afternoon to do this kind of stuff--I'm too busy being a taxi driver, referee, and nagger-about-homework.

It's taken 12 years to get my kitchen to look this good.

Now I can rest, and enjoy the fruits of my labors.

The Back-to-School Valentine's Night Extravaganza and Long-Hallway Jamboree

I can't begin to tell you how surprised I was to discover that the high school's Back to School Night, scheduled on Valentine's Day, was not very well attended.

A few observations on last night's event (in no particular order):

A proud moment:  one teacher stood at the classroom door, greeting parents and asking the name of their child.  She smiled when we named Middle Sister, said she was a joy in the classroom, and mentioned that she has been very conscientious about adding to the "prayer intentions" blackboard in the front of the room.

I love that teachers have "prayer intentions" blackboards and encourage the students to use them.  (This was NOT a religion teacher, by the way.)  Things like that are the reason we send our kids to Catholic schools.

And I love that my daughter is using that board.

It's a good thing Middle Sister runs track, because her classes are just about as far apart as they possibly could be while still being in the same building.

We ran into lots of people we know as we passed each other in the long hallways.  All the parents got in plenty of cardio last night as we rushed from class to class.  Some were too out of breath to do more than wave.

Moms, in general, walk a lot faster than dads.  Case in point:  we left the French classroom at the same time as another couple we've known for about 15 years.  We moms left the dads in the dust as we all headed to Bio, and the dads could be heard behind us, "They say we walk too slow.  I say they walk too fast."  Note to the dads (including my husband):  there is no such thing was "walking too fast."  You walk way too slow.

The principal wished us a happy Valentine's Day at least three times during the opening remarks.  Overcompensating for a bad scheduling decision, perhaps?  There were no apologies for the bad scheduling--which would have been welcome.

I'm convinced that one of my daughter's teachers has ADD.  Yikes.

Another teacher was a bit distracted because she could hear her kids, who were hanging around in the office across the hall from her classroom.  It was Valentine's Day.  She couldn't get a babysitter--not even her own college-age daughter.  We commiserated with her.  (And really, her kids were not bad at all, just a bit giggly, and if a Catholic school can't be family-friendly and tolerate the presence of a couple of kids around Little Brother's age, then shame on them.)

One teacher made us laugh by faulting the administration for not, at least, serving us pink lemonade on Valentine's Day.

Breaking the Silence

At Mass today, as the lector finished with the first reading and paused for a moment of silence before we began the Responsorial Psalm, I recalled Michelle's post yesterday about silence; specifically, the part about silence during certain times at Mass.  We're not very good at silence in our parish.  People start squirming pretty quickly if the lector takes too long stepping away from the ambo so the cantors can begin to sing.

And then we sang:  "I will praise your name, my king and my God."

When the psalm concluded, the silence was broken not by the lector jumping the gun on the second reading, but by a toddler all the way on the other side of the church:  "YAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!"

Everyone chuckled, of course:  how cute!

Father looked at everyone, smiled, and said, "Amen!"

And then it was time for the second reading.

Don't Treat Me Like a Fool

It's necessary to get political sometimes.

Usually that's something I leave to TheDad, because he's all into that sort of thing, and I figure that one politically-obsessed person in the household is enough.  I back off--to balance things out.

But that doesn't mean I don't notice.  And it doesn't mean I don't take action when action is necessary.

This is one of those times.

I listened to President Obama's self-congratulatory tone as he announced an "accommodation" to the HHS policy that would leave Catholic hospitals, universities and other institutions no choice but to offer health plans providing contraception, abortion-inducing drugs and sterilization procedures, all of which directly violate Catholic moral teaching.

I listened, and I realized that this "accommodation" makes things worse than it did before.  In the guise of making it LOOK like the Catholic employer would get to opt out, this plan requires that all insurance plans provide these, um, "services."

We all know that there's no free lunch.  We know that somebody's going to have to pay for it.  Ultimately, everybody's going to have to pay for it, because health-care costs will go up in order to pay for it, and that cost will be absorbed by employees.

Who knew that the President of the United States would borrow an argument more age-appropriate for his own children:  "Everybody does it."  99% of American women, he says, have used birth control during their reproductive years.

If that number is even true (and I haven't seen any proof that it is), that doesn't make it any less wrong.

With all due respect, Mr. Obama, would you buy that "everybody does it" line if your daughter used it on you?  Or would you answer, as parents have done for decades, "if everyone was jumping off the Brooklyn Bridge, would you do the same?"

If "everybody" decided to stop paying income taxes, you wouldn't think that "everybody does it" is a very good argument, now would you?

Don't treat me like a fool, Mr. President.  I can see what you're up to, and frankly, it terrifies me.

Jimmy Akin has an excellent analysis at the National Catholic Register.  Read the whole thing, and follow the "take action" link at the bottom.

Rocco Palmo has more on the American bishops' take on this "accommodation."

EVEN MORE:  Here's what the economists think.

Break It To Me Gently

Ladies and gentlemen, we apologize for our inability to bring you the Finale that we promised.
--Leading Player, Pippin

In the play, the promised Grand Finale cannot take place because the title character has chosen something better.  Sometimes it works that way in real life, too.

The production of Pippin in which Little Brother was one of a troupe of only 12 actors has had its two final performances canceled--for good reason.  One of the lead characters (the Leading Player) is mourning the sudden loss of a close family member.  The director wisely decided that the best course of action is to cancel the remaining performances, out of love and respect for this actor.

There are times, and this is one of them, when the show must not go on.

A cast of 12, as you can imagine, gets pretty close-knit after three months of rehearsals.  Most of the actors have known each other for quite a while already.  Definitely, the right thing to do is to close the production and focus on supporting this actor in his time of loss.

This is not the Finale we were promised.  It's not the semi-happy ending you expect for a musical comedy.

The hard part is still ahead.  One actor has to get through this time of grief.  The others will grieve for him.  Cast, crew and band alike will miss the opportunity to celebrate a spectacular Closing Night.  It's not the way they want to say goodbye to each other.

It will be difficult all around.  Little Brother doesn't know yet; I'm putting it off until after school.  I didn't learn of the cancellation until it was almost bedtime last night, and I figured that it would be better not to try to send him off to bed or school right after hearing upsetting news.  (I did tell him that the actor had a death in the family, but that's all he knows at this point.)

Little Brother invests himself very deeply in the cast of a show.  I've seen it happen with The Wizard of Oz and MAME.  Even with this show, after opening weekend was over and there were no more rehearsals, he was sad that he'd have to wait Five Whole Days to see everyone again.

This afternoon I'm going to have to disappoint a little boy.  That's nothing compared to what one actor is going through, but for a nine-year-old, it's still a pretty big thing.  I hope that I can help him put aside his own sadness at closing the play early and focus on someone else's sadness.

When we discussed the question of whether Little Brother would be allowed to audition for this role (the theatre is quite far away and it would be a huge time commitment) my husband observed that being in a play would be a very enriching experience.  At the time, we believed that all it would mean for Little Brother would be growth in confidence and exposure to culture.  We did not expect--surely we should have, but we didn't--that it would also prove to be a time in which he would learn important life lessons.

Rivers belong where they can ramble,
Eagles belong where they can fly.
I've got to be where my spirit can run free
Gotta find my corner of the sky.

In your kindness, remember S. in his time of loss.

Obedience

I can command it (fourth-graders fear me) but living it is another matter.

After all, it's my way or the highway.  Isn't that what we all expect?  It's taken me 40-mumble years, but I am coming around...a little...to the realization that it's not always going to be my way.  Not even close.

Every January, the Secular Franciscans in my fraternity start the year off right.  We pray together, and then each of us is given the name of a patron saint, a virtue to cultivate, a maxim to live by, and a person within the fraternity to hold in prayer through the year.

My virtue this year is Obedience.  (Cue eye-rolling.)  Obedience?  Really?  I follow the rules, except for the speed limit.

There's a little more to it than that, though.  It's the question of attitude.  Like the "how dare they" mentality I get when I'm asked/told/required to do something that really IS the right thing to do, but since it's not what I happen to want to do at the moment, I've got no mind to obey it.

The word "obedience" comes from a Latin root meaning "to hear."  That's what it's all about, really.  That's why, when I'm dealing with fourth graders, I'll sometimes ask them to repeat directions back to me so that I can make sure they heard them correctly.

But what do we hear?  To whom do we listen?  There are so many messages to listen to:  Facebook, Twitter, the news media...I'm reminded of a line from Pippin that asks, "Would a newspaper ever print anything that wasn't true?"  Are we listening to those sources that have our best interests at heart?

Psalm 119 says:  "Train me to observe your law, to keep it with my heart.  Guide me in the path of your commands; for there is my delight.  Bend my heart to your will and not to love of gain."

It's all about "Thy will be done."  And we don't want to have to say that.  But if we really believe that God has our best interests at heart, we will learn to say it.

My prayer this year, then, will not be one written by Saint Francis but instead this one composed by Saint Ignatius of Loyola:

Take Lord, and receive all my liberty, my memory, my understanding, and my entire will, all that I have and possess. Thou hast given all to me. To Thee, O lord, I return it. All is Thine, dispose of it wholly according to Thy will. Give me Thy love and thy grace, for this is sufficient for me.

Heart of Gold

This morning I put on my church clothes, pulled my daughter out of gym class, and took her to her friend's grandfather's funeral.  It was her idea, and there was no way I was going to refuse.

She greeted, and held the door for, her now-retired fifth-grade teacher who arrived at the church just behind us.

She sat on the aisle seat in our pew--the better to reach out and squeeze her friend's arm during the procession.

During the recessional, her friend stopped at our pew to give her a hug, and we stayed outside the church for a few minutes after Mass so she could talk to him before it was time for his family to head to the cemetery.

She gave up her lunchtime, her break time, her "hang out with friends at school" time so that she could be there for one friend for a few minutes.

Last night while we were running errands, she mentioned that she thinks it's silly for her to have to study religion at school.  Her reasoning:  she goes to church, and by this point she should be living it with her life.  At 16, there's still plenty for her to learn, but I saw for myself today (as well as plenty of other times) that she's got a decent handle on living out the Works of Mercy.

You can say what you want about teenagers (and I've had my own frustrations with my teens), but Middle Sister showed me today what she's made of.  I couldn't be prouder.

Single-Minded

I'm a mom.  Multitasking is my superpower.

This weekend, though, I am being forced to be single-minded.  I'm substituting for the light tech at Little Brother's play.  Fortunately, there's a high-tech light board that just requires me to push a button labeled "Go" for each cue.

This task requires an amazing amount of focus, as I learned during a rehearsal when I missed several light cues because I had gotten caught up in the play (that I've seen three times a week for the past two months...there are no surprises here anymore!)  So I can't really watch the action on the stage; instead, I look at my copy of the script, following the action by listening instead of letting my eyes get distracted.  It's easier to stay on track that way (Big Brother taught me that trick; both my Big Kids have run lights before, either at school or for community theatre.)

All that focusing can be a good thing.  It's certainly something with which I'm completely out of practice.  There are always so many things going on at once; even when I'm the only one home and I'm working here at my desk, I'm keeping an ear out for the dryer's buzz.  I'm reading several books at any given time.  Right now there are 10 browser windows open on my computer.

There's a fine line between multitasking and being scatterbrained.

Many times, multitasking can't be avoided--and in most cases, I'm pretty good at it.  But I appreciate the opportunity I've had this week to really practice paying attention.

Funeral Etiquette for Teens

This morning Middle Sister told us that one of her friends' grandfathers had died.  She was, understandably, sad for her friend, since she certainly knows what it's like to lose a grandfather.  I told her to let me know when the funeral arrangements were made, and that if she (and other friends) wanted a ride to the wake, I'd be happy to help with that.

So here's the big question:  I've met this kid's parents maybe twice.  Do I go in with the kids to the funeral home, or just wait outside?  Do I go through the whole "condolences and procession past the casket" thing when the only family member I really know is a teenage boy?  (Awkward...)  Or do I go in and just stand in the back and wait for all the kids to be done?  At this point, I'm not sure what my daughter wants, or if she even knows.

In a completely unrelated matter, Middle Sister's friends all think it's weird that we say "wake."  Apparently, here in South Jersey, which is a completely different country than North Jersey, where I grew up, they say "viewing."  Even if it's a closed casket.  (So when she texted them with my offer of a ride to the funeral home, they all said "What's a wake?")

What "Extracurricular" Means

Last week when I was substituting for the day at Little Brother's school, I took the opportunity to tell his teachers that he'll be having some late nights this week.  It's Tech Week now for Pippin; the show opens Friday.

Basically, I wanted to let them know that he'd be up late--because I want to know if this is affecting his behavior and work at school.  But they thought I had something else up my sleeve.

"I can change the deadlines for some of his assignments," one teacher offered.  She seemed surprised when I turned that down.  I told her that we'd make sure the homework was done before we headed out for rehearsals.

He's been handling 3 rehearsals a week (some of them running until after 10 PM) for more than a month now.  But this week it's going to be every night, and I didn't know how that would play out in the classroom.

Apparently I am in the minority here.  These teachers seem to be accustomed to parents who expect that academic requirements be adjusted when extracurriculars get extra demanding.  Around here, it's homework first.  Sports, Scouts, or other non-academic pursuits, worthy though they may be, do not excuse any of the kids from their school obligations.

Tales from Substitute Land

I spent yesterday filling in for the librarian/computer teacher at Little Brother's school.  Overall, it was a good day.  Only one child cried.

The really cute story I read with the first-graders

Here are some of the highlights:

The day began with a 20-minute stint in Morning Car Line, or as a friend of mine calls it, "Coddling Line."  Somebody's got to help the 3-year-olds climb out of the Hummers.  Seriously.  Those things are so high off the ground that a 3-year-old can see right under the car without bending over.  It was cold, but not raining, so that's as good as it gets in January.

It's an Eighth-Grade Privilege to lead the morning prayers over the PA system.  I'm guessing that yesterday's prayer leader has been cramming for a science test, because I swear she began with the words, "O Jesus, through the Molecular Heart of Mary..."

My first class was one of the 4-year-old pre-kindergarten groups.  I was nervous, because they were going to spend the time in the computer room, and I'm not as Mac-friendly as the librarian.  Also, I'd never seen the program they were going to be using.  She did show me how to log in to the web-based activity, and that mini-lesson turned out to be a very useful thing.  One child somehow logged herself out of the program no fewer than five times in a 25-minute class period.  Each time, I had to enter a username and password and click through a few things to restart the activity.

When that group came up the stairs to the library and struggled out of their winter coats (the pre-K is in a small schoolhouse across the parking lot) the kids proudly showed me their name tags.  "Are those for me?" I asked them.  "That's a really big help, because I never met you before!"  Then I told them my name, and the aide said, "They can just call you Mrs. S."  Upon hearing that, one little girl repeated my name.  I turned to the aide and told her, "Kids usually get it just fine."  Deal with it, lady.  I do.  Every day.  It's not THAT hard.

One of the perks of teaching the 4-year-old class is the Reception Line.  As the kids lined up to leave the library, a whole bunch of them stopped to give me hugs.

Without fail, there were quite a few kids in each of the 6 classes I taught yesterday who were worried about the librarian.  How sweet is that?  I made sure to let them know that she was actually there in the building that day working on some technical stuff with the principal.

Some weirdnesses:  I had back-to-back first-grade classes, and while I was deep into reading a great story with the first group, the second class walked into the library 5 minutes early.  HUH?  Now I have to figure out what to do with 40 kids?  I made the teacher wait while I finished the story with the first bunch, then sent them back to their tables for their library books.  Then I guess she had a change of heart because she offered to deliver the other class back to their teacher.  She still wound up with a few free bonus minutes, and I'm guessing her colleague lost a few (not to mention MY moment of panic there.  Substitute Teacher's motto:  never let 'em see you sweat.)

My first afternoon class came in noisily, followed by the music teacher whose class they'd just left.  Apparently they'd misbehaved in there, and he wanted to let me know that they stood ready to lose a privilege next week if they didn't shape up and behave in the library.  But they were good.  It took a little to settle them down, but once they all had books in their hands, they were busy reading when the librarian walked in and heard nothing but pages turning.  "They're so QUIET!"  (Substitute Teacher's motto:  don't put up with much.  A few well-directed glares work too.)

In the last class of the day, I had one child crying because of some misunderstanding the day before about a book to be reserved.  It took a little bit to get that worked out, especially since some other student had checked out the book in question earlier in the day.  Maybe it's uncharitable to say this, but there are some kids whose tears just don't affect me.  This kid is one of them.  I talked another one out of tattling, which is something that I just do not deal with.  That's really difficult when I've got the second graders, who are tattling pros by now. (Substitute Teacher's motto:  be immune to tears, tattling and puppy-dog eyes.)

All in all, though, it was a good day.

Twenty Years Ago Today

...my older son was born.  As with all new parents, there was a learning curve.  We had to figure out that he wouldn't break when we dressed him, that the 5-second rule applies, that you need to wait that extra second after a toddler falls to see if he's really hurt or if he'll just pick himself up and keep going, that not every sore throat is strep, and that if you intend to keep your sanity, you're going to have to hide The Little Engine That Could.

image credit

We learned that we didn't doom his academic career by waiting until he was 4 to send him to pre-K (3 afternoons a week), that the policy of "if you don't like the sport you don't have to sign up again after this season is over" is a good one, that Boy Scouting is well worth the time and effort, and that despite his nearly-nocturnal lifestyle, he can still manage to make the Dean's List.

We've been letting him go a little at a time ever since his first day of kindergarten when he was the kid tossing "gotta go!" over his shoulder as he ran to line up at the door.  But he'll always be a part of us.

Happy 20th birthday, Big Brother!

What a difference a day makes

Teenagers.  They're frustrating one minute, but inspire your awe and pride the next.  Since I vented yesterday about that little attitude problem I had with my daughter, it's only right that I commend the heart and friendship she exhibited today.

Even more amazing is that all of this happened while she was very far from feeling her best.  She was feeling pretty punky this morning, but in the absence of a fever or migraine or stomach-flu symptoms, I sent her off to school.  Just after 8:30 (less than 45 minutes after her arrival) she texted me to come pick her up, that she was in the nurse's office.  Yup, stomach flu.

True to form, she opened up during the short drive home.  (Kids always open up in the car!)  Apparently a good friend of hers is very upset with her mom.  The friend is an only child; Mom's a single parent; Dad is remarried and lives in a nearby city with his new wife and 2 small children from that marriage.  And Mom doesn't drive, but she works long hours, until late at night sometimes.  My daughter's friend feels like she gets no attention from her mom, that her mom doesn't care about her, that she should move in with her dad.  She is either alone from just after school until late in the evening or with an aunt, uncle and young cousin with whom she doesn't get along well.

I observed to Middle Sister that her friend probably wasn't complaining to her all the time in order to get Middle Sister to solve the problem; that she probably just wanted someone to listen.  And I commiserated with her friend that it must be tough to be all alone all evening with no way to get anywhere, and all of that.

A few minutes after we arrived home, my daughter was set up with her ginger ale and crackers and cell phone.  And then she asked if we could do something for her friend, if her friend could come here after school a couple of times a week and have dinner with our family so she wouldn't be alone so much.

I told her that would be fine, as long as I knew in advance when we'd have a dinner guest and if it wasn't on the nights when Little Brother has rehearsal, because we'd have to drive this girl home after dinner and that won't work on rehearsal nights.

And this is why I do what I do.  She may be 16, but as her friend's situation clearly demonstrates, 16-year-olds need parents around too.  Families with a stay-at-home parent make sacrifices so that can happen.  I know that not every family is able to do this, but I am very grateful that my family can and does, and that, in her own way, my daughter knows that it's a good thing.

A P.T. Barnum Kind of Morning

P. T. Barnum reportedly observed, "There is a sucker born every minute."

Today, that would be me.

This is the part where I get to eat those words I dished out last night when I wrote about how I'm happy to be able to do something for my daughter.  Because this morning, she made it onto the school bus on time, but her laptop didn't.  A few minutes after she left, I got a text message:

"Laptop..."

"For real?" I responded.  Then, locating the laptop near the top of the stairs, I texted her, "I see it.  Where to met?"

"? Where do you think" is what I got back.

Really?  You want to smart off at me when I'm doing you a favor?  The laptop is a school-issued, required piece of equipment that serves as both textbook and notebook in most of her classes.  So unlike the consequences she might suffer if she left her literature textbook home, she's basically unprepared for every single class if she doesn't have the laptop.

So I rescued her.  Again.  She forgets the laptop fairly often.

And after the smart answers in today's text message, plus the generous dose of attitude she showed me when I expressed some frustration at having to wait for her so I could deliver the computer, this might be the last time I bring it over there.  Yes, school is only a mile away.  Yes, I was home at the time.  But, oh well--maybe this kind of a favor, unlike a hot, nutritious dinner for a student involved in several after-school activities, isn't the kind of favor that does anyone any favors.

My sister calls me a sucker for dropping everything to deliver forgotten computers, textbooks, lunches, and track shoes to my daughter at school.  Maybe I am.  And maybe I'd be a better parent if I were less of a sucker.  I'd rather she misses the bus and  is sure to have all her stuff than making the bus and expecting a speedy delivery.

Next time she can just face the consequences, and then maybe, just maybe, there won't be too many next times after that.

The sucker has left the building.

Signs of the Times

Between 9 PM yesterday and 5 AM today, 2 different signs popped up in my house.

Here's the first.  Middle Sister tends to get a little territorial about "her" green tea.  She's not happy that someone else has been drinking it.  So to protect it from poachers, she decorated the jug.

Then I woke up to find the powder-room curtains draped over a chair in the family room and this sign on the bathroom door.

Here's the reason for the sign.

What do the cool kids think?

Apparently I am once again the butt of teenage jokes.  Just like when I was a teenager. I wasn't a cool kid then, and I'm far from being a cool mom now.

All this came up because I got an iPhone for Christmas. Little Brother immediately begged for my iPod touch, and I am sharing that with him (though the iTunes account is mine alone, so I am in control of any downloads.) The kids are passing the iPod around to play doodle jump. 

Big Brother said, "Mom, you have 2 full folders of Catholic apps on here!"

Middle Sister chimed in that when she told her friend that I had an iPhone, that friend said something about how I had probably filled it with Catholic apps.

At least I'm predictable...

You'd think that at my age I wouldn't let this bother me. But you'd be wrong.

This is why I am so reluctant to share my technology with my kids. I don't like to be teased. And apparently, in their world, having Catholic apps is tease-worthy.

Sure, in the scheme of things this is not very major. It makes me wonder, though, if who I am, if how I live, does justice to what I believe. Do I draw strength from my faith to live my day-to-day life in a different way, a better way, than I would without that faith?

Because if all those kids see are the apps, and not what's really behind them, then I have a lot of work to do.

Epiphany

The Feast of the Epiphany of the Lord will be celebrated on Sunday, January 8 this year.

That means you've got time to plan ahead; get some holy water and some blessed chalk (your priest or deacon can bless it for you) and prepare to bless your home this weekend.

A time-honored Catholic tradition is the blessing of the home at Epiphany.  We remember the visit of the Magi to the home of Joseph, Mary and Baby Jesus in Bethlehem.

LEADER:  In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

LEADER:  The Word became flesh and made his dwelling place among us.  It is Jesus who enlightens our hearts and homes with his love.  It is Jesus who is our source of hope, joy and comfort.  May all who enter this home find the light and love of Jesus Christ.  Let us listen to the word of God:
                In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God.  The Word became flesh and made his dwelling place among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory of an only Son coming from the Father, filled with enduring love.

ALL:  Our Father, who art in Heaven…

LEADER:  Lord God of heaven and earth, you revealed your only son to every nation by the guidance of a star.  Bless this house and all who live here.  May the light of Jesus shine from this house so that others may find their way to your light and your love.  We ask this through Christ our Lord. Amen.  In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.

We sprinkle holy water in each room of the home.

We conclude by using the blessed chalk to mark, above the doorway, the initials of the three Magi, surrounded by the numbers of the current year and separated by small crosses:  20+K+M+B+12

The above blessing service is the one that is used by members of our parish.  This year the Secular Franciscans prepared 450 blessing kits that included this prayer, a container of holy water and a piece of blessed chalk.  It looks like we'll need to prepare even more for next year--these went quickly!

Here is another very simple prayer that you can use to bless your home.  A friend shared it on Facebook:

Heavenly Father, walk through my house, and take away all worries and illness, and please watch over and heal my family and friends. Bring quiet where there is chaos, bring light where there is darkness and put love in our hearts. Amen.

Finally, Esther shares a beautiful home blessing service.

Take your pick--and make it a family tradition to bless your home this (and every) Epiphany!

Catching On

I'm a sucker for those "spend a year doing a certain thing" kind of books.  In recent years, I've read Julie & Julia, one where a woman decides to take every shred of advice dished out by Oprah Winfrey for an entire year, and two cookbooks written by someone who used her slow cooker every day for a year--among others.

Kind of makes me wish that I had something I was willing to do for a whole year that was interesting enough to get a book deal out of it.

Heather King's book Shirt of Flame describes a year spent reading and discovering the life of St. Therese of Lisieux.

I'm only halfway through this book, and I am SO hooked.  And this is a saint to whom I don't take easily.  A priest once described her in a homily as "immature, fussy, and a bit of a drama queen" and I'm inclined to agree.  I read her autobiography as a teenager, and I think it appealed to me more then than it does now that I'm fortymumble years old and most of my idealism has melted away amid the cares and worries and chores of taking care of my husband and family.

I don't ordinarily recommend a book I haven't even finished, but King's chronicle of her own spiritual journey as well as Therese's is an absolutely compelling read.  Each chapter ends with a prayer, and so far I've wanted to bookmark almost all of them.

Unfortunately, I can't remember where I first heard about this book, so I can't properly thank the person who told me about it.  I figured, instead, that I'd pay it forward by recommending it here.  Don't miss this book.  It's not big, it's not complicated, and it really is worth it.

A Peaceful Start

We rang in the year as we usually do, with 4 out of 5 of us visiting Middle Sister's BFF's family.  In this case, BFF really does mean forever; the girls are 16 and have known each other since they were 2 1/2!  It was a low-key time, just hanging around, laughing, watching the Twilight Zone marathon, eating, and heading out the door at 12:01 for a really impressive fireworks display.

I think it's been a whole year since I've stayed up until 1 AM.  And the Hot Flash Express rolled through at 6:30, mercifully an hour or so late, though still earlier than I'd like.

I enjoyed a quiet start to the day; the Big Kids both stayed at their friends' houses (Big Brother rings in the New Year with a friend he's known since kindergarten) and Little Brother is still asleep.  Cup of tea in hand, I had some uninterrupted time for morning prayer and the newspaper.

Then the sun came up and I moved over to the chair by the window to watch the cardinals, mourning doves and sparrows.  I got a new bird feeder for Christmas--it looks a lot like this:

Basically, it's a basketball-sized cage around the bird feeder tube.  It's taken them a few days, but the birds are finally getting the hang of it.  And having my desk near the window lets me get a good view.  I like that the big bully birds (starlings and blue jays) can't get in, but the sparrows and other small birds can.  Haven't seen any snowbirds this winter, but then again, we haven't seen any snow--and that's not necessarily a problem.

Christmas vacation is almost over; today, there's noon Mass; tomorrow our little family business will hold its annual meeting and review, and then on Tuesday, it's back to work and school for everyone!

For right now, I'll enjoy my perch at the desk where I can watch my bird feeder.  7 sparrows, no waiting--and the starling has been foiled again!

Happy New Year!  Peace and all good!

Last Week of 2011: Recap

Well, it's been an interesting week.

One week ago today we were loading the car for my husband's Big Family Christmas Eve Celebration and Pierogi Festival.  It was a busy, loud, good day.  I got a kick out of the little kids:  these are the children of the cousins who were little kids when I first met my husband!  Although we don't all get together much, the kids were quite sociable and comfortable around the adults and each other--what a credit to their parents.

My mother-in-law came back here with us after Christmas Eve and spent Christmas with us.  As we have done for the past several years, we spent Christmas at home.  Now that there are teenagers in the house, we let the kids open gifts as they wake up instead of waiting for everyone.  The folk group played at the 11:00 Mass, and we had a FULL choir area.  I don't think we could have fit one more person in there, and the 5 guitars had a lot to do with that.  What a testament to the group, ranging from age 62 to the 5-year-olds who come along with their parents!  We're there because we love what we do.  And on Christmas, everybody sings along.  There's no better way to give God the glory.

After church we came home to prepare dinner and just hang out.  Big Brother's girlfriend came over to have dinner with us.  We had a gift for her, and I had gotten her a funky stocking and put some fun stocking stuffers in with the gift as well.

On Christmas:  The Day After, we dropped off my mother-in-law and then headed to my parents' house.  It was a full house with both my siblings and their families, my parents, my great-aunt, my uncle, one cousin, and one niece's boyfriend.  The day featured lots of presents, lots of laughing, lots of food, and lots of cousins playing card games like "Old Maid," "Go Fish," and "B.S."

Then it was Middle Sister's birthday, a big chunk of which my husband spent in the Verizon store procuring iPhones for me and Middle Sister.  That's a gift neither of us thought we'd ever receive and I've been having some fun with it--though there's plenty still to be learned.  I made her a giant cookie cake AND an apple pie. She spent some time with her friends, and after dinner, our neighbors came over for dessert.

TheDad had been talking all week about going to Pittsburgh; no one knows why he wanted to go to Pittsburgh in December, but he did, so we did.  I refused to leave the house until he'd made a hotel reservation--there was no way I was going to play the "No Room at the Inn" game after driving for 5+ hours. We drove across Pennsylvania, with a detour to Shady Maple Smorgasbord for lunch.  There was all the usual bickering that driving 5+ hours with 3 kids involves.  For a few minutes there I thought there might be bloodshed in the buffet line (thanks, boys...)

TheDad's new GPS totally failed Pittsburgh.  Maybe the highways are just too close together, I don't know, but we were driving on "unnamed roads" a lot of the time, according to TomTom, and spent a good bit of time being told to make a U-turn when we were in a cattleshoot of Jersey barriers on a four-lane highway.

I found a Penzeys Spice Shop 5 blocks from our hotel.  Look at all the cool stuff I got my hands on there!  They had 5 kinds of cinnamon (I restrained myself and only got 3).

We went to a Vietnamese restaurant for lunch and had Pho.  I'm glad I picked up some lemongrass at Penzeys, because I want to learn to make this soup!

We spent the afternoon at the Carnegie Science Center (consensus:  it's cool, but Franklin Institute is way better) and then took a ride up and down the Monongahela Incline.

And bright and early yesterday morning, it was back on the road again to head home.  We were back by 3 and I've got plenty of laundry to keep me busy all day.  Though I love the Hampton Inn's comfortable beds, it was wonderful to be back at home in my own.

I really am a homebody.  It was an enjoyable trip but I do love being in my own home.

We'll ring in the New Year with friends, as usual, at their home.  I look forward to it, except for the staying-up-late part.  I turn into a pumpkin at about 9 PM.

Today, besides laundry, I'll be cooking or baking something to bring along with us tonight--as soon as I figure out what that will be!

Except for that 3-day detour to Pittsburgh, this has been our usual Christmas vacation.  I'm kind of looking forward to Tuesday when they're all back at work or school and the house is quiet once again.

Waiting in the Wings

Today's the day!  Before we leave for the Christmas Eve festivities, Little Brother will place all the figures in the Nativity scene.

Except, of course, for the Three Kings.  Those guys get to hang out behind the stable until Epiphany.

This morning, I unboxed and unwrapped all the figures and lined them up so they're ready to take their places.

The scene is set...it's almost time...places, everyone!

Sometimes I feel like Clark W. Griswold

As Christmas gets closer, I look forward to it less. I know that, like Clark, I "set standards that no family activity can live up to."  So by the 23rd of December, I've kind of had enough of it all already.

I'm anticipating what I know will be difficult moments.  I've got 3 days of family festivities coming up:  Christmas Eve with my husband's huge extended family, Christmas Day at home, just us and my mother-in-law, and Christmas:  The Day After with my family in the Great White North.

There will be people with whom I've never really gotten along well, and we'll have to make nice.

There will be people who've hurt me, and I'll have to pretend I've let it go.

There will be people who like to give me "career advice" because my kids are "too old" for me to still stay at home with them.

There will be an extremely shaggy dog that sets off my asthma, and I'll have to be extra careful about that, because I have to sing at church on Christmas Day and I don't want to sound like Bonnie Tyler in "Total Eclipse of the Heart."

It's not going to be a picture-perfect three days by any stretch of the imagination.  To be honest, I'm dreading them.  That shot in the arm of Christmas spirit I got from our Festival of Lessons & Carols?  It's pretty much worn off.  I feel less and less like celebrating, and more and more like I've got to just grit my teeth and get through it.

(It's for the kids, after all.  And I think one of them still believes.)

All of that does nothing to shake that feeling I've got right now, that "we're standing at the threshold of Hell."  The feeling that this one, as bad as I am expecting it to be, is going to be better than the one next year.  It's all downhill from here, for various reasons, and I'm not feeling up for it.

Like Clark, I want it perfect.  It's never going to live up to that dream, and I know it.  Let's face it:  the very first Christmas sure didn't live up to Mary's dreams.  Maybe that's what Christmas is all about...

Still to be done

I'm not done shopping--for my husband's gift, the kids' gifts, and food for Christmas dinner.  Not to mention gifts for Little Brother's teacher and bus driver.

Nothing is wrapped.

I haven't even started baking, and my cookie recipe makes at least 10 dozen and takes at least a full afternoon.

Little Brother has a rehearsal tonight, so it will be another late night (that makes 4 in a row!)

Last night, though, I spent two hours sitting at the front of a church with my guitar, and my son and his bass, and a children's choir that included Little Brother, and various string, woodwind, brass and percussion instruments, and a group of about 30 amazing singers, one extremely talented pianist, and an awesome music director who kept us all together.  We celebrated a "Festival of Lessons and Carols" with beautiful music and nine readings from the Old and New Testaments.

Four hours before the festival began, I still wasn't sure if I could play one of the songs.  It was unbelievably difficult.  I spent part of the morning transposing it.  Then I practiced, and practiced again.

I won't say it was perfect by any means, but I'm happy that I got through it decently enough.  What a challenge!

Last night was a gift.  50 people shared their talents last night--and for many nights before at rehearsals.  Every one of those people could have been doing something else, like Christmas shopping, or homework, or watching football games, or sleeping...but this is what they chose to do.

I suspect that all 50, if asked, would respond the same way I do:  it was definitely worth it.  So worth it.

The rest of it will happen.  If I had it to do over again, I'd put off the shopping and the baking and the housecleaning (who am I kidding--I'm always ready to put off housecleaning).  I'd put it off in a second to be able to be a part of an experience like that.

What a wonderful early Christmas gift.  I am tired, proud, and very grateful.

Enough Garbage Already

In my continuing quest to win the Mother of the Year award, I've been having a bit of a battle of wills with Little Brother.  He's 9 and really feeling his oats these days.  And I've pretty much had it.

He's the one who's home more often than not, so he's the one who gets the chores that fall into the category that a certain camp director I once knew termed "Duties As Assigned."  Basically, that means "do whatever the person in charge asks you to do."  With a shortage of teenagers around here these past few weeks (Middle Sister's been involved in the play at school), the only one around to help with Duties As Assigned is Little Brother.

There has been much moaning, groaning, weeping, wailing, and let's not forget the gnashing of teeth, about how he's expected to do all the chores around here.  Must be why he's so at home in the theatre; he certainly does have a flair for the dramatic.

Last night we were all home for dinner for the first time in several weeks, and we got up from the table and opened up the boxes of Christmas ornaments to decorate the tree.  That done, we remembered that there was still a kitchen to clean up.  TheDad asked all the kids to help me get that done.

Two teenagers headed in and got water running and started emptying clean dishes from the dishwasher.  I handed Little Brother the silverware basket, and he began removing forks and placing them on the still-unwiped table where I'd carved the roast chicken earlier.

That's when it got ugly, so I just sent him to bed, which involved me spending the next half hour repeating, "Good night, Little Brother" until he finally gave up (Curses!  Foiled again by Mom's Broken-Record Parenting Technique.)

After lunch today, I asked Big Brother to please take out the kitchen trash.  He said, "OK" and started to get up.  Little Brother chimed in, "GOOD!  I don't have to do all the chores around here for once."

You know where this is going, right?  Here's what I said next:  "Big Brother, sit down.  Little Brother, please take out the kitchen trash."

That had better be the end of it.

Making a List, Praying It Twice

So when you've got a huge list of people who need your prayers how do you handle it?  Do you write them all down so you can remember them?  Do you try to keep track of them all in your head?  Do you make a list on your smartphone?

And is it copping out if you just pray:  "Lord, you know all the people I care about and have promised to keep in my prayers.  You know their needs and their concerns.  Help them to know that you are with them in their struggles, and may your will be done."

That's pretty much where I am right now.  So I hope that will be sufficient, because I am out of words.

Advent: Sublime, Ridiculous and Sentimental

In honor of Gaudete Sunday, I brought out the Christmas decorations yesterday.  I used only about half of what I usually do, though I will bring other things out of the box if my family asks for them.  (At this point, I'm wondering what decorations are holiday "musts" for them, and which ones can go.)

My collection of handmade Christmas trees surrounds the empty manger.

We've had the Advent wreath and the empty stable out since the first Sunday of Advent.  The trees went up over the weekend.

This is our Advent wreath.  A couple of years ago, my mother-in-law found this wreath among her Christmas decorations.  It's the one they used when my husband and his brother were kids.  We'll use it until those plastic greens fall apart (each year we lose a little more of it.)

That's really what Christmas decorations are all about--the sentimental value (like each and every tree pictured with my manger).  My most precious Christmas ornaments are not the pricey Belleek ball or the Lenox "baby's first Christmas" giraffe.  The ones I treasure most are the popsicle-stick picture frames with my Big Kids' pre-K pictures in them.  The kids' favorites are the ceramic pierogi and the penguins, and they fight to see whose penguin can claim the highest spot on the tree.  It wouldn't be Christmas decorating without that battle, which is why our tree did not go up on "Pink Candle Sunday" this year.  Big Brother will be home by the weekend, and we'll get it done then.

Here's one item that's not going to last beyond this holiday season:  Snowman In a Bowl.

Little Brother picked this up at Lunch with Santa on Saturday.  It's a substance with the consistency of egg white.  You pour it out of the little snowman jar.  Eyes and nose come out of the jar too.  The jar lid is the little hat, which you then pop into the bowl.  12 hours after opening this, it's still jiggly and viscuous.  I'm glad I gave him a dollar-store bowl that I don't mind sacrificing, because I do not know what is IN this stuff, but it's pretty disgusting, especially when Little Brother constantly picks up and relocates the hat.

From the Department of "How Did THAT Get There?"

Things found on the living-room corner hutch while decorating for Christmas:

--one giant oak leaf, almost too big to fit in a Ziplock gallon-size bag
--two complete decks of cards
--the three of hearts from a third deck of cards
--one guitar pick
--six pieces of Lego U-Build Battleship
--one sea shell (clam)
--one nonfunctional laptop battery
--two Cub Scout awards
--one penny
--one "little black book" of Lent reflections
--one big black patch with a white star and Indian chief pictured on it (I'm guessing this belongs to one of my Scouts?)
--one video camera
--program from MAME
--Middle Sister's certificate from her school's fall Honors Assembly
--one blue plastic frog
--and a black-and-white plastic chicken foot, broken off some long-tossed action figure.

This is, of course, in addition to all the stuff that's supposed to be on those shelves:  photos of all the cousins, our framed wedding invitation, and a statue of St. Joseph.  That cabinet is my living room's very own, very dusty Black Hole.

Peace and All Good

Peace.
It does not mean to be in a place where there is no noise, trouble or hard work.

It means to be in the midst of those things and still be calm in your heart.

What an appropriate reflection for this very busy time of year.

Thanks, Dawn!

Spelling Errors

Little Brother sorted through the mail after school yesterday and found some Christmas cards to open.  After I reminded him to save the envelopes for me so I can check return addresses and remove the cancelled stamps for the mission collection, he got busy opening the cards and inspecting the photos he found inside.

But since he wasn't just shredding the envelopes like he usually does when he opens mail, he took a few seconds to notice the names and addresses.

"Mom, guess what?  On both of these cards, our last name is spelled right!"

When you've got a last name like ours, that's a pretty tall order.

I mentioned on Facebook that Little Brother is proofreading all incoming Christmas cards.  That got some interesting reactions, ranging from suggestions that people sending cards to my house should write illegibly to disguise the errors, to the declaration from my sister that she'll spell it her way no matter what.  She's been spelling it consistently WRONG for almost 21 years, being a little extra generous with Z's in an already consonant-heavy name.

One of my aunts, a first-grade teacher, remarked that Little Brother should keep a list of the people who've spelled it right so he can give them a special sticker as a reward.

That brought me right back to the days when I was teaching first-grade Spanish, before Little Brother was born.  Each teacher in that school, no matter what the subject, was to make and use a bar graph that could be regularly updated in the classroom:  quite a tall order for a traveling teacher who had only 35 minutes per group as it was.  I wound up asking the kids to bring in those stickers off the bananas that showed the bananas' country of origin.  We would paste them onto a big poster that I hung on my travel cart.  Every time we got a new sticker, we'd count the number of stickers each country had (it was a good year for Honduras, if I recall correctly.)

It's really tempting to make a similar chart with all the variations on our name...I won't, but it's tempting.

Do Your Best

Twice now, in the past couple of days, the issue of how to properly pray the Liturgy of the Hours has come up.

As a Secular Franciscan, I am committed to praying the Liturgy of the Hours, in union with the Church.  I generally don't get beyond Morning and Evening Prayer, but the expectation of us in this Order is that we pray at least those Hours, whether in common or in private.  Now that my fraternity meets during the day, we have begun praying Midafternoon Prayer at our meetings.

We don't all, however, have the same breviary.  Most of us have the one-volume "Christian Prayer" version, but a few use the four-volume set.  I used to type out the prayer for that day's meeting, but it would change with the week and with the season and that got to be a huge time sink, not to mention the use of ink and paper for 15 copies--so now we just muddle through together, with all the "what page is it on?" and other general fumbling that goes along with it.

We've discovered recently, though, that the folks with the four-volume set expect that the antiphon will be repeated after each psalm or canticle, before moving on to the next.  In the single-volume format, it's not indicated anywhere that this should be done.  This has gotten us into a few liturgical traffic jams recently.

I brought up the issue at our November council meeting, and together we worked out a plan.  Before beginning prayer at the December meeting, we would introduce the idea of the repeated antiphon to everyone--and one of the owners of the 4-volume Breviary would be the antiphonarian.  While we were at it, we worked out solutions to a couple of other technical difficulties that other council members had noticed.  It was all good.

At the council meeting on Tuesday, I reviewed the plan.  We had a few members sitting in at the council meeting, because we had been working on a project before that.  The council did not mind having a more "public" meeting this time; it wasn't like anything sensitive was going to come up.  Most of the members just listened and let us do what we had to do, until we got on the subject of Liturgy of the Hours.

At that point, someone commented, "I don't think God cares very much exactly HOW we do it, as long as we do it."

Well, yes.  And no.

Daria Sockey wrote, yesterday, about the challenge of fitting in the Hours when you have a busy family, a demanding job, or nowhere quiet to pray (or all of the above!)  She quoted G.K. Chesterton:  "A thing that is really worth doing is worth doing badly."

Badly when that's the best we can do?  I can live with that.  I do live with that.  I'm sometimes praying with the theme song from Phineas and Ferb as my background music; other times, I've got Little Brother in my face even though I try to gently remind him that I'm saying my prayers now.  A home with a family in it is not often a quiet refuge for prayer.

But when we can do better, we should.  I think that we should give God the best we've got.  If the best we've got is interrupting kids, then we offer that.  On the other hand, if we are together in fraternity, in a nice quiet location, and capable of making a little extra effort to ensure that we are all united in prayer, we can go that extra mile.

Repeating the antiphon is a little thing--there's no doubt about it.  But it's those little things, those little efforts and sacrifices, that can bring us closer to God, a little at a time.

Not What I Had in Mind

Little Brother just came downstairs wearing shorts and a T-shirt.

"It's not THAT warm," I told him.  We were preparing to leave the house for an errand, or it wouldn't really have mattered.

"OK then, I'll put some gloves on," he answered, pulling on his favorite pair of "hobo" gloves (the fingerless kind).

And Now, for a Limited Time Only

The kids are getting older.  (I'm getting older.  According to Little Brother, I'm only 7 1/2 short years away from "old.")  And while I've never really been the nostalgic or sentimental type--leaving that job to my husband, who's way better at that kind of stuff than I am--nostalgia has been creeping up on me lately, whether I want it around or not.

Little Brother will turn 10 this March.  By then, Big Brother will be 20 and Middle Sister 16.

Yikes.

My kids are growing up on me, and there's not a damn thing I can do about it.

Really, I love being a parent of older kids.  They're toilet-trained, literate, and can make their own toast.  2 out of 3 of them don't need a babysitter anymore.  I love watching my kids try something new, work hard at it, pick themselves up when they fall on their faces, and succeed in amazing ways.  I endured their toddler years to get to this point.

But I'm not ready to give up all of it.  I'm glad that Little Brother is still excited that St. Nicholas would leave some treats in his shoe last night.  He was thrilled to receive a ticket to "Lunch with Santa" from a dear friend. He's worrying that Santa won't be able to get down our chimney (maybe I shouldn't have let him listen to a certain rather macabre holiday tune).  I'm not ready for the time when someone has to burst his bubble.

Again and again I am reminded that my kids are kids for a limited time only.  If I'm not careful I will turn into one of those "older people" who smiles at the moms struggling with toddler meltdowns in the middle of ShopRite and says, "Before you know it, they will be all grown up.  Enjoy this!"  (I really hated those people, by the way.)

I had to request Big Brother's medical records from the pediatrician.  He's too old for examining rooms that feature Scooby-Doo and Disney princesses.  We've been with this same pediatrician's office for almost 20 years--all of Big Brother's life--and we've only got 10 years more to go with them.

I am 2/3 finished with this portion of our program, folks.  In 10 years, Little Brother will be off to college and done with the pediatrician--though with luck, he'll still have a soft spot in his heart for Scooby-Doo.  10 years is not that long.

These are the years in which I finish making the switch from "hands-on" parenting to "step away from the helicopter" parenting.  I have to deliberately hold back, let them make mistakes, offer (unwanted) advice, drive them places, shell out cash, drive them other places, refuse to let them go to some places, and have a hot meal ready for them when they're ready for the hot meal.

In return, I get to see them make the honor roll (2 of them), win awards for hard work at soccer (2 of them), competently and confidently pull off complicated Propsmistress tasks, rehearse for musicals, and score interviews for paid summer internships.  (That interview is today.  Prayers would be appreciated.)  All that has happened in the past 3 weeks.

Those have been good weeks.

Here's to the next 10 years.

How Dry I Am

One of the best ways I get a laugh is being around my kids.  It cracks me up when they use an expression completely innocently--but you can so easily take it another way.

Yesterday Little Brother sat next to me during Mass.  After Communion, which we receive under both species, he returned to his seat and whispered, "That wine really hit the spot!"  I just stared at him, wondering how much of it he drank...and he continued, "I haven't had a drink all day!"

After that, there was no keeping my composure, regardless of the inappropriateness of giggling during prayer-after-Communion time.

The Pot Calls the Kettle Black

Middle Sister missed the bus (again) this morning.  As she opened the door of the van to load her stuff in, a video-game cartridge fell out.

"Little Brother doesn't take care of his things," she complained as she threw her backpack onto the back seat, followed by her laptop and enormous sports duffel.

I just looked at her and then at her pile of stuff.

"What?  The IT people test those laptops by throwing them down the stairs!  I think it can handle my 2-pound sports bag."

(She underestimates the weight of this sports bag by a factor of 10.)

"I don't think they actually throw the computers down the stairs," I replied.

"Yes, they do!  My freshman English teacher told us that," she informed me.

"I have a hard time picturing the members of the Technology Department tossing laptops down the stairs," I commented.

"And the keyboards are supposed to be spillproof too!  I kinda want to test that..."

A Christmas Rhapsody

Because music touches you in a way nothing else can.

Because Christmas is coming.

Because classic rock is...classic.

Don't miss Bethlehemian Rhapsody!

Not a Musical Genius

One thing I enjoy about having an iPod is the "genius" feature in iTunes.  I can pick a song I like, click the Genius button, and immediately a playlist will be generated from the other songs in my library.  It works great--most of the time.

It does not work with Christmas music.

I wanted some background music when I was baking the gingerbread cookies just now.  Some will go to a bake sale tonight, others to a care package for Big Brother, and whatever's left after that will get eaten here.  I made 9 dozen cookies today, so there's enough to go around.

So I cued up Taylor Swift's "Silent Night, Holy Night" and told the Genius to do its thing.  It went from the sublime to the ridiculous.  The second tune was Rascal Flatt's "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen," which was very nice.  And then the third tune was "Who's Your Daddy" by Toby Keith.

I don't think that one quite fits the Christmas theme.

I won't be leaving my Christmas music to the Geniuses anymore.

Read While You Eat

Little Brother on "Dress Like a Cow Day" 2010

My mom just called to tell me a story she heard from my great-uncle when she visited him earlier today.  During World War II, Uncle Leo was in the service (I guess the Army; the family just refers to it as "the service.")  I knew he'd been stationed in Japan, because he used to sing us songs in Japanese that he'd learned during the war.

"Did you know," she asked me, "that Leo was stationed in Atlanta during part of the war?  And when he was there, he worked with a man named Truett Cathy.  He even sent Leo one of the books he wrote."

The name sounded familiar, but I couldn't think of the titles of any of his books.

Mom told me that Uncle Leo and Mr. Cathy had stayed in occasional touch over the years, through phone calls or letters.  Then she mentioned the reason the name sounded familiar:  he's the founder of Chick-Fil-A.

We're big fans of Chick-Fil-A.  Good food, great service, unfailingly polite staff, impeccably clean restaurants, and a business that's not afraid to close on Sunday--those things impress me.

When I got off the phone, I was telling my husband about how my uncle knew this man.  As soon as I said the name, Little Brother piped up from the other room, "The guy who invented Chick-Fil-A?"

TheDad turned around and stared at Little Brother.  "How did you know that?"

"They have a whole wall about him in Chick-Fil-A," Little Brother responded.  And apparently he's read the whole thing.

Mending the Mug

Middle Sister is burning the candle at so many ends right now; I'm just hoping she makes it through the week.  This semester she has a demanding course load:  Honors English, US History, Geometry and Studio Art.  Winter track just started for the season (she's hurdling this year).  And tonight is the opening of her school's fall play:  "The Odd Couple."  She's the Prop Mistress.

That's a big job in a play with a small ensemble but a huge props list.  Last week she exported two cases of soda and an entire Rubbermaid bin out of my basement.  I have no idea what she took from the house, other than a few crystal wineglasses that originally belonged to my mother-in-law.  The other day she texted me at lunchtime and asked me to drop off more soda and a tablecloth, and yesterday she took one of my crockpots to school.  (It should be interesting to see how much of my stuff comes back.)

She's been putting in 13-hour days all week, and for the past two days I've been dropping off "meals on wheels" at dinnertime.  She could walk to Wendy's, but I really don't mind bringing a healthier dinner over to her, and frankly, I'm a little flattered that she asked me to do this.  Yup, it was her idea.  How do you say no to a kid who is clearly missing homemade dinner?

Last night when she came home after her long day, she had a cup of something in her hand.  I was in the middle of folk-group practice (we rehearse in my living room so the kids can play), so I didn't pay much attention until she rummaged around in a drawer and retrieved a hot-glue gun, then dumped out a pile of ceramic shards from a coffee mug on my dining room table.  The mug was a prop.  It had been broken, and she was going to fix it.  It's not like they needed this mug, but she needed to fix it.

She spent an hour she could ill afford, trying to glue that mug back together.  People were asking her why she bothered, because it wasn't a necessary item--there are always so many coffee mugs around.  And she really couldn't answer.

I completely got it, though.  She was mending the mug because she needed a mental break from all the other stuff she's juggling right now.  Yes, it required concentration, but it was a completely different kind of task from vocab homework, history assignments, hurdling and prophunting.

When I was in grad school, I started doing the same thing.  Full-time graduate students tend to be very single-minded.  They focus on their studies 24/7.  I can't do that without losing my mind completely, which is why I took my master's degree and left, abandoning all hope of becoming a college professor.  I don't love anything enough to study it 24/7.  I took forced breaks from literature by joining the RCIA program as a sponsor for a fellow student, and by joining the folk group that played at 3 Masses a week.  People wanted to know why I'd spend time doing that instead of in the library; it was precisely because it wasn't the library.

Now I deal with stress by baking.  Whatever works, right?

She wasn't able to repair the mug; there were too many missing pieces.  But I think that hour she spent puzzling it back together, glue gun in hand, was not a wasted hour.  And I'm glad to know that she--however unconsciously--recognizes and gives in to the need for balance in her life.