Tiber River Review: The Truth About Therese

A saint who died when she was only about half my age? Who spent 1/3 of her life behind convent walls? How could such a saint possibly inspire anyone whose path in life had taken a very different turn?

While the title and subtitle of this book, The Truth about Therese: An Unflinching Look at Lisieux, the Little Flower, and the Little Way suggest a more "unauthorized biography" feel, that's not what author Henri Gheon achieves in this short biography of St. Therese of Lisieux. Instead, he writes of the many difficulties she endured, even after she achieved her dream of becoming a Carmelite at a very young age.

My favorite chapter of this book was the first one, "My Initial Resistance to St. Therese," because I have felt the same resistance. I was more captivated by this saint as a teenager; the older I have become, the more distant I have felt from her. But this book, especially in the later chapters, does much to bring out the spiritual battles that St. Therese fought throughout her life. While my battles are surely different, there is much that I can learn from St. Therese's actions and attitudes about how to endure such spiritual warfare.

Through this book, I learned that St. Therese was more than a spoiled child, more than a goody-goody; I learned of her Little Way and how it can be put into practice. Most importantly, I learned that sainthood doesn't come easy to anyone--but that's no reason to stop striving for it.

The foreward by Philippe Maxence is short but not to be missed.

Perhaps because it was translated from the French, and surely because it was originally written in 1934, this book is not an easy read. Vocabulary, sentence structure and turn of phrase are challenging to the reader.

The fine print:  I wrote this review of The Truth About Therese for the free Catholic book review program, created by Aquinas and More Catholic Goods.
Aquinas and More is the largest on-line Catholic bookstore.
I receive free product samples as compensation for writing reviews for Tiber River. 

Works in Progress

Things my kids have learned this summer: How to make Jambalaya. Algebra. Acting. Making tuna salad and muffin pizza.

Things my kids have not learned this summer: Turning lights and tv off when they leave a room. Closing drawers and doors to cabinets and closets. Eating with silverware (still to be mastered by one child)

So they can cook, compute and emote, but they still act like they were raised by wolves.

There is much work yet to be done.

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Fat Police

This morning, Little Brother and I went grocery shopping. Everything went well for the first 3/4 of the trip. We got nectarines, cucumbers, melon, bananas, celery, Cheerios, peanut butter, cookies (I had a coupon) and EVOO. Then we got to the dairy aisle, and that's where things got ugly.

I reached for a gallon of milk, the kind with the red top that screams, "Full fat!" at the casual observer, and my skinny 10-year-old took me to task.

It's got to be the propaganda that's behind it. First of all, the kid doesn't even drink milk--hasn't in more than 8 years. I am the main consumer of that weekly gallon of milk, and I like my milk whole, thankyouverymuch. But boy, was I in trouble. "Why don't you buy 2%, Mom?"

"Because I don't like 2%. I like Real Milk." We went along this way for a while, as I wheeled the cart along and picked up a pound of Real Butter and 18 Real Eggs and then headed toward the Coffee Nirvana section, where I once again bemoaned the fact that ShopRite never has quarts of light cream anymore.

"Half-and-half is just as good, Mom," said my young Food Policeman.

"No, believe me, half-and-half is not just as good," I sighed as I placed a quart of half-and-half in the cart sadly.

"Mom, I agree with that governor of New York about this," he commented. (I think he meant "mayor," but whatever. I was arguing for my Real Milk, not accuracy regarding government officials.)

Kid, I'm all for healthy, which is why I bought nectarines, cucumbers, melon, bananas, celery, Cheerios and peanut butter, and also the EVOO. But when it comes to dairy, I'm a full-fat kind of girl. And no one, not any governor or mayor or president or surgeon general or doctor on TV is going to tell me not to have my nice big glass of milk with dinner every night.

Real milk. With the red top. Ice cold. It's the only way. I'm willing to sit down with the Fat Police over a cold one and discuss this, and I will not back down.

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Of Goodbyes, Long and Short, and Birthdays

Yesterday was my husband's birthday. Three years ago it stopped being a happy occasion.

On his birthday three years ago, we stood next to each other, all lined up in fancy clothes, alongside his father's casket. Pop had passed away two days before after a short and unexpected illness. Some of the people at the wake remembered that it was my husband's birthday and awkwardly wished him a happy birthday along with offering their condolences.

It was weird, and a pretty crummy way to have to spend a birthday.

The other day we gathered with my mother-in-law, as well as my husband's sister-in-law and 3 nieces, to attend a Mass for Pop. After that we got some pizza. No one made sure there was a cake, or candles. No one even sang or suggested the idea of it. You don't commemorate the anniversary of a death with a birthday cake and a rousing chorus of "Sto Lat*."

My mother-in-law did not call her son yesterday to wish him a happy birthday. I don't know if she remembers that his birthday was Sunday; during the past couple of years it has become apparent that she is suffering from Alzheimer's. On Friday evening, after we got home, my husband confided that it's really hard for him to see his mom like this.

Hard as it was to lose Pop, his illness was mercifully short. In early August of that year, we were arguing with him that he should see a doctor because of a few symptoms he was having. By the 24th he was gone. In between those two points were a horrible couple of weeks in which my husband spent his time shuttling between his job and his parents so that his mom could get to see Pop in the hospital. There was no time to think about what might happen, what it would be like with Pop gone. There was no time to think about anything.

Now, all he has is time. He knows that he is losing a little bit of his mom with each passing day. It's just a question of how many days will pass before a family agreement must be made, because the time will come (sooner rather than later) when she cannot continue to live on her own. In many ways, already, she is no longer "on her own," depending on my husband and his sister-in-law for things like errands, food shopping, paying the bills, doctor visits and filling her medication organizer.

This is an awful way to lose someone.

Right now, what is lost is the short-term memory stuff: the "where did I put my keys" and the taking medicine as scheduled and the writing out of checks to pay bills. But we know what's coming. And the hardest loss of all, I think, will be the loss of the relationship: the time when she no longer remembers her son, when she cannot recognize her grandchildren.

One way (out of many) in which my husband and I are opposite is that he is a relationship person and I am a logistics person. It's something that I admire and am frustrated by, sometimes in the same minute. But while I worry about his mom largely in terms of the logistics, he is grieving, in advance, the loss of the relationship with his mother, even as he must deal with the logistics of her physical needs.

And that is a pretty crummy way to spend a bithday.

*"Sto Lat" is a Polish happy-occasion song. The lyrics, loosely translated, mean "May you live 100 years." In my husband's family, it is always sung at birthdays.

 

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Like a Ninja

Ever since he was a very Little Brother, his nickname has been "Monkey." If it was there, the kid would climb it.

Just now, he woke up and came downstairs.

"What's up, Monk?" I greeted him.

"I'm not a monk," he informed me. "Monks do this all the time," bowing his head and folding his hands in prayer.

"I'll bet some of them altar serve," I commented.

He brightened (I thought the mention of altar-serving did it) and then zipped out of praying-hands mode into full-on Ninja warrior moves--kind of like Tai Chi but speedier.

"Some of them do this," he told me. "Ninja Monks!"

A Rose by Any Other Name

So I was sitting at Little Brother's soccer practice last night when the leaves of the tree next to me caught my eye. Because of the heavy underbrush, I couldn't see the tree trunk, but the leaves were interesting. I have an app for my phone called Leafsnap that lets you take a photo of a leaf and then it analyzes it, offering a few possibilities for leafy identification.

My kids found the leaf on the kitchen table tonight (I had to set the leaf on a white surface or the app doesn't work) and they think they don't need an app to know that the leaf is probably marijuana.

NOT.

It looks quite a bit like it, but according to the app and several websites, what we've got here is a sweetgum tree.

I had no idea those grew north of the Mason-Dixon Line; something about the name "sweetgum tree" just screams "Deep South" to me. Must have been mentioned in a book once.

My kids, however, are standing by their story and offering me assistance with recovery of a whole other sort than I've been working on for the past few months.

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I Do Not Like This, Uncle-Sam-I-Am

There was a blood-donation drive at our parish today, and Middle Sister wanted to donate. She's 16, and that's old enough if she brings along a parent to sign a permission slip. So I took her over there, filled out the form, and sat with her while she read the packet of information and disclaimers that she was handed.

Finally her name was called and we went over to the desk where the nurse was taking medical histories. First Middle Sister had to produce an ID with her date of birth. A school ID wasn't going to do it, and I reminded her that she had her driver's permit in her handbag. Then the nurse told me that I wasn't allowed to be there. Citing "privacy issues," she said that while my daughter gave her medical history, I couldn't be present. I could, however, stand next to the table where they would take the blood out of her arm. That is, if I weren't so squeamish about things like that. (I'll drive you to the ER if you don't make me look at the wound.)

So I had to go sit on the other side of the room while my underage daughter gave her medical history. She is not old enough to get an Advil from the school nurse if she has a migraine without parental permission, let alone donate blood or get her ears pierced (or any other body part). I accompany her to medical appointments. But I AM NOT ALLOWED to listen to my minor child give her medical history.

Can you tell I'm not a fan of this policy? My daughter wasn't asking me to please go away. She didn't seem to care one way or the other, which is comforting to me. If the patient doesn't care that a parent is there during the medical history, why is it a problem for the nurse?

I was only able to find a small amount of information regarding confidentiality on the Red Cross website:

The Red Cross maintains the confidentiality of information we obtain about a donor and will release a donor’s confidential information to his or her parents only with the donor’s consent.

Is this all part of HIPAA, or is this something new? Regardless, I don't like it. Not one bit. If she is young enough to require my signature before she can give blood, she is young enough that I can still listen to her medical history.

And after all that, her iron was JUST shy of the benchmark required for blood donation. So this was all for nothing.

Explanation FAIL

Little Brother and I attended Mass together this morning. He paid attention to the readings and even to Father's homily, which linked the "Magnificat" from the Gospel to both the Visitation and the life of St. Teresa Benedicta (Edith Stein).

That might seem like a stretch, but the gist of it was that "My being proclaims the greatness of the Lord" was central to the Blessed Mother's life as well as to the martyrdom of St. Teresa.

After Mass was over, Little Brother asked me what the name of today's feast was, again. He didn't seem to be too familiar with the concept of the Assumption--especially after listening to a Gospel that told the story of the Visitation.

I told him that when most people die, only their soul goes to Heaven. But the Blessed Mother's soul and body went to heaven upon her death.

It's complicated. I can't wrap my head around this mystery either.

Apparently neither can Little Brother, who then commented: "Mary could FLY? Wow, that's COOL! I want to fly..."

If You Take a Street Urchin to the Diner

If you take a Street Urchin to the diner, it is not advisable to order the Mexican Omelet.  (It's my favorite. Green peppers, onions and Monterey Jack cheese, so says the menu, although in real life it's more likely to be Cheddar.  Either way, it's all good.)

So we went to the diner with Little Brother and Adventure Boy. And I ordered the Mexican Omelet, not knowing any better, because it's my favorite, and it's never been a problem before.

Then again, we don't usually take Street Urchins to the diner.

My omelet was delicious, as usual. And then Adventure Boy, Master of All That Is Tactful, looked at it, made a face and said, "EWWWWWWWWWWWWW! That looks like big green BOOGERS!"

Thanks for that.

Everybody: In the Pool!

I don't know where the Street Urchins summer, but most of them haven't been around here too much (with the exception of Adventure Boy.)  And despite sending my request for contact information home with each of them, I'd only wound up with home phone numbers for two of the four boys on the block.

One of the other boys showed up here today, when Little Brother and two friends were already in the pool.  I handed him a fresh contact sheet and told him to go get it filled out (and to get a towel), and then he could swim.  He told me that he'd lost the other one, but that his mom thought it was a good idea.  He went back home, but 5 minutes later there he was, jumping into my pool without handing me a paper.

I made him get out of the water and sent him home to get it.

I felt bad about that for about 5 seconds.  I have to protect these kids when they are here, and part of that is knowing how to reach their families in case of emergencies.

He came back with the paper filled out, and without a towel.  Adventure Boy doesn't have a towel either.  (I told him to go home and change and get a towel, but he decided to just swim in his clothes.)  And while Mean Mom might provide a few chocolate-chip cookies apres-swim, they're on their own when it comes to towels.

Quick and Random

Thank you for the birthday wishes I received here after TheDad "hacked" my blog on Saturday.  I received some nice presents:  a doughnut pan and extra-large dark chocolate bar from Middle Sister, a Pullman bread pan from Big Brother (yes, I asked for kitchen stuff for my birthday!) and on Sunday, TheDad is taking me into New York City so we can see "Sister Act" on Broadway.  That's going to be fun!

Little Brother and the Street Urchins are making me crazy here.  Two are taking turns with "Bop It" and the third is playing a "Paper Jamz" guitar.  Let it be known that I am not responsible for bringing either of those nefarious, noisy toys into my house.  It's almost at the point where I'm willing to let them play a video game just to shut them up, except that I suspect that this is their evil plan, so I'm holding out as best I can.

I spent 6 hours of my birthday in the car (with my family) so we could go to my sister's and celebrate my niece's graduation.  It was worth the trip.  This is the longest car trip I've taken since right before I had surgery in April, and I'm not gonna lie:  it took its toll.  I had a backache until Monday.  But it was great fun to spend time with my family, and one of my other nieces made me a birthday cake from scratch, featuring the new nickname she and her sister have bestowed upon me.

I am coming to terms with the fact that while my weight has not changed since surgery, things have rearranged a bit, so some of my clothes no longer fit.  Actually, I had to break down and buy a couple of pairs of (gasp!) Mom Jeans, since those are the only ones with a high enough waist to work.  Waistbands and incision scars don't mix well.  Middle Sister is going to be horrified.  But I'm looking at it this way:  most people who have surgery at a cancer center cannot say that they're relatively healthy--I can.  I came out of the whole thing with a large scar, hot flashes every hour, and a fashion challenge.  There is every reason to be grateful, even for the Mom Jeans.

It's about time for a battery-ectomy on a couple of electronic toys...

Today is My Birthday! (....or I shouldn't leave my blogger account open when I go to sleep)

Happy birthday!

(I will be setting the tent up in the back yard, as I think even the couch will not be an option when she wakes up and sees this)

P.S. On August 5th, you are busy.

Your DH
TheDad

Elsewhere

I've got a few things to say about a few things in these places:

• at Catholicmom.com:  Tech Talk:  5 Reasons to Use Springpad.  This is probably the most useful app I have on my phone (and computer).
• at Tjoos.com:  Tuesday Release, in which I express my gratitude for my Big Kids' good taste in music
• also at Tjoos:  Athletic Immunity, this Notre Dame football fan's short take on the NCAA's sanctions of Penn State
• and finally, did you know that hot flashes can be so powerful that they can melt moisturizer right off your face?  I found this out last week:  Midlife Madness

Go ahead and click through!

No Killer Instinct Here

In which I reveal myself as a less-than-committed sports parent.


For the past three weeks, Middle Sister has been attending twice-weekly summer soccer "camp," which runs from 6 to 8 PM, or right during the time in which I'm cooking and serving dinner.  It's also right during prime thunderstorm hours, especially in the heat of July.

Last week, on that very hot day, the team parents got an email:

Coach [name withheld to protect the guilty] is going to try to still have training tonight from 6-8 PM. Hopefully the storms will pass through either before or after the session.

It is suggested that parents stick around or arrange for another parent (or an upperclassman with a car) to account for your daughter in case the storms roll in while we are on the field and we would need to get all of the girls into cars in a hurry.

So we parents are supposed to stick around in our cars in an open parking lot when it's 100 degrees outside during a longer-than-two-hour practice just in case it rains?  That's your genius plan for keeping my kid safe from a possibly dangerous weather situation?

Five minutes later we got another email:  "On second thought, practice is cancelled."

Good.

But tonight, while it's 10 degrees cooler, we've got thunderstorms threatening.  I'm consoling myself with the fact that we live so close to the school that I could probably drive to the parking lot faster than the soccer kids could get there from the field.  And I'm going to keep the phone handy during dinner, because if it gets any darker out there, I want to be ready to zip right over there.

Really, coach, when there's any yellow and red in the radar, it's time to call it a day.

And the thunder rumbles...

Summer Reading

Boy, it would be cool to have nothing at all to do all summer long but read.  I'd go for that in a heartbeat.  I have been reading (every chance I get) and I've jumped back on the Goodreads bandwagon to track my books.

Two of my kids have summer-reading assignments.  Middle Sister's school has a "One Book, One School" policy where students, faculty and staff all read the same book for the summer.  This year it's The Hunger Games.  While at first I thought the school was selling out by choosing a popular book like that, I've changed my tune; I read the book (and the rest of the series) and there is a LOT in there that high-school students can discuss and analyze--and not just in English class.

Little Brother is required to read two books.  One, A Dog's Life, is required, and he has a generous list of others from which he must choose one more.  He's worked his way through most of that list (Encyclopedia Brown, anything from Dan Gutman's "Baseball Card" series, and a few others) but he steadfastly refuses to touch one of the books:  Charlotte's Web.

I'd almost let him take a pass on that if he'd said that it's a girls' book.  But he has not used that as an excuse.  "It's too big" doesn't fly with me, since last summer he read all the Harry Potter books.  Then he tried, "It's a children's book!"

"Yes, and you're a children," I retorted, using grammatical incorrectness to make a point.

Since he's in the middle of A Dog's Life, I asked him how that one was going.  He said that so far it's a sad story, and launched into a long tale about dogs being left by the side of the road by "one of the wives in the couple," which led Big Brother to muse that this is really a book about Mormons.

The Agony and the Dentistry

Want to really see me go over the edge? Send me to the dentist. It's definitely a Near Occasion of Anxiety for me.

I have cried at the dentist's before, when I was told just how much work had to be done. I think this was either shortly before or shortly after Little Brother was born. I remember being so upset that day that the dentist decided not to start the work then, because I was just barely keeping it together.

The past couple of years, I have avoided the dentist. I have neglected my own dental health as well as my children's, because none of us liked the dentist we were seeing (what did it for me: she asked if all my children were "from the same marriage.") And then Middle Sister chipped a tooth and I had a loose crown, so we went to a new-to-us dentist on Wednesday.

I was holding it together well, I thought, even though Middle Sister took every opportunity to light into me for not keeping up on her dental care. I listened to him explain that I would need a mouth guard because I grind my teeth, and that he didn't like the looks of the crown; it would come out again, he said, if I didn't take care of the grinding. I stayed calm. I took the news like an adult and figured I'd just deal with it.

I did not expect to lose that crown 3 days later while eating fajitas. I'm just glad it happened in my own home. But now I look like a hockey player (it's a canine tooth), and I can't get an appointment until Thursday to fix this.

Lovely.

I have 3 more days to wig out, and I'm doing just that, thankyouverymuch. I really wish that I had just insisted on getting all my teeth pulled out on that day years ago when I broke down in the dentist's office and had to be sent home.

Is there Novocaine that works on the emotions? Because I need some.

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Talking Tech (and Text) at CatholicMom.com

Come on over to CatholicMom.com and visit me in the Tech Talk section!  This week I'm talking about why text messages and teenagers can be a GOOD combination!

Hoarders, the Digital Edition

I'm a digital packrat of the most incurable kind.  That whole "I might need this someday" thing rears its ugly head; I still have 5 1/4" floppy disks with my college senior thesis on them.  Not that I have any software that can access the files, and it's been at least 5 years since there was a computer in this house that accommodated ANY floppy disks, but I've got those disks...

I use gmail for most of my email, but I have it forwarded through some complicated electronic system or other so I can read it in Outlook on my computer.  Therefore, I never go to gmail's site unless I need to check the spam folder for something that was misfiled.

I had 67,000 messages in my gmail inbox yesterday.  Years and years and years of messages.  And I deleted them all.

And it didn't kill me or cause bad things to happen to my family. At least, that's what I keep telling myself.

But I'm still not ready to dump those floppy disks.

Finding Some Silence

Being an introvert, I need some quiet time on a regular basis to recharge my batteries.  My kids don't know from quiet.  My younger two are so extroverted that they practically have others orbiting them on a regular basis.  Little Brother, in particular, needs near-constant company.  And when his friends are here and it's quiet, that's usually not a good thing either.

Between the radio (loud enough to be heard throughout the house), the TV (at a competing decibel level) and the general kid chatter--or bickering--I feel like I'm being assaulted by noise constantly.

I'm not getting to daily Mass like I'd like to (and like I do on average of 4 days a week during the school year), and that doesn't help.  It's hard to listen to my favorite radio show, The Catholics Next Door, because I don't want to add one more sound source to the sensory overload I'm experiencing.  It's like the lyrics from that Harry Nilsson song, "Everybody's Talkin' at Me."

And when everyone's outside, I relish the silence for as long as I can get it.

At Catholicmom.com, Sarah Reinhard brought up the topic of summer parenting.  I mentioned in the comments that with my desk in the middle of the house, in the living room, I run into a lot of sound overload (and a lot of interruptions.)  I've been contemplating a way to find some space elsewhere in the house where I can work in quiet.

This afternoon, I got it all figured out and Middle Sister did the heavy moving.  I've got a bookcase full of books emptied out all over the bed, so I have to get those put away, but there's a small desk in my room near a window that has a backyard view.  It's not going to be my primary work space.  But when things get Just Too Loud here in the heart of my home, it's good to know that I've got a spot where I can (temporarily) retreat.

I can run, but I can't hide.  I can't stay up there all day, tempting though it may be.  That won't do my family any good.  Besides, I'm not so sure I want to be working in the same room where I sleep.  We'll see how it goes.  If nothing else, I'll have sorted through all these books--and that's not a bad thing either.

Guess What!

I totally forgot to talk about this, and I really should have said something TWO WEEKS AGO when it first happened, but I am one of a bunch of new contributors to the "Tech Talk" daily feature at CatholicMom.com!  (How cool is THAT?) 


I'll be writing every other Tuesday about techie topics that are near and dear to my heart as a Catholic, a mom, a Secular Franciscan, a parent of teenagers...


I never considered myself a "Techie," though I suppose the signs were all there.  My younger brother got a computer when I was in high school (a Radio Shack TRS-80, and if you're old enough to know what that is, you're close to my age).  I used that computer as much as he did, learning to write BASIC programs that would print my name 50 times and other useful things like that.  Senior year, I suffered through a half-year of trigonometry so I could enjoy a half-year computer class.  Never popular, I suddenly found myself in demand as students teamed up to work on projects and I was one of the few who knew how to make a computer print my name 50 times.


There wasn't much wiggle room in college for me to take electives, but I took Intro to BASIC as my math requirement (more making computers print my name 50 times) and found room for a one-credit course on computer applications in education.


After two years of teaching, my career path took a turn for the educational-software industry, where I was paid to break software and tell non-English-speaking programmers what I did to break it so they could make the software student-proof.  (I rocked at that job.)  Eventually I freelanced for that company as a software author, writing lesson "scripts."


Down the road, I learned about Internet message boards, blogging, Facebook, Twitter and more.  My husband (who's been a computer programmer since 1995) has kept me in gadgets starting with my very first Palm PDA up through a Kindle, iPad and iPhone.


I enjoy using technology in a variety of ways and look forward to sharing my favorite apps, websites and more, every other Tuesday at CatholicMom.com.  I also look forward to reading what the rest of the "Tech Talk" team shares, and am extremely grateful for this opportunity.


Today's feature is Digital Prayer, in which I talk about the apps you can use to pray the Liturgy of the Hours.

Quite a Ride

So I need a nickname for the gang of teenagers that hangs around my house.  The little guys are the Street Urchins.  The sixteen-year-olds?  What do I call them?

It's been a rather difficult week in Teenage World.  Parenting teenagers definitely resembles a roller-coaster ride.  You're strapped in for the duration (7 years, give or take time for those rocky pre- and post-adolescent stages).  There are the ups and downs, twists and turns, and occasional spins that turn you upside down.

In the past week, we have experienced

• curfew battles
• playing one parent off another
• sulking
• plenty of eye-rolling, stomping up the stairs and slamming of the bedroom door
• The Silent Treatment
• and an ill-fated trip to the mall.

They've got nothing to do and way too much time to do nothing in. The bunch of them went job-hunting--together--after swimming at my house yesterday.  I'm not sure that the best way to look for a job is to show up as a Six-Pack at the pizzeria or Edible Arrangements with wet hair, wearing short shorts and flip-flops.  I asked the kids if any potential employer had wondered if he was expected to hire the whole crew.  (They didn't get why I thought that was funny, or even worth wondering about).

But we've also got a teenager who dissuades her younger brother from styling his hair like Eddie Munster, who "takes" me grocery shopping so she can do all the heavy lifting, pushing and loading that I can't do, who takes 3 AM phone calls from friends in despair over a family member's bad health and questioning the existence and benevolence of God.  While I'm not thrilled over a 3 AM phone call, I am so gratified to know that when her friends have crises like that, they turn to her.  That says a whole lot about my daughter, right there.

I've got to take the bad with the good here.  A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down.  Ultimately, I think I've got a good kid, and maybe her friends are good kids too, but I don't know them well enough to really determine that.

Today is the feast of St. Aloysius Gonzaga, patron of teenagers.  And they need his intercession and inspiration more than ever.  So today, I prayed for that bunch of teenagers (and they still need a nickname).  And I'm on my way to the supermarket, driven by my very own teenager, to stock the fridge with sodas so her friends will find something cold to drink when they show up later.

image credit

Part of That World

The Little Mermaid was Middle Sister's favorite movie when she was around 3 or 4.  I don't think I've seen, heard or thought about that movie in at least 10 years.

But she borrowed it from a friend and watched it today as a break from a marathon final-exam cramming session.  And really, some of its messages gave me pause.

I've got a beautiful 16-year-old daughter who's strong and strong-willed, who has a bit of a rebellious streak and is definitely a risk-taker.  In other words, I'm raising Ariel.

Does my Ariel think the grass is greener on the other side of some fence?  Does she wish that she were somehow different--different in a way that denies a part of her true self--so that she could fit into a world that is not hers?  Does she think that her life wouldn't be complete unless she fit into that world?  Would she be willing to make a Faustian bargain to get there?

Is this movie's lesson any different from the one we learn in Grease?  Boy is attracted to girl, but she's not good enough to keep "as is."  She has to change so they can be together.

Maybe that's what I like about the movie Legally Blonde (silly though it may be.)  In that one, the girl changes because she thinks it will help her get her boyfriend back.  By the time he comes around, though, she discovers that he's not the man she thought he was--and she decides not to let him get in the way of her goals.

I want my daughter to know that she doesn't have to be Ariel, or Sandy, or even Elle Woods.  I want her to discover how wonderful she is, just because she is Middle Sister.  I want her to discover and develop her unique talents, to use her strength to help others, to love her life.

When In Doubt, Make It Up

My Kindle was on the table, in screen-saver mode.  Many of the screen-saver images feature famous authors.

"Anne Ghoul-berg!"  Little Brother exclaimed when he saw the picture on the screen.

"Who?"  I said, picking up the Kindle.  "This is Agatha Christie."

"Oh!  I thought it was Anne Ghoul-berg," he explained.

"Who's Anne Ghoul-berg?  Where did you hear of her?"

"In my mind," he replied proudly (I should have known).

I switched on the Kindle and resumed reading my book.  After a few quiet moments, Little Brother inquired, "Is there an Anne Ghoul-berg?"

The Lost Boys

What IS it with the kids on this block?

There are four boys on my street who are the same age as Little Brother.  I call them the Street Urchins.  They wind up here a lot, perhaps because I'm the one who lets them in.

They know that if they play at my house, they've got to play by my rules.  Street Urchins who drop the f-bomb in my family room get sent home.  That's me, the Mean Mommy.

This morning, I mentioned to TheDad that last night one of the boys' moms had come here looking for him about an hour after his sisters picked him up.  That's when he told me that he'd heard there were marital problems in that household, and this boy might be moving soon.

One of the other boys lives with his mom and older siblings.  His parents have been on-and-off separated for several years now.  His dad, though, stays involved and is a Cub Scout leader.

I don't really know much about the new kid on the block, other than the fact that his parents just opened their second pizzeria.  He seems to be on his own quite a bit.

And then there's Adventure Boy, who (like his 3 older siblings) is being raised by his grandparents though his mom lives across town.  Sometimes he goes there.  Sometimes he spends a few hours with his dad, and his grandmother reports that the custody issues aren't pretty.  He's been left to his own devices since he was a preschooler.

A week or so ago, two of these boys knocked on my door at 8:20 on a school night, looking to play with Little Brother.  Ten minutes.  That's all I gave them.  Who lets their kids out at 8:20 on a school night?  Who lets their kids disappear after school, never looking for them until they have a baseball game or soccer practice?  Who doesn't call their kids home until after 8 (if then)--kids who have been out since 4 or earlier, who haven't been fed dinner, who haven't been nagged about homework?

Sometimes I think I should stop calling them the Street Urchins and refer to them as the Lost Boys.

I've ranted about these kids again and again and again.  I resent being Mommy to the whole block.  This isn't what I signed up for.

After yesterday's Cheese Ball Debacle, in which two of the Street Urchins thought it would be fun to toss Utz cheese balls into each other's mouths, and then pulverized the ones that missed--all over my back porch--I was more than a little bit hot under the collar.  They come here, make a mess, help themselves to snacks and drinks, make a mess, kick soccer balls at my pool filter and front door, make a mess, and (apparently) never have to go home.  And I resent that.  A lot.

I plan to come down hard on the Street Urchins next time they show up, about the cheese balls.  That is disrespectful to me and to my home, and wasteful of food.  If I'd found the mess before they left, they would have been the ones out on the porch with the ShopVac.  Instead, it was Little Brother.

But after TheDad mentioned that yet another Street Urchin is dealing with problems at home, my heart melted just a little bit.  These kids need what they're not getting at home, I realized.  None of them is in a situation of his own making.

I was wondering, the other day, if refusing to buy Johnson's Baby Shampoo and Starbucks lattes really does any good.  I'm not convinced that it does.  And while I'm happy to be able to afford the big box of diapers every month that I donate to a local crisis-pregnancy center (and I will continue to do so), that effort is a drop in the bucket.

What I need to do is give where it really counts, and that means giving until it hurts.  That means putting up with the Street Urchins and continuing to remind them that baseballs are not Pool Toys and sending them home when the streetlights go on.  It means welcoming them, but setting (and sticking to) limits.  It means praying for them.  It means doing the right thing even when I don't feel like it; even when I'm cranky and resentful and feeling put-upon.  Maybe especially then.

Honestly, this may be the most pro-life thing I can do right now.

In your charity today, please offer a prayer (or several) for the Lost Boys.

Fashion Emergency, Little Brother Style

Little Brother (pointing at the shirt he's wearing now, which is, not surprisingly, dirty):  Mom, can you wash this shirt tonight?
Me:  No.  I don't do laundry on Sundays.
(commence pouting by Little Brother)
Big Brother:  What's his problem?
Me:  He just remembered he has a dress-down day tomorrow and he wants to wear THAT SHIRT that he wears all the time.
Big Brother:  Did you wear that to the last dress-down day?  Then find something else to wear tomorrow.
Little Brother:  No!
Middle Sister:  You can't wear that if you wore it last time.  Never repeat an outfit!
TheDad:  Boys don't wear "outfits."

Boycott Burnout?

This afternoon I was listening to my favorite radio show, The Catholics Next Door, on Sirius XM (totally worth the price of the subscription just for this show, by the way!)  Hosts Greg and Jennifer Willits were discussing boycotts.  I wish they'd allotted more time to this issue.

That topic has been on my mind quite a bit lately.  For about the past 20 years, my family has participated in the Life Decisions International boycott of companies that support Planned Parenthood.  That means no Levi's, no Johnson's Baby Shampoo, no Texaco gas--among so many other things.

And then there's the Dump Starbucks Campaign, triggered by their announcement that same-sex marriage is core to who they are and what they value as a company.  More recently, Target announced that proceeds from a line of Pride T-shirts would fund the Family Equality Council.

Now, I don't get Starbucks much; I don't like their coffee.  If I want a $4 fancy coffee, I'll go to Panera and get my latte there.  But Target is right around the corner and it's my go-to store for a lot of things, replacing Wal-Mart, which is farther away and which has boycott issues of its own regarding labor issues, Chinese suppliers and more.

Maybe I'm just wimping out because this is hitting too close to home.  But it's starting to feel like I won't have anywhere to shop if I support all these boycotts.

Do they do any good?  Do the companies really care if I (not a big spender anyway) spend what I do spend someplace else?  Does anybody care?  After all, the American Cancer Society has been linked to support of Planned Parenthood, yet my parish still participates in the local Relay for Life.

So, am I lazy?  Tired?  Wimpy?  Is the devil on my back?  Or do I need to find another way to make a difference?

No-Win

Last night before she went to bed, Middle Sister told me that she needed to wake up at 6 this morning. "I set my alarm, but come in and make sure I get up," she said. "Don't let me stay asleep. I HAVE to get up."

So at 6 this morning I knocked on her door and got a mumbled response. Opening it a crack, I reminded her that she wanted me to wake her at 6.

"I was up too late last night trying to get my mascara off," she replied sleepily.

"you told me to make sure you got up at 6," I said.

"No."

"You also told me not to take no for an answer."

"Well, I'm saying no," she shot back. At that point I figured that I'm going to lose either way, so I closed her door and went downstairs to enjoy my coffee before she gave me trouble for waking/not waking her--whichever she considered the greater offense at the time.

How's It Going?

I get asked that a lot.

I look like I'm perfectly fine, except during a hot flash (at least a dozen a day) when I more closely resemble a tomato.

As of last Wednesday, I am allowed behind the wheel.

That's where the trouble started.

When you tell someone like me that she can get back behind the wheel, she will probably go right back to her old tricks:  6 errands in one morning because 3 of them were "on the way."

I'm not doing anything I'm not allowed to do, but I seem to be doing too much of the stuff that I am allowed to do.

And therefore, even though I look perfectly fine on the outside, I'm exhausted by this point in the afternoon--even on a day when I don't do too much.

I think I was better off when I wasn't allowed to drive, because I was necessarily limited in things I could do by where I could do things.  Clearly I am way too much of a Type A personality to do recuperation well.

TheDad is awfully good about the fact that he called last night at 7:30 and asked me to have the kids turn on the pool filter, waking me up when the phone rang--and then I hung up the phone and completely forgot about the pool.  "You're still healing," he reminds me patiently.

I keep forgetting about that until I find myself trying to stay awake at 3 in the afternoon and know that the next 6 hours are going to be a struggle.

Because really, except for the scar, which is always covered by my clothing, I look perfectly fine on the outside.

You know what I'm learning?  You can't judge someone who is ambling across a parking lot, right in your path.  You can't assume that because they look perfectly fine on the outside, they're fine on the inside too.  You can't assume that walking doesn't hurt them or that they have the energy to walk faster than that.

I hope I remember that even when I do have the energy to walk faster.

Bite-Sized Prayers

In the past few weeks, my family was blessed by many friends who showed up here with dinner during my hospitalization and recovery at home.  I can't even express how wonderful it has been to be on the receiving end of a meal prepared and delivered with love.

And the kids are still raving about Sally's Magic Chicken--as well they should.  It was delicious.

Every time a casserole dish came through my front door, I made a silent promise to myself that I would repay the favor, or at the very least, pay it forward.  But I didn't expect that my first opportunity to do so would come quite so soon.

After yesterday's follow-up appointment with my surgeon, I've been cleared to drive (though it's still pretty uncomfortable to do that) and to increase activity gradually, except for heavy lifting.  I got back behind the wheel just in time to pick up a few ingredients for a dinner I'm making tonight for my friend Sally.

As I rolled up those turkey enchiladas, I prayed for Sally and her family.  I prayed for the soul of Sally's recently deceased mother.  And it occurred to me that when our friends made us lasagna, pot pie, spaghetti and meatballs, chicken with spinach and linguine, homemade mac & cheese, pot roast, turkey, antipasto and that Magic Chicken, they were probably praying too.  I know that the prayers and love that were stirred into those dinners helped with my healing.  And I hope that the prayers and love that I rolled into those enchiladas help to bring peace to Sally's heart and to her family in this difficult time.

Don't think for a minute that delivering a meal to a family during a difficult time is a silly gesture or, worse, an unwelcome intrusion.  I was guilty of thinking that--until folks did this wonderful service for us.  Now that I know how much it means, I've resolved never to hesitate to help someone out in this way.

After all, there's a prayer in every bite.

7 Quick Takes

So, it's been a whole week since I posted anything, and I saw Hallie's reminder about the Quick Takes and, well, why not?  Here's a look at the randomness of my world.

1.  I started back to "work" this week.  Since "work" for me means freelance writing, I am "working" from the comfort of my own couch.  I am thankful for laptops that allow me not to sit at a desk, because sitting in a straight chair is not comfortable yet.

2.  One of my freelance projects is a blog targeted to new parents.  Normally this project involves product spotlights and occasional recall announcements.  Yesterday I was asked to discuss the whole TIME magazine-attachment parenting debacle.

3.  I got some bread baked yesterday, because we were almost out of bread, and I didn't have time to walk down to 7-11 and get more.  Thanks to my Dough Machine, I made some at home.  Little Brother eats large quantities of toast every morning.  A double batch of Portuguese Easter Bread should do the trick.

4.  It's good to have some energy back, and there are some things I can do around the house now.  If someone gets me everything I need from the lower shelves, I can cook.  If someone carries the laundry to the basement and delivers the baskets of clean clothes, I can do the laundry, this ensuring that my yoga pants don't get put in the dryer and shrink to fit the 8-year-old neighbor.  I need those yoga pants right now!  I'm healing well on the outside and trying very hard to follow directions so I heal well on the inside too.

5.  Big Brother came home from college yesterday.  It's good to have him home.  Last night the Big Kids and I sat around eating ice cream, talking and laughing.  It was great.  But having him here is also good for my blood pressure; his school is in a not-so-great neighborhood of Philadelphia, so I often find myself obsessing over crime and accident reports on the news, google-mapping the address to see if it's anywhere near his dorm.  For the next 3 months, I don't have to do that.

6.  I've got a cookbook giveaway going on over at Mom's Fridge!  Check it out!

7.  Things I miss because I'm recovering:  daily Mass, helping out in the library at Little Brother's school, grocery shopping, track meets.  Things I don't miss:  driving, vacuuming, driving, mopping, driving, washing windows, and did I mention driving?  People have asked me if I'm getting stir-crazy because I can't go anyplace.  Honestly, no.  I can get out and walk; there's a Panera only about 1/4 mile away, so I can walk over there.  I'm sure I cancel out the "healthy" in the walk by bringing home a caramel latte, but I am powerless over the caramel latte.

Remember, the Quick Takes are being hosted at Betty Beguiles this week.  Why not link up?

Book Tour: Catholic Family Fun

It's an honor to be part of Sarah Reinhard's Catholic Family Fun Book Tour!  I was reading something else when this book arrived in the mail, but I dumped that in a hurry. You see, I've been a fan of Sarah's blog since she was mom to only one child (she has three now, like I do.) This book celebrates the fun we all want to have with our families and shows us how things like building a backyard obstacle course, eating breakfast for dinner, and singing camp songs are not only family fun, but Catholic family fun. 

What I like best about Catholic Family Fun is that you don't have to go all "Clark W. Griswold" on your family to incorporate the activities described in this book.  Just build it in; don't force it.

Activities in the book are apropriate for a wide range of ages and can be modified if you (like me) have a big age gap between the kids.  Age gaps mean ability differences and huge variations in interests, and that's an extra challenge when planning family activities.  With that in mind, the ideas in this book are labeled according to duration, cost and prep time.  The rest will vary, depending on how many children (and friends) are involved, and their ages.

Chapters in this book include such topics as silly things to do, story starters, crafts, food, outdoor fun, family field trips, saints, service and prayer.  There's a handy appendix at the back that shows you at a glance how much prep time, money, or run time is needed for each activity.  Of course, your mileage may vary there, given your particular family circumstances, but it's great to have a general idea.  Additional resources include a Facebook page and Catholic Family Fun website, which will be updated regularly with new activities and "extras" to coordinate with the book!

My only problem with this book?  It didn't come along until my youngest child turned 10!  I really could have used it when my Big Kids were little, but nooooooo.  Sarah is young enough that she could have been my Big Kids' babysitter.  For that matter, Sarah is young enough that I could have been her babysitter.  But we're peers in parenting now, and I have a huge respect for her.  Read her books or her blog and you'll find out why.

This is a book that will benefit parents, grandparents, teachers, catechists and friends.  Have fun together, and celebrate being Catholic all at the same time! 

Want your own copy?  Ask for it at your local Catholic bookstore, or visit the Catholic Family Fun website or Sarah's book page for purchasing information.  At $11.95, it's a family-friendly bargain!

I'm a stop on Sarah's Virtual Book Tour!  The only bad thing about the "virtual" part is that I don't get to meet her in person.  But read enough of her work, and you'll feel like you know her already.  If you're late to this Book Tour party, just use the link above to see all the reviews and interviews along the way.  I've found many wonderful "new-to-me" blogs thanks to this tour.

Disclaimer: I received a review copy of this book, but no other compensation, for my participation in this Book Tour. All opinions are mine.

Putting the "Anti" in the Antipasto

A whole lot of dinner showed up here yesterday, thanks to three wonderful friends.  Fortunately, it all arrived early in the day, with cooking instructions, so we didn't have to choose among three hot meals.

One meal came complete with antipasto.  I'm not sure how, but "antipasto" is a foreign concept to the males of this household.  The nature of the dish itself is as much a mystery to them as its pronunciation.

I swear, if someone calls it "ant-EYE-pasta" one more time, there might be violence committed.  I would not be convicted by a jury of my foodie peers--or my linguist ones, either.

Little Brother was a little leery of the idea of antipasto until I told him it was a big "ham-alami."  That's what he calls the ham-and-salami rollups that I sometimes make for his lunches.  When he came over to the table and saw the platter, he was sold.

Except for the Swiss cheese.  (How'd that get in there?)

In any event, it was all delicious and we're looking forward to the equally-delicious-looking main course, which is almost hot enough to eat.

The Media-Savvy Catholic Parent

As the mom of three children, ages 20, 16 and 10, I'm right in the thick of parenting digitally-active kids in an ever-more digitally-active age.  We consume media around here.  I'm probably the only one in the house who reads books anymore--and half the time, they're e-books.  The rest of the family stays informed through television, radio, and various new media.

In my house, you'll find computers, iPods, iPhones, iPads and a Kindle. You'll find video games and a Netflix subscription.  We've got satellite radio and satellite TV.  While I'm the only one who blogs, three of us tweet and four of us Facebook.  The ten-year-old wishes he could, but we think he's too young for that.

And in my house, we're Catholics.  The kids go to Catholic schools (and, in one case, a Catholic university.)  We attend Mass weekly and our children serve as musicians and altar servers.  Our reality includes grace before meals--even when friends come over to visit, my own life as a Secular Franciscan, and "prayers upstairs" with the 10-year-old before he goes to bed each night.

Books like Infinite Bandwith:  Encountering Christ in the Media are encouraging to me as a parent.  Author Eugene Gan discusses the digital realities that our children (whether young children or young adults) encounter each day without being heavy-handed.  Media of all sorts are a part of just about everyone's life, and Gan shows parents ways to use these media tools to help others learn about--and grow closer to--God.  Gan's book explains seven "media keys" to help people approach the use of media in a sensible, faith-filled way, so that the media we consume can nourish our faith and that we can use media to inspire the faith of others.

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

Communion and Community

Last night I got out of the house for the first time in 8 days. It took me about that long before I was willing to get into a car again! But our once-a-month Saturday-night Mass gig was this weekend at the Big Church, which is only one mile away, so I figured I could do it.

Except for the homily, I stood for the entire Mass. Sitting is difficult. I can't sit gracefully or comfortably. I sit like a cellist who has just had her instrument stolen. And then, of course, there is the Wearing of the Yoga Pants-- just about any other pants are out of the question right now.

But in that church, the musicians are located in a spot where no one sees how you're dressed or that you're pacing around back there during the Creed. So it worked.

I paid for that one-mile car ride, but it was worth it--SO worth it. I paid for the singing, which works the abs more than you might realize. But what I received? Hugs, good wishes, smiles and inquiries about my health from friends, neighbors, fellow musicians, deacon and pastor. The grace of just being there at Mass. The gift of singing at Mass (I was not foolish enough to try to bring my guitar). And the Eucharist, the whole reason I needed to be there.

A friend and fellow Franciscan stopped by last week to bring me Communion. I treasure that. And I treasure yesterday's venture to church as well. These past couple of weeks, I have really been reminded of what it's all about: Communion and community. I am grateful--very grateful--for both.

Power parenting

So Little Brother is in the backyard, playing soccer with two of the Street Urchins (boys his age who live down the block.). I'm listening with half an ear to the goings-on, since twice already this week that soccer ball has scored a direct hit on the pool filter, disconnecting the hose.

And my mom had dinner all ready, so she headed out the back door to call Little Brother in. When he didn't follow, I called him out the window and that's when my mom told me that one of the boys was telling Little Brother to stay outside.

I've found this child ignoring his own mother more than once when she's come to tell him it's time to go. He has flat-out refused to leave with his older sisters one day when they were sent to get him.

In a few short weeks it'll be summertime, and all the Street Urchins will want to swim in my pool. I hate being the Bad Cop all the time, but somebody has to. With a pool in the yard, there are safety issues. You have to supervise and know who's there and who's in the water. You have to make sure they play and swim safely. (And you have to require kids who live on your block to bring their OWN towels.)

I think, before summer, I need to come up with a game plan. Suggestions are welcome.

UPDATE:  Thanks to some GENIUS suggestions in the comments and from a neighbor, I've worked up this template.  Sharing it here for other families in my spot--and I'll amend this as necessary.  But kids will have to leave one with me before they swim here.

From the Department of: At Least He's Honest

Little Brother just wandered through here with his favorite soccer jersey in hand.

"Nannie, thank you for washing this," he told his grandmother.  He'll wear that shirt as often as it's clean, and sometimes when it's not, if he thinks he can get by me.

"Where did you find THAT?" she asked him.

"In the dryer," he answered.

"Wait," I interrupted.  "You tumbled through the dryer to find that?  I hope you didn't tumble any other clothes out onto the floor..."

"I put back the ones that fell on the floor."

To love, honor and obey

Every January, my Secular Franciscan fraternity celebrates with a ritual called Extraction of Saints, in which we are assigned a patron saint for the year, a virtue to develop, a maxim to live by, and another fraternity member to remember in special prayer.

This year, my virtue was Obedience.

I knew I was in for it when that one came along. Ask God for a virtue and He'll generously respond with a challenge to help you get there.

This is not to say that I think God is in any way responsible for the medical condition (endometriosis) that led to my recent surgery. I don't think that's how things work. But that surgery is an opportunity for me to use God's grace to grow in virtue.

It'll be another three weeks, at least, before I'm allowed behind the wheel. I can't be running down the basement stairs, hauling laundry, mopping, vacuuming, and bending over to get heavy pots and pans out of the cabinets.

They sent me a babysitter in the form of Mom for this week, to make sure I don't do anything I shouldn't. Next week, my husband will be working from home with the same end in mind. But I admit, I'm not super-tempted to cheat at this point. Thought about it on Monday, then reconsidered.

The resentment about not being able to do my usual things is evaporating. Offers of help from friends are accepted, tough though it can be for me to let someone do things for me. Grace has been busy, I guess. And I am very blessed, and very grateful.

 

Hello, yes, it's been a while...

Here I am, hanging out on the couch at home. I am recovering well thanks to the insistence of my family that I spend this time resting. They even sent for a babysitter in the form of Mom, because I definitely require that kind of policing.

My house has never been so clean.

Middle Sister held down the fort in the after-school hours quite admirably last week. She cooked, cleaned up, and fussed at the hygiene-averse Little Brother.

Once I recovered from the Evil Epidural from Hell, which kept me semi-anesthetized and completely glazed over for several days before I said no to drugs and kicked the double vision, I was on my feet quickly. My incision is smaller than what I was led to expect, and it's held together by Crazy Glue. (Don't go there. Yes, it's probably appropriate.)

I got very good care at the hospital, but a separate rant about facility design is in order. But the staff? Top notch.

This Time Tomorrow...

I just keep telling myself, "this time tomorrow, it'll all be over."

I'm called for 11:00 at the hospital, for a 1:30 surgery time.  It's clear liquids only, all day today, and nothing after midnight.  Not even water.

My neighbor kindly offered to feed the rest of my family so that I wouldn't have to cook/clean up/smell/watch them all eat dinner.  I'm sitting here with a mug full of nutritious, yet boring, homemade chicken stock.  Or maybe turkey.  I use those interchangeably.  I have the broth in the mug with the picture of a Hershey Kiss on it, vainly hoping that the placebo effect will kick in and make it taste more like chocolate and less like, well, chicken.

My handy-dandy new pocket rosary will be coming along for the ride and I'm sure it will see plenty of praying action this week.

I'm going to have TheDad update my Facebook and Twitter (@franciscanmom) after surgery, but I probably won't be back in this space until I have access to a computer or iPad.  That may wait until I'm home.

You all have my deepest gratitude for each and every prayer and word of encouragement that you have already offered.  Please keep on praying!

Things To Do Before the Weekend

In a way, this is my personal response to Hilary Rosen's comment last night that stay-at-home moms don't "work."

There are a lot of loose ends to tie up around this house before I walk out of here Monday morning and return Thursday or Friday, only to have to lie around with my feet up for a while and let other people do what I usually do around the house.

TheDad wants me to write down all the stuff that he will need to know.  Even then, I know that I'll have kids calling me at the hospital asking me where stuff is and how to do this or that.

Things I MUST get done:

• laundry
• dust and vacuum my bedroom
• write out logistics concerning:  lunches, school bus
• make tutorial cookbook for Middle Sister
• square away the Secular Franciscans for next week's meeting (that's this afternoon's task)
• get my wedding ring removed (and then repaired, so when I'm out of the hospital I can wear it again)
• grocery list and shopping

Things I SHOULD get done:

• make arrangements for Anointing of the Sick
• get ahead (if possible) on the publicity work I do for Room Two Productions
• finish the last bit of freelance work
• check on library books
• clean the bathrooms

Things I'd love to get done but I'm well aware that they "ain't gonna happen:"

• take down curtains, launder them, return them to windows
• launder, starch and iron living-room tablecloths on end tables
• a really detailed vacuuming of the whole house, including Couch Diving
• scrub my kitchen floor before my mother shows up here and does it

All this in the next day and a half, because Saturday is busy and Sunday I'll be doing prep, which means I won't want to be doing any heavy work.

You've Gotta Know the Territory

So I've got the marching orders.  I will be marching into the hospital on Monday, April 16 for surgery and will be in the hospital for 3 or 4 days.  After that, there will be recovery at home.

That means people will be "on my turf."  I'm a very territorial, very independent person.  I don't like other people cooking in my kitchen and taking care of jobs that are supposed to be mine.  (Heck, I don't even like people drinking out of my glass.  My husband completely doesn't get that, but that's how I am.)

The night after I met with my surgeon, I had all these dreams about people being in my way.  I couldn't do anything--even go to sleep--without having people in my path.  It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what that was about.

The territory thing, and the needing-assistance thing, are a much bigger concern to me than the actual medical reasons behind this surgery.  I hate asking anyone for help.  I hate that I will need help (a good bit of it, most likely).  I hate that someone else is going to have to drive the kids, cook the meals, wash the laundry, sweep the floor.  Sometimes my own kids will be helping with some of those jobs.  Some of them will fall to TheDad.  And my mom has already announced that she'll be here for a week.

The last time she came here to help me after surgery, she scrubbed my floor on her hands and knees.  I hated that.  If she does it again, I will hate it again.  I know that in the scheme of things I am very, very blessed to (a) still have a mom, (b) have a mom healthy enough to help me, (c) have a mom who is currently in her 3rd or 4th retirement (clearly she is Bret Favre's role model in this regard) so she's free to come and help me, (d) have a mom who wants to come and help me, and (e) have a dad who's willing to drive Mom 125 miles each way so she can come and help me.

I'm really not much in the mood, right now, to let perspective get in the way of my pity party.  Except for the cleaning-of-the-house part, I'm going to miss what I do for my family.  I'm going to miss the cooking and the laundry (especially now that I can hang it outside again) and planting my little herb garden since I was partially successful with it last year and even the driving.  I'm going to miss the writing, since I'm taking some time off from my freelance jobs while I recover.  I'm going to miss playing and singing at church, since Easter was the last time I'll get to do that for a while.

I was reminded today that allowing others to help me opens the door for them to receive grace through their practice of the corporal works of mercy.  I guess, right now, that is as good as it'll get.

Meanwhile, you are not allowed in my kitchen until after I walk out of here on Monday.  It is my territory, and I will chase you.

Easter's Musical Gift

Alleluia, He is risen!  We sang all about it yesterday.  And it was wonderful.

Our parish schedules an extra Mass on Easter to accommodate the expected crowds.  The rest of the schedule is shuffled a bit so that the larger of the two church buildings has the majority of Masses, which makes sense, because you need to fit more people.  Our folk group was playing at the little church at 10 AM.  There hasn't been a 10 AM Mass at the little church in almost 4 years.  So I was a little curious about how well-attended it would be.  Would people forget?  After all, my husband would have headed over to the big church if I hadn't reminded him that we were singing at the little church.  He'd have found a Mass there too, because both churches had a 10:00--but he wouldn't have found us.

It was a full house--and more--in the choir area, because it was a full house--and more--in the church.  My husband and mother-in-law couldn't get seats in the pews, so they sat with us.  So did Big Brother, who didn't have a guitar at home to play (and regretted that, at the last minute).  Middle Sister was serving, of course.  The folk group showed up in force, except for one member who was visiting faraway family.  Best problem in the world to have:  not enough seating for all the musicians and singers.  Fortunately, our church has these great "window seats" in the choir area.  At least 10 people had to use them; all 15 chairs were taken.

And we made our joyful noise.  It feels SO GOOD to lift your voice in "Alleluia" and "Glory to God" after all this time.  This group has a long tradition of singing "All Good Gifts" on Easter (the Godspell version) and though you might think of it as better suited to Thanksgiving, it works for Easter so well:  Easter Mass is all about celebrating, and thanking God, for the enormous and extravagant gift of love, shown through Jesus and His sacrifice.

Even better, we were permitted to sing our very favorite piece:  the Lord's Prayer.  It's a hallmark of our group, but one that we were asked to stop singing when the parishes merged.  A couple of times during Lent, the pastor (who asked us not to sing it anymore) allowed us to sing it.  People love it.  It's right up there with "Amazing Grace" in the Raise the Roof and Sing Along Factor.  And our associate pastor loves it, because it eliminates the whole "barrel through the Lord's Prayer" thing that is his personal pet peeve.

Our associate pastor has been stationed here for more than 7 years, and I think I've seen him actually sing maybe twice in all that time.  Yesterday, he sang along with the Lord's Prayer too.

When we finish the Lord's Prayer, we all get the same feeling:  we have Been To Church.  We have PRAISED.

I got a big basket full of chocolate and sugar for Easter, but the music was definitely a better gift, because it helps me remember the greatest gift.

Alleluia!

Some Easter Randomness

Because when you've been up since 4 AM (for no good reason whatsoever), random is as good as it gets.

I haven't slept past 5:15 in a week.  Anxious much?  Why yes, yes I am.  I'll know tomorrow when my surgery is scheduled.  It'll be either the 16 or the 23, the doctor thinks.  If I don't start getting some sleep soon, I'll be pushing for the 16th, just so I can get some rest faster!

I put together the Easter baskets last night, and delegated the Hiding of the Eggs.  There was a little obsessive checking this morning to make sure that the eggs had, indeed, been hidden.

Big Brother and Middle Sister were both awake when I went to bed last night.  I'm pretty sure they didn't inspect the Easter baskets, because Big Brother's basket still contains eggs filled with candy (I checked that too.)  Middle Sister gets annoyed that her brother doesn't want to hunt for eggs anymore, and last year she emptied his basket and hid all the eggs before he woke up.  We were still finding them early this year (M&Ms. Still good.  Finders keepers.)

I took Little Brother to the outdoor portion of the Easter Vigil last night.  In our parish, the Boy Scouts are in charge of the Easter fire.  Who better to ask?  They know how to build fires, and they know how to "leave no trace" later.  Plus, they're happy to stick around when everyone else has processed into church, and tend that fire until it's out.

Is that an awesome Easter bonfire or what?  People were a lot closer when they first gathered around, but they stepped back pretty quickly.  It was a windy night.

Once everyone was in church, the Scouts brought out the marshmallows and the campfire-pie maker.  Last night's flavor of choice:  apple.  The Scout families and a few friends enjoyed Holy S'mores, featuring imported German chocolate with chili and hazelnuts along with marshmallows toasted over the Easter fire.  Not only do our Boy Scouts know how to make a fire, they know how to cook.

I always encourage parents of little children to bring them for the "Easter fire" part.  But this year it was a little disappointing.  It felt like the Reader's Digest Condensed Version of the Easter Fire.  I don't know if it was the new translation (I doubt that) or what, but there was no assembly of the Easter candle with the little pegs representing the wounds of Christ and the inscription of the year.  That's a fascinating thing for kids (and grownups) to see.  Kids can see the candle being assembled.  Then in church they can go look at it more closely after Mass.  It's something they'll see all year.  Last night, though, there were no little pegs on the candle and the outdoor portion was over in 5 minutes.  It took longer for everyone in the assembly to get their candles lighted and get inside.

We're playing at the 10:00 Mass this year.  That'll throw my whole day off...I'll get home and think it's 1:30.  Some people in our folk group are not "morning people" so this could get interesting.

And if my surgery is next Monday, this will be the last Mass I play for a while.  I won't be able to hold a guitar for a few weeks, and the day before surgery I'll be stuck in the house on a clear liquid diet, so I'll have to hit the 8:00 Mass.  So in a way, I'm hoping for the 23rd so I can play one more week before my little hiatus.  I can't help it; I'm just crazy like that.  Playing guitar in church--that's what I do.  It's a huge part of me.  It's a huge part of how I pray.

So today, I am going to relish every song, every "Alleluia," every chance to lift my voice and glorify God.  Even when the songs and settings are not my favorite ones (and many, today, are not); even when the politically-correct lyric revision distracts (and it will); even when we no longer can sing "The Happy Gloria" because, to our knowledge, it hasn't yet been revised to match the New Translation; even with all of that, it's a privilege and a joy and a gift to do what I do, with the talented musicians and singers in our folk group who have become my close friends over the years.

All together now:  "Alleluia!"

Surreal

I just had the following conversation with my daughter.

Middle Sister (out of nowhere):  I can't chaperone a field trip!

Me:  You're not going to chaperone any field trips.

Middle Sister:  That's because I can't.

Me:  No one asked you to chaperone a field trip.

Middle Sister:  I'm pretty sure it's not even legal.

A Litany of Gratitude

I'm not going to lie; I'm worried about how my appointment with the surgeon is going to go today. I've got a whole bunch of questions to ask.  I wrote them down so I don't forget.  As long as I remember to bring that paper with me, it's all good.

The closer I get to my appointment, the more anxious I get.  The more anxious I get, the more prickly I get.  Right now I'm practically a porcupine.  My poor husband gets the worst of it, and the guy really doesn't need any more stress than he's already got.  I'm pretty sure they should take his blood pressure at the doctor's office today.  Today, I am grateful that he puts up with me when I get like this.

Today, I am grateful that he stayed up half the night working so he can leave the office early and come with me to this appointment.  Even though I act like I want to be all independent and everything, he doesn't take no for an answer when it really counts.

Today, I am grateful for a friend who rearranged the Chess Club Carpool.  It was my turn to drive today, but she's taking that shift.  This way, Little Brother doesn't have to miss his favorite after-school activity.

Today, I am grateful for my neighbor who will be home when Little Brother gets here; if we're not back yet, he can hang out at her house, do his homework and play with her kids until we get home.

Today, I am grateful that my appointment has been moved to 2:00 instead of the original 3:00.  This means we'll have a better chance of beating rush hour on the way home.  Rush hour in Philly can be a bit terrifying.

Today, I am grateful that Middle Sister will be traveling to a track meet after school, even though she's recovering from an injury and can't run yet.  She's got team spirit and she's going to be there to encourage her friends.

Today, I am grateful that Little Brother thinks of everything.

Today, I am grateful for a doctor who listens and who takes my concerns and observations seriously enough to send me to a specialist she considers the best in the business.

Today, I am grateful for the prayers of my parents, family members, cousins, and friends near and far.

Overprepared?

It's time to get ready for the first track meet of the 2012 season. I'm the recorder, or Scribe as I like to call it. I write down every runner's time in every race. It gets hectic but I enjoy it.

This is my third season, so I'm pretty good at knowing what to bring along. I just packed my tote bag with:

collapsible camp stool
gloves
8 pencils
clipboard
Sharpie
2 pens
binder clips
map
directions to the meet
wallet
cell phone
granola bar
small "essentials" bag from my purse, containing Advil, inhaler, lip balm, Swiss Army knife and band-aids. Covers just about every emergency.

It's going to be cold this evening, so it's time to eat up, layer up and get out of here!

The Silver Lining

This weekend was the semi-annual Cub Scout Babka Sale.  It's a LOT of work, especially for Mr. Cubmaster, who drives all the way to Elizabeth (about 90 miles each way) to get the babka, then shuttles it between 2 churches to cover the 4 Masses for the weekend.

It was a whole lot of EXTRA work this weekend because of all the no-shows.  At two of the four Masses, Little Brother was the only Scout there.  Only one other Scout leader was there all weekend.  The pack didn't make much money this year, because we had 26 babka left over (usually we sell out, but people don't want to wait in line, so the key is to have lots of little salespeople to keep things moving.)

I got a distress call from TheDad (Mr. Cubmaster) at 8:30, telling me that no one else had shown up at the 8:00 Mass and that I needed to get over there to staff the tables.  After that, I headed over to the other church to help set up for the 10:00 Mass and sale.  On the way, I heard a new-to-me singer-songwriter on the radio, and he played what has become my New Favorite Song:



I just love it, and I hope you do too. This song says what music means to me. This is why I do what I do, regardless of the way things go in church-music politics. This Palm Sunday, I was reminded of why I am thankful to God--every day--for the gift of music in my life.

And if I hadn't been in the car shuttling between churches to get to a babka sale I wasn't supposed to staff, I would never have heard my New Favorite Song.

So I am thankful for that silver lining today!