Long Day Ahead

I've been up since 4:45, so I'm two hours into the day already.  I've finished my Big Travel Mug of coffee (it's half-caff; I'm easing up) and have moved on to my Big Cup of Water.

There's a lot to do today, which is probably why I was up so early.  Later this morning my Secular Franciscan fraternity will meet with our Regional Minister and others from the Regional Council for our Regional Visitation and Paperwork Jamboree.  It's not supposed to be a stressful time, but because it's outside the norm of our regular meetings, it's a stressful time.  And I'm the fraternity minister, so any missing paperwork is on my head.

I'll be getting there early to unlock the meeting room and put the coffee on--and turn the heat on, since Mother Nature has finally gotten the memo that it's February.

I'll also be getting there early because the back of my van is fully loaded with enough groceries to feed a spaghetti dinner to 105 people, which is what I'm doing tonight.  It's the annual Cub Scout Blue & Gold Dinner.  Fortunately, it's in the same building as my meeting this morning, so I can unload the van once and be done with it.  When the meeting is over, I'll put on my apron, change out of my "confident shoes" and put on my sneakers, and start making spaghetti sauce.  A lot of spaghetti sauce.

Yesterday I rolled and baked 225 meatballs.   That's a lot of meatballs.

When the meeting is over and I have closed up the meeting room, I will appreciate the quiet in the building.  I'll be the only one there for a few hours.  While I open cans of crushed tomatoes and stir in the garlic and oregano, I'll have time to decompress.  Never underestimate the value of cooking as an aid to decompression.  (I get to be Martha and Mary all at the same time--yay for multitasking!)  I made sure to load up some good playlists so I'll have music, and since there will be no one else in the building, I can sing as loudly as I want.  Or I can just enjoy the quiet, which will come to a sudden end when the Cub Scouts show up.

There's a long day ahead, but I've got the tools to get through it:  coffee, an entire bag of fun-size Milky Ways, "confident shoes," an apron, a Sharpie, my favorite music, and prayer.  A lot of prayer.

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!