This has been a weekend filled with joy, angst, wins, losses and lots of love.

Powderpuff team charges into the gym.

On Friday morning there was a rally kicking off homecoming weekend at my eldest daughter’s all-girls Catholic school. To thunderous applause, the senior class powederpuff football team burst into a glow-lighted gym. I was in tears before they shut off the lights. Actually, I was fighting them back the moment I entered the gym. In part, reminiscing about my own high school experience, but also the shear emotion connected to recognizing the finality of this phase in my daughter’s life.

This is the year of lasts. I also recognize, it will be the year of firsts for her. But that’s another post.

Helen is not an athlete, but she embraced powderpuff the same way she embraces so many things: completely. And that made losing painful. Not just for her, but for all of them. But they will forever be bound in the battle.

For the many weeks they practiced, they learned not only about football, but about themselves and each other. They share the war stories, the wounds, the weariness. As much as they would have shared the win, they share the loss. Still they lost nothing in the experience that led up to that final score. The devastation of defeat is equally as powerful as the jubilation of victory. True to form, not long after the game, Helen was already reflecting on the meaningfulness of the whole experience.

After yesterday’s grueling defeat on the grid iron, she shifted gears to the other part of homecoming: the dance. Dolled up and looking lovely, we sent her on her way to her last high school homecoming dance. After I watched her drive away, I once again found myself fighting back the tears.

All the crying aside, I am happy to be where I am. Burning my finger as I hot-glue Lillian’s dollar store tiara for the third time. Reviewing college applications and changing diapers. Inspecting Lego creations and artistic masterpieces. Cheering at swim meets, football, soccer and baseball games. Applauding in the audience and celebrating first steps and next steps. I am happy to be here to wipe away the tears of tantrums, frustration, sorrow and defeat. (Even if at times they are my own!) 

When I find myself occassionally dwelling on dispair in this often challenging world, I try to keep focused on my family and doing my part: completely. I also recognize and find strength in the fact that I am part of a greater Christian team that will forever be bound in the battle. I hope that with each setback faced proclaiming the word in our world, I too can reflect on the fact that Christ won the victory over darkness for all at the hour when He freely gave himself up to death to give us his life.

Just a week into Montessori school, Lillian declared her love for her new friend.

“I want to have a party with her,” she told me. Then she pleaded: “I want to eat with her!”

It brings me joy and fills me with wonder, the fact that our three-year-old daughter relates eating together as the most intimate form of love and friendship.

I think of the communal act of sharing the Eucharist at Mass. We share together the most intimate form of love and friendship with and of the One who loves us and whom we should love above all things.

And there it is, out of the mouths of babes.

I know that’s cliché, but I occasionally I need to remember to embrace that sentiment. I’d be a lot more relaxed.

Today we set out for the dentist with Henry. Without going into the gory details of past visits, let me sum it up simply. Henry + Dentist = PHOBIA. (Notice the all-caps emphasis.)

I had originally planned to start the day with mass because for the first time in two weeks, thanks to baby, I had a decent night’s sleep, and Richard was going to drop off Lil. We were ready but then I opted out. I decided that expecting Henry to sit still when he was facing “the chair” was just too much. In my world, an hour with the Lord at mass can do wonders. In this seven-year-old boy’s, it’s not a realistic expectation.

On our way to the office, Henry sat nervously in the back of the van only once asking, “Could you please turn around Mom?” Which was already much better than our last experience. At about the same time, I noticed the car ahead of us traveling rather slowly. It was an old mid-80s model Pontiac Sunbird. The driver and passenger appeared to be wearing hoods. That’s sketchy, I thought. It was a little early on a Monday for casing Mack Avenue, but you know, these times they are a changin’.

With my attention back to my boy, I told him I would not turn around, but I was proud of the way he was facing this appointment. Then I changed lanes, sped past the turtle-paced Sunbird, glanced in my side view mirror to see closer than it may appear that the gangsta ride I was passing were really two older religious sisters. Not casing, but being cautious. Not hooded, but habited. The old car was actually very tidy. And not what I expected.

Richard met us at the appointment, just in case. We said as much of the St. Michael prayer as a one-flight elevator ride would accommodate and then proceeded down the hall to the office. And I didn’t expect this: Henry faced his fears head on.

He asked for an explanation of every tool and every procedure. The dentist and her staff were great. They were there with him at the other appointments. They too were anticipating a different experience.

At one point, when they left the room, I reminded Henry it was all about making choices. He could make the choice to be brave. Of course he quickly reminded me that he could also choose not to be brave. True. But he didn’t. He held on and jittered his way through what just two weeks ago would have been unthinkable for him. He asked Richard to hold his hand, but then let go whenever he felt confident he could handle it. And at the end, while still reclined in the chair with two pairs of gloved hands working in and around his mouth, he gave us a discreet two thumbs up.

Like my surprise with the slow-drivin’ gangsta sistas, I need to remember with my children to look beyond my expectations. Although I clearly set up with them how I expect them to behave, what I expect them to accomplish, I realize it’s not really up to me. I certainly never expected my son to be so afraid of the dentist in the first place. But then, I also never expected him to turn around, face his fear and in spite of himself be so strong. Pretty soon maybe in a G. Gordon Lilly moment he’ll be strapping himself to a tree during a lighting storm or eating a rat or something …

Now I only need to work on a way for Lillian to overcome her fear of loud toilets.

Saint Michael the Archangel,
defend us in battle;
be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil.
May God rebuke him, we humbly pray:
and do thou, O Prince of the heavenly host,
by the power of God,
thrust into hell Satan and all the evil spirits
who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls.
Amen. 

I’ve been meaning to do this for a long time and am finally taking the plunge. Why on a day when I am nothing short of completely sleep deprived have I served this task on my plate? I don’t know … I’m sure it has something to do with procrastination. I have a mountain of housework facing me and not an iota of physical energy (or inclination) to get to it. Our dear sweet baby boy has decided to put me to the test to see what I’m made of. 13 nights with me getting sleep in two-hour (max) blocks makes for a slap-happy and exceptionally beat mother. But, the beat goes on …

My goal with this blog is to chronicle some of the humor and challenges of raising children, schooling, living and growing in these times as a Catholic mother (and family) in this amazing, beautiful and often overwhelming God-created world. Exhaustion aside, it seemed fitting to do it today on the anniversary of an event that underscores the importance of trying to live a life that’s right with God as we continue our search for faith, hope and love even in the minutia of our busy days.

I was originally going to call this the Post-Consumer Catholic for a multitude of reasons — which I’ll articulate (hopefully) at some time in the future. But instead I name it in honor of my five children here on earth and those five precious little souls who will greet me some day in heaven. That is, if I can do my part while I trudge along here on earth. Lord, increase my faith.

And the apostles said to the Lord, “Increase our faith.” The Lord replied, “If you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you would say to (this) mulberry tree, ‘Be uprooted and planted in the sea,’ and it would obey you.” Luke 17:5-6