Category Archives: motherhood

Oops, We did it again

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The candles were such a popular craft for advent, we decided to make more for Lent. Often on Fridays we have a late meal (after Stations of the Cross) by candlelight. So, with that in mind, I thought the candles would be craft worth repeating. Also, when we come together to pray as a family, candles are always a nice touch. We decided to use Easter colors so that even during the solemn season of Lent we keep our hearts on the promise of the resurrection and all that it brings.

As previously, it was a fun activity for all. Richard even made one, and we made one for the baby. And of course, the candles are so telling of each of the children. Helen’s was a creative flower, Mary Claire’s was orderly and in all in line. Henry made his with more glue, more glitter than everyone else. And Lillian’s had a lot of pink. (She needed a little help but enjoyed painting and painting and painting the glue.) We had one minor accident when the baby reached up on the table and grabbed a paper plate full of excess glitter. I’m sure we’ll all have little extra sparkle for days to come, but with each stray sparkle, I’ll be reminded of the fun we had putting our projects together.

Jesus spoke to them again, saying, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.” (John 8:12)

Midnight Madness

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Sometimes I start these posts in the middle of the night and can never finish them because I’m usually sans glasses and can’t effectively proof read. Plus, I can’t always complete the thought I started because … it’s the middle of the night, and I should be sleeping.

I recently blogged about freaking out, speeding past mile markers. Blah, blah, life is out of control, passing me by.

All of a sudden I found myself slamming over a self-inflicted speed bump. Sacrifice, blah. Rules, blah. Expectations, Blah, blah. (You get the point.) With all that speeding, the worries, struggles and challenges of just managing daily life  (which I do love) seemed to take a toll on me.  More importantly, it took a toll on my relationship with the one I love most and who loved me enough to give his very life. And for more than a moment, I willingly chose to wallow in my complete unworthiness. I chose to separate myself.

After some wise counsel, some thoughtful reflection, some deep prayer and participation in those beautiful sacraments, here I am again. Ready. Still (always) unworthy, but grateful for the gift and promises of faith. Saint Thomas Becket was onto something when he said,

“The whole company of saints bears witness to the unfailing truth that without real effort no one wins the crown.”

Christ has the power to transform us — completely. Inside and out.

“He who sat upon the throne said, ‘Behold, I make all things new’” (Rev 21:5).

During this Lent I’m going to continue to put on the brakes a bit. I hope to slow down and continue to thoughtfully and prayerfully seek the Lord with complete faith in his presence.

No longer sleep deprived

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I just have to report — with joy: The baby has slept through the night four consecutive nights. My life has officially changed. Yahoo. I feel a little bit more like myself again. Funny what 10 months of no REM can do to a woman.

Now we’re heading out to for Helen’s audition #3. Another fun (and long) day.  After today, there is only one left. Then waiting. Ugh.

Prayers would be good.

Freak Out

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There is a ride at our church fair called the Freakout.

Its name suits it well. You are strapped into this swinging contraption. Feet dangling. Steel, over-the-shoulder harness. There’s upside down turning, twisting and lots of screaming involved. It’s really a great ride. You have to remove your shoes if you are wearing flip-flops or any other loose shoe that may take flights as you soar, spin and screech.

As a lover of all things carnival, I’m usually ready for the ride. I know I am (reasonably) safe and secure and will appreciate the outcome. Except that’s not where I am right now.  I can’t hop on the ride. I’m stuck at the scariest part.

I’m next in line.

That spot of anticipation. Can I handle it? Will I trust? How much of the 2 minutes and 30 seconds of the ride will be clouded by fear before I allow myself to relax and embrace what’s ahead?

Truth be told, I’m pretty sure my whole life could be analogous of something related to amusement parks. Maybe someday I’ll muse about elephant ears and caramel apples. That’s another post … because I’m still stuck in line at the Freakout.

As I approach the part of life that includes sending a child off to college while wiping teething drool off another, I’m forced to realize I can’t duck out of line. I can’t give my spot to someone else, and I eventually have to trust, relax and get on that darn ride. Which, by the way, I want to. After all, that’s why I’m standing here to begin with. I gave the guy my tickets, and I’m next.  Soon enough, he’ll open the gate, I’ll take my shoes off, get strapped in and be as ready as I can be.

I know I can’t focus on the past, I’ve already been at the back of the line. I’ve done my time and, rightfully so, I’ve taken my place at the front. It’s just that the seemingly long line has moved much more quickly than I anticipated.

I’m trying to take comfort in knowing that after I get off this first ride, I will again be getting back in the queue. I’m hopeful that maybe next time I’m at the front, I’ll remember the thrill of the ride, how much I’ve enjoyed my time in line and remind myself to trust that I’m being held in.

Mile markers

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You know those mile markers on the freeway? Well, I’m whizzing past them. And I think I’ve just figured out, there aren’t any rest stops. Life just keeps speeding by.

I spent last Friday with our of dear Helen at her first university music audition. One down, three to go. Yep, just counting them down. Soon enough, the auditions will be over. Decisions will be made, bags will be packed and she’ll be home on weekends. Sometimes.

And those markers will just keep whizzing by.

I started the day in tears when I felt the little sharp teeth that finally poked their way through the baby’s swollen gums. I announced their presence, looked at my dear spouse and just cried. And not because Cilff will bite me now with a newly fortified jaw of torture when I nourish him, but because that’s it — no more toothless gummy grin.  Whiz. Past another one.

We packed lunches, snacks, diaper bags, music, tea, toddler, teenagers, baby and boy and headed out. Richard took the younger four with him to a museum by the university after dropping Helen and me off at our destination. Helen and I attended information sessions and listened to student rehearsals. We found a vacant practice room. She warmed up her voice, we ate peanut butter sandwiches and drank ginger tea. I hid my nervousness. She sang more and got sillier. My morning waterworks  continued, but they tears were from laughing. (Love that crazy girl!)

Like my singing? Call me.

Soon enough, the day was done. She sang for her supper (beautifully I might add — I stood outside the door) and was pleased with herself, regardless of the outcome. We piled back in the car and soon enough were home.  In a few days we’re off to number two. A farther trip — a longer ride, but then (fortunately) back home. For now.

New teeth. New adventures. New worries. New joys … are all just part of the journey. I used to feel like the driver on this adventure, but now realize I’m just grateful to be along for the ride. And I have faith enough to trust that the driver knows where He’s leading us.

Busted

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We’ve all been there.

Our child sees something beloved in the trash or St. Vincent de Paul giveaway bag.

“Mommy! My collage is in the garbage!”

I usually try to explain it away. It was a mistake. It must have fallen in there, etc.  Fish it out, then dispose of it later, when I’m sure it won’t be discovered. I’m a coward about admitting it was me. But sometimes, can’t get around it. (Will she be scarred for life because I didn’t treasure and keep all 750,281 pieces of collage artwork?)

This post at Faith and Family Live, Confessions of an Imperfect Mom: De-Cluttering Motherhood and Hoarding Faith, by Karen Edmisten, is nice read and puts into perspective how we shouldn’t define our parenting by our imperfections.

And, if you don’t read Faith and Family Live. You should.

Part of your world

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I was picking up toys in Lillian’s room and came across this.

Part of your world.

The Princess and her reptiles.

A princess in an air balloon with a frog and lizard, positioned just so in the midst of her well-appointed menagerie.

Lillian lives in a remarkable place.

Her feet may be on the ground, but her imagination takes her far, far away.

Case in point: A few weeks back, I heard her playing and say she needed to take her princess on her noodlecorn (unicorn) to the woods to escape the Drooling Giant (Baby Clifford). Once she made it to her safe haven, behind the couch I heard her say, “Help me Obi Won Kenobi.”

She loves little toys. The greater choking hazard, apparently the better. I love when I open a lower cabinet and find her Littlest Petshop toys positioned in a private conversational circle. Or balanced just so on the base of a lamp or top of a heat vent.

Those little surprises make me yearn for those moments myself. The freedom to let my mind take me somewhere. Sometimes anywhere but where my feet may actually be. Just to escape. But come back, of course. Moments like that make me grateful for prayer … and the promises of one day living forever in another remarkable place.

Until then, I need to go dress my darling girl in her princess-the-pencil clothes. (Aka Princess Rapunzel).

Keeping watch

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“Could you not keep watch for one hour?”

Spending time at Eucharistic Adoration is a gift. One that I so infrequently receive these days.

Yesterday I was able to sneak away for that precious hour of face time with our Lord, and my multitasking brain was all over the place.

I felt like Peter. Unable to stay awake. Although I wasn’t sleeping, I was distracted and not devoted to our Lord during that one hour as I promised myself I would be.

It’s hard to shut off a mutlitasking brain when it is so busy multitasking to prepare for all the upcoming multitasking.

I spent two days this week preparing more than a dozen meals for my family so I can tackle all the stuff we have on our plates these next two weeks and still eat healthy, home-cooked dinners together.

I cooked and cooked, did laundry, homeschooled, picked up children, dropped off children, nursed a baby, wiped spilled milk, changed diapers, took care of business, ran to the bank, unloaded and reloaded dishwasher, dressed and bathed myself and others and the list goes on, and on and on.

Had I not done all that preparation, I wouldn’t have been able to steal that hour yesterday. So in an attempt to take a  moment of peace and reap the fruits of my labor, I knelt. And although my prayer was earnest, it was scattered, easily distracted and completely unfocused. I had so many people to pray for. So many intentions. My mind just raced hoping I wouldn’t forget this or that, while flashes of “don’t forget to move the laundry to the dryer when you get home” and “maybe I should read some prayers to get focus, but if I read prayers I’ll miss the conversation with God, then I won’t be able to listen” and “I forgot to mute my cell phone. Should I mute it now, which makes noise and could be distracting or take the chance that it won’t ring?” and, unfortunately, that list just went on, too.

I even found myself distracted with the thought of blogging about how distracted I was. Ugh.

But even in the midst of my mental chaos, the Lord, as promised, delivered. I returned home renewed. Happy to be able to easily put a good meal on the table, crawl around with the baby, read with the children and spend quiet time with my spouse. I’m sure even my distracted prayers were heard.

I am so grateful God is merciful and understanding.

I eagerly look forward to the next hour I can find to be with the Blessed Sacrament–however I can offer it. It’s my job to work toward giving God more, and I’ll just keep trying.

And no, I did not remember to move the laundry to the dryer.

Time alone

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I had the opportunity to have  a date night with our eight-year-old son. I took him to the movies to see The Blind Side. The movie is rated PG-13, but  I’d already screened it and thought it would be good for Henry.

Although some of the material is mature, it is presented in a way that doesn’t seem gratuitous. The story has so many lessons. Even the elements that might be beyond him are wrought with opportunities for explanation. And I wanted the explanations to come from me.

At this point of his life, I still want to be his filter. He has plenty of time to sort the stuff of life out, but for now, I want to provide him with the guidance he needs to understand our family’s values. As his parents, we are after all his first teachers.

When he’s older he’ll take what we’ve taught him, weigh it with what he experiences, along with what our culture tells him is so, and have to figure out what is right and what is wrong, what is truth and what is not.  I hope he remembers some of what we talked about tonight. Even if he doesn’t remember that specifically, maybe he’ll remember that he held my hand as we skipped to the car and that we returned home well past his bedtime on our special night together.  And maybe that alone will be enough of a lesson.