Preparing the way

3 Comments

We made an Advent candle project yesterday. I know, it looks like I’m on the ball — planning ahead. Yep, that’s me.

Hardly. It was more an effort to avoid my usual Advent candle mayhem, which goes something like this:

Our project

Henry, MC and Lil admire their work.

We make a trip to the Catholic bookstore to buy candles in early November. (They actually run out.) I buy them. I stash them some place I’m sure to remember when the time comes. But instead, I forget. I look in all the reasonable spots. Accuse my spouse of moving them, then I end up blaming the candles themselves  (as in, “where are those stupid candles?”).  I buy a second set. Then mid season, find the first set. Promise myself I’ll remember I have them for next year … but I don’t. And so it begins all over again. Oh, and by the way, the candles never quite fit the wreath properly. So I’m always melting them, shaving them, adding extra wax, you name it.

Not this year. I won’t be able to lose these. And the kids are so excited about them. So for once, I’ll actually be prepared to prepare the way.

Is there some special sin category

1 Comment

for yelling at your kids to stop asking when we are going to say our morning prayers?

“We’ll pray when I’m good and ready!”

This, after I’m trying to feed the baby and unload the dishwasher before we start school, then unexpectedly have to change the freshly dressed baby from head to toe, rinse out his clothes and warm up my coffee (again), drag the walker downstairs all to the tune of … “Can we pray now?” or “Mom? When are we going to pray?”

I sing back, “Start your math.”

The chorus responds, “We can’t until we pray.” Which means: they won’t.

Which makes me raise my voice in the most unbecoming anti-Duggar way.

Ah … I have so much to learn. Patience is apparently a virtue that only visits me occasionally. I think I’ll pray for that … when I’m good and ready.

Soul food

Leave a comment

Monday was All Souls Day. It follows All Saints Day, and commemorates the faithful departed–those who die in God’s faith and friendship. At our parish, it is always marked by a mass and simple reception. Family of parishioners who died during the year are invited as well as anyone from the parish who may want to attend. It’s solemn and beautiful. I was fortunate to be asked to sing at the mass. Along with Holy Thursday, it’s really my favorite.

In addition to my participation, about a month or so ago, our pastor asked if I would bring the baby. He wanted to use him as a “prop” during the homily. I agreed, but with the disclaimer that I could not make any guarantees regarding the level of cooperation of my six-month-old son. Actually, the exchange was more like, “Are you sure you know what you’re asking?” He assured me he did, and that he could roll with it. And I knew he could, so I said, “Okay.”

My parents sat with the baby during mass, since I was in front singing and Richard was teaching religious education. My dad’s magic touch made Clifford very relaxed, and when it was time to hand him off to Monsignor, the baby just nuzzled and got cozy.

Monsignor stood in his white vestments and gave his entire homily holding our son, who comfortably nuzzled securely in his arms. Monsignor reminded all of the many sad people in the congregation that they should find peace knowing that their loved one is being held by God, much like he was holding Clifford. To help you understand the visual impact, you should know that our pastor stands just shy of 6’8″. His large hand covers almost all of the baby’s back. It was easy to picture God’s strength and loving care.

His homily was comforting and wonderful; the baby remained so calm and pretty much moved on cue. It seemed he was responding to what was being said. At one point, when Monsignor mentioned heaven, Clifford even looked up and all around at the ceiling of the church. He also seemed completely unfazed by the hundreds of people in attendance. Occasionally looking out at the people, then back at his tall protector, then at me. I was afraid that he would see me and cry, but he didn’t. He did just what God needed him to do in that moment.

A day after the mass, I received this note from a dear friend from church

I am still in awe of what we all witnessed at the Memorial mass. I know a lot of others are too. I’m sure there were many in the church who, in their grief, have doubted God’s real presence with us. If Fr. Mike’s and Clifford’s homily did not dispel those doubts, I don’t know what could. I felt His presence so strongly I wanted to shout it to the rooftop!

Thank you for sharing your beautiful son. ( I want to say that he could be a great actor someday, but I have a feeling God has something better in store for him!)

It has always been my wish for all of my children that God use each one for the purpose for which He intended and created them. I just often foolishly think of it in terms of them when they grow up. Thanks to our dear pastor, the Holy Spirit and my  bouncing baby boy, my eyes have been opened … once again.

He’s mine

Leave a comment

Lillian has taken a shine to a little boy in her class. While we were eating breakfast she announced that he would be at school today because, “He’s there for me.”

I tried to tell her that he was there for the same reasons she was at school, but she would hear nothing of it.

“Oh, no,” she said. “He’s MINE.”

Give me a P!

Leave a comment

Please.

Trying to get to the bottom (literally) of Lil’s backache complaints, we were directed to the lab for a culture.

For the record, just about every time you put a newly potty-trained three-year-old girl on the pot, they go. But put that same little girl on the potty in a lab restroom with the promise of the results being caught in a cup and you can forget it.

On the way there, she drank apple juice. Lots of apple juice. In the less-than-hygienic bathroom, we discussed waterfalls and bubble baths. Swimming pools and washing dishes in warm water. We let the faucet run and imagined it was raining and we were playing in puddles. Nothing. All while I’m saying, “Don’t touch anything.” And trying to heed my own advice as I hovered close by with that menacing cup, ready to pounce. But nothing. Nada. Nunca.

After more than a half an hour, several knocks and no success, we left–clean cup in hand–ready to attempt the collection at home. More apple juice has been consumed, her little bottom has warmed that seat numerous times but she’s just not letting go. It seems ironic to me, the months of challenges and energy spent trying to get her to stay dry and then when I need her to pee, she can hold it for hours on end and basically refuse (at least for now) to accommodate.

As I type this, Lil is napping. And now of course I’m praying that all our talk of waterfalls and warm water don’t find their way to her dreams so when she wakes up I can make a successful deposit at the lab instead of in the downstairs washing machine.

Kiss me, you fool

1 Comment

I’m the fool. I can’t turn down a kiss from one of my kids, and here I am, once again, sick.

This week, the baby had a blazing temp, which turned out to be Rosiola. So I dodged that bullet. But then dear Lillian came home from school with a little cough. Which of course, required even more mama lovin’. And I gave it. Because I can’t turn my cheek to those sweet scrumptious kisses. Now she has a big cough, and a fever. and I’m starting to feel a little bit of a lot of something stuffy, runny and achy. Ugh.

This morning as I directed that beautiful and large bunch of hacking children in the choir, the music was that of angels, but the lyrics in my head went something like, “you are doomed dear lady, amen.” Or something like that. I even made some feeble attempt at taking it easy today. Took some Airborne, all suspecting I was a target since I’d reached a certain level of exhaustion due to many sleepless nights with our dear sweet fevered boy. And well — bulls eye. Direct hit. It sank my battleship.

But here’s the big question: Is it worth it? Is it worth kissing and loving my sugar girl when she needs it? Is it worth holding that baby in my arms all night just to make sure he’s okay? Is it worth directing, hugging, loving and adoring all those beautiful children who share their lovely voices in praise to our dear Lord?  I’m pretty sure the answer is yes. But ask me when I feel better. 🙂

Mother Mary comforts me

1 Comment

I love the Blessed Mother. She is most certainly the main reason I am devoted to Christ and my Catholic faith today. At a time, many years ago, when I pondered if another church might better suit “someone like me,” she told me to stay home, to do what I had to do. Then she did what all good mothers do, she introduced me to her beloved son and I fell in love.

Little Lil loves the Blessed Mother, too.

Little Lil loves the Blessed Mother, too.

As a senior in high school, we were celebrating a retirement mass for the religious sister who was in charge of attendance and the bookstore. I was asked to read some of the Prayers of the Faithful. I was pleased, because in all four years at the school, I had never been asked to read. Then I learned that all the girls asked to read where those whose phone number Sister JT (as she was affectionately known) knew by heart because of attendance issues. Hmph.

I remember doing the reading. But more importantly, I remember the speech Sr. JT gave at the end of the mass. She sat up front and told us to always remember Our Lady. She urged us to turn to the Blessed Mother when we needed help, and she would be there for us. She, after all, was a woman, too. That advice was the most meaningful thing I learned about my faith in high school and from a woman who never taught me in a classroom and who I was usually trying to outrun in the hallway as I arrived late (yet again) for school.

There’s a great article about Mary and mercy at Faith & Family Live.

I’m THAT woman

Leave a comment

Okay, I used to love the show That Girl. Cute Marlo Thomas. The cute clothes. Silly situations. She was That Girl. Well, sometime between my very little childhood dreams of being cute and independent like Marlo (her character name was Anne Marie) I turned into THAT woman. And you now what I mean.

Marlo Thomas

Marlo Thomas

I’m that woman who rarely seems to have time to get makeup on in the busy morning and actually goes out in public that way.  I’m that woman who wears flat shoes almost everyday when I used to love to live in high heels (remember this). I’m that woman who is looking for the manager’s special tags at the grocery store and buys 25 bags of pasta at a time.  I’m that woman who looks at the crumbs in her silverware drawer (and after briefly pondering how they got in there) surrenders to the fact that they are going to have to stay. I’m that woman who brings her sometimes not-so-quiet kids to the library and takes forever at checkout because we’re bringing home 20 or more books. I’m that woman with the dirty glasses, amazed at times I can see through them at all.

I remember the day I became THAT mother (Henry was sprawled on top of the dashboard of my minivan at the windshield, I was in the backseat nursing Lillian and we were blasting Journey with the windows down as we waited for the older girls to finish their piano lessons), but I don’t remember when I morphed into THAT woman instead of the That Girl I so longed to be.

I do know that with the pitfalls of being THAT woman are also the blessings. I’m saving money on makeup. My feet don’t hurt. I enjoy the challenges of being a thriftier shopper and the people at the library are now at least used to us. Also, when my glasses are dirty,  I can clean them and just like that all things are bright again. Of course, the greatest blessing is the five important reasons I turned into THAT woman to begin with–Helen, Mary Claire, Henry, Lillian and Clifford.

Eight is great

Leave a comment

Our dear Henry is crossing the threshold from little boy to bigger boy. He’ll be closer to 10 than five. He turns eight on Saturday.

When Henry turned six, I breathed a sigh of relief. I thought, “oh yea, I lived through a five-year-old Henry.” Thinking that with the age would come, I don’t know, a little more calm, a little less danger. Well, there’s no more calm. He’s as high energy as ever. Higher actually. And it’s wonderful. How one human can be so full of joy and life is amazing. I’ve always said that he’s just here for the party. But he’s really here for so much more.

It’s been a joy watching him grow as he’s learned to read and write. We’re all often amazed at his love of science and his ability to build some working contraption out of anything he can get his hands on. What an honor it has been to prepare him for his first reconciliation and first communion and to teach him to pray.

Since Richard and I had at one time thought Henry was going to be our last baby, I love to see how God’s plan for our family has unfolded. It’s beautiful to see how Henry embraces his role as big brother to Lillian and Cliff and how much he enjoys his big sisters and how he shows them his love and affection.  (Leaving wrapped coins on their beds is always a hoot.) He’s right where he should be — smack in the middle — because it always seems there’s enough of Henry to go around.

In honor of his birthday, I am posting a story I wrote when he was four. Thank you God for Henry.

Our son, being himself.

Our son, being himself.