Time and Space

 It was a bright June day when I started noticing a peculiar habit of Juliana's. Every morning after breakfast, she would run out the front door and sit in the front yard, seemingly doing nothing but staring at the grass. This day was maybe the fifth day in a row she had done it, and as I stood at the window I watched her peaceful, dainty hands stroke the blades of grass. 

The night before my observation, Juliana had lost her earrings for what seemed like the thousandth time. They were the second pair we had to buy her because she had lost the first. She had to use her small amount of allowance to pay for them, and when they went missing she was naturally devastated.  Tears rolled down her cheek as she searched everywhere for the tiny silver hoops that had just arrived the previous day. We asked for St. Anthony's help, but eventually decided it was time for bed before finding them.

The next morning, when Juliana decided to come in from her new morning grass staring ritual, I asked if she wanted to go check eggs with me. As I grasped her delicate hand in mine and stepped onto the back porch, I spotted her tiny earrings laying on the concrete! What a terribly strange place for earrings to be! Great excitement and relief came from Juliana as she quickly snatched them up and held them tightly in her hand. 

"You should thank God and St. Anthony for helping us find those!" I told her.

"I already did", she replied matter of factly.

Surprised, I inquired further. "You thanked them, just now, that quickly?" 

"No, I thanked them when I was in the front yard this morning saying my prayers."

I tried to bring clarity to the situation by asking her if she thanked God for helping before the earrings were found, and she replied that she had. She couldn't seem to understand what was strange about this. I tried to press further, my mind trying to grasp what was going on in my seven year old's spiritual life.  

"What else did you tell God when you were praying?"  

Juliana shrank back from me, her eyes lowered and her voice became quiet and shy, "I don't like to tell people what I pray. I think it's just supposed to be between me and God."

I respected her privacy and grabbed her hand to head towards the chicken coop. After about five paces, she stopped suddenly. "Mommy, I don't really pray to God. I more like talk to God and ask Him questions. I ask Him what He is like and how His ways are and then I try to hear what He says. I only really pray, like ask for things, at church."

I was obviously very shocked to hear my seven year old basically describe contemplative prayer in her own sweet way that day. 

In days since, I have thought a lot about our conversation. I have mostly thought about the gift that time and space is for little children (and maybe big ones too!). If Juliana had been hauled off on a school bus that morning, if she had had an ipad to grab or a daycare to get to, she wouldn't have had the space or the quiet to run into the front yard, stare at the grass and contemplate His ways. It has given me a renewed sense of gratitude for the gift of homeschooling. It renews my firm belief that staying home with your children to witness and be a part of these little moments is worth more than all the money  or earthly prestige in the world. 

And Then He Was 7

Dear #1,
Today you are seven. You amaze me more and more every day. This year especially, I am so thankful to celebrate with you.  I am so proud of the person you are growing into. The more years I am a mother, the more I realize that your goodness is more about HIS goodness and less about my specific parenting techniques and abilities. You are one of the greatest gifts God ever gave me and I feel unworthy to the calling of raising you. I hope you know this every day of your life.

You remain as social as ever. You love nothing more than getting to go hang out with friends, or having a big dinner at our house. You say hi to everyone you come across and all people are your friends. You love to talk. And talk and talk. Your topics of conversation are becoming deeper by the day and I enjoy answering your well thought out questions. Your favorite person to be with is Daddy. You want to be just like him. You even started sleeping in your underwear just so you could be more like him. Everyday when he comes home you joyfully shout, "DADDY!" and run to give him a hug.

School comes easy for you. You are smart and get things without much explaining or teaching. We have seen a marked improvement in the way you play with #2 this year; something we thought may never happen. You are growing kinder and more self controlled by the day and I am so proud of you. You love competition; but not for the sake of winning, but for the sake of having fun and meeting new people. Often times on the soccer field you will choose to talk to a friend instead of playing the game. You are fearless when it comes to trying new things. You will jump into anything that sounds fun, even if you have to do it all by yourself. I love this about you.

You always try to stand for what is right and, more importantly, do what is right. You care about big issues at a young age and you aren't afraid to talk with people about them. The other day at breakfast you asked the lady sweeping the floors, "Excuse me, are you Catholic?" We went on to have a very nice conversation about the woman's beliefs. This is a skill and ability most people lose as they grow older. I hope you never do. I hope you always see people for their goodness and never hide a hello or  a smile. I hope you never lose your ability to say what you think is right, even if it makes people uncomfortable. This year you have been begging us to receive your first holy communion and working very hard at your behavior in mass to get there. I love how anxious you are to become one with Christ. Every night after I put #3 to bed, you call me to your room and say, "I forgot to give you a blessing, hug and goodnight kiss!" Then you proceed to hug, kiss and bless my forehead. It's one of my favorite parts of the day with you.

I love you, son. I know I'm not always the perfect mom. Please forgive me for the times I have yelled, lost my temper, or not listened well to you. Know that every day I love you a little more and every day you help me to be the best person I can be. I hope that I can do the same for you!

Love,
Mommy

Child-Like Trust

There are some big changes happening in our family right now. As if having a baby and getting a massive blood clot in one year wasn't enough, we have also decided to leave the Air Force. This decision didn't come lightly and we had discussed it long before the baby or the clot. If we were staying in the Air Force, we would be moving in February of 2016, so moving was in our future regardless.

Once the decision was made to get out of the Air Force, the next step was for Max to find a job. So we prayed, and we prayed hard. We prayed that God's will would be done in everything. We prayed  that He would open doors that needed to be opened and close doors that needed to be closed. Max applied for jobs locally and afar. He is a very smart man: an engineer with a good career. He is very hire-able. With all those applications, only one door was opened. Some of the other doors were blatantly closed in our faces. The door that was opened with perfect ease was for Max's dream job back in Oklahoma City. Even though staying here would have been much easier. I wasn't convinced that the ease of staying made it the right choice. I struggled for a very long time at the thought of leaving family and friends that have become so dear to us, especially in these difficult times. I loathed the thought of all the work that has to be done to sell this house and I cried at thinking of leaving the place where two of our children have been born.

Then, one day, my kids taught me a very good lesson and I was reminded once again why Christ calls us to be child-like. I started telling my kids we might move to Oklahoma and expected high emotions from all of them. Instead they asked a simple question, "will all of us go to Oklahoma?" When the answer was of course, yes, they were perfectly fine with the idea and even started to get excited about the new adventure. Even since that day, they will have momentary sadness about someone they will miss, but in general, all they care about is that Mommy and Daddy are going with them. They trust that we are making a good choice for our family and that we won't leave them.

That got me thinking: I pray for doors to be opened and closed. I pray for God's will to be done and for right decisions to be made. But when that decision is clear, and is the harder of the choices, do I actually trust that God's hand was in it all? Because if I do, then my only response can be the same one my children had. "Ok God, I will go because I trust you know what's best and no matter what, you will stay by my side. And that's all that matters, no matter how much it will hurt to leave family, friends and this house. Are you coming with us God? Yes? Well then o.k. I'll go."

When I got sick, I was stripped of everything. When the talk of moving was coming around, I heard God whisper in my heart, "Don't be attached to anything but me. Not even the place you live. Have I not taken care of you thus far?" I thought that God was done (at least for the present moment) breaking down walls and that new ones were on their way up. But I see now, that even though I am healed from the clot, there is still more He wants to break down, more that needs to be stripped away. And as hard as it is, I KNOW that He is doing this all out of love for me and in answer to my most fervent prayer: that I would be the woman He has created me to be.

In the end we accepted the job in Oklahoma and will be moving in January. There is a lot of work ahead of us in the next few months, and a new life to start in Oklahoma. By the great trusting example my kids have given to me, I pray that the only words on my heart and lips may be, "Jesus, I trust in You".   

The Day That Changed Our Lives

I'll admit that when I set out to write this post, it was going to be a long 3 part series with every detail of everything that happened written down. The thing is, when I went to write everything down that has happened over the past 5 months, it was hard, and I didn't like doing it. While a lot of it is actually written down in a journal, I'm not quite ready to re-live or retell every single detail of those days. Maybe someday I will, but not today. Today will be a very short summary of everything that happened. It was too big of an event for me to just let it go without writing some of it down here.

Two weeks after I had Sarah, I got a very bad headache that lasted 5 days. On the 6th day of the headache, while nursing, I lost control of the upper left side of my body. My hand could not grasp things, and when I tried to raise my arm it simply dropped down. There was tingling from my upper neck to my hip. After consulting with my midwife, we decided to go in to the hospital.

After about two hours of non-stop physical tests, the doctors determined (or thought they determined) that I had an a-typical migraine. The plan was to send me home after doing a quick CT scan just to make sure all the bases were covered. About a minute after I was wheeled back in to my room a knock came on our door. If you have ever had tests done at a hospital you know that getting results often takes a long time; I knew immediately that knock was not good. "I'm sorry but we found something. We found bleeds in the brain. Neurosurgery will be up in a few minutes" Minutes.  Those moments were so surreal. Max's boss had just lost his wife because her brain was bleeding. Was I headed in that direction? In that moment life seemed so so incredibly small and simple and God seemed so so incredibly big. I felt like I was hanging over a dark pit of death held only by a thread that God could cut anytime He deemed right. If I have ever felt true "fear of the Lord", if I have ever been able to conceive even a small portion of His greatness and power, it was in these moments. I clung to Max. We prayed, we cried, we called a few people. Then we started thinking of practical things. I started worrying how Sarah would get fed if I needed surgery or wasn't there to feed her. I made him promise to pump milk for her even if I was unconscious, to comfort her through her tummy troubles should she need to go on formula. Nurses came and went and my father-in-law brought a priest friend to give me last rights. I am forever grateful for that favor and the grace of the sacraments that evening. A "few minutes" became lots of minutes as we sat and waited for more news.

Those moments felt like hours, but eventually news came. After an MRI, it was confirmed that I had a huge blood clot in my superior sagittal sinus (a major drain in the brain) and two small bleeds that resulted from the clot.  It was also determined that, unless the bleeds became bigger, I would not need surgery that night. As long as I wasn't having my brain cut open and I had Max and the baby with me, I was at peace. But then another wave of bad news came: I was being transferred to the neurosurgery unit and Sarah was not allowed there. No matter the fit I threw or the people I asked to speak with, the request to have her near me was denied. I thank God everyday that my sister, Joanna, had come earlier to bring Max some food. When we got the news that Sarah could not come with me, she promised she would take perfect care of her, and even nurse her should she need to. It was the greatest gift she could ever give me, and God knew she was the only person on earth I would feel somewhat comfortable sending Sarah with. So, as they wheeled me across the doors of the neurosurgery unit, I kissed Sarah goodbye and left my heart there with her.

The next morning I woke, and my heart hurt more than my head. I missed Sarah with every bone in my body and longed to nurse and hold her. Max had woken up every 3 hours in the night with me to pump milk for her, since I couldn't use my left arm. The next two days in the hospital were filled with pumping, crying, waiting, sleeping, tests, and more waiting. We felt forgotten in that shared room, as every doctor who came in seemed to be for my roommate. After about 48  hours on heparin and test results that showed the bleeds had stopped, I was allowed to go home (I begged for this). With as little sleep as I was getting in the hospital, I felt I would die from staying there, not from going home.

My first night home was an exciting one to say the least. Only a few hours after being home, I was taken by ambulance back to the hospital. I had what they deemed a simple partial seizure where my left side went completely numb again, but only for a few minutes. Needless to say, it scared me very much and on the ride to the hospital I made peace with God that this whole thing might actually kill me. The funny thing is, I didn't fear for my children living without me, or wonder what would become of my family. Instead, I had only a great sadness that I might not be there to witness it all. I realized in that moment the privilege of my vocation. It wasn't that I didn't believe anyone could raise my kids or be a wife to my husband, it was that I wanted the blessing and honor of living out my vocation. And I promised God that if He willed that I live through all of it, that I would do my very best at living it out. My heart felt peace as I watched the lights of the city through the back window of the ambulance.

I was sent home from the E.R. with a new prescription of anti seizure medicine. Looking back I am not sure if it was the medicine, my blood clot, or a combination of both, but I slept....A LOT. Over the next few weeks, I slept nearly 22 hours a day. Taking a shower was almost too much to do. I ate in bed and only got up to go to the bathroom. Max had to go back to work and my mom promised to stay as long as we needed her. She became the woman of the house. She had to. I couldn't do anything but sleep, nurse and heal. If it hadn't been for my mom being there, I wouldn't have been able to heal the way I did. She cooked, cleaned, took care of the kids, took care of Max, took care of me, played interference when people wanted to come visit and loved with every ounce of her being. None of us knew how long the healing process would take, but she promised to be there for it's entirety.

Very, very slowly I began to heal. After the first two weeks of constant sleep, every day got a little better and I could do a little more. It would take about two months before I could even go out of the house, and even then it was a hard thing to do. Days were filled with sleep and doctors appointments and trying to figure out what our life would look like after all of this. It's hard to write down exactly how those days of healing passed, and only my mom, Max and I know what they really looked like. Over time I did heal. My mom stayed with us for four months, until I was finally able to handle the work of four children on my own. It was so bittersweet to say goodbye and I feel a part of me will always be with her for taking care of me during that time. It's as if she took a small piece of my heart home with her, and to say that the transition to "normal life" without her was heart breaking and hard is an understatement. I will forever be thankful for her help to us during those months, and to my dad who was willing to be without her all that time.

I have left out so much here. Maybe someday I will write more. I do want to note that when I got sick I remembered this post about my hardships in pregnancy with Juliana. I remembered the lesson God taught me from all of it: that if we pray to be sanctified and holy, we must accept the sufferings that make that happen. Through the hardships of these past months, I know God is only allowing it for the sanctification of my soul and my family, and there is great peace in that. I cannot write down all the graces given to my soul during this time, but I will say that through suffering comes great spiritual growth and change. I know with everything in me that God allowed me to go through this because He loves me and hears my prayer to be the woman He created me to be. It would have been easier had my house burnt down than to go through what I did. He could have stripped me of my attachment to earthy goods, but He chose something much greater; God stripped me, in those days, of my very core. He stripped me of my capabilities as a wife, mother and person. I was forced to humbly accept any and all help that was offered because I could do nothing on my own. I gave up control of my house, my children, my health and life as I knew it. In giving up that control I had to give it ALL to Him. I was left with absolutely nothing and He became everything. And I wish so badly I could say that I have become a saint on earth from all this, but I continue to fall daily in my vocation. I continue to struggle with the "why" of all of it, and I'm still trying to deal with the great amount of emotion that comes from a traumatic event. But I know that as I struggle through this life, an ever-loving God is there to carry me through it. It is only by His grace that I can do anything.

Changes

Yes, I know it's been a while as it always is these days. But there are leaves turning over here so I have an excuse. I'm trying to cut my computer time to a minimum while my kids are awake because who wants to remember their mom with their back to them pasted to a computer screen? I got off Facebook for a whole two months and I actually felt somewhat freed from it all. No more worrying about who is posting what and what I should and shouldn't be responding to. No more getting bombarded by political news stories at the very beginning of my every day. The weirdest thing to be freed from was the strange desire Facebook leaves you with to be checking it all the time for no reason. Even though I'm back on Facebook for the sole purpose of being able to contact a few people who I can otherwise not, I've resolved to spend no more than a few minutes on  a day, if even that. I also had the children watching no kid's shows at home (which was HUGE), until I got pregnant and first trimester fatigue and nausea hit. I HAD to have that nap. Maybe it's something we can go back to in the near future, but I'm still pleased that their time in front of a screen is so much less than it used to be.

Also, from this point forward in this blog my children will be referred to by number. Peanut is our #1, Miss Belle our #2, Jules our #3 and #4 is yet to be seen, but on the way. I figure by being pregnant with #4 it's as good of a time as ever to switch over to the number notation for names. Max and I are still arguing about finding out the sex or not, so that is yet to be seen.

We decided to home school #1 for Kindergarten this year. To be honest, I was pretty scared to start, but all is going well. #1 is a very social, energetic child who needs social interaction, so for now we are taking it one semester at a time. If homeschooling doesn't seem to be working for him in the near future we will figure something else out. After reading about a dozen various education books, reading through many blogs and listening to people converse on the subject I decided there was one main thing I wanted to keep in mind while venturing out into the education of our children. I want to always remember that not every child can or should be schooled the same way. I hate the idea that some people have that if you are a good Catholic, you home school and if you choose to do anything different you are either wrong or just too lazy. The idea floats around everywhere in home schooling circles and it's suffocating. My children deserve the best education that can be found; and while that may be home schooling at the moment, that might not always be the case. I also dislike the idea the public schools are using that all children should be put on an education assembly line where everyone comes out with the same (really bad) education. End rant.

I know I have been away, but this blog is really to look back on our life, and a few month break here and there isn't going to seem like much in the grand scheme of things. That's what keeps me writing. #1 is growing into an amazing boy and his kindness and great sense of humor floor me every day. He is so eager to learn about anything, loves to read and sword fight with pretend bad guys all day long. He is almost six. I can't believe I'm even writing that. 6! #2...as always is hard to put into words. She continues to give her whole heart to whatever she is doing. Most of her day is spent trying to do what #1 is doing even if she is too young or not physically capable. During home schooling she has to be sitting right by us working on her letters, because if her brother is doing school, so is she. She will never get down until he is done. They both love to sit down and be read to and wrestle with each other constantly. #3 is REALLY making up for her calm babyhood. I call her stealth baby. She will be so quiet and calm and I will go to check on her to find she has colored herself from head to toe in my makeup in 30 seconds flat. She unrolls the toilet paper, squeezes out the toothpaste, dips her hands in the toilet and loves Sharpies (actually any marker). My older two seriously NEVER did any of that stuff. I know part of it has to be that I'm busy and can't watch her as closely as a single child, but part of it is her supersonic radar that can sense anything messy that should only be used by grown ups. But, at the end of the day she will grab my face, give me a big kiss and lay her head on my shoulder and it's all worth every single little bit of it. She is too sweet to be mad at for long. She tries very hard to keep up with #1 and #2 but that usually ends in tears. I'm so happy and feel so blessed that she will also have a sibling that is fairly close to her in age.

These days I am feeling so thankful and blessed by the graces, family and amazing children that surround me. I pray that I can be as faithful to Christ as he has always been to me.

I promise #2 really was having a good time. 

Time

My husband is gone to a training school for 8 weeks. It's the life of the military and I try not to complain because I have friends who go a year without seeing their husbands. The anxiety of him leaving was worse than actually being alone. I do miss him terribly. The evenings are long and the weekends (all 2 that I have had so far) are longer. Although I miss my husband, I think there is always something to learn in all experiences in life and this time apart is no different. From the moment my husband left, I felt something change in the dynamic between my children and me. It took me several days to figure out why I felt a peace I haven't felt in a long time, and why I was suddenly more patient with my children than I have been in a long time. Then it hit me. Time; for the first time since we moved to this new city I feel like I have time. Time to clean, time to cook, time to exercise, time to play. There are no projects to be finished, guest to have for dinner, shows that must get seen and really no places to go.  I'm not saying I wouldn't want my husband to come walking through the door right now. I'm just saying that him being gone has really shown me how rushed and busy our life has become. Slowing down has allowed me to come closer to the mother I want to be. The mother I dreamed of being before I even got married. And I think that when my husband comes home, we can implement this lesson I've learned for the better of our family.

Somewhere along the path in life, my husband and I started thinking that if we weren't doing something "productive" we were wasting time. How wrong we are, and how sad that we can't sit and play with our children without thinking about what needs to get done. How much better would our life be if we were willing to "waste" time on each other and on our children? Time spent with the ones we love is really never wasted, even if what we are doing at the moment has no immediate end product.

When my children grow up, they won't remember if the house was remodeled or even all the people that come for dinner. But they will remember if their mother and father spent time with them, were patient with them and truly took interest in who they were at any given age. I don't want to look back on my life and see my children as a side note in the life I'm living. I want them to be the life I'm living. For the first time (maybe ever) I have started saying yes to my children. Yes to the park. Yes to a game of checkers. Yes to playing soccer outside. Yes to helping me do the dishes. Yes to cracking the egg in the pan. Yes to all the things that seemed torturous to me before. And you know what? It's better. Somehow the dishes still get done, the laundry still gets folded (mostly) and the kids feel loved. Which is what matters most. If it took Max leaving for 8 weeks to teach our family this invaluable lesson, then all the long days and lonely nights will be worth it.

The Heart of The Family

The world weighs heavy on my heart these days. With everything going on in the news and seeing people's responses to the world right now, I feel that we are in a huge boiling pot that is about to explode.

I have talked to other stay at home moms with a struggle I deal with often. The struggle to want to do more. To take our children out into the world and convert the nations. I daydream sometimes about standing on a podium like Martin Luther King Jr. and giving a speech that will change hearts and save lives. I look back on the days when I was able teach confirmation, work with Rachel's Vineyard and pray on the sidewalks at the abortion mill. The days when saying the rosary was easy and going to daily mass was a habit. The days when I could lay down at the end of the day and feel good about what I did.

Here is where the voice of Satan comes in to tell me that being a mom isn't enough. That I should still be doing all the things I used to at the cost of raising my children. But the voice of God whispers in my heart, "Being a mom is enough. Raise the future and do it well." As as stay at home mom, we don't always get to reap the benefits of our work at the end of each day. Some days (most days?), I go to bed feeling inadequate for this job and wondering if all the naps, snacks, endless questions and endless mess really matters. I don't think Mother's really reap their rewards until her children are safe with them in heaven, which requires a lot of patience, self-sacrifice and focus on one's vocation.

But how do I get there? How do I raise a future of saints? If my children hear me talk of self-control often, but then see me down a quart of ice cream in one sitting, what is that teaching them? If I try and teach them to be kind to one another, but myself yell at them several times a day, will they trust what I am saying is even important? In parenting, talk is cheap and I do a lot of talking. If I want my kids to be virtuous I must first live these virtues in our home. As a mom, it's really easy to make excuses. Excuses about why I am not being the best mother I could. Excuses about why I lose my temper or can't get anything done. And while it is true that being a stay at home mom to 3 littles is very challenging, most of the excuses I come up with are a result of my laziness or my lack of focus on the goal; namely heaven. It is only when I give my day completely to God and rely solely on his grace to help me be a good mom that I can lay down at the end of the day and be proud of what was accomplished.

I have seen in recent weeks a huge trend in my family. If I am calm and kind, my children are calm and kind (and my husband too). If I am short-tempered, tired and grumpy the kids go nuts and my husband's temper is shortened as well. It is said that the mother is the heart of the family. If the heart is restless the entire body reacts. If the hearts beats slowly, predictably and in the rhythm God created it to, life and peace will flow from it.

I don't want to regret my children's young years. I don't want to look back and wish I had been nicer and wish I had done something differently. Every day matters because every day is a gift from God. I pray for the grace to be the woman and the mother that He created me to be and to live each day to the fullest.

Stopping to Smell The Flowers

I had to go to Wal-Mart tonight. I hate Wal-Mart. So does my husband. One of the many reasons I love him. Five minutes in that store can leave me exhausted and over-stimulated. But I must admit, they often have things I can't find anywhere else which is why I "had" to go this evening.

Peanut loves Wal-Mart. Maybe it's the insane amount of stuff there is to look at, or the 10 percent chance that he will come out with a balloon, but every time we pass one, he asks to go in. I knew today would be no different. As we pulled up, he begged to run in with me and I easily obliged. It's rare I get to take him somewhere alone, even if it's for a five minute walk in a store. So we walked, hand in hand towards that entrance to American consumerism at it's finest.

As I hurriedly walked around, knowing exactly what I needed and grabbing it as fast as I could, we made a pit stop to the party isle to prove to Peanut that, yes, they really were out of Spider-Man balloons. We had one more stop to the cleaning isle then we were out. After grabbing my bottle of bleach and nearly jogging to the checkout I noticed that Peanut wasn't right by my side. As I glanced back to find him, I didn't see him right away. Then I heard his tiny voice, "Mmmmm! Dese mell weally good!" (these smell really good).

There he was in the midst of the chaos that is Wal-Mart. In the midst of food and toys and balloons and everything eye appealing, he stopped to smell the flowers. My first reaction was to grab his little arm, and tell him we needed to hurry (why? I don't know). But as I pulled myself back for a second I thought, "how neat is that?". Out of all the stuff there was in that store, he found God's creation and stopped to appreciate it. To look and smell and feel the flowers. How often do we do that? When do we lose our child sight?

We stood there for a minute smelling the flowers together. "Mommy, I want to buy these flowers for you", he said. Knowing full well that he had no money in his piggy bank and that I would actually be buying flowers for myself, I eagerly agreed, "Yes! I would love if you bought me flowers, son".

We walked hand in hand out of that chaotic store with a special moment to share and a half dozen red roses to smell and admire for days to come. And I walked out the door knowing that God was teaching me to stop and smell the flowers even in the midst of chaos.

Top Ten Phrases I Never Thought Would Come Out of My Mouth

Along the journey of motherhood some pretty wild statements have come from my mouth. It's amazing what kids cause you to say in certain moments (and I'm not talking about profanity here). Somewhere along the journey I started keeping a list of all the crazy stuff that comes out of my mouth. Here are the top ten:

10."Don't hit the roof with your stick." (Peanut playing with a stick in his carseat)
9. "Don't ride your sister like a horse." (You can figure that one out yourself)
8. "Get that fork out of your nose." (Again, no explanation needed)
7. "Stop licking the frisbee."
6. "I can't, I can't talk about "Go Dog, Go!" and listen to Bible study!" (We were on a roadtrip trying to explain a book to Peanut and listen to Scott Hahn teach the book of James,
5. "Don't fling your oatmeal like a priest." (Peanut was pretending to be the priest sprinkling holy water on the people at mass...with his oatmeal)
4. "The Gospel is not in your nose." (Peanut was trying to bless his "mind, lips and heart" like we do in Mass before the Gospel. Guess he wanted to throw his nose in there too.)
3. "What is Nemo doing in the cheese?" (Yeah, I don't know either.)
2. "How did St. Therese get in the trash can?" (Turns out Miss Belle put her there.)
1. "Please keep your blueberries off the baby Jesus" (Peanut was playing with a small nativity scene while eating in his high chair.)

Now who ever thought blueberries and baby Jesus would end up in the same sentence?

The Girl In Our Bed

When we first had Peanut we had certain ideals about how we would parent our children. We stated things we would never do and how we would react when certain situations arouse. Some of these ideals were noble and we have stuck to them to this day. Others have been tossed out the window, namely, the ideal that our babies would always sleep in their own cribs.

Peanut was a good sleeper from the young age of eight weeks till about nine months. To be quite honest, he preferred to sleep in his own bed and slept most soundly there. The standard we had set before our children were born was easy to keep. Miss Belle has been a different story. She loves, and I mean LOVES to snuggle up close to her daddy at night and sleeps perfectly contently all night when she is near us. And so the standard of getting the baby out of the room at three months went flying out the window. Then six months, then nine months then a year...and here we are nearly eighteen months later and she is still sleeping right next to us, perfectly content. We call ourselves, "accidental co-sleepers". It's never something we planned to do, it's just something that ended up happening so everyone in our home could get a good night's sleep.

There is a part of me that feels I have to apologize to people when they find out she sleeps in our bed, and it has me thinking. All the reasons I have been given about why a baby should NEVER be allowed to sleep in your bed make perfect logical sense.  But the truth is, none of the so called negative consequences have come true in the reality of a baby being there. Our marriage is better than ever, everyone in our home gets a good night's rest (most of the time), my daughter is perfectly content, and my son never has to wake up to his crying sister. And contrary to what some people may think, she won't be there until she's five. No, I don't know when she will move, but what's the harm in her being there? If anything, I think it has been a positive thing to have our baby sleep in our bed.

EVERY night, I crawl into bed and find my husband's large hand curled up around the small of my daughters back as she lay there soundly sleeping. Every night he tells me, "I just love her so much. She's just so little. I don't want her to grow up." And every night I fall in love with my husband all over again. There is nothing more manly or more fatherly than when a man is so loving towards his children. Sure it's not what we ever "planned" for our children, but it's so much better. Thank you, husband, for doing what works best for our children and family, loving them so fully and being the best father I could ever dream of. I love you.

Being Present

Miss Belle has recently become obsessed with reading. If I sit down on the couch at any point in the day, I can be assured that she will be at my feet holding a book up in the air for me to read. My "quick" facebook and e-mail checks have been seriously interrupted.

One day, as I was holding my daughter on my lap and trying to read "Go Dog, Go!" for the BILLIONTH time while simultaneously checking my e-mail, it hit me: "What am I doing!?!?!" Do I think this 15 month old girl is dumb? Do I really think she doesn't see me looking at the computer screen instead of at the book (because I have it memorized, ya know)? Miss Belle may not speak, but at such a young age she already understands non-verbal communication very well. And what I was saying was, "this e-mail and computer is more important and interesting to me than reading to you."

This new reading obsession got me thinking about all the other times in the day I scream of being disinterested in my children without saying a word. I started to notice all the times my Peanut would be telling me his very theatrical stories or ask me questions, and I would be doing something else instead of looking him in the eye with interest. Or all the times he tells me, "Hum ear mama, I need show you someping" (come here, mama I need to show you something) and I make him wait, just one more google search, just one more dish, just one more load of laundry, just one more fill in the blank. How many times do my children call out my name and get a half serious "yes, sweetie?" while my eyes and attention are turned a different way? How many times have I shouted across the room for them to do something or stop that instead of getting up and showing them how? I tell them often how special they are and how much I love them, but often my actions don't coincide with my words.

I am happy for Miss Belle's new reading obsession. It has forced me to looked at how present I really am to my children. I know the days where she climbs up on my lap to read will be over in the blink of an eye.  I need to cherish these moments when my children are small and I am their world. After all, if mommy and daddy don't treat them like they are God's greatest gifts to them, how will my children ever believe that they are valued, special and important in this world? I am focusing on putting the computer aside, the dish down and the project away and being present to my children. There is no task in my life more important than that. How do you make time and efforts to be present to your children throughout the day?

Why We Don't Have Cable

We don't have cable in our house, and by "don't have cable" I mean we don't have one single channel on our TV. Just black fuzzy stuff. The thought of getting cable has crossed my mind a time or two, but it was once again put to death after our vacation last month.

On our trip to Colorado and New Mexico, we had more time in front of a television than we have had in a long time. So did our children. At our hotel while getting ready I turned on a cartoon for Peanut and thought, "Hey why not? He never watches cable." This happened three different times, and three times I wished I hadn't turned it on.

Show number one: Disney Channel. Turned on a cartoon that was in half english, half spanish. The ENTIRE episode was about water conservation and saving the environment. The show used some pretty extreme fear tactics including have a character move out of her home because she couldn't water her garden anymore. I'm not against water conservation. I'm not against doing things that help our environment. But the truth is, my two year old son really doesn't need to learn that from the cartoon on TV. Can't we just keep it to a cute story about sharing or using your manners? I'll teach my son how to turn off the water when he is brushing his teeth without making him fear that he will go thirsty for the rest of his life if he doesn't. And I'll do it in English. 

Show number two: Disney Channel (again). A "family" show about siblings. One of the brothers is trying to master his wizard skills. WIZARD SKILLS! Seriously, I don't remember this stupid stuff when I was growing up. Not only do I have a problem with the moral aspects of wizards, witchcraft and all such things, but also with the fact that Disney tries to make it look cool and normal for kids to go around with sticks and manipulate their environment however they see fit without ANY mention of God. It's not in the context of imaginative play, but in the context of reality.  Now I wasn't expecting Disney to mention God, but I was expecting a little something more like Mickey Mouse or the Mighty Ducks.

Show number three: The Cartoon Network gets turned on for Peanut at my parents house. A nearly pornographic commercial of Lady GaGa comes on in between cartoons. What in the world do cartoon watching aged kids have to do with Lady GaGa? Am I missing something? The commercial showed her in barely a bra and underwear doing extremely sexual dance moves! On Cartoon Network! 

I know some parents say they monitor very well what their children watch. And I believe that. But I don't trust the television industry enough to let them anywhere near my home. We only get one shot at innocence, and to have it taken away in the snap of a finger on a TV station that was supposed to be "kid friendly" is not going to happen in this house. The truth is, we don't know when little boys start viewing women sexually, or when little girls start thinking that they should look just like that model on TV. I am not willing to take the risk of assuming my kids "don't get it" only to find out they were negatively influenced by the shows I put on for them. I know my kids will come in contact with some of the scenarios on TV in their everyday lives, and I'm not trying to put them in a bubble to shelter them from that forever. But I am not willing to let cable television form the way my children think and respond to those situations. I will decide when things are "age appropriate" and explain things in the context of our faith, not in the context of a television show.

Other People's Kids

For some reason, I always seem to have more patience, kindness and charity towards other people's kids. If I am babysitting someone else's children, I am the world's best "mom" for the few hours I have them. This has always bothered me. Why can I be so consistently nice to other's kids and not my own? Of course you already came up with the answer (because you are smarter and faster that I am). It's because I can give them back. At the end of the two hours, no matter how many fits they threw, questions they asked or times I had to repeat myself, I can give them back to their own parents. When I am watching other children, I always try and think of how I would want someone treating my child if I wasn't around, and presto! I'm the (almost) perfect sitter.

Have I forgotten that my children are not mine? Have I forgotten, or perhaps never realized, that I'm really just "babysitting" for the God of the universe? Sure babysitting a couple of hours versus many many years is quite different, but when put in the perspective of eternity, it's all a short time. Being a mom to small children is very hard sometimes. It has tested my patience beyond what I ever thought possible and necessitates that many times I have to put my needs and desires on the back-burner for the time being. But in those moments when I do loose my patience (which is quite often), or do choose to do selfish things instead of play with my children, their true Father is watching in on this mommy whom He has entrusted with their care. I am not trying to say that God is up there judging and condemning my every fall. He knows I am weak. He knew that when He gave me these children. I am merely saying that these children aren't mine. That I am only responsible for them for a short while. And hopefully at the end of that time, I am able to give them back to their heavenly Father and say, "Here he is, more perfect than when you first gave him to me, ready to enter into your eternal kingdom."  

For Stay At Home Moms

This is an excerpt from an article my mother in law sent me. I thought it was awesome!

"For example, the mother who stays home with small children experiences a very real withdrawal from the world. Her existence is definitely monastic. Her tasks and preoccupations remove her from the centres of power and social importance. And she feels it. Moreover her sustained contact with young children (the mildest of the mild) gives her a privileged opportunity to be in harmony with the mild, that is, to attune herself to the powerlessness rather than to the powerful.

Moreover, the demands of young children also provide her with what St. Bernard, one of the great architects of monasticism, called the "monastic bell". All monasteries have a bell. Bernard, in writing his rules for monasticism, told his monks that whenever the monastic bell rang, they were to drop whatever they were doing and go immediately to the particular activity (prayer, meals, work, study, sleep) to which the bell was summoning them. He was adamant that they respond immediately, stating that if they were writing a letter they were to stop in mid-sentence when the bell rang. The idea in his mind was that when the bell called, it called you to the next task and you were to respond immediately, not because you want to, but because it's time for that task and time isn't your time, it's God's time. For him, the monastic bell was intended as a discipline to stretch the heart by always taking you beyond your own agenda to God's agenda.

Hence, a mother raising children, perhaps in a more privileged way even than a professional contemplative, is forced, almost against her will, to constantly stretch her heart. For years, while raising children, her time is never her own, her own needs have to be kept in second place, and every time she turns around a hand is reaching out and demanding something. She hears the monastic bell many times during the day and she has to drop things in mid-sentence and respond, not because she wants to, but because it's time for that activity and time isn't her time, but God's time. The rest of us experience the monastic bell each morning when our alarm clock rings and we get out of bed and ready ourselves for the day, not because we want to, but because it's time.

The principles of monasticism are time-tested, saint-sanctioned, and altogether-trustworthy. But there are different kinds of monasteries, different ways of putting ourselves into harmony with the mild, and different kinds of monastic bells. Response to duty can [be a] monastic prayer, a needy hand can be a monastic bell, and working without status and power can constitute a withdrawal into a monastery where God can meet us. The domestic can be the monastic."

 - Ron Rolheiser OMI

Liking and Loving

My great friend and I were blessed last weekend to have a weekday wherein our husbands were off work. It was a beautiful Friday morning, so we all decided to go to the Science Museum. I love going to museums on weekdays. There are no crowds to worry about and people to shuffle through. I don't shuffle gracefully with a double stroller. Anyways, as we moseyed around the museum we passed several rather large families. My friend commented to me, "They must be all homeschoolers because it's a weekday and they aren't at school." I thought about it for a minute and then agreed saying, "Yeah must be. I wonder why that is: homeschoolers and big families seem to go together most of  the time." Then my friend, in her brilliance, stated,  "I don't know, maybe because they actually like their kids and want to have more and spend time with them."

BINGO!

That statement hit me like a ton of bricks. I don't think most people like their kids these days. I didn't say they don't love their children; that they wouldn't jump in front of a car for them, I'm saying they don't like them. Now, please don't be insulted if you don't homeschool or have a lot of children. If you say you like your kids, I believe you, I just think you are a rarity.

I have been struggling with something lately. This whole concept of "mommy-time", or whatever you want to call it. It seems to be on everyone's lips, "I need time away", "I need time for myself" etc. I do understand that mothers need adult conversation and time out of the house to spend with friends away from their day to day tasks. What I think can be a problem is the attitude with which we do this. Are we really doing these things to enjoy the companionship of other women and bask in much needed adult conversation, or are we doing it to get away from our children? Do we really enjoy the company of our children, or are we just waiting for our husbands to walk in the door to "relieve" us of our duty? Are our children an inconvenience that takes us away from what we really want to be doing, or have we adjusted our attitudes so that raising our children is what we want to be doing?

I think the sacrifice of child-rearing is what keeps a lot of people from having more. Children do take time, money, a whole bunch of patience and self-giving, but what better thing to do than raise an immortal soul for all eternity? It's time for mother's to start doing what we were made to do. To pour ourselves into our families totally and completely. To start changing our attitude towards our children and enjoying their littleness. Sure, go out and have a drink with your friends every once and a while. But I hope you like your kids enough to miss them while you're gone.

Nesting

I think I got gypped in the gene pool. Most women I know seem to have some sort of "nesting gene" that kicks in their last trimester of pregnancy, and I just don't seem to have it. When I was told at 38 weeks that my son had to be taken via c-section that night, I asked the doctor if I had time to go home, build a crib, get a car seat ready and pack my bags. I was dead serious. He, on the other hand, was less than impressed and said I needed to go straight to the hospital (I went home anyways...yes, I wanted my make-up that bad). Now, granted, a c-section is not a natural delivery and maybe I would have started nesting the very next day; but I have a feeling I would have waited till I was in active labor to pack those bags.

Our First Family Photo

Here I sit today, nearly 38 weeks pregnant. That's one week past what doctors consider "full term". I don't expect to go into labor early, but the truth is I could. So what does it look like this time around? My suitcase is empty, our infant car seat is in pieces on my son's floor, my house is a mess and our camera is out of memory and probably needs a new set of batteries. My dear friend asks me every time I see her, "have you packed your bags?" and my answer is always the same, "not yet". My actions, or lack there of, have really made me wonder, why don't I want to pack my bag?


I hate change, and nothing brings more change than adding a whole new person to your family. I remember leaving for the hospital to have my son and taking one last look around my house. As I stood there for one last moment with tears running down my face, I quietly said to myself, "Goodbye house, goodbye life." My husband, full of excitement, couldn't understand why I was crying, or why I was sad on what was going to be the happiest day of our life. But the truth is, goodbyes are always sad for me, and I needed to say goodbye to the life I had with just my husband and me. I knew the moment I walked out that door, I could never ever return to that life.

Moments Before Delivery of My Son

I love my life now, and I know I will love it when my sweet daughter arrives. But until then, I am trying to savor every moment I have with our family of three. I have spent every day of the last 18 months of my life caring for, playing with, and enjoying my son. It has, for the most part, been just him and me through the great days and the hard ones. But that will all change soon, and it went so so fast. And maybe if I don't pack those bags, I can hold on for just a moment longer before it's gone forever. I have been praying these last few days as I watch my son play, or I toss a ball back and forth with him, "God, just let me have this moment. Imprint it in my mind so I'll always remember this part of my life and how wonderful and short it was. Don't let me take this for granted."

 My husband and son reading together.

In a few weeks (or maybe even days) my entire life will change for the better. I will get used to a new life and new tiny, beautiful person around. Our sweet daughter will fit right in, and we won't be able to imagine life without her. Our loving Father allows this to happen by nature (whether you have a nesting gene or not) and I am so thankful for it. But until the day she arrives, I will savior every moment of life as I know it now.

Attitude Is Everything

My mother (a very wise woman) always told me that your children know when you are annoyed with them. The more annoyed you become, the more clingy and fussy they become. At the time she told me this, I didn't think much of it. But lately it has been on my mind almost every day.

Our lives are very busy these days. My husband is bogged down at work and has recently started his masters which takes him away from home two nights out of the week. When he is home, there is always a paper to be written or a test to be studied for. What does this leave? A lot of alone time for me and my son. Recently, I have been catching myself having a very annoyed attitude towards the poor boy. I had given up going to him in times of discipline and instead resorted to shouting across the room. Instead of spending time playing with him, I spent time doing things around the house, acting as if he were my side job. I ignored his attempts to communicate with me (which for him comes in the form of sign language plus an "eh" noise) until it was convenient for me to respond. And he reacted. My mostly sweet boy was fussy, whiny, and started throwing tantrums when I told him no. He was becoming the kid I promised myself I would never have. You know, the one in the grocery store who throws himself on the floor while the parent yells at them to get up. I could chalk this up to "terrible toddler hood" but I made a promise to myself a long time ago that I would never do that. So what was the problem? Me.

I woke up before the rest of my family one morning and started reflecting on my attitude towards my son and on my wise mother's words. I decided that morning that I would not be a lazy parent that day. I would use a kind (but firm) voice instead of yelling, I would go to him when he needed discipline instead of shouting across the room, and I would respond to his attempts at communication when he made them, not when I was done with the dishes. And guess what? He was my sweet boy again. This has not been a permanent fix to my mommy attitude problems, and I assure you I fail every day. But I have to get back up, apologize to the Father for treating his little one like he is the most annoying person on earth, and ask for the grace to love my son as he does. I have to remind myself daily that this is my vocation, not a side job. And if that doesn't seem to do the trick, there is always a little attitude adjustment.

Colored Socks

My in-laws recently visited. One great thing about them visiting is my mother in-law's incredible ability to fold our laundry while she is here (I hate folding laundry). She folds as well as a machine would...perfect creases every time! Anyways, while she was folding laundry one day she was digging through the basket, struggling to find one of my blue cow socks to match the one she held in her hand. She then looked up and said in a very kind voice, "may I suggest something to you as your family continues to grow?" Red Alert. This is always an interesting way to start a conversation with one's mother in-law. "Sure", I responded. "Maybe in the future you should only buy one color of socks, that way they are easier and faster to fold." I thought about the concept of all white socks in my basket for a moment and nodded my head saying, "yeah, that's a really good idea."

The day went on as normal, but I couldn't get the stupid sock comment out of my mind. Why was this bugging me so bad?

The life of a stay at home mom is, in most cases, extremely routine and sometimes a little mundane. I am not saying that being a stay at home mom isn't awesome, or that I don't find tremendous joy in seeing my son grow, I'm just saying it is routine to the max! How routine, you ask? I wake up every morning to the sound of my son fussing in his crib. I get him up, get him something to drink, and lay in bed for about thirty minutes. I feed him breakfast, say goodbye to my husband, play around for about an hour and then put him down for his morning nap. While he is napping I take a shower and clean up a little (ok so maybe I get on facebook instead of clean). He wakes up, we have a snack, my husband comes home for lunch, I run errands if needed, come home, put him down for an afternoon nap and take a nap myself. My son wakes up, my husband gets home, then it's time for dinner, some more playing, bath and bedtime. EVERY single day. No weekends, no sick days, and no paid vacation. On a side note, I have actually gotten to the point where I love going to the doctor's office (weird I know), just for the mere change in my day.

Where was I? Oh yeah, routine. So after much contemplation about the sock comment, I finally came to the determination that I need colored socks in my life. The thought of all this routine plus putting on the same white socks every day, could be my breaking point. I actually enjoy picking out a matching pair of socks for my outfit each day, as silly and small as that may sound. The fact that I have green penguin socks on when it's not even Christmas season even makes me feel a little rebellious! Do the socks make the routine of my life go away? No, the routine is still there, but maybe routine isn't as bad as it may sound or feel sometimes.

I feel that, especially during this Lenten season, Christ has been trying to press something on my heart and it is this: God is found in the ordinary. I have to stop looking for him in the extravagant things in life, and find him in the every day tasks. This may seem like a simple concept, but applying it to my life is much more difficult. I feel like a little girl playing hide and seek with her dad in the backyard. As my dad is "hiding" (very obviously so) behind a tiny bush much to small to cover his large body, I am running around the yard looking in the most obscure places shouting, "Daaaaddy where are youuuu??? Come out where I can see you!" He peers over the bush with tender loving eyes thinking, "Sweet Andrea, I'm right here! Just turn around and open your eyes!"

This is what I'm trying to work on this Lenten season. Opening my eyes and finding Christ in doing the dishes, changing the diapers, and taking care of my family. Surely Christ himself knew routine as a carpenter with St. Joseph for the first 30 years of his life. Was his work, even though it was probably generally the same every day, not pleasing to his Father? It had to have been, and I take comfort in the fact that mine can be too. But I'm keeping the socks.