Orlando

Had a pretty profound conversation with my kids about freedom yesterday. I was pointing out when you have a large citizenry focused on keeping the social contracts, you can have freedom. You can have access to everything because people agree not to abuse those things. People agree to handle the trouble makers in their communities. They get help for the mentally unstable, they report the dangerous, they watch each other's back, all for the sake of keeping their freedoms. The problem is, that explanation is too utilitarian. We aren't people who just do things because we want X. Children do that. Children comply for the sake of not getting grounded. We have to be more than that. We have to employ love, all the time. All the time. We have to have the "bigger picture" in focus. We have to be focused outwardly most of the time. We have to learn that being offended by something isn't the same as needing to squash that thing. We have to know what actually threatens freedom and what actually needs love and relationship to be corrected. And we have to be willing to be wrong sometimes. Even when we feel justified. Even when we feel right. 

These are hard things. Wisdom is probably won through realizing that pursuing truth is more important than being right. It seems we have this problem in our day and age. We each are so convinced we are right, that correcting one another becomes the most important thing. Perhaps growing up in a big family beat this out of me. Don't get me wrong, I'm as obnoxiously opinionated as most Americans. But I definitely care more about my relationships than I do about convincing everyone that I am correct. I've got friends who still slip up and say "retarded" about things. I let it go. I do! Not because I don't love Mariana, and not because it doesn't feel really bad to hear it. I let it go because what they are trying to communicate is more important to me than them using the right words. I let poor grammar go, misspellings (especially my own!), and slang that bothers me. Sometimes I revisit things with people I think would find my thoughts interesting or worth considering. Sometimes I move on. Why? Because there was a time when I thought the word "retarded" could be appropriately used, not as an insult, but as a purposeful way of describing something as being slowed down. However, through relationships in the disability community, I realized that as much as I love rich language, people are my favorite creatures. It wasn't worth hanging on to a word if it meant turning the people I love into people who must put up with my personal word crusade. And yes, I realize that this can turn in to a tyranny of sorts. Comedians feel it all the time when they try to use satire and the entire point they were mocking is lost because someone decides that the word "rape" is off limits even in context. I'm no fan of trigger warnings. But these are ideas best discussed by a fire pit with friends, or on a plane with an interested stranger. They aren't best posted as facts on Facebook, as some kind of invitation to a word duel. People are not moved best by swords, but by relationships. 

As I write this, I am grieving both personally and as a member of a community that watched another horror unfold on the news. I have too many emotions to figure out all the right answers and I praise God for the presence of mind to have at least that much awareness. I am sick of hearing about gun control because I believe that mental health is our biggest national crisis. I don't even like guns. I wonder if my opinion is even correct. I'm mad people are tweeting that prayers are meaningless. I'm frustrated that the fact that people are saying horrible things about other human beings as though the vitriol helps. Are we a nation of narcissists as it seems, or am I consuming too much social media so it appears that way? I also have children, who are, by nature, very self involved. I also find both major presidential candidates sickeningly self righteous. Of course, this is not new, but it sure feels more disgusting than ever. More than my questions, I find the answers are found in my relationships, my willingness to forgive, to apologize and to cherish those people who could very well be taken from my life in a single act of just living life, and in the hope that each day I get to choose how I treat the people who are in my life. No one can kill that choice, nor will I be terrorized out of making it. Not today.

Dating for Kids : It's not that hard

Misleading title alert! Heh. I have two adolescents now, so obviously I know everything about guiding my kids on the dating scene. Luckily, my two oldest are girls who are not boy crazy yet. One is shy about being vulnerable to her middle school classmates, which shows some semblance of good judgement. The other has a sweetheart in her class that she does not even *think* about contacting outside of school, which also shows proper developmental boundaries. Yay! They are not that screwed up yet! On the other hand, one loves tight clothes, high heals and heavy make up while the other finds basic grooming a serious obstruction to living her life freely. So, you know, fallen natures and all that.

One thing I notice catching my eye as my kids slide into this middleschool phase is lots and lots of blogs touting "What I Want My Son or Daughter To Know Before Dating" type entries. I love a good bandwagon, but I want to address the things I don't see, like what to do if someone comes on too strong, etc. So here is my feeble attempt to log into history my own hopes for my kids future dating lives....

1A: Date a lot. Or, rather, go on a lot of dates. Seriously, this boyfriend/girlfriend stuff is too serious. Just go out on dates with lots of people to learn what you like and what you don't. Date 4 people at a time. Don't lie or deceive, just let them all know that you like them, but exclusivity seems like a choice you want to make after a few weeks. 

1B: Mom and Dad don't know how to prepare you for every situation, so feel free to use your best judgement. Sometimes your judgement will be bad. Talk to a trusted adult and/or your parents. We might freak out, but that is mostly because we will feel like failures for not preparing you for whatever thing we didn't prepare you. 

2: Both parties have a very serious responsibility to the other. Girls shouldn't dress or act in a distractingly provocative way, boys shouldn't treat a girl like a sexual aspiration. Girls should remember that they are helping their dates learn how to treat women, boys should remember they are helping their dates learn what a gentleman is. Girls should remember that many young men have a drive for risk taking that can make them legally insane, boys should remember that girls need to be free to say no to things without being treated like a killjoy. Every so often the shoe is on the other foot, and the rules apply equally. We offer one another guidance through our relationships. Don't forget that.

3. Violence: NOT OKAY. The other day Molly kicked Paul in the chest. Why? He was smooching her arms to annoy her. My typical response to violence between brother and sister is to bring down the hammer of Thor for discipline. However, in this case I told Molly and Paul that Molly did the right thing. Why? Paul learns the hard way, and Molly is not typically a violent person. Both felt that the violence was wrong, which is the gear I want my kids to be in. Yet, when it comes to physical affection, I try really hard to instill mutual respect in my kids. Yes, they need to hug each other when one of them is feeling down, no they do not need to be hugged if they don't want to be. So, while I do not condone violence of any kind in a romantic setting, self protection is primary. It is a favor to the other immature person who is crossing the line and not receiving the message in any other way. In my mind, it's like slapping a hysterical person. Not fun, but sometimes what the doctor ordered. 

4A: Listen to your instincts unless they are clouded by hormones. So, if you have a twinge of caution, or an inkling of a romantic spark, cool. If you are high on a thrill of some kind, sexual or adrenaline, pump the brakes and drink 8 oz of water. Proceed to a crowded and well lit area. 

4B: DO NOT DRINK. Altering yourself during a date is both seriously unsafe and a good way to ruin a budding relationship. No matter how nervous you are, you can't listen your instincts if there is beer/marijuana/pills squishing them down. And your date is not getting to know you, but altered you, which is the same as being deceptive. Don't. 

5. Do not bury your feelings. Feel sad when things don't work out, feel disappointed, feel happy, joyful and jealous because those things matter. It is when we get stuck in a gear or hide from the negative feelings that we become manipulative and weird. So just be patient with your dates, yourself and your parents whom you are convinced do not understand anything. We are all just learning as we go.

These are my main hopes for my kids. I will not be giving them this list or lecturing them on these topics. Rather, I hope the conversations develop naturally and easily. I hope there are other adults that reinforce these ideas. I want the kids to understand themselves and their dates to a degree that encourages them to have integrity and also respect the trickiness of these years. 

Teach The Children Well: Be the Adult You Want Them To Be

As Kate grows older and becomes more independent, I have noticed an interesting, and sometimes terrifying thing; she isn't listening to me as much. It isn't that she is defiant,  but rather she is evaluating my actions more and my words less. Though, my words are being evaluated as well, just the ones not directed at her, but rather the ones she picks up from my conversations with others. Thus we have had the misfortune and fortunate confluence of events that makes me want to write a letter to all the adults in the world. 

Last week, a couple of our kids had an interaction with an adult that was down right scary for them. A parent found some damage, and, after her children denied responsibility, she berated ours with cuss words and vehemence. She zeroed in on one of the kids as being the cause of all that is wrong with the world and screamed nastiness to our kids as well as their friend, who she thought might also have done the dastardly thing. Scott was nearby, so he confronted the woman, who turned to him and verbally assaulted him, telling him, "You better watch your youngest." Becket was in Scott's arms. Scott, being a good man, told the kids to go to safety and repeated that swearing at the kids was not going to be tolerated. She continued to rant, so Scott left the scene disgusted and angry.

The following days have been spent with examining the events. We told the kids that not all adults are safe. We explained what to do if they should find themselves in the same position. And then I took it further. I told our kids that when you do not try to discipline your emotions, you grow into an undisciplined adult. I tried to show them that what they consider "appropriate adult behavior" comes from growing up learning how to behave like an adult who can be admired and respected and trusted. I explained that you cannot hold yourself to unreasonable standards either, that there is a balance between taking responsibility and self-hatred because, sometimes, those who take it too far the other way begin to hate others because they hate themselves. All these things came from lots of little conversations that I hope were not too intimidating.

A few days later, Kate had a doctor appointment to evaluate whether she needed her tonsils out. The doctor is a brilliant surgeon, attractive and calm and incredibly intelligent -- all the things to which a 12 year old girl would respond well. He had to run a scope through her nose into her throat to check her adenoids. As he did so, he talked her through it calmly asking about her favorite things to do. Kate, who is the best child patient I have ever seen, cringed during the procedure. Afterward the doctor did something wonderful.

The doctor, who told us he did not recommend surgery, leaned forward to Kate and said, "Before I ran the scope you were afraid, weren't you?" Kate nodded. "But now, you know it was not as bad as you thought. You won't sign up for it, but if you need it, you can handle it more easily. 

"For the rest of your life you will have things that you want or need to do that will feel scary. Remember this, because you can do them, you will do them, and they won't be as bad as you thought. Fear lives in your head, not in the doing. Remember that, okay?"

This is the case of an adult understanding his impact, and offering something that cost him nothing, but will last forever. It is something neither Scott nor I could give to our kids because we are the constant, the usual, the mundane. When an adult steps out of their usual role to offer a kid something of substance, that kid becomes more prepared for life. It takes no time, and it costs nothing.

We can mess that up also. We can behave badly around children and, unless we make amends, we can become a cautionary tale. We can show kids that adults don't need to behave, don't have to behave and, as long as we stay inside the law, there isn't much anyone can do about it. While children who have proper guidance can use those moments as life's boundary lines, those without might be attracted to the flawed freedom of being unhinged. Some may see it as a hall pass to be a bully, or lazy, or lack insight.

Which is what I wish all adults would understand. We are all examples in the lives of the children around us. One day, those children will be in charge, long before we are dead. What kind of leaders are we raising? How will they treat us? More to the point, what do we deserve?

Blessed are We

We were walking through the airport and I knew he would see the reports of Paris. I had to discuss it with him before he saw it, he is a sensitive soul. I began telling him that something terrible happened the night before and that he may see the televisions at the airport reporting on the terrible thing. I reminded him that terrible things happen, but people always rise to the occasion, they rush into the problem to solve it. "Didn't people cause the problem?" he asked. Point taken. "Yes." I say, "But people can either be the problem or the solution. It's all about choices and habits. We have to face our problems with a helper's heart."

"Yeah," he says, much later, "we do have to have a helper's heart. Or the bad stuff will crush us. If we help, the bad stuff is the loser."

He is so simple in his words and thoughts, and profound. Bad stuff, is like weeds in a garden, relentless. But good people, fruitful people, work toward an abundant harvest.

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Becket is 5.5 months. He has two teeth, he is technically mobile, though that has been the case for months. Oh golly, he's such an amazing human being. He belongs in this world by virtue of the fact that he loves being here and is interested in every single thing. His dimples make me believe in God. I mean, I already believe in God, but dimples are technically a deformity, yet give such pleasure to the viewer. Like an everyday Easter making sense of the crucifixion. Perhaps I make too much of them. I don't care. Life can be terribly taxing, so I will take the joy I find and squeeze every last ounce of it. 

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She is angry at the evil that exists. The undeniable evil of those who kill, and the sneaky evil of those who would take advantage of the fears of the masses. She is afraid, and angry. "Why should we turn people away? Why can't we believe they are running too? What if they come here?" I know her fear and her frustrations. The what-ifs of the parent are different of those of a child, but I am not so far from childhood that I can't understand. 

"We just love the best we can, sweetie. And we pray for our leaders and our enemies. And we keep on feeding the hungry and clothing the naked."

"Mama, it's never been easy, has it?" I turn my watery eyes away and hold her closer. 

"Easy is a trap. When you have to use your heart and your mind, you are blessing the world." I say it to myself and to her, though neither of us understands it.

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She is rebellious, a sign of intelligence. Who cares? She makes me love more. She makes me question my prejudice. She expects good from others. She loves large tattooed men and heavily made-up women.  She hugs everyone even when they are uncomfortable. "HUG!" she announces. "Patpatpat!" "I'm yo fren." she states to the high school boy. He warms up and asks her name, to which she replies, "Whass yo nem?" He says he's Brody and she's very sweet. She nods and says, "Yes. Yo my fren." as she walks to the next patient. Everyone waiting for the dentist feels warm and comfortable, fillings be damned.

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"What if I am not so good? What if I'm not magic?" 

Facing her very real learning problems has made her doubt herself for the very first time. She is magic, but I can't tell her that now. She is confounding and beautiful, but she feels stupid. Arg, that word! I pull her in. I will hold her to account. I will expect her to be responsible. It will be so very hard. Because she is important to this world, she will have to face herself now. But she will not do it alone. Look at all the people who love her. Look at  us. I begin to list the names, and she adds to it. Oh yes, him too. Look at that. You are not alone. Her shoulders lower. I see her. She feels seen.

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She is positive she is not great. I am a fool. I am just being nice. She is not as smart as we think and she is a fraud. Effing middle school. I thank her. 47 times a day, I thank her for the most minute things. "Thank you for showing Paul his signed sheet." "Thank you for bringing Mae to the bathroom." "Thank you for making me a mom." "Thanks for saying goodnight." "Thanks for being here with us." She treats it like a nicety, but it is not. I mean it. I'm glad she's here and I'm glad she's ours. I'm glad her siblings have her and I'm glad she still needs me to apply her antibiotic. I'm glad she's free to be pouty and I'm glad she has the sense to apologize. I'm glad I remember what middle school feels like. I'm glad it won't last forever.

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Everyday there is a reason to despair. I am sad for victims, I'm angry at terrorists and opportunists. Day after day there are sad stories and bullshit artists expressing an opinion on what it all means. Meanwhile we have them. Day after day we are asked if we are done having kids, or what on earth would make us want so many. Are you kidding? Look around! The world needs hope. The world needs purpose. They offer it every moment of the day. They remind me that God exists. I didn't create their beauty, it surpasses my creative ability. My need to heap love upon them would last all my life, even if they died. This is hope. A love that lasts past expiration. 

They have taught me to be grateful for my compassion and my grief. My heart is well ordered to long to fix things for them, but to give them space to fix things themselves. My heart is well ordered to cry with them and for them. My heart is well ordered to allow our family to sacrifice to clothe the naked and feed the hungry and pray for those who would see us dead. They spur me to have a well ordered heart, and thus, be more fully human. The world is a blessed place because they exist.

Forward

I have a gift in my office/nightmare-of-craft-supplies room. It is for Mrs. J, Mae's Developmental Specialist through Early Steps. I wasn't ready to say goodbye in March when Mae aged out, so I kept the gift tucked away and we hired her privately to help Mae transition to the 3 yo room at school. Before long we decided to keep her "as needed". Tuesday we had a meeting with Mae's teacher to address some behavioral issues stemming from Mae not feeling well. Shortly after the meeting began I felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room as it became abundantly clear that we no longer needed Mrs. J. Thankfully Becket loudly pooped and broke my train of thought.

In May she was discharged out of PT. Miss K is our adored therapist. We've gone through speech and OTs, people to whom we said goodbye, but the need to continue therapy left little room to worry about it. Moving out of therapy, that is a whole other thing, and I was unprepared for the sadness of it. As a parent, I am getting therapy too. I am receiving the peace that a professional is keeping tabs on Mae's development, informing me what is good and what needs work, and where we really need to focus and areas we can watch from a laid-back position. I become dependant on the person who seems to adore our girl and celebrate with us her firsts, good and bad. They are the people who rub my back as I tear up because she is sick again, and we can't travel for Christmas again, and my kids won't know their grandparents because we never get to leave this hell-hole place that has no seasons. These are the people who share in my glee that Mae hit a boy who was trying to help her, who understand what a gift it is that she wants to try things until she masters it, and doesn't cling to being helped.

Mae took her first steps in PT. Two, to be exact. I looked with shock at Miss K and said, "Did she just take a step? Miss K said, "TWO! Don't you short her." We both had tears. She was 17 months old. We talked of discharge in December, which seemed like a great plan, but when Mae broke her leg in January, we had a few more months tacked on. I knew it was coming. I knew it was time. I still haven't given Miss K a gift because we go to speech and OT and still see her, and I don't want to acknowledge that we don't need Miss K. Mae doesn't need her, I'm not sure about me.

Mrs. J is in one of our favorite videos. She is having Mariana put tokens into a formula can with a slit cut into it. Mae is throwing the tokens and Mrs. J is wagging her finger saying, "No, no, no. Put them IN." Shortly into the video Mae wags her finger at Mrs. J and says, "No, no, no!" She was 10 months old. Mrs. J tried to show Mae how to crawl properly, so when Mae did it for the first time after she was 2, yes she was walking already, Mrs. J teared up with pride. It was at a potty training seminar that had babysitting and Mae crawled through a tunnel. My first thought was of telling Mrs. J. Mrs. J is the one with whom I would share my fears when Mae was sick all the time. She was the one with whom I would tie myself in knots about school, therapy choices, potty training readiness. She was the one who came into our home and talked to the kids about games they could play. Now I have her gift wrapped and a card written, and it's time to face the truth; we are ready to move forward.

Of all the warnings about how hard it is to raise a child with special needs, not one person mentioned how hard it is to move on from therapy. When someone faces the challenges of life with you, guides you, and gives you confidence when there are so many choices, you become brothers-in-arms. When people can look at your child that most dismiss as all good or all bad, see her gifts and her short comings, and love her deeply, it makes them important and needed. Moving forward is necessary. Mae has to grow more independent. She doesn't need PT to learn to pedal a trike, or to learn to walk our stairs, she needs longer legs. She doesn't need a developmental therapist, she needs a preschool teacher. As a parent, I have to teach her how to move forward even when it's scary and hard, but for now she is teaching me.

Perfeck

One of those clear memories that I can call up at anytime is when I was lying with Kate at her naptime. She reached her fat little hand over to my cheek and said, "Yer perfeck." It is a phrase I use often, along with "I love you." and "You're  my favorite." I tell my children they are perfect. It's both hyperbole and the truth. They are not perfectly behaved, but they are perfectly suited for our family. These are the things I do not need to say because all I want is for my kids to hear how loved and valued they are regardless of the parent-child power struggle of the moment.

Today was a day where most things out of my control were yucky, but it was a great day. It was great because our kids were helpful. It was great because I managed to be patient. It was great because we all found ways to encourage one another. I awoke feeling the anxiety that only productivity can abate. I longed to rush about doing laundry, fixing myself up, and getting Mae ready. I knew it was the only way I would be able to take my coffee to a quiet corner and be still with the Lord. Of course, it wasn't God's plan for my morning, and lo, Scott felt yucky and Mae's rash looked scary, and Becket needed to cluster feed. 

By the grace of God I was able to meet needs and even express my anxiety calmly to Scott. Being heard was enough to get me through the early part of the morning. Molly awoke to the bad news that her sleeping in had led to the great responsibility of emptying the dishwasher. Normally, Molly would feed the dog and Charlotte would empty the dishwasher, but the dog was hungry and C was awake. Molly felt crumby and weepy, and I folded on the dishwasher chore, but when I went into the kitchen it was emptied by Molly, who explained she felt compelled to "do the right thing to help our family." 

Our doctor appointment was midday, and I found Charlotte to be eager to help at every turn. Whether she was chasing Mae or holding Becket, she was ready to serve without being asked. She was alert and engaged and never interrupted with selfish questions. We discovered Mae has a viral infection and a staph infection, so I had a lot of questions and concerns which were addressed with no interruptions thanks to Charlotte. On the way home she did not ask to get lunch at the drive through though she was hungry. What a gem!

Kate also awoke feeling crumby. That coupled with the adolescence that has poked its head into our lives, I did not know what the day would bring from her. What it brought was a request to do laundry so she could "relax". It brought the desire to make her own dinner. It brought a desire to care for Becket when he was squirmy from being full, but wanting to nurse for comfort. Never mind the hail outside, life was great indoors.

Today when I was asked if we planned more children, I found myself thinking, "Have you met these wonderful people?!" I'm 3 weeks from delivery and each of these beautiful kids have made life better in every imaginable way. Life can be hard, but my young children remind me daily that we can make it better for one another. Life can be overwhelming, but my young children show that we can bear the burdens of one another. Life can be exhausting, but my young children can be an example of how to persevere. I will never take credit for these beautiful souls, but I am grateful to be a witness. They are, indeed, perfect*.

*Paul is visiting family, and Mae napped well, thus contributing to this perfection, God love them.

Becket

It is 0517. I am writing on my iPad, where there is no spell check, so God help this. Becket woke up at 0356, I have no idea when he ate last. The last two nights I have gone to bed at 9 ish and Scott has fed B a pumped bottle. It has been glorious. I wish all new mothers this amount of sleep. I have not cried for a sillly reason in like 5 days. I think my hormones like sleep. After he ate and went back to bed, I pumped a full 3oz, which makes me feel like a nursing rock star and also makes me nervous that I am going to get mastiitis from over production. This is because I just had a baby and all good things are tempered with irrational worry. However, because he is number 6, I do not spend too much time on the worry and kinda laugh about it to myself because it is a bit tedious to be your own Debbie Downer.

I wrote Becket's birth story down, but decided not to publish it. No one but Becket and I care, let us be honest about that. I mean, I got it out of my system with my family and close friends, so that should be enough until my daughters and their friends start having babies. That is when I get to whip out 6 full birth stories like every other post-menopausal woman at a baby shower is compelled to do. I get to talk about head size and labor length and false labor and DRAMA. I am so looking forward to it! I am also glad I wrote all of them down. My future daughters-in-law are going to love me as I regale them with tales of woe. Except Becket has been a really beautiful newborn, and I wish his personality for all my kids' kids.

A strange calm has come with not being pregnant anymore. So far, since his birth, the life drama has been amped up. One kid has a broken toe, or rather, we think she does because we are now those parents who take their kid to the athletic trainer next door rather than the hospital and breath a sigh of relief when he says to splint it and give it a week before we worry. (So far so good, definitely not the foot that is broken.) Another kid was truly nearly run down at Target until I smacked the back of the car and screamed for the woman to stop. Luckily, she was a human being who was freaked out instead of angry and we hugged because neither one of us really cared who was at fault as long as no one was hurt or killed. That same kid has a wicked ear infection from our negligence after swimming. Oops. Even with all of that, the thing that bothered me the most this week was the dog getting out and pooping on a neighbor's yard. That was the worst because I like my neighbors, and though I like my dog, I am infuriated by her need to roam.

Part of my serenity is from nursing Becket. He is such a beautiful specimen to gaze upon while he eats. He has the perfect head, the perfect amount of fuzz on his head, perfectly shaped ears, and he has dimples that are visible while he eats. He also has that look of intesity that prompts everyone to call him an "old soul". He gazes right back with a look of Secret Knowledge and it just sucks the anxiety right out of the room. 

The big kids are amazing too. There really is nothing like having another baby to bring out how wonderful the siblings are. They love him, and they want to care for him. I have been asked to pump more so that they can feed him, and when I explain that it is good for him to nurse, they accept it well because they want what is best for him. They have made their own breakfast and lunch every day since Scott has gone back to work. Kate made the salad for dinner last night. They pick up their rooms after breakfast every single day without complaint, and even offer to put Mae on the potty when I am nursing and she has gotten up from her nap. I am bribing them, yes, but they are receptive to the bribes, and that isn't always the case.

I am also caught up on laundry. My mother-in-law made this happen while she was here, and I have kept it going. It is one of those things that takes a total of maybe 20 full minutes a day, but is so worth doing every. single. day. Now, I do have some help if we get backed up by a Mariana accident. She is potty training, and she is weird about poop now, so that can get messy. Kate, Charlotte and Molly will help fold clothes because they are good kids, and if they are not, I use folding clothes instead of time outs. Hey, if you are getting difficult you do not get a break, you get an assignment. 

So this is life with Becket so far. There will be ups and downs coming, I am sure. Getting Mae to an independent place with the bathroom is weighing on me a little thanks to the school deadline, but I need to place that in God's hands. I am practicing detachment on that front. Her speech has really taken off, and she understands that Becket is the baby that was in my belly, which is far more important than her ability to pull her pants up and down on her own. We have a lot scheduled this summer, which I am praying is a positive thing that keeps us moving through the tough days, rather than an overwhelming thing that makes me want to hunker down and eat ice cream. Then again, there are worse things than ice cream....

Mother's Day

This morning I read this post. Please read it. I want to explain my headspace when I clicked on this link.

The other day I thought I was in labor. I had regular contractions and I was convinced enough to hop into the shower. (Pro Tip: shower before the hospital because you don't know when you will be able to bathe again.) Suddenly I was hit by a wall of exhaustion, so I decided to lie down. I figured if I fell asleep labor contractions would wake me up, but if not, I wasn't really in labor. I was not in labor. Of course this has put me in that desperate-to-have-baby phase of pregnancy.

Today I read a snarky thing about how priests "have permission to preach about the Gospel instead of mothers this Sunday." Now, I get it. Really, I do. There are a lot of women who are not mothers, some of whom would LOVE to be mothers, who hate mother's day sermons. I myself am not a huge fan if only because I find these lovely men paint motherhood with a soft glowing lens. Meanwhile, I'm usually in the pew, hot, being climbed upon, acting as a barrier between two children trying to sacrifice each other in an Old Testament kind of way. So, yes, I agree that sometimes the Mother's Day homilies can fall into a "more harm than good" feeling. I may or may not have fantasized about having a Mother's Day baby in order to escape this kind of personal discomfort. (Incidentally, I do love when priests talk about Mary and/or The Church as a mother. Everyone needs a good mom, and not everyone gets one. It's nice to be reminded that, actually, we all do get a Perfect Mother.)

I went downstairs after Scott had left with the kids, and I saw Molly's book report on the counter. My blood boiled as I went stomping around the house looking for my phone to call him. The book report was something I was so very proud to have her turn into her teacher. First of all, Molly loved the book I bought her and asked for the next in the series, which was a miracle of sorts. Secondly, her picture that she drew looked perfect. If only I could describe what it is to have Molly, of all the kids, draw something well. I cannot, except to say that I was almost considered worrying that her teacher would think that I drew the picture, it was so well done. (This is because her teacher doesn't know that I cannot draw very well.) At any rate, I was angry it was left behind after all Molly's cheerful hard work and cooperation, I was so upset that she just forgot about it as though it were nothing, as though we haven't had such a hard time with tension over school work. Here was our one collaboration in which we were both excited about her results!

Thankfully, God is perfect in His love and I read the above link. A mama who will only have a stone to visit rather than a child to cuddle. A mama who still deals with all her daughter left on earth, but has no cheek to stroke or hair to brush or book reports to make her exasperated. A mama who is not fretting about how to pay for tests for her child, but a marker for her grave. Oh, I have so much to learn from this life.

In retrospect I should have laughed at that book report. It should have tickled me and felt so perfect. After all, today is her birthday treat day at school. She sent me in search of overpriced cupcakes because Molly, who cannot eat cupcakes, appreciates the finer things in life and is always generous in sharing them with others. It is also Teacher Appreciation week and the kids decided to bring flowers, so she had a bouquet to give to a teacher that she adores with her whole heart. Why wouldn't she forget about her book report when she had so many good things to share with her class? Why wouldn't she forget about her own glorious work? She was being selfless, and I was seeing irresponsibility instead. Oh, I have so much to learn from these children!

So, it's been a while. I've gotten all manner of complaints, but let me assure you that I have spared any likely reader from months of congregating at a blog that would be, in it's essence, a Festivus Pole where upon I air all my grievances. You see, there has been lots and lots of sickness. A virus every other week, along with the usual busy life that a good sized family might encounter, will make a person a big grouchy and whiney. So I just took Thumper's dad's advice: "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all." I had nothing.

Today I played "Here Come's the Sun" and I felt the urge to go a write how pretty freaking fantastic we are. Which is a little bit of an optimistic spin given that I am 37 weeks pregnant, grossly anemic and unable to quench my desire for a margherita - extra tequila - as big as my face. Yesterday Mariana followed classroom routine without extra prompts. Next week she starts 4-day-a-week school. She's been all but discharged from PT because she can walk up and down appropriately sized steps without help. She is speaking more, though it has been suggested that perhaps a behavioral therapist might be of some use given her sass. (Note to all: I am the behavioral therapist without the degrees or the ability to bill insurance. I also kinda like that she can defy the "They are so sweet." protocol for people with Down syndrome. I feel it makes her an ambassador of sorts.)

Here is what I love about Mae's school. The kids in her class are hyper aware she is different, but none of them can put their finger on it. They ask me all the time if she is still a baby and why she doesn't talk, though she does talk and is simply unintelligible at this point in her development. They adore her and line up to give her a hug before she leaves. They both want to be her friend and want her to like each of them. When she is mean to one of them it is a big deal and the offended party always tells me. But they are always kind to her regardless, which is such a sweet thing for a bunch of 3 year olds. (3 year olds are mostly wretched humans with adorable voices and yummy chubby arms that hug you right as you consider wringing their rotten necks.) Her teacher expects Mae to do everything the other kids do. She cleans up her own messes, washes her own hands, with the help with the soap since she is so short, walks in line, puts her hand on her heart for the pledge, holds the flag when it is her turn, and must always push in her own chair no matter how long it takes her. Miss K. is excited about seeing Mae's successes and is never fooled by her pretend incompetence. We are the luckiest family ever to have this preschool experience right now. Things aren't always easy in our world, but God is never too far for us to hear Him loud and clear.

**********************

In other news, we had a First Holy Communion for Molly. I love this day so much and I really appreciated that it was on the Feast of the Good Shepherd weekend. I love Jesus as the Good Shepherd and I often see my children as little lambs (and goats depending on the day). It's a peaceful image to sit with, especially when one of them is seemingly beyond my help. Realizing that The Good Shepherd loves them more than even I helps me relax a little and let things unfold over time rather than running on the anxiety treadmill of "What if...."

Molly's been that kid lately. I feel it's probably not appropriate to get into details on a public blog since I do care about my kids' sense of privacy, but the specifics lead to a general problem all parents face with our kids: How do we help someone when we don't really know what is actually the issue? Sometimes I think just making an effort is enough. Trying something different can jostle a kid into a new perspective. Or maybe just having Mom and Dad put a kid between them and show that this kid's problems are both important and not overwhelming is enough. I can't say that I know the exact formula for success, but somehow just shining a light on a particular child for a particular reason and saying, "We expect and we will help." is working.

Which leads to the other children, all who have become high-need all at the same time. Magically my anemic exhaustion has been fruitful. I sit in my recliner at night in my bedroom where each child comes in alone and we get 10-15 minutes of chatting. (I prefer the image of a stately queen receiving subjects, but I resemble Jabba the Hut more closely in a visual aspect. Minus the girl in a bikini and chains, of course.) It has happened naturally, and it has been nice to remind them that they belong there in my room, that I am not shut away incubating their brother. Kate is in that adolescent place of needing me and never having enough awareness to actually ask for my help. Charlotte is in a phase of finding her siblings just awful to have around her breathing space. (Incidentally I do not blame her. I find many of the things they say to one another grating, but I'm also 37 weeks pregnant and easily annoyed.) Molly is being forced to face her weaknesses and needs extra hugs and reminders of her magical qualities. Paul needs the cuddles of his mama and to exercise his ability to make me laugh even if I'm tired and the baby is literally on my nerves. Mae needs to swipe all the baby's things out of the crib and lay them on my belly because she is the boss of this belly.

So, yes, we've been active. Things have been very challenging and sometimes disheartening. Life has not been terribly kind this winter and spring has arrived quite late given that we live in Florida. Also, I have a charlie horse that just won't quit. What can we do? The answer seems to be in that image of Jesus gathering his sheep. He is not doing much, just picking them up and looking at them in the face and letting each little lamb see that His love is big enough for all of them. And magnesium...for the charlie horse, I mean. Magnesium hasn't failed me yet.

And Then There Were Six

Whoa, let's dust this old thing off a bit, shall we? I've been purposefully neglecting this place all fall. The reasons vary, but mostly come down to the fact that just living was a lot of work. We are expecting another baby in May, and he, yes he, made his presence known and felt in the most unpleasant ways. This little guy will not be ignored, I tell you. Little being a reletive term since I am measuring, and he is measuring a week ahead. My helpful OB said, "Oh, let's not do anything over 9lbs." because I'd like to avoid a c section this time...as though this is in my control. The only thing I can do is avoid too much of the sweet stuff, which hasn't been too bad since I mostly hate food, unless I don't, which I almost alsways do soon after consuming it.

Pregnancy is my Achiles heel. I hate every bit of it, not because I have these woeful experiences, but because I have so little control over the health and wellbeing of the child. There are a million sources that will tell you that every eyeblink can control the outcome of pregnancy, but life will teach you otherwise. Yes, good nutrition and exercise are very important, unless you are throwing up so much that keeping any calories down is a win, or you are on bedrest, or both. You see? It's a crapshoot. Denise Austin is my favorite fitness guru out there because she always stresses doing the best YOU can do. Not that we should slack off, but that we should maybe be okay that we are limited. 

I did have the NIPT done, which is how we found out that this person with the hiccupping is a boy. I didn't do it because I wanted to breath easy that he will be physically perfect, but because insurance covered the test and the kids REALLY wanted to know the sex. Even with all the screens coming back favorable, there is no known outcome. There is an expectation, but nothing known. Which is astounding sometimes that we keep having babies. None of our kids are total jerks, so the odds are this guy just might be a total jerk. But hope springs eternal and we are up for the adventure, or so I think. Ask again after the many sleepless nights.

The other children are also growing. I am often astounded at their individual growth. K is cruising toward adolescence, which I am ever hopeful that I won't totally mess up. C is becoming a very interesting person. I feel she is always showing a new depth and at times am astounded that such a little girl can think so deeply. Molly marches on, having had her first Reconciliation and displaying a new level of piety that I remember from second grade. How serious those children become when they realize that Jesus gives them the chance to start new at any time! I love the sweet, purposeful sign of the cross, and how each word of prayer is pronounced just so. She wants so much to be good! Meanwhile, in the land of Paul, we are surprised that he can read so much since his interest in such things seems non existent. When I read to him, he is content to listen, but when we are out and about, he will read off labels and signs with relative ease. We practice sight words, during which he bounces, stands on his head and jokes that "when" is "will" even though I know he remembers the word. He has no interest in practice, even when I make games of it. Thankfully he has a teacher at school with the patience of a saint.

Mariana, oh Mariana. She is growing, learning and becoming--God knows what. We are in search for a new speech therapist closer to home. The poor child has so much language, but her speech, or the motor planning to articulate her language, is not up to her ability. Being in school has helped tremendously, and we hope to continue her education in a class with typical peers. We started in a class of 18-24 month old children, but quickly found that she is a kid who likes to fit in. The behaviors we had moved past came roaring back, along with some new, uncool tricks that we were more than happy to skip. At least in a class of 2 year old peers her negative behavior is age appropriate. I don't love hearing her yell, "No! Stop!" at me, but it is at least a 2 year old thing to yell.

To sum up: Scott is the last one in the family who has stayed the same relative size and shape these last months. The rest of us are growing up or out. One of the snakes went missing twice in the last few months, and I did not have a heart attack.  There was an outbreak of lice at Thanksgiving, which was a nightmare, but we survived. My friends, we are a hearty bunch, are we not? Now that 2014 is gone and we have a fresh calendar to fill with adventures for the new year, I only ask that we stay mostly healthy, the snakes stay contained, and the bugs kindly reside somewhere in the wild. Not a lot to ask from a new year, but then, we shall see.

Joy and Narcissism

Leave it to the interwebs to make another seemingly innocuous thing controversial. There was this post about the ice bucket challenge that brought up a very good point. The ALSA donates some of their funds toward embryonic stem cell research. There are many people, myself included, who find this line of research immoral due to the the destruction of life. Not everyone agrees, I understand. However I have another, perhaps more practical, reason for opposing money being poured into this type of research, which is: never, not once, has this research been effective at producing a practical solution to the problems it seeks to address.

Adult stem cell research, however, has had multiple successes. Let's focus our time, talent and treasure on that which offers the most practical hope and does not have legions of people concerned about the ethics of such research.

But there was another issue at hand in this post that I have seen other places. The idea that these things are wasteful and rooted in and encourage narcissistic tendancies. First let's talk about narcissism. I will grant that social media seems to feed the beast that is our Culture of Me and our cultural lack of empathy. Of course this is true! Anything that gives a person the chance to put on a "display" can indeed feed that sort of darkness.

That being said, there is a large blindspot in this claim. You see, the ice bucket challenge is fun. Yes, doing something seemingly inconsequential, and daring others to do the same is playful. Playfulness can build community because we tolerate one another so much better if we know we can set all of the baggage down once in a while. Sure, it's seems wasteful. Isn't all fun peered at from the outside looking in a bit wasteful? "But good drinking water!" I hear you gasp. Stop it. Unless you protest swimming pools and water parks, just stop your nonsense. We have access to water, and using a little for fun is okay. If there is a draught where you are, then yes, by all means refrain from the challenge. But also? Be creative. My sister, Geek, chose instead to sing "Ice Ice Baby" in carline while waiting for her children to be let out of school. (Gee, I hope she wasn't wasting gas by keeping her car idling!) She was nearing the 24 hour deadline, and decided that she could be creative and meet the challenge in a fun and silly way.

The second blindspot is this idea that all things displayed on social media are inherently narcissistic. If that is the case, then all things done publicly must be so. Do we not understand yet that Facebook and Twitter can be much like the water cooler? We live an online life now, and that is not a sin. Maybe it's not as good as authentic in-person relationships, but it can also keep those relationships strong when time and distance cause them to whither.

My parents had weak relationships with their siblings when I was young. Oh, sure we were family, and God knows we had one another in times of trouble. However, the day-to-day sharing and caring was missing because we didn't live close, and there was this weird thing called "long distance rates" that meant calling someone in another area code cost money. When you are raising a young family, those expenses have to be held to a minimum. But now? Our family is strong. I love my cousins and I know how to contact each of them. Each of my 8 siblings is on Facebook, but none are in my hometown. We make each other laugh, we call if we are concerned, and we groan when one of us is getting too righteous online.  That is just my family. I can't tell you the number of friendships I've strengthened online. My friend Sarah, whose ups and downs have allowed me to cry and cheer in communion with her family. The boy from grade school who reached out to me on Facebook and told me of the troubles he had faced post college. He later committed suicide, and while I am heartbroken, I am so glad I could lend a shoulder to a suffering soul for just a little while. Nora Rose, whose family has been in our lives for a very long time, but whose journey I could follow first hand thanks to social media.

I understand the impulse here. The ALSA donates to things that are sketchy. ALS is a horrid disease in need of eradication, and posting a video of getting a bucket of ice water dumped on your head seems to make light of a very serious disease. But the world needs light. The world needs fun. The world needs communion and understanding and encouragement. This is what this challenge can offer, my friends. The good news is there are organizations that you can donate to that won't fund embryonic stem cell research. There are hospitals, maybe even local organizations, that can hunker down and help out your actual real live, and not just virtual, neighbor. You can look it up and post that on Facebook as your ALS charity of choice. Celebrate the charitable inclination of your fellow man and have some fun!

Kindergarten 4.0

The Blurry Child Who Never Stops Moving

Dear Handsome,
You are the fourth child I have seen off to Kindergarten. On Monday we brought your supplies and met your beautiful teacher, Mrs. G. She is a Buckeye, which I'm sure makes Cappy (and Kiki, of course) very happy. Today you dressed in "button shorts", a belt and a golf shirt. You wanted your hair combed like Cappy, something that makes you feel connected to the man you hardly remember. You ate breakfast with a tea towel around your neck and on your lap, and you were barely still for the photos I wanted to take. You seemed excited because you kept getting into the car before it was time to leave.

His genuine smile is like a vampire--never  to appear in photos

Two pretty girls and a goofball.

On the way to school we said our prayers. We asked our Gaurdian Angels to care for us and and help us make good choices, as well as keep us safe. We prayed for everyone going to school, and then I heard a little voice say, "Help Molly not be scared...and maybe me too."

We've had a great summer, you and I. We bonded over our hatred of being spoken to in the morning. We snuggled deep under covers when you were not supposed to be in our bed. You started really taking becoming a gentleman seriously. I began to see that my baby boy is not a baby at all. Even when you pitched fits over things like swim lessons, I saw through your naughtiness and learned to coach you. Your skin went from pale to brown over the course of a few weeks, and any chunk left from the toddler years disappeared to reveal bones and ropey muscle.

Not an ounce of body fat anywhere but those cheeks and lips!

As we walked in to the room, you grew quiet, but this year you didn't bury your head into my hip. You showed Dad your desk, we hung up your backpack, and you handed Mrs. G your papers. Mae sat next to you. I snapped a picture, which happened to reveal the truth; you were very scared.

Mae is ready for Kindergarten, while her brother is ready for this to be over already.

Dad and I left anyway, knowing we had to let you march through to the other side where happy chatter and friendship waited. Before I left, I kissed your cheek and reminded you that I couldn't wait to hear about your day. There was a small smile, or at least a corner of your mouth lifted in an attempted smile. We left to go find some friends and to peek at your sisters, but my heart stayed right there with you desperately, hoping you would feel better fast.

Molly's Motto: Why carry bags when you have so many other's willing to do it for you?

********************************************

You were first in this afternoon carline today. Your hair was sticking to your scalp like a 90's Clooney. You had a huge grin on your face. As you climbed in the car you said, "Hi Mama, good seeing you!" I asked how your first day of Kindergarten was. "Oh, great! It's not hard work at all!" That was all I got from you, though I was waiting for stories about friends and teachers. Instead you asked if you could buy lunch tomorrow, letting me know for certain all was well with you.

I'm glad you still love school Buddy. I can't wait to see what the rest of the year brings!

Love,
Overly Sentimental Mama

Thumbs up for Kindergarten!

Quick Takes Pre-Back-to-School

--- 1 ---

It is Back To School time, y'all. Remember that commercial with that guy going through the Staples buying supplies with the song, "It's The Most Wonderful Time of the Year" blaring? Cut to his kids who are not feeling it. Imagine that, but in reverse up in here. My kids love the beginning of school. They have long forgotten about homework, early wake up times, bed times, the desperation of looking for the other shoe, and my demands that they continue to make their beds and brush their teeth. All they can think of is that they will spend 8 hours a day with people they like who don't expect them to empty the dishwasher and feed the pets.

I, however, have enjoyed the luxury of no homework, not caring as much about hygiene (because the ocean is sterile, you guys. It's Science!), and lax bedtime/wake times. This year I was so smart and created a spreadsheet for school supply shopping, and then went to the inter webs and had it all delivered to my house. I don't do the school sponsored boxes. I never remember in time, or, when I do remember, I have spent all my money on froyo.

--- 2 ---

But then I decided to do a room switcheroo. You see, the oldest will be semi-homeschooling with virtual school. She made a really good point that she would like to sleep in a little, and yet shares a room with a sibling who will be getting up at 6:30. That, coupled with the fact that the baby was starting to get closer and closer to getting out of her crib, lead me to the decision to move the kids around. K has her own room, M &C are together now, and the baby and Paul are bunking in the "camp" room, that I will one day finish decorating as a camp bunk because the furniture is very rustic.

Let me tell you something about trying to organize and swap clothes with a two-year-old in the house; it's terrible. Especially if this particular child likes nothing better than to "reorganize" all the shoes you have lined up to weed out and repurpose. Especially if said child also loves to pull perfectly organized clothing onto the floor and then "refold" it and place it somewhere you shall never look until you move. She's a helper, that one.

--- 3 ---

Kate has her own bathroom. I recognize that this is a risk I am taking. She is already very entitled as witnessed when I told her she would need her own toilet brush.

K: What for?
Me: To clean your toilet. I'll get you shower cleaner too.
K: Why do I have to clean the toilet?!
Me: The same reason you have to make your bed and vacuum your rug. You use it, you clean it.
K: That seems excessive
Me: I regret to inform you that if you neglect your bathroom you will become responsible for all the bathrooms in the house. Also, please make a note that the size of your bedroom will be about the size of your first apartment, if you are lucky, so try very hard not to be too comfortable.
K: Oh yeah, living here is so luxurious.
Me: Glad you understand.

I am so looking forward to the teen years.

--- 4 ---

The baby sleeps in a bed. Like, actually gets put in a bed, falls asleep in that bed, and then stays in the bed until morning or nap time is over. I would like to know, what in the heck in going on, Internet? It should be noted that this is for her own safety. She began to get her leg up on the railing a couple months ago, and had since built little stools out of books and stuffed animals to make it easier to get out. She has not been successful (low muscle tone, FTW!), but it was coming. Because she is a bit weaker, even if she puts her arms out to catch her fall, she would likely bust her face. The bed is very low to the ground with a bunky board rather than a full boxed spring.

The bonus is that Paul has stayed in his loft bed since her move. He is there to protect her, after all, and he takes this very seriously. For now.

--- 5 ---

I am walking a lot lately thanks to my husband shaming me with his Hop-Out-Of-Bed-And -Go-Running routine. Wait, first he does push-ups and dips, then he goes running. Lying there listening to all this productivity has shamed me into at least taking the dog for a power walk. Running is too excessive in the summer. I've done it off and on every summer since moving to FL, and I simply hate it. I also have an easier time meditating and counting my blessings if I am not panting and hating life. I'm also nicer to my kids when I get home. It's really a lose-win-win-win. The loser is my bed, who loves me so dearly and surly misses our coffee-and-news mornings. Poor thing.

--- 6 ---

Can I just say, I finally get the mother/son relationship lovefest? Paul has always been turned to 11, regardless of that being good or bad. He overwhelms me with his full-throttle passion. However, I'm slowly learning about his particular needs and finally meeting them. Everyone has sensory needs, it's not a diagnosis, or problem, it's just like nutritional needs vary, so do sensory needs. Paul is a proprioceptive seeker. Think wrestlers and football players. So when he's hurt, he hits things and runs around, and when he's happy, he snuggles you to death and kisses you so hard your nose feels broken. Now that I understand, I've been able to give him lots of input and now he's so much calmer, and more charming, and hilarious.

One interesting thing I have found is how easy anger is for him. Since he was a baby, if he were scared, hurt or sick, he would get mad and hit people. Now that he is a little more mature, I can say that he can just be hurt without being angry, and it hits just the right note for him. He'll start to spin out, and then come in for a hug and tell me what is bothering him and what he wants to fix it.  The weirdest thing is to see how that has translated into his ability to admit when he is wrong and to apologize as well. Yes, some of this is maturity, but a lot of it is the sensory needs being filled too. I can see how much he neede this from ME. He needs a woman to understand him better just as the girls need their Daddy to work to understand their needs.

One thing I want to leave with is the fact that I'm tempted to feel guilty that it took me 5 years to get it together with Paul. Yes, I use the term tempted. Some guilt is constructive and helps us keep trucking toward being better human beings, and some is destructive and makes us naval gazing depressed narcissists. I let a little of the guilt hang out enough to remind me to be patient when he needs it, and I tell the rest to buzz off. I love my son, and I'm confident in that. I will never meet all of my children's needs no matter what. I'm comfortable with that most of the time. That's how I handle the guilt anyway.

--- 7 ---

There is a lot of bad news in the world, and I mean a. lot. of. bad. news. Sometimes it makes me think God made a mistake when He promised not to wipe us all out and start fresh a la Noah. And then there are stories like this.  I was lucky enough to meet this fine lady at my little Edel excursion and she is amazingly funny and interesting and silly. I then found out she had a blog and I was all up in that business. I promise you, if you were to meet her, you would not for a minute think she has a bunch o' kids, that two have SMA, and that she home schools. I mean, honestly you wouldn't because there is no blinding halo keeping you from getting too close. So, yes, humans are awful. However, they are awfully wonderful also. Congrats to Kelly and her family. It is a well deserved blessing.

For more Quick Takes, visit Conversion Diary!

Edel 2014

As a mom of young kids, I know we all experience the same feeling of defeat. We all experience that moment, sometimes more often than we care to acknowledge, where we must escape. Like a caged and beaten animal, we find ourselves longing to run away, far far away, and nurse our wounds. It doesn't matter how many children you have, if you work or stay home, if you are rolling in cash or drowning in debt, we all experience that sensation that we must flee.

That's not why I bought my ticket to the Edel Gathering.

The Edel Gathering was named for Venerable Edel Mary Quinn, and I think the two founders may have found her name by googling "Patron Saint of Partiers". I was only half listening to that sentence because there was a really distractingly cute baby near me. At any rate, Jennifer Fulwiler and Hallie Lord, decided that mommies, and specifically Catholic mommies, needed a weekend to refresh, renew and recharge themselves back to the amazing and wonderful individuals they have always been. There are a lot of wonderful things to say about these two women, but I'm going to save that for another day. First, let's talk about moi.

The day I bought my ticket was rotten. My husband was out of town, The children were needy, and I was depleted. I had considered it, but there was no decision made by the time the tickets went on sale.  So, that day, when I spoke to my husband, I told him I bought my ticket, and I was staying at the Omni downtown Austin. We have a policy of discussing any several-hundred dollar purchases in advance, so he had every right to be angry with me, but he was not. Surprised, maybe. Probably a little frightened, wondering what kind of desperation would lead me to forsake our agreement, but completely on board. Because he is the best.

What followed was one month after another of really bad news, really deep heartache, and really hard days. One day, I think perhaps in May or early June, Scott said, "Well, at least you get to go to that conference." and I nearly burst into tears. "That Conference" was months away. I needed a break right then. I couldn't see past the sunset, let alone weeks ahead. I was afraid I was becoming someone unlikable. I was afraid I had made a mistake in choosing to go alone, and not even trying to make some kind of e-connection with the other attendees. I misunderstood and thought it was mostly an opportunity for self-promotion of personal projects. I didn't have anything to promote, I didn't want to buy anything. I didn't need a massage. I needed to find out if I could exist outside of who I had become, and in that moment, I didn't want to do that because I was afraid I would not like it, I would not like me outside of my roles.

My sister lost her husband in February of 2006. He was 30, she was pregnant with their second child. My father-in-law died in 2011. Sweet baby Nora died in June. A lot of people spent their lives identifying themselves with these loved ones. My sister started dating Mitch since she was 15, but had decided to marry him in 5th grade. My mother-in-law had not only built a life with her husband that included children and grandchildren, but she spent his last years being his caretaker. Aleisa and William spent all of Nora's 2 plus years caring for her and nursing her and chronicling her witness for the world. Identities wrapped in these relationships and then they were gone.

I spend a lot of time caring for my children, especially Mae. But I am rich beyond my wildest dreams. While many of the ladies at the conference were experiencing the crushing isolation of motherhood, I have a life full of well-built relationships. I've been where they have been, for sure, but that's not where I am now. I have 4 amazing, beautiful, hilarious sisters who love me dearly. I have 3 tough, compassionate and generous brothers who love me. I have two holy and patient parents who love me. I have a husband who thinks I am the closest thing to the Virgin Mary on earth. (I am so very much not that, but I do not seem capable of ridding him of that delusion.) I have a parish and school community that love our family. I have friends who "get it", and support me even when they don't. We have a neighborhood full of people who like each other and are prepared for the onslaught of Fryman Teenagers when the kids get to that age. I have in laws and cousins and aunts and uncles and even the cashier at the grocery store who gives me coupons and let's me break up my order so I can use more than one $10 off $50 coupon. I am not rich, I'm filthy rich.

Which is why the reading of the rich young man haunts me. Money isn't my comfort, relationships are. The experience of these past years have taught me that it is possible that I could lose all of this around me. The day I bought my ticket I had realized this and I could not answer a question that thundered into my thoughts; Did I even like being just me?

So I went to Austin alone. I met other women without one of my children licking them first. (True story, happened more than once.) I went for walks. I slept in a bed alone. I went to confession. I went to mass. I partied. A lot. I talked to strangers. I ate yummy food. A lot. I smiled. I cried. I watched Gravity and cried like it was me in space with one thing after another going to hell. I identified a little too closely with Gravity. I missed home. I sat in Saint Mary's Cathedral. I thanked God for the weekend. I thanked God that I had met all these women. I thanked God that The Body of Christ is made up of wounded a broken people who want nothing more than to love and be loved. It was in my gratitude for the weekend, in the pleasure I felt at actually absorbing a mass undisturbed, that I knew I absolutely could not ever stand to be alone. The good news is, God Almighty promised me I never would be.

Beauty

I have had much to say, but a lacking desire to post it. So much has happened in the past two months that I do not wish to share only because I have been allowing myself and the family to process these things together. So, yes, I haven't posted, but I think those sabbaticals are something I will need to allow myself. This post has been rolling around my thoughts for a while, I hope it bears out well.

The background began last fall. My oldest girl came home unhappy about life and began to ask me about hair removal, specifically arm and eyebrow. A girl had pointed out to her that her arms and her eyebrows were, shall we say....generous. I have no way of knowing if this girl made a big deal of it or not, it really doesn't matter at this age anyhow. It stuck and thus the exploration of what I would allow her to do began.

I know kids, and I know my kid, so I had the conversation as though I was completely fine with it. (I was not. She was 9. What the heck?!) I explained that she could do as she liked with her arm hair when I wasn't paying for it, but that shaving it would cause whiskers on her arm. I offered her some Sun In and a hair dryer as a consolation prize, which she accepted gratefully. As for the eyebrows, I offered to pluck them. 

"Does it hurt?"

"Terribly, though perhaps when you are older I will take you to get them waxed. That hurts also, but is much faster."

"I can wait." (Toldja I know my kid.)

A few weeks ago the eyebrows came up again. Rather than force the poor thing into a dance with the devil, who would surly tempt her to pluck them behind my back, I offered to take her to a pro. If any of you are judging me harshly for this, I thumb my nose at you. I sported eyebrows shaped like sperm for a year because of my poor plucking skills, a fate I spared my daughter. I deserve a medal for that. (Incidentally, the woman who did the work was very good about only removing the extra growth under the brows, did nothing to shape them, and left them looking like the eyebrows of a little girl who is not especially hairy.)

As we drove to our appointment we began to discuss some of her social anxieties. These car rides with my children always bring forth such great conversations about life, this was no different. In regard to one girl in particular, she stated that because this girl is so admirable and likable my Kate used to want to be her. It made her feel anxious to be more like this girl, but now she just wants to be herself. It was as if the Holy Spirit dropped a script into my lap so that I wouldn't screw this up. Usually I would go on and on and on about "Be yourself! You are the best you!" Instead I went against type and asked her what caused her to change.

"Mariana."

I began to string my next question slowly, as though I were luring a wild rabbit into my hands. "What is it about Mae-mae do you think that made you change how you....that made you want to be more yourself."

"She has to be happy just being herself, so I thought that maybe I should be happy with who I am. Maybe that is what we are supposed to do."

My soul leaped with joy in that moment. There was no self congratulatory feelings that we had done well as parents. Right then I saw the soul God Almighty designed, and right then I saw the absolute glory of being shown such a thing. If you knew her you would know how much she wrestled with self-doubt and how much she plays Peacekeeper. You would understand the profundity of such a statement. In that moment my daughter showed such beautiful receptivity to life lessons, such clarity on how to allow something to inspire, and a vulnerability without a hint of guile. Forget pretty, her whole being shone with Beauty. 

This is the intangible about life that we try so hard to communicate to the world about our loved ones with Ds. Many of them won't ever leave home, make a great living, make any exciting discoveries, or even pay much in taxes. We need not act as though our loved ones count as much as the next person. We know it, we live it, we experience the change it brings forth. We become more human as we give more of ourselves to a future that is uncertain. We teach and teach and work and work and coax and coax in never ending hope that it will yield fruit, and it does, though it is a different fruit than we could have ever imagined. It is the fruit of a sweeter life, a kinder soul, a more compassionate nature. It is the fruit of loving more deeply and with less self interest. The good of the other becomes more in focus, almost surprising us out of our blinders we had worn unnoticed. It is the fruit of longing to become whomever you were all along, but somehow shut out of your life in pursuit of becoming whomever you wished to be.

C.S. Lewis wrote in The Abolition of Man about how education had become focused upon raising people to think without the being encumbered by morals and emotions. One of my favorite quotes of his was, “It is not excess of thought but defect of fertile and generous emotion that marks them out. Their heads are no bigger than the ordinary: it is the atrophy of the chest beneath that makes them seem so.”  His point was not some feel-good, "Follow your heart." philosophy, but that all the knowledge in the world is still lacking if we have no ability for compassion, love, understanding, empathy, grief and joy. This is what Mae brings to our family. She makes each of us better because she teaches us the importance of being beautiful rather than chasing the fickleness of looking so.

Molly: Age 7

Really?! Molly is 7? I feel like this is some kind of cosmic joke. My baby is growing by leaps and bounds, maturing and becoming a kid who has empathy and generosity. Molly was always my Molly, you know, that girl who does what she does on her own schedule when she feels like that is a good idea. I noticed at some point this year when her teacher would say things like how disorganized Molly is and I would tell my princess how she is so neat and here is a cool way of staying on top of things, and then this girl went and took my advice.

I give all credit/blame to La Dee, my sister. She and Molly are the same. She's the one who told me Molly is a carrot v. stick type kiddo, and so it turned out to be true. Perhaps all this maturity is due to getting older, or perhaps I have unlocked the amazing puzzle of my Molly. It's hard to say. What I can say is that 6 has been good to this girl. She got the exact teacher she needed, one who took her measure early, but was willing to be proven wrong. I will never forget that parent/teacher conference and being told Molly was doing just what was asked and that she would probably have trouble the second half of the year. I can't forget it because it was one of those times when I knew what it meant to know your kid best. I knew why Molly was doing just what was expected. I knew that she had figured out how to skate by with good grades, but not expose her hand of brilliance. Molly is so so bright, manipulative and crafty. That is not to say she is dishonest, but that she can charm you out of your favorite shoes and make you feel good for it. This girl has the rest of us figured out.

I have to say, Molly is delightful to raise. It is precisely because she is so different from me, and because she scratches that itch I have always had to work puzzles. Between her special inflammatory responses to foods, her charm, her quiet defiance and her comedic genius, I find she is the girl I wished I were growing up. She's gorgeous, but unimpressed by it. She moves fluidly through peer groups, she defies expectations (for better and worse), she is always her own self and she never tries to be anything but her self. Recently we had specialty cupcakes at the house for Charlottes birthday sleepover that had to be postponed. Molly was aching for one. I offered her the chance to make the choice for herself by telling her that it was up to her to deal with the consequences. 

"What are the consequences again?" she asked as she eyed the Boston creme cupcake.

"Eczema, belly ache, and possibly those joint pains, but I'm not sure if that one is a compounded issue or not."

"Forget it, just give me the icing." she replied dispassionately. She had calculated the risks and deemed them unacceptable. When I was her age, I'd have devoured 6 of those suckers and enjoyed every ache that came from it.

I know she isn't perfect. I know she needs to be better with girls her age and needs to learn to try someone else's idea once in a while. She's stubborn, yes, and that has had major drawbacks. But this year, I've seen maturity, empathy, and interest in others bloom. I've seen her take responsibility for something someone else was blamed for, a major deal for a girl who is happy to be naughty undetected. I've even seen a healthy dose of humillity, which just about knocked me over.

Maybe I idealize this golden child. She is so different from the other kids is so many ways, I notice her nuances. Maybe because she reminds me of the big sister I idolized, I feel awed that I get to raise one like her. Maybe because Molly is in the middle I pay special attention to not letting her get pushed aside or ignored. Who knows why this little girl captures my affection so easily? All I know is that she was supposed to always be my baby, but she's started to grow up anyway.

Happy birthday Molly Mack. I love you inside and out, upside and down. 

Quick Takes Volume: Scatter Brain

--- 1 ---

Spring break was a bust. We all had some kind of illness in a staggard timeline, so no one realy got to do anything fun. Charlotte turned 9 and had her birthday saved by my dear friend. She hosted C on her birthday and then I proceeded to ruin a night in with her husband by using her as my therapist when I went to pick C up from her house. Luckily, we are close enough for me to call myself out to her husband, who was gracious enough to laugh at me. Good friends are the best medicine, are they not?

--- 2 ---

I will be bragging about my children in this post. A lot. First up is K & C combo. These girls won an iPad at school because some wonderful person donated enough money to the Fun Run and then asked that two students who had worked hard, but got smaller donations be given iPads. Kate and Charlotte walked the neighborhood together and turned in a sheet explaining that they wanted to work together for a bigger prize. They really wanted to collect $700, but fell way short even though every neighbor did donate. I was very pleased that they were able to learn that hard work is rewarded in unexpected ways, and I am very happy someone had that insight when making their large donation. It's a good idea to pay forward, for sure!

--- 3 ---

When things get a little wonky in terms of familial chaos, I sometimes get a little fixated on things I can control. Like painting inside the house, painting Molly's new loft bed and reseeding the lawn. That lawn. It is my nemesis, I tell you. Just shy of a year under purchasing this house we spent an obscene amount of money to redo the front landscaping because the landscaper for the builder thought that half the front yard should be mulch and the other half should be covered with the cruddiest sod in the southeast. Now I'm convinced our soil is poisoned because everything is dying again. In my fantasy Scott would pull up everything, including the topsoil, lay manure and organic soil, new sod and beautiful flowering bushes. And hire a painter. And a contractor to build a half-sized barn door at the bottom of the steps that swings all the way to the wall and latches there as well as wood shutters for the XL window in the stairwell and also put the distressed wood panels under the bar. And not go into debt. Luckily, I've been pulled out of my fantasy because we are all well again and order is going to be reinstated. 

--- 4 ---

I must brag about Kate again. She one second place in an art contest. It was one that included many schools from the area and her category included three grades. We were not able to go to the show because of the illnesses in the house, but I couldn't be more happy for her. The truth is, I'm not even proud of her, just happy she gets to experience success at something she enjoys. So often we enjoy things we don't have a lot of time to develop, and that's okay, but kids often abandon things they enjoy because they mistakenly believe they ought to be great at it. Kate doesn't seem to be a remarkable artist to me, but she does have a good eye and great imagination. I hope that this award gives her a boost to continue enjoying this portion of her creativity. Who knows, maybe I'm wrong and she's got phenomenal talent. Either way, I am thrilled she was chosen and thrilled she won something.

--- 5 ---

Molly is going to be 7. The wonderous thing about her is that she is acting like a 7 year old. I always thought Molly would be my baby forever, but instead she is blossoming into a kind and considerate girl. I blame her teacher. No, seriously though, her teacher does a beautiful job of teaching the kids that life is about learning skills and information, and that they are all capable. She has been sending home "concerns" about Molly here and there, and you know what? They are all slowly being weeded out. Molly is trying to impress her teacher and show how bright she really is. Her teacher has gone from being concerned she wouldn't keep up to recommending she be tested for the enrichment program. Better than her academic success, I have over heard her being kind and generous to her siblings and to her friends. She is really growing up, and I feel so lucky to be able to know her.

                                                                       --- 6 ---

Um. We have another snake. That's two total living under my roof. I know. I feel compelled to be an amazing mother here, you guys, and I don't even think my kids understand how amazing I am being. This snake is named Olaf, and he is Popcorn's brother from the same clutch of eggs. Whatever. I hope St. Francis is taking notes. Also? Paul needs to take notes. I mean, really.

--- 7 ---

John Paul II and John XXIII are being canonized this weekend. If you are not familiar with these two wonderful people, I hope you will find out more about them. I was not familiar with John XXIII, but have read a little and find him to be an very interesting person in a very interesting time in history. As for JPII, well Charlotte is named for him in a round about way. In short, I'm a fan.

For more Quick Takes, visit Conversion Diary!