And I Find Myself Smirking at God

Does your child ever do something so witty and surprising that you just shake your head and let a smirk creep across your face?

My son cracked out with a clever quip last week and I just burst out laughing. I don’t often burst out into anything.

I like that feeling.

Over the past few weeks I have found my self smirking at God. Shaking my head once again. Surprised at myself for being surprised. That He loves me.

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I'm not afraid anymore

I've just realized it. Just now.

I've been sitting here at my computer, attempting to design a stunning website for a client, listening to my two little girls (ages 4 and 6) playing in the living room next to me.

They were playing 'Getting Married'. This entails pretending to put make up on, going dancing and finding a husband. They ask the imaginary men if they think they're pretty. They decide if they like the imaginary guy and then run off with a towel over their hair for an impromptu wedding in the entry way.

I sat here, looking out the window laughing at them.

I just smiled and laughed and tried to watch them without being caught, because that would end the game, of course.

See, several years ago, I would have stopped the game.  I would have told them that they shouldn't be thinking about getting married... you're just little girls, right?! This is a very serious thing.  I would have asked them why they were worried if a guy thought they were pretty. Inner beauty is much more important. And, it takes a long time to find a husband. This just isn't something we play at, girls.


(I'll pause here while you laugh at me...)

But, that was several years ago.

Because I was paranoid.

I've always had an overwhelming desire to have what is good for my children. I want them to be Catholic, moral, holy, discerning.  I want them to choose good spouses. I want them to go to heaven. And, I guess in my ignorance as a young mother, I thought I could 'force' those things by creating a certain environment. By reading only certain books, watching only certain kinds of shows, by playing only certain kinds of games. More impressively, by what we wouldn't do.  What we wouldn't hear, see, discuss or pretend. If I guarded them against anything and everything that could possible open a path to something wayward, then nothing bad could ever happen, right? I could control it. Yes.

I needed to control because I was so afraid. Afraid that they'd be like me. That they'd make stupid decisions. That they'd get hurt and hurt others. That they'd be selfish and worldly and not listen to the Lord speaking in their hearts. Goodness sake, I can't have THAT. None of it. They'd be lost forever. And what would my friends think?

Then, at Easter Vigil this year, I realized something big. Big for me, at least. God got me anyway. Despite myself. Despite my weaknesses (of which there are many), despite my insecurities and obsessions. Despite my temptations, my past, my worldliness. He caught me and let me fall in love with his Church. If He can do that for me, with no lectures or cautionary tales before each life decision, then He can do that for others, surely?

And then, something else has helped. Having older children. I see in them a heart and a conscience that I could not have molded. I see them making choices that impress me. I see them wondering about people and how they act. I see them discussing the Church and her teachings and seeing the bigger picture behind them. I see them choosing friends that are children I admire greatly. I see them naturally seeking the good and turning away from the bad. And this gives me great hope.

Don't worry. I'm not walking away. I'll still fret, I'm sure. I'll still pray for them. I'll still teach our Faith and discuss life with them. But, not out of fear.  Rather, I'll do all these things out of hope. Because I know it's true and good. I see their little souls leaning toward the truth like my houseplant that leans awkwardly toward the window in the kitchen. It'll do anything for a little light.

If He can catch me, He can catch just about anyone. I'm not afraid.

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Frayed.

As I write this, the man who relieved my husband of his job almost exactly a year ago just walked past me in Starbucks. The man who, because of his actions, caused my husband to find a new job which he spends 3 hours a day driving to and from. I am resentful of this man. I resent his shiny shoes and expensive suit. Of his well groomed head of hair swept back so handsomely. I resent that he tries to make eye contact and I avoid, because this time, I think I really might punch him. I resent the fact that I am stretched farther than I ever thought I'd be stretched. I may be fraying. I expect to snap soon.

As imperfect as it was, I miss our old life. I miss my husband. He is my best friend. I adore him. He listens to me talk. When we first started dating, he told me "I like how you talk. It's like I can hear your brain". For most men, that would be a nightmare.  How lucky am I?

But now, he kisses my forehead while I sleep when he leaves in the morning and I watch him fall asleep on the couch next to me only minutes after the kids are tucked in. He tries to stay awake. He just can't. I'll call him with a run down on the kids: "This one talked back to the teacher, that one cried all through recess because she wasn't invited to a birthday party. French Horns cost $400, let me know if we're going that route. The boy was hopping around the living room in that tall laundry basket, fell into our new bookshelves and whacked off a chunk of wood. Tune in again next week..."

The other day, driving home,  he had to pull over on the side of the road, next to some farm near Cameron, TX because he was falling asleep. I don't know how long he stopped. I don't know how often that happens. I do know that I listen to the radio each afternoon, ears perked for news of car accidents. I pray over his tires and the skinny cattle that sometimes wander onto the highway.  I strain my every nerve to keep myself from obsessing over his safety, from generating statistics on the number of hours he drives, the daylight he is allotted, the condition of the rusty tin can he calls a car. That has no air conditioning.

All this, and I get angry. Seems like he should be the angry one. But he's not. He just goes on. He's tougher. He does it for us. Sometimes I think I need to be angry for both of us. And, at moments, I am. 

I know it will be good in the end. That much worse things befall couples every day. I just never thought this is how it would be. I know someday, we will reminisce with our children and grandchildren, "Oh, remember that job where you were gone all the time and all mom made for dinner was pizza and hot dogs wrapped in tortillas!?"  That will be nice.

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a Holy Thursday that feels like any other day.

I suffer from the torment of high expectations.

I woke up this morning, Holy Thursday morning, knowing that it is my favorite feast. Knowing that it is filled with stunning memories of my conversion, of special friends, of wafts of overwhelming incense, of priests laying themselves on the carpet before the altar, of walking through the dark in procession singing ancient hymns, of hours kneeling on a linoleum floor praying late into the night in front of the Real Presence with tears running down my face.

And I rolled over and put 15 more minutes on my alarm. Just didn't want to do it today. I alternated through breakfast with my four children, "It's Holy Thursday, the day Jesus created the Mass!" with "If you don't like Cinnamon Life cereal then you just aren't a very thankful kid. Maybe you can make breakfast next week for everyone!"

Such loveliness coming out of me.

on this day.

that I love so much.

I took my older kids to school and came home and sat in the red chair in the living room and watched my 4 year old peruse a picture book Can You Find Jesus? A holy derivation of Where's Waldo.

And I thought that was pretty amusing.

I looked at her young face, her smooth round cheeks and the curl of her blond hair under her chin. The way her eyes searched the page, so blue and big. Her almost red eyelashes. Such beauty. And I was filled with this overpowering love. I so want to do right by her. Please, Lord.

So what is wrong with me, where my memories and aspirations have to scale this colossal wall of my stubbornness? I cannot get there. To that place where I can sit back and sigh with joy that I'm finally "doing it right". I feel the disadvantage of being a convert, of not having these traditions ingrained in me. Of my laziness, maybe.  I feel completely inadequate. What does He think He's doing, giving these four kids to me?

Then, I wonder, were those days I remember really that stunning in real time? Or, was it only later that I recall their significance? Can I really create or fabricate that, or is just all a gift?

Am I just coming up with excuses?

Can Jesus overcome me today, undo my mistakes, and make His impact. Is it enough for me to rely on the Church to do this job? It has for so many generations. The Church did it for me. The Church alone. I had no one hovering over me, pointing me, reminding me, redirecting me. I had the Church, the priests, the Mass, the Triduum.

I pray for my children. Maybe that is all I can do today. I do not feel inspiring. I do not have any touching crafts up my sleeve. I do not have a homemade Seder meal ready in the fridge. Maybe next year. There's always next year, right?

This year I will just love. I will pray. I will take them to live with the Church these three Holy Days. And, I hope, someday when they look back, they will have found Jesus, right here in the midst of all my sloppiness.

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Moma Remedy Monday {take 4}

Sorry I missed a few Mondays... but I am prepared today!

We saw this sign as we drove to the top of Pike's Peak during our trip to Colorado. The text reads:
"Due to sightings in the area of a creature resembling 'Big Foot' this sign has been posted for your safely."

I made Curt back up so I could take a picture!

Good to know our state parks have a sense of humor.

Colleen on the way home. We left at 4 AM and arrived in College Station at 7:30 PM. This was more than half way through. We were all a bit crazy by that point!

Katherine watching the rain before gymnastics.

Katherine and her friends with shorts on their heads. You can't say they lack creativity...

Jonathan stole my phone to document the action on the ground...

this isn't very recent, but I reprinted it yesterday so I could stick it in a frame. I just love it... it's hard to get everyone to look sweet at the same time, but I think I nailed it on this one.

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7 Quick Takes (vol. 3)

--1--
Katharine Hepburn: I love you

About a month ago, Emelie and I had a date. We went to the George Bush Presidential Library for a free showing of Little Women. Not the Susan Sarandon and Winona Ryder version... but the 1933 version starring Katharine Hepburn. What an amazing film. Katherine Hepburn makes a fantastic Jo March. And, for the time, her spunk and vivaciousness on the screen is just amazing. If you are a Little Women fan, like me, you must  see this movie...



--2--
Speaking of Katharine... my Katherine started preschool this week. She had a great week, except that they played Duck, Duck, Goose and she didn't like it. She wasn't sure where she was supposed to run and when she was supposed to stop. This, evidently, stressed her out. Miss Kelly hugged her while she cried.
--3--
At Katherine's school, they tell jokes during lunchtime. It sounds like the teacher tells a few and then the kids take over. Her favorites are... "Why did the chicken cross the road? To get to the other side!!! Don't forget to look both ways. Chickens don't know to do THAT!" (giggles) and jokes along the lines of, "Knock, knock. Who's there? Pickle!" Crazy laughter.
I love how they obviously don't get the concept of a joke, but spend 15 minutes laughing with each other anyway!
--4--
At Hobby Lobby, I saw a letterpress kit ~ paper, ink and a desktop letterpress. I had to quickly walk away. I LOVE letterpress cards. Because... I love paper, I love fonts, and I love design. And there is rarely a letterpress item that does not include all three.

Here are a few letterpress shops I peruse on etsy.com:
Sycamore Street Press





Paper Dragonfly

PaperWheel Press

 --5--
Been reading children's books lately. There is something amazingly peaceful and solid about reading children's literature. The good stuff, of course. Over the past few weeks, I've read (or re-read)  

• Jacob Have I Loved (one of my all-time favorite books) by Katherine Patterson
• Indian Captive: The Story of Mary Jemison by Lois Lenski and 
• My Side of the Mountain by Jean Craighead George.

There's something you can trust about good children's literature. It's probably not going to give you bad dreams. You probably won't ever throw a Newberry Award Winner down in disgust when they kill off your favorite character. The characters usually end up better off by the end of the book. And, you get a little glimpse inside the lives of children ~ always good to have when there are 4 of them running around. 
--6--
I found these great free downloads at MomAgenda.com. No, I'm not a reseller or anything. I don't even have a MomAgenda (although I really want one... hard to justify $50 on a planner). But, their downloads are attractive and useful.

There's everything from a Back To School checklist to Holiday Planning and Babysitter Info. Free stuff is always cool.
--7--
Finally, I think that the media, the president, and everyone else should just ignore the nutty Pastor Terry Jones in Gainsville ~ the guy that wants to burn the Koran on Saturday. He's an attention seeker. If the satellite trucks drove away and the news stopped talking about how the president just might give him a call, then he'd probably wrap up his little show and go home. Just my thoughts...

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How I've learned to love folding laundry...

So, I've always hated folding laundry.

When I was a kid, my mom would dump a basket of warm, fresh-out-of-the-dryer laundry on my head while I was watching TV. And I would throw a fit. I HATED folding laundry.

My husband taught me how to fold towels and his undershirts. I do my best. They don't look that great. I once saw an employee at the Gap folding a huge pile of shirts and almost hugged her out of sympathy.

Occasionally, I'll get a type-A babysitter who likes folding laundry... man, is that heaven! It's an art-form. Fitted sheets are practically creased at the edges. T-shirts folded so perfectly that I can stack them 20-high and they don't topple over. I am jealous of her skill, but so thankful.

We'll, we've been trying to save money lately. Less babysitters = more laundry folding.

So, here I am.

Folding.

And I realize that even though it IS a chore, it always goes faster than I think it will. And if I make the kids sort the socks, half of my sanity is saved.

And...

(cue dramatic breakthrough music)

There is something about handling my little kids clothes that is sweet. Not that it's some sort of meditative moment... it's not... but something good happens. I fold my baby's t-shirt and I remember my 10 year old wearing it when she was 2. I find another rip in my son's pants and am glad that he has woods to romp in behind our house and friends to romp in it with. There is a pile of the same skirt in 4 different colors that I bought for my 4 year old, because she won't wear anything else.  I fold a pair of footy jammies that have gotten just way to small for my little one. I realize I can't tell between my t-shirt and my oldest's t-shirt and that's just plain scary.

Their clothes say a lot about them. I know them. Their clothing tells a story. Not in a fashion magazine kind of way. Just their little, simple lives. I see them changing, playing, becoming more sophisticated... growing up.

And, sometimes, it takes something as plain and ordinary as laundry to remind me of that.

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"The night will become as clear as day...

"The night will become as clear as day. 
It will become my light, my joy."

from the Exsultet - The Easter Proclamation at Easter Vigil

Here are a few photos from this past weekend.

Easter Vigil at St. Mary's

Easter Sunday

Annual Easter "Find Your Basket by Following the String" Hunt

Happy Easter!

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life is tough when you're avoiding bedtime...

bedtime is tough around our house. We're real nazis about it. I mean, when that clock hits 8 o'clock, you're OUTTA here!

No, I won't be finding any of my children hiding inside their Daddy's robe at 10:30 PM. Not me. And I definitely WON'T run and grab my camera and take 20 photos of them snuggling on the floor.

Nope.

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