7 Quick Takes

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I forgot to share this picture last week. When it’s been a snow day and my nerves are shredded to the last thread, my husband takes the kids outside after dark and does this:

I tried turning it upside down, but it's actually easier to read like this. :) I took this out the upstairs window the next morning.

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I gave an interview on Lent at This, That and The Other Thing on Ash Wednesday, and that morning I was also on Relevant Radio’s Morning Air program. I had hoped to share a direct link to the interview, but it looks like you just have to go through the archives to hour three on the 22nd of February, and even I am not egotistical enough to think everyone wants to go through all that on my account. :) However, I was very happy with how the interview went, and midway through you get a peep or two of Michael cooing, which is kind of fun.

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And here we go again…Michael is coughing and not nursing. I’m not entirely sure (I’ve lost count), but I think he’s on his eighth or ninth virus in his first twelve weeks. –but only the second major one. I’m just praying that this time he and I are proactive enough to keep him strong enough to get through it without yet more doctor/hospital drama. :(

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Speaking of illness…you’ve all been hanging on the edges of your seats, waiting for an update on the ear infection, right? It has now been two full weeks…one round of Amoxicillin and one round of Z-pak. And yesterday was the first day I have not had to use any painkillers. Which is not to say that the pain is all gone, because it’s not, and I still have partial hearing loss and my ear remains blocked. But the pressure is off, and I have recovered some of my hearing.

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I’m reading G.K. Chesterton and really enjoying it. The other day I almost leaped out of my chair shouting, “Yes! Yes! Yes!”…only I couldn’t because there was a baby attached to the breast. The quote I was reading was this one, and it seems to me so very, very appropriate for this time of presidential elections, political posturing, and angst over contraceptive mandates:

“It is no good to tell an atheist that he is an atheist; or to charge a denier of immortality with the infamy of denying it; or to imagine that one can force an opponent to admit he is wrong, by proving that he is wrong on somebody else’s principles, but not on his own. … we must either not argue with a man at all, or we must argue on his grounds and not ours.” (from St. Thomas Aquinas: The Dumb Ox, by G.K. Chesterton)

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I don’t know if we can have any impact on the HHS ruling or not. It certainly won’t hurt to try. But I truly and honestly believe that this is our wakeup call to remind us that we can’t talk Catholic doctrine on this subject and expect the world to pay one iota of attention. There are lots of practical, “worldly” reasons why NFP has so much more to offer than chemical bodily manipulation, and that is the only way we can get people’s attention. And pointing out those reasons is a good reminder that faith and reason are inseparable, not antagonists. One of the things that stuck in my mind when we were doing our retraining for CCL was the idea that practicing NFP changes hearts.

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It’s been a busy writing time lately…I’ve been working with WLP on two more octavos and a flute collection (Christmas this time), and in the last week or so I received an acceptance from GIA on a separate flute collection, plus official approval of my third book with Liguori. This one will be on Ordinary Time, and centered around the Beatitudes–how to take those pithy little sayings and make them “actionable.” (That’s my new favorite word for matters of faith.) This weekend, I’m signing books at my home (i.e. childhood) parish, which is exciting, too–I finally get to do something for the parish and school that raised me, because I’m going to give a portion of the book proceeds to the school. Busy times, but good.

Now…off to pump, so at least I stay healthy while Michael is not eating. :(

7 quick takes sm1 7 Quick Takes Friday (vol. 163)

Published in: on February 24, 2012 at 8:16 am  Comments (8)  

Nicholas’s Transition

About a month ago, a friend stopped me after church and asked with a little smile, “So how’s life with four?”

I knew what she was asking: transition. “Actually,” I said, “it hasn’t been a big deal this time, as far as the kids go. Everybody’s handling it really well.” But even as she spoke, I recognized something I hadn’t processed until that moment: Nicholas’s increasing behavior problems. Maybe this has just been the grace period, I thought.

As if determined to prove that point, Nicholas spiraled downward into clinginess, acting out, bossiness and refusal to do any “big boy” stuff…overnight. The child who had been proud of his ability to dress himself, wash himself, and brush his teeth suddenly needed everything done for him. He took to repeating sentences and observations over and over…and over…and over. He began demanding to sit on my lap and snuggle, regardless of what else was going on–i.e., even if the baby was nursing. He started dropping whatever he was doing and screeching “I want that!” if someone picked up a toy he’d abandoned. (Or hadn’t noticed until they picked it up.) And he started wetting himself again.

The interesting thing about all this is that it is completely unrelated to his feelings for the baby. Everyone in this house adores Baby Michael unreservedly. The kids even think it’s funny when he cries, and when I come home from grocery shopping or meetings, Nicholas comes running and shrieks, “Da baby is home! Da baby is home!” Not Mommy–the baby. The trouble is not resentment, but insecurity.

Recognizing that his place in the world has been usurped, I have tried to be patient with him, to give him that physical and mental reassurance as much as I can. I vaguely remember Alex going through a similar process when Julianna came along. Not so much with Julianna when Nicholas came along, but then, raising Julianna is another ball game entirely, with entirely different problems to solve.

So I take time to draw him onto my lap and hold him at the computer or on the couch, or whenever he asks…if I can. The problem is, I have to make the boundaries clear. One day we had a pitched battle over the rocking chair in the basement. Michael was freaking out, demanding to nurse while I was trying to teach a voice lesson, so I’d put my student on the “away” side and was working with her on Italian pronunciation while I used the rocker as a footstool to help position Michael for nursing. As soon as Nicholas saw I was splitting my attention between two people, neither of them him, he just had to have the rocker.

Later that afternoon, another friend and mother of four advised that I find something that really means something to him–like a big boy glass–and tie that privilege to him doing what he’s supposed to be doing. At first, I didn’t think it would work, but then he unexpectedly developed an affinity for using the same plates and glass glasses that Alex gets to use. So we’ve been using that lately, and following through on “big boy glass” vs. “little boy glass.” And I tell him he’s the chewiest of my children…which is the truth; his proportion of soft skin to baby fat is absolutely perfect. And I can only pray for patience while he searches for his new stride as a middle child instead of the baby of the family.

(Note: any lack of clarity in this post, I must add, is due to Nicholas putting a hand on my shoulder and speaking loudly into my ear while I write. Just to illustrate the point.)

Published in: on February 23, 2012 at 8:38 am  Comments (4)  
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Into the Desert

LentWell, it’s here! Lent 2012 began in our house with Hooked on Classics at an approximately deafening volume, and a gorgeous gold-leaf sunrise outside the windows.

It’s been tough to get myself mentally prepared this season, immersed as we are in the Tiny Baby Stage of parenthood once again. It seems every time I have a few minutes to think, someone’s demanding my attention again. If it’s not Michael, it’s Nicholas (more on that tomorrow), who even as I type is sitting on my lap…hence the wandering, stream-of-consciousness style of writing today. But this much I have realized: what I am called to do this Lent has something to do with serving my children better, with greater patience and understanding, and (shocker) more self-sacrifice.

I talked to Alex a day or two ago about Lenten goals. I encouraged him to think of acts of service he could perform for different people every day, and gave him some examples so he would understand what I meant. But I tried to be clear that he gets to choose his own Lenten practice.

From the time I was his age, adults were urging us to think beyond “giving something up.” More recently, priests have warned us not to start a diet and call it a Lenten practice. And I agree with them–but with a caveat.

We don’t have very healthy eating habits in modern America. And while we tend to focus on that as it relates to standards of beauty, the fact is that gluttony and sedentary lifestyles are inherently disrespectful of ourselves as temples of the Lord. We should eat well and stay active, not to live up to some impossible standard of cultural beauty, but because that is one way in which we respect God’s creation.

For this reason, I don’t think it’s all bad to set a physical, food-related “fast” for Lent. To do so requires self-discipline, and self-discipline automatically turns us toward God…because it’s hard. There’s a big emptiness longing to be filled, and when we’ve taken away the physical, we are more open to spiritual filling.

So tell me, those of you who are observing Lent…what is your practice for this season?

Sharing with Ann’s community today

Published in: on February 22, 2012 at 9:38 am  Comments (12)  

Mentor

Photo by zenonline, via Flickr

She was young and pretty and sweet, and from the first day she stood up in front of my sixth grade class, I adored her.

I was at the height of my awkward stage, my self-esteem slipping on the shifting sands of hormones and changing social requirements. I didn’t fit in with my peers, whose movies of choice for sleepovers were Porky’s and Children of the Corn, who listed Duran Duran as their favorite band. I was a space adventure and Somewhere Over the Rainbow kind of girl, and even when no one was tittering behind their hands about it, I was painfully aware that I didn’t fit in. Mrs. L’s perfect acceptance soothed my spirit.

At lunch recess, while my classmates played “liberation” kickball, I attached to Mrs. L.  On gray, dreary winter days we stood with our hands in our pockets and talked. About what, I couldn’t say now; all I know is that when I was with her, I felt loved.

And then one afternoon, she met my eager approach with a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Kate,” she said, “I think you need to go play with your classmates.”

The shock went straight to my core in one horrible burst of shame. I was a smart girl. I instantly recognized everything she didn’t say. I was pestering my teacher at her much-needed break time. We were not friends, we were student and teacher, and I had stepped over the line. For one moment, I felt rejection, and then I recognized that she was right to banish me. By hanging out with her, I was solidifying division lines between myself and my peers, looking like a holier-than-thou teacher’s pet…which I already was; no need to make it worse.

For all the world I wouldn’t let her know how much it hurt. I skipped off, swallowing my tears, and I never again tried to chum with her. I only adored her at a distance. And although the next year of my life was perhaps the worst ever, by the time I graduated eighth grade, I had begun to connect with people my own age.

Everyone thinks they’re awkward in adolescence. I can already see it beginning in Alex, even in the first grade, and I wince. It hurts to see my children suffer; my instinct is to do everything in my power to fix it, to shield them and make sure they never feel shame or hurt or heartbreak.

But suffering is part of life, and a crucial one. Some of the most important lessons of my life were learned, not in joy, but in suffering; not in affirmation, but in shame. Pain is instructive. So I steel myself against the future, and even the present, and I try to temper my heart with my head, and remind myself that my role is not to protect my son from those tough lessons, but to stand by and love him unconditionally while he learns the lessons he needs to grow to strong manhood.

memoir writing, remembeRED, writing prompt

and continuing the practices of motherhood posts: Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3

Published in: on February 21, 2012 at 7:48 am  Comments (13)  
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The Importance of Saying “No” (a practices of mothering post)

Click here for Part 1

Click here for Part 2

There’s a Gospel passage in which Jesus says no man gives his child a snake when they ask for a fish. It’s built in to our love for our children, this desire to fulfill their needs…and their wants. Whatever they ask for–the newest toy or a special treat–we want to tell them yes.

But even God, to whom Jesus is comparing us, doesn’t give us everything we want–because what we want isn’t necessarily what we need.

Growing up, my sisters and I got told “no” a lot. We didn’t go out to eat, we almost never bought treats at the store. (Like Oreo’s. Oreo’s were a huge treat.) We were a farm family in the ’80s, and my parents had to be very frugal. They were also very busy–Dad almost always worked ten hour days, and during planting or harvest, it might be twelve or more. Mom had to be available to help move equipment, haul grain, or run to the dealership for a part. And she grew and preserved most of our vegetables. So the “no”‘s were unavoidable. We didn’t go to the pool very often, and when we did we very rarely bought snacks, and then only the cheapest ones–no candy bars. I can count our amusement park and baseball game trips on one hand. Vacations, for that reason, were a Very.Big.Deal.

It was a very different childhood from that of many of my classmates, whose parents took them to St. Louis to buy school clothes every August. I don’t ever remember shopping for school clothes. We just went downstairs and pulled out the next box from the storage room.

Frankly, I don’t think I got told “no” all that often, because I learned pretty quickly not to ask for a lot. I think at some instinctive level, I could sense how much it would hurt my parents to have to say no. (Although if my memory is skewed, I’m sure my mom will hop in and correct me. It’s wonderful, but sometimes dangerous, to write when you know your parents are reading. :) )

Like all childhood lessons that sting, this is one I have come to value greatly. Self-denial is not a sexy concept–our entire economy is based on self-gratification. But look what it’s led to: an epidemic of debt and obesity. Self-gratification is really dangerous. It’s not intrinsically bad, but it becomes bad at a very low level. And let’s face it: in adulthood, we often have to go without what we need, or think we need.

I want to teach my children the difference between needs and wants. But we don’t face the same necessities that my parents did, and it makes it harder to say no. Their deprivation hurts my heart; their pain hurts me. Yet I know they need to learn to handle not getting what they want. That is a lesson that takes a long time to learn—to handle the word “no” with grace.

So we try to practice moderation, stewardship, and frugality, because those three things all require “no.”

Moderation: food, toys, TV viewing–we try to keep reasonable limits on these things. We have made a rule that there will always be only one television in our house, in order to moderate the temptation.

Stewardship: We steward the environment by recycling, using cloth diapers, and not buying a lot. We practice financial stewardship by saving (and saving and saving) to make any major purchase–for instance, we’ve been saving for almost two years toward an SLR camera, because the darned hospital bills and repairs keep cutting into the project. We keep on a budget, and Alex knows very well that he must practice the piano, not just because he should, but because we’re paying good money for his lessons.

Frugality: When we buy, we do it right, but we don’t buy much. We bought a new TV when I was 8 months pregnant with Alex–a great monster with a picture tube–at the time it was still the best picture quality. That’s no longer the case, and it would be awesome to have an HD TV, but how can we justify the expense? Ours works fine.

I hope these lessons help my children learn that life is measured not by Stuff, but by the quality of their relationships, both with the people in their lives and with the world at large.

What do you do to help your kids learn the importance of “no”?

Click here for part 4

Published in: on February 20, 2012 at 9:00 am  Comments (3)  
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Sunday Snippets

Sunday again, and joining all the fine people over at Ruth’s place for Sunday Snippets.

When What You Need, You Can’t Have

Massaging the Fine Line Between Keeping it Real and Just Plain Old Whining

My February column for Liguorian is on conversion.

This week, Julianna and I had a fun mommy-daughter date night.

Random Snippets, and an Ear. (In case you’re wondering, I’m on antibiotic, round 2. I’ll stop at that.)

Published in: on February 18, 2012 at 2:30 pm  Leave a Comment  

A Whole Lot of Random…and an Ear

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The funny thing about remaining in the parish where you used to work full time is that there are a lot of people who know you, but don’t see you for months (or years, in a big parish). Last night, I went into the office building to retrieve the kids after choir practice and met a group of people coming out from an adult ed program. I left Michael in his car seat in the hallway and went downstairs to round up the kids, and when we came back up, one of the women was leaning over the car seat oohing and ahing over Michael. As the gaggle of choir kids passed her, she looked up, puzzled, then looked back at me and whispered, “Are they all yours?”

I glanced after them. “All but the one in the tae kwan do uniform,” I said.

The look on her face was priceless. “Do you ever sleep?” she said.

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I simply must reiterate how awesome our mommy-daughter date was. This is not at all the type of thing I would go for ordinarily, but it was a great, great opportunity to do something with Julianna. And all day on Thursday she wanted to cuddle up to me and hug me. Cleary she valued the quality time, too.

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It was also fun to get to see a high school classmate at the event–a fellow mother of a child with Down’s, and someone I’ve been talking to via phone, email & Facebook, but hadn’t actually seen in twenty years. (Wow.)

___4___

I am more or less deaf in one ear. Still. Nine days after starting antibiotics. I have developed great sympathy for the elderly dealing with hearing loss. Mostly what I hear these days is Tinnitus on speed: screaming high-pitches in the left ear. I can’t tell if there’s traffic noise or not when I walk outside, and last night I had to turn my head to hear what Alex was asking me at dinner.

___5___

Persistent fluid on the ear is no fun, and even less so for a breastfeeding mother. Last week, in trying to ward off the infection that now rules my every moment, I discovered the hard way that a breastfeeding mom should not take Sudafed. When I talked to the lactation consultant yesterday, she told me one tablet of Sudafed suppresses your milk supply for twenty-four hours. I took four in a twenty-four hour period, and Michael was on the breast nonstop for four days. I couldn’t tell at the time if it was Sudafed or him recovering from being sick or hitting a growth spurt…but now I know.

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Unfortunately, the doctor wants me to take Sudafed (along with Afrin) to clear the fluid caught in my ear. I spoke to the lactation consultant, who told me to use the Afrin, but not the Sudafed– I’m leery of Afrin because of the potential for addiction, but I’m trying it. I’m on my third dose…but I haven’t seen one bit of change in my ear. That part of me that is prone to irrational panic is on a repeating loop that says I’m dealing with a new reality that will last the rest of my life unless I go to the ENT and have them drain it.

At least everyone else is well. More or less.

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All right, enough of the ear.

On the cusp of Lent, book promotion’s been taking center stage lately. I’ve had two reviews online (here and here), and I’ve done two book signings in the last week, with another one next weekend at my home parish–home as in where I grew up. And radio interviews in the works–one on SonRise and the other with The Catholics Next Door. That one was supposed to be this week but had to be rescheduled at their end…and considering the state of my ear, I thought that was probably not a bad thing.  I’m beginning to realize that it’s time to get my act together so we’re ready for Lent! It’s just been hard to focus on anything other than the pressure in my head.

And we’re back to the ear. Obviously it’s time to quit. Have a good weekend, and please pray for me!

Published in: on February 17, 2012 at 6:29 am  Comments (11)  

Glamourazzi!

I am a mother of boys by nature, so it’s a good thing that my only girl is half-wildebeest. But even so, I know how to make my boys’ hearts sing, and I often feel perplexed by the puzzle of how to connect with Julianna.

But last night? Last night, we rocked.

We’ve been connected with the Children’s Miracle Network for a couple of years now–Julianna’s picture adorns one of those canisters at Wal Mart, and she had her face on a poster at a golf tournament last summer. And of course, we’ve been on the radiothon (and will be again in two weeks). Last night, CMN hosted a “Glamourazzi” event (sponsored by a local radio station–here are their pictures), where the little ones got to have hair styled, nails painted and faces made up. Knowing Julianna, I decided we’d better keep it simple–a hair styling was likely to be traumatic enough.

But I was wrong. She was made for this.

We walked into the room, and before I even had my coat off and the baby carrier on the floor, she was off and running, her charm meter turned up to 110%. She hopped up into a chair and waved at me as the stylist went to work.

(shouting and signing “Ba-ba!”, her word for ”mommy”)

Banana curls!

This girl has a love affair with mirrors. She stole this from the stylist and carried around for half an hour until I managed to distract her with ice cream.

Another woman managed to corner her on the floor and put some lip gloss and blush on. The nails took a little more convincing. I had to have mine done, but then she was all about it. Of course, it took her five minutes of lining up the bottles before she decided on a color. :)

 Isn’t she just beautiful? Of course, her gorgeous curls were wild and scraggly by the time we made it to choir practice an hour later, but nonetheless…

And at this point I would like to draw attention to Mommy. I had my usual day–trying to stuff too much in, lessons, writing, cooking dinner, taking care of kids’ needs…the Glamourazzi was not on my mind until an hour before we had to leave, and by then there was no Mommy primping to be done. But, it transpired, they had plenty of people and time, so they invited the moms to join in. And Julianna was well-distracted by chocolate custard, which she was smearing all over her pretty face in the presence of one of the Q106 people, who thought it was the cutest thing ever. So I sat down in the hair stylist’s chair. “What do you want me to do?” she asked.

“I don’t care,” I said. “Just do something. Whatever.”

“Have you ever had your hair straightened?” she asked.

“Nope,” I said. “But I’ve been wondering what it would look like.”

Are you ready? I looked in the mirror and saw…

Deanna Troi

No, seriously…

I know, you think I’m nuts, but when I looked in the mirror I thought, “Who is that, Deanna Troi? Weird. Oh wait–that’s me!”

I made quite the sensation walking into choir practice, let me assure you. But by the time we got home, the front locks were already frizzing back into curls. You can’t keep a good curly-head down. :)

Published in: on February 16, 2012 at 8:29 am  Comments (18)  
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Conversion is never “one and done”

CrucifixWe tend to think of conversion as something that happens and is then finished. Open, close, done. But conversion is a lifelong process. If I’ve learned one thing in the last five years of blogging about life at the intersection of faith, family and the written word, that’s it. Where faith is concerned, if we’re not moving forward, we’re stagnating. This is the topic of my February column for Liguorian magazine. Hope you’ll take a look.
Published in: on February 15, 2012 at 6:15 am  Comments (6)  
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Massaging the fine line between “keeping it real” and “perilously close to whining”

I feel bad. All personal writing is cyclical: it reflects the overall temperature of your life. There are good days, there are bad days, but a bad day amid a string of good ones projects a different feel than a good day amid a string of difficult ones.

Life with a newborn is indeed life with a tyrant–a sweet and cuddly tyrant, but a tyrant nonetheless, with whims and no schedule, virtually no predictability and thus, no way to do anything but react. And it is this that makes the six month mark such a relief. For some reason, the six month mark is when everyone hits their stride again–or, in Baby’s case, for the first time. During those first six months, there are lots of lovey moments, lots of joy and laughs and moments of amazement–but none of that changes the fact that those first six months are freaking hard, no matter how many times you do it.

We’re not quite halfway through those first six months. And I know that is the nature of my recent doldrums in attitude. I am trying to blog positively, or at least as positively as I can, but I also want to be real about things. The problem is, I can feel the drag from below in every post lately, until I feel like I’m massaging the fine line between being real and just plain old whining.

And although I know it will turn around in its own time, I hate the frustration and desperation I’ve been feeling lately. Because every time I post about unending sickness or lack of spirit-fill time, every time I feel the drag from below in my public reflections, I think of those who aren’t parents yet, who’ll get scared off parenthood by my posts. And I think of those whose hearts bleed with every complaint from those of us blessed with children–those who, like me not so long ago, long for the very chaos that’s kicking my butt.

Today being Valentine’s Day, I think I should at least acknowledge that the reason I do all this self-emptying is because I love them so much. I love Alex’s creativity and fierce love for his siblings, Julianna’s dusky giggle and ability to elevate the ordinary, Nicholas’s impossible cuteness and the way Michael looks at me like he can’t get enough. I love the fact that even though yesterday’s snow day was a really rough, unproductive and sedentary day, it began with all four of them snuggled in bed with me (“mommy, I want to nuggle,” Nicholas said), and it ended with sledding in the dark. And I know that someday it’s those things I will remember, not the difficult. It doesn’t make the current difficult any less so, but it helps keep things in perspective.

Julianna, age 5

 Michael, 10 weeks

Alex, 6 3/4

Nicholas, 2 11/12 and obsessed with his birthday cake already

*

Shared at “Just Write”

Published in: on February 14, 2012 at 4:06 am  Comments (6)  
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