Motherhood, Mostly (a 7QT post)

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ThisLittleLight_Beatitudes_CoverI’ve been so busy lately, I just now realized I never shared this! We are running a giveaway of This Little Light of Mine on Goodreads. Six copies available, to be “drawn” by Goodreads on May 1st. Click on over and sign up!

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I think every woman–probably everyone–is well aware that the reproductive cycle affects a woman’s Crank-O-Meter. But I always thought it was Phase III, post-ovulation infertility, i.e. PMS, that was the cranky time. But in a recent  column in CCL’s Family Foundations, Dr. Gregory Popcak mentioned that it’s often the transition from Phase I to Phase II–i.e., the time when you’re entering fertility–that you get the most moody. It was like a light went on in my head, because my fuse is wwwwaaaayyy shorter with my kids during that time. (Three guesses why I’m reflecting on THAT this week.)

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Yes, TMI, I know. But you know how the Europeans are always telling us we’re Puritans at heart? It’s like we want sex and sexuality splashed front and center all over everything–as long as we keep it fun and un-threatening (read that shallow, pointless, and without significance beyond the bedroom). Ladies, if our bodies are causing us to have difficulty with patience at a certain point in the cycle, I think it’s important to acknowledge that and offer each other encouragement in overcoming it.

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Michael is why her glasses are falling off her face in this picture. He had them stretched out.

Michael is why her glasses are falling off her face in this picture. He had them stretched out.

To return to the topic of #2. Julianna’s glasses, in combination with Julianna’s cognitive weakness, are making me IN.SANE this week. The worst part is I can’t yell at anyone about it, because the at-fault person isn’t old enough to “get it.” Yes, you guessed it: Michael. Michael likes to go up to Julianna and rip her glasses off her face, then twist, squeeze, throw and/or hide them. It happens every single day, usually several times a day. But he’s like a dog; if you expect him to connect words and/or consequence with his action, it has to happen right then, and I don’t discover it until some time later, when I look up from dinner prep or dishes-doing or whatever and see her sans glasses again. And of course, she has no earthly idea where they are.

Thursday morning I’d had enough. I called her over. “Julianna, when Michael takes your glasses, what do you say?”

“Thank you.”

“No. You say Mommy help. Say ‘Mommy help.’”

“Bah-ee heh.”

You can see all his Mayhem in this picture...

All his potential for Mayhem shines through in this picture…

“When Michael takes your glasses, what do you say?”

“Thank you.”

“No. You say Mommy help. Say….Mommy help.” She said it with me.

“When Michael takes your glasses, what do you say?”

“Thank you.”

We tried this ten times in a row. I kid you not. TEN. Can I say that loud enough? TEN!!!! And STILL she didn’t get it!

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This encounter, which I tried with variations (what do you DO when Michael takes your glasses?) all the way to school, with very little success, got me to thinking about that “okay?” thing. Modern parents are always getting lambasted for finishing instructions with “okay,” because they’re asking permission of their children instead of taking charge. I try to avoid that word, but not because it’s a sign of asking my kids’ permission. No parent says “Okay?” because they’re asking their kid’s permission. What “okay?” is doing is requesting acknowledgment. It’s akin to “Do you understand?” or “Do you hear me?” All morning I wanted to tack on the word “okay?” to those exchanges with Julianna, because I wanted her to acknowledge that she understood. And I didn’t do it, because you know what? SHE DOESN’T UNDERSTAND.

(Update: At dinner that night, when I asked her what to do when Michael took her glasses, she got it right! Of course, she still didn’t apply the knowledge the next three times Michael yanked her glasses off her face, but…that’s progress, right?)

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Alex 1st Communion 041Oh yes, in case you don’t follow all the time, our household had its first First Communion last Sunday. And this reminds me of a cute thing I never shared. They have an evening of “centers” to review all the theological and Scriptural concepts several weeks before Easter, but the highlight for the kids is getting to try an unconsecrated host and wine. Alex’s reaction to the host was a tip of the head one direction and the other, raised eyebrows, and this comment: “It kind of tastes like popcorn, only flat and with no flavor.” HA!

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Alex 1st Communion 056And you know you need a Nicholas moment, right? The other day he was trying to tell a little friend (not this one) when Julianna’s birthday was. “It’s Februay–Faybeeway–Febyewrehr–Febeeyayee–what is it again, Mommy?”

7 quick takes sm1 7 Quick Takes Friday (vol. 214)

I Hate Spring Break, So It’s Time To Look Forward

Spring Break simply Will.Not.End. For that matter, neither will winter. Today’s forecast calls for snow. (As we used to say when I was a kid: “It’s spring! April Fools!”)

Julianna returned to school this morning, but Alex remains at home for one more day, because the Catholic school takes Easter Monday off. Not one in our house was happy to uncover that blip on the calendar. Even Alex was looking forward to Monday. When he found out the public schools were in session, he flung his arms into folded position and himself onto the couch and yelled, “It’s NOT FAIR that Julianna gets to go back to school!”

This Spring Break, my children learned to fight. It was a horrible Holy Week. I spent the week negotiating cease-fires that held for thirty seconds, sending kids to rooms, lecturing about love…while simultaneously trying to keep up the usual work of preventing Michael from tearing the house apart stick by stick.

We were jailed by snow for a couple of days and by rain and cold the rest of the week. And then came the evening Triduum services. I got through Holy Thursday with enough grace to be able to write about it; by the time we finished leading music on Good Friday, I was numb from repeating to myself, “This surely has to be the worst of it. By next year Michael will be more independent, and Nicholas will be 5. Surely this was the worst of it. Surely it will be better next year.”

Saturday night Alex and I attended Easter Vigil–Alex’s first. My first in six years. We stayed through the baptisms and then went home. (Hey, give me a break. We had to be back at church 7:45 a.m.)

The Vigil was beautiful, although Alex spent the Exsultet whispering, “Mommy, look at the wax on my candle! Look, the flame is blue! Look at it dripping! That is SO AWESOME!” With difficulty I bit my tongue and allowed him to enjoy the experience at his own level. ;) He watched the full-immersion adult baptisms and thought that was SO AWESOME, too.

Easter weekend we celebrated with far too many high-calorie foods:

Easter 009Sausage Pie (8416 in a 9×13)

Easter 029and this parfait concoction made of leftover-cake, pudding, ice cream sauces and mini candy bars. I have no idea what the calorie count on this is. I’m ballparking it at 5-600.

822230 This Little Light CoverNow it’s time to look ahead. For the next several weeks, Tuesdays and Wednesdays will be a blog tour for my new book, This Little Light of Mine: Living the Beatitudes. Every Tuesday I’ll be hosting guest posters, who will break open the topics addressed in each chapter of the book. Wednesdays I’ll be linking to posts by reviewers, many of whom (though not all) will be doing book giveaways.

I’m excited about this new book. Although it is marketed toward those working with children, I wrote it at least as much for adults. As time passes I become more and more convinced that the only way kids will really make the faith their own is if it is lived out in a practical, real-world way. It’s not enough to teach vague, general platitudes like “be kind” and “help others.” Faith is only going to grow if it’s part of the minutiae of everyday life: nitty-gritty, hands-in-the-dirt, roots digging into the soil of the soul and making your insides squirm as you come to recognize what all those pie-in-the-sky pious statements actually require in our relationships and choices. And no adult can make that happen for a child unless it’s happening simultaneously within the adult, too.

So This Little Light takes all those general statements, like “Blessed are those who mourn” and “Thou shalt not kill,” and turns the question around: “Yeah, so? What does that have to do with me, right here, right now? What do I have to do about it?” And it does this separately for adults and children, because let’s face it, grownups have different problems and challenges than kids do.

So that’s the next few weeks. I hope you’ll join us!

Published in: on April 1, 2013 at 8:22 am  Comments (4)  
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When the Stars Aligned…

Most days, I know what I want to blog about well before I make it to the computer. This week, not so much. I have a very big post in mind, but I’m not quite ready to write it yet, and besides, after I spent twenty minutes on the Nordic Track and made it downstairs at 6:02 a.m. to turn on the computer, Michael started crying and I had to go back upstairs. And now I have fifteen minutes till the Great Tuesday Madness begins. Do I share a picture of Julianna’s homework? The “money shot” I got of Nicholas jumping in the leaves the other day? Do I try to capture a video of Michael’s newest adorable habit? Or do I stick a toe in the controversial waters and share some enlightening definitions I encountered through a recent class at church?

Alex comes in to say goodbye to me as I’m finishing morning ablutions, a whirlwind of too-long hair and cracked teeth and second-grade joy, and suddenly I know. Because last night, somehow–two of Daddy’s lessons canceled, the miracle of three younger siblings in bed and content before 8p.m.–the stars aligned and I got to have some dedicated time with my firstborn. After we read a chapter of The Horse and His Boy, we snuggled down together for a minute or two on my bed. He’s all arms and legs these days; I only have about six inches on him. Wonderful skin, although he always thinks I’m going to tickle him when I pull him close. But he knows he can trust me not to tickle if I tell him I’m not going to tickle. So he snuggled close beneath my chin, our legs all wrapped up in each other, and I thought, It can’t be long now before this is no longer okay. “I hope you don’t get too old for this too soon,” I whispered into his temple. “Because I love it.”

A second or two, and an answering whisper. “I do, too.”

Man, I love that boy.

Published in: on October 30, 2012 at 6:59 am  Comments (3)  
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Alex, Alex, Alex (a 7QT post)

This is a post about this boy of mine:

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Finger games are all the rage in our house right now, at least for the two older boys. Alex brought us this gem from school the other day: “What do you think they played before they had scissors and paper? ‘Rock rock rock. Rock rock rock.’?”

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Monday after school, we stayed outside enjoying the warm weather while we waited for Julianna’s bus to arrive. Alex was trying to dribble a tennis ball (yes, I do mean “dribble”) and bounce it off the garage door while Michael came toddling along, proud of himself as he could be for still being on his feet. Alex threw the ball, which bounced in front of Michael and then smacked him square in the middle of his forehead. If he’d tried, he couldn’t have been that accurate.

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Speaking of boy-related self-damage: Last weekend, Christian and I went on an ice skating date. We were gone for five hours, of which we talked nonstop for 4 3/4 hours, about kids, about loves lost, about friends and how they’re doing, about charity and how to use money…and when we got home, Alex greeted us with, “P. and I were wrestling on the trampoline, and I cracked my tooth.” He was so matter-of-fact about it, I rolled my eyes. And then I looked at it. Half the tooth was missing. And part of the one next to it.

Naturally, this happened on Saturday, so we had to wait until Monday. On Monday I discovered that our dentist is only open every other Monday, and only till 2p.m. a couple other days a week. We ended up going to a pediatric dentist, and I think we may need to transfer there. After all, Alex is only #1. I have #3 and #4 coming up through the ranks of boyhood, and if this is any indication, well, we need a full-time dentist.

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This week, Alex has demonstrated a skill I didn’t know he had–an appropriate one for the child of a mother who writes, as it involves some serious language thought. I’m going to start callling him the Pun-ster.

For instance:

Why was the dinosaur strong? Because it had dino-might!

Why was the dinosaur a bomb? Because it was dyna-might!

Why was the person poking the girl’s dress? Because it was a polka-dot!

(update: at 12:11 p.m., Alex comes running upstairs: “Mommy, I just came up with another joke! What kind of wolf wears clothes?” (wait for it…) “A WEAR-WOLF!”)

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Last weekend Alex played Edmund in a children’s review of The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe. He really enjoyed theater, although he thought it was embarrassing to have girls holding his hand and hugging him. :) So it begins.

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We also had his fall parent-teacher conference last night. His teacher said everyone loves him; he’s empathetic and helpful and considerate of everyone. Sniff-sniff. We also got his standardized test results, which confirm his intelligence. I got to thinking about my own test results from years past, and I’m pretty sure I was always in the 96-+ percentile across the board. For the first time it made me realize what a freak I was for that. LOL

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Sorry to hit you with substance at this late date, but I’d like perspectives. I remember in school always thinking that my religious formation was too easy, the answers too obvious. It didn’t bother me at that time, but since then I’ve been very concerned to make sure that formation and catechesis deals with reality. Alex is only two weeks away from his first reconciliation now, and as we go through things with him, it seems like he’s seeing it, too. Almost rolling his eyes at how obvious the answers are, and the connections between the Scripture stories and the sacrament. And the examples he comes home with from school don’t ring true to me. Like, it’s sinful to push someone down on the playground. Yes, but I mean, who really does that? It seems like it would be too easy to think, “Well, I’m a pretty good person, I don’t do stuff like that, obvious sins, so I must not really need all this.” To me, this does not facilitate proper awareness of one’s faults. But Christian does roll his eyes at me and tell me, “Kate, he’s in the second grade.” We-ell, yes, that’s true. But I feel like my religious formation stalled out at a second-grade level, it was always shallow, never digging deep enough to be real, and the only reason it became so was because I went looking myself. So, what do you think? How do you navigate the narrow path between too much and woefully insufficient?

Whew–on that note…have a great weekend!

7 quick takes sm1 7 Quick Takes Friday (vol. 193)

Published in: on October 26, 2012 at 7:11 am  Comments (12)  
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Come To Jesus (or: what happened in the wake of a Mommy meltdown)

The kids beside the field at Busch Stadium, before the epic 19-inning game

No one likes having to confess that they lost their cool in front of their kids. It’s a tossup deciding which is worse:  the experience itself, or having to admit it where others will hear about it.

It’s been three weeks since my bad week–the week in which I lost it (twice), and life looks a whole lot different now. So different, in fact, that I daily shake my head as I see the evidence before me that sometimes, your kids need to know how tough they make their parents’ lives.

Because, you see, ever since that morning, with its Shakespearean monologue on lack of cooperation, lack of help, and the fact that Mommy is not a servant…ever since then, Alex has been really tuned in to the moments when I’m having trouble juggling it all. During that hellish witching hour before dinner, he’ll sweep in to give Michael a bite or two of food while I’m in the middle of cooking and can’t spare a hand. He’ll hurl himself down on the floor and entertain his baby brother, diverting the whining and crying before it finishes shredding my nerves. He’s showing his love for me by acts of service, and I’m fit to burst with joy, pride, love–what an amazing kid I have.

But that’s not all. Nicholas and I have had an incredibly antagonistic relationship for months. It’s just that age. As I’ve said before, I’m not a toddler mom, and that extends to the preschool years. The constant battling wears me out. Nicholas is unbelievably stubborn, and he has a knack for making himself appear the victim when he finally, after great emotional pain and angst, is forced to comply with directions like “eat your dinner before you get ice cream” or “go use the toilet.” It’s even tougher because Julianna’s at the same stage, and with Michael in the house too, there’s just no dealing with the obedience/cooperation issue with both of them simultaneously. (How do parents of multiples do that?) So this summer, I made a conscious decision to focus on one of them. I chose Nicholas, because I thought he’d get through it more quickly than Julianna. But wow, it has been exhausting and confrontational, and “not no fun at all!” as Nicholas likes to say.

Making crab quiche for Friday night dinner

The day of my meltdown, I didn’t think Nicholas would “get” what was the matter, and what it had to do with him.

But he did. Because the toddler-preschool rebellion ended that day.

It took a few days before I recognized the change in trajectory. But three weeks post-meltdown, it’s unmistakable. I’ve only had to count him down two or three times (instead of half a dozen a day). We’ve been laughing together, enjoying each other, and he’s been beautifully cooperative. It’s been such a breath of fresh air.

I know part of it has to do with my own improving attitude, too. But the evidence of how much better life is now, despite all the chaos and responsibility still flying around, is something I can’t deny. My kids became better people because they got that glimpse inside me.

It was not a pleasant experience for anyone involved, but I realize anew that what Christian often refers to as “come to Jesus meetings” frequently occasion the deepest growth in wisdom, understanding, and empathy–for children and adults alike. And thank God, God can form something beautiful out of the wreck of our epic failures.

Big Feet

The thing about having four children close together is that I’ve been locked in small child mode for so long, I’ve become fixated on the age of five. By five, they should be past diapers and defiance, they can brush their own teeth and bathe themselves, be trusted with certain tasks and I can feel confident that they won’t disappear without telling me. If I’ve done my job right as a parent, five is the age of deliverance.

(Except for Julianna. But that’s another post entirely.)

But the funny thing is, having fixed my sights on the age of five for so long, my mind’s eye has also fixed Alex at that age. I know he’s growing, I see it, I respond to it, but deep within me, he doesn’t age. And then, I see the size of his shoes, and I do a double take.

How did he get so big? How did this little angel

turn into this humongous boy?

How does earth and air and water and food turn into long arms and gangly legs?

He’s changing so much, growing, learning, rocking my world with his sensitivity, his intelligence, his imagination, and his zest for life. He wants to be a scientist and a superhero. He asks questions that challenge me. Having grown up with a strong awareness of a little sister who needed more–more help, more protection–he’s become a very mature little boy, taking charge of his flock of little siblings with love no one can mistake. I see him growing out of his own skin, the self-consciousness of adolescence sniffing the air and seeking a place to root several years before it comes due, mixing up with the heedless abandon of little boyhood. He’s always been my cuddler, and however independent he grows, he still likes to have those moments with Mommy.

As we climbed over rocks yesterday on our Mommy-Alex field trip, I stared at the red rubber soles of his torn-up sneakers and shook my head with amazement.

I love having a boy at this age. I’m enjoying every moment of it, and praying the bond holds in the years to come.

Published in: on June 27, 2012 at 6:17 am  Comments (7)  
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When Is It Okay To Laugh?

“Julianna, stop grunting and use your words.” Christian rested wrists on the table, fork in hand, and gave her a stern look, which our little pixie met with a bright smile. “Be-deeya blelua bwee!”

Alex collapsed into giggles, which made me chuckle. He has such an adorable laugh.

But at the end of the table, “stern” turned to “severe.” “You DO NOT LAUGH AT YOUR SISTER,” Christian scolded.

Alex’s face collapsed, and I leaped in. “Christian, he wasn’t making fun of her.”

“But this is where it starts.”

“But this isn’t like that,” I said. “We laughed at Nicholas, too, when he said cute things learning to talk.”

We’re entering a brave new world. For the first five years of her life, Julianna has been protected. At all times she’s been shielded from all the potential unkindness of the world by the presence of her family, except when she’s at school–a school walled off and dedicated to children like her. But in a few months, that’s all over. She’ll walk unprotected into a huge school full of kids who have never seen anyone like her, and who, for better or for worse, will have imbibed their parents’ attitudes (like the bozo I argued with all day on Facebook a few weeks ago, who refused to accept that the colloquial use of the word “retard” is demeaning and hurtful to those who actually fit the description, and wouldn’t admit that said usage came into being as an insult directly and knowingly comparing someone you don’t like to someone like my daughter).

Every time I fret about this, friends remind me that little ones are very open-minded. But the mental image of kids making fun of my kid is very strong, based on some conglomeration of memories whose images have become indistinct in detail, but whose essential truth I don’t doubt. I don’t doubt that at some point in her childhood, Julianna will be laughed at, made fun of, made to feel less-than because of her extra chromosome.

And yet.

Not all laughter is cruel. Human interactions are complex things. Every week at choir practice, we banter, we poke fun at each other, we laugh together at each other’s weaknesses. To suggest that no one can ever laugh at Julianna is to deprive her of the richness of these loving exchanges. If no one is allowed to laugh when she says something funny, that sets her up as different, as Other, as surely as making fun of her does.

Laughter is appropriate and loving at times, cruel and soul-killing at others. It’s all in the intention. But how do you teach a child the difference? It has never, will never, would never occur to Alex to make fun of Julianna. He adores his sister, even though she does drive him nuts sometimes. He’s grown up so integrated with life with special needs that he doesn’t even get why Daddy reacted as he did. Alex laughed because  was reacting as a family member reacts to someone he loves. Yet he needs to be aware that cruelty exists, and that he has a responsibility both as a human being and as Julianna’s brother to stand up and call people down when it occurs.

I have no idea how to communicate this without making him hypersensitive, which is also contrary to my goal of making a wall-less world for my daughter and those like her. But somehow, we have to try.

Published in: on March 20, 2012 at 8:36 am  Comments (5)  
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