On Comments on Family Size

In the last few months, and especially the last few days, I've found myself thinking about the types of comments that I hear when I'm out and about with the kids.

Over the years the types of comments and conversations I've had have changed.  I think that a number of factors probably contribute to the things people are bold enough to say.

I do think that geography plays a large roll in that people in the region that we live in now don't seem quite as emboldened (so many less polite terms went through my head before I settled on that one) to voice their opinions about how many kids they see as they did when we lived on either coast.

The second factor that I think comes into play is Maggie's autism.  As she gets older her language and little bird like chirps make it more apparent that she has some differences and in a way that gives us a degree of invisibility (in the most visible way you can imagine) in that most people don't want to be rude and so when they see something that could be termed a disability they immediately look away.

Many people may not feel that it's rude to comment on a family's size or question whether they have a TV or if they "know what causes that" but most people do still, for the most part, feel uncomfortable directing comments or questions towards a group with a member who appears to have any type of difference in ability.

I know that it still happens, and on occasion we've experienced it, but in a way as numb as society has become to the inappropriateness of questions that relate to matters of sexual reproduction, we're also (generally) rather oversensitive to all things related to differences in abilities.

I do know that that likely shades my experience.

Still, I have a fair amount of conversations about our family when we're out about in town.  Maggie is often at her calmest in the stroller and the triple stroller  inspires conversations.

I use the stroller to get around town and that means lots of trips to Mae's OT with it loaded with kids, where it inevitably leads to conversations with doctors who stop us to look it over and say that it's great.  Other parents stop me and ask me where we got it, and it inspires plenty of "I wish we had those in my day" comments with wistful smiles from elderly people we encounter.

The stroller in undoubtedly conversation starting gold.  And those conversations are almost always friendly and positive.

Then there are the non-stroller related comments.  The most common is :

"You certainly have your hands full!"

Or some variation of that phrase, followed closely by:

"Are they all yours?"
"Are you a daycare provider?"
and
"Better you than me."

There are some others I hear now and then, like the woman who had to let me know that I can't have any more children because there's no more room for them in the stroller, and occasionally we get dramatic sighs, accompanied by glares and shaking heads, but for the most part the reactions (and there is nearly almost always a reaction or ten when I'm out with the super stroller) are happy.

Over the years I've read (and written) posts about comments larger than average sized families get.  I've heard people lament some of the comments above and others argue that some (like "you have your hands full") are perfectly fine.

Since I've been walking around with the stroller though, I've realized that the appropriateness of comments often has a great deal to do with the tone that it's delivered in.

The vast majority of the time when I hear "You've got your hands full!" it's said in a friendly way with a smile.  And when I hear that I smile and agree.  It's true, my hands are full, in the best possible way.

Other times "You've got your hands full!" is delivered in a tone one might use to tell someone they've stepped in dog droppings, with a look of disgust and a shake of the head.  I try to respond in the same way, with a smile and a "Yes, I do!" but I've found that the exact same comment suddenly feels wildly inappropriate.

Inquiries that ask if they're all mine or if I'm babysitting tend to fall in the same category.  Most people are truly just curious and that comes across in their tone.  I'll happily field those comments.

Of course there are always the "You know what causes that?" line of questioning that some people feel is appropriate that just isn't.  I have noticed since moving here that the occurrence of those has gone down basically to zero for us, but I remember how annoyed I was when someone I'd never spoken with inquired in the checkout line whether my husband would be "getting snipped" when we were pregnant with out third or if it was another girl we would "keep trying for a boy."

They don't bother me as much as they used to though (as much as open vitriol directed at my children can not both me at least).

Maybe it's the realization that nearly everyone receives judgments and cruel comments of some sort, whether it's people making assumptions about smaller families or those without children (which have the potential to be far, far more crushing.  Please don't do this.  We never know who struggles under the cross of infertility and I cannot imagine how those sorts of comments sting...) or those directed at those with families that are larger than what's considered normal these days.

Maybe it's because the last few years have toughened me up (most days) in a general way, so that it's easier to sort through the kind and encouraging words and those that aren't so, and push the later aside, and take the former for the breath of kindness that it can be on those days when kind words are most needed.

Most of all I think it helps to remember that the comments that are of a less than kind nature are seldom about us at all.  They usually have everything to do with the person saying them, who is either trying to be funny or, more rarely, cruel, in which case they are most in need of kindness and prayers.
Who knows, maybe some of our joy and gentleness, if we can manage it, will touch their hearts at a later time.  And if nothing else it gives us someone to pray for, because anyone that says mean things about a child, in front of that child, most definitely needs our prayers.

To Plan or Not to Plan...

(This post is an elaboration that I started to write yesterday after someone asked a few questions in the comments of yesterdays post that I thought were good, but that I also thought could probably fill it's very own post.  Hopefully this clarifies a little what works for our family!  It's not meant to be a road map for anyone else, it's just a post on the conclusions that our family has reached for our family and an explanation of sorts that was aimed to answer questions raised both by yesterdays post and that I've encountered in the past!)

Sometimes I almost forget that even among practicing Catholics, that is, people who believe what the Church teaches to be true and attempt to implement those teachings in their lives, we're still kind of weird.

There are various groups with various stances on the whole birth control topic among those who self-identify as Catholic and they run through a range from one end of the spectrum to the other.  There are those who use birth control and don't know the Church teaches that it's wrong. There are those who use birth control, know that the Church teaches that it's a sin and don't let it effect their decision.  There are those who have taken more permanent measures, taking the question off the table altogether.  Some come to regret the decision and some don't.  And then there are those who've accepted the Church's teaching prohibiting artificial contraception, whether joyfully or fearfully (or with a wide range of emotions in between), who then looked at the other options when looking towards the future.

Some people use Natural Family Planning (NFP for short) to space births, hopefully discerning whether they have a serious reason to avoid pregnancy (I say hopefully only because I was in a group once where the topic came up and there were a surprising number of women who said they had never been told that they were supposed to have any reason whatsoever to avoid.  They absolutely seemed very genuine, and I do believe they were, so I thought I'd throw that in here, for anyone who's never heard that we actually are supposed to have a reason...).

And some people don't use NFP.

No I'm not talking about people who don't use NFP who use other methods.  I'm talking about people who don't use NFP or artificial means to space births.

Usually in the little online Catholic world I feel like I have a lot in common with most of my online friends.  But I also always feel a little weird when the topic of NFP comes up, and no, it's not because I'm judging you.

It's because people can get kind of disparaging about people who don't use NFP.  Somewhere along the line, amid all the cheerleading for NFP, some corners of the internet began to basically see it as a requirement and something that "responsible" people do.

Now let's be clear about this.  None of us are required to use NFP.  It's just simply not a Church teaching, at all.  No matter how much you love it and how great you think it is for your marriage, charts and temps and mucus just aren't something you have to keep track of in order to be in good standing with the Church.  You don't need to tell me all the reasons that you think it's super, super awesome.  I've read a ton.  I know how to use two different methods and I understand how it works.  And after much thought and much research and much prayer we don't feel like it's a good fit for our family.

Apparently this makes me a "Providentalist", I guess because there has to be a name for everything.  Maybe it makes me a little bit crazy to outsiders when the topic comes up and I finally admit that we're okay with whatever God sends our way, be it 1 or a dozen.  In our world, Catholic or not, that is kind of shocking.

But really, day to day, it doesn't feel all that crazy.  In fact, it just feels like life.

Sure there are other choices that we could make that would mean that our lives would be very different than they are now or than that they will be in the future.  So far I've never felt like anyone gets less attention than they need, maybe because they're all with me 24 hours a day 7 days a week.  They pretty much get all my attention, all the time.  They even get individual one on one time when other kids are doing others things that completely occupy their attention.

If we had less children they would likely have their own rooms, but as I listen to Maggie and Sadie giggling at night and come in to find Sadie sitting next to Maggie telling her a story about two princess and a prince that just happen to be named Sadie, Maggie and Patrick, I find myself leaning towards having shared spaces even if we were someday plopped down in a house with many, many bedrooms.
If there were less of us I'm sure I'd be more likely to shuttle people around to competitive sports or various lessons, and I'd probably push more for someone or another to be a prodigy in something, but instead, as time has passed I find that the things that seemed important when I was thinking of being a mom are less important.  If a child is interested in something I'll absolutely support that interest, but I'm also not going to let what is essentially a game become the center of our world.  God is that center and I want that to be clear in our days and in their structure.

I have heard it said, plenty of times, that God gave us brains and that we should use them to avoid (insert serious horrible thing that might happen) so we can certainly us them to avoid pregnancy.  And we can use them to avoid conceiving, if we have serious reasons.  That option is left open to us.  But it's also absolutely left open to us to not plan these things and to just let them happen in their own time.  And I don't think the comparison with any sort of disaster from a disease to a car accident to playing out in the street and being struck is a good one when thinking of welcoming new life, because the life growing within me isn't a disease or a disaster.

I could worry about the future. I could worry about the number of c-sections I've had.  But I know women who've had 7 c-sections and been fine.  I've had multiple doctors comment that the surgeon that did my first two was brilliant and that the scaring was minimal.  I don't see the point in spending time and energy worrying about future c-sections when there's been no sign of a problem yet.  There could be, yes.  And there might not be.  I'll cross that bridge if we get to it, rather than crossing it a million times in my head before there's ever been a sign of a problem.

After all, it's just a baby (although that too makes me smile to type that as if any baby is ever "just" a baby!).  It's not a disaster or a tragedy.  He or she is a blessing we can wait to meet.  And welcoming this baby is a joy we've been blessed with and is also a part of my particular vocation.  The upcoming birth is an eagerly awaited event with the kids dreaming of what the baby will be like and planning daily what life will be like with this new baby sibling that they can't wait to meet.

And as I look forward I can't help but think that God doesn't give us the graces to meet the future until we get there.  I'm not being asked to be the mom of ten kids right now, and I may never be.  I'm only being asked to be the mom to the ones we have and I've found day by day, that I tend to have only what I need to meet that days challenges.

"Rationalizations" (in which I talk about the Awesomeness of my Husband)

A long time ago I received a comment on a post where I was talking about the difficulties of attending Mass on my own with the kids that simply said something like:  "And where was your husband during all of this?"

I kind of shook my head when I read it, because in the post I'd explained exactly why he wasn't able to attend with me.  I've actually mentioned it just about every time I've talked about this particular struggle for that very reason, but it still comes up (in a more polite, curious sort of way most of the time, which I don't mind) and so I thought I'd devote a post to this particular subject, so that anyone who's wondered and hasn't asked can have their curiosity sated.

I'm actually considering making a FAQ page up at the top, where I can throw the answers to such burning questions (which come up more often than others) such as "Why don't you attend Mass as a family?" and "Do you force your daughter to wear dresses?"

I know, I know, some of you are probably thinking "Don't do it!  This doesn't even deserve a response!" because I get that response quite a bit too (maybe in direct proportion to the other comments?)... but it's come up quite a bit and so I thought I might as well address it.  And I also thought I'd write it because every time I've that sort of comment pop up on my screen I've felt like defending my husband since apparently my words haven't sufficiently expressed just how awesome he is and the commenter has somehow missed it.

Here it is, for anyone who's wondered and missed it the other times I've explained, the answer to:  "Why are you alone with your kids at Mass?!?!?!"

My husband is pretty amazing.  He gets up early with the kids on weekday mornings and gives me a chance to get dressed, write a quick blog post (when there's time, which unfortunately has been less and less often lately) and get dressed.  Then he hurries upstairs and gets ready for his day while I get Sadie ready for school and Mae ready for therapy.

He rushes out the door, usually before the therapists arrive at 9 and heads over to the law school.  On days when his schedule allows, he comes home for dinner and to help out at bath time.  After that the little kids go straight to bed. And while I finish cleaning the house he heads back to the library (or an open room in the law school after the library closes) and studies until... oh, I don't know... one or two in the morning.  Then he comes home and sleeps for somewhere around four hours before he gets up and does it again.

Starting on Friday there's an extra twist.  He gets up and goes to class.  Then he comes home at lunch time and we eat a quick lunch before heading out to do any errands that need to be done for the week.  This is my time out of the house.  I've been known to drag my heels to make it last longer... because I know that when we get home he's going to be studying.  Some weeks, if he's very, very lucky, he squeezes in a nap before his shift as a doorman begins at 7pm.

He heads out of the house to get to work at around 6, because finding parking around the brewery that he works at can be crazy and it can be hard to tell exactly how bad it's going to be so close to the university and fraternity houses on a Friday night.  He stands out in the cold and checks ID for hours.  After closing time they have to clean the place, which usually brings him to around 3 or 4 in the morning, depending on how well the football team did and how bad the mess made in the aftermath of the celebration was.

He pretty much repeats this on Saturday, getting up at around 9 after a few hours of sleep, and fitting in a full day before heading back out to work.  As often as not he finally gets home and gets to bed at around 4 am.

Now I know this next part may be hard for some people that haven't been around a child with our particular brand of special needs to understand, but Mae is particular about the Mass we go to.  We have one choice.  9 am.  9 am gives me about a 50% chance of things going smoothly.  And when she acts up at the 9 am Mass it's what I would call "moderate" (and what most parents would likely call "severe").

If we go to a later Mass it's like an hour of the worst experience of my entire life (slight exaggeration).  I have stood outside the cathedral while she screamed, an ear splitting sound, for an entire hour.  At any other Mass, when we walk in the door there is a 95% chance that she will scream the entire time while I sway and walk and hold her outside.  So if we're going to go, 9 am it is.

I guess I could begrudge Paul the sleep he gets on Sunday morning.  I could insist he get up and watch Patrick and Mae while I go to Mass with Sadie.  After all, he gets four-ish hours on plenty of other mornings... shouldn't he tough it out on 28 hours of sleep a week?  I try to let him get a solid eight hours on Sundays, but as often as not, he doesn't.

And so I have rejected the oft suggested "leave the kids with him and go by yourself."

You see, by Sunday morning he is so exhausted that he is virtually dead to the world.  I can (and have) stood next to him and shouted his name and he sleeps soundly through it.  On Sunday, the week of not sleeping while working and studying and going to school have finally caught up with him.  And if you know a little bit about Mae you can probably understand that the level of supervision she requires at all times is more than being sound asleep on the couch offers.

I've seen him try to stay awake in this state and have only learned that he can fall asleep while sitting up perfectly straight.  So, the answer to that question is a definite no.  After all, Maggie and Patrick are not appropriate baby sitters for each other by any stretch of the imagination.

Don't worry.  I'm not blowing off Mass altogether.  I do plan on going on those days when I'm not limping (a ruptured vertebrae at L5-S1 can make baby wrangling a bit tougher...), and when no one's having a "bad day."

To be honest, these days I don't drive anywhere with all three kids by myself because the logistics of getting Maggie and Patrick into their car seats make that pretty much impossible.  When you have someone bent on escaping and another child that has to be held until they're in their car seat, logistics that I'm certain other parents take for granted become a bit more tricky.  That's one reason that we generally walk everywhere (and because Paul usually has the car so he's not biking home in the ice at 2 in the morning).

I guess on those "bad days" I'll just be grateful that the Church herself has been a bit more understanding than many on this particular topic... and I'll allow her to guide me, thankful for the merciful understanding that sometimes caring for another makes fulfilling that very serious obligation an impossibility (yes, I know it's serious).  

To answer that other question I receive on this topic:  Yes, my husband is Catholic and does go to Mass.  He's absolutely the person who brought me home to the Catholic Church.  He has a Master's in theology and is serious about his faith.  And he does go to Mass on Sundays... but it's a Mass (night time) that is absolutely an impossibility with two of our three (believe me, we've tried more than once).

So there you have it.  I know some people will say that it's a rationalization (I've already heard that this week!) and will believe that I'm absolutely wrong for occasionally admitting that every bone in my body hurts and that I just can't do it.  Some people will think that it can't possibly be that bad... and those people have likely never tried to take a child who's struggling with processing the world and communicating with even those closest to them, to a place where they're expected to be silent for rougly 90 minutes.

Deep down somewhere I hope that there is some virtue in discovering this weakness which has caused me to realize my own limitations and be grateful for the chance to see the world through this new lens of understanding.

The "Sin" of the Week: On Missing Mass to Care for Children

My apologies in advance for the rambling and jumping from topic to topic and whining and general stream of consciousness in this post.  Also... I'm beginning to wonder if I can't say anything in less than two thousand words.  Apparently I've had a lot on my mind.  And it all just exploded in this blog post:

I woke up this morning and the idea of going to Mass made me wince.  And then I realized that it was because everything hurt.  Everything.

You see, yesterday I had this great idea.  I was going to finish all of the laundry.

I have a major laundry problem in my house.  The washer and dryer are in the basement, which is absolutely not Maggie proof.  And since most of my time involves at least a basic level of supervision that is required for our daringly brilliant three year old, my time in the basement is minimal.  Even at night, I don't really feel comfortable going down there because I worry about what's going on upstairs.  Has she figured out how to open windows?  Has she destroyed yet another baby gate?  Is she dumping every pin in my sewing area onto the ground.

Needless to say, the laundry situation was dire.  I'd try to play catch up, but it was never done.  And it hasn't been anywhere near caught up with since Patrick was born.

So yesterday I decided it was time for that to change.  I hauled the laundry up into the kitchen where I could watch my three little trouble makers and I folded.  Then I carried it back down, load by load and put it all away (all the shelves that we use are downstairs, since the only time I have to put clothes away are when they're asleep... theoretically at least).  I was thrilled with how much I got done.  Minus meal time and baby time breaks I'd say I got in a solid eight hours of work (I did a some cleaning too).

Then this morning arrived and I realized that I'm not twenty anymore and that my mind had written checks that my body wasn't thrilled about cashing.  It hurt.  Everything seemed to hurt.

I started to reason my way to a solution that felt a little more bearable.  It was cold outside.  And still dark.  The sun would be up by the time we walked to Mass, but I still couldn't convince myself to bundle everyone up and go.  I have an idea, I said to myself, knowing that the thought in my mind was actually a horrible idea.  We'll go tonight.  We'll make it work.  I'll feed everyone.  They'll be all ready for bed.  And we'll go to the six o'clock Mass. And even if it's horrible (which it is half the time anyways) at least we'll all be together.

I knew that it was a bad idea.  I did.  But it seemed better than anything else I could come up with.

Four o'clock rolled around and the bad idea turned into a near impossibility.  Maggie and Sadie ran into each other and Maggie hit her head hard and while a part of me felt relieved that she was actually crying about something like bumping her head (because she would have been laughing about it three months ago), I was faced with the slow, dawning realization that there was no way I could take her to Mass when she was feeling the way she was clearly feeling.

I knew so much more then...

So I sighed and held her in my lap while she sobbed and let go of the idea of making it and told Paul that I thought he'd probably be going by himself.  Then I tucked the babies into bed and put the house back together so it would be ready for the two appointments we have tomorrow (therapy and the start of the study) and finally sat down to rest.

Which is when the internet sucked me in.

Back in the day I was much more likely to be drawn into internet debates.  If someone was wrong somewhere on the internet I was ready to argue about it.  Maybe I've mellowed with time.  Maybe I just don't have quite as much energy to spare as I used to.  Whatever the reason, it doesn't happen as often as it used to.  In fact, it hardly happens at all.

But tonight I came across a conversation in which the question was posed, "can a mother miss Mass to care for a young child."

And the answers I saw smarted.

In this case the child was sleeping.  The overwhelming answer she received was no.  It went beyond that though.  Over and over again she was told a) that the priest that told her it was a reason to miss was wrong and b) that she was sinning because caring for children is not a reason to miss Mass.

Hold on, I thought.  I mean, if you've been around here long, you know I encourage parents to take their little ones to Mass.  I was limping into Mass 8 days after I had my first c-section.  In fact, I've been in Mass the Sunday after each of my three c-sections, cradling a baby in my arms.  And I absolutely do believe that my children have benefited from it.  Sadie's love of and desire for the Eucharist warms my heart.  And I was grinning ear to ear after Maggie popped her binkie out of her mouth and attempted to rush up to the priest while signing "more, more, more" a few weeks ago.

The idea, however, that the care of children isn't a valid reason for missing Mass simply isn't true.  It brought to mind the phrase "more Catholic than the Pope."  We can't take our personal opinions about issues and elevate them above what is actually taught.

I went back to last week in my mind.  I'd been trying not to think about it.

We walked into Mass and Maggie was suddenly excited.  She tried to bolt forward and go into the church.  For once she actually wanted to be there.  But Patrick was already fussing and I knew I couldn't take him in while he was in a mood.  When I stopped Mae, she went completely rigid and fell to the floor screaming.  My hands were full with Patrick and I struggled to scoop her up and pull her onto my lap to quiet her, while people nearby tried not to stare at the scene that was unfolding.  Finally she quieted down, but Patrick was unhappy.  I stood and jiggled him.  Finally he fell asleep and I relaxed.  We'd be fine, I told myself.  We'd survived and the kids were calm.

Then I noticed that his skin was pale and blotched with red and suddenly it became clear that he was having a reaction to something.  To what?  I wondered.  His breathing was fine but red bumps were appearing quickly.  What had I eaten?  I've been so careful.  What could it have been?  A new allergy? It was clearly some sort of allergy.  I listened to his breathing and fought waves of fear.

Finally it was time for communion.  A young woman in the back had come over and offered to help me bring the kids forward and I accepted her help as we walked forward through the doors.  And then the wall of incense hit me and I stopped and backpedaled, kicking myself for not realizing earlier, and suddenly acutely aware of the fact that the inhaler wasn't in my pocket.  I retreated to the narthex.

Incense... the reason we can no longer attend the latin Mass... the "other thing" that Patrick (and Sadie and Maggie to varying degrees) is very much allergic to.

Thankfully I was able to receive the Eucharist (the young lady who had offered to help arranged it)... but I have to admit, the experience, altogether, left me shaken.  I thought about writing about it last week, but I couldn't bring myself to put my thoughts into words.  Perhaps it's because while struggling through Mass here I can't help but feel completely and utterly alone, even when a kindly stranger offers to help.  I guess Mass is, in a way, the place where I come the face to face with the fact that here in Michigan I am far from my friends and family and with the exception of Paul, who's at school or work the vast majority of the time, I'm on my own with the kids.  Before therapy began it wasn't unusual for me to go a month without speaking to another grown up (other than Paul who's usually gone about 16 hours a day...).

For the most part it's been okay.  It's been this way for over a year.  I knew law school was going to be hard for all of us.  It's a sacrifice.  Besides, most of the time I'm too busy to notice.

Having an extremely introverted personality makes it easier.  I'm not a fan of getting together with big groups and it seems to me that more and more that most friend-making-activities as a grown up involve big groups.

In ways I guess the overwhelmingness of the diagnosis has brought me face to face with my isolation here.  With Paul in law school I am completely on my own.  But the idea of even thinking of a way to change it and get out and do something social, is even more exhausting.  Almost as exhausting as thinking about taking my three to Mass on any day when I'm feeling less than 100%.

About 90% of the people involved in the conversation I was in said that caring for young children isn't a reason to miss Mass.  Lots of people named large numbers of kids and said that if they could do it with five or six or seven, anyone could.  And part of me wanted to say:  Here, take her for an hour.  I guarantee it will change your entire perspective (although I wouldn't do that to Mae!).  

Thankfully, I don't have to measure up to some super mom's idea of what a mother of little ones should be or do.  I have to follow the teachings of the Church.  And while I do strive to go above and beyond, while I hope that I'm being led stumbling towards heroic virtue, there are times when I'm very, very grateful that in her merciful understanding of our vocations the Church recognizes that there are times when we struggle to reach the bare minimum.

Maybe that's why she gives us a bare minimum.  And perhaps, like the story of the widows mite, God will recognize in these times, that the little that we had to give actually meant far more than outward appearances reflected.

7 Quick Takes Friday: All Saint's Day Edition

--- 1 ---

We had quite the day today.  I'm exhausted.  It started out with a wonderful twist.  Shortly after Paul left for school and I got the kids into their costumes my cell phone rang.  I picked it up and it was one of Mae's therapists asking if I'd gotten the message that the paper work had cleared and they were ready to start therapy today (and were outside)!  Five minutes later one of Mae's ABA therapists and her intern were working with Mae in our dining room (just around the corner from where Sadie was doing her school).

Mae had so much fun.  She said so many words and kept on saying words after therapy was over.  Sadie even got in on helping at the end when they had her do a few activities to show Mae (and Mae then did things she'd previously been refusing to do!).

--- 2 ---

Then it was time for Mass.  The kids (okay, Sadie and Mae) were pretty excited to get to wear their little habits outside.  Then we got outside and it felt like everything was conspiring against us being on time.  A tree went down across the road that Paul takes to get home (and his class getting out only left 15 minutes to get to Mass anyways, including driving from his school to the house) and so he had to back track and go another way, and we started to walk and met him along the way to the church after he called us and told us about the detour.

Apparently last night's storm wasn't small since a tree also fell on one of our neighbors' house.

So we were late... but we made it... and here are a few of the pictures I snapped of our little Saint Therese, Saint John of the Cross and Saint Scholastica:

--- 3 ---

I love these little individual listening devices that our parish has.  And I've found that if I hand one to Sadie she holds it to her ear and listens and holds perfectly still for an entire Mass.

She's pretty good without one, but I'm amazed at her focus when she has it up to her ear.  It definitely makes being present at Mass from behind the glass doors in the narthex easier.

--- 4 ---

I wouldn't be posting this photo if it weren't for the awesome story that goes along with it.

You see, today I came across a clearance 70% off Halloween costume in my size.  It was for $13 and I thought, hey, why not.  I knew I'd be changing the neckline a bit to bring it up higher, but that would only take a few minutes.  And I had a feeling that the girls would love it if I joined in with their dress up games once in a while.

I had no idea how right that thought was.

I told Sadie about the dress and she begged me to try it on.  I did.  Mae's face lit up.  She was so excited.  She started dancing around the room singing.  I'm not sure I've ever heard her sing.

And then she grabbed my hands and stared into my eyes, repeatedly, a huge smile on her face.  We spent a lot of time holding hands and dancing around the living room together.

I couldn't believe it.  This child who wouldn't look when her name was said, who wouldn't look for loud noises and who had mastered the art of looking just past everyone was voluntarily gazing into my eyes while I played with her.

Then I thought I'd try something new.  I asked her to clap.  They've been trying to get her to clap throughout her tests without luck.  But when "Princess Mommy" asked her to clap, she clapped.  It was amazing.

I have a feeling I'm going to be wearing this dress more than I thought if it makes her this incredibly happy (and Patrick and Sadie were both exceptionally giggly too!)!

--- 5 ---

So apparently I've been sucked into bad amateur photo editing tonight.  And that brings us to Quick Take #5:

--- 6 ---

Tomorrow Paul takes the MPRE... I cannot wait for this thing to be over.  Between his third year of law school, working just slightly under the 20 hours a week allowed by the bar, and studying for this test he has been working around the clock to get everything done.  It would be nice to have this test behind us.

If you have a second a prayer that he does his best would be greatly appreciated!

--- 7 ---

I made this treat this week for the girls... and it's lovely.  And easy to make.  Here's how I did it.  I mixed about a cup of softened coconut oil (but not liquid) with 1 teaspoon of peppermint extract and 1 teaspoon of vanilla extract.  I added honey (I've done it with maple syrup too) to one of the batches.  And a pinch of sea salt.  And about a half cup of the every-major-allergen free chocolate chips that I occasionally get as a very, very special treat.  I mixed the ingredients together and spread it (the thinner the better I've found) on parchment paper on a cookie sheet and put it in the freezer for a couple hours and when it's frozen I break it into pieces.  It is a huge hit with everyone in the house!

For more Quick Takes, visit Conversion Diary!

Halloween, All Saint's Day and the Great October Debates

I love autumn.  I know I've said it at least a dozen times on this blog, because I'm still relishing living in an area with seasons again, but it's true.  And it's not just because of the crisp air outside, the awesome deals on apples (we bought 20 lbs last week and have had homemade apple cider, dried apples fresh out of the dehydrator, apple muffins, home made apple-pumpkin-almond ice cream and even apple-pumpkin porridge), or the beautiful fall colors.  It is because it is in autumn that I am most reminded of how much I love being Catholic.  

Don't get me wrong.  I know that Christmas and Easter are out big times of year.  But the changes in the celebration of Christmas and Easter as a Catholic weren't that huge (let's face it, it's not like I've made it through an Easter Vigil Mass since I've had kids).  Autumn though?  I love the feast days.  We've got Michaelmas and the Feast of the Nativity of Mary (let's just count anything after school starts as "autumn", m'kay?).  There's Saint Therese's feast day and Saint Francis' and our family patron saint's, Saint Martin de Porres (along with many, many more!  Those are just my favorites off the top of my head!).  And of course, there's Halloween and All Saint's Day and All Soul's Day.

I've almost been hesitant to say this out loud, because it's such a contentious subject every October in the Catholic blogosphere... but... I like Halloween.  I get why other people love it and why other people hate it and I find I fall somewhere in the middle.  I've read the various debates, but nothing has really swayed me, probably because, as we celebrate it I see nothing wrong with it.  

The kids get dressed up in cute costumes that Nani sent them (after a conversation with Sadie on the phone) and the have fun.  This year I had a jellyfish, a unicorn and a dinosaur.  We went to the zoo for their little party day and that was really the main event for us.  I'm not totally certain what we'll be doing on Halloween.  We may be at home.  I need to check the bulletin because I think there's something at our parish.  Last year we went to a local shopping center a few days before hand and did trick or treating there, in the icy cold wind with two little Cinderellas.

I'm not a fan of what it has become for a lot of people.  I cringe when I see pre-teen girls wearing the "sexy" costumes while strolling down the street with their families, who they're still young enough to trick or treat with.  I've felt the urge to take a Dad or two by the shoulders and say "Really?  Really?  You see nothing wrong with your twelve year old wearing that?!?!?!"  I don't, but I've been tempted.

In our house the kids get dressed up and run around and play (which means pretty much 4 out of 5 days around here are "Halloween" year round), and I actually consider letting them leave the house (more often) so they can wear them in public, instead of wrestling them into relatively normal clothing (and I know that most of the people who aren't Halloween fans probably wouldn't have a problem with that).  I'm not convinced that Halloween needs to be gory or gross either, as some proponents say (because I've seen a trend where people argue that it should be that way or you're doing it wrong).

So that's my two cents on Halloween.  It's okay.  The kids have fun.

But you know which feast day I love?

All Saint's Day.  

And guess what?  My kids love it too.

It helps that we started talking about how much fun it was going to be since they were tiny.  I'm sure the fact that we lived at the Ave law school for a year where most of the kids did dress up on All Saint's Day contributes to the excitement.  And it probably really helps that we have an oldest who's obsessed with religious vocations and would spend every day dressed as a nun if I let her... because she spreads the excitement through the house with her gleeful anticipation and delegation of costumes... since the little kids are too little to protest and all.

This year I made a mistake.  I was thinking of doing making something quick and green and calling Patrick "Saint Patrick."  Something easy, I imagined.  Then in conversation, I asked Sadie what she thought Patrick should be and she passionately answered that he just had to be Saint John of the Cross.

It took me a moment to realize why.  Saint John of the Cross was a Carmelite Friar.  Sadie will be going (again) as Saint Therese.  She wants him to match.

In a moment of insanity I agreed.  Then I put it off until the last possible minute, because that's how things tend to go around here.  Last night I started sewing.  I found a site that showed the parts of the Carmelite habit and suddenly my vision (which was a quick little brown tunic made from broad cloth) shifted and I found myself unfolding a huge piece of brown linen.  I'd been sucked in by my inability to not make costumes look as realistic as I possibly can.  And that linen was thick and rough and perfect.

I finished his tunic and half of the cowl last night.  I still have to sew his scapular (think big scapular) and mantle, and the hood in his cowl.  Since he's due for a hair cut I was tempted to do a mini tonsure just cutting the inside his regular length and leaving the outside long until the next day, but I'm not sure I could make it even enough since he doesn't hold still while I'm clipping away.    

I made the pattern up in my head.  I cut it out freehand.  I checked the length against a sleeper and hoped it would fit.  This morning I tried it on him to see if it would work before I went any further and it was perfect.  At least I thought so:

He was having a clingy morning and
being put down wasn't part of his plan for the day.

So I bribed him with a broken camera...

I'm either going to add buttons or ties to the back.

He was finally happy.

Halfway there!

I know fall can be busy.  And I don't let myself feel pressured to do it all.  Some years we go big on certain feast days.  Other days the celebrations are much, much smaller.  This year we watched the Therese movie on her feast day and didn't do much else.  But I also try to make breaks in our schedule to celebrate, have fun, and be inspired by the saints who's stories of heroic virtue can have such power in little hearts and imaginations.

I hope you have a blessed week and that you and your families are inspired by these beautiful feasts in the coming days!

On the Pope, the Government and Our Reactions to the Media

I've been watching my news feed on facebook these couple of weeks and the overwhelming majority of posts these days are about one of two things.  I bet some of you can probably guess what they are.  

The government shut down is one and the Pope's recent interviews are the other.  

In my own feed I'd have to say that if one were to edge the other out in the number of posts I've been seeing flying around, I'd say it was the Pope's interviews.

Truth be told, with everything that's been going on, and our lack of cable, I didn't even know that we were nearing a shutdown until a day or two before it happened when I was finally in the car driving somewhere and I caught the news on the radio and thought "Wow... I really haven't been paying attention to the news lately.  It's kind of nice."

Now let's be clear, this not being up on current events is very new to me.  When we had cable, I was kind of a news junkie.  My TV was pretty much constantly on CNN or MSNC in college.  But in the past year, when I'd watch the news I would find myself turning away, overwhelmed by the fact that everyone talking always seemed to have some sort of an agenda and almost every story had an overwhelming slant to it, one way or another.  As often as not, the local news was even worse.  

At the time, I didn't feel like watching the news was stressful.  Until I stopped.  And then I realized that not being inundated with the division that is so much a part of our culture is actually... really nice.  

All of that was on my mind when the flurry of "the Pope said what?!?!" "don't worry guys it's okay, he's awesome..." "It was a mistranslations..." posts began to appear (again) from all the bloggers I love to read.

I read the posts.  I read the interviews.  And I read more posts with different perspectives on the interviews. I think I might have even started my own post in my head.  

And my stress level slowly started to rise (although not much because it's rather high at the moment and couldn't really go much higher... and honestly, the things going on here right now are making all the other things I could be worrying about feel much, much smaller).  

So I made a decision.  I stopped reading about the controversy about what he meant or didn't mean or said or didn't say.  I took a deep breath and thought it over long and hard.  If the Pope releases another encyclical, send it my way.  But honestly, nothing in those interviews is going to change a thing about my every day life.  I'm going to continue to live my vocation the best way that I know how to live it.  I'm going to continue to love God and obey the teachings of the Church that he founded with Peter.  I'm going to continue to pray for our Pope, because he's got an incredibly difficult job and all eyes are on him as he guides the faithful.  And maybe I should pray more for peace for all of us as we stumble along living our vocations as best we can.    

All in all my plan is really rather simple.  

Oh sure, I've already found myself skimming a few posts about what-probably-really-was-meant.  My resolve apparently isn't as perfect as it could be.  I'm not shutting out everything.  If he gives another interview I'm sure I won't be able to resist reading it.  

But I'm also making a choice not to get upset about whatever I read.  Being upset about what he did or didn't say, isn't going to help my vocation one bit.  It isn't going to help me love and serve.  It isn't going to draw me any closer to God.  

I know these past weeks have been upsetting for many of you in many different ways.  I've seen posts where people are angry about the declaration that Pope John Paul II and Pope John XXIII have attained their heavenly reward.  And it struck me that it is incredibly sad that anyone could be angry about any person who has passed from this life being declared a saint.  

Isn't sainthood what we should want, even for those people we can't stand to be in the same room with? Are we really so angry that we would wish someone be damned to Hell?  

Let's take a deep breath.  Say a prayer.  Say a lot of prayers.  Pray for your friends, for those who you think of as enemies.  Pray for your pastor and bishop and for the Pope.  

There's a lot of anger and confusion tearing through the faithful right now, and while there are many things that I don't know, I do know one thing and it's that those emotions, which are so easy to give way to, aren't from above and they aren't leading us towards a fuller understanding of God's truths or towards the sainthood that our souls so desire.  

On Virtue, Suffering, Growth and Waiting for the Phone to Ring...

Okay, let's just get it out of the way.  I'm still waiting for that lump of plastic to ring.  And it's still not. So I've been thinking things like:  "Apparently 'tomorrow at the latest' (yesterday) means different things to different people" even though I know it's really that the super nice people who did the test are super busy and likely overworked and underpaid since they work in a giant sprawling county building and that's likely why they haven't had a chance to call yet.

As a side note I believe I have learned, over the years, never to ask for a virtue like patience.  Because do you know how God gives you the opportunity to work on a virtue like patience?  Yeah.  By helping you find ways to practice it.  Oh sure, I guess it involves some pouring out of grace but right now I'm kind of in a let's-sulk-around-the-house-about-how-much-being-patient-and-waiting-for-the-psych-people-to-call-stinks type of mood and I've been doing a fair job of ignoring that fact.

It's like when I prayed for help with that whole little gluttony-pizza-ice-cream problem that I inevitably have when I'm pregnant or nursing (so pretty much always) and suddenly I had a nursing baby who was allergic to dairy and another kid who has major food intolerances so that our eating options are pretty much some meats, some veggies and some fruits, eggs and nuts and none of the wonderful cheesy grain-i-ness that sound oh-so-appetizing All. The. Time... which all feels like it happened about five minutes after I made that fateful help-with-gluttony prayer and has me laughing these days in a sort of resigned way while shaking my head and saying: "Not what I meant.  Not at all what I meant.  Didn't you see that I was asking for a magic power to resist ice cream, not an actual chance to work on self control or sacrifice?"

Except that in my head, when there's no suffering at all going on, I make these crazy requests to God to grow in love and understanding, even though I'm beginning to have an inkling of what the answers to those types of prayers generally require.

You see, even in the perfect little world in my head I know that growing towards sainthood, even with the outpouring of grace required, doesn't happen in a vacuum.

I can look at Jesus on the cross and remind myself that he told us to take up our crosses and that there was something in there about the path being narrow that made this whole thing sound like something other than a cake walk... or I can read the lives of the saints and the trials that they oh-so-often endured, and know that Jesus was obviously very, very serious about the aforementioned taking up of one's cross... and I can't ignore the fact that this growing often seems to involve suffering.

In fact, I can even see the tininess of the things that seem like "suffering" to me in my day to day life, at least from a distance, when I'm in a mood to examine these sorts of things.  Those moments of perspective, incidentally, also usually happens to be when I'm in the mood to request whatever sufferings God would like to send my way so that I might grow and become more like my savior.

From a distance it always sounds like an awesome idea... and it makes me feels so brave, like I'm trucking along down the road to sainthood (I think that usually happens right before a face plant of some sort, which you can probably see coming from a mile away).

Because in reality, it's never that pretty.  Sure I can pray for sufferings to offer up like a champ, I can imagine all the rosaries I'll say when I'm in labor and all the fantastic intentions I'll have while I'm praying them, but when the wheels hit the pavement it's more like "oh-my-goodness-the-red-superhero-boots-just-accidentally-smashed-my-big-toe-one-too-many-times-and-the-nail-broke-in-two-and-God-please-please-please-please-it-hurts-make-it-stop."  Which is about as not-heroic as one can get.

Still, we push on and I try to pray for the grace to be a little bit less of a weeny the next time it inevitably happens (those boot wearing toddler feet are dangerous!).  And some days (okay, more like moments) I actually feel like I'm toddling along in the right direction with teeny tiny steps... by succeeding at something small like not whining about a headache for an entire hour (inevitably the headache lamentations still usually tumble out of my mouth after a point, however...).

This isn't the post I set out to write...  but I have to say, having written it and having thought about actual suffering, like the sufferings of the saints in the book Sadie is always pushing into my lap, the fact that my phone still hasn't rung suddenly seem like a much, much smaller problem than it did when I began.  And that's something.

Baby steps.  Baby steps...

What I Wore Sunday and My Mixed Feelings on "Cry Rooms"

This morning while I was at Mass, Kendra's post yesterday at Catholic All Year was on my mind.  It was the sort of post that I read and then ran into the other room to tell Paul about how I would pretty much be in tears if I'd been in her shoes.  As I jiggled Patrick and slipped out the back it came back to me a few times and as I headed back into Mass after the homily, when I felt like I was going to be run over by the stampede of people flowing out Mass, I thought of her words on cry rooms and how she said she'd like to fill them with cement.  

I tend to agree (bear with me here).

I have been in a cry room that was exactly what cry rooms everywhere should be... where the focus was still on the Mass and people followed along and participated and the expectation was that the children would be corrected when they were running amok, but in an area where the correction wouldn't disturb others.

But let's face it, that's not usually the norm.

Our current parish doesn't have a cry room.  It does have a narthex behind three sets of heavy glass doors which doubles as a sort of cry room for half of Mass... and I've begun to think of it as a cry room because it's treated as one.

These past few weeks I've gotten an up close and personal look at the narthex/cry room... and I've spent quite a bit of time thinking about it, so Kendra's post today (with a link up) about cry rooms was timely.  

Here's how the narthex/cry room works at our parish from what I've seen this past month (and of course, it's in story form, because let's face it, pretty much everything I write is in story form):

Patrick has decided that he is no longer content to cuddle with Mommy during Mass and doze sweetly on my chest.  He's eight months old and he has plans that don't include sleeping from 9 to 10:30 on Sunday mornings any longer.  It also seems that he's decided that walking through the doors of the Church makes him hungry.  Ravenous in fact.  With his new interest in pinching me and yanking on my scapular while screaming to let me know that he's starving (even if he has eaten right before we left the house), I've found myself retreating out into the narthex a few minutes into Mass to sit on a staircase that's tucked back out of the way.

From my staircase I can still see and hear everything.  I'll sit, and grab my nursing cover and get him set up to nurse in the carrier and I'll sway back and forth and hope with all my might that he falls asleep quickly.  And by quickly I mean before the homily.

Before the homily things are peaceful in the narthex.  Patrick and Sadie and I are all alone back there (Paul's on his own wrangling Mae Bae these days).  We can hear the priest and I've actually heard more of the homilies than I'd heard in years.  Then the homily ends.  And the doors swing open.  And social hour starts.  A screaming toddler races past me.  Another follows behind.  Loud voices start talking about toddler development.  People are comparing milestones.  Kids scream, adults laugh, one man sat loudly humming Ave Maria last week and then broke out into song.

All the while I have my eyes focused on the altar.  I'm trying... so hard... not to be annoyed.  I'm failing.  I'm trying to offer it up... trying to focus... trying to pray... but I still find it's taking everything not to shake my head.  And I don't want to be that person.  Not at all.

Patrick is still nursing.  He hasn't fallen asleep in time to slip back into Mass before the hoards come rushing out.  Every time a child screams with laughter (which is like every 10 seconds because these children, who were sitting pretty well in Mass ten seconds earlier know that play time has arrived) he clamps down with his new top teeth... not quite biting... just squeezing in alarm at the very loud sound... and I wince.... but he's practically asleep and I really don't want to wake him up when he wasn't biting on purpose and unlatching him would definitely wake him up and put us back at Go.

You see I love seeing kids at Mass.  There's only one time when I really find myself getting annoyed... And that's when Mom and/or Dad check out and let junior have free rein.  Kid yelling while a harried parent tries to stop it?  I can relate.  Mom turning around to talk to someone else while little Sally lays on the floor and kicks the wall as hard as she can?  I find myself taking deep breaths and trying not to get angry.

We are still at Mass, right?  And why the exodus when the Liturgy of the Eucharist begins, when the kids aren't even misbehaving?  Is it in anticipation of possible misbehaving?  Or is it because it's cocktail hour on the Lido Deck?

Today I took Patrick and Sadie and we slipped back inside, the bulky cover still over us.  He wasn't going to fall asleep out there.  Finally, in the moderately quiet church, Patrick drifted off (I say moderately because shortly after he fell asleep a toddler crawled under the pew over to us and started beating her hands on the seat next to Sadie... but hey, I can understand not wanting to take her out into the chaos outside those glass doors either, because I didn't want to be out there and was silently praying that Patrick just stay asleep...  In case you're wondering... he didn't).

So I guess you could say that my feelings on cry rooms are kind of mixed.  I can see the point.  I'm happy to have a place to escape when Patrick's fussing (like the narthex).  I'm sure others feel the same.  On the other hand, I dream of a world in which cry rooms aren't a place of exiled craziness, where people think that they aren't at Mass any longer... because you are... and while everyone understands that it will be loud, I think that there should be an expectation that you're at least trying your level best to participate in the Mass, rather than turning to your neighbor and saying "how 'bout those Tigers?"

What do you think?  As you can tell, my thoughts on cry rooms aren't totally clear (and perhaps they're a bit jaded)...  And I pretty much have an internal battle with myself at each Mass, as I berate myself for getting annoyed because I know how hard it can be... I'm right in the thick of it... I understand... or at least I do at times and I try to the rest of the time... but I think that there should be at least some effort on the parents' part beyond simply standing there and talking while the kid runs wild.).

I apologize for my overuse of ellipsis... Oh no!  There I go again!  It's like a punctuation addiction.  At least I know I have a problem...

After all that rambling about Mass are you ready for what we actually wore today?  

One of the first dresses that I made when I learned to sew...

Maggie and Sadie in their dresses at the zoo after a post Mass picnic.

He cries hysterically every time I put him in a button up shirt.
That makes getting dressed on Sunday's fun... but now he's happy because he has a spoon.

I said:  "Stand right there.  Now quick. Look that way!"
He humored me by following my instructions.
And then it took my camera roughly 60 seconds to snap a picture.
This was the result.

For more outfits and WIWS head over to FLAP.  For more cry room musings stop by Kendra's Link Up at Catholic All Year and see what's being said!