Haiku Friday! (A day early)

I'm going out of town for a few days and don't know if I'll be able to blog on vacation, so here's my Friday Haiku a day early.



on a vacation
blissful days of no housework
time for fun and play

sand in between toes
crashing surf and crying gulls
building sandcastles

laughing children run
sand dollar treasure hunting
napping in the sun

real mexican food
orange grease running on the plate
hand made tortillas

humid and sticky
air so thick you can see it
my own warm blanket

can't wait to get there
trilling tongues Spanish voices
my own motherland

ten days spent away
back to winter cold, windy
dreaming of the sun

Housekeeping

Alright, I'll admit publicly what my friends and loved ones have known or suspected for years. I'm right up there in the top 10 Worst Housekeepers of all Time list. I don't think in first or second, but probably in the middle. I didn't even know that I was supposed to be cleaning my roof.

Y'all are probably all rolling your eyes at the fact that I didn't know that, or it could be at my use of the word "y'all". It is too a word! Look it up smartypants!

I hate it that when I make a new cleaning discovery I get excited and everyone else has known about it for years. I'm a woman who can actually go to sleep at night with dishes in the sink and sleep just fine. My mom is like that, too. We're just a long line of women with better things to do.

Then I see an ad on my own blog! My own personal ignore the laundry and dishes corner of the world space. Roof cleaner! So I click on it and discover, to my horror that I'm supposed to be cleaning my roof every 24 months. That should be easy to remember. It's roughly every time we have a baby I should be cleaning the roof. I could just add it to my list of insane nesting activities.

The ad says something like "Tired of those stains and streaks on your roof?" No! I never even noticed them, but now you have pointed them out and I will see them every time I pull into the driveway. Worse yet, my OCD husband will read this and decide that we need to clean the roof! We'll have to do it every two years! See what they've done? They've robbed me of the last bit of house that I didn't have to clean. The one bit that I didn't have to be embarrassed by when my mother-in-law comes over.

Curse you Roof Cleaner Manufacturing People! May you have a streaky roof, dirty dishes and baby slime on your favorite shirt every time the doorbell rings.

Too True

Thanks to the Caveman for reminding me of this one.

Wowee!

Several years before we moved into our current home, some crazy person put white linoleum on the kitchen floor. Having five children in the house makes it impossible to keep looking tidy. Even when freshly scrubbed, it still has tennis shoe scuff marks and mysterious color patches stubbornly refuse my best efforts at scrubbing them up.

Then I watched the BBC's How Clean Is Your House? I love that show!!!! it always makes me feel a bit better about my own poor housekeeping skills and they always have such great tips. Today's brilliant tip (I just had to share) was using toilet bowl cleanser (like Comet)to clean linoleum floors. Guess what? It's brilliant! It was the easiest floor washing I've ever done, and got rid of all the marks which I had accepted as permanent.

Hooray for the British cleaning ladies, but please don't send them to my house.

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The Drill Sergeant Is In!

After two months of working with my children on being better disciplined, I am moving on to the next phase. The girls are pretty good. (My three year old keeps asking for help to clean her room, and is upset when it's messy. Yay Mom!)My boys, however, remain stubbornly slovenly. Bring on phase 3.

As of this morning, they will have carefully planned and organized lives. As I've said in the past, I'm very go-with-the-flow, so this will be painful for me as well. Every moment of their little lives is now planned for them. Even their playtime is scheduled. When they show me that they can operate responsibly within the parameters that I set, then I will loosen up a bit. Until then, no dice.

In the past, they have been Teflon. No punishments stick, and I have tried them all. Time-outs, swats, taking toys, you name it. Now we will try the drill sergeants favorite, drop and give me ten.

So, that's the plan of action for today. You've been briefed. No shirking your duty. Ten-hut!

Haiku Friday-My Five

Irish dancing girl
wearing wig and dress and socks
sparkle everywhere

Silly number two
gap-toothed grin, always joking
froggy belly laugh

Mister make-believe
live in your own made-up world
a lovable rogue

Girly, prissy thing
tomboy underneath it all
tea party sword fights

Little fat baby
speed demon in a diaper
snuggly kissing chub

Ummmmm....OK

The following story was written by my 8 year old. His assignment was to write a short story containing the words: Katie Thompson, Adam Wilson, wallet, five dollars, reward, and found. Here's what he came up with:

Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Katie Thompson. She went to see her friend Sadie. She found five dollars and then she hollered, "Dollar!"

So, when they went into the woods, Sadie kept singing, "Dollar, dollar." They found a bunch of lunch. Then they saw a boy named Adam Wilson. When he whistled he heard a snap in the thistle.

"It is just a squirrel," said Adam .

"I have a wallet," said the squirrel.

Adam said, "Give it back."

The squirrel said, "No." So he smacked him. The squirrel said okay, so Adam gave him a reward, violets.

Katie gave the violets to the gift shop owner.

"Bluebirds!" said Sadie.

"Uh-oh," said Adam, "rain on Saturday."

The power went out that afternoon, they slept by the fire.

THE END

How do I grade that?

Father-Daughter Talk

I got this from a friend and decided that I had to share.

A young woman was about to finish her first year of college. Like so many
others her age, she considered herself to be a very liberal Democrat,
and among other liberal ideals, was very much in favor of higher taxes
to support more government programs, in other words redistribution of
wealth.

She was deeply ashamed that her father was a rather
staunch Republican, a feeling she openly expressed. Based on the
lectures that she had participated in, and the occasional chat with a
professor, she felt that her father had for years harbored an evil,
selfish desire to keep what he thought should be his.

One day she was challenging her father on his opposition to higher taxes on
the rich and the need for more government programs. The self-professed
objectivity proclaimed by her professors had to be the truth and she
indicated so to her father. He responded by asking how she was doing in
school.

Taken aback, she answered rather haughtily that she had a 4.0 GPA,
and let him know that it was tough to maintain,
insisting that she was taking a very difficult course load and was
constantly studying, which left her no time to go out and party like
other people she knew. She didn't even have time for a boyfriend, and
didn't really have many college friends because she spent all her time studying.

Her father listened and then asked, "How is your friend Audrey doing?"

She replied, "Audrey is barely getting by. All she takes are easy classes,
she never studies, and she barely has a 2.0 GPA. She is so popular on
campus; college for her is a blast. She's always invited to all the
parties, and lots of times she doesn't even show up for classes because
she's too hung over."

Her wise father asked his daughter, "Why don't you go to the Dean's office and
ask him to deduct a 1.0 off your GPA and give it to your friend who only has a 2. 0.
That way you will both have a 3.0 GPA and certainly that would be a fair and equal
distribution of GPA."

The daughter, visibly shocked by her father's suggestion, angrily fired back,

"That's a crazy idea. How would that be fair? I've worked really hard for my grades!
I've invested a lot of time, and a lot of hard work! Audrey has done next to nothing toward her degree. She played while I worked my tail off!"

The father slowly smiled, winked and said gently, "Welcome to the
Republican Party."

Proud to be an American

Head on over the the Lair of the Catholic Cavemen to see what Cavey has to say about Michelle Obama's statement about being proud to be an American for the first time in her adult life. I'm waiting for her apology, but I'll bet she doesn't even think she's said anything wrong.

Swimsuit Season

Mirrors should be outlawed. The three panel mirrors in dressing rooms should be a felony. Is there anything worse than confronting cold, unflinching reality under the harsh glow of fluorescent lighting?

I recently went swimsuit shopping. I know it's a recipe for disaster, but I need a new one. So, I prepared myself in the time-honored tradition of chubby girls who go swimsuit shopping. I shaved and waxed. I fixed my hair and put on makeup. The hair and makeup alone should make me look 10 pounds lighter. I was optimistic. This year, at last, I wouldn't leave the dressing room depressed and in tears. I am cute, by golly, and I need a suit that's just as cute so we can go swimming together!

(Do you hear that ominous sounding music in the background?)

I went to the store. I picked out three suits. I didn't even lie to myself about my size, so they were actually the suits I needed. I've grabbed suits a size or two too small in the past only to feel huge when they don't fit. Better to need a smaller size than a bigger one. That's some good thinkin' right there. I was proud. I was confident. This year would be different!

AAAAAAAAAAACCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!!


Back fat! I have back fat! Not all over smooth back fat either. No! Mine has to come in lumps and folds. 'Cause that's pretty. How have I missed this? I also missed the fact that without a bra my boobs are exactly one inch from my kneecaps. Why is there no support in any of these suits? They aren't this saggy at home. I know, because I checked things out before I left the house. I have no mirror that shows my my lumpy, bumpy self from the back. I have the kind at home that makes me look 15 pounds lighter, 10 years younger (except that pesky one in the kids' bathroom). And what's with the skirts on swimsuits? I thought I wanted one for the sake of modesty, but now I see that I just look like a dancing hippo from Fantasia.

I'm going to the beach in 10 days...if I start working out today, can I be a size 4 by the time we go? And just exactly what happens to the skin on the back fat when the back fat is gone? Does it get flat and saggy like the boobs? Am I destined to end up looking like a shirt that desperately needs to be ironed?

I miss pregnancy. Not because of the baby at the end, or any of the weird cravings or morning sickness. I miss it because I miss the way it's okay to be just the shape I am when I'm pregnant. All the lumps smooth out in the most charming ways. People smile when I waddle a bit. The boobs fill out and lift up. It's one of those little known beauty secrets.

I've decided to buy a pregnancy belly pillow thingy to wear to the beach. People will judge me by the size of my family, but the size of my behind will be just right.

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Demographic Winter-the decline of the human family

I found this link over at Standing on my Head. It looks great! I think I'm going to order a copy for my High School catechism class. It appears to be a statement about why marriage should be preserved in its traditional form, and why we should all have babies. The more the merrier. As one person points out in the trailer, this is the first time in history that economic prosperity has gone along with a decline in birth rate. How much longer can that last? Hop over and watch it, then decide for yourself.

I love Stephen Colbert...

in an awe-struck, hero-worship, totally platonic kind of way.




h/t the Ironic Catholic

Wal-Mart

I've decided to stop shopping at Wal-Mart. I know there may be reason to run in there once in a blue moon, and I'm okay with that, but I will not be bringing my children with me. Why? Because they are not family friendly. I have known this for years, but have only just now reached the point where I declare "Enough!"

It started about 5 years ago when #1 wanted a pregnant Barbie. Yes, they have them. She's not really Barbie, but her friend Midge. Midge is married (she has a painted on wedding band, and you can't be more married than a ring you can't take off) and this is their second child. Her husband comes with their toddler son. I was pregnant at the time and thrilled to see a family represented in toy-dom. We had seen her in her rotund glory in the toy aisles at Wally World, so that's where we went. She wasn't there. They only had a version of her with a newborn. No pregnant belly. I asked the guy stocking shelves where she had gone and he said that corporate decided to pull her. Was there something wrong with her? He didn't know, so I called the corporate headquarters of W.M. The long and the short of it is that three different managers at the corporate offices said she was pulled because she was "NOT AN APPROPRIATE ROLE MODEL FOR LITTLE GIRLS." What? She's married and expecting a child...what's wrong with that? So, anyway..strike one.

Fast forward to a few months ago in the checkout aisle. The Cosmopolitan magazine is at my 6 and 8 year olds' eye level. Which led to the charing questions of "What is an orgasm?", "What is sex?", "How can sex end up in the E.R.?" All taken, no kidding from the front of the magazine. Being the big mouthed girl you love, I asked for a manager and asked him if it couldn't be moved to a higher level and swapped with say House Beautiful which was at my eye level. He said sure. We went back several times. It was never done. My children kept seeing inappropriate things. I even wrote to corporate about it. I got thanked for my interest and blown off....strike two.

Then last week, I made a run into the dreaded superstore for cold medicine and vitamins. I don't know about your local store, but at ours the vitamins are on the same aisles as the condoms and pregnancy tests. The pg tests were up high, the condoms and Wal-Marts new line of sex toys were, you guessed it, at my children's height. More upsetting questions from the Little Kids who were with me. (I will have these talks with them some day, but 3,6, and 8 is not the time to discuss vibrating condom rings.) So we abandoned our cart, wound our way past the thong displayed on the mannequin (Mom, why doesn't her underwear have a back?)and left the store...Strike three.

Barring an unforeseen emergency (like my mother-in-law coming and only they carry her favorite whatever), we will not be returning to Wal-Mart. They may be cheap, and carry lots of stuff, but their displays have a PG-13 rating and I live in a G-rated household.

For another reason to boycott Wal-Mart, like how it's destroying small American businesses, click here.

Blessedly Boring

When I was growing up, things were rough. I won't go into it, or bore you with details. You would probably think I was exaggerating, and I wouldn't be. I'd get my feelings hurt....it would be drama, and frankly I don't need that. I've had enough. I had a rough childhood, remember?

One of the good things of a life which could be described as soap-opera-esque is that I have a deep and abiding appreciation for normal. Talk to anyone who lived in the House of Crazy at any point in her life, and she'll tell you how good boring looks.

When I told friends and family that I was going to marry my beloved Computer Guy, they were a little shocked. He just seemed so quiet and subdued compared to anyone I had dated before. My step-mother actually asked me at one point what it was that I had seen in him that attracted me. We seem so different on the surface. How on earth could a cheerleader fall for a computer nerd? As she said, he was so....vanilla.

I guess the secret is that I like vanilla. I'll take two scoops of everyday, ordinary wonderful over big and flashy any day of the week. When you've lived with Crazy, you dream of hum-drum, because it doesn't look hum-drum to you. It looks like a slice of peaceful Heaven.

So, if you ever meet us in person, and wonder what attracted outgoing me to retiring him..now you know. Other people dream of excitement. I dreamed of holding hands on the couch and watching a movie, of curling up in bed together to read, of cooking dinner in the kitchen. I dream of growing old together in a home which others may see as ordinary, but which I know is thankfully, miraculously, and blessedly boring.

Thanks to the guy who makes my dream of a boring home come true every single day. Boring is not a bad thing to me, to me it's my own little piece of wonderful.

To My Husband...

Here's a list of some of the things I love about you:
100. You can't imagine that I could possibly come up with a hundred things.
99. You will eat the cheap chocolate your kids gave you this morning, and smile.
98. You IM the kids during the day to say "Way to go on that math test."
97. When I call during the day, I can tell that sometimes you're just glad to hear my voice.
96. You are still my soft place to fall.
95. You have Hobbit feet.
94. You try to work out at the Y every day even though the old men in the locker room creep you out.
93. You watch Drake and Josh with the kids and even have a favorite episode.
92. You write beautiful letters.
91. You suffer from the Tim Allen syndrome, and you know it but don't really care.
90. Together, we can beat anyone at Trivial Pursuit.
89. You are one of the smartest people I've ever known.
88. Somehow you don't get that.
87. You're hot.
86. You don't get that either.
85. You don't smile in pictures because you like to look tough, but don't think I know that.
84. You still make fun of me for farting on Christmas morning 14 years ago. It's still funny, but can we let it go?
83. We can sit in the silence together and not have to say a word.
82. You play football with the boys in the backyard.
81. You talk to my belly when I'm pregnant.
80. You know I'm not a jewelry kind of girl, but you want to buy it for me anyway.
79. This post may be one of your favorite Valentine's gifts ever.
78. You still call your dad for advice.
77. Your parents objected, but you married me anyway.
76. We ate rice for the first three years of our marriage. You never complained, and you still like rice.
75. If someone asks for help, you always say "Yes."
74. You love our children, and even better, you like them.
73. You try to be the kind of man that you want the boys to be.
72. You change the poopy diapers.
71. You have caught the vomit in your hands and remained calm.
70. You actually liked the guinea pigs, and were sad when they died.
69. You chase the dog around the backyard until she keels over from joy and exhaustion.
68. You have presided over goldfish funerals.
67. The way you are always nice to family, even when they aren't nice to you.
66. The delight you take in the costumes of #3, and that you show the picture off at work.
65. You always buy Girl Scout cookies if someone asks.
64. I paint the walls weird colors, you don't complain.
63. I move the furniture around, you don't complain.
62. You hate change, I change everything, you don't complain.
61. You're very tolerant.
60. You go downstairs to brush your teeth and shave in the morning so I can sleep a little bit later.
59. You actually feel left out when you don't get to go to an Irish dance competition.
58. When you don't like dinner, you tell me how to make it better, then you eat it anyway.
57. You like your oreos straight from the freezer.
56. You don't think I'm funny, but you laugh anyway.
55. You mow the lawn so that it gets the same diamond pattern as the golf course.
54. You sing the Prince's part from "I Know You" from Sleeping Beauty so our three year old can be Princess Aurora.
53. #2 talks in circles for hours, you actually listen and try to keep up.
52. You dragged 4 kids around the marathon route so they could cheer for mom.
51. Met me at mile marker 11 so I could nurse #4.
50. Strong slow hands.
49. That just the word "cowbell" can make you laugh.
48. You save every card I've ever given you.
47. The stuffed panda you had as a boy is in your closet.
46. The little boy grin you get when you use your chainsaw.
45. The way my cheek fits perfectly into that spot on your shoulder.
44. That you put your cereal bowl and spoon on top of the fridge so you always have a clean one.
43. How attached you are to your "Dad" pillow.
42. That you play Star Wars with the boys.
41. Your idea of a bedtime story is reading the Star Wars ship tech manual to our sons.
40. You've played Pretty, Pretty Princess and been happy when you won.
39. You've named all three boys after gunfighters, then tell them to "play nice".
38. Commutationem timemus.
37. That you know I hate that ear thing...but still try it anyway.
36. Your Beavis and Butthead/King of the Hill impressions.
35. When we watch movies, you tell me when the bloody scenes are over.
34. You don't make fun of me because I can't watch the bloody scenes.
33. There are movies you won't watch because children are hurt/die in them.
32. You can't watch the "Christian Children's Fund" commercials.
31. You change the oil in my car, and set the gauge, so that it keeps working.
30. You drive the old minivan so I can drive the cute car.
29. You may never own a firebird, and part of you is okay with that.
28. The other part isn't.
27. You follow the rules, even when it's inconvenient.
26. The way you smell.
25. Did I mention the way you smell?
24. It can ruin your day if the Sooners lose, but you're not a fan.
23. You do the laundry.
22. You never doubted (out loud) my ability to homeschool.
21. You think I should go back to college just for me.
20. The way your voice makes my knees turn to jelly.
19. Your deep appreciation of head rubbing and foot massages.
18. You're a city boy, but you dream of country living.
17. After 15 years together, I still have to tie your ties.
16. You're the parent the kids want when they're sick.
15. You make the best burgers ever. (I know, they need bacon bits.)
14. You read my blog every day.
13. You bought me the stupid ice cream thing I wanted for my birthday, then bought that big cake because I wasn't wishing big enough.
12. You wanted one child, we had five, and you think you got your way.
11. You helped your dad roof his house when we went to Corpus Christi on vacation.
10. You always wanted to be a cowboy.
9. That thing you do...you know the thing...
8. Four showers a day on a Saturday, one after every lawn you mow.
7. You wash your hands when we get to the restaurant and again when the food arrives.
6. You're almost as big a cheapskate as me.
5. I can make you feel spoiled you by taking you out to lunch.
4. You think birth is the most disgusting thing you've ever seen. You haven't missed a single one.
3. The sight of our babies' heads resting on your chest.
2. You know I won't get your jokes, but you tell them to me first anyway.
1. Because I can't imagine going to sleep or waking up with anyone else.

I love you, Computer Guy! I'm so glad that God decided I was worthy to be your wife. Happy Valentines Day!

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Valentine's Day

Is anyone else getting a little tired of all the high pressure tactics surrounding Valentines Day gifts? Emails from the Vermont Teddy Bear people, Godiva chocolates, pajamagrams, jewelry stores, and too many internet florists to count are clogging my inbox. I have to wade through all of this nonsense just to see if anyone's giving anything good away on freecycle. (If you don't freecycle you should. I'm just sayin')

While my natural instincts say that any holiday which promotes the consumption of chocolate has to be a good thing, my cheapness kicks in along with my common sense and I roll my eyes at the whole thing.

I don't need to spend $90 on a stuffed bear for my husband for him to know that I love him, and if he bought me one I don't know what I would do with it. Not to mention my disgust at $90 on a bear. What are they made of that they are worth that kind of money? For $90 it better make my bed and vacuum my floors. Which brings me to a good gift anytime of the year...maid service. Gentlemen, if you want to get lucky, chocolate and flowers are good for one night, but a sparkling bathroom and a mopped kitchen will give an afterglow that lasts a week or so. Even if the clean only lasts a day, the memory of the clean will sparkle in her mind. Trust me on this, if you want to give her a gift she will brag about for years to come, then a maid service is the way to go. (Look at all the women nodding their heads if you don't believe me.)

I know that to the male mind this may seem to be a completely unromantic gift. I hate to argue with you about this, but I will anyway. A maid for your lady says, "I love you too much to make you wipe the pee off of the toilet or the bathroom floor for one more day." Now that's love. In fact, that's swooning, romantic, love me until I cry gifting right there. The best thing about it is, if you can't afford a maid then you can be the maid. I don't think it has quite the same pizazz if you force the children to do it. I can promise you that the sight of you in rubber gloves with a bottle of bleach and scrubbing the bathroom floor will be the sexiest thing your wife has seen in years. You may have to catch her as she swoons, and that's dead sexy, too.

Sts Modestus and Ammonius

Happy feast day of Sts Modestus and Ammonius! C'mon, you've heard of them. You know, the children of St Damian? Martyrs? From Alexandria? Egypt?

I've never heard of them either. It's not surprising really. There are so many saints that it is impossible to keep track of them all. They also get overshadowed by Valentine whose feast is a few days from now. Had you heard? St Valentine? Feb 14th? Oh, good.

I couldn't really find much out about this pair, except that they were martyred with their father. I couldn't find out anything about their mother, or how old they were at the time. "Children" just isn't that specific.

I've been picturing them about the ages of my own sweet sons, 6 and 8, and huddled next to their father.

How heart-breaking to be a father and not be able to protect your child. I don't imagine it makes it easier to know in your heart that they are dying for Good instead of living for Evil, and yet have to watch their little lives be snuffed out by someone who simply doesn't share your religious convictions. He is like the Old Testament widow who watch all of her sons die rather than renounce God, and was so incredibly proud of the men that her babies had become.I suspect that it was more about political expediency than religion on the part of their executioners, but all about God to these three.

What an example of parenting St Damian can be for us, especially those of us who live in areas which are not exactly friendly towards our beliefs. He reminds us to keep our eyes on the prize. Keep looking at Heaven as the ultimate goal of parenting. May we never be in his position, but if we are, may we face it with courage, calm and grace.

Whose Idea of a Sick Joke Is This?

For the last three days, I've gotten emails from a group called "Over forty and single" wanting me to join their dating service. I have no idea how they found me, but I have a few things to point out:
1. Married, not interested in dating since I have a seriously hot husband, thank you very much
2. Even if I was single, I don't know that I would want to use an internet dating service. If you do, good for you. It just doesn't sound like my cup of tea.

and the most important..

3. I'M NOT OVER FORTY!!!!!!!


I know that I will be some day, but today is not that day. I'm only 33! 33!!!! for goodness sakes. That's a long way to forty. Why, it's barely out of my twenties. Almost girlish really. Don't you think? I mean, do I look forty to you?

Wait. Don't answer that. I know that I have a few gray hairs, and that the crows feet..I mean LAUGH LINES are starting to show up. But you really need to meet me in person. I have a very youthful air about me. Almost a glow really.

People would pay good money to have such a glow. In fact, I think they do pay good money..to someone else. But really, I don't seem a day over..say 33. Really. I don't.

Do I? Hang on a second while I go look in the mirror in the kids' bathroom. You know, the one with the good light that I usually avoid because....well, who are you to judge my motives? I'll be right back.

Sing a little song and amuse yourself until I return.




Are you humming? Is it something cool, or is it some hair band from the 80s? Keep singing, I'm coming right back.









Ack! I've got to go. Natural sunlight should be outlawed in favor of mood lighting and candles. Yes, candles would be lovely. I need some lotion, and hair dye, and mustache cream...I have friends, really, why don't they TELL me these things? They could say "You need a box of hair dye and to kill that old lady thing that's happening on your upper lip." I would hurt them, but I would appreciate the honesty.

In The Sidebar

My children are fascinated with the sitemeter for my humble blog, and rejoice when we get a hit from a new country. I think it's pretty cool, too. It's my blog, what I say goes, and so I'm adding a list of countries who've stopped by for a visit.

Dear St Lucy..

I have been closely following the progress of little Coy over at PrayforCoy. He's a little boy who was born at only 24 weeks gestation and has been fighting for his chance at life. I simply stumbled across their blog and was sucked into the drama of it all. It brings me right back to the joy and heartache of our own #2 in the NICU and battling daily to live. My heart and prayers go out to this family.

Coy is beginning to show signs of retinopothy of prematurity. (I'm sure I spelled at least part of that wrong.) This is when the retinas detach and the child goes blind. Often, they can be surgically reattached, but this is a 2 pound baby, so nothing is simple.

I want so badly to write to them about asking for the intercession of St Lucy, patron of the blind. How comforting it could be to have friends in high places looking out for you. I hesitate because they are evangelical protestants and I don't think they would understand. I don't want then fearing that I'm invoking idols on behalf of their child. That they have such a deep, wonderful faith is readily apparent from their writing, and it would not be kind of me to put them into any kind of turmoil.

I have run into this problem with Protestants in general and Evangelicals in particular before this. The natural responses of a Catholic to tragedy cause scandal in our Christian brethren. So what do you do? When an acquaintance told me of her father's death, I said I would pray for him and she looked at me funny. Why would I pray for the dead? They're either There or they're not, aren't they? I meant it in charity and love, but it caused confusion, and was not the proper time to explain about the Catholic understanding of what is to come.

Is it kinder to tailor what we say to our audience a bit? Is it okay to say to a family, "I will pray for your son's eyes" and not tell them that you will also seek the outside help of a beloved saint? Should we only pray to God and ignore the saints if that is what the request is, because prayers to saints make them uncomfortable?

I don't want my faith to be a billy-club with which I beat the Protestants around me. On the other hand, I have to live my faith in the way which I am called to live. I have to be faithful to all that I have been taught and profess to believe or else there is no point to it.

So, on prayforcoy, I offer prayers to the Almighty in their combox, and on Shoved to Them, I ask for the help of St Lucy:

O God, our Creator and redeemer, mercifully hear our prayers that as we venerate Thy servant, Saint Lucy, for the light of faith thou didst bestow upon her, Thou wouldst vouchsafe to increase and to preserve this same light in our souls, that we may be able to avoid evil, to do good and to abhor nothing so much as the Blindness and the darkness of evil and of sin.
Relying on Thy goodness, O God, we humbly ask Thee, by the intersession of Thy servant, Saint Lucy that Thou wouldst give perfect vision to our eyes, that they may serve for Thy greater honor and glory, and for the salvation of our souls in this world, that we may come to the enjoyment of the unfailing light of the Lamb of God in paradise.
Saint Lucy, Virgin and martyr, hear our prayers and obtain our petitions.
Amen.

Haiku Friday

No good sleep for days
sick child sleeps on my pillow
she steals the covers

medicine nearby
bowls of soup and cups of sprite
clutter my nightstand

what I wouldn't give
for a cool and healthy girl
or a good stiff drink

Resource Intensive

Resource Intensive is probably my all-time favorite computer term because it works so well in my life. In computer-ese, it's a part of the computer that sucks all the power and needs the most attention. Funny, it means the same thing in mom-speak.

Resource intensive is my normally easy going 3 year old when she has a cold. Her normal breakfast request is "Honeycomb in a bowl and milk in a cup." Easy-peasy. This morning, after a being sick a while, it was "I need waffle crisp cereal in a bowl with a handle so I can eat it on the couch, but not the yellow bowl. It has two handles. And I need milk in a cup with a lid, but not the Dora cup, the Spongebob cup. The blue one with the green lid." Nothing like knowing what you want is there?

Later from the bathroom, I heard, "Moooommmmmmyyyyyyy. I need you to wipe my boooootttttoooommmmm!." (I tell you, it's a glamorous life I lead.)Only to be told by the expert that I didn't wipe the poop right, I would need to do it again. Oh, and could I use the toilet paper from Daddy's bathroom? It's softer. (It's all the same brand. Sheesh.)

The Principessa needed to get dressed and wanted her Cinderella shirt. I couldn't find the right one; the one I found had an itchy tag. So, I cut off the tag. Cue tears streaming down the face "Mommy, why did you break my shirt? I can't wear a broken shirt." Sob. Sob. Sniffle.

Sigh.

Right now, she's pouting in her father's chair because the episode of Angelina Ballerina on the TV is a rerun and her mean mother refuses to call the television station and ask them to put on a new one. "You could ask.." Whine. Whine.

Yes, she's become a monster and it will take me weeks to get her back to normal, but she's my monster.

Unless...

Anybody want to buy a slightly used monster? I could make you a deal.

Clutter

My New Years resolution to be the meanest mom ever so that the kids will pick up has fallen a bit flat. #4 has been sick for two weeks and the baby hasn't been sleeping, so I'm off my game. Consequently, the whole house looks as if it could pass for the 4th circle of Hell.

It's crushing, the amount of stuff that lies about the house. It would take days of work for me to get it all cleaned, and with a sick girl and a non-sleeping boy, I have neither the time nor the energy required.

My house is to the point of depressing. I don't even want to come downstairs. Just looking at it is exhausting. It just sucks the energy out of me to look around, so I hold the sick girl and bury my nose in a book.

I am to the point of taking a trash bag to it and just throwing stuff away. If it's not important enough to pick up then it's not important enough to keep. I think I'll need a nap before tackling it.

In the mean time, no more bitchy mom for me...I'll move on to my next tactic..Catholic Mom Guilt.

I'll keep you informed.

Ash Wednesday

It's here, at last! Will you think me a weird freak if I confess that Ash Wednesday is probably my favorite day of the whole year to be Catholic? I love getting the ashes and getting to wear them out in the world. It is the one day when we have to put it out there and declare our Catholocity to the world. (Is that even a word?) Catholicness? Hmmmm...I'll ponder it later. There has to be a word for what I'm trying to say. If only I were president and could make them up as I need them...

Ash Wednesday is a strange experience in a state that is less than 5% Catholic. There are strange looks and questions all day from people who just want to let us know that "we have a little something right there". I appreciate the offer of help when people attempt to swipe at my forehead, even though I've perfected the Catholic backbend to avoid them. I'm like that guy on the Matrix...almost.

I also like the reminder of my own mortality. In an odd way, I find it reassuring. (I know, now my Irish Catholic is showing.) It is comforting to me to know that I'm just dust. That's it. There is something nice in being dirt. I happen to like having my own bubble of self-importance burst gently every now and then, and Ash Wednesday is always a welcome dose of humility. It makes me feel a little better about my own shortcomings. I don't have to be perfect. After all, I'm not God. I'm not even close to being God. I was created from the mud and the muck, and when I die the earthly part of me will go back to being mud and muck.

So, bring on the ashes, and the weird looks, and the back bending. For one day a year, let me be a visible testimony to the power and glory of Our Lord and His Church without having to utter a single word. I'm like the crazy guy on the street shouting "Repent! For the hour is at hand!" I like that guy; he has the courage to bravely face the world with a message it doesn't want to hear. For today, we get to do that too. So go out there, wear your ashes with pride and humility, and be the crazy guy on the corner. It's good for you

Guess Who? (The Answers Revealed)

I think my 6 year old may be the cleverest person I know. He can create really cool and elaborate costumes out of almost anything, and spends most days in the land of make believe. Here are some pics of our favorite creations. See if you can figure out who he's being. (For this once, I will suspend my "no pictures of the kids" rule just because I'm so proud of my funny boy.)

1.

2.

3.



4.

5.

6.

Did you get them all? In case you don't know some of them, they are:
1. Aladdin
2.Shaggy from Scooby Doo
3.Superman
4.Optimus Prime
5.Perseus from Clash of the Titans
6. Zorro (I know he needs a mask for this, but the one he made was itchy)

How'd you do?

Pornography and the Delete Key

In my real life, yes I do have one, I'm married to The Computer Guy. He helps run the network at a pretty good sized company, about 500 employees. There is something very important I have leaned as The Computer Guy's wife, and thought I would pass along to you. Call it a public service announcement if you will.


THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS DELETE! There, now you know. Even when you think you have deleted it, my husband can find it and bring it back. People get involved at work, wither romantically or otherwise. Then it doesn't work ou, angry emails are exchanged and someone complains to Human Resources. Then it begins. "Show us every email they've ever sent each other," the bigshots say. And my husband does. Someone will lose his/her job over this, and it would have been so easy to avoid. Just don't use the office email! don't use the office computer! Every thing you do and write is archived on tape and saved. Forever! Get a free yahoo account. My husband won't look in there, and it has the benefit of being FREE. Because no matter how many times you think you have deleted that incriminating email, people like my husband can bring it back.

Also, a plea from The Computer Guy's wife, don't look at porn while you're at work. Don't you know that there are computer guys who spy on you? Not only that, but eventually your computer will break down and you will have to call my husband. If he finds that you have been going to XXX sites, then your computer gets locked and you get fired. Don't think you can sneak it past him, THIS IS HIS JOB, and as I already warned you...there is no such thing as delete.

I know that his calm, quiet, friendly demeanor may have fooled you into thinking he's a good guy and won't turn you in...WRONG! We have lots of Little Kids to feed, and he's not that good of a guy when covering for you could cost him his job. He likes rules. He likes to follow them. He's kinda nerdy that way. The nerdy part is why he's a good computer guy. (It's also part of why I think he's hot.)

SO if you're tempted to go surfing the internet at work at look at a few boobs, resist the urge. Don't talk dirty to the girl or guy in the next cubicle. Send dirty emails to your OWN wife or husband. That way if you get caught you're not in trouble. Do it from your new free email account that my husband can't access. (unless you want him to watch...you sick freak.) But just remember this helpful hint from The Computer Guy's wife: On your computer and in your life, there is no such thing as delete. If you don't want someone finding out about it, just don't even go there.