Almost a month ago, I wrote about the effect on a person's psyche of being raised in a home which places no value on a human life. Now imagine for a moment the effect of being raised in a society which doesn't value human life. How would that person behaved when faced with a life or death decision about another human being? Would he save them, or measure the value and convenience of that life first? Sadly, we have our answer.
Two EMT's in England answered it for us when they responded to the call of a disabled man who was having a heart attack. When they saw Mr Baker sprawled on the floor and his crutches lying nearby, they did not rush to save him. Instead, they stood nearby and debated the quality of his life and whether, considering the drain he was on the national health care system, he and the country would be better off if Mr Baker were simply allowed to die.
It would seem that in secular England, these two public servants decided that because Mr Baker's hips were bad (he'd had surgery for them) enough to require the use of crutches and his house was dirty, they would just tell the dispatcher that he was already dead when they arrived. His life was probably miserable and he wasn't worth the effort of resuscitation. Unfortunately for the ambulancemen, they didn't realize that the 999 (the equivalent of our 911) computer was still taping since Mr Baker hadn't hung up the phone when he collapsed. Every word of their debate was saved.
What kind of society breeds people who stand over a dying man and decide that his life is too pathetic for him to want to live it? A society who does not value the worth of the individual as being on par or more important than the collective good. This is the path that our country is headed down if we do not realize the psychological impact that our actions have upon our children and take drastic moves to change them.
Let this tragic tale be a lesson to us all. When people are raised in a society which teaches and believes that only the convenient are worthy of life, then one day the inconvenient could be any of us. There is none of us so special that the EMT's wouldn't fell free to debate the relative merits of our lives before deciding if we are worth the effort.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
My favorite nun
When I was in high school at Incarnate Word Academy, I had a favorite nun, Sr Philomena. She was all of 4'10" with the best Irish brogue I've ever heard. After more than 30 years in this country, she still had that lovely lilt and cadence to her voice. I loved her. She was wry and sarcastic and had a merry step and twinkling eyes. I could never figure out why she had never married, but had become a nun instead. One day I finally asked her, and here is her explanation (Please read with your best Irish accent, it would make me so happy. Thanks.):
"When I was about sixteen," she said. "I liked to kiss the boys. That's not true. When I was sixteen I liked to kiss the boy who lived next door. He was lovely to look at and heaven to kiss, as long as he didn't talk too much. Anyway, one day my dad caught us necking in the haystacks and pulled us both up by our ears and said to me, 'You have two choices right now, you can marry him or you can go to the convent.' I looked long and hard at the neighbor boy's pretty face and said, 'Then take me to the convent. He's a lot of fun for kissing, but he's kind of an idiot.'"
"When I was about sixteen," she said. "I liked to kiss the boys. That's not true. When I was sixteen I liked to kiss the boy who lived next door. He was lovely to look at and heaven to kiss, as long as he didn't talk too much. Anyway, one day my dad caught us necking in the haystacks and pulled us both up by our ears and said to me, 'You have two choices right now, you can marry him or you can go to the convent.' I looked long and hard at the neighbor boy's pretty face and said, 'Then take me to the convent. He's a lot of fun for kissing, but he's kind of an idiot.'"
Monday, December 29, 2008
Know What's Nice?
The number six. In fact, I don't think any home is quite complete without a #6. That's why we're getting one in August. It's a bit of a wait, but you just can't rush these things.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Just When You Think They Don't Get It
There are days as a mom when you feel as if you're talking to brick walls. Nothing seems to be sinking ino their think little skulls and you prepare yourself for a lifetime of seeing your children on visitors' day at the prson because....conscience formation? What's that? Then there are moments like yesterday....
We got to the church for the children's Mass about an hour early. Who knew that small town people don't get to Mass on Christmas an hour early, they show up on time? Wierd. Anyway, as we pulled into the parking lot #2 said, "I need to go to Confession. Do you think the priest is hearing Confessions before Mass, because I need to go." As a mom, all I wanted to do was ask 'Why? What have you been doing?' but I was also so proud of him for knowing he needed to go.
We went into the church and all we found were three nuns practicing the music. I told #2 to go ask about Confession. I even coached him on what to say. He walked up beside the youngest nun and waited patiently until she was done with her song.
"Excuse me sister, but is the priest going to be doing Confession before Mass?"
"No. He only hears them on Saturdays from 3:00 to 4:00."
"Oh. Well what about the people who can't make it then?"
She just gave him a queer look and apologized. We waited in the pew, certain that Father would have to appear sooner or later.
About 15 minutes later, he came to check on his choir and make sure things were just so for Mass, and my guy walked up to him and said, "Excuse me, Father, but can you hear my Confession?"
The priest glanced at his watch and looked torn between being thrilled to be asked by a child and being annoyed to have his schedule interrupted.
"Please, Father," my son repeated. "I'm in a state of sin, and need to go to Confession or I can't go to Communion. Please."
Father's face softened and he took my small son back to the sacristy where he heard his Confession. Ten minutes later my son floated out of the back room, clean as a whistle and ready to celebrate his Savior's birth.
We got to the church for the children's Mass about an hour early. Who knew that small town people don't get to Mass on Christmas an hour early, they show up on time? Wierd. Anyway, as we pulled into the parking lot #2 said, "I need to go to Confession. Do you think the priest is hearing Confessions before Mass, because I need to go." As a mom, all I wanted to do was ask 'Why? What have you been doing?' but I was also so proud of him for knowing he needed to go.
We went into the church and all we found were three nuns practicing the music. I told #2 to go ask about Confession. I even coached him on what to say. He walked up beside the youngest nun and waited patiently until she was done with her song.
"Excuse me sister, but is the priest going to be doing Confession before Mass?"
"No. He only hears them on Saturdays from 3:00 to 4:00."
"Oh. Well what about the people who can't make it then?"
She just gave him a queer look and apologized. We waited in the pew, certain that Father would have to appear sooner or later.
About 15 minutes later, he came to check on his choir and make sure things were just so for Mass, and my guy walked up to him and said, "Excuse me, Father, but can you hear my Confession?"
The priest glanced at his watch and looked torn between being thrilled to be asked by a child and being annoyed to have his schedule interrupted.
"Please, Father," my son repeated. "I'm in a state of sin, and need to go to Confession or I can't go to Communion. Please."
Father's face softened and he took my small son back to the sacristy where he heard his Confession. Ten minutes later my son floated out of the back room, clean as a whistle and ready to celebrate his Savior's birth.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Merry Christmas!
We are going to be super busy and/or unavailable for much of the next week. Let me take this one quiet moment at the computer to wish you a Blessed, Holy, and Merry Christmas. I'll be back on Sunday to tell you about our holiday adventures.
Be safe, and go to Mass!
Be safe, and go to Mass!
Friday, December 19, 2008
Christmas Bonuses
This week we have seen the difference between working for the government and working for a private company. The private guys take better care of their people, because what is being a good boss in the private sector would be a waste of the taxpayers' money.
The week began with the office Christmas party. It was held at the Museum of Art and was pretty swanky. There was an open bar and waiters carrying unpronounceable hors d'oeuvres. We then moved on to dinner of pepper crusted tilapia for me and a 12 oz steak for the Computer Guy followed by dessert. Then can the good stuff. A Christmas bonus, luggage embossed with the company logo, and $400 in gift cards. I admit to being a little dumbstruck.
When the Computer Guy was a state employee doing pretty much the same job now, the "Holiday" party was a pot-luck lunch in the break room. No bonuses, not gifts, no nothing for any of them. One year they gave him a frozen turkey. But that may have been from UPS when he worked there to help make ends meet that year. I don't really remember.
How can the state compete for good people? Why would good employees stay and work for the people when they can be better paid and better appreciated if they go somewhere else? There is a reason that government employees are looked down upon by human resources managers. It is because the only people who stay in this situation for a long time are either too scared or too worthless to look elsewhere. When employees know that the can be treated better elsewhere, the best of them will leave. What is the incentive to stay?
Perhaps Christmas bonuses and nice parties would not be a waste of our tax dollars. Perhaps we, as the employers, need to learn a lesson from the guys whose people stay. We need to begin treating our employees in the government with the same level of respect and appreciation that we would like and then maybe, just maybe the best and brightest would want to work for us.
The week began with the office Christmas party. It was held at the Museum of Art and was pretty swanky. There was an open bar and waiters carrying unpronounceable hors d'oeuvres. We then moved on to dinner of pepper crusted tilapia for me and a 12 oz steak for the Computer Guy followed by dessert. Then can the good stuff. A Christmas bonus, luggage embossed with the company logo, and $400 in gift cards. I admit to being a little dumbstruck.
When the Computer Guy was a state employee doing pretty much the same job now, the "Holiday" party was a pot-luck lunch in the break room. No bonuses, not gifts, no nothing for any of them. One year they gave him a frozen turkey. But that may have been from UPS when he worked there to help make ends meet that year. I don't really remember.
How can the state compete for good people? Why would good employees stay and work for the people when they can be better paid and better appreciated if they go somewhere else? There is a reason that government employees are looked down upon by human resources managers. It is because the only people who stay in this situation for a long time are either too scared or too worthless to look elsewhere. When employees know that the can be treated better elsewhere, the best of them will leave. What is the incentive to stay?
Perhaps Christmas bonuses and nice parties would not be a waste of our tax dollars. Perhaps we, as the employers, need to learn a lesson from the guys whose people stay. We need to begin treating our employees in the government with the same level of respect and appreciation that we would like and then maybe, just maybe the best and brightest would want to work for us.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
I Really Am God's Plaything...Or How #4 Was Almost Named Horatio
When I was pregnant with #4, I was pretty sure she was a girl. In fact, the day the test was positive I told the Computer Guy, "I'm pregnant. It's a girl. Her name is #4." Just like that. Even the ultrasound guy with his less than confident, "I'm 70% sure it's not a boy." was not enough to shake my confidence. Until I went into labor.
Then I panicked. I was a few hours from having a baby that might be a boy because 70% sure it's not a boy is way different from 100% sure it's a girl. See what I mean? And if the baby was a boy he had no name except #4, and what kind of name is #4 for a boy?
We debated boys names for about an hour, me frantically and the Computer Guy in his half-interested my-wife-has-lost-her-mind way. We agreed on nothing. Then I got a brainstorm to let the television pick a name for us. (What? You don't name your babies this way?) My brilliant idea was that he would push the up channel on the remote until I said stop and we would name him the first boy name we heard. Simple.
On the first time, I let it flip through all the channels twice only to stop on the movie Horatio Hornblower. Horatio. Um, no. Let's give it another whirl.
Second try, PBS's biography of Horatio Nelson Jackson, the first guy to drive across the United States. Horatio again. No. I did tell my sweet husband that if we hit another Horatio that I would take it as a sign that that was his name and the discussion would be over.
Third time's the charm and we landed on CSI:Miami. Yup, good old Horatio Caine sealed the deal. Our son Horatio.
The nurse came in and asked if we had baby names picked out and I piped up, "Yes. #4 for a girl and Horatio for a boy." The Computer Guy rolled his eyes and looked pained.
She was a girl, of course, our own sweet #4. But every time I tell that story I can just picture God and Gabriel and Michael and all the rest hanging out on a couch watching us and Gabriel calling out, "Hey, Mikey, double or nothing I can make her hit it again."
Then I panicked. I was a few hours from having a baby that might be a boy because 70% sure it's not a boy is way different from 100% sure it's a girl. See what I mean? And if the baby was a boy he had no name except #4, and what kind of name is #4 for a boy?
We debated boys names for about an hour, me frantically and the Computer Guy in his half-interested my-wife-has-lost-her-mind way. We agreed on nothing. Then I got a brainstorm to let the television pick a name for us. (What? You don't name your babies this way?) My brilliant idea was that he would push the up channel on the remote until I said stop and we would name him the first boy name we heard. Simple.
On the first time, I let it flip through all the channels twice only to stop on the movie Horatio Hornblower. Horatio. Um, no. Let's give it another whirl.
Second try, PBS's biography of Horatio Nelson Jackson, the first guy to drive across the United States. Horatio again. No. I did tell my sweet husband that if we hit another Horatio that I would take it as a sign that that was his name and the discussion would be over.
Third time's the charm and we landed on CSI:Miami. Yup, good old Horatio Caine sealed the deal. Our son Horatio.
The nurse came in and asked if we had baby names picked out and I piped up, "Yes. #4 for a girl and Horatio for a boy." The Computer Guy rolled his eyes and looked pained.
She was a girl, of course, our own sweet #4. But every time I tell that story I can just picture God and Gabriel and Michael and all the rest hanging out on a couch watching us and Gabriel calling out, "Hey, Mikey, double or nothing I can make her hit it again."
Monday, December 15, 2008
God's Jester
I think God likes me, by that I mean that I think I make Him laugh. A lot. I don't mean to do it. I'm not a funny person. It's just that dumb stuff always happens to me, stuff that happens to nobody else. Like today when I glued my coat and shirt to my stomach. Who does that?
I put on an old coat from the garage because the Computer Guy was still asleep (he's sick today)and I didn't want to wake him up by getting mine so I just grabbed his old coat and ran to the grocery store. Something kept poking me, but I figured he had left something in his pocket and tried to ignore it until it stuck to me. Horrors! The poking thing was a glue mouse trap that was stuck to the inside of the coat and now my shirt and to me! I zipped up and finished my errand and tried to pull it off in the car. Have you ever messed with one of those sticky mouse trap things? They're sticky..and stuff (I know, I have a wonderful gift for stating the obvious. Sue me.)
The more I pulled and moved and twisted, the more strings of glue got all over me and the car. That's when I noticed that there were dead bugs in the glue. There went my last shred of dignity. I got my morning workout this morning fighting the strands of super stickiness that were now all over me. When I got home, I went upstairs to pull off the shirt and the coat and hopefully avoid getting it in my hair. That's when the Computer Guy looked at me in his old coat and said, "Oh, my coat. Did you get the glue trap off of it?"
I love that man, and I hope God enjoyed this morning's antics. I'm glad to know that with all the bad stuff going on all over, he's got me to lighten things up.
I put on an old coat from the garage because the Computer Guy was still asleep (he's sick today)and I didn't want to wake him up by getting mine so I just grabbed his old coat and ran to the grocery store. Something kept poking me, but I figured he had left something in his pocket and tried to ignore it until it stuck to me. Horrors! The poking thing was a glue mouse trap that was stuck to the inside of the coat and now my shirt and to me! I zipped up and finished my errand and tried to pull it off in the car. Have you ever messed with one of those sticky mouse trap things? They're sticky..and stuff (I know, I have a wonderful gift for stating the obvious. Sue me.)
The more I pulled and moved and twisted, the more strings of glue got all over me and the car. That's when I noticed that there were dead bugs in the glue. There went my last shred of dignity. I got my morning workout this morning fighting the strands of super stickiness that were now all over me. When I got home, I went upstairs to pull off the shirt and the coat and hopefully avoid getting it in my hair. That's when the Computer Guy looked at me in his old coat and said, "Oh, my coat. Did you get the glue trap off of it?"
I love that man, and I hope God enjoyed this morning's antics. I'm glad to know that with all the bad stuff going on all over, he's got me to lighten things up.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Thursday, December 11, 2008
A Laugh Just In Time For Christmas
Thanks to Paul at Thoughts of a Regular Guy for the reminder of this Christmas classic.
What's Wrong With a Paid Vacation?
“At this season of the Winter Solstice, may reason prevail. There are no gods, no devils, no angels, no heaven or hell.
“There is only our natural world. Religion is but myth and superstition that hardens hearts and enslaves minds.”
So reads a sign in the state capitol building of Washington state. It may surprise you to know that I don't really have a problem with the sign. If the state is going to allow religious displays, then I think that the group responsible has every right to display it as long as they are ready and willing to take the heat for its content. After all, freedom of speech and religion are freedom of speech and religion. While I may question the judgment of the "Catholic" governor over its placement next to a Nativity scene, the fact remains that I think they have a right to place it in the building.
What confuses me about this group and all other groups is their seeming determination to have Christmas removed as a federally recognized holiday. Why don't they want the day off? Nobody says that they have to celebrate anything, in fact they could spend the day at the movies as many Jewish and Muslim people I know do. Christmas would be a great day for a romantic night with your sweetie since hotels are almost empty on Christmas Eve and Christmas Night. You could have a romantic getaway for a song. Why do you have a problem with that?
In fact, if we were smart, we would push for more religious holidays instead of fewer. Imagine for a moment that Hanukkah, Christmas and Kwanzaa were all federal holidays..you could get a full 2 1/2 paid weeks off of work. Figure out a way to include Eid for the Muslims, and Spring and Winter Solstice for the Wiccans, throw in Earth Day for the Global Warming crowd (it really is a religion, you know), with all the days we could think of, the average person would only have to work 3 days a month, and anything over that would qualify for holiday pay of time and a half. Or maybe you don't like making time and a half. Whatever, it's your paycheck.
I guess I just don't understand how my holiday and all its sale and hooplah are bad for you. What do you say..we get to keep Christmas and I promise to help your push for the national recognition of the Atheist/Agnostic holiday, Festivus? (I know it's a made up holiday, but you think the others are too.) I understand it's "for the rest of us". I promise not to protest it at all and to campaign heavily for its recognition. After all, any day that I can sleep late and still get paid is alright with me.
Merry Christmas, Y'all and a Joyous Festivus to everyone!
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Why the Fascination?
So many people are fascinated with my fertility. It used to shock me when people would ask if we planned to have more children or if I were pregnant already (I'm not, so don't ask me!). I just couldn't understand the preoccupation that friends, family and complete strangers had with the private workings of my body and my marriage. While I could go blissfully through my day without ever asking that mom of two at the store if she's contracepting, she can't seem to control her curiosity about me.
I blame it in part on our reality show culture. When cameras follow people into the bathroom and other people eagerly watch, people lose any sense of personal boundaries. There seem to be no questions too personal to ask, and nothing too private to answer.
The rest of it, from what I can see, is that we are like the freak show at the circus. We're a throwback to a simpler time. We have a big family, bake our own bread, educate our own children, make our own laundry soap, etc. I guess we're lucky that we're not getting poked at with sticks.
It doesn't really explain the level of fascination that I and my big-family-friends run into. A friend and I were lamenting the other day that we can't be tired or forgetful within earshot of anyone without the inevitable question, "Are you pregnant?" popping up. Don't ask us that. If we are, then we want to announce it on our own terms, and if we aren't then you're just being annoying. If we are, we may have reasons for not telling you like wanting to tell someone else first (my husband perhaps?) or because something is going wrong and we don't want to talk about it. If we're not, there may be a reason why that we don't want to talk about it or we may be planning on trying tonight and don't want to jinx it. Whatever the reason, it's personal and private, so unless you're my best friend, mind your own business.
Moms of big families can't hide their sex lives the way that moms of small families can. We don't blend into anything, we parade our love lives around following after us for everyone to see. That doesn't make them any less private. Our fertility is a gift from God to us and our husbands. God offered most people the same gift, the only difference is that we accepted it.
I blame it in part on our reality show culture. When cameras follow people into the bathroom and other people eagerly watch, people lose any sense of personal boundaries. There seem to be no questions too personal to ask, and nothing too private to answer.
The rest of it, from what I can see, is that we are like the freak show at the circus. We're a throwback to a simpler time. We have a big family, bake our own bread, educate our own children, make our own laundry soap, etc. I guess we're lucky that we're not getting poked at with sticks.
It doesn't really explain the level of fascination that I and my big-family-friends run into. A friend and I were lamenting the other day that we can't be tired or forgetful within earshot of anyone without the inevitable question, "Are you pregnant?" popping up. Don't ask us that. If we are, then we want to announce it on our own terms, and if we aren't then you're just being annoying. If we are, we may have reasons for not telling you like wanting to tell someone else first (my husband perhaps?) or because something is going wrong and we don't want to talk about it. If we're not, there may be a reason why that we don't want to talk about it or we may be planning on trying tonight and don't want to jinx it. Whatever the reason, it's personal and private, so unless you're my best friend, mind your own business.
Moms of big families can't hide their sex lives the way that moms of small families can. We don't blend into anything, we parade our love lives around following after us for everyone to see. That doesn't make them any less private. Our fertility is a gift from God to us and our husbands. God offered most people the same gift, the only difference is that we accepted it.
Monday, December 8, 2008
Immaculate Conception
Happy Feast of the Immaculate Conception! I so much that I wanted to say, but then realized that I had pretty much written it last year, so go read that.
What Happens?
Pro-Life and Pro-Abortion people in this country will never come to an agreement on this issue. It's not going to happen. We are fundamentally different in our value systems, and I don't think that that is going to change anytime soon.
One side thinks that life is valuable, all life in any form, no matter how inconvenient or unattractive it is. Even if that human life can't speak or wets its pants or drools uncontrollably. Even if the caretakers are worn out and tired and ready to be free of the burden of caring for what appears to be a lump of human flesh without any redeeming social value. Even then. Even at its most inconvenient and repulsive, even then life is precious. Even then we don't have the right to kill it for our own convenience. Life is a gift to the one who is living it, even when they are tired of it, it has value.
The other side, the pro-abortion/pro-euthanasia side of the argument sees death as a gift and a release, death is freedom. Not for the one who dies usually, although there are those who would choose their own demise, but for those who are burdened and inconvenienced. Death is a release for the person who puts herself and her own wants and desires above those of others. If something is unpleasant or a drag or occurs at a time that "just isn't right" then the offending piece of humanity should be removed, the sacrifice of the one for the "greater good." To kill another whether young or old is not to commit an horrific act, but to create for one's own self the freedom to live life as we choose it, on our terms instead of someone else's.
What happens when a child is raised in a home where human life is allowed to continue only when it's convenient? A home where human beings are disposable and self-interest is applauded? What decisions does that child make when her own mother become less than easy? What happens when her own mother begins to slip into dementia, and has to wear diapers, and drools? The able-bodied political activists who are campaigning today for the right to terminate their children and the elderly are raising their own murderers.
If a child has been taught that they escaped the butcher's knife only because their parents made a decision that this was a convenient time to have a child, what stops that child from deciding that an infirm parent is not occurring at a convenient time? If we can murder humanity inside of the womb, why not in its hospital bed?
Be careful the lessons you teach your children, because someday you may wish that they had not learned them so well.
One side thinks that life is valuable, all life in any form, no matter how inconvenient or unattractive it is. Even if that human life can't speak or wets its pants or drools uncontrollably. Even if the caretakers are worn out and tired and ready to be free of the burden of caring for what appears to be a lump of human flesh without any redeeming social value. Even then. Even at its most inconvenient and repulsive, even then life is precious. Even then we don't have the right to kill it for our own convenience. Life is a gift to the one who is living it, even when they are tired of it, it has value.
The other side, the pro-abortion/pro-euthanasia side of the argument sees death as a gift and a release, death is freedom. Not for the one who dies usually, although there are those who would choose their own demise, but for those who are burdened and inconvenienced. Death is a release for the person who puts herself and her own wants and desires above those of others. If something is unpleasant or a drag or occurs at a time that "just isn't right" then the offending piece of humanity should be removed, the sacrifice of the one for the "greater good." To kill another whether young or old is not to commit an horrific act, but to create for one's own self the freedom to live life as we choose it, on our terms instead of someone else's.
What happens when a child is raised in a home where human life is allowed to continue only when it's convenient? A home where human beings are disposable and self-interest is applauded? What decisions does that child make when her own mother become less than easy? What happens when her own mother begins to slip into dementia, and has to wear diapers, and drools? The able-bodied political activists who are campaigning today for the right to terminate their children and the elderly are raising their own murderers.
If a child has been taught that they escaped the butcher's knife only because their parents made a decision that this was a convenient time to have a child, what stops that child from deciding that an infirm parent is not occurring at a convenient time? If we can murder humanity inside of the womb, why not in its hospital bed?
Be careful the lessons you teach your children, because someday you may wish that they had not learned them so well.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Six Things That Make Me Happy Meme
Lilder at Ummm, where am I? and Soul Pockets have tagged me for the Six Things That Make Me Happy meme. Thank you so much! According to the rules, I have to post six things that make me really happy ... and pass it on to give six more people a reason to be thankful!
Here are my six things (and I've been told I can't duplicate my Thanksgiving list):
6. My cell phone. Those who know me in real life know how much I love to talk to friends and family. This little baby lets me live my life and still be in touch with everyone.
5. The internet. What a wonderful time wasting invention! In its defense, when I have things to get done or research to do, it helps me get them done faster so I have more time to waste! See how nicely that works out?
4. A hot bath with the steam rising from it in tendrils, a locked door to momentarily create a space of silence for myself, and a good book to read while I soak. It can restore the soul.
3. The sound of voices chanting the rosary before Mass begins, softly and quietly each one praying in private and yet in unison.
2. Daffodils, but only when they're growing. I don't like them picked and in a vase. Their bright yellow faces should be there everyday to greet the sun.
1. Cooking. Baking sometimes, but cooking always. I love the alchemy of using a bit of this and a dash of something unexpected to create meals that delight the senses and uplift the spirit. I am never happier than standing barefoot at the stove, singing in my own off-key way, and stirring contently.
I tag anyone else who wants to play, and thank those who tagged me. I like memes. They fill in the spaces when I am at a loss for words, and I am humbled when others decide that they want me to play their silly little word games.
Here are my six things (and I've been told I can't duplicate my Thanksgiving list):
6. My cell phone. Those who know me in real life know how much I love to talk to friends and family. This little baby lets me live my life and still be in touch with everyone.
5. The internet. What a wonderful time wasting invention! In its defense, when I have things to get done or research to do, it helps me get them done faster so I have more time to waste! See how nicely that works out?
4. A hot bath with the steam rising from it in tendrils, a locked door to momentarily create a space of silence for myself, and a good book to read while I soak. It can restore the soul.
3. The sound of voices chanting the rosary before Mass begins, softly and quietly each one praying in private and yet in unison.
2. Daffodils, but only when they're growing. I don't like them picked and in a vase. Their bright yellow faces should be there everyday to greet the sun.
1. Cooking. Baking sometimes, but cooking always. I love the alchemy of using a bit of this and a dash of something unexpected to create meals that delight the senses and uplift the spirit. I am never happier than standing barefoot at the stove, singing in my own off-key way, and stirring contently.
I tag anyone else who wants to play, and thank those who tagged me. I like memes. They fill in the spaces when I am at a loss for words, and I am humbled when others decide that they want me to play their silly little word games.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
The Little Blue Plastic Thingy
On my list of things to be thankful for, I listed the "Little blue plastic thingy that's helping #3 read". Some of you asked for clarification (two of you really, but who's counting?), so here it is at long last the explanation.
#3 has trouble reading. It's not that he's unintelligent, it's that he can't see the words. We've had him evaluated and tested and been told that he is well below grade level on everything that requires visual input.
In desperation, I called and talked to the head of the Educational Psychology Dept. at the University of Oklahoma last month. We talked for over an hour, God bless her for her patience, and she offered to do further testing but said that it sounded like a focusing problem to her. If we would do some simple things, she said, we would be able to help him ourselves.
The most common type of focusing problem in children his age is where their eyes get confused by the contract between the white of the page and the black of the letters. The extreme contrast between the two overwhelms their eyes. Either the letter start to move or their eyes lock onto the white of the page rather than the black of the letters. If you make the color values of the two closer to each other, the theory goes, then it is less stimulating for the eye and it helps.
I was very skeptical, but willing to try anything that might actually help him. We bought blue plastic sheets used for overhead projectors and laid them over the page of the reading book. It was as if someone had turned on a switch inside of his head. By the end of the week, he as reading two and three letter words. By the next week, he was reading two letter words by sight and the three letter ones more quickly. We are printing out his math problems in blue ink on blue paper, and that helps tremendously. It is school without tears and with less frustration.
I don't know if it is the actual plastic which helps him, or if it is like the "Magic Feather" for Dumbo (if you hold this you can fly), but it seems to help him. His eyes are now looking at the dark of the letters. He can read thanks to a little piece of blue plastic and some good advice.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Yup, She Said This Too
When bad things happen, do something. It maybe that you need to change course later on, but it's easier to change directions while you're moving than to get going from a standstill. -the Mom's Mom
Quote for Today
Freedom is something that only exists within the rules. It's when you break the rules that you become bound by the consequences. -G.K. Chesterton (love him!)
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
This Year..
Why not give a child what they really want for Christmas?...a forever family, a forever home.
h/t to Books and Bairns
h/t to Books and Bairns
Monday, December 1, 2008
Yup, She Said It
Trust your children, but don't tempt them beyond their power to resist.
-the Mom's Mom (she's pretty brilliant sometimes)
I love you, Mom, you were right about this and everything else. (I hate to admit it, but it's true.)
-the Mom's Mom (she's pretty brilliant sometimes)
I love you, Mom, you were right about this and everything else. (I hate to admit it, but it's true.)
The Christmas Picture
Have you ever tried to take a Christmas photo of your own five children? There are reasons that there are professional photographers, and many reasons that I am not one of them.
I take pretty nice photos, the candid and artistic kind, but I can't get all five of my children to look at me and show something approximating a smile all at the same time. I know because I've tried. I've tried on many occasions at all times of day. I've dragged them outside when the sun is just peeking over the horizon and the day is new. I've taken pictures when the noonday sun illuminates all the world around us. I've shot them when the children are all curled up in a quiet moment in the house. I hate every one I've taken.
What is a mom to do four weeks to Christmas, on a tight budget that doesn't include professionally photographed Christmas cards, and a huge list of relatives who will be disappointed if they don't get a picture this year?
Is it that I haven't captured that elusive, and I fear fictional, perfect moment when the stars align and the children look exactly the way I imagine they will? Or is it that I have set my standard of what is acceptable too high? All I want are images which show how lovely our mob is and not make them cringe at their imagination of our lives. I worry about what other people think of us, and more truly what they think of the choices we have made. I have one chance every year to change the minds of the nay-sayers and this year I'm falling down on the job.
I have heard all of the trite sayings about paying no attention to the opinions of other people, but the truth is that deep down we all do. There is not one of us who really welcome derision and scorn. We all want a measure of approval for the way in which we lead our lives, even those of us who are counter-cultural. Maybe especially those of us who are counter-cultural. We live so far outside the boundaries of what is "normal" for the rest of society that it can make us question if we really are as strange as other people think us to be.
It's asking a lot of one photograph, and I know it. I don't care. I just want to shoot that one which makes people sigh and get misty-eyed and wish they could be at my house on Christmas morning because that must be a fun time. And it is, it really is.
I take pretty nice photos, the candid and artistic kind, but I can't get all five of my children to look at me and show something approximating a smile all at the same time. I know because I've tried. I've tried on many occasions at all times of day. I've dragged them outside when the sun is just peeking over the horizon and the day is new. I've taken pictures when the noonday sun illuminates all the world around us. I've shot them when the children are all curled up in a quiet moment in the house. I hate every one I've taken.
What is a mom to do four weeks to Christmas, on a tight budget that doesn't include professionally photographed Christmas cards, and a huge list of relatives who will be disappointed if they don't get a picture this year?
Is it that I haven't captured that elusive, and I fear fictional, perfect moment when the stars align and the children look exactly the way I imagine they will? Or is it that I have set my standard of what is acceptable too high? All I want are images which show how lovely our mob is and not make them cringe at their imagination of our lives. I worry about what other people think of us, and more truly what they think of the choices we have made. I have one chance every year to change the minds of the nay-sayers and this year I'm falling down on the job.
I have heard all of the trite sayings about paying no attention to the opinions of other people, but the truth is that deep down we all do. There is not one of us who really welcome derision and scorn. We all want a measure of approval for the way in which we lead our lives, even those of us who are counter-cultural. Maybe especially those of us who are counter-cultural. We live so far outside the boundaries of what is "normal" for the rest of society that it can make us question if we really are as strange as other people think us to be.
It's asking a lot of one photograph, and I know it. I don't care. I just want to shoot that one which makes people sigh and get misty-eyed and wish they could be at my house on Christmas morning because that must be a fun time. And it is, it really is.
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