This morning, after Mass, I packed up my two daughters and shipped them off to their grandparents' house for the next two weeks. It's just me and the boys now. I think I may have made a mistake. I should have gone, too.
I know that other women raise sons, lots of sons, without any daughters to break up the sea of blue. I'm not those moms. I like girls. I like pink. With whom shall I watch TV and make snarky comments about wardrobe issues? This is beginning to look like a long two weeks.
My sons and their father have already begun speaking of movie marathons, fishing expeditions, and something or other about Star Wars. I don't speak this language, and to be truly honest, I'm not sure I want to become fluent. They have their father; I have the girls. We enjoy each other, but when it comes time to relax....light saber duels just aren't my cup of tea. Tea parties...that's my cup of tea, maybe because it actually has tea.
The house is already a bit different without their calming presence. It's louder somehow, despite having fewer people in it. It will all be fine. I know it will. But if you see me out somewhere hiding in the bushes, wearing camo, and muttering about elaborate plans to take back the universe from the rebel scum....I'm either learning to enjoy playing with the boys, or I'm in desperate need of a makeover. Bring shoes just in case.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Some Advice for Katie
A very sweet reader, Katie, asked about my good relationship with my in laws. She asked "How long did it take? I'm having an extremely hard time with it all. I feel like there is so much tension when it comes to parenting Ethan. I don't understand how to fit them into our lives. I'm definitely unlike them and it feels like we're always clashing. I just don't get it."
Katie, a bit of advice from someone who's been married a while and is now part of a close family.
1. This is real life; it's not a fairy tale. It's hard to remember this, because we all have fantasies of girls' lunches and how wonderful those holidays with the babies will be. They'll love our children and the glow of that will spill over onto us. When that doesn't happen, it's easy to feel as though you are loved only for certain parts of your anatomy. I have a friend who refers to herself as the "family uterus." The glow that lights up the world of her husband and children never quite makes it over to her. You can be bitter and angry or you can learn to deal with it. Make the decision to deal with it, it will save you a lot of time and heartache.
2. Never complain about your husband to his parents. It's important, so I'll repeat it Never complain about your husband to his parents. They don't care about all of the things that he does that are annoying. All they hear is that either you think they did a bad job raising him, or their little boy lives with a woman who doesn't appreciate him. You have friends. They're not your mother in law. There's a reason for that.
3. If your husband's job takes a lot of time, requires travel, etc. don't whine to his parents about how much you miss him more that once every three conversations. It doesn't come across as the loving wife who just wants him home, you sound needy and like a burden on their son. Tell them you can't wait for him to get home, but then move on quickly.
4. Have a life outside of being married. Find a hobby, a circle of friends, volunteer, be up on current events, something for you to talk about when you talk to his parents. It helps them to see you as something other than the girl who stole their son, and gives you a topic to steer conversation towards when it begins to get uncomfortable. It also gives you the confidence to deal with it if they never like you. You're fabulous, so it's their loss.
5. Be yourself. It took me years of living in a house decorated with country blue and yellow with flowers everywhere because that's what my mother in law liked before I gave up and started decorating with my own eclectic mix. I'm happier in my surroundings and my in laws like me better, too. Trying to be what I thought they wanted me to be was a lie and they could smell it on me. All it did was make them wonder why their son would want to be with a dishonest person. Now they get to see the woman their son fell in love with and they can see the reason why. Who you are is lovely, go with it.
6. Don't share too much information. His parents don't want to know every minute detail of your life together. Please, please, please keep private stuff private. A good rule of thumb is: if you won't tell your grandmother, don't tell your in laws.
7. Call them regularly to update them on your family. I know this seems like a contradiction after #6, but it's not. I call mine religiously every two weeks. It's enough time that they wonder how we are, but not so frequently that it invites meddling. Tell them about the baby's first steps, how he likes to throw the Cheerios, and about the sweet way your husband looks when he falls asleep with the baby on his chest. Think of the things you would want to know if your baby was living somewhere else and tell them those things. Ask questions about his childhood and let them reminisce. You'll both be happy you did this.
8. Send flowers and cards for every birthday, anniversary, and holiday. Let your husband sign the card first; you sign it second. It gives them the illusion that he remembered. Your mother in law will know it was you, she has a husband, but it lets her pretend that he did it. You can get an ego, or you can let her be happy. Go with happy.
9. There is a saying that "A son is a son until he takes him a wife, but a daughter is yours for the whole of her life." There's truth to that, and they know it. They're very frightened by you. Your whim can determine how often they see their baby for holidays, how easily they get to talk to him, and you are the gatekeeper for the grandchildren. They are a bit desperate. Calm their fears by making sure they know that you don't have any desire to cut them our of your lives. Make sure that holidays are split with your family 50/50. A girl's parents delight in a wedding because they are gaining a child; a boy's parents cry because they could be losing one. Help them to see that they are keeping their son and gaining you, too. (Whether they want you or not.)
10. Be polite. I don't care what they say or do, there is no excuse for rudeness or snarkiness. You're better than that. Be nice.
11. Pray for them. Nobody can change a heart the way that God can. Try everything else, but make sure you pray.
It took years for us to get to the good place we are in, but you can get there. Just be calm and in control.
As for how they are with your son? He is your boy not theirs. Be firm about this and don't ask their advice unless you are willing to listen and give them a say.
Katie, a bit of advice from someone who's been married a while and is now part of a close family.
1. This is real life; it's not a fairy tale. It's hard to remember this, because we all have fantasies of girls' lunches and how wonderful those holidays with the babies will be. They'll love our children and the glow of that will spill over onto us. When that doesn't happen, it's easy to feel as though you are loved only for certain parts of your anatomy. I have a friend who refers to herself as the "family uterus." The glow that lights up the world of her husband and children never quite makes it over to her. You can be bitter and angry or you can learn to deal with it. Make the decision to deal with it, it will save you a lot of time and heartache.
2. Never complain about your husband to his parents. It's important, so I'll repeat it Never complain about your husband to his parents. They don't care about all of the things that he does that are annoying. All they hear is that either you think they did a bad job raising him, or their little boy lives with a woman who doesn't appreciate him. You have friends. They're not your mother in law. There's a reason for that.
3. If your husband's job takes a lot of time, requires travel, etc. don't whine to his parents about how much you miss him more that once every three conversations. It doesn't come across as the loving wife who just wants him home, you sound needy and like a burden on their son. Tell them you can't wait for him to get home, but then move on quickly.
4. Have a life outside of being married. Find a hobby, a circle of friends, volunteer, be up on current events, something for you to talk about when you talk to his parents. It helps them to see you as something other than the girl who stole their son, and gives you a topic to steer conversation towards when it begins to get uncomfortable. It also gives you the confidence to deal with it if they never like you. You're fabulous, so it's their loss.
5. Be yourself. It took me years of living in a house decorated with country blue and yellow with flowers everywhere because that's what my mother in law liked before I gave up and started decorating with my own eclectic mix. I'm happier in my surroundings and my in laws like me better, too. Trying to be what I thought they wanted me to be was a lie and they could smell it on me. All it did was make them wonder why their son would want to be with a dishonest person. Now they get to see the woman their son fell in love with and they can see the reason why. Who you are is lovely, go with it.
6. Don't share too much information. His parents don't want to know every minute detail of your life together. Please, please, please keep private stuff private. A good rule of thumb is: if you won't tell your grandmother, don't tell your in laws.
7. Call them regularly to update them on your family. I know this seems like a contradiction after #6, but it's not. I call mine religiously every two weeks. It's enough time that they wonder how we are, but not so frequently that it invites meddling. Tell them about the baby's first steps, how he likes to throw the Cheerios, and about the sweet way your husband looks when he falls asleep with the baby on his chest. Think of the things you would want to know if your baby was living somewhere else and tell them those things. Ask questions about his childhood and let them reminisce. You'll both be happy you did this.
8. Send flowers and cards for every birthday, anniversary, and holiday. Let your husband sign the card first; you sign it second. It gives them the illusion that he remembered. Your mother in law will know it was you, she has a husband, but it lets her pretend that he did it. You can get an ego, or you can let her be happy. Go with happy.
9. There is a saying that "A son is a son until he takes him a wife, but a daughter is yours for the whole of her life." There's truth to that, and they know it. They're very frightened by you. Your whim can determine how often they see their baby for holidays, how easily they get to talk to him, and you are the gatekeeper for the grandchildren. They are a bit desperate. Calm their fears by making sure they know that you don't have any desire to cut them our of your lives. Make sure that holidays are split with your family 50/50. A girl's parents delight in a wedding because they are gaining a child; a boy's parents cry because they could be losing one. Help them to see that they are keeping their son and gaining you, too. (Whether they want you or not.)
10. Be polite. I don't care what they say or do, there is no excuse for rudeness or snarkiness. You're better than that. Be nice.
11. Pray for them. Nobody can change a heart the way that God can. Try everything else, but make sure you pray.
It took years for us to get to the good place we are in, but you can get there. Just be calm and in control.
As for how they are with your son? He is your boy not theirs. Be firm about this and don't ask their advice unless you are willing to listen and give them a say.
We Have a Winner!!!!!!!!!!!
Congratulations to ibleedorange at Gullible's Travels! You win an $80 shopping spree to CSN stores.
Send me your email address so they can send you the electronic gift card.
Please, please, please just come back and tell us what you bought. (You don't have to, but I'm very nosy.)
Send me your email address so they can send you the electronic gift card.
Please, please, please just come back and tell us what you bought. (You don't have to, but I'm very nosy.)
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Mother in Law Musings
I spent the day today with my Mother in Law, my two daughters and the baby. It was a lovely way to spend the day.
Several times today, I thought back to the times right after we were married. Times when my in-laws and I circled and danced around each other trying to figure out the rules in this newly formed extended family. It wasn't that we didn't like each other, I was just an unlikely addition to the family circle.
They are calm, quiet people. They like to go with the flow and live life calm, comfortable and easy. I am loud and energetic. I like to run up the down escalator of life and sing in the rain. Neither of us are what the other pictured when we daydreamed about what our future family would look like.
But there was the Computer Guy. We all love him. A little bit madly.
There was a day, too long after that June wedding when I stopped struggling against the confines of my new family and decided to just be me in the middle of them all.
Imagine my surprise when they were delighted with the addition. They weren't sure they cared for the person I pretended to be in order to fit in, but when I gave up all pretenses and just was myself...then my place in the group became a natural fit. We are nothing alike in temperament, but we are the balance in my husband's life. I bring the excitement, and they bring the calm. It blends together to make joy.
His life would not be complete without either side. It took us all a while to recognize that fact. Once we did, we realized that our lives wouldn't be complete without each other either.
Several times today, I thought back to the times right after we were married. Times when my in-laws and I circled and danced around each other trying to figure out the rules in this newly formed extended family. It wasn't that we didn't like each other, I was just an unlikely addition to the family circle.
They are calm, quiet people. They like to go with the flow and live life calm, comfortable and easy. I am loud and energetic. I like to run up the down escalator of life and sing in the rain. Neither of us are what the other pictured when we daydreamed about what our future family would look like.
But there was the Computer Guy. We all love him. A little bit madly.
There was a day, too long after that June wedding when I stopped struggling against the confines of my new family and decided to just be me in the middle of them all.
Imagine my surprise when they were delighted with the addition. They weren't sure they cared for the person I pretended to be in order to fit in, but when I gave up all pretenses and just was myself...then my place in the group became a natural fit. We are nothing alike in temperament, but we are the balance in my husband's life. I bring the excitement, and they bring the calm. It blends together to make joy.
His life would not be complete without either side. It took us all a while to recognize that fact. Once we did, we realized that our lives wouldn't be complete without each other either.
Monday, May 24, 2010
A Bullet Dodged
Last night, I watched a movie with my husband, which of course means that he put something on the TV that we both watched over the top of our laptops. Side by side, him working and me chatting on Facebook. It's the new romance.
I IM'd for a while with an old boyfriend from college. He thinks of me as the one that got away and I think of him as the bullet dodged. He's a nice guy, but it would not have ended well. I knew that at the age of 18 and put an end to it while we could still be good enough friends to, 17 years later, chat on Facebook. He's now the divorced father of two boys and dating a 22 year old. I think his life is kinda sad. I'm the married mother of 6 children. He thinks my life is insane.
He teased me for a bit about all of those babies and said, "If I had married you, my mother would love you. She wants more grandbabies. But I tell her that 2 is all she gets from me."
"You never know." I told him. " The right girl could come along. You could remarry, and she could convince you to have more babies. Think how happy your mama would be." (Isn't it sad that the 22 year old chippy living in his house isn't even a consideration in his future plans? He freely admits that she's Miss Right Now.)
He went on to tell me that he was never having another baby. They're too expensive. How were we going to send all of these children to college? "The Computer Guy and I paid for ourselves to go to college." I answered. "You appreciate most what you earn for yourself. We'll help, but they have to do it themselves. One word. Scholarships."
He was unconvinced and then stated flat out that it was impossible to give enough love and attention to that many children. I laughed out loud. How many were too many to love, I asked. "7" he replied.
We argued good naturedly back and forth a bit more. Neither of us giving an inch, but enjoying the sparring.
"You should have been a lawyer." He told me at one point. "You almost have me convinced that you're not crazy."
"I should have been a lot of things," I told him, "but this is what I've chosen."
"What is your profession? Breeding?" He asked sarcastically.
"No," I told him. "I've chosen to be the Mother of Nations. We will populate the Earth."
I could tell he didn't get it, so (being the nerd I am) I did a little math for him. "If our children have babies at the same rate that we do, you will have 4 grandchildren and I will have 36. If we keep it going you will have 16 great-great grandchildren and I will have 1296. A few more generations and my decedents can touch every corner of the globe."
There was a long pause on his end, then he wistfully replied, "I would have liked to have had a little girl."
I IM'd for a while with an old boyfriend from college. He thinks of me as the one that got away and I think of him as the bullet dodged. He's a nice guy, but it would not have ended well. I knew that at the age of 18 and put an end to it while we could still be good enough friends to, 17 years later, chat on Facebook. He's now the divorced father of two boys and dating a 22 year old. I think his life is kinda sad. I'm the married mother of 6 children. He thinks my life is insane.
He teased me for a bit about all of those babies and said, "If I had married you, my mother would love you. She wants more grandbabies. But I tell her that 2 is all she gets from me."
"You never know." I told him. " The right girl could come along. You could remarry, and she could convince you to have more babies. Think how happy your mama would be." (Isn't it sad that the 22 year old chippy living in his house isn't even a consideration in his future plans? He freely admits that she's Miss Right Now.)
He went on to tell me that he was never having another baby. They're too expensive. How were we going to send all of these children to college? "The Computer Guy and I paid for ourselves to go to college." I answered. "You appreciate most what you earn for yourself. We'll help, but they have to do it themselves. One word. Scholarships."
He was unconvinced and then stated flat out that it was impossible to give enough love and attention to that many children. I laughed out loud. How many were too many to love, I asked. "7" he replied.
We argued good naturedly back and forth a bit more. Neither of us giving an inch, but enjoying the sparring.
"You should have been a lawyer." He told me at one point. "You almost have me convinced that you're not crazy."
"I should have been a lot of things," I told him, "but this is what I've chosen."
"What is your profession? Breeding?" He asked sarcastically.
"No," I told him. "I've chosen to be the Mother of Nations. We will populate the Earth."
I could tell he didn't get it, so (being the nerd I am) I did a little math for him. "If our children have babies at the same rate that we do, you will have 4 grandchildren and I will have 36. If we keep it going you will have 16 great-great grandchildren and I will have 1296. A few more generations and my decedents can touch every corner of the globe."
There was a long pause on his end, then he wistfully replied, "I would have liked to have had a little girl."
Sunday, May 23, 2010
A Big Ol' Pot of Chili
I love to cook, so imagine my surprise when I realized that after 2 1/2 years of blogging, I've only shared 4 recipes. That's just wrong. I'm going to try and do a bit better.
There are just some days when all I want is to curl up on the couch with a big cup of chili and watch movies until late into the night. Days like today. In my world, chili is the ultimate comfort food. I'm making the chili anyway, so I thought I would share.
A Big Ol' Pot of Chili
2 tbsp olive oil
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 small or 1 med onion minced (I like vidalia onions)
1/2 bell pepper minced
2 large carrots, minced (trust me)
1 1/2 lbs ground beef
1 tsp salt
1 tsp black pepper
1 1/2 tbsp red chili powder
1 tsp chipotle chili powder
1- 14.5 oz can fire roasted diced tomatoes
1 cup beef stock (I cheat and use a bullion cube and water, but use the canned stuff if you want to)
1- 15 oz can tomato sauce
1/2 tbsp apple cider vinegar
3/4 tsp ground cumin
2 tsp minced oregano
1 can black beans drained and rinsed(I really like beans in my chili, so I use 2 cans. Adjust it to your liking)
Heat the olive oil in a large sauce pan. Add garlic, onions, bell pepper, and carrot and saute over med-high heat for 5 minutes. Add the ground beef and brown for 7-8 minutes (until there is no more pink), stirring frequently. Season with salt, pepper, chili powder and chipotle powder, and cook for 2 minutes more. Add tomatoes, sauce, stock, beans, and the rest of the spices, and stir well to combine.
Bring to a simmer, turn it down to low, put a lid on it and cook for 45 more minutes. Ladle into bowls or mugs and garnish with cheddar cheese (or whatever kind you like on chili.)
I know carrots are unconventional, but I try to sneak in vegetables wherever I can. They also add a nice sweetness and flavor that really brighten it up. This is not too spicy for little kids. My 3 and 5 year olds would eat the whole pot if I let them.
I hope you like it as much as we do. The Godfather is on, and I have a big steamy bowl of comfort. See you tomorrow.
Love,
the Mom
There are just some days when all I want is to curl up on the couch with a big cup of chili and watch movies until late into the night. Days like today. In my world, chili is the ultimate comfort food. I'm making the chili anyway, so I thought I would share.
A Big Ol' Pot of Chili
2 tbsp olive oil
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 small or 1 med onion minced (I like vidalia onions)
1/2 bell pepper minced
2 large carrots, minced (trust me)
1 1/2 lbs ground beef
1 tsp salt
1 tsp black pepper
1 1/2 tbsp red chili powder
1 tsp chipotle chili powder
1- 14.5 oz can fire roasted diced tomatoes
1 cup beef stock (I cheat and use a bullion cube and water, but use the canned stuff if you want to)
1- 15 oz can tomato sauce
1/2 tbsp apple cider vinegar
3/4 tsp ground cumin
2 tsp minced oregano
1 can black beans drained and rinsed(I really like beans in my chili, so I use 2 cans. Adjust it to your liking)
Heat the olive oil in a large sauce pan. Add garlic, onions, bell pepper, and carrot and saute over med-high heat for 5 minutes. Add the ground beef and brown for 7-8 minutes (until there is no more pink), stirring frequently. Season with salt, pepper, chili powder and chipotle powder, and cook for 2 minutes more. Add tomatoes, sauce, stock, beans, and the rest of the spices, and stir well to combine.
Bring to a simmer, turn it down to low, put a lid on it and cook for 45 more minutes. Ladle into bowls or mugs and garnish with cheddar cheese (or whatever kind you like on chili.)
I know carrots are unconventional, but I try to sneak in vegetables wherever I can. They also add a nice sweetness and flavor that really brighten it up. This is not too spicy for little kids. My 3 and 5 year olds would eat the whole pot if I let them.
I hope you like it as much as we do. The Godfather is on, and I have a big steamy bowl of comfort. See you tomorrow.
Love,
the Mom
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Don't Mess With Novenas
**Last week I wrote about a miracle. It wasn't a tale I could tell then, now it is.**
I got a phone call last week from my dear friend, the woman in the white minivan. She was laughing.
"My husband's great aunt called me this morning," she said. " She told me, 'I've done something naughty. I know you said that you had accepted that you would have no more babies, but I just this morning finished a novena to St Anne for you."
I caught my breath. My sweet friend has battled infertility for the whole of her married life, conceiving her only child through medical help which was nothing short of heroic. She has grieved for this and put it behind her. She has moved on. Had this reopened that painful wound?
"Are you okay?" I asked her. "You're laughing, so I'm hoping it's 'that's ironic and funny' laughter and not 'that's still the most painful thing ever laughter.'"
"No," she told me. "It's neither one. Half an hour before she called I found out that for the first time in my life, after 14 years of marriage, I'm spontaneously pregnant."
Those novenas must be powerful stuff, so don't mess around with them unless you're serious.
But tell the truth, if you were her best friend and had cried with her through the heartbreak for 9 years, wouldn't you be shouting from the mountaintops and whispering on your blog, too?
Friday, May 21, 2010
A Matter of Trust
I went to the park this morning with 5 happy children (#2 was serving a funeral Mass) and left with a three year old screaming as loudly as three year old lungs can scream. He had sand thrown in his face by a mean big kid and sandy eyeballs hurt.
I washed his face and eyes as best as I could in the park restroom, and then we drove the whole way home to the plaintive cries of "Mine eyes! Mine eyes!"
When we got home, I scooped him out of his carseat and carried him straight to the master bath and laid him on the floor. I tried to explain to him, in words he could understand, that we needed to flush his eyes with water to get the last of the grit out. The more words I used, the harder he clenched his eyelids shut. There was no way on God's green earth that he was going to let me pour anything into his ouchy eyes.
I sat on the floor cradling him to me and rocking back and forth. We were both crying by this point. At last, I bent down and whispered in his ear, "I love you. Please, trust me."
He peeked out through swollen lids and said, "Okay, Mommy," sighed, and laid back.
I wish I could say that it was an easy thing, this washing of the eyes. It was as much fun as you imagine it to be, but the important thing is that he let me do it. It was awful and uncomfortable, but he let me do it.
As he curled up next to me on his father's big chair when we were done, I stroked his fluffy brown hair and thought about trust. We all have things wrong with us which cause pain and discomfort, and often the cure seems much worse than where we currently are. It is then that we need to stop complaining long enough to hear the whisper of "I love you. Please, trust me." in our ears.
I washed his face and eyes as best as I could in the park restroom, and then we drove the whole way home to the plaintive cries of "Mine eyes! Mine eyes!"
When we got home, I scooped him out of his carseat and carried him straight to the master bath and laid him on the floor. I tried to explain to him, in words he could understand, that we needed to flush his eyes with water to get the last of the grit out. The more words I used, the harder he clenched his eyelids shut. There was no way on God's green earth that he was going to let me pour anything into his ouchy eyes.
I sat on the floor cradling him to me and rocking back and forth. We were both crying by this point. At last, I bent down and whispered in his ear, "I love you. Please, trust me."
He peeked out through swollen lids and said, "Okay, Mommy," sighed, and laid back.
I wish I could say that it was an easy thing, this washing of the eyes. It was as much fun as you imagine it to be, but the important thing is that he let me do it. It was awful and uncomfortable, but he let me do it.
As he curled up next to me on his father's big chair when we were done, I stroked his fluffy brown hair and thought about trust. We all have things wrong with us which cause pain and discomfort, and often the cure seems much worse than where we currently are. It is then that we need to stop complaining long enough to hear the whisper of "I love you. Please, trust me." in our ears.
A Little Light Housekeeping
I'm changing things around a bit on the old blog here. I've added pages up at the top and will be moving my blogroll up there over the weekend.
I've also added an advertiser to the sidebar. I'd like to welcome Catholic Free Shipping. They're an on-line seller of all things Catholic, and as the name states, the shipping is free. Need a Bible, medal or rosary? Click through on their as and give them a try will you?
I'm trying not to change too much, and yet make the site user friendly. Any suggestions?
I've also added an advertiser to the sidebar. I'd like to welcome Catholic Free Shipping. They're an on-line seller of all things Catholic, and as the name states, the shipping is free. Need a Bible, medal or rosary? Click through on their as and give them a try will you?
I'm trying not to change too much, and yet make the site user friendly. Any suggestions?
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Taming
I like to be in charge. I plan our meals and vacations. I pick out new furniture, new wall colors, and decide where things should go. I pay the bills, teach the children, and make hundreds of small decisions every day without even thinking of asking for help. I'm a girl child of the 1970's and am a product of my upbringing.
My father was a Naval officer; my mom was his loving bride. He went to sea; she ran everything. He showed up in our family, that was his job. She planned it all, and he was there to smile in the pictures. It was not their family, but her family in which he was included. It is the family pattern I have unconsciously followed for the whole of my married life.
I have complained to myself and out loud about the fatigue of being the person in charge of it all. The shear volume of decisions turns my brain to mush, but I keep running down this road, determined that I really can (as the feminists promise) do it all.
It is my family. I am here for the whole of the day, myself and the children. Our lives go on while he works. We play at the park, go to the zoo, visit friends and family, and lead a very enjoyable life because of all he provides. When my husband at last drags through the door at 7:00PM or later, we rush to greet him not as the head of us all, but as an exotic visitor to the island of us.
He deserves better than this. He deserves to be given all of the authority which I have taken for my own, to be placed firmly in the center of us all. He is not an extension of all of us. We are a family because of him. Without him, I would not be a wife or a mother and these children simply would not be.
I need to re-read my Shakespeare:
My father was a Naval officer; my mom was his loving bride. He went to sea; she ran everything. He showed up in our family, that was his job. She planned it all, and he was there to smile in the pictures. It was not their family, but her family in which he was included. It is the family pattern I have unconsciously followed for the whole of my married life.
I have complained to myself and out loud about the fatigue of being the person in charge of it all. The shear volume of decisions turns my brain to mush, but I keep running down this road, determined that I really can (as the feminists promise) do it all.
It is my family. I am here for the whole of the day, myself and the children. Our lives go on while he works. We play at the park, go to the zoo, visit friends and family, and lead a very enjoyable life because of all he provides. When my husband at last drags through the door at 7:00PM or later, we rush to greet him not as the head of us all, but as an exotic visitor to the island of us.
He deserves better than this. He deserves to be given all of the authority which I have taken for my own, to be placed firmly in the center of us all. He is not an extension of all of us. We are a family because of him. Without him, I would not be a wife or a mother and these children simply would not be.
I need to re-read my Shakespeare:
Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper,
Thy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee,
And for thy maintenance commits his body
To painful labour both by sea and land,
To watch the night in storms, the day in cold,
Whilst thou liest warm at home, secure and safe;
And craves no other tribute at thy hands
But love, fair looks, and true obedience-
Too little payment for so great a debt. -from The Taming of the Shrew
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Miraculous
There are, in this world, big miracles of which everyone has heard, and small miracles known to only a select few. There are those whose stories are shouted from the rooftops, and those which are known only by a private smile.
Today I heard of something so wonderful that I want to climb a mountain and scream it as loud as I can yell it, but the story is not mine, so I go to my blog and quietly whisper wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
Today I heard of something so wonderful that I want to climb a mountain and scream it as loud as I can yell it, but the story is not mine, so I go to my blog and quietly whisper wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
What Would You Do With $80?
I won the Cannonball Catholic Award, and potential advertisers are emailing me!!!!!!!!!! How cool is that? I promise to not go all commercial and lose that aw-shucks small town charm you know and love.
Yesterday, I got an email from a representative of CSN Stores online (the sell everything from diaper bags to a sleeper sofa) wanting me to host a web give-away of an $80 gift certificate!
I'll admit that I worried it was a put-on and that nothing on the site would be under $80, but there is great stuff there and you can spend the gift certificate on anything you want.
Which can lead to another kind of shopping!
What do you do to get the $80?
RULES:
This giveaway is open to U.S. and Canadian residents ONLY. Please be aware that there may be shipping charges or in the case of Canadian residents, international fees, for certain products.
HOW TO ENTER:
Don't have a blog?. You can still get entered just by commenting on this post!
Yesterday, I got an email from a representative of CSN Stores online (the sell everything from diaper bags to a sleeper sofa) wanting me to host a web give-away of an $80 gift certificate!
I'll admit that I worried it was a put-on and that nothing on the site would be under $80, but there is great stuff there and you can spend the gift certificate on anything you want.
It is me, so you know I went to the shoe store first
A girl in hot shoes might need something to cool off with!
A girl in hot shoes might need something to cool off with!
Which can lead to another kind of shopping!
What do you do to get the $80?
RULES:
This giveaway is open to U.S. and Canadian residents ONLY. Please be aware that there may be shipping charges or in the case of Canadian residents, international fees, for certain products.
You must be a follower and/or subscriber of my blog to enter this giveaway. See all those great looking people on the right sidebar? You just have to admit your addiction to all things "Shoved to Them" and publicly follow this blog. (Before you ask me, all current followers are automatically entered in this contest.)
Want a Few Extra Chances?
Blog about this contest. Post about this on your blog, link back to me and get an extra entry in the drawing!Don't have a blog?. You can still get entered just by commenting on this post!
There you go, Easy-Peasy-Lemon Squeezy!
You have until next Wednesday, May 26th, by Midnight central time to enter.
I throw all the names in the pot (actually and electronic random selection thingy) and pick a winner!
The winner will be announced the following day, May 27th.
I throw all the names in the pot (actually and electronic random selection thingy) and pick a winner!
The winner will be announced the following day, May 27th.
Good Luck!!!!!!!!!!!!
Mental Meanderings
Here's where my mind is wandering to today:
Last night, the Computer Guy and I got together with a group of Catholic homeschooling parents for a "what are we doing about high school?" meeting. There was collectively over 100 years of education experience in that room, and yet we all have very similar concerns. It was a relief to see that there were so many people who agree with the decisions we have made and that our children have peers who are being raised with a similar set of values.
A priest in attendance said of traditional schooling, "If you are part of a group of people and it doesn't elevate who you are, doesn't lift you to a higher level, then you are right to walk away and go it alone." This just about sums it up, doesn't it?
*********************************************************************
At 3 years old, #5 likes to climb over, under, on top of and around everything, often getting himself into place he can't easily get out of. He then let's out a plaintive wail of, "Mommy, I'm stuck!" only it doesn't sound that way. What he actually says is "Mommy, I suck!"
I giggle every time. The big kids laugh out loud. Don't look at me in that tone of voice. I help him out, I just laugh the whole time.
**********************************************************************
We discovered yesterday that the previous owner had painted the outside of our house in interior paint. The recent rainstorms have caused the paint to come off in big strips. I handed the kids the hose and let them take off as much as they could. #2 said, "Cool. We actually get to break the house and not get in trouble." Should I be worried, do you think?"
**********************************************************************
My in-laws are coming into town over Memorial Day weekend. I don't know how long they are staying, but I hope it's a good long while. I am one of the few people I know who actually like their in-laws. How can I not like the people who made my sweet Computer Guy all that he is?
My mother in law once said I was a good investment. She put one son into the whole deal and got 6 grandchildren out of it. A six to one return is something to celebrate any day of the week.
Maybe the people who have problems with their spouses parents just need to have more babies. Either they'll start to like you or you'll be too busy to notice.
*********************************************************************
Last night, the Computer Guy and I got together with a group of Catholic homeschooling parents for a "what are we doing about high school?" meeting. There was collectively over 100 years of education experience in that room, and yet we all have very similar concerns. It was a relief to see that there were so many people who agree with the decisions we have made and that our children have peers who are being raised with a similar set of values.
A priest in attendance said of traditional schooling, "If you are part of a group of people and it doesn't elevate who you are, doesn't lift you to a higher level, then you are right to walk away and go it alone." This just about sums it up, doesn't it?
*********************************************************************
At 3 years old, #5 likes to climb over, under, on top of and around everything, often getting himself into place he can't easily get out of. He then let's out a plaintive wail of, "Mommy, I'm stuck!" only it doesn't sound that way. What he actually says is "Mommy, I suck!"
I giggle every time. The big kids laugh out loud. Don't look at me in that tone of voice. I help him out, I just laugh the whole time.
**********************************************************************
We discovered yesterday that the previous owner had painted the outside of our house in interior paint. The recent rainstorms have caused the paint to come off in big strips. I handed the kids the hose and let them take off as much as they could. #2 said, "Cool. We actually get to break the house and not get in trouble." Should I be worried, do you think?"
**********************************************************************
My in-laws are coming into town over Memorial Day weekend. I don't know how long they are staying, but I hope it's a good long while. I am one of the few people I know who actually like their in-laws. How can I not like the people who made my sweet Computer Guy all that he is?
My mother in law once said I was a good investment. She put one son into the whole deal and got 6 grandchildren out of it. A six to one return is something to celebrate any day of the week.
Maybe the people who have problems with their spouses parents just need to have more babies. Either they'll start to like you or you'll be too busy to notice.
*********************************************************************
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
The Promised Pie
A few weeks ago, I posed a question to my readers about the picture on my header. Although the colored picture of my children was a clear favorite, the question "Will there be pie when this is over?" garnered a huge amount of support. You ask for it, you get it...pie...or to be more specific....cobbler.
This is the world's easiest dessert and can be adapted to suit your family. Enjoy it with a heaping helping of ice cream!
Deep Dish Pie
2 cans pie filling any flavor
3/4 stick butter
1 cup sugar
1 cup flour
1 cup milk
2 tsp baking powder
t tsp vanilla
Grease casserole dish. Mix all ingredients but butter and filling together. Put in pan. Spoon pie filling on top, and slice butter. Bake at 350 for about an hour.
Yes, it is that easy. It looks weird, but the crust rises up through and around the fruit to make a lovely golden brown cake-y top. Give it a try and let me know how it goes.
This is the world's easiest dessert and can be adapted to suit your family. Enjoy it with a heaping helping of ice cream!
Deep Dish Pie
2 cans pie filling any flavor
3/4 stick butter
1 cup sugar
1 cup flour
1 cup milk
2 tsp baking powder
t tsp vanilla
Grease casserole dish. Mix all ingredients but butter and filling together. Put in pan. Spoon pie filling on top, and slice butter. Bake at 350 for about an hour.
Yes, it is that easy. It looks weird, but the crust rises up through and around the fruit to make a lovely golden brown cake-y top. Give it a try and let me know how it goes.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
You Like Me, You Really Like Me!
When I started this blog, I thought my family might read it, and I might have 20 readers every couple days. I now have over 100 hits and 100 rss feed readers and a children's book in the works. That is overwhelming to me.
Thank you, dear readers, for making my silly quest to win this award a goal you were willing to work on with me. I can lay claim to many things, I think Under Appreciated is no longer one of them.
I know what you're thinking "That's great, but who gets the doughnuts?" The winner is Wayne. You win, but your profile links to nothing. Email me your address and your gift card is on the way!
Friday, May 14, 2010
Certainty and Peace
I've spent the last two nights in a bed over-crowded with little bodies. The annual spring storms have driven them into my bed with a mixture of thunder crashes and howling winds. The air rumbles and the wind cracks and the children snatch up their pillows, fling open their doors, race down the long hallway and clamber up into our bed. Their father and I speak not a word, just reposition ourselves to make room for just one more until there is hardly a space left for us to squeeze into. He stretches out his arm over the tops of all those small heads, and intertwines his fingers in mine as we both drift back to sleep.
We are safety to them. How heroic we must be in their small eyes. There is no tempest, villain, or imaginary beast which cannot be kept at bay by the magic of mom's bed. There is magic in those sheets and pillows which soothes sick tummies and smooths worried brows. Our job is their safety, and they trust us to do it well.
God, in His wisdom and cleverness, designed it this way. It is obvious in the perfect fit of my body curled up around theirs. No matter the child, they always seem to fit just so. I listen to their contented sighs and their even breathing as the storms rage outside and I envy them. What I would have given to know the peace they know so easily. The knowledge of safety and protection is a right of childhood, but once it is lost, it is not easily regained. Once fear has crept into the mind, it doesn't easily leave.
I had this once, and lost it. I thought that I would never again feel safe in the dark. But I lay in my bed, surrounded by little slumbering bodies...their father's fingers stroking mine, and I sigh contented sighs. This is God's plan; it is so obvious to see. In calming their fears and quieting their worries, I somehow reach back and caress the face of the girl I used to be. The small fearful child who still lives in me learns from my children about believing in a parent's love. I learn from them about how a Father's protection feels, about the warm security which covers them. I learn to curl up trustingly and listen to my Father's voice. Certainty and peace are the right of a child. We only have to learn to trust, and there they are.
We are safety to them. How heroic we must be in their small eyes. There is no tempest, villain, or imaginary beast which cannot be kept at bay by the magic of mom's bed. There is magic in those sheets and pillows which soothes sick tummies and smooths worried brows. Our job is their safety, and they trust us to do it well.
God, in His wisdom and cleverness, designed it this way. It is obvious in the perfect fit of my body curled up around theirs. No matter the child, they always seem to fit just so. I listen to their contented sighs and their even breathing as the storms rage outside and I envy them. What I would have given to know the peace they know so easily. The knowledge of safety and protection is a right of childhood, but once it is lost, it is not easily regained. Once fear has crept into the mind, it doesn't easily leave.
I had this once, and lost it. I thought that I would never again feel safe in the dark. But I lay in my bed, surrounded by little slumbering bodies...their father's fingers stroking mine, and I sigh contented sighs. This is God's plan; it is so obvious to see. In calming their fears and quieting their worries, I somehow reach back and caress the face of the girl I used to be. The small fearful child who still lives in me learns from my children about believing in a parent's love. I learn from them about how a Father's protection feels, about the warm security which covers them. I learn to curl up trustingly and listen to my Father's voice. Certainty and peace are the right of a child. We only have to learn to trust, and there they are.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Homeschooling Nerd
The assignment: Compose a personal motto and translate it into Latin.
My son's answer: " Ubi est mea anaticula cumminosa?" (Where is my rubber ducky?)
I think he gets an 'A' for that.
My son's answer: " Ubi est mea anaticula cumminosa?" (Where is my rubber ducky?)
I think he gets an 'A' for that.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Greeting Card Love
*This is a guest post by my brother. I love him. He's brilliant. I turned Shoved to Them over to him for today.*
Sunday was Mother’s Day. (Somewhere, someone just thwacked the side of his head and blurted out some expletives because he forgot, and now needs to do some serious sucking up. I digress.)
Sunday was Mother’s Day, which means that Hallmark made a lot of money on cards. I bought one. I’m sure you did too. It’s the right, loving, obligatory thing to do. Last week, I ran down to the local card shop and perused their selection, trying to find a couple of cards for my wife. That’s right; my wife is so special she deserves TWO cards on Mother’s Day! I picked out two that I liked, one silly and one serious, and made for the checkout. The lady at the counter rang up the serious card: $5.95.
Are you serious?! $5.95 for a card? It doesn’t even play music!!! But hey, anything for the love of my life!
My reaction to the card price got me thinking, though, about love. Does my wife need a card to know that I love her? Hopefully not. Hopefully, I’ve done a good enough job of demonstrating my love for her over the last eight years (more or less) that the measure of my affection isn’t limited to the quality and price of the card I bought her for Mother’s Day.
(How are greeting cards not emotional plagiarism? I mean, you’re essentially taking someone else’s poetry and attributing it to yourself as though you had written it. “Well, it says exactly what I feel?” Really? Then why not write it yourself? Yes, I’m a hypocrite.)
Greeting card love is cheap and insignificant unless backed by true, present, heartfelt, demonstrative love. Love can be demonstrated in a number of ways, but certainly one of the most important is simply showing up. You can often tell who really cares, who really loves you by noting who actually shows up instead of just calling or sending a card (especially an e-card. Really, you don’t care enough to spend $3 and postage?).
Over the last few years, I can’t help but take note of who is consistently there, and who is consistently not in my life. My sister and my mom, for example, are bedrocks of support in my life. I know that they will be there to comfort me when things go bad or to cheer me when things go right. Even when they do not agree with some of the decisions I make, they have never abandoned me or written me off. I know I can depend on them and their love for me and my family.
There are others who are there only when it is convenient or when it benefits them. Sure, they send cards (often just e-cards). They are not present, not because of ability but because of their own choice.
It’s amazing how easy it is to see who actually loves you when you are in the middle of a crisis or triumph. Who actually shows up when you are in the hospital facing possible death or amputation? As a dad, a brother, and a son, I cannot imagine not showing up for family, regardless of the distance. Who is there when your kids are born (or shortly thereafter)? Who comes when you graduate from college or celebrate some major accomplishment in your life?
Even more telling, however, is who is there for you when life is not extraordinary. Life is not composed of big events, but a lot of little ones like soccer games, band concerts, church, watching TV, playing ball, keeping promises, phone calls, or just visiting. Do my kids actually know you, or are you just a name to them? Some Tooth Fairy-like figment who sends cards and gifts, but whom they wouldn’t know or feel comfortable running up and hugging.
I try to be there for my wife in the big things, but I don’t want to neglect the little things as well. Because the little things, whether we are present or absent, adds up to larger totals than all of the big things. And no amount of cards, gifts, or money can make up for that lack of demonstrative love. Cards are cheap. And love is easy when it is just words. Greeting Card Love is worth the price of the card – usually around $3.
So, go buy cards. But back them up with a lifetime of real, present love.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Blatant Bribery
Did you think I was above this? I'm within spitting distance of the Crescat (Please don't spit on her, I hear she's very nice), and I am this desperate to win this thing What's in it for me? Bragging rights for the next year and an imaginary trophy to put upon my hypothetical credenza.
What's in it for you? Donuts. The Mom's family's traditional Sunday morning treat of a dozen plus a cup of Joe. To be specific, a chance to win a $10 gift card to Dunkin Donuts.
How do you get in on this sweet deal? Go vote for me. (I promise to talk about something else when this is all over.) Then post in the comment section that you did. You can do this once a day. One entry per vote.
What's to keep you from lying? Your own conscience, of course.
Vote. Tell me. Good luck!
What's in it for you? Donuts. The Mom's family's traditional Sunday morning treat of a dozen plus a cup of Joe. To be specific, a chance to win a $10 gift card to Dunkin Donuts.
How do you get in on this sweet deal? Go vote for me. (I promise to talk about something else when this is all over.) Then post in the comment section that you did. You can do this once a day. One entry per vote.
What's to keep you from lying? Your own conscience, of course.
Vote. Tell me. Good luck!
Vote for Nod from Wynken, Blynken and Nod - Best Potpourri of Popery and LarryD from Acts of the Apostasy - Snarkiest, Best Hifreakinlarious, and Most Church Militant and Joe from Defend Us in Battle for Best New Kid on the Block. Thanks! There's no donuts in it, but help these fellows out, will you?
Humbled
I just finished my post-Mother's Day whine when I clicked on this link to start my morning off with a little Catholic bloggery. Can you imagine how touched I was to see that at the top of the page she had created a link supporting me in this dumb blog awards thingy? She's not even in it, just campaigning for me. Wow. Dr. G., you have made my morning. Wow, wow, just plain wow.
Thank you, and please forgive my whininess below. You are a gentle reminder to me from Above that I already have all the Mother's day gifts for which I could hope curled up together on the couch downstairs. Thank you.
Thank you, and please forgive my whininess below. You are a gentle reminder to me from Above that I already have all the Mother's day gifts for which I could hope curled up together on the couch downstairs. Thank you.
I Demand a Do-Over
(Warning-I'm going to whine and complain a bit here. If that's not your thing, go vote in the Catholic Cannonball awards and come back tomorrow for something a bit more cheerful.)
Was yesterday Mother's Day? It was kind of hard to tell around here.
The day started off with everyone sleeping too late to make it to our regular Mass (which is okay with me..I need the sleep), so we were all a bit off our Sunday morning make it to Mass routine. I kept waiting for some enterprising child to make Breakfast for Mom, you know the nasty ritual of breakfast in bed? Not at our house. The little darlings used the extra time in the morning to scarf Froot Loops and watch Wall-E. They waved at me and hollered "Happy Mother's Day" to me as I went into the kitchen to make a piece of toast for myself. The sink was piled with the dirty breakfast dishes. I made up my mind then and there to NOT wash the dishes. (My eldest two made a half-hearted attempt at cleaning the kitchen later in the day, but never quite finished it as texting friends and watching a movie lured them away.)
After Mass, which was gorgeous and glorious, I told my family that I wanted to dispense with the weekly ritual of doughnuts after Mass in favor of bagels from Panera bread. I love an Asiago cheese bagel. Serious yumminess. They were out of them, not just the cheesy goodness I craved, but they were completely out of all bagels. It was beginning to look like one of those days.
We got home with just enough time to change clothes and make our way to the soccer fields for our games of the day. That's right, someone (I'm guessing someone who hates his mother) scheduled soccer games on Mother's Day. Four hours of soccer in the cold and the damp, and I couldn't skip out because I coach one of the teams. I left before the end of the last game. I'm just that kind of bad mother. (Is that why yesterday sucked? Hmmmmm....)
I came home and made dinner. A dinner no one ended up liking. Watched a Netflix movie on my laptop with my eldest daughter but the volume was so low that we could hardly hear it. Then it was time for bed and the kids kissed me good night and went to sleep. I awoke this morning to all those dishes in the sink. It's not Mother's Day today, so I guess I'll wash them.
I don't want to complain, and I know they love me, but would it have been so difficult to make a card? To write me a note? To pick up after themselves? Just one day out of the year?
I'm trying to console myself with the memories of those hurried kisses and sideways well-wishes, but it's coming a bit short. I have given up my life for them. Is it too much to ask for to want them to notice it?
Was yesterday Mother's Day? It was kind of hard to tell around here.
The day started off with everyone sleeping too late to make it to our regular Mass (which is okay with me..I need the sleep), so we were all a bit off our Sunday morning make it to Mass routine. I kept waiting for some enterprising child to make Breakfast for Mom, you know the nasty ritual of breakfast in bed? Not at our house. The little darlings used the extra time in the morning to scarf Froot Loops and watch Wall-E. They waved at me and hollered "Happy Mother's Day" to me as I went into the kitchen to make a piece of toast for myself. The sink was piled with the dirty breakfast dishes. I made up my mind then and there to NOT wash the dishes. (My eldest two made a half-hearted attempt at cleaning the kitchen later in the day, but never quite finished it as texting friends and watching a movie lured them away.)
After Mass, which was gorgeous and glorious, I told my family that I wanted to dispense with the weekly ritual of doughnuts after Mass in favor of bagels from Panera bread. I love an Asiago cheese bagel. Serious yumminess. They were out of them, not just the cheesy goodness I craved, but they were completely out of all bagels. It was beginning to look like one of those days.
We got home with just enough time to change clothes and make our way to the soccer fields for our games of the day. That's right, someone (I'm guessing someone who hates his mother) scheduled soccer games on Mother's Day. Four hours of soccer in the cold and the damp, and I couldn't skip out because I coach one of the teams. I left before the end of the last game. I'm just that kind of bad mother. (Is that why yesterday sucked? Hmmmmm....)
I came home and made dinner. A dinner no one ended up liking. Watched a Netflix movie on my laptop with my eldest daughter but the volume was so low that we could hardly hear it. Then it was time for bed and the kids kissed me good night and went to sleep. I awoke this morning to all those dishes in the sink. It's not Mother's Day today, so I guess I'll wash them.
I don't want to complain, and I know they love me, but would it have been so difficult to make a card? To write me a note? To pick up after themselves? Just one day out of the year?
I'm trying to console myself with the memories of those hurried kisses and sideways well-wishes, but it's coming a bit short. I have given up my life for them. Is it too much to ask for to want them to notice it?
Sunday, May 9, 2010
A Mother's Day Gift for Me
I know you were wondering what you can give me for Mother's Day. I think it's very nice of you to think of me. All I want is your VOTE in the Catholic Cannonball Awards.
Right now I'm running a very respectable 4th, but with your help I can pull into 3rd. Here's the link. Scroll down to the Best Underappreciated Category and cast your vote for Shoved to Them. (Update-I'm now in 2nd place, only 12 votes behind. So, thank you for your support. Did you know you can vote once a day? ...hint, hint..)
I feel as though I should thank you for your support already. In the few days since the voting has been going on, I have already passed my vote total for last year. So, thank you, and let's keep this thing going.
Thank you,
Love,
the Mom
Right now I'm running a very respectable 4th, but with your help I can pull into 3rd. Here's the link. Scroll down to the Best Underappreciated Category and cast your vote for Shoved to Them. (Update-I'm now in 2nd place, only 12 votes behind. So, thank you for your support. Did you know you can vote once a day? ...hint, hint..)
I feel as though I should thank you for your support already. In the few days since the voting has been going on, I have already passed my vote total for last year. So, thank you, and let's keep this thing going.
Thank you,
Love,
the Mom
Friday, May 7, 2010
From the Woman with the White Minivan
Okay, I am said woman w/minivan, and while I laugh/cry/write, I want to clear up a few things:
I never gave her a GTH look; it was more of a look of:
"If I move while I hold my baby (that I never put down) her apnea monitor alarm will pierce my eardrum...again. And I think Halloween costumes for babies are stupid. And that woman at my door is way too friendly..." The last bit, by the way, always makes a Yankee skittish...
That day "I emerged" I also wore pants. And there was no getting around that large group of clucking neighborhood hens. They blocked the entire sidewalk, and I knew I was being inspected. Hence, I was fully clothed.
It's true, Baby A. is gorgeous, and has outgrown all health issues.
Her knees didn't appear to be knocking, but her legs contributed to the perpetual mystery of why short women have slammin' legs. And that was before she took up marathons.
She wasn't bossy; it was a firm invitation. Polite but direct, the latter quality I always admire, and still do....
I was surprised, but only because as a military wife, you have to go and seek out your friends. I had never had an angel descend upon my doorstep and politely foist food and friendship on me, seemingly out of the blue. I was oblivious that the lone vehicle garnered any attention at all. I guess that's what happens when you live in a neighborhood for more than a year.
It was the best 4 hours of conversation. The only other best thing she said that spring was when she showed me how to edge my lawn while my husband was away. She said, "So you went to prep school." (wheewhee sound of the weed whacker here) "So you learned to row." (wheewhee) "You went to X school." (wheewhee) "Didja ever learn anything useful?" Oh, that still makes me laugh. That was when I knew she was a friend for life. And that she'd turn up in my someday novel.
I don't know that milk and sugar is the "British way", so much as the way I'd request it "creamy and sweet" to torment my tutor. St. Augustine was young once, too.
She is not my best friend, she is more like a sister. She is the reason my baby finally tried solid foods, she is the reason I can mow my lawn and I know useful things. She is why I eventually took ownership of being Catholic, and why I survived the subsequent years of deployments. She is who I cried w/over infertility and the trauma and drama of war. She is who I know will laugh at the same things I do. She is a living example of what it means to be real and set the standard of friendship/family at the same time. Anyone would be lucky to have her as a neighbor, friend, sister, daughter, mom, aunt, etc. You get the idea. And don't even get me started on all those great kids..... :)
I never gave her a GTH look; it was more of a look of:
"If I move while I hold my baby (that I never put down) her apnea monitor alarm will pierce my eardrum...again. And I think Halloween costumes for babies are stupid. And that woman at my door is way too friendly..." The last bit, by the way, always makes a Yankee skittish...
That day "I emerged" I also wore pants. And there was no getting around that large group of clucking neighborhood hens. They blocked the entire sidewalk, and I knew I was being inspected. Hence, I was fully clothed.
It's true, Baby A. is gorgeous, and has outgrown all health issues.
Her knees didn't appear to be knocking, but her legs contributed to the perpetual mystery of why short women have slammin' legs. And that was before she took up marathons.
She wasn't bossy; it was a firm invitation. Polite but direct, the latter quality I always admire, and still do....
I was surprised, but only because as a military wife, you have to go and seek out your friends. I had never had an angel descend upon my doorstep and politely foist food and friendship on me, seemingly out of the blue. I was oblivious that the lone vehicle garnered any attention at all. I guess that's what happens when you live in a neighborhood for more than a year.
It was the best 4 hours of conversation. The only other best thing she said that spring was when she showed me how to edge my lawn while my husband was away. She said, "So you went to prep school." (wheewhee sound of the weed whacker here) "So you learned to row." (wheewhee) "You went to X school." (wheewhee) "Didja ever learn anything useful?" Oh, that still makes me laugh. That was when I knew she was a friend for life. And that she'd turn up in my someday novel.
I don't know that milk and sugar is the "British way", so much as the way I'd request it "creamy and sweet" to torment my tutor. St. Augustine was young once, too.
She is not my best friend, she is more like a sister. She is the reason my baby finally tried solid foods, she is the reason I can mow my lawn and I know useful things. She is why I eventually took ownership of being Catholic, and why I survived the subsequent years of deployments. She is who I cried w/over infertility and the trauma and drama of war. She is who I know will laugh at the same things I do. She is a living example of what it means to be real and set the standard of friendship/family at the same time. Anyone would be lucky to have her as a neighbor, friend, sister, daughter, mom, aunt, etc. You get the idea. And don't even get me started on all those great kids..... :)
Chicago Style Voting
It's time once again for the Catholic Cannonball blog awards. For the 3rd straight year, I'm up for the "Best Under-Appreciated Blog" award. I'm really not sure that's a good thing, but I want to win it anyway.
Please head on over to the Crescat, scroll down to the category and look until you find me. You can vote once a day from each computer in your house. What are you waiting for? Go! VOTE!
Vote for Nod from Wynken, Blynken and Nod - Best Potpourri of Popery and LarryD from Acts of the Apostasy - Snarkiest, Best Hifreakinlarious, and Most Church Militant and Joe from Defend Us in Battle for Best New Kid on the Block. Thanks!
Thursday, May 6, 2010
What Happened Next
If you missed part 1, go read it here.
She came to lunch the next day. I think it surprised her as much as it did me. I fully anticipated being stood up. She later told me that she had been glad it was at my house so that she could leave as soon as she finished eating. I was afraid she would say nothing; she was afraid that all I'd talk about would be poop and childbirth.
It was four hours of the best conversation ever. We spoke of politics, religion,current events and painful memories. She wasn't a hermit or unfriendly, just a Yankee gal in a foreign land where the sky was too big, the people were odd, and she knew no one. She had arrived in Oklahoma City two weeks before the birth of her daughter, a birth which can be best described as harrowing. She'd almost died, the baby had almost died, and then 9/11 had happened and we were at war. She lived daily with the fear of her husband being sent to the Middle East, and because she wasn't on base, she didn't even have the support systems in place which military wives depend upon in times of upheaval.
She is the best friend I have ever had. Four moves, six deployments, and my ever increasing family have done nothing to dampen the friendship that began that day over a pan of home-made macaroni and cheese. My only regrets are that I didn't wander up the street sooner and that I wasted my morning making it from scratch. I now know her well enough to know that her second favorite comfort food is the stuff from the blue box. Her first favorite is the pan of cinnamon rolls I make for her when things are tough, made from the recipe her expert palate helped me to perfect. Rolls the size of dinner plates and her own bowl of icing so she can slather on as much as she pleases are all that she wants. Mine has become a hot cup of tea, fixed “the British way” just as she taught me, with milk and sugar, piping hot and sipped as I curl up on the couch with my feet tucked under me, and chat with the woman who is now a part of my family.
God didn't send her to me, but gave me the courage and the kindness to walk up the street, knock on that door and overcome my nerves long enough to order her to come to lunch. It was just what both of us had been praying for.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
That Darn White Minivan
In the Spring of 2002, I was the mother of 3 small children. #1 was 5, #2 was 2, and #3 was funny-haired 6 month old. I loved my husband and my children, but I was incredibly lonely.
The only real friend I had had moved to Kentucky just before #3 was born. I missed my family. I missed my friend. I had no idea where to begin looking for people to fill in these gaps in my life. I prayed halfheartedly for God to send me someone, just one someone, with whom I could laugh, talk, and just be a girl instead of always only a mom. I just couldn't picture how it would look when she showed up. What exactly was God going to do, send her to my door like a loon with a big sign? What kind of desperate would I have to be to hang out with crazy people on my doorstep? Crazy and I are old acquaintances, and I've known him long enough to know that I don't need any more in my life.
During this time of painful loneliness, I would occasionally notice the white minivan of my neighbor down the street just sitting in her driveway. I had seen her at Halloween when the kids and I went Trick-or-Treating. Her husband had opened the door and handed out candy. He seemed friendly enough, but the look she gave me when I said 'hello' and commented on her new baby were a 'go to Hell' look if ever I've seen one. She was definitely not interested in being friends and seemed as if she really would prefer it if I never spoke to her again. I would have been happy to oblige her if it hadn't been for her darn minivan.
Her white van sat in her driveway and it didn't move. She never drove it to the store on errands or loaded the baby into it to meet her friends for lunch. It just sat there. Alone. There were never any other cars at her house either. Nobody came to visit and see the baby. There was no mother or grandmother bustling in and out with presents or groceries. There was just the car in the drive and the woman and baby in the house and they never went anywhere. Ever.
I'll never forget the day that she emerged. It was a surprisingly warm day for February, and all of the neighborhood kids were riding bikes in the street as their moms chatted and gossiped in little clumps on the sidewalks. It was a typical scene in Oklahoma where neighbors know each other by name and are friendly if not actually friends.
Into this boisterous scene walked the woman from up the street pushing her baby girl in a stroller which looked as if it had never before been outside of the house. She was wearing a black t-shirt and a wary look on her face. She silently pleaded with us to allow her to slip by unseen and unmolested. 'Please don't talk to me,' her eyes begged, but who was she kidding? Her baby was gorgeous and she was a curiosity. There was no way that a gaggle of Oklahoma women could let her slip by without a word.
The baby was 5 months old we learned, and her name was A. Her husband was in the Air Force. They'd been here for almost 6 months The neighbor lady answered all of our questions politely but with no embroidery. It was obvious that she wanted to just finish her walk as quickly as humanly possible and then slip back into the quiet of her house.
After she managed to break free from the Inquisition, we stood and discussed her the way a pack of women will. It was decided, discussed, and then decided on again that she was a 'poor thing' in the condescending way that Southern women say it, but that she had brought it mostly upon herself because she could have hung out with this whole great group if only she wanted to do so. It's funny to me now that we never considered the fact that she might not want to associate with us, but I never thought about it then. I just remember staring after her as she struggled to get the stroller back up onto the porch and I couldn't get the look in her eyes out of my mind.
“I'm going to invite her to lunch,” I told my neighbors. They laughed at me. I chickened out of course. How would I ever live it down if she said “No.”? I shrugged my shoulders and changed the subject, but my eyes kept straying back up the street to that white van in the driveway.
Early the next day, as he was dressing for work, I mentioned her to the Computer Guy. I asked for his opinion about maybe inviting her to lunch after all. “In my experience,” he said, “there are just some people in this world who simply like to be left alone. Did it ever occur to you that she might be one of them?” It hadn't.
He left for work and the rest of the morning was dull and routine. Finally, around one o'clock I could take it no longer and decided to put the children in the wagon and drag them around the block. I made it to the end of my driveway when I saw her house. I made up my mind in that moment that no woman ever really wants to be a hermit, and I pulled that red wagon full of children up the sidewalk to her front porch. I had no idea what I would even say as I knocked on the door, but I do know that I almost hoped she wouldn't answer. Then she did.
Her tired gaze met mine across that open doorway. I smiled to myself in recognition. She didn't look unfriendly to me, just tired and overwhelmed. I plastered on my friendliest expression, calmed my knocking knees, and then told her that she was expected the next day for lunch at my house. I didn't even ask her, just told her to come and assumed that she would. I think my bossiness startled her so much that it didn't even occur to her to say no. She just nodded her head and gave me a funny look. I'm not sure she knew quite what to think of me. The whole exchange took about 5 minutes and then I turned to go, but not before calling out over my shoulder, “I'm making mac and cheese. Tomorrow's Ash Wednesday and we're Catholic, so if you want meat, then bring your own.”
How could she resist?
Part 2 tomorrow
The only real friend I had had moved to Kentucky just before #3 was born. I missed my family. I missed my friend. I had no idea where to begin looking for people to fill in these gaps in my life. I prayed halfheartedly for God to send me someone, just one someone, with whom I could laugh, talk, and just be a girl instead of always only a mom. I just couldn't picture how it would look when she showed up. What exactly was God going to do, send her to my door like a loon with a big sign? What kind of desperate would I have to be to hang out with crazy people on my doorstep? Crazy and I are old acquaintances, and I've known him long enough to know that I don't need any more in my life.
During this time of painful loneliness, I would occasionally notice the white minivan of my neighbor down the street just sitting in her driveway. I had seen her at Halloween when the kids and I went Trick-or-Treating. Her husband had opened the door and handed out candy. He seemed friendly enough, but the look she gave me when I said 'hello' and commented on her new baby were a 'go to Hell' look if ever I've seen one. She was definitely not interested in being friends and seemed as if she really would prefer it if I never spoke to her again. I would have been happy to oblige her if it hadn't been for her darn minivan.
Her white van sat in her driveway and it didn't move. She never drove it to the store on errands or loaded the baby into it to meet her friends for lunch. It just sat there. Alone. There were never any other cars at her house either. Nobody came to visit and see the baby. There was no mother or grandmother bustling in and out with presents or groceries. There was just the car in the drive and the woman and baby in the house and they never went anywhere. Ever.
I'll never forget the day that she emerged. It was a surprisingly warm day for February, and all of the neighborhood kids were riding bikes in the street as their moms chatted and gossiped in little clumps on the sidewalks. It was a typical scene in Oklahoma where neighbors know each other by name and are friendly if not actually friends.
Into this boisterous scene walked the woman from up the street pushing her baby girl in a stroller which looked as if it had never before been outside of the house. She was wearing a black t-shirt and a wary look on her face. She silently pleaded with us to allow her to slip by unseen and unmolested. 'Please don't talk to me,' her eyes begged, but who was she kidding? Her baby was gorgeous and she was a curiosity. There was no way that a gaggle of Oklahoma women could let her slip by without a word.
The baby was 5 months old we learned, and her name was A. Her husband was in the Air Force. They'd been here for almost 6 months The neighbor lady answered all of our questions politely but with no embroidery. It was obvious that she wanted to just finish her walk as quickly as humanly possible and then slip back into the quiet of her house.
After she managed to break free from the Inquisition, we stood and discussed her the way a pack of women will. It was decided, discussed, and then decided on again that she was a 'poor thing' in the condescending way that Southern women say it, but that she had brought it mostly upon herself because she could have hung out with this whole great group if only she wanted to do so. It's funny to me now that we never considered the fact that she might not want to associate with us, but I never thought about it then. I just remember staring after her as she struggled to get the stroller back up onto the porch and I couldn't get the look in her eyes out of my mind.
“I'm going to invite her to lunch,” I told my neighbors. They laughed at me. I chickened out of course. How would I ever live it down if she said “No.”? I shrugged my shoulders and changed the subject, but my eyes kept straying back up the street to that white van in the driveway.
Early the next day, as he was dressing for work, I mentioned her to the Computer Guy. I asked for his opinion about maybe inviting her to lunch after all. “In my experience,” he said, “there are just some people in this world who simply like to be left alone. Did it ever occur to you that she might be one of them?” It hadn't.
He left for work and the rest of the morning was dull and routine. Finally, around one o'clock I could take it no longer and decided to put the children in the wagon and drag them around the block. I made it to the end of my driveway when I saw her house. I made up my mind in that moment that no woman ever really wants to be a hermit, and I pulled that red wagon full of children up the sidewalk to her front porch. I had no idea what I would even say as I knocked on the door, but I do know that I almost hoped she wouldn't answer. Then she did.
Her tired gaze met mine across that open doorway. I smiled to myself in recognition. She didn't look unfriendly to me, just tired and overwhelmed. I plastered on my friendliest expression, calmed my knocking knees, and then told her that she was expected the next day for lunch at my house. I didn't even ask her, just told her to come and assumed that she would. I think my bossiness startled her so much that it didn't even occur to her to say no. She just nodded her head and gave me a funny look. I'm not sure she knew quite what to think of me. The whole exchange took about 5 minutes and then I turned to go, but not before calling out over my shoulder, “I'm making mac and cheese. Tomorrow's Ash Wednesday and we're Catholic, so if you want meat, then bring your own.”
How could she resist?
Part 2 tomorrow
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Opinions Please
I love the new picture for my header, but am unsure about its being in color. My eldest thinks color is the way to go. What do you think?
Full color or black and white? Please vote in my totally unscientific and completely meaningless poll. (I'll take your opinions and then do whatever I want anyway.)
Full color or black and white? Please vote in my totally unscientific and completely meaningless poll. (I'll take your opinions and then do whatever I want anyway.)
A Note to the Guy in Wal Mart
If you're a guy in your 30s, living with your Mama, she's buying your groceries and driving you around in her pink Mary Kay Cadillac....I don't care what your tattoo says, you're not a bad@$$, you're a cautionary tale.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Up and Down and then Up Again
I gained back some of the weight I had worked so hard to lose. Last month was stressful and I'm an emotional eater. It has taken me a few days to reset the counter. I didn't want to admit I had gained a few back, not even to myself, but honesty won the day and I finally 'fessed up.
Starting over. It's still a long way to my goal, but it's a short time to summer and swimsuits. Starting over because no one wants to see this in a swimsuit.
Starting over. It's still a long way to my goal, but it's a short time to summer and swimsuits. Starting over because no one wants to see this in a swimsuit.
Pathetic and a Little OCD
I will confess to y'all that the "59" followers is killing me. Would one of you sign up and make it an even 60? Thank you.
Even better would be 41 to bring it to an even 100, but there's that whole beggars/choosers thing.
**Thank you to my new follower. The nerd in me is grateful. To the rest of you, what are you waiting for?"**
Even better would be 41 to bring it to an even 100, but there's that whole beggars/choosers thing.
**Thank you to my new follower. The nerd in me is grateful. To the rest of you, what are you waiting for?"**
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Passing the Candle
In the Catholic tradition, when a child is Baptized the light of Christ is given to his parents in the symbol of a candle, for them to protect and keep it glowing brightly. His Christian faith and morality are their responsibility, and they joyfully accept this extra burden in the hope of leading their child to Heaven.
In parts of Europe, the tradition continues at his First Communion when the candle is lit again and the child and his parents both hold it. The three of them are now responsible for the faith and spiritual well being of the child. The parents acknowledge, symbolically, that the child has reached the "age of reason" and now must stand before God as his own person, but not yet alone. His parents still bear the burden of teaching, instructing, leading, and counseling their child in the way he should grow. His salvation is a team effort.
At Confirmation,he holds the candle alone. His soul is his own, and his parents must step back and allow him to make his own decisions about what to do with it. He stands alone before the Throne of the Almighty and must answer for himself.
We watched today as our son took his next step upon this pathway. This morning, our #3 received the body, blood, soul and divinity of our Lord in his First Holy Communion. He beamed from the pew where he sat with his classmates and smiled with innocent joy at all he had achieved. It has been a long and winding road to get him to this point, and I think that we all shared in his sense of relief and his profound happiness.
His father and I cried. Our eyes brimmed with tears of pride in our son who has worked and pushed himself to remember all that he needed to know. He has struggled to understand the awesome mysteries laid out before him and to understand the miracle that is the Consecration. He truly deserved the happiness of this day. There was also tear, or perhaps two, over the passage of time and over the little baby with the goofy hair who this morning was offered the Body of Christ and nodded his head, flashed a smile and said 'Amen.' And with that one simple word, his faith became more fully his own.
I know that you're thinking to yourself "That's great for #3, but what kind of sexy shoes was the Mom wearing this morning?" What else? Leopard, of course.
Aren't you glad you asked?
In parts of Europe, the tradition continues at his First Communion when the candle is lit again and the child and his parents both hold it. The three of them are now responsible for the faith and spiritual well being of the child. The parents acknowledge, symbolically, that the child has reached the "age of reason" and now must stand before God as his own person, but not yet alone. His parents still bear the burden of teaching, instructing, leading, and counseling their child in the way he should grow. His salvation is a team effort.
At Confirmation,he holds the candle alone. His soul is his own, and his parents must step back and allow him to make his own decisions about what to do with it. He stands alone before the Throne of the Almighty and must answer for himself.
We watched today as our son took his next step upon this pathway. This morning, our #3 received the body, blood, soul and divinity of our Lord in his First Holy Communion. He beamed from the pew where he sat with his classmates and smiled with innocent joy at all he had achieved. It has been a long and winding road to get him to this point, and I think that we all shared in his sense of relief and his profound happiness.
His father and I cried. Our eyes brimmed with tears of pride in our son who has worked and pushed himself to remember all that he needed to know. He has struggled to understand the awesome mysteries laid out before him and to understand the miracle that is the Consecration. He truly deserved the happiness of this day. There was also tear, or perhaps two, over the passage of time and over the little baby with the goofy hair who this morning was offered the Body of Christ and nodded his head, flashed a smile and said 'Amen.' And with that one simple word, his faith became more fully his own.
I know that you're thinking to yourself "That's great for #3, but what kind of sexy shoes was the Mom wearing this morning?" What else? Leopard, of course.
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