Should I Ask Her?

My Mother-in-Law is coming into town this weekend and is staying for a whole week!  I'm so excited to get to see her before we move to Texas and they move to Kentucky this Summer.  (It's going to be a busy Summer.) 

My sweet husband has tried to tell her about #7, but she has been so nervous about moving that she talked over him and never heard his big announcement.....which means someone needs to tell her before she comes so she can practice her reply. (I'm a realist here.  People are generally shocked with the idea of 7 children even when they love them all.  You have to give people a chance to practice, it's only fair.)

The thing is, I have an ultrasound on Tuesday.  It's not a big anatomy scan, more of a peek to make sure that everything is okay.  I really want to ask her if she wants to go with me.....but here's the thing....medical stuff makes her completely uneasy and a little greenish.  I don't want to put her in a spot where she has to say 'yes' if she's rather not go....on the other hand it's the chance to see her grandchild months before he/she is born....if I were her I'd jump at the chance.

Alright, Internets, I'm putting this in your wise and capable hands....do I ask her? Do I let the Computer Guy mention it casually?  Or do I just accept that she hates anything medical and leave the poor woman alone?  What would you do?

'Cause if it were me, I'd kill for the chance....but she's not me......and she might be willing to wait to see #7 on arrival day.....

I Miss My Brain

Ever since we announced this pregnancy, I've received a lot of sympathy over morning sickness, weird cravings, and extreme fatigue.  I just try to smile and accept their commiserations, but they don't know the worst part of being pregnant.  I miss my brain.  (Pregnancy isn't all bad.  Kicking babies are glorious.  The first trimester, however, is my own personal hell.)

For six glorious weeks, I was on my ADHD medication.  I felt and thought like a new woman. For six weeks I never lost my keys or misplaced my purse.  I could explain things and tell stories without having to double back and explain things I missed the first time through.  I came up with words without having to search my memory for them.  I put names with faces effortlessly.  I successfully fought off impulse purchases (because impulsiveness is a part of ADHD.) I lived and thought like a normal person.

Then came the morning where I saw that positive pregnancy result and I had to put the medicine aside for the health and well-being of #7.  It's been 4 weeks and I miss it terribly.

This morning I lost 20 minutes searching for keys.  I got to the grocery store only to realize that my coupon book was at home on the kitchen counter.  (Where I put it so that I wouldn't forget it.)  I didn't get 3 things on my list, but managed to bring home 4 things that weren't on it.

For six weeks out of my life, I knew what my plans were for the whole day without having to check the calendar once.  I just knew what needed to be done and when.  I KNEW IT!!!  Today, I've looked at the calendar at least 8 times and am terrified that I will forget that my eldest is going to her best friend's house or that the kids' Opa is coming over this afternoon.  I have to check it because I keep forgetting what's on it and second guessing the time.  I went out with a friend last week and started to tell her a story, when I had to abruptly stop because I couldn't find the word I needed and wasn't far enough into the story for her to help me.

This used to be normal for me.  It was so normal that I didn't even know it was there.  My life just worked somehow in a whirl of confusion.  Except it never worked all that well.  Now it is confusing and overwhelming and I just want my brain back. 

I'm so glad to be having a #7, but the thought of seven more months of this plus a year of nursing before I can think again.....I don't even want to think about it...luckily for me I'll be on to something new in a few moments.  :0)


People have been so interested to know what it is to be on ADHD medication.  It was clarity.....and now you also know what it's like to have to give it up.

not thought provoking....just life....and prayer buddy reveal

We had plans yesterday to go to an Easter egg hunt at a friend's house.  The highlight of the evening was to be peeps roasted over a bonfire.

We didn't.  It rained all day so we spent the day curled up on the couch watching Gulliver's Travels and eating pot roast.  That was our fancy Easter dinner....pot roast and gravy with steamed rice.  It was all kinds of awesome.  Who needs fancy ham and trimmings when you can have warm goodness that puts everyone to sleep?  (I did miss the promised lemon meringue pie from my friend's house, though.  I'm trying to talk her into bringing me a  whole pie piece.

I keep praying about baby names, and that if God has a preference, He'll let me know.  I keep coming back to this kind of offbeat (even for me) name.  It stalks me.  I did a google search for a saint connection.  There isn't one.....yet.  There's a person under review with this quirky name and I'm kinda liking what I read about him/her.  Of course it could just be God screwing with me again....He does that, you know.  Do I even need to say Horatio?  I didn't think so.   Strange name...kinda weird...my husband doesn't really like it....I didn't either, but I'm warming to it.......maybe the baby will be the other sex and we'll just laugh about this one too...


We're showing the house tonight and I don't want to.  We decided to lease it.  I talked to a property management company.  I was relieved to be done selling it.  Then they set up a showing appointment.  Can they just buy it?  I'm furiously cleaning the mess from a rained-in weekend, and I'd like it to pay off for me.  That would be nice.  Then we could take our oddly named children and move and not look back.


Lent  Prayer buddies....I had the great pleasure of praying for Beth from I Dreamed a Dream.  It was a blog I'd never read before.  I kinda like that.  I like getting to know new people and learning all about them.  She has been struggling with infertility for a while now.  She killed me with he comments of  "Are you there prayer buddy?"  I wanted to say "I'm here!  I'm praying!"  It's been a lesson in silence, patience and prayer for me.  I took her with me to daily Mass until I was too ill to go, and then I offered it all up for her.  I've also promised to keep offering it up and praying for her until we move at the end of May.  Go on over there and say Hello.

Alleluia!

Happy Easter!!!!  He is Risen!!!!

Without Him

One of the few memories I have of both of my grandfathers is of their reverence for the Blessed Sacrament.  When we would drive past a Catholic Church, my dad's dad would always tip his hat (I love that he wore hats) and my mother's father would inevitably cross himself.

I can remember my older brother asking why once and hearing my dad's dad say, "It's because He's in there, in the tabernacle."  I recall looking at the church and wondering who could be in there that was so important that my grandfather would slow down and say hello even when he couldn't be seen.

As I got older, and lost my dad's dad, it was only my mom's father who slowed down to say "Hello."  I loved him and wanted to make him proud, so I would cross myself, too.  How he would smile at me when I joined him in this small show of respect.

I'll always remember the Good Friday when we drove by St Elizabeth's Church.  As my hand rose to my forehead, Grandpa's gentle hand reached out to stop me.   "Not today," he told me. "Today he's not there and the whole world is a little sadder to not have Him in it."

That's where my brain is this morning....in that big boat of a car with my grandfather as his eyes welled up and he fought back his sadness.  His mournful voice said, "Today He's in the tomb and we are alone."


My mind keeps drifting to the empty tabernacles all over the world with their doors standing open, filled only with the silence of the grave.  How ready we will be for Easter to arrive when we can again bask in his glorious presence.

Mental Meanderings --- What's on my mind today

I'm too heavily medicated this afternoon to be thinking great thoughts, so you just get the randomness of my un-medicated ADHD brain.


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Are you reading the blog by the Bishop Emeritus of Corpus Christi?  You should be.  He finds really thought provoking links, is hilarious when he writes, and is a definite straight-shooter.  He wrote about V.P. Joe Biden

Perhaps God, who knows whether or not Biden's brain was permanently damaged by his brain surgery, will not judge him too harshly, but the Church, which does not have that kind of knowledge, should certainly speak out and reprimand him.

We need more bishops like him. (I wrote him a fan email that said how much I love his blog and he wrote back that I "made his day."  I'm pretty sure that making a bishop's day will get me straight into Heaven.)

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LarryD at Acts of the Apostasy is sponsoring Fantasy Bishball.  You can have whomever you please, but I'm taking Gracida of Corpus Christi.  Did you see what that guy said about Biden?

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Best come-back I've heard in a while "The problem isn't the Catholic Church's stand against birth control.  The problem is your stand in favor of premarital sex."

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I'm not making Easter Dinner this year.  I think we're just going to get Chinese takeout.  The thought of spending the day in the kitchen smelling food and then having to be nice to people while I watch them eat it.....it's not happening......Maybe we'll just order a pizza because nothing says "Alleluia!  He is risen!" quite like a large peperoni, canadian bacon, sausage pizza.  (Once again we're celebrating a Jew with pork products.  Nice.)

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I just spent a half hour on the phone with a friend while we griped about our lives.  She sounded relieved; I felt worse.  Maybe I'll just listen next time.

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For interesting thoughts on carrying our own crosses, go check our Sr Marie.

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Have you seen the new "hard to find" Easter eggs?  They look like leaves and rocks.  I'm thinking of buying a couple dozen, tossing them out by the creek behind our house and not letting the kids in until they find them all.  That should be good for an hour's nap.

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When I'm too sick to move and get a little bored, I click on my followers list and start reading blogs.  If you're not over there, I can't find you and come read.  In a way, that makes following me an Act of Mercy.

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No matter how rough the last couple days have been, at least I'm not this guy.

Thoughts from the Bathroom Floor

I'm lying here on the bathroom floor, feeling the cool tile beneath my cheek, moaning just a bit, typing one-handed and sideways, and rethinking my life.

Motherhood, specifically pregnancy, is not for the faint of heart.  There is no way of predicting, until you get here, whether you will be the lucky duck with no symptoms or if you're going to spend countless hours in the bathroom on your knees.  (Quick question...does moaning "Oh...G*d..." between retches count as prayer?  If so...score!)  I'm the unlucky kind.  I've fallen asleep many times with my face resting on the toilet seat, completely exhausted.

Earlier today, I was lying here and remembering my first pregnancy and my first encounter with morning sickness (and that name is a complete lie.)  I was violently ill with #1 in ways I was unprepared to be.  I quickly dropped 23 pounds from an already skinny frame, and would fall into bed near comatose to sleep for 30+ hours straight.  It was near the end of the first trimester, when I finally got in to see the OB (who wouldn't see patients  fewer than 12 weeks along).  She looked at the clearly very ill 21 year old that I was and said, "Let's discuss termination."

I was stunned.  I was a poor college student, but was in love with my baby's father with whom I was living. (We got married when I was 4 months along....we weren't religious at all yet....if you have to judge, please do it quietly.)  "You are risking your health," she said to me in a matter of fact way.  "You are a young woman with years ahead of you for having babies.  Why this baby?  Why now?  Why not walk away from all of this until you are healthier and in a better place?"  (For the record, I wasn't un-healthy except for the morning sickness......morning....Hah!)

I sat quietly and pondered her suggestion.  Nobody even knew about the pregnancy except my fiance, and to tell the truth he wasn't exactly thrilled by the whole thing happening before the wedding.  Neither was I, really, that's why I had been on the Pill.

I pondered her suggestion for a few days.  I was more favorable to it the longer I spent on the bathroom floor.  I just kept coming back to the sound of that heartbeat, loud and fast, I'd heard in the exam room.  Whatever it was, it was alive and its living was what was causing my puking.

My sweetheart came home to find me in a half-delusional state.  I raised my head and looked at him through blurred vision and said, "God help me, but if after all of this, the kid's a brat...I'll wring its neck myself." Then I passed out.  (See? Loving mom right from the get-go.)

Here I am again today, lying on the cold tile of the bathroom floor, thinking I need to mop more often, that perhaps a shower might be nice, and that if this kid's a brat.....I'll.....love it anyway.  (Don't get me wrong, this is definitely going to be used for Mom-guilt.  "I threw up for 4 months straight when I was pregnant with you...and you can't even clean your room when I ask?")

I learned something during my first stay on the bathroom floor.  Life is precious. Always.  The trials and discomforts of motherhood may seem insurmountable or just plain not worth it, but then come the moments that make it worth every expense.  Like the 4 year old who just brought me a cup of cold water because "I love you, Mommy."

I would love to be able to go back to 1996 and find that kindly doctor who tried so hard to counsel me in my "options".  I'd say to her, "This is what parenthood is.  It's willingly sacrificing myself for the love of my children.  It's offering my comfort and well-being for their own.  It's living through moments of great pain because my love for them eclipses it.  I might be able to have other babies, but I don't know how I'd ever live without the life and happiness of this one."

...and somehow that seems like a fitting thing to be thinking as we approach the Triduum and celebrate the love of a parent who said the same thing about us.

I'm Famous!

The on-line fashion magazine Pocketchange recently interviewed me for a "You Should Read This Blog" thing. 

For some reason, it's posted in home decor which proves that they've never been to my house or seen a picture of it, but I'm not complaining.  The cool kids found me and liked me enough to tell other people about me which I think makes me a fringe cool kid too.  Go read it here!

16 Years

****re-posted from last year  -- I didn't really have anything to add.  God bless those who died and those who were left behind.***

16 years ago today, I was not yet "the Mom".  I was not yet "the Wife."  I was simply a newly engaged girl, much in love with my fiance.

16 years ago this morning, I can tell you exactly where I was .  I was standing behind the front desk of the high-end hotel where I worked.  I was checking-out guests and joking with the manager.  It was a quiet and easy morning at work and there was a chance of my going home early.  Then we heard a loud boom and every door in the hotel flew open.  It sounded as if a semi truck had hit the side of the building.  The manager vaulted over the desk and ran outside, only to return a moment later white-faced and shaken.

"I think a plane crashed in downtown," he said.  "There's a huge plume of black smoke. God bless all those who died."

We, the front desk girls, got misty eyed at the thought of such a tragedy.  A plane crash how sad that would be.  Then the General Manager staggered out to where we were.  He looked shaken.  It was no plane crash he told us.  Someone had set off a bomb downtown.  The doors had flown open when the shockwave had hit us.  We just stared at him, dumbfounded.  This is Oklahoma City.  Things like that don't happen here.

They do.

The early news reports said that the Journal Record Building had been the target.  The building where my sweetheart worked.  The building where my future went to the office everyday.  Numb shock spread through my body.  Was I widowed before I was even a wife?

One of my co-workers walked me down to the workout facility where those who were waiting on news of their loved ones were gathering.  It had the large TV so that we could watch the news and wait for word.  It was just after 9:30 in the morning.   Within 20 minutes, the kitchen staff started bringing in comfort food for those of us waiting.  The building engineer brought us a dedicated phone line.  There were 5 of us huddled together.  Not one of us spoke.  We sat together for hours and said nothing, too horrified for words.

My love's relatives kept calling me, asking for news.  I had none to give them.  He had not called me, and I didn't know if he could call me.  The phones were down over much of the city, and in the era pre-cell-phone, that meant no news.

After 5 1/2 hours of sitting in the gym, eating macaroni and cheese, and watching the news, at last a call came for me.  It was my sweetheart's aunt.  She had driven past his house and his car was in the driveway, but she had knocked and there was no answer.

I flew to his house.  I flung open the door without stopping to knock and ran into the house.  He was standing in the long hallway.  All of the doors were shut and it was dark, but he just stood there.  I knew instinctively that he had been there for a long while.

"My love," I asked, "why are you standing in the hallway?"

He looked at me with haunted eyes and replied, "There are no windows in the hallway."  Flying glass, he had seen horrors created by flying glass, the hallway was safe.

He was filthy, covered with dirt, sweat and other unknown substances.  I forced him to take a shower, and then I put him to bed.  He looked at me with his sad eyes and began to tell me of the things he had seen that day.  He vomited up the details in painful and graphic detail, and when he was done he fell immediately to sleep.  It was 4:00 in the afternoon.



He will not discuss these things now, except rarely with me.  There are details which I know he has forgotten.  I remember them all, just as he told me.  I am his memory, his witness. We have not been to the memorial museum.  He doesn't want to see it, and I have his memories burned into my brain.  I would never go without him, and he won't go.  My sweet husband's name is on the survivor wall at the memorial downtown.  We've never seen it.  People make rubbings of it and give them to us.  I put them away in a drawer.  I am proud of the things he did that day, the heroism and the calm in the face of calamity.  He was and is an amazing human being.

16 years ago today I almost lost him.  A mad man with a truck and a bomb shattered the peace of our city.  Some people would be bitter, but the people here are not.  We have learned that tragedies can happen anywhere, that our loved ones can be gone in an instant, that tragedy is not a respecter of age or social standing.  Today, we will hold our loved ones a little tighter, make sure we tell them we love them, and thank God for the gift of one more day with them.

I am one of the fortunate ones.  I lost nothing that day but a little naivete.  But every year this date rolls around and calls to mind all that I have and reminds me to be grateful

Finding Fabulous

Can I admit a little something here since it's just us?  This whole move thing is beginning to freak me out.  We found a great house (3400 sq ft, 5 beds, 3 1/2 baths) in the area we want.  We have a move-in date, June 1.  I'm trying to be calm, but it's a lie.....A BIG FAT STINKIN" LIE!

Here's the thing....I just spent the last half hour on the phone with my friend, Peace.  We were talking about fun things like how purple streaks are sooooo last summer and we really think that that feathers (the bird kind not Farrah's) might be fun this year.  That's when it hit me....I don't have a "getting a feather weave would rock" person in Dallas.  I think that kind of girl might be hard to find.  I mean, Peace and I are both moms of 7 and yet cool enough for funky jewelry and wild hair.   My friend S has no qualms about leaving husbands and/or teenagers in charge to sneak off for a Sunday afternoon pedicure.  My neighbor K throws the best parties I've been to since college......do you think friends like this are everywhere?  They're not.  They took me years to find and cultivate into my go to girls.

I have emails from the homeschool group in our area of Texas.  They all seem so nice.....that can be a problem....nice.  I'm snarky, sarcastic, and have a bit of an off-color sense of humor.  I love a good dirty joke.  I really do.

We went to the Catholic Church near the new house, and there wasn't a lot of  fabulous going on there. (I want to add glitter to that but can't...will you just imagine it there?  Thanks.)  I'm afraid of arriving in a land of really nice but kinda boring women. After all, homeschooling moms aren't exactly known for their wild side.

I don't have years to wait for fabulosity to find its way to my doorstep, so I'm thinking I should just take out an ad to find the friends I want.   What do you think?  Do you think I can find a homeschooling mom with technicolor hair (or doesn't mind it), a rollicking sense of humor, a wild side, kids the right sexes and ages, a willingness to be on the receiving end of my wild baking days and is cheap in all the right ways?  (Seriously, I have days of baking bread from sun up until I run out of flour.......banana almond, lemon blueberry, honey oatmeal...)

How do I write that up and not sound like a stalker/loon?  And should I do the feather weave before I move and just be upfront about who I am, or wait a bit and ease the neighborhood into it?

Anyone in Texas want to volunteer and save me the effort of looking?  There's a loaf of amazing bread in it for you.

Why We Tell

I recently ran into an acquaintance of ours at the grocery store.  She warily eyed my mid-section and asked what was new with us.  (Everyone checks out the belly first...9 pregnancies in 15 years...)  I confirmed her suspicion when I said, "#7 will arrive in December."

She swallowed in a way that told me my news was painful for her to hear.  "So that makes you....6 weeks?  Isn't that kind of early to tell people?"

I understand what she's saying.  She lives in a world where a positive test doesn't necessarily mean a live baby.  I didn't know how to tell her that I live in that same world.  My sweet husband and I have stared in stunned disbelief at ultrasound images of dead babies.  We've held our sweet girl in our hands and then buried her.  We live the entire pregnancy in a fear of what-ifs.  We tell anyway.

A few years ago, after losing a baby, we went to a family event where it became very obvious very quickly that no one knew I had been pregnant or that I no longer was.  The entire roomful of people was oblivious to our pain.  The Computer Guy's cousin plopped her perfect newborn daughter in my lap because she just knew how much I love babies.  I do.  I wanted to run as far from that baby as was humanly possible.  I couldn't.  How could I interrupt the celebration of that perfect child by saying "No, I don't want to hold her.  You see, my baby is dead and it took every ounce of strength for me to get in the car today to come here"?  You can't say those things, you simply smile and coo and fight the tears.  If they had known, the situation would never have happened.  So, we tell because it saves us pain in the event of things going horribly wrong.

We tell because it is obvious to anyone with eyes that my middle is expanding, because I struggle with horrible morning sickness and fatigue and I don't want people to be offended if I run from the dinner table, because my children know and have big mouths, and because people get offended if we don't tell them ourselves.

We tell because life and death are a part of living, and we are people who deal in reality.  The baby is here today.  It is alive today.  We are joyful today.  We are so very aware that things could change tomorrow and so with our children we have made the decision to live for today and not allow the what-ifs to steal our happiness.

We made up our minds long ago that our children were meant to be joy from the very first moment we knew of them.  We can choose to live in secret fear or we can rejoice in their lives.  We've chosen to rejoice.

When Homeschoolers Throw a Party

Last night was prom night for the homeschoolers in Oklahoma City.  Our first baby got all dolled up in the dress she had so carefully chosen, met her closest friends for dinner, hopped into their limo, and then danced the night away.   It was like a typical prom anywhere in the country.....which seems to surprise a lot of people.

I don't know who they've met, but these are the "nerdy" homeschoolers I know.  (#1 and her bff M)

Homeschooled students seem to have a reputation for awkwardness and being socially inept.  They're the un-cool and naive....or so people seem to think.

When we tell people that our children learn at home, we often hear "But what about socialization?  They have to learn to get along with other people."

They look as if they get along with others just fine to me.

It was like any other prom, the girls danced and the boys stood around the walls and watched.  Unlike the other kids, they finished out the evening with a little Thriller.   

(I have an amazing video of them dancing Thriller....but it won't upload....stupid Blogger. Instead..here's another shot of my gorgeous #1.  I can't believe she's this big already.)

I love Jesus...How 'bout you? (meme)

Joe tagged me for a meme - the "Why I love Jesus" meme. These are the rules:

• Share five things you love about Jesus/or why you love Jesus.
• Tag five other bloggers.
• Those tagged will provide a link in the comments section here so others can read them.

« •••†••• »

5 things I love about Jesus

 

1. His flesh is real food and his blood is real drink.

2. He gave us the "Our Father", one of my favorite prayers.

3. He is perfection, but loves me, a miserable sinner, anyway.

4. He gave Himself over to His enemies for my sake.

5. He was faithful to His Father's will until the very end.

 

•••†•••

you're "it"

 

I tag: Sew, Leila, Cathmom5, Maurisa, and StrongNHim

Numeric Perfection

Once upon a time, we baptized our fifth baby.  The priest we love smiled at us and said, " You know that you can't stop here, don't you?"

We were taken aback.  What was wrong with five?

"Five isn't a Biblically perfect number.  3 is, but you shot right past that, so I guess it's going to have to be 7," and then he laughed.

We laughed with him and it became a long running joke in our family, but never let it be said that the Computer Guy and I don't listen to the wise counsel of our priest.  We're also kinda nerdy and like the idea of perfect numbers.

That's why we're having a #7.....on or about December 6th......we're already referring to this baby as "Perfect Number 7"....that's not too much pressure on a kid is it?

P.S.  Dear prayer buddy, We've been joking for the last week that this is what we get for joining the infertile girls prayer group.  LOL!  Can you add perfect #7 to your list?  Sell the house, healthy baby, conquer morning sickness....that's what I need.  Thanks.

5 Questions for Jen

The lovely and talented Jennifer Fulwiler of Conversion Diary recently agreed to answer a few questions about herself.  I could ask anything (oh, where to begin...) but I promised I would limit the number to 5.

Here are her answers....she's a very interesting person....

1. What do your parents think of your conversion?

They raised my to seek the truth regardless of whether it's convenient
and to be intellectually honest, so they respect my conversion, even
if they don't totally understand it. My dad in particular has made
comments that he's proud that my husband and I really live out our
belief system rather than bending the rules we don't like. The thing
that always bothered him the most was when people claimed to believe
something but then didn't really live it when it got inconvenient.

 2.  I recently wrote on my blog about my underwear, proving that I have no limits.  Do you have things about which you refuse to blog?

Yes, definitely. Every now and then I get links from sites that are

extremely unhappy about what I write about, and I get some pretty
vitriolic comments. Because of this, I don't give a lot of details
about my family. Basically, I don't share anything information that it
would really bother me if someone used to insult me. But pictures of
scorpion in my toilet? Sure. Stories of one of my child painting an
entire corner of the room with her own...well, nevermind. In terms of
stuff like that, or sharing my own spiritual ineptitude and
missteps...no, I can't think of anything I wouldn't write about!

3.  What a book are you reading now?  What book do you always recommend to others?  What book could you re-read a hundred times? (More than one question, but I think I fooled her by numbering them as one.  Pretty sneaky.)

Currently I'm reading two books: The Heavenly Man by Brother Yun,
and First Things First by Steven Covey. I also just finished
Google'lize Your Life -- I'm on a major productivity kick lately.
The book that I always recommend to others is He Leadeth Me by Fr.
Walter Ciszek (and I frequently get emails of effusive thanks from
people who did read it -- it's truly life-changing). The book I could
read again and again is A Million Miles in a Thousand Years by Donald
Miller. I don't know if it's just because I'm a writer, but that book
really touched me.

4. If you had your choice, what would you choose for your last meal and why?

I always get hung up on questions like this, because I am a really
neurotic and overly analytical person. Why is it my last meal? If I
were about to die, I'd probably just fast and pray and beg God not to
give me afterlife smackdown that I deserve. If it were my last meal
because I was having my stomach removed or something...I'd love a
really good cream of leek soup.

5. In the book of Judith, she puts on some make-up, grabs her maid and her cute purse, and heads off to defeat the enemy.  What color purse is appropriate to take with you on a mission to save your people?

I think something red and sparkly, just big enough to hold my gun.

She completely skipped the extra point bonus question written by my son :  

The zombie apocalypse is coming (we all know this is a verifiable fact.)  Do you have a plan in place and what is your weapon of choice?

So y'all can answer that yourselves in the combox. 

Don't You Hate It?

Don't you hate it when:

• you have a blog and then someone tells you something that you are dying to write about, except you're not allowed to and then you can't think of anything else to write about instead of the first thing?
• you scrub and clean your house to have people over, make yummy food for the guests, even plant flowers to make everything perfect, and then don't get to stay because it's an open house and you're not allowed?
• you start an amazing book on your kindle reader thingy on your laptop but you can't finish it because the laptop died, the charger isn't charging, and the new charger won't be here until Tuesday?
• there's an amazing offer on your house, but it's to lease not to buy?
• there are people who want to buy your house but they are HAM radio people and the HOA won't let them put up that ugly tower thingy so they buy another house?

Me, too.  But mostly that first thing.  I hate having things I want to say but can't because "I promised to keep it a secret...blah, blah, blah..."

On the plus side:

• I have people who love me and trust me enough to tell me stuff
• I have a spotless house...at least for tonight....
• I have a kindle reader thingy and a laptop to read it on....plus the anticipation of the second half of an awesome book is pretty sweet.
• Someone other than me likes my house
• I have nothing positive to say about those HAM radio people...I'm sure they're lovely folks.....but those towers are hideous

Still....secrets I can't ever share are no problem...but the "don't tell anyone now....I'll tell you when you can spill the beans"......it's that anticipation thing....killing me

Buzzards and Hummingbirds

I spoke with my Mother-in-Law yesterday.  It was an easy and meandering chat about life and the children.  We both laughed a lot and caught up on each other's life.

She said to me, "I love how you can find the fun in anything.  You look at the most normal and boring thing and find the beauty in it.  That's one of my favorite things about talking to you."

I agreed with her; I'm a pretty "life is wonderful fun" kind of person. 

My dear friend Peace puts it so well.  (I'm totally ripping her off here, I'm just letting you know that right now.)

If you were in a desert and saw a buzzard circling overhead, you'd know what he was doing.  He'd be looking for death and decay.  If you saw a hummingbird in the desert, you'd know he was looking for beauty and life.

The thing is, the buzzard will always find death and corruption.  It's what he's seeking.  Whereas, the hummingbird will always find beauty and life because it's what he's looking for.  

People are no different.  We will always find what we seek.

(See why she's my friend?)

I think most moms of big families are hummingbirds.  That's the wonderful gift of our lives. We have learned to find the beauty in the desert.

It's a learned behavior, looking for the fun and the joy.  It's also one we need to share more often with the world around us.

This Just Makes Me Laugh

From a rally of Planned Parenthood supporters:

I just giggle every time I see it.

h/t Jill Stanek

Ruby Slippers

This morning at Mass I sat next to the nuns.  (The nuns!!!!!!!  Love them!!!!!)  I was wearing these super cute black wedges I bought a few months ago, and it wasn't long before the nun nest to me was checking them out.  (She's a girl...she notices shoes...I like that in my nuns.)

After Mass, she touched my shoulder to get my attention and said "Cute shoes."

"Thanks" I replied.

"I have a soft spot for cute shoes." She admitted.  " I always secretly wished to be Dorothy with those glittery red pumps."

"Me, too." I told her, not adding that I own 2 pair of shiny red pumps for just that reason.

"It's the only fly in the ointment, for me, no red shoes."  She said laughingly as she walked off toward the nun car.


So, here's my question...she's a nun who always wanted to wear Dorothy's shoes....I happen to have sparkly red stilettos....would it be okay to invite her over for dinner and let her wear my ruby slippers?  Would that count as charity or temptation? 

Either way, the thought of that nun in 4 inch heels makes me giggle just a bit.

On Aliens and Brotherhood

#2, our 11 year old, woke up last night yelling something about aliens and bright blue lights.  It was 4 AM and I'm not too interested in alien life forms that don't live in my house, so I was a little slow to respond.

His sisters met me at their door as I passed by and asked sleepily, "What's going on?"

"Apparently the aliens have come to eat our brains or something," was my reassuring reply.

"Okay," my eldest yawned. "Do you think I'll have time to go back to sleep before they get to me?"  The two girls stumbled back to bed as I smirked at their sarcastic ways.

By the time I staggered into his room (it was soooo early), he had turned on all the lights at his end of the hall and had awakened everyone else in the house.  #2 was crouched in front of his window with coat hangers positioned between his fingers like claws.  He reminded me of a wild cat ready to pounce.

#3, age 9, leaned sleepily against the wall, also sporting coat hanger claws  as he yawned and tried valiantly to stay awake.

The moment he spotted me, my eldest boy began haranguing me with the tale of floating men, blinding blue lights, alien snakes that slithered through the window frame, and extraterrestrial conspiracies.  (The 1 year old who shares his room just stared at my blearily with a look that clearly said, "You've got to be kidding me.")  As I tried to calm #2 down, I glanced occasionally at his 9 year old brother who  propped up the doorway and shook his head.

I sent my hyped-up son down the hall to tell his father about the alien invasion while I scooted the rest of the boys back to bed.  As I tucked #3 in, I asked him what was up with the coat hangers as he clearly wasn't worried about aliens.

"It was all in his mind, Mom." My wise son told me. "It was so obvious that he was dreaming, but there was a chance he wasn't...so I thought 'He's my brother...it's my job to have his back,' besides....I couldn't let him have all the fun fighting aliens, could I?"



Indeed not.  So... here's to my sons who bravely battle aliens with coat hanger claws....and to brotherhood which makes you stand beside someone you know is crazy, ready to defend the universe together...if it comes to that.

Coming Around

Of all the girls in my little social circle growing up, I'm the only one who has more than one child.  They're all driven career women with big plans and goals, and those goals don't include a half dozen children. 

We're all still in contact with each other to varying degree.  Some talk weekly; some are only Christmas card friends.  On the rare occasion that we all get to see each other, we laugh and tease each other and fall back into childhood roles.  (I was the nerd, in case you wondered.)

Most of the ribbing I take is over the super-size of my family.  They just don't understand the life choices that the Computer Guy and I have made. They shake their heads in wonder over the fact that we would want to be so tied down.  I just smile, because I wouldn't trade places with them for anything.

Then this afternoon, I got a call from one of the girls.  "I'm pregnant," she told me. "6 1/2 weeks, so our baby will be 2 when the new one arrives.  Everyone else thinks I'm crazy, but I thought you......"

"I'm so thrilled!" I tried not to shriek in excitement. I know her medical history and how hard the first pregnancy was to achieve and carry......I know how worried she is, but I also know her joy.

"I owe you an apology." She told me. " I thought you were crazy for wanting so many babies, but I get it now.  The doctor hands you happiness wrapped up in a blanket."

"Does this mean you're aiming for six?"

"I'm getting too old for that, but we'll probably try to get as close as we can."

$5 Flowers

A facebook friend of mine recently touched off a firestorm of criticism when she wrote

"At target and a guy is buying flowers here. He deserves a slap in the face. Don't buy your girlfriend a $5 arrangement from target."

When met with a maelstrom of  negativity, she defended her position.

When I get flowers from my husband, he uses a flower shop and pays good money for a great design. That's when it's really sweet to get flowers.

And then again with:

To me it says "I only care about you enough for $5, rather than the best flower arrangement I can find."

While her "friends" took her to task for her materialism, selfishness, and thoughtlessness (and I'll admit that it was my first instinct to help pile it on); it raised some interesting questions for me as well.

How many times have I complained about the things my husband or children do to show that they love me because they don't "live up to my standards"?  I'm not talking about hundreds of dollars in flowers, but how often have I rolled my eyes at the 15th clumpy handful of dead weeds ("flowers") I've had to scrape off of my kitchen counter where my 3 year old left them?  How often have I been irritated when my husband asked what I wanted for my birthday because he should know these things?

How am I so different from the girl who wants to slap someone for bringing $5 flowers when I get slightly irked that my beloved can't remember how I like my hamburger instead of being happy that he surprised me with lunch?  There really is no difference between the two of us except that she's willing to have her selfishness out for the whole world to see while I'm content to hide mine between a polite smile and a silent seethe.

We tell our children that it truly is the thought that counts, but we don't truly live that.  It sounds pretty to say, but the reality is that we (women especially) have these idyllic pictures in our heads of how the world should truly be.   But none of it is real.

We didn't marry actors who are reading from a script so as to always arrive at the perfect line which is flawlessly delivered.....and thank God for that!  How would we ever live up to the perfection?  Not to mention the fact that I think perfection might be a bit boring to live with.

I'd much rather spend my life with a husband who buys me a vacuum cleaner because it will save me time, or hides my presents in a maddening scavenger hunt because he likes the idea of being able to surprise me all day long, or brings me the cheap flowers because he saw them and they were pretty.  Please, oh please, can I have sons who love me enough to rip the clover out of my yard and present me with the wilted greens, because girls like boys who bring them flowers? 

Please God, remind me, in the midst of my own selfish moments, that even if the world may not see me, my loved ones do.  May I always be worthy and appreciative of the love they show me in the thousand tiny ways that may not be what I'd wish for....but are certainly what I need.

Why We're Homeschooling Again Next Year

Lately a lot of people seem to be making assumptions about what we will do for #3's  schooling next year.  The homeschoolers seem to think that this year was a total disaster and those with children in school think we'll be enrolling everyone next year because it has to have been so much easier.  They're both wrong.

He'll be home next year because the whole school system just seems wrong to us.  We're his parents, but are expected to surrender any control of him and/or his education the moment he sets foot on campus.  Let's just start with the fact that we get no say in which campus he attends.  (He's special ed due to vision issues, so private school is not an option.  They don't have the resources to help him.)  There are other schools and other teachers who would have been easier to work with, more eager to help him, but we are required to send him to the school in our neighborhood.  He got the teacher to whom he was assigned.  We didn't get to interview her, ask for her credentials, assess her abilities in any way.  She gets a paycheck from the school district, so we're supposed to just accept that as good enough for us.

It's not.  I wouldn't allow the neighbor's son to mow my lawn without asking for references and experience before hiring him, but we're required to hand our son and his education over to someone we know less that the lawn boy.

Maybe this makes us control freaks, maybe it means that we're overbearing or domineering...but I don't think so.  I think it means that we are parents, that we love our child, that we know his challenges and want the people who work with him to be people we would hire and for them to realize that we don't want to turn him over to them.

I'll give you an example....the other night, I took him out for pizza and met a man while standing in line who has worked with my son at the school.  He seemed like a nice guy, but I had no idea who he was.  He introduced himself as the guy who pulls my son out of class when he gets distracted and can't focus on his work.  I had no idea this was happening.  Let me repeat that....A man I've never met before now gets called in when my son is having a bad day.  He removes him from the teachers I know, the place I assume he is.  For an undetermined period of time, he calms my child down (I'm not sure what that even means) and then returns him to class...AND NO ONE HAS TO TELL ME ABOUT IT.  No phone calls.  No notes.  Nothing.

He smiled at my incredulity and said, "He just has problems focusing sometimes.  I help him fix that."

I gulped, tried to control my wrath toward the school and system that has broken my trust so many times in the past.  "Literally," I said, "He has problems with his eyes.  Is that what you mean? His vision gets bad and he needs to rest them so you help him find a quiet place to rest his eyes?"  I hope, I hope, I hope...

He looked a little lost.  "He has eye problems?"


The stranger-to-me has no idea that my son has Convergence Insufficiency.  He has no clue about his problems.  As I asked questions, I learned that he takes him to his office and asks questions about his family and tries to find out what's bothering him.  Heaven forbid he actually know something about him first.



He'll be home next year, because I'm his mom.  His dad and I know what is wrong with him.  We aren't interested in psychobabble to get to the bottom of things, because we know that he has medical issues that effect his scholastic abilities.  We also know that he may need help that's not us.  We just want to know who those people are, where they are with our children, what they're talking about while they're there, and what qualifies them to be there. We're bringing him home not because the whole thing has been a complete disaster, but because it could have been and we wouldn't have known anything about it until it was too late to stop it.  We're his parents, and until we get to be the people in charge of his education in a school setting....we'll be keeping him at home.  I know other people put their children in schools and they are happy with the results...they're a lot braver than I am.

Me and Mrs C.

My sweet 9 year old spends every afternoon at his best friend's house.  His friend's mom, Mrs C, is as close to a miracle worker as anyone I've ever met.  She can get my pickiest eater to try anything.  I've begged her to share her secret, but she just smiles and shrugs.  "I just ask him if he wants to try a bit," she says.

There's no way it's that easy.  I live with this kid and I know that he won't even try the aroma of new food without giving me a look that clearly says he's sure he's about to be poisoned.  (For the record, I've never poisoned anyone that I know of.  I'm pretty sure I would know that....right?)

I had no idea that she had secret super powers until he came home and said, "Have you ever tried calamari? Did you know it's squid?  Mrs C fed me some and it was so good.  Is that meatloaf for dinner? With mashed potatoes?  I'm not eating that.  It's weird."

A week later, he said, "Did you know that duck is good?  I ate some at Mrs C's house.  She fed us a snack of duck with a salad.  Is that chicken with rice?  No thanks.  It's weird."  (She feeds them salad for a snack and the kids love it.  I tried that once.  Nothing doing over here).

The next week it was shrimp that he'd helped to clean.  Then she got him to eat sushi.   He's tried alligator and moose at her house and loved them.  (Her husband goes hunting all over the country.) 

He returns to our house, lifts the lid off the pot, crinkles his nose at the perfectly normal and delicious dinner I've made and sighs.  (I really am a good cook.  Other people have said so.  It's not just me.)

I wish I knew her trick.  There has to be more to it than she asks him.  I ask him too, but for me the answer is no.  Maybe it's the magic air on the other side of the creek.  Maybe it's that she is kind and nobody would ever accuse her of poisoning people.  (I swear...I never have.  What have you heard?) Maybe it's that....I don't know.

I just know that I'm sending all of my picky eaters to her house to eat, and I'm going to be peeking in the windows.