Friday night live

Earlier this evening...

All four bambini are out in the garage with my beloved.  Tomorrow is the Pinewood Derby for the elder lad's Cub Scout pack, so the lad and his dad are putting the finishing touches on his lustrous truck (another one).  Through the open door I can banging, clanging, scuffling, and the younger lass yelling jubilantly "here we go!"  She and her sister are sitting in the green wagon that is rarely used for outings to the neighborhood playground anymore.  The younger lad is nearby in a stance that reads "train conductor" although he is wearing a black shirt vest (over his white school uniform polo) with green felt strategically cut and placed to look like what Chris Kratt wears on the lads' favorite show Wild Kratts graciously made for him by the mother of one of his classmates after hearing how much he, his brother, and his sisters enjoy that show.  The lasses say they are going to the beach. I'm not sure how the lad fits in the beach trip, but I have every confidence that he's got a plan.  Maybe they're taking the train to the beach.

How they love to go tinker around in the garage with their dad, sometimes stomping around in the bed of his truck, sometimes dabbing paint on small blocks of wood like the elder lass did last year as her brothers painted their Derby cars, sometimes using tools on a project with his skilled and immediate guidance.  The younger lad won't get to enter a car in the Pinewood Derby until next year when he is a first-year Cub Scout, but he's made a car (or is this year's a boat?) both years alongside his brother. 

The outcome of tomorrow's Pinewood Derby is anyone's guess, and we're not worried about that.  The process of creating, crafting, and finishing the cars has been the real prize.

The day has had its ups and downs, from these amicable sounds, school Mass, and lunch with a cherished friend to displays of fury from tired, frustrated bambini and sibling squabbles that are nothing new.  The scene in the garage ended when the lasses came in to get ready for bed and the Derby truck with freshly-installed wheels came in to cure overnight. Then it was the usual nuttiness that is the bedtime routine.

I'm sure glad I stepped away from folding laundry to take in the sights and sounds out in the garage.  It was a moment meant to capture forever.

the ultimate gift

At the end of January we observed Catholic Schools Week, one devoted nationwide to celebrating the unique gift that is a Catholic education.  After much discernment and continued prayer, we made the decision a few years ago to enroll our bambini in a parish-based parochial school for a number of reasons, chief among them being this particular school's faithful witness to the message of Christ as evidenced by its commitment to teaching Gospel values by example and living them in love.   While the academics taught at the school are first-rate, to have the reinforcement of a community actively seeking to live in accordance with God's law as we tend to the formation of our children's souls -- always by God's grace and with his help -- is priceless.

This was not the easy choice for us, but we feel it is the right one for our family.  Our bambini are thriving at this school, and they show an ever-increasing love for the Lord and consideration of other people, which we understand are the Lord's two greatest commandments.  We hope and pray this trend continues as the bambini grow to maturity, but maybe someday one or more of them will, to be blunt, chuck it all either by a willful departure from the faith or by an lukewarm apathy that creeps up over time.   There are plenty of stories of such alumni.

The pastor emeritus of the parish school often still presides at school Mass.  More than once I have heard him speak in reference to the gift that the students are receiving in the form of their Catholic education.  He always goes on to stress the importance of the students taking ownership of the gift they are being given and making it their own, carrying it with them, nurturing the seeds of faith their parents, pastors, and educators are working to plant every day, and guarding against the temptation toward laziness in the all-important matter of faith.

We can go to great lengths in the name of passing the faith on to our children, including providing access to a Catholic education for them (whether that's at a Catholic school, a  public school supplemented by parish-based faith formation classes, or home school), being active in a faith community, and living each day visibly seeking the Lord's will, all of which we know can heavily influence how the bambini filter all the messages they hear and apply them to their own lives. None of it will guarantee, however, that our bambini will ultimately become men and women of faith themselves.  That gift comes from God himself, and has to be sought, claimed, and lived by each person.

I pray the Lord will fan into flame the sparks of desire within our bambini and all God's children to know, love, and serve him in this life so as to be with him in the next.

face time

The bambini love calling family members via FaceTime on our gadgets that support the application.  It's a bit like The Muppet Show while we are waiting for the call to connect, with much jostling and jockeying for that front and center spot, as well as some last minute reminders hissed by the director (that'd be me) to "modulate your voices" (as Grannie would say) so that the people on the receiving end can hear what we're saying. 

Being able to connect with our loved ones by seeing their faces and hearing their voices in real time is an amazing boon, one of the biggest advantages of our present-day technology.  When we can't be in the same room with our friends and loved ones, we can still see and hear them.  It's not quite the same as being able to reach out and hug them, but we'll take it!

In this world with so many ways of communicating, there is still no substitute for time spent together face to face.  Phone calls keep voices fresh in our minds; and letters, e-mail, texting, and social media are better than nothing, but each of these media have their limitations.  We can only infer the intentions with which people write to us; we can't hear their tone of voice or see their facial expressions.  As the messages get shorter, such as in texting, there is ample room for misunderstandings to arise from such short snippets and exchanges.  While they are useful for a variety of things, they certainly can't be the primary means of communication between two people, and there are many situations for which these modes of communication are simply inappropriate.

Then there is the time factor.  It's difficult to have meaningful conversations when time is limited, conditions are noisy, or gadgets are involved.  When there is only time for exchanging pleasantries, how can any real relationship be cultivated or maintained?

While the tools at our disposal continue to evolve in capability, they cannot intuit the meaning of a human heart and convey that to another.   Only we can do that for ourselves, and the best way to accomplish that is face to face.  Until we can visit in person, we'll make use of the array of technological tools made to keep us in touch, always preferring actual face time to its virtual counterpart.

twenty questions, volume three

"snowy volcano cake" (otherwise known as [near] flourless chocolate cake) made by my beloved and the younger lass.  I'm a lucky girl.

I am hellbent adamant about recording the collective memory of our bambini via interviews taken informally around birthdays.  Two years ago I launched this interviewing initiative (with some borrowed questions) on the occasion of my birthday.  Last year's birthday interview was about six months late, so it's only been half a year or so since I polled the bambini about their scatter-brained if well-intentioned mother.  I gave myself a little assessment yesterday.  Today it's their turn to weigh in on what Mama does best, what they seem to remember hearing me say, and the legacy I am leaving for them...

While I attempted to interview the two-year-old younger lass, it became obvious very quickly that doing so would be an exercise in futility.  Maybe next year.

1. What is something Mama often says to you?
7 year old elder lad: I love you.
5 year old younger lad: I love you.
3.5 year old elder lass: I love you.
2 year old younger lass: I sew.

2. What makes Mama happy?
elder lad: I love you.
younger lad: when [we're] not fighting
elder lass: when I smile

3. What makes Mama sad?
elder lad: I hate you. [I'm guessing he means the verbalization of these fighting words.]
younger lad: when [we're all] fighting
elder lass: when I scream

4. What does Mama do that makes you laugh?
elder lad: tickle me
younger lad: tickle me
elder lass: tell funny stories

5. What was Mama like as a little girl?
elder lad: I don't know
younger lad: I don't know
elder lass: I don't know

6. How old is Mama?
elder lad: 34
younger lad: 34
elder lass: ummm.... 33

cookie cake made by my dear dad, as has long been tradition,
with six happy little music notes for the six of us in my little family
and one grand piano with precisely-placed chocolate sprinkle keys.  I'm such a lucky girl.

7. How tall is Mama?
elder lad:  let's say about five feet tall
younger lad: eight feet high... [but] that would be taller than Dad!  Dad's six feet high.  Maybe... aha! You're five feet high!  You're a little bit shorter than Dad [demonstrates with his hand].
elder lass: We'll have to measure you again!

8. What is Mama's favorite thing to do?
elder lad: sew
younger lad: sew
elder lass: sew

9. What does Mama do when you're not around?
elder lad: clean house
younger lad: love me still
elder lass: sew

10.  If Mama were famous, what would it be for?
elder lad: her love
younger lad: loving us
elder lass: I don't know.

11.What is Mama good at?
elder lad: cooking
younger lad: sewing
elder lass: sewing

12. What is Mama *not* good at?
elder lad: crawling on the floor like a horse
younger lad: dancing?
elder lass: she's not good at..... [looks sideways at me] I don't know.

13. What is Mama's job?
elder lad: to watch [my sisters]... and me and [my brother]... to teach us things... to watch us so that we get along............taking care of us
younger lad: to take care of us
elder lass: to sew

14. What is Mama's favorite food?
elder lad: potato soup
younger lad: salad! [points upward victoriously]
elder lass: salad!

15. What makes you proud of Mama?
elder lad: [thinking long and hard on this one] I don't know.  (then later) I said I don't know what makes me proud because you do all kinds of stuff that makes me proud but I just couldn't say it.  I don't know.  ["so you're proud of me, but you're not sure why?"] yeah.
younger lad:  that she snuggles me
elder lass: 'cause she snuggles me

16. What is something we do together?
elder lad: bake
younger lad: sew
elder lass: sew 

17. How are you and I the same?
elder lad: We both have dark hair.
younger lad: We both are humans.
elder lass: We both have black hair. [Actually, we both have brown hair.]

18. How are you and I different?
elder lad: You're a girl and I'm a boy.
younger lad: You have long hair and I have short hair.
elder lass: We don't have the same color skin.  [This elicits my quizzical face, as we are both fair-skinned.]

19. Where is Mama's favorite place to go?
elder lad: Missouri
younger lad: [a local pizza franchise based in the town where I went to college, answering again with the victorious hand gesture]
elder lass: [a locally-owned purveyor of "crispy bite-size chicken"]

20.  How do you know that Mama loves you?
elder lad: 'cause she says so
younger lad: because she tells me that.  Am I done now?
elder lass: because she tells me that.  Am I done now? [yes, they both answered exactly the same in separate interviews}

I'll save the analysis and my response for another time.  For now I'll just say that I think I may have hit upon the way to conduct these interviews successfully -- that would be by parking them in the glider we've had since the elder lad was a newborn.  That way they can rock and fidget and gesture and wiggle around, thus allowing the answers to come freely and resulting in a quick and relatively painless interview that serves as a gift of sorts to Mama and fodder for much navel gazing.

noted

Polling the school-going bambini for lunch box requests, there seems to be a theme going in spite of their vastly different tastes: they all want a note in their lunch box.

I've been tucking notes into lunch boxes here and there (not every day) for as long as I've been packing lunches for people. I didn't realize how much the notes meant to the people opening the lunch boxes until a couple of recent occasions when I didn't stick a note in. That was the first thing I heard about when we were reunited. I have learned my lesson.

It's nothing fancy, usually just a plain square of white paper with a short, not too mushy sentiment such as "I love you!" or "I hope you're having a great day!" or "see you soon!". Sometimes I'll throw in a joke, though:

I can't take credit for this clever joke.  I found it online. 
I don't know if the jokes are read to friends at the lunch table.  I hope they are. 

I try to write as legibly as I can for the new and emerging readers among us, especially considering my standard quirky handwriting is a mix of cursive, printing, upper and lower case. 

If the most important thing in the lunch box is a note from Mom (or Dad), does it even matter what else I pack?  The answer is a resounding *yes*, but it's gratifying to know how something that seems like a little thing to me is of such significance to my little loves -- at least for now.

helpers

Since having children, I've often wondered how mamas who sewed finished any projects. Until very recently, the last time I sewed anything was when I was expecting the younger lad (more than five years ago). I made a few baby blankets--two girly ones, because I was *sure* he was a girl (I'm so glad I was wrong and that he is who he is) and one just in case the "wee babe" (as I referred to the bambino in utero, though he was the least "wee" of the four, weighing more than nine and a half pounds at birth) was a boy.  That blue waffle-weave blanket with chocolate brown trim got a lot of use. The two floral, ruffle-edged blankets would have to wait -- not really all that long, as it turned out -- for the lasses to come along.  They still use those blankets.

In the past couple of months I've gotten the sewing machine out for some "quick" projects. It's been a lot of fun. I set up my work space near the bambini's play space, which gives me a chance to work on projects little bits at a time (which is, by the way, how I get pretty much anything done) while keeping tabs on the bambini (and receiving trays of play food tea party treats and other pretend play fun).  I've been able to carve out some longer stretches of time to work solo on these projects as well, which is a recent and still novel-to-me phenomenon.

Working at the sewing machine in the midst of the bambini does attract their interest, so I've tried to explain what the various parts of the machine and let them help me as they can. The elder lad helped his grandmother sew baby blankets when the younger lass was on the way (when we referred to her as "Quattro", since we didn't know her gender either). He's manned the foot pedal of my machine (while reading the sewing machine manual and probably imagining he's driving a Mack truck) a few times recently in the construction of some nap mat covers for his younger siblings who nap (do they?) at school. The younger lad is fascinated by the machine, especially the needle-threading mechanism and bobbin winder. He'd love to take the whole thing apart and reassemble it (into a robot, I'm sure). For now, he's happy pushing the "u-turn" button that sends the fabric back under the needle for a little back stitching to secure the stitches.

Of course, little hands in front of where I'm trying to work are not always easy to see around (or safe, for that matter, but I keep close tabs on that). Why do I let them help me? For one thing, it's something constructive to do together (and you know how I feel about that).  For another, it shows them a side of me they don't know very well.  For yet another, I'm hoping one day the elder lad will be able to sew the patches on his Scout uniform himself.  Maybe someday my machine will jam or otherwise break down.  By then the younger lad might be my go-to guy to get it up and running again. 

Yes: plenty of times I'd like to be able to just sew it myself without little hands reaching in to "help."  By taking the time to teach them certain age-appropriate aspects of the job I'm doing, I'm hoping to honor their desire to be helpful as well as a part of what I'm doing so as to help them learn an array of life skills (including patience with and a respect for their mother and her creative inclinations) with which to serve the people around them now and in the days and years to come. 

Super Tuesday

Our eighth wedding anniversary was this past Tuesday, which was also the first day of school for the elder lad (now in second grade) and elder lass (who started preschool two days a week) with some medical- and school-related appointments for the younger lad thrown in the mix for some logistical bonus points.  (His first day of Kindergarten came two days later.)

With everything going on that busy "super Tuesday", it didn't bear much resemblance to the peaceful day my beloved and I entered into the sacrament of marriage. To celebrate this anniversary, we had gone out to dinner the previous weekend, and I made a favorite meal on our actual anniversary, but the focus of the day was not so much on the two of us as it was about the young family for whom we are now caring.  This anniversary had its roots in that wedding day, when we consented to accepting children willingly from the Lord and bringing them up according to the law of Christ and his Church. 

We are in a season of family life where the bambini are a primary focus of our efforts, attention, and energy.  As we continue to discern how best to balance their needs with our own, including the need for the two of us to stay in sync as we journey heavenward, I pray the Lord will continue to bless us with opportunities for refreshment with each other, for wisdom to know how best to care for the bambini he has seen fit to send our way (if only for a little while), for grace to see each other as Christ sees each of us and love each other accordingly, and for length of days to serve him hand in hand. 

lessons learned (eventually)

One happy day not so long ago, I slipped out for a coffee date with a friend (*thanks to our beloved husbands for making this happen).  We got to talking about all sorts of stuff, including the consequences that are natural results of our actions (or those of our children).

My beloved and I have made a long-standing practice of allowing natural consequences to help reinforce important life lessons, as well as or along with logical consequences when conditions warrant.  Many such natural consequences are effective because of the responses people around us have to our words and actions.  Mean-spirited speech or play might result in the loss of playmates -- even siblings -- who don't like being treated so poorly.  Screaming demands for drinkable yogurt or assistance in some endeavor pretty much never result in the desired dispatch of whatever was sought via such a disrespectful address.  In fact, prolonged wailings might even result in the removal of the caterwauler from the common family area because of the potential risk of hearing damage (not to mention sanity) of those in attendance.  Rude or messy behavior at the table might risk the loss of future invitations to dine with a friend who prefers neater conditions.  Backtalking or definance usually results in the loss of privileges, which is not so much a natural consequence as it is a logical one.  Violence toward a sibling or parent usually results in the natural consequence of removal from close physical proximity as well as logical consequences, especially when the violence results in injury, which is the most regrettable of natural consequences.

By allowing these consequences,  it's not that we are seeking out situations to put our bambini to shame or to book them on guilt trips or make them feel badly about themselves.  We are not.  But a significant part of loving these bambini is working to form their consciences, that internal voice of Christ speaking to each of us, helping us to navigate life's difficult choices.  So much of the early formation of conscience is teaching right from wrong, obedience to God the Father through obedience to one's parents and authority figures, and  how to treat other people (and along with that what kind of treatment to expect from other people).  One of the most effective ways of doing this is to allow the bambini to experience the effects of their actions and words, then help them to process those effects perhaps by labeling or verbalizing what those effects are.  Oftentimes this logical progression needs no explanation, although it might take a few (or several) episodes for the lesson to sink in.*

*bangs head against the wall...

Social pressure is a mighty force to be reckoned with, but it is not the end-all-be-all of our existence.  By this I mean that what other people think of us does not define us or determine our path in life or ultimately (and most importantly) our eternal destination.  Our individual identities come from our Creator.  With that in mind, he created all of us to live in harmony with each other, and in order to do that we all have to abide by some fundamental principles of behavior.  This forms the basic idea of "manners," wherein we order our actions in consideration of other people, hoping that they will extend the same courtesy to us but realizing that we can only control ourselves.*

*this also applies to mamas mortified by bambini behavior in public and private venues
in direct violation of long-standing house rules; see above head-banging reference... 

Who among us has had to learn lessons "the hard way", experiencing disappointment or embarrassment for ourselves after refusing to heed instructions from appropriate authority figures?  Personally, I try to learn from the mistakes of others so as not to endure the resulting misery, but there have been plenty of lessons I've learned through the heartache or embarrassment that have resulted from not minding instructions. As difficult as it can be to stick to one's proverbial guns and enforce the consequences of a poor choice made by one of our bambini (not piling on unnecessarily, but not mitigating to the degree that the poor behavior is seen as excused), we would be doing them no favors by not holding them accountable and expecting them to face the music, make restitution, and move on.*

*edging dangerously close to preachy now, which is not at all my intention...

It's a long, arduous process, this business of cultivating virtue by working against the vices that seem to come so much more easily because of our fallen nature.  Thankfully, God supplies sufficient grace to overcome these vices -- even the one that leads one overtired mama to resort to drill-sergeant-like repeated instructions such as "Legos!" "Shoes!" "Napkin!"  "Gentle!" (not necessarily in that order or at the same time) when the selective listening switch has been flipped.    Over the course of a childhood (or four), we realize that the process is not only refining the bambini in this household; it's also having an effect on their parents who have not yet attained sainthood, but who are striving for it every day.

the pause that refreshes

Backtracking a little, the Gospel reading this past Sunday is resonating with me several days later. Jesus and his disciples try to take some downtime, only to be met with people in need of their ministry and mercy.  The opportunity to fill in for an absent pianist was in itself just such a retreat from my everyday circumstances for a little while.  Afterward I felt refreshed and ready to dive back into the busy-ness and emotionally demanding work of caring for my four young children (if also a little sheepish about the mistakes that characterize some "rusty" piano playing -- the bambini couldn't care less about those).

How often does it happen to parents who try to take a moment's retreat before reengaging back into the challenging work of ministering to their children that something comes up preventing the parents from taking that time for the purpose of renewing what might be lagging spirits?  In my own experience, it's plenty of times.  I know I'm not the only one to face this.  In the Gospel, Jesus and his disciples are moved with pity for the people who meet them at what is supposed to be their resting place, and those in need are cared for and taught with compassion.  While I do my best, I can't say I'm always as gracious when this scene plays out in my own realm.  We can't give what we don't have. 

It's my nature to keep pushing through fatigue and similar symptoms, but the risk of burnout is great.  The effects of that aren't at all the kind of legacy I want to leave with my children.  While the extraction process for Mama to depart and go do something else for a while, such as play the piano at church or visit with friends or pursue some other hobby lately relegated to the back burner (or cooling rack, as it were, not even simmering anymore) can be fraught with emotion, it's getting easier for me to get out the door and do a few things such as these every once in a while.  The bambini have come to relish their days at "camp" with Grandmare or their time spent at home with Daddy-o while I am out for a little while.  This is a great relief to everyone, as it should be.  I hoped this would eventually be the case, and it often is. 

Sometimes I think I stay a little too close to home, but as the heart of ours, I am happy to be here.  Still, everyone needs a break now and then.  As I get a little more mothering under my belt, I find myself better able to articulate the legitimate need for a change of scenery, a little breathing room, and some time to regroup.  When a rejuvenated Mama returns, everyone is the better for it.

road trippin'

We recently drove a half day's distance from our home to a family reunion with my Chicago family. Long before we rolled out on this expedition, I was consumed by preparations. With the mental image of four restless children bickering with each other and chiming in on a chorus of ear-piercing screams not all that difficult to imagine (ahem), I searched high and low for ideas to while away the hours peacefully.  Thanks to lots of help from the bambini's grandmothers and that new-fangled time sucker Pinterest, we came up with an array of "amusements" that kept the kiddos engaged both in the car and at the hotel during "downtime" (such as it was), all tucked neatly (for a while, anyway) into "treat bags" with the bambini's names written on them.

I packed some sticker books, of course, Lego- and big truck- and build-your-own-cupcake-themed, in various sizes and formats according to age of the child who would be using the book. We brought along a haul of fresh library books too.  There were also -- thanks to the grandmothers -- car games (including this license plate game), flash cards, mazes, and Color Wonder markers and paper.   There were these nifty magnetic baking sheets complete with magnet-backed family photos which were perfect for playing with both in the car and using as a lap desk in the hotel (and now back at home).  Here are lots of ideas to run with the magnetic trays.

There were games Grandmare authored herself relating to the family favorite "Cookie Mouse" books and guessing games to play with siblings, stuffed animal puppets for impromptu puppet shows, and books to read as the miles went by.

For the youngest traveler I was more than a little concerned about how to keep her happy on the long drive.  She flipped through the picture books and fiddled with the sticker books a little bit, but here again the grandmothers really came through with great ideas.  The younger lass loved fiddling with all the flash cards: putting them in the box, taking them back out, stuffing them into her treat bag, shuffling through them.  She and her sister were both mesmerized by these "I Spy" bottles filled with rice, small trinkets, and tiny photos, then glued *and* Duct taped closed.

What?  My piano cabinet is dusty?  Why would it be dusty?

The lassies also each got tiny little purses ...

if ever there is a perfect pastime for a toddler, it's a tiny purse from which she can pluck things then stuff them back in

filled with, of all things...

what's in there?

 tiny little piggies (and band-aids -- Grandmare knows these girls well.)

show me the piggie!

With all these amusements (among others in the treat bags revealed one at a time) as well as those to see out the window (a truck that can run on the railroad!  huge Mack trucks!  enormous oddities of all stripes!), the traveling was, for the most part (and except for the last leg home), peaceful.  Even still, the biggest trick up our proverbial sleeve came in the form of one Mimivan, in which rode Mimi, Papa, and Annie, sometimes in front of us, sometimes behind.  The bambini were able to trade off riding in the two vehicles, and this was a great coup.  We realize what a blessing and help this was in the overall success of the trip and are most grateful.

Packing for the trip came down to stuffing packaging whole outfits (including underwear, socks, bows, etc.) into separate zippered bags such as those that sheets and comforters come in or plastic ziptop baggies (I didn't devote the time to cranking out my own homemade mesh bags, though this is where I got the idea).  While it might seem wasteful to use so many ziptop baggies for this purpose, we didn't throw them away when we got home.  We'll find ways to reuse the baggies.  This did simplify the dressing process on the trip a great deal.  I've put this idea to use in the bag I keep stocked with fresh changes of clothes for everyone that goes with us everywhere.  Interestingly, the bambini seem to take real pride in having their separate bags tucked into the larger one. 

My beloved packed the Bambini Ride the night before we rolled out so that early the next morning we could wake up, get everyone freshened up, retrieve the smoothies we'd whazzed up the night before, get in the car and go.  We had breakfast cookies and other snackies at the ready for breakfast on the go.  We stopped a couple of times to freshen up and allow the bambini to switch cars.  We still made good time to our destination and had the afternoon and evening to visit with our family.

Our return trip home went fairly well, though there were no nappers as I thought there would be since we left for home after a full morning of playing at the fabulous children's museum.  This made for some dicey times midway through the trip, but eventually the overtired bambina was placated enough to make it home in reasonably good spirits.

It wasn't without its bumps in the road, but our first major family road trip was a success thanks to many prayers and a lot of preparation (and not just by me).  Along with the renewed family ties and great memories we made, each of us learned some valuable lessons in flexibility and adaptability -- skills we all need for the long haul.

free to be...

Our Independence Day observance began bright and early with some spectacular aural fireworks.  They flamed out once the drinkable yogurt was poured and the pint-sized firecracker was dressed in Fourth of July-appropriate attire, though there were a few more rounds of outbursts from some other firecrackers throughout the course of the holiday, which was a quiet one for us spent recouperating and resting.

Some of the fireworks had to do with not getting what one wanted when that one wanted it.  Such is not uncommon around here in this season of family life.  Dealing with the big feelings, underlying needs, and objective reality that are all wrapped up in one caterwauling little person is tricky business.  Reacting with empathy and objectivity are always my goals, but they aren't always the way I actually react -- especially with all the variables thrown in. Sometimes I am anything but empathetic and objective. We all have our moments.

After a day spent focused on pointing out the effects one child's behavior has on his or her siblings (and parents) in real time, the long view kicks in as I reflect on the day and its ups and downs.  With so much emphasis on "freedom" and "personal freedom" around our nation's Independence Day celebration, episodes such as these are powerful examples of what freedom is and isn't. In exercising our free will, our faith teaches us to consider the effects our choices and behaviors have on other people, as we are all part of the mystical Body of Christ.

We can't always have what we want when we want it. Someone else may be adversely affected, even hurt, by the way we act upon our desires, which we may or may not realize. What we want might not be good for us literally or spiritually. And while we may have the free will to act as we please, we will be held accountable for our actions by others and ultimately to God himself.

These are lessons we are presently teaching on a very basic level, but it's a lifelong process dealing with disappointment and learning how to channel the free will God gives us into the outlets he wishes us to utilize in his service. As adults we may know all too well that we don't always get what we want when we want it. We may not throw fits about that disappointing reality -- or maybe we do, each in our own way.  We might think ourselves so independent, as in "I'm an adult and I'll do as I please," or "I can do it all by myself," but we're all connected to each other in ways big and small, seen and unseen.

Free to be me yet dependent on Christ and on those around me, I pray for the grace to live in the freedom that comes from being the person God calls me to be, doing right by the people around me as best I can for the glory of God.

help yourself

Somewhere in the mix of not being a cruise director yet still being present to the littles, there is this idea of cultivating in each of them the art of doing things for oneself.  This takes patient instruction and coaching.*

*she says as one lass flails on the floor upset about having to share a couple of toys while the other tugs on Mama's pant leg demanding to be held while the lads are chasing each other through the kitchen with blunt objects rather than completing some age-appropriate task such as making one's bed or clearing one's cup and plate after lunch, and the collective emotional temperature gets higher and higher...

I have to write about such pie-in-the-sky ideals to keep sight of the long view I try to take, especially when it seems everyone is all out of sorts, with siblings going feral on each other and Mama close to wit's end to try to restore some sense of peace and positive vibe (or endure, at the very least). This does happen, believe it or not, more often than I would like. We all have our moments.

From the beginning, the idea of mothering has a daunting, breath-stealing, overwhelming idea for me to imagine myself being successful executing. Taking a proactive approach to everything from the day's routine to the tending of infants and young children has been my way of trying to do what sometimes seems impossible.

In terms of logistics and efficiency, sometimes it is simply easier to do things for the bambini that they (at least some) can now do themselves because not so long ago we had multiple very young children in need of diapering, feeding, clothing, and just about everything else. Engaging everyone in activities fell right in with these other needs. Given the temperaments of our children and the resulting dynamics, this proactive approach has been necessary.

Now as the bambini are getting a little older, they are finding more opportunities for self-directed exploration and entertainment as well as lending more practical help with household duties like emptying the dishwasher and putting laundry away. They are still very young, but there's a lot they can contribute to the family's functioning well being.  They can also do a lot more for themselves, though they don't always want to, and they play together a lot of the time, though they don't always get along very well.  They still need close supervision, but they don't always need me right next to them, though they don't always agree with me on that point.

Along the way I may have inadvertently deferred their growth in self-sufficiency out of a sincere desire to do something constructive mixed with a little bit of fear of the resulting chaos that comes from a lack of direction/sleep/attention/growing food/whatever. I was doing the best I knew to do at the time, and the experience I have gleaned from that informs the way I manage things nowadays, which may or may not be the same as how I did them in those freaky early days of motherhood.  As we all grow up a little more each day as a family we're each figuring out how to take care of ourselves.  It's all part of the journey, isn't it?  

the happy medium

It's not like I'm trying to be like an activities director on a cruise ship by having a daily agenda with planned activities (and snacks) throughout the day, although there are some definite similarities between managing a brood of young children and captaining a large ship.  I'll steer clear of corny puns (oh, sorry) and leave it at the skipper reference -- although any kind of group maneuver does take a long time to execute.

I'm hoping to find that elusive happy medium between being someone the bambini expect to entertain them and an all-but-absent adult presence in an otherwise kid-ruled space.  My goal is to provide an environment rich with possibilities for the bambini to learn, think, imagine, and create with loving guidance and sincere encouragement -- an environment in which virtues are cultivated by the consideration we show for each other and the obvious primacy of place our faith has in our lives.

It's a proactive approach that does take a lot of work on the front end, but I'm hopeful that we are laying the foundation for a lifetime of exploration, study, and prayer that each of our bambini will feel confident in undertaking as they seek out God's will for each of their lives.

loveys

Of all the bambini, the younger lass is the most touchy-feely child.  She loves to poke her fingers into the crevasses of my face, twist my hair around her fingers, twiddle, fiddle, smack, and kick when I'm holding her close.  Attempts to divert her are not usually well-received, Many a baby doll, stuffed animal, and silky soft blanket I've tried to employ in an effort to divert her tactile-seeking compulsion.  So far, nothing will do but Mama's hair, Mama's nose, or Mama's neck.  She seems to already know that people are more important than things.

Each of the bambini has his or her way of touching me that seems to give them reassurance or otherwise soothes them. Try as I have several times to introduce "loveys" to my bambini -- things that can help to assuage some serious Mama-needing drama, especially helpful when there have been multiple children in acute need simultaneously (of which times there have been plenty) -- not a one of the babes ever gone for the person-substitute to the degree that there is one unquestionable lovey that must be in sight or attendance at all times lest there be much wailing and gnashing of teeth.  They simply never took to them to that extent.

Max the Monkey: the lovey I chose for the elder lad.  I bought two Maxes, just in case one got lost.  The elder lad liked Max, but not as much as I hoped he would.

Each child does have some favorite stuffed animal "friends" and toys that go with on sleepovers to the grandparents' house or reside on the bed of each sleeping (if only they would) child, but they aren't what I think of as "loveys" in the sense that compelled my Grannie to Fed Ex my own childhood lovey back to my parents' house when I'd left it behind in Chicago as a young girl.

Maybe that's because, to borrow and tweak an expression coined by Dr. Laura Schlessinger, *I* am my kids' lovey.  Grannie has long used this term of endearment to address me, my cousins, and other loved ones. I've adopted this habit myself, but I know a woman who calls her mother "Lovey."  It seems either usage is appropriate.

 Here is where I must own that I am not always gracious about responding to Mama-I-Need-You-To-Hold-Me-Right-Now beseechings, which is -- I realize -- a primary reason for introducing a lovey.  Many times I ask for "a moment, please" or flat out say "I can't hold you right now because....  I will hold you as soon as...".  Sometimes the neediness and close physical proximity is almost too much for me.  In these moments I try my level best to model healthy ways of calming myself and expressing my discomfort so that eventually the bambini will be able to do this for themselves.  

The elder lad's eventual and longtime friend, given to him by a friend of his daddy's and mine that the young lad named for his grandparents' family pet.

I am in no hurry to push the bambini into independence.  They'll take take that in their own time.  By my presence and availability to them, I hope to help cultivate within the bambini a burgeoning sense of confidence in themselves that leads to the development of their ability to manage their strong emotions.  Their need for my physical closeness will diminish as time marches on, although I do hope to be a calming presence to them in their time of need whatever their age.

Long after the hair pulling and nostril poking have subsided, I hope the attachment we've forged will flourish, because nothing in this world is more important than the bond of love that holds us together no matter how close together or far apart we are.

overheard

What a privilege it is to hear the bedtime prayers of our bambini.  The elder lad has offered the same prayer every night for a few years, praying for his loved ones in exactly the same order.   The younger lad tends to vary things up a bit, sometimes composing his own spontaneous prayers and sometimes asking his daddy to pray the Our Father with him.  The elder lass sometimes needs a little prompting, but other times she knows exactly who she wants to pray for -- and it's usually a mixture of her immediate family, extended family, and some random people all mixed up together in no particular order. 

It's always humbling to hear them praying for me.  Lord knows those are the prayers I need most.  Surely he hears them loud and clear, even if they are sometimes sleepily mumbled. 

haphazard and slaphappy

haphazard (adj.)

• definition: that "any which way" attitude that enables bambini (or adults) who've tossed their belongings into a pile (rather than stowing said treasures in any sort of organized fashion) to call the result "tidy".

slaphappy (adj.)

• definition: the state of being that results from a full weekend of birthday festivities, lots of yummy food, sunshine, fresh air, a bit more sugar than usually ingested, and sleep lost for the excitement of it all.

twenty questions, volume two

On my most recent birthday I had a *miserable* cold.  Consequently, I didn't ask the bambini twenty questions as I'd intended to do every year on my birthday.  Half a year later, I have finally gotten around to it.  They weren't exactly into the whole interview thing, but here are their candid responses...

1. What is something Mama often says to you?
6 year old elder lad:  I love you.
4 year old younger lad: I love you.
3 year old elder lass: cheese grits

2.  What makes Mama happy?
elder lad: me being nice
younger lad: being nice to each other  [who?]  all of us
elder lass: rainbows... smiling

3. What makes Mama sad?
elder lad: me being mean
younger lad: when we fight
elder lass: screaming

4.  What does Mama do that makes you laugh?
elder lad: tickle me
younger lad: tickle me
elder lass: snuggle me... and tickle me

5.  What was Mama like as a little girl?
elder lad: (shrugs shoulders) read?
younger lad:  I don't know.
elder lass:   I don't know... snuggle?

6.  How old is Mama?
elder lad:  almost 33?
younger lad: I don't know.
elder lass:  I don't know.

7.  How tall is Mama?
elder lad:  pretty tall
younger lad: I don't know.
elder lass: this tall (reaches as high as she can)

8. What is Mama's favorite thing to do?
elder lad: bake
younger lad: dance
elder lass: baking!

9. What does Mama do when you're not around?
elder lad: go to the store.
younger lad: shop
elder lass: I don't know.

10.  If Mama were famous, what would it be for?
elder lad:  (furrows brow.  shrugs shoulders)
younger lad: being a church worker -- play the music
elder lass: I don't know.

11.  What is Mama good at?
elder lad: taking care of and loving all of us
younger lad: playing the piano
elder lass: I don't know.

12. What is Mama *not* good at?
elder lad: carrying me.
younger lad: not playing the piano
elder lass: I don't know.

13. What is Mama's job?
elder lad: to take care of us
younger lad:  taking care of us
elder lass: to bake

14. What is Mama's favorite food?
elder lad: steak
younger lad:  Raisin Bran
elder lass: chicken

15.  What makes you proud of Mama?
elder lad: that you're my mom
younger lad: you giving me chocolate
elder lass: when you snuggle me

16.  What is something we do together?
elder lad: bake
younger lad: play cars
elder lass: bake

17.  How are you and I the same?
elder lad: we're both human beings
younger lad: we're both [our last name]s
elder lass: I don't know.

18.  How are you and I different?
elder lad: you're older than me.
younger lad: we have different color hair.
elder lass: I don't know.

19. Where is Mama's favorite place to go?
elder lad, hopefully: [our "local ice cream and dairy store"]!
younger lad: Papa's house
elder lass: Sam's (yes: the warehouse club)

20. How do you know that Mama loves you?
elder lad: because you say so
younger lad:  because she tells me that
elder lass: when you are snuggling me

"the incident"

At Foodie Proclivities today I'm talking about broiling.  I've been honing my skills for this technique, which really means that I've had some successes tempered by a few spectacular failures and near misses.

One such near miss was this past Advent.  On the day my beloved and I shared on the family Advent calendar, I wanted to celebrate by making fajitas for my beloved, as it's one of his favorite homemade meals.  Using this fast chicken fajita recipe but substituting flank steak for the chicken, I was excited at the prospect of having everything prepared in the hope of having dinner shortly after my beloved arrived home from work. 

Once I knew he was on his way home, I figured out the timing for broiling first the foil-lined tray of beef and then the vegetables. It was going to work out so perfectly -- so I thought...

I peeked in the oven through the door that I'd left cracked open (and by which I had been standing guard) to see a **flame** rising up off the surface of the beef, so as my beloved walked through the door, I had to greet him not with "hello!" but with "help! the oven's on fire!"

Blessedly, it went out quickly on its own after we turned off the oven (me) and removed the steak (he).  We lowered the rack and were back in business.  It was actually pretty tasty thanks to the char I'd unwittingly achieved *plus* the whole house had a bit of the bambini's favorite Mexican restaurant's ambiance going on what with the wafting smoke and all.

As I was cleaning up afterward, I overheard the elder lad say gravely to the younger lad in reference to the dinnertime excitement, "are you going to tell your friends about 'the incident' at school tomorrow?"

pray. hope. don't worry.

It's election day here.  Comparatively, today's trip to the polling place with the two lassies wasn't quite as eventful as this one.

In the face of what would seem like perfect hand-wringing conditions considering the state of affairs in this election year, I hope to apply what I've adopted (or rather, am *trying* to adopt day by day) as my approach to life in a nutshell:

1. Pray.  When I'm anxious about something, I mean to pray about it -- even if in the form of "Lord, I know you can see how anxious I am about this.  Please help me be receptive to the grace I know you supply for me to let go of this anxiety to make room for the peace with which I know you wish to bless me, and kindly guide my thoughts elsewhere."  Repeat as necessary.
2. Hope.  We are a people of hope.  All is not lost.  We have to hold on to this hope, not in a naive sort of way, but as a matter of faith. We are mistake-making humans living in a fallen world rife with suffering and selfishness, but each new moment is a chance to start fresh.  
3. Don't Worry.  Worry accomplishes nothing.  Worry is not the same as fear or genuine concern for a person or situation.  I might be splitting hairs here, but I'm nothing if not a stickler for semantics.  This is the reasoning behind my saying to my children -- for example and hypothetically speaking of course (ahem), "I am concerned that you or someone else could get hurt swinging from the rafters" rather than "you're worrying me!!" (and besides, the latter phrase gives any-kind-of-attention-seekers who would pull such stunts more power than they should have -- just sayin')

Now, I realize this might seem overly-simplistic.   Maybe it is.  Maybe that's as it should be -- or all it needs to be, because really who am *I* to think that I can have any kind of influence over the outcome of a given problem or situation?  I'm not the one who works things out.  That's the Lord's doing.  He works through me (when I cooperate) and others as they allow him to.  He sees to matters monumental and miniscule.  Everything happens for a reason, and we are each in our particular stations in life because he wills us to be.

The world/our country/our metropolitan area might be in a sorry state of affairs, but we are not doomed.

When we are faced with such circumstances, if we pray for wisdom, fortitude, and grace, then listen for the answer, we will know how to act. 

When we act as we ought by discerning God's will through prayer, we have reason to hope for the best.

When we have faith in the Lord to reconcile all things to himself and make all things new, we can dispense with worry.

Onward...

moments of greatness

Twice now in the past week there have been moments best described by that scene in the 1989 movie Major League (much of which I can quote) when the team manager Lou Brown comments to Charlie Donovan the team's general manager that things are "starting to come together". 

As we prepared for a little getaway to my parents' house last week on a day off school, the bambini (with some coaching) packed up their "pack packs" and play clothes the afternoon before so that the next morning we'd have fewer things on our "to do" list.  The morning of our departure when excitement was high, they each pitched in (pardon the pun -- that was fortuitous) according to their ability to fill water cups, vacuum the kitchen floor, help siblings get shoes on, etc.  We were on our way much earlier than on previous occasions, which meant we had more time to play. 

This afternoon we made a trip to Target after school for essentials like yogurt and bananas.  I had my reservations about making this trip, as in my mind a trip to the grocery store with four young children during happy hour might just qualify as the opening for one's cause for canonization (kidding! I'm exaggerating again.).   However, it had to be done.  So we did it.  On the way into the store, I gave a little pep talk about us working as a team just like we did before we went to Mimi and Papa's house last week so that we could get through the store quickly and be on our way home.  There were a few shenanigans but nothing serious, and no one got run over by the "brother cart".

It's moments like these that invite me to say with pride like Lou Brown that this is "my kind of team."  Of course, the very next moment there might well be an outburst from one or more children following some perceived or real injury such as the presumptuous swiping of a fresh library book for one's own perusal (the nerve!), and we are right back to normal -- whatever that is -- but they're still "my kind of team".