good and evil

The two-and-a-half-year-old younger lass has a way with words:

"My eyes are choc'late." (referring to their luscious dark color)

"Bad boy!" (directed at her sister)

Every time the latter zinger is hurled, one of us always responds (even if it's not quite the "teachable moment" yet), "she's not a boy, and she's not bad."  Under normal circumstances, the younger lass *does* know that her sister is a girl like herself, but in moments of upset, that crusher is her biggest gun.  She picked it up from a sibling who shall remain nameless known for using it as a sort of heat-seeking missile against his brother.  In such cases, a similar response is given about the lad not being bad (laying aside the gender confusion). 

I'm not sure how this epithet came into being, since neither my beloved nor I employ it ourselves in the course of correcting inappropriate behavior on the part of our bambini.  Nonetheless, these fighting words persist and still sting, even though we are quick to say "God made [your brother] good.  He's not bad," and go on to talk about how we all make mistakes in the form of bad choices now and again, but that we are essentially good people -- even the sibling that has just pressed another's hot button.

As adults, we probably don't go around calling other adults names like "bad boy!", but we'd probably be fibbing if we didn't acknowledge at least once thinking to ourselves something along those lines (or worse).  We might even go so far as to think of a particular person as "evil," especially when considering the track record of a person who clearly has little respect for others to the point of destroying them literally or figuratively. 

It is contrary to our Catholic faith to think of people as evil.  God made us good.  He gave us free will, and sometimes we make bad choices from which evil has its way.  We can be under the influence of evil, and we struggle mightily against the effects of original sin, but we can also choose to do good (however difficult this may be) and have recourse to the grace we receive at Baptism and through the sacraments to live uprightly. 

Halfway through this Lenten season, we are far enough on the journey to Easter to have gained a little perspective since Ash Wednesday when some of our Lenten practices began in earnest.  God willing, we have come to recognize some ways in which evil has insinuated itself between us and the God who loves us.  With this reminder of pure, perfect love to encourage us, we dare to believe in our inherent good.

identity crisis (not quite)

Every time I interview the bambini, I find myself stewing about some of their responses.  I know I know: I invite this by posing the questions to begin with, and I know that their responses might be different if I were to query the bambini again tomorrow in a different context.  All that aside, I basically borrowed the question Jesus poses to his disciples in today's Gospel reading by asking them "who do *you* say that I am?"   Some of the answers from this latest round are cute and funny -- and true: I'm not good at crawling around on the floor like a horse. I stand a little taller than feet off the ground (but not much), and I definitely prefer smiling faces to screaming voices. I'm actually a pretty good dancer, thank you very much, having taken ballet from the time I was three until I was 17.  And while I do eat a lot of salad, why did none of the bambini name coffee or chocolate as my favorite foods?  Hello?

Those pale comparison with the deeper questions of what my job is and how I convey my love for them in terms they understand. Yes, I do clean house when they're not around (but not as much as they seem to think. Let's keep that between us.), and yes I spend a considerable amount of time supervising our bambini. But is that my job? If it's as the elder lad eventually said "teaching us things" and "loving us," as the younger lad said, then I'd agree. There are, however, aspects of the day-to-day to-do list that are definitely mundane (such as cleaning up other people's messes and so forth). That's true of any job and part of every life.  There is honor in that work, even if it's not glamorous.  There is also a lot of joy in the work I do, knowing it is serving God by serving the people he has placed in my midst in this time and place.

In today's Gospel, Peter answers correctly that Jesus is "the Christ", but even if he had answered differently, Jesus would still be the Christ.  I am many things including a wife, daughter, sister, mother, cousin, and friend, but primarily I am committed to being the person God created and calls me to be every day.   I struggle with the bambini not reporting a greater awareness of the musical side of me, but that's not their fault.  They do know it's a part of me, but contrary to how I imagined things, it hasn't been a large one in their existence.  That's probably as it should be.  Their view of me will change as time marches on, but God willing they will always know that I'm their mom who loves them unconditionally and that I am here for them, and that's all that matters.

life of the party

Our darling clementine is two today! She may be the smallest of the small ones, but she is (as Grandmare describes her) the life of the party. To her, everything is big: big excitement about all things strawberry (and tomato), big frustration over anything that doesn't go her way, even herself, as she considers herself every bit as big as her older siblings.

I played with Strawberry Shortcake figurines like these when I was a little girl.  Now they're considered "vintage"!

The relationships she is forging with her siblings are at once complex and simple. They dote on her (especially the elder lad), play with her (especially her sister the elder lass, who is often heard saying "I need my [sister!]), and find her both a snuggle buddy and an easy target (that would be the younger lad). From her perspective, life is better when they're around, and she's happiest when she's right in the middle of their games and shenanigans.

For us, she is a ray of sunshine, a precious and refreshing ball of energy and exuberance. She may keep us all on our toes, but she gives *great* squeezy hugs and laughs with every fiber of her being.

She's been heard yelling "Hi, kids!" to those in passing shopping carts, and she is quick to notice the distress call of an upset child, whether she knows them or not.  She's empathetic like that.

I've been a bit preoccupied making pinwheels.

To celebrate her birthday, we hosted a pancake "brecky" for the family, complete with our favorite pancakes (expertly griddled by my dad) topped with whipped cream and strawberries, yummy breakfast casseroles (thanks, Annie, for your help with those!), strawberry muffins made by Grandmare, fruit and yogurt parfaits,  cold-brewed coffee (my current preferred coffee concoction), and a few other fixin's.  The younger lass truly was the "life of the party", shrieking with delight as she opened lovingly-chosen gifts from her aunts, uncles, grandparents, and cousins.  Today we took a family trip to the aquarium and had a pizza party (at her request).

My kitty clock!" the lass exclaimed when she unwrapped this iconic clock, a gift from her great-grandparents.  She had seen one in a clock shop several months ago, and was so excited to hold in her hands one of her very own.

Imagine the ways the Lord will shine through her bright star if she allows him to. She does that already when she folds her little hands together to pray.  

Lord, please help us her grow in grace, wonder, compassion, and joy as the story of her life continues to unfold. May the twinkle in her dark chocolate brown eyes only shine brighter with each passing day. Thank you for entrusting this sweet rosy girl to our care. 

miniature roses for our rosy girl

survey says...

We go through a lot of yogurt in this house.  A lot.  One might reasonably expect our digestive tracts would be the healthiest on the block (such a pleasant mental picture. You're welcome.).  We go through so much yogurt that we ought to try making our own, but we haven't gotten there yet.  Seeing as how the elder lad is always in search of a science project, maybe that should be our next one.

(or maybe not)

The brand of yogurt we buy has a reward system going wherein we enter codes from the yogurt lids and accrue points that can be redeemed for coupons and "freebies" and what not.  Once when I went to enter in a stack of codes, as the lids tend to pile up on the counter before I get around to entering them in, a brief survey popped up before the code-entering screen loaded.  The multiple-choice questions were mainly about how much yogurt we buy and in what ways we use yogurt.  It seemed the most appropriate response to each question was the maximum one -- how much yogurt we go through in a week, if we bake/make smoothies/finger paint with yogurt (just kidding on the last one -- except the toddler), things like that.  My beloved and I got a good laugh out of the survey.  At its conclusion we appeared to be ideal candidates for a "man on the street" advertising campaign for the company.

lapping up "sweet milk" -- the melted frozen yogurt that no one can bear to waste

One way we love to use yogurt is for making our own frozen yogurt -- chocolate, no less.  Here's how we do it...

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

busted: the sequel

The two-year-old lass spies me popping a couple of bittersweet chocolate chips in my mouth.

"What you having?" she asks.
Is it that obvious?

Apparently it is.  Next thing I know she comes toddling over to the sofa I'm standing behind and says, "let me climb up here.  I have some?"

I oblige.

"You such a good mommy."

likely story

me: "What's that on your shirt, babe?" as the elder lad boards the Honeywagon after school.
him: "I think it's mud."

me: "that's a strange place for mud -- it's just a little bit and right at your collar."
him: no comment.

me: "I ask because I want to know how to treat the stain."
him: "It's chocolate milk.  I got it because it's Thursday -- almost Friday."
*As in, bring on the weekend!  Chocolate milk all around!
 
I've used this logic myself, but the shirt still hasn't come clean...

to each his own

over small scoops of ice cream while more snow falls outside...
younger lad, eating rainbow sherbet: "I don't like chocolate.  It's too chocolaty for me."

leaving a legacy

When they're grown and on their own...

Will they remember the silly songs I'd make up to give instructions -- or the irritated tone in my voice when instructions I'd given went unheeded?

Will the image of my face in their mind's eyes be one of me smiling at them or frowning?

Will they think of the countless hours happily spent snuggling them either awake or to sleep (and lots of other times, too) -- or the times when they asked me to snuggle them and I was busy doing something else like packing lunches?

If they scrape a knee or cut a finger, will they be able to bandage up themselves up as well as Dr. Mom (or Dad)?

Will they remember all the time we spent playing, reading, coloring, baking, and dancing -- or the times they asked me to do those things with them and I couldn't or wouldn't for whatever reason (cleaning, for example)?

When one of their siblings calls for a chat (here's hoping they'll do that), will they laugh about something funny that was said or seen -- or will they lament together some shortfall of attention or affection?

Will they come to realize by their own experiences that my mistakes and failings were those of a person trying to figure things out and do the best she could at that moment with what she had to work with?

Will they treat themselves and others with kindness, respect, and compassion? 

When they catch the aroma of coffee wafting through the air, will they wonder if the barista is making my favorite beverage?

Will they remember where the chocolate is hidden?

Will they take ownership of the faith they've been given, seeking God's will for their lives?

Lord, I pray you will make up the difference between what my bambini need from me and what I'm able to give them in the moments of their needs.  Please heal the unintended hurts and clear up any confusion I may have inadvertently caused.  Bless them with the peace that only you can give.  Hold each of them close all the days of their lives.

Amen.

perish the thought

They're after my chocolate.

The lass hears me rustling in a snack container and says "choc'lat" (as in chips) and makes it clear she wants some.   
How'd she know that's what in there?

The younger lad tells his elder brother as the latter boards the Bambini Ride, "we bought a chocolate bar at Target this morning.  Want to share it?"   
What's this "we" business?  Who said anything about sharing?

The elder lad moseys into the pantry and asks if he can have "something from the secret stash."
Apparently, it isn't so secret.

power nap

By some miracle, there were *four* sleeping bambini in this house at the same time.  As soon as the remaining holdout drifted off, my mind started prioritizing the things that need tending to (starting with that mountain of laundry to be folded, followed by having some chocolate), but instead of popping up I made myself lie down for a ten minute power nap.

That's about all I could manage, though, because then the raven-haired lass awoke -- and I had to have some chocolate.

sweet tooth revisited

This happens every time.  My sweet tooth just goes berserk after I have a baby.  When I'm pregnant, it waxes and wanes depending on how nauseated I am, but it reaches fever pitch after the baby is born.  It's all I can do to keep it in check, allowing myself a little indulgence but trying to be smart about it.

In this fourth bout with the Sweet Tooth (it gets capitalized now -- it's that formidable), I'm trying a few things to make sure things don't get out of control:

1. I try to have a protein-dense breakfast, like our pancakes, cheese grits, or breakfast casserole.  If I have something like a bagel and cream cheese (much as I love that), I'm more inclined to go for something else high in carbs later on, and the rest of the day I struggle to keep from consuming nothing but carbs.  This gets me nowhere good.
2. When I do have something sweet, I try to choose something like our chocolate chip chickpea cookies (protein and fiber are hidden amongst the chocolate) or protein-laden chocolate Greek yogurt.
3. I'll allow myself such delights as chocolate milkshakes (though the trash-can sized ones are only for right after delivery) and my mother-in-law's apple küchen so long as I've had enough protein beforehand to take on the sugar spike that ensues. 
4. Once these mint Milano cookies I'm so very fond of that my mother brought me are gone, they're gone. 

*Note: dark chocolate (like my favorite dark 85%) lies beyond the realm of the balanced diet parameters.  Dark chocolate is nearly always considered "health food" thanks to the antioxidants and endorphins it imparts.

For my family's sake as well as my own, I must eat well -- not only so that I can supply the raven-haired lass with the best nutrition, but also so that I feel well enough to be able to take good care of everyone. If I haven't eaten well, I can't do that. Too much sugar and not enough protein spell sluggishness, irritability, and muddle-headedness, and I'm already plenty muddle-headed!

It's an ongoing battle between my Sweet Tooth and me, but I think I might just have the upper hand.

sweet

"Mom, when I finish my [lunch], can I have some dolci?"
"What are dolci?"

"Candy."
close enough.

What was his sweet selection?
Two chocolate chips each for him and his (grateful) younger brother, who tells me "I think you got cuter."

epic failure: a success story

Blessings upon the angel of mercy in the person of my beloved's mother who came to our domicile this afternoon to wrangle three overtired bambini so that I could rest. I am beyond grateful.

Her arrival was well-timed, as Mama was reeling from a lack of sleep and a need for a successful siesta time.  That wasn't happening.  The lass awoke within minutes of falling asleep, and the younger lad fought off the sandman despite having circles under his eyes dark enough to resemble a raccoon.

The bambini all seem to be on a heightened state of alert just as I am, and this translates into a more intense need for physical closeness at times of rest.  Usually I am happy to provide this, awed by the intimacy of those moments just as they surrender to sleep (which may have been a *long* time coming -- this is one reason why I don't pray for patience) and humbled by the trust they have in me to be with them as they drift off.  This afternoon, however, Mama needed a bit of a retreat.  Without help, I wasn't going to get it, and the rest of the day would likely have been doomed to lots of ups and downs -- possibly (probably) even tears from some or all of us.

After some time alone in my room which included some much-needed shut-eye, the elder lad came in to check on me, and I was very nearly busted when he spotted the little container in which I keep bittersweet chocolate chips in for quick snatches here and there.  He eyed me coolly when I told him it was empty and left the room.  He came back a little while later complaining of something in his eye, snuggled up with me, and fell asleep.  Like his mother in his gallant sleep-fighting tendencies as well as his selective eating habits, this shed some light on the earlier less-than-charitable comments and less-than-gentle handling of those around him as we were attempting to settle down for siesta. 

"Just what we needed, right?" I asked him as we snuggled.  He concurred.  When we emerged, we found the younger lad and lass happily splashing in the bathtub (brave woman, considering what can happen).  Not only had my mother-in-law kept them awake so as not to derail bedtime (which came on the early side for them), she had also brought us dinner.

With some tender loving care, what was looking to be a failure of epic proportions (maybe I exaggerate) turned into a sweet success.

speaking their language

The few Easter decorations I put up with such glee on Holy Saturday night are still out.  While it's been entirely appropriate to have them up this long, today being Pentecost Sunday and the end of the liturgical season of Easter, it's probably time to put them away.  I have relished the delightful symbols of new life.  Just as things look a little bare when the Christmas decorations are put away, so too I think will they look once I get these Easter accents taken down.  But Easter hope and new life remain with us, as does the Holy Spirit whose presence among us we celebrate today.

In the first reading today we hear about the apostles speaking in the many languages of the diverse array of people gathered in Jerusalem.  Communication and word usage are perennial interests of mine, so I can easily parlay this into the various ways I communicate with my family and those around me... 

While we may speak the same language, each person really has a different way of expressing him- or herself and of feeling "heard" or understood.  (There's an entire series of books by Dr. Gary Chapman on people's "love languages".)  I've discovered a few inlets to the hearts of my bambini (among other tangible signs of attention and affirmation):

• Offer the lass some blueberries, raisins, crackers, or cookies.
• Take my younger lad to the "swing playground" (as he calls it) in our neighborhood -- or some other playground with swings, because often, as he says, "I just want to swing."
• Share some chocolate with the elder lad, or build something out of Legos with him.

In speaking their love language, I hope to communicate to and with these bambini in a way that expresses not just my love, but reflects the love Christ has for each of them.

And as for the Easter decorations, I've got a smashing wreath of red berries to hang on the door.  Red being the liturgical color of Pentecost, today is the perfect day to hang it.  I even remember where I stashed it -- but that's more likely thanks to the prompting of the Holy Spirit than my shifty memory.

generic response

A testament to the absentmindedness of my pregnant mama brain which shows itself at the most inopportune times: realizing that our inventory of baby-strength pain relievers such as Tylenol and Motrin were involved in the recent recall, I asked our pediatrician at the lass's check-up earlier in the week what to do.

"Just get generic," she said.  "They're not made by the same company."

Duh.  Bonnie.  Really.

We use generic products whenever possible from medications to pantry goods (including the bambini's allergy medicine; the name brand is part of the aforementioned recall) -- including the adult-strength versions of these medications.  Why didn't I think of this with regard to the pain relievers we hardly ever resort to using but want to have on hand just in case?

I have no idea.  I suspect it may have something to do with my quest to find products that are dye-free, and having found them only in the brand name medicines at the time I was shopping.  Fortunately, I did find some dye-free generic alternatives on the post-pediatrician-visit shopping trip to restock the medicine cabinet.

Still, why I didn't think of the whole generic alternative remains shrouded in mystery.  Maybe it's owing to a lack of coffee or chocolate in my system -- or both. 

a slight exaggeration (maybe)

My elder lad seems to be developing a penchant for hyperbole, a favorite literary device of mine: "this cookie is like 10 weeks old.  I'm going to throw it out."  (it *might* have been three days old, but quibbling over such details can be an exercise in futility)   He also thought the pasta that spilled all over the pantry floor in the course of a game of "store" was "something like 10 weeks old" and likewise needed to go. 

For him, it's "10 weeks".  For me, it's the number 45   As in, "I find myself with an unexpected, unspoken-for parcel of time of unknown length.  I can think of 45 things that need to get done in that time, but don't know where to start.  Maybe some chocolate will help me decide."   

personality plus

These past days have been difficult while I've been ailing with this wretched sinus infection, but enough about that.  Let's talk instead about this charming 15-month-old lass of mine full of expression and personality emerging more every day. She's a cutie alright, with a look and style all her own.

She has a charming way of smiling that's partly coy, partly shy.  She kinda tucks her chin down and peers up at the recipient of her smile as she's smiling.  Spontaneous games of peek-a-boo and "where's your tummy/nose/knee?" quickly produce these sweet smiles.  Quite the girly girl, she likes her bows (and says "bow" to indicate such) and purses (actually, she likes mine the most), but she's equally at home playing with trucks, Lincoln Logs, and Legos.

Already knowing full well what she wants to tell us, she says distinctly "bubba," "cookie," "gogur" (for yogurt -- she prefers drinking from her brother's insulated Foogo straw cup), "biper" (for diaper), "dada", and "mommy".  Especially when it comes to food, she has little patience -- and a vast appetite.  When her plate runneth empty, she signs "more".  Requests escalate into demands if not met quickly.

At mealtime, she holds her hands together for grace, then claps and smiles at its conclusion.

Every time we visit the park, she wants to swing.  "Sing!"  she declares.  She's been saying her auntie's name and those of her grandparents whenever the phone rings, as though she wonders if it's one of them calling us.  When her daddy gets home at the end of the day or she sees someone else she loves, she often gives a happy "hiiiiiiii!"  And she is particularly attached to her Corolle baby doll -- though she has a few others and dotes on them as well; her face lights up when she sees "Baby".  It (she?) is her constant companion.

Speaking of cookies, I only recently let her have some of the chocolate chips in the cookies we make with chickpeas and oatmeal.  Up until then, I would just break off pieces around the chips and give the cookie part to her.  At her first taste with chocolate, a look crossed her face, the meaning behind it unmistakable: "you've been holding out on me." 

More than a few times now I've found the lass up on the sofa or a chair by her own accomplishment.  She's a determined girl.  And she's got those brothers working for her...

beau soir

In considering the various occupations of time between the bambini's bedtime and my own -- laundry, having some chocolate, and going on to bed myself being options, there really wasn't much debate.  I fell asleep snuggling the bambini for bedtime prayers.  When I awoke, I heard the last track playing on their bedtime CD and knew it was time to call it a day.  That answers that...

instant breakfast

I'm giving this smoothie a go in the hopes of fending off the low-blood-sugar-induced dizzies to which I seem especially prone during pregnancy.  Loaded with protein and sweetened with agave nectar (which does not cause big spikes in blood sugar levels), let's hope it does the trick.  I'm taking it with me on our morning jaunt to preschool and wherever else...