whatever it takes

Oh sure -- there's plenty to write about:

• the elder lad's First Holy Communion and eighth birthday
• an amazing Day of Service at our home parish
• summer adventures close to home 
• minor victories of the prayer variety
• ongoing efforts to be a better steward and help our bambini do likewise
• creative outlets I've been utilizing at the expense of this chronicle
• the continued challenge of managing minute-to-minute while taking the long view
• other random musings loyal readers have come to expect from me

But for now, this will have to do: homemade chocolate granola.  Easy, tasty, healthy, and a whole lot less expensive than the stuff in the grocery store.  It ranks right up there with our favorite oatmeal chocolate chip cookies, but healthier and more versatile.

Check it out at Foodie Proclivities!
(and stay tuned for more about those other things up there)

the secret of success

This is a special day for my beloved's family, for it is the anniversary of his grandparents.  He is their eldest grandchild, born on their 25th wedding anniversary.  That was a while ago, and a lot has happened since then. 

Sixty-plus years of marriage do not elapse without struggle.  Arriving at this milestone requires each spouse’s commitment every day to living the vocation to which God has called them.  This daily acceptance of God’s will is a choice each spouse makes to work for the good of the other, to love each other as God loves each person.  When asked how they accomplished this feat of longevity, my beloved's grandmother is quick to note that prayer is essential to the equation.  Without a prayerful perspective, the ins and outs of daily life weigh heavily on shoulders with the best of intentions but little foundation upon which to rest.  

The pair who now call me their granddaughter (omitting the "in-law" part) continue to give witness to the power of faith, hope, and love in action by their daily commitment to prayer and self-sacrifice, using words only when necessary to explain with great humility the great blessing they have received of so many years spent hand in hand serving the Lord.  Built on the foundation of sacramental marriage, this couple (like so many others) has seen its share of happiest joys, deepest sorrows, and the gamut of emotions and experiences in between.   Their family and friends rejoice with them on the happy occasion of their anniversary and thank God for the blessing of knowing and learning from this couple as we do.    

Stories like this one serve as inspiration to those wondering how to make marriages last so long or how to keep children close to the faith.  My beloved's grandparents and other long-time married couples like them know the accomplishment is really a blessing that, along with the blessing of relative good health for both spouses, comes through having allowed themselves to be the instruments through which God works out his plan, by cooperating with the Lord through an attitude of self-giving, and by taking up the crosses big and small that the Lord sees fit to place in their paths every day.  This approach has made the Earthly journey the couples have traveled together an altogether happy one, but their ultimate goal is to see each other in Heaven. 

Twenty-some odd questions: 6yo younger lad

A couple of weeks ago, our tender-hearted, fun-loving, precious younger lad earned another candle on his (King Boo of Super Mario Brothers) birthday cake.  He remains imaginative, thoughtful, sensitive, generous, cheerful, friendly, and enthusiastic.  In the past year, he has grown taller, kinder, sillier (if that's possible), rougher, and keener than ever on being a valiant young squire.  How blessed we are to have him in our midst.

***

Some of his preferences have changed, but his sweet nature is still his hallmark. 

How does it feel to be six?
good [his stock answer to most open-ended questions, by the way]

What's the best thing about being six?
opening presents

What do six-year-olds do?
go to first grade

What's the most important thing you've learned in life so far?
being good to God -- not being an evil person

What do you like most about yourself?
being a redhead

self portrait

Are you a morning person or evening person?
I'm a morning person!

What do you like learning about?
how to play Star Wars

Do you know what God's plan is for your life?
to be a good person

What's your favorite thing to do with Daddy?
play

What's your favorite thing to do with Mama?
ride in the car... to the ice cream shop.

What do you like most about our family?
a lot

The lad's Kindergarten teacher conducts interviews as well.

What do you like to do with our family?
I like going to the zoo.

What are some of your hobbies?
playing battle

What's your favorite color?
red

What's your favorite TV show?
Wild Kratts

What's your favorite movie?
the pod racer scene from Star Wars

What is your favorite food?
cinnamon rolls

What is your favorite dessert?
mint chocolate chip ice cream

Your favorite thing to wear?
my Mario overalls

What sports do you like to play?
baseball, soccer, basketball... that's pretty much all the sports I know how to play.

What's your favorite thing about Kindergarten?
nap time because I like to read my Star Wars book

What's your favorite subject in school?
PE

What do you want to be when you grow up?
an army soldier

May the Lord bless you all the days of your life, dear lad, and preserve both your sunny disposition and your zeal for life and the world around you.  May he guard your heart and fan into flame the desire you have to serve him as he calls you to. And may you always remember how precious you are to us.

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.

Pinewood Derby, vol. 2

Pinewood Derby this morning, Blue & Gold Banquet this evening, and Daylight Savings Time overnight -- that's what I call a trifecta.

the elder lad's second-place-in-his-den-winning truck

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.

twenty-some odd questions: 4yo elder lass

Our elder lass turned four years old about a month ago.  What an amazing child of God she is.  Wise, cautious, sensitive, and introspective, there is a lot going on inside her head that she doesn't necessarily share.  She started preschool two days a week this year, and while it took a while for her to be at peace with the idea of separating from me, she has come to love school.  At home she is often found playing school with her dollies,  "snuggle friends", and younger sister.  When she's not teaching , she's likely having storytime for the motley crew, dressing up in a fancy frock along with her sister, or lobbying to get the Play-Doh out.  She studies the world around her intently and is most comfortable with her family members, a few good friends, and her books.  She has mastered the look that is The Stare, but when she smiles her face is radiant.  Her eyes dance, and her laughter can range from bell-like to belly-busting.  One might describe her as enigmatic.  Aren't we all?

With an understanding of her world that continually amazes me,  this precious girl has a read on the landscape that is both complete and insightful.  I pray she will use the traits that are inherent in her God-given temperament to seek him in the quiet spaces and reflect his light in the more chaotic.

The following birthday interview was extracted one question at a time, for she is not given to such disclosures about herself in large doses.  Some of the answers surprise me, but then again, so does she.

*****
 

What’s the best thing about being four? 

Getting things you wanted for your birthday

What do four-year-olds do?

Go to school; be sweet to their baby sister

Favorite color

Blue

Favorite thing to do with Mama

Stay home

What do you want to be when you grow up?

A mommy

What’s the most important thing in life?

To be nice

Favorite thing to do with Daddy

Ride in the truck

Favorite TV show

Wild Kratts

Favorite food

Biscuits and jelly

Favorite book

Skippyjon Jones

Favorite restaurant

McDonald’s

Favorite thing about school

Centers

Favorite center

Pretend/dress-up

Tell me about our family.

There are six people.  There are four children.  One of the children has red hair.

*****

[sic]

Ever notice a quote in a newspaper article or other written source that has an obvious typo or grammatical gaffe followed by [sic]?  That part in brackets means "thus was it written", basically owning that the writer knows that the something's amok in the quote with spelling, syntax, or whatever, but that's how it was originally stated.

Ergo...

• The Kindergartner in the family greatly enjoyed his snack from [the lucky pot] (otherwise known as "potluck") one day this week. 
• The Second Grader was eager to tell his dad that the lad had been allowed to bring home the  classroom 2013 [alamanack] to peruse at his leisure. 

I'd add these to [stoo-dul] in our family dictionary of toddlerisms, were it not for the fact that the lads who utter such endearing blunders are hardly toddlers anymore.  Apparently, a new chapter is in order.

up for review

Shopping for shoes, clothes, or just about anything else with four bambini in tow (or even one if that one isn't in the mood to shop) is rarely easy or expeditious.  That's why I do a lot of online shopping for everything from apparel to household items.  Many online retailers now offer the ability to post reviews of products one has purchased, which I find immensely helpful when I am perusing the wares.   Positive or negative, these reviews are major factors in the decision-making process, especially for something sight-unseen. 

For example, I have been weeding out the well-used plastic sippy cups, plates.  I'm  looking for sustainably-sourced, well-made (ideally by people who work for a company respectful of its employees) replacements that won't leach toxic chemicals or end up in a landfill not too long from now.   Recently I ran across some tempered drinking glasses purported to be kid-friendly (as evidenced by their use in French cafeterias) even though they are glass.  Of them one reviewer wrote

 "I have four boys and a clumsy wife.  They break glasses all the time.  I was thinking of buying [another brand of glass tumblers] and I ran into these.  I read some of the reviews and one of them convinced me to try these. WOW. They are perfect."  

Sold.*  
God bless that clumsy wife.

The world's largest online marketplace isn't the only website offering reviews.  Plenty of online retailers do now, including those hawking shoes, apparel, and just about everything else.  Man on the Street testimonials like "I'm [yay] tall and weigh [x] number of pounds, and a size [q] fits great on me!" are far more convincing than the advertising copy when you happen to have similar measurements.

Whenever possible I try to learn from other people's mistakes.   Factoring in the opinions and experiences of others when considering a purchase (online or otherwise)  or researching companies I'm considering hiring to provide a service at our home (such as to our air conditioner) is sort of like that.  We have to keep in mind, however, that not everyone has the same expectations, standards, or objectives for a product.  What I would consider fine quality might be junk to someone else, and vice versa.  What others might consider a great book to read with their children as evidenced by their glowing reviews of the tome, I might find to be a "dud" (or worse).

As much as we rely upon each other for help in making decisions not only about online shopping but about anything in life, allowing others to make decisions for us is a risk to recognize and avoid.  Ultimately, we are responsible for our choices, decisions, and behavior.  When taking advice from others, let us look to trusted sources, most especially to those who help us remember our identities as children of God and encourage us to behave as such.

We can't reclaim the time, money, and energy spent on things like drinking glasses and apparel that are not that important in the grand scheme of things.  We can't take these things with us at the end of our earthly lives, nor do they define us as people.   Other people's opinions should never matter more than the Lord's opinion of us and the ones we hold of ourselves by way of a conscience informed by study of God's law and the precepts of our faith, prayer, and discernment. 

In the final analysis, we will each undergo a review of sorts.  The choices we've made and the work we've done may or may not be graphically rated on a scale of one to five stars, but the love we've given and the willingness we've shown to align ourselves more closely to Christ each day can only help recommend us to the Father. 

*I haven't actually purchased the drinking glasses yet, but if and when that day comes, I'm going for the tumblers that withstood four boys and a clumsy wife.

mama duck

We may have put the kabosh on living, breathing furry friends for the time being, but there's no house rule against imagining oneself a critter.  The elder lad was known to declare himself a dog when he was about two or three, and now the two-year-old younger lass has been telling us that she is a duck.   This means, of course, that I am her mama duck.  "I need my mommy duck!" she says, with eyes far more expressive than any duck I've ever seen.  Many times I do in fact feel like a mama duck with my ducklings not necessarily all in a row, so I play along...

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.

out and about

In the past couple of weeks we've been taking in some local attractions and special events:

• We made it out to see the last B-29 bomber still flying at the local air and space museum, which made for good nostalgia considering it was the plane my Papa Jack trained to serve on as a flight engineer in World War II (though the War thankfully ended before he saw combat).  That event also allowed us the opportunity to sample some of the offerings from a food truck, which was fun from a foodie standpoint, if not necessarily one of expediency.  We waited for a *long* time for that food. 
• We had a great time at our parish school's annual Fair, complete with tasty (and quick) food served by the Knights of Columbus, pony rides (for the horse-loving lads, anyway), a petting zoo, lots of fun games, an obstacle course, and a live bluegrass band.  It was a humdinger of a festival.
• We've been on a few field trips.  The elder lass's preschool class went to a humongous fire station *and* the pumpkin patch (not all in the same place or on the same day), and the younger lad's kindergarten class went to the apple orchard. 

While we greatly treasure and preciously guard our stay home days more so all the time, getting out to these events has been refreshing, exhilarating, and delightful for everyone involved. 

keep walking...

Now that the three digit temperatures have thankfully given way, we've been taking advantage of a welcome opportunity to get outside after dinner for family walks around the neighborhood. Sometimes this means one child (guess who) claiming driving privileges of the sit and stand stroller that two of the other bambini want to ride in, leaving the one who probably ought to be in the stroller out to fend for herself -- just the way she likes it. Tonight, though, we left the stroller at home, which meant that the brothers were free to take their positions at imaginary starting blocks for a series of sprints that were punctuated by shrieks of laughter, pounding of feet, and the flailing of limbs and hair.

These family walks have been such a hit that they've even made it into the daily reality check as the highlight of one or more family member's days (along with PE, coming home from school, "nothing" -- meaning it was all good all day, and staying home with Mama.). Even with the requisite "hold hands or I'll hold you" admonition to the one with the shortest, if spritely, legs of us and the stop and go nature of a walk with four curious children, I'd have to say these foot tours around the neighborhood rate pretty high on my day's list, too.

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.

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.

hit or miss

man your positions...

On our recent Labor Day weekend getaway to my parents' house, my sister introduced the lads to Battleship, the maritime warship game.  They were familiar with Battleship via the Wii, but the younger lad was fascinated with the version that he could hold in his hands and position the ships and pegs just so.  He grew so attached to the game that my dad let the lad bring it home with him.  After Mass on Sunday, the lad set up the consoles to play with his dad and brother, team-style.  Later in the day the consoles became laptop computers for the younger lad and elder lass to pretend they were typing on. The younger lass is our "grease man," able to retrieve pegs that fall into the hinge part of the game console when it's open with her tiny little fingers.

The more I think about it, the game of Battleship and its hit-or-miss song and dance routine are the perfect analogy for daily life with young children.  One minute they're planning something spectacular, the next they're quarreling.  Sometimes there are warning volleys.  Sometimes not.  If only I had a radar screen to steer clear of troubled waters.  At least I have a life jacket.

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. 

minor victories :: arachnid edition

Given my choice of greeting to come from any of my four bambini first thing in the morning, I'd nearly always decline "I need fresh clothes," or "Mom... spider."  Yet, I've heard both of these this week, and it's only Monday.

Every August it seems we find one or two of those horrible huge wolf spiders (of which I will *not* post a picture.  Inquiring minds can Google it for themselves.) that are often seen in the landscape around here -- though never welcome in our home even if they do hunt other arachnids.   According to the elder lad with  encyclopedic recall a little too handy for 6:30 a.m. and no coffee yet, "tarantulas are the least poisonous of any spider," but that does nothing to ingratiate the silver dollar-sized arachnid (which I made reference to in a similar showdown with a cricket and don't think is actually a tarantula, those close enough for me)  presently sprawled from the tile floor up the baseboard in the kitchen, seemingly awaiting a bagel with cream cheese of his own. 

I generally delegate the disposal of these ugly things to my beloved when he is on the premises, but there have been a few times when I've had to muster up every bit of bravery, channel all my mama bear protective instincts (and Ma Ingalls), and git 'er done myself.  This was one of those times.

As the four bambini sat riveted to their kitchen chairs, French toast untouched, I stood stupidly staring at the spider, hoping it would somehow spontaneously combust or otherwise evaporate into thin air.  When it didn't, I grabbed a wad of paper towels and started to lower the boom, but chickened out and left the four children at the table with the spider close by (there goes my whole mama bear protective thing) in search of a pair of shoes and something with which to whack the intruder, all the while questioning the prudence of that in the event the spider was actually a mama spider with babies on board. 

The elder lad was losing patience with my inaction thus far: "you're too scared," he said.  By the grace of God my response was not "do it yourself then" but "I'm gathering up all my courage."  Then I went for it, accomplishing the terminal goal so decisively that the younger lad, ever the diplomat and optimist, was moved to exclaim victoriously, "You tore off his leg!  Now he's really dead!" 

The elder lad looked on approvingly at the mama he'd accused of being a 'fraidy cat.  His opinion had changed by then, and he went about his breakfast business.   I didn't need any coffee for a while after that incident...

someday...

The younger lad is just embarking on his Kindergarten year, but he and his older brother are already thinking about college:

elder lad: "When I'm in my third year of college, [my brother] will be in his first year... so we could be roommates."

younger lad: "yeah!!"

elder lad: "I'd get my own *crunchy* peanut butter."  (Some things never change, but I've never known him to opt for crunchy peanut butter over creamy; college does crazy things to some people.)

younger lad: "yeah!!"  (He doesn't even like peanut butter.  no matter.)

elder lad: "AND let's get salmon and tomatoes for sandwiches."

[?!]

younger lad: "yeah!!  and we'll make baking soda and vinegar volcanoes!!"

Nefarious plans for those volcanoes and other pranks of increasing shock-value follow as their conversation gets more and more excited.  Downstairs neighbors of these two characters, be forewarned...