speed dial

In case you've been trying to put a face with my name, here's a fairly recent portrait by the younger lad:

"Momm" by Younger Lad, age 4.5 • November 2011

Yes: my hair usually does look like that, and I'm trying to incorporate more "bling" into my everyday look with accessories and embellishments.

These bambini of mine are by turns sweet, spirited, imaginative, and resilient.  They along with my beloved play a major role in the ongoing process that is my conversion of heart to the will of Christ.

Someone who always spoke of the lofty nature of motherhood while acknowledging its far less glamorous aspects was the pastor emeritus of the parish where I served as director of music and liturgy for a few years.  He was a man of such size and stature as to cause young children to wonder if he was God or Santa Claus.   He died a few days before Christmas this past year, and his absence is felt keenly by those whose souls he tended for many years and whose hearts he lifted with words of encouragement and prayer. 

I had the great honor of playing the piano at the vigil service held for him the night before his funeral was celebrated.  I chose music to reflect the servant leadership he so deftly offered as well as music that summoned the prayers of Christ's mother Mary, whom this Irish Catholic priest (as noted by the funny sign stationed at the head of his casket for the vigil that proclaimed "parking for Irish Catholic priest only") held in highest regard and mused about often. 

The well-timed phone calls from him are sorely missed, not just by me but by lots of folks, I'm sure.  The brief exchanges of pleasantries and vocational affirmation always helped me in my quest to mother intentionally, faithfully, and gently.  As much as I miss those phone calls now, I trust he continues to pray for us, and that those prayers are carried to the Father speedily. 

With sincere appreciation for my mother, my beloved's mother, our grandmothers, godmothers, aunts, cousins, and friends who mother us so lovingly and for those who support and care for mothers of any kind, I pray the Lord will bless in a special way those who are in dire need of mothering, whatever their age, and in need of someone like this dear priest to affirm them in living out the call of Christ. 

on Mother's Day

Growing up I often thought I'd have four or five children -- and, like so many girls, I had names picked out from early on.  None of my actual children have any of those names.  And that's OK.  Like so many other ideas my seventh-grade self had, things haven't worked out exactly as I thought they would.

This mothering business has been uniquely and immensely challenging for me, and I know it will remain so for a long time to come.  It isn't as I envisioned before I actually became a mom.  It is both better and far more difficult than I could've guessed.  Sometimes time passes so quickly that I have no idea where it goes -- it's a blur of Mack trucks, dishes, diapers, Legos, laundry, books, meltdowns, tickle fests, baby dolls, snacks, silliness, sniffles, messes, tears, and laughter.

But here's the thing: with my beloved, these children entrusted to our care are pivotal to our path to heaven.  The way we respond to Christ present in each of these children (as well as in each other and those around us) is the stuff of this life -- the main point. 

I once heard in a homily a story of some brick layers.  One saw his work as that of just piling up one brick after another day after day.  Another was spreading mortar and laying bricks with a similar attitude.  Their colleague, on the other hand, doing the same rote tasks, knew that he was building a cathedral.

It is easy for me lose sight of the forest for the trees, but then by some miracle I'm blessed with the awareness that in fact I'm here to help these children become the person God calls each of them to be, so that when the time comes for them to discern his will for their lives, they will be equipped to do that. 

Whatever my shortcomings as a person and mother -- and there are many -- I pray God will make up the difference between what I can offer to my children and what they need at any given moment.  By his grace, they will draw upon the lessons of their childhood to become true heirs and willing servants of God and neighbor, knowing without question of their mother's love for them.

time for tea

We got all gussied up this afternoon and went to a tea party in the elder lad's preschool classroom.  His teacher worked so hard to put together and help her students present a lovely tribute to their mamas. 

He's been so excited about this special event. This morning he whispered to me that today he'd be able to give me the card he'd been working on.  When the younger lad, lass, and I arrived at the classroom, all the students were seated and most of their mamas were already there.  When my lad saw us come into the room, he beamed and gestured for us to come sit with him. 

There's a sweet picture of him signing "I love you," a potted plant (in a neat vessel he and his schoolmates made of concrete and peat moss), the card, and -- in the hallway of his school, a picture he drew of me in a purple skirt (which I do have but hardly ever wear).  The caption reads "My mom is special because... she loves me."

That I do. 

That he knows this means the world to me.