assessments

My birthday was last Saturday.  Judging by the mountain of clean but unfolded laundry, someone seems to think she's still the Birthday Girl with a "get out of folding laundry because it's your birthday" pass.  Today is my lovely friend Katie's birthday as well as that of my beloved's grandfather and our cousin.  Another cousin's birthday earlier was this week, so I'm thinking the laundry folding can wait another day in honor of all the festivities.

Birthdays have a way of serving as a checkpoint or annual review of sorts.  Here's mine in a nutshell, with plenty left out but enough both to work at and build upon...

Things I thought I would be better at by now:

• getting kids to sleep 
• staying calm in the face of a temper tantrum or prolonged fussing
• going to bed

Things I'm pretty good at (surprisingly):

• using silliness or humor to convey instructions or cut through kvetching 
• laundry stain-fighting (knock on wood)

Things I am getting better at:

• getting things done -- not everything and not all the time, but more often, even if I have to chip away at whatever it is a little bit at a time
• winnowing down the number of things at which I am multitasking so that I can complete at least some of them before starting new ones
• getting dinner on the table
• staying on top of the laundry (sort of) 
• estimating the amount of time tasks actually take to accomplish
• arriving some place on time (or at least closer to it)

Things I'm not so good at (still):

• going to bed 
• making decisions

For my birthday buddies and me I pray that by God's grace, the year ahead may bring continued growth and understanding, peace and fortitude for the journey still to come, and laughter to bridge the expanse between expectations and reality.   Sleep would be good, too.

(not) helpless

A few weeks ago, wildfires blazed across a swath of land not far from my hometown.  While the town itself was not threatened, the countryside and the homes, pastures, and outbuildings dotting the land were.  Many people were evacuated when it became apparent that the fires were posing serious threats to their property (and persons).  Among the people affected were lifelong friends who are family to us.  They were notified of the danger as soon as it looked like the fires might threaten them, and they began to take precautions and make preparations to evacuate.  As the fires approached, they tried to protect their property by dousing it with water as long as electricity powered their water well.  Ultimately, their home was spared, though their neighbors were among the many who were not as fortunate.

With a decent amount of warning, those in the path of the fires worked with emergency personnel to combat the fires and try to minimize damage.  Many who were not directly affected stood at the ready, wanting to help somehow yet feeling utterly helpless in the face of convergent wildfires.  Those of us who don't live in the area anymore couldn't take in displaced homeowners or drop off provisions for firefighters or seemingly *do* anything but wait -- and pray.  We did both. 

I'm sure each of us has at one time or another felt helpless to make a positive change to a sticky or seemingly hopeless situation.  As a parent, there are plenty of times when I've felt helpless -- and I'm supposed to be the mom!  In the seven-year history of my motherhood, there have already been many times when I've felt unable to be the one to control steer a situation to a peaceful, happy ending.  This is the precipice of a slippery slope toward despair unless I channel the mounting stress and anxiety into prayer -- from basic utterances of distress and pleas for mercy to longer vigils of formal or stream-of-consciousness prayers on behalf of other people undergoing trials of whatever magnitude.  This move from figurative or literal hand-wringing to a posture of prayer is something anyone can do to help themselves or someone else. 

Senseless tragedies happen every day.  Natural disasters will have their ways.  Illnesses afflict us or our loved ones.  Things change in the blink of an eye.  We have no way of knowing what tomorrow -- or even today -- will bring.  When it seems we are helpless, may the Lord grant us clarity of mind to seek his assistance for ourselves or those around us, be they right here with us or off in some far-flung place.   The result may or may not be what we expect or desire, but with enough time, perspective, perseverance in prayer, and grace, may we eventually come to understand on some level how such dramatic events can be part of God's way of drawing us closer to him through circumstances that seem or are beyond our control.

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.

ringy dingy

Today would've been Aunt Robin's 51st birthday, and I didn't call my Grannie. 

I always try to call my Grannie on Aunt Robin's birthday -- or Papa Jack's -- and most definitely on Grannie's own birthday.  That's just how we do things.  As with there always being lamb cake for Easter, we always call each other on our birthdays, or on what would've been the birthdays of those we love but who are now departed from this life.

Grannie called late last week as we were driving to the last day of Vacation Bible School.  It was pretty early to be hearing from her, so I was initially concerned that something may be amiss.  It wasn't.  She was in good spirits, about to head out to help one of my aunts with some organizing.  Grannie has wizard-like skills in the organizational department -- specifically in the kitchen.   It had been a while since I had called her, in spite of my best intentions to call her at least once a week.   

*Once a week, Bonnie!  Is that so difficult?!  Especially considering how much time you spend driving in the car with that handsfree phone gadget?!*  

Not so long ago I did ring my Grannie-o to catch up on the "doings", as she calls them, only to chat for a minute with her dear friend there visiting all the while thinking it was Grannie.  Another time I called and interrupted her weekly bridge game with her "lady friends".  It was her turn to host.  She called me back later. 

Every time she calls she says something along the lines of, "I wasn't sure if this was a good time to call, so I just decided to try." I'm so glad she takes the chance.  I do that now too, not just with Grannie but with a few other cherished people.  I boldly acknowledge that I've taken the calculated risk of calling a fellow mother with young children at what might be their siesta time, hoping with great fervor that I won't awaken a bambini *thisclose* to drifting off to sleep for a sorely-needed siesta. 

When I've been on the receiving end of a call that I can't prudently answer, I don't answer it.  I hope this doesn't offend the caller, but most people who call me anymore realize that I'm not exactly sitting around waiting for the phone to ring.  It may take me a little (or a long) while to return the call, but knowing with certainty that someone I cherish has taken the time to call me has such a buoying effect on my spirits.  

I am often reticent to pick up the phone and call someone to say hello or indirectly ask for a pick-me-up in the form of a brief conversation for fear that they might be in the middle of something, but when I take the chance and hear his or her voice on the receiving end, I am so much the better for having done so. 

I'm sorry, Gran, that I didn't call you today.  Be expecting a call from me tomorrow...

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. 

not my thing -- or is it?

We made these cookies earlier this week for the elder lad's birthday snack at school -- even though his birthday isn't for another two months. His wonderful teacher works the summer birthdays into the classroom celebration calendar so that the summer babes can bask in birthday glory with their schoolmates before everyone scatters for the summer.

We used this oatmeal cookie recipe (with most of the oats ground into flour to smooth out the texture) and frosted them with this glaze. By all accounts, they were right tasty.

A mom of one of the elder lad's classmates -- one who has been unfailingly generous and friendly to me, a relative newcomer to the parish school community, for which I am so grateful -- asked me recently after I brought homemade baked doughnuts to a class party if baking is "my thing."

"It is now," I told her, relating how I'd taken up the craft as a way of both feeding my picky selective eaters well *and* having something fun to do with them. Before I had children there were a few recipes that I liked to bake (brownies being the primary one), but the activity usually wasn't my first choice when I had free time (whatever that is). Playing the piano was my thing. Making jewelry was my thing. Doing various paper- and fabric-related crafts was my thing. Baking and cooking?  Meh. 

When my beloved and I were courting, my attitude toward cooking began to change because it was a hobby of his.  He was (and is still) amazingly skilled and at ease in the kitchen, as his recent Sammy can chicken experiment shows, and cooking together soon became a favorite pastime of ours. 

Nowadays I spend a lot of time in the kitchen doing a lot of "from-scratch" cooking and baking -- and I like to do it (usually). Serving nutritionally-dense meals is important to my beloved and me, and this is one way we accomplish that.  It's not a matter of wanting to show off or be Super Mom or anything like that.  It's mainly about finding a way to satiate this formidable sweet tooth of mine (and that of my elder lad, gee willikers) in a way that precludes sugar high-related behavioral unpleasantries and negative impacts on physical wellbeing.

Rolled and cut out cookies with frosting decorations are definitely not my thing.  Those are generally more hassle and mess than I'm willing to take on with little helpers, but I am at times persuaded to make exceptions. Especially during Easter season, we revel in the sweet treats that often accompany celebrations like birthdays and sacraments. We can do so in good conscience by eating in moderation and choosing ingredients that are both wholesome and delicious. And if we get to make those treats together as part of the festivities, so much the better.

fun for all ages

At every holiday I find myself thinking of celebrations I experienced as a child.  The adults in my life worked hard (I now realize) to host fun events for me and any other children present, such as my Chicago cousins or the family with four children whose dad has been my dad's pal since high school.  They made it look so easy.

Now that my beloved and I have the honor of creating celebrations that I hope are happy-memory-filled for our bambini, I realize that it's not easy, that a lot of work goes into these types of events.  All too easily, the big day can arrive with parents too bleary-eyed to see the expressions of delight on the faces of their children and too snappish to be any fun to be around.

What a pity, considering all that work was done to make it fun for the kids. 

Much like planning a birthday celebration, when it comes to crafting a jolly holiday, collaboration and preparation go a long way toward making the event fun for everyone.  When it's a religious holiday, such as Easter we're celebrating this weekend, it's imperative to keep the focus on the entire reason for the celebration -- namely, Christ's redemptive sacrifice, God's infinite mercy, and the hope we have in eternal life because of those.

Sure: it's fun to go on Easter egg hunts and consume vast quantities of yummy treats (lamb cake, anyone?), especially after a long Lenten season of self-denial, but we would not be celebrating at all were it not for the Passion we celebrated on Good Friday and the Resurrection we herald on Easter morning.

With all that in mind, let the rejoicing and revelry begin!

moving on

Today would've been my Papa Jack's 89th birthday.  This explains why I've been singing the silly songs he made up to my bambini all day long -- the ones about bamboo bungalows built for two (or six) and passengers refraining from flushing toilets while the train is standing in the station (which ends with "I love you"), but I only just made the connection.

It was also on this day several years ago that I went on my first piano audition at a university I was considering in Chicago near my extended family.  I was disappointed in how the audition went, even though Grannie had pointed out it was Papa Jack's birthday *and* it was raining, which he always took as a sign of good luck.  After the dismal audition (it *was* my first one, after all), I failed to see the good in the outcome.  But it was there.

I would go on a few more auditions, one of which resulted in a scholarship to the school that is now my alma mater and, consequently, a degree in piano (which I put to use this evening with the elder lad in an impromptu and very brief piano lesson) along with a blessing-filled college experience for which I will always be grateful.

Somewhere around this time I developed an affinity for the work of American artist Mary Engelbreit.  One of her creations spoke volumes to me then and still does.  A Huckleberry Finn-like character is walking down a road marked "your life", having just bypassed an intersection with a path marked "no longer an option."  I used to have a poster of this framed and hanging on the wall, but since we still have bare walls, I had to look it up online.  Here's a link to the image. 

At the time of that first audition I had my heart set on going to college in Chicago so as to be near my family there.  As it turned out, I would get that opportunity a few years in the form of a summer internship at Lyric Opera of Chicago.

I thought of the "Don't Look Back" image when I learned that a mom from our school community with whom I had just recently begun cultivating a friendship would be moving down the 'pike a ways with her family.  We had only just begun to get to know each other; we share many things in common.  This move is really for the best for her family.  I only wish I had gotten to know her better sooner, though I do hope we will continue our conversations via the many ways of communicating available to us.

Recently we were discussing some points in each of our lives when we struggled with submitting our own wills to that of God.  In a few decisive events, we came to realize that the God-given gifts and talents we wanted to use clearly weren't where God wanted us to be focusing our attention at that time.  By making peace with using other gifts and talents he had given us other than the ones we had developed more and were more comfortable using, we were able to move past the disappointment and find the blessings.

So as she moves on with her family, I wish her every blessing.  I thank her for the gift of friendship she has extended to me, and I look forward to seeing her as opportunities present themselves for us to visit in person.

The road ahead goes in one direction.  We can't go backward -- only forward.  We don't know where the road will lead, but Christ has it all mapped out.

cause celebré

All the hoopla surrounding the royal wedding has made for a fun diversion, if nothing else.  For this commoner far *far* removed from the actual festivities, the best part about the event has been the opportunity it has afforded to

• spend time with such dear people as my friend "Simply" (named thus after a confounding -- and giggle-inducing -- misunderstanding of her given name)
• hear my Grannie reminisce for just a moment about the fashionable accessories known as "fascinators" and whether (or not) she would wear one 
• take notice of the similarities between the new Duchess of Cambridge's timeless wedding gown and that of my beloved's beautiful grandmother

For all the excitement and grandeur and everything else, the bridges to people I cherish are my own reasons to celebrate.

good guy

Good St. Joseph*, protector of Mary and Jesus,
pray for my beloved this day,
  and for our fathers, grandfathers, uncles, brothers, cousins, friends,
  and those who have no earthly models of virtuous men.

May your example serve as an inspiration and aid in the loving, humble service
  they render to us, their loved ones,
and may your prayers and ours on their behalf
  be instruments of God's grace working in each of them.

Amen.

*For an explanation of the significance of St. Joseph Day to our family, check out last year's post.

God calling

The pastor emeritus of the parish I served as director of music and liturgy in my former life rang me on the telephone this afternoon.  He called to wish me early felicitations for the feast of St. Polycarp, a saint this pastor holds in high esteem who the Church remembers in a special way tomorrow (February 23rd).  Come to think of it, he calls me every year on February 22nd, I think to make sure I remember that tomorrow is his favorite saint's feast day, but mainly to capitalize on an opportunity for a quick hello and aural snapshot of how we're doing here now that I don't see him in the church office on a daily basis.

It might as well have been God himself calling me this afternoon speaking through the voice of this Irish Catholic priest who has long and often affirmed mothers tending to their young children.  He never fails to offer concrete words of encouragement such as "it's important work you're doing," or recognize the intensity of our experiences -- albeit in a lighthearted way such as good-naturedly teasing a mother in a grocery store with multiple children in and hanging off of the shopping cart by asking her what she does in her spare time. His timing was impeccable today, as we were in the throes of Happy Hour here.  The pick-me-up was much needed and appreciated. 

My friend the St. Polycarp fan was instrumental to my having a profession as a liturgical musician before my vocation of marriage led me to motherhood (as he was the pastor of that parish when it instituted the full time position I held for a few years), and he's instrumental now in my living out this vocation of marriage and motherhood.  Having served Christ in untold numbers of faces over the years in various pastoral capacities and still now in retirement, this man of God brings Christ to those who seek him and those who might otherwise not be looking for him, simply by encouraging us in our daily doings with uplifting words and sometimes ornery humor.  God love him.

signs of the times

I talk with my hands.  It's just me.  Not quite conductor-like, but still ... illustrative.  I also love to study languages and etymology, so when we were expecting the elder lad and I was doing all manner of reading about baby care and development, the idea of learning sign language as a way of communicating with the babe resonated with me as something I could reasonably take on.  I'd had friends who'd taken sign language classes as part of their baby preparations, so I looked into them around town.  I was anxious to get crackin' before the baby was born, but the organizers of the classes recommended I wait until the baby was six or so months old until I enrolled.  By then they weren't offering the classes anymore. 

(I did eventually find a class for us after we had already built up a decent vocabulary of signs.  The teacher and I struck up a friendship that continues today.)

Enter the book Baby Signs and the Signing Time DVD series.  I pored over the book and learned some basic signs that my beloved and I started using every time we'd use the corresponding spoken word -- signs for book, diaper, nurse, car, various food and animals, and so forth.  The Signing Time  DVD series was one of the few shows that held the elder lad's interest as a toddler, and I suspect it might have something to do with the rapid development of his vocabulary.  Now the videos are high on the list of requests from the younger lad and two-year-old lass.

With each addition to our family, we've gotten out the Signing Time videos and brushed up on our signs.   The older siblings seem to relish teaching the younger siblings new signs.  Having a way for the pre-verbal set to communicate their thoughts to us has been an invaluable aid to us in caring for them.  As toddlers, the bambini used signs along with spoken words, signing as they spoke (which is what we did, too -- it was just habit).

Using signs in lieu of words comes in handy in many settings, such as in quiet places, as we're waving good-bye and "I love you" to my beloved and the elder lad on a school morning, or when we're trying to practice alternatives to shouting.

The younger lass is reaching the age now where she is obviously understanding many concepts and making connections between words and objects or people.  It's the perfect time to get back in the habit of signing as we speak to her.  With any luck we'll soon know what's on her mind, and see what she has to say...

standing by

Some friends of ours are going through one of a parent's worst nightmares: their son is ill with cancer.  He is two years old.  He was diagnosed with leukemia two days before Christmas.  

I saw his mother this morning at Mass.  She came by herself while her husband stayed home with their son, whose immune system is now depressed by the chemotherapy treatment he is receiving and therefore can't really be in a public gathering like that.   She went home to take over for her husband so he could go to a later Mass.

When I saw her in the Communion line and noted that she was there alone, within me there was a sudden and strong propulsion to go sit with her.  I waited until after Communion was finished and the Blessed Sacrament reposed, then I rose from my pew and ducked into hers.

I don't know if she wanted any company.  Maybe she just wanted that brief amount of time to sit in the presence of Christ and be strengthened by the grace, peace, and comfort only he can provide.   I only hope my musical pew maneuver didn't overpower her need for space. 

Whenever something like this happens, we all want to *do something* to help -- to fix it, really ... to make it all better.  All I know to do is pray and to make known our willingness to do whatever the family needs to help get through this trial.  Whatever that means, we're standing (or sitting, as the case may be) by...

Please keep them and all families in similar situations in your prayers.

opposite day

In the eerie quiet of a house with three simultaneously-sleeping children while the elder lad is at school, I have an opportunity of unknown length to ruminate on the events that transpired yesterday, which included a trip to Target, a fun outing with a family we are getting to know from the elder lad's school, and a gathering of moms from the Kindergarten class (hence the napping children today, for which I am most grateful).

The trouble is, amidst the many highs and lows of the day, what stands out is what's missing:

Coffee filters. We have none.

At this point in the narrative, my dear friend Simply's jaw likely drops in horror as she's reading.  Today her eldest lad turns 16, and while I hate the thought of marring this day with such a disturbing notion as a house without coffee filters, I know she'll laugh knowing I typed "draw jops" first and thought it looked normal the first eight or 10 times I read through what I'd written.  Sorry to put a damper on your Mama Day, Simply. Love you and your lad!

In spite of reminding myself not to forget the filters as I unloaded the bambini into the cold shopping cart and trucked inside as fast as I could *and* having taken a picture of the exact ones we needed to fit our drip coffee maker, I neglected to write the item on my shopping list, and here is where it all goes downhill.

By the time the 22-month-old lass had fallen asleep sitting up in the seat of the shopping cart (first child of mine to ever do such a thing outside of my sling or the "baby bucket" car seat) and I had had some near misses with the shopping cart and the heels of my three year old lad who insisted on walking "with" me *and* I had nabbed some slacks that I thought I could wear to the moms' gathering that evening (wrong), the coffee filters had fallen out of that primacy of place that is the single driving thought propelling me through Target (well, that and "must get this finished *as soon as possible*").

This doesn't mean, however, that we got nothing. Quite the contrary. We got a gift for the birthday party the elder lad is invited to tomorrow that the younger lad would love to go to as well but for which the whole siblings-invited issue is rather murky; a Lego truck Christmas gift that will be a surprise to only one lad (as the other discovered it after he escaped from the cart); the afore-mentioned ill-fitting slacks; sundry dairy items (including a ridiculous amount of yogurt); some molasses for another batch of our most recent cookie success -- chocolate ginger with chocolate chips (among other things) -- for our new friends; and the list goes on...

except for coffee filters
(and contact lens solution, which *was* on the list but overlooked somehow)

So while I may feel like bellowing this deeply-rued fact, I am instead going to employ a tactic I ought to use more often with my bambini: I'm going to whisper.

We have no coffee filters.

This explains a lot.

house rules

At our house, jumping on the bed is verboten.
(I know: we're such kill-joys.)

My college roommate, a dear friend (the one with the aversion to spiders), had given the elder lad a Baby Tad plush frog shortly after the lad was born.  Baby Tad sings songs and plays games.  Now he's a favorite of the 19-month-old lass's.  He's obviously unaware, however, of a certain aforementioned house rule, because I caught him jumping on the bed with the help of the younger lad (who was not jumping).

"Did you tell Tad what the rule is about jumping on the bed?" I teasingly asked the lad.

Looking at the frog, the lad said soberly, "we have to make the bed first."

somber yet hopeful

My heart is heavy thinking about two families for whom today must be uniquely grueling.  One of them buries their fifty-something husband and father after he passed away suddenly.  I knew him at the university parish, where his funeral Mass will be celebrated this morning.  He was ordained a deacon and served both that community and the larger one with humor, humility, and great generosity.  One of his sons was in high school at the time and played with our "rough and tumble band of misfits" (as I called us) -- a motley crew of talented musicians majoring in a variety of academic disciplines that played for the Sunday evening student Mass: this pianist, a few guitarists, an array of woodwinds and brass, and a few singers.  This son married a girl from my hometown a few years younger than me whose mother played the piano at my home parish growing up and has long been a source of encouragement for me in my development as a musician.

The other family prays and waits for their twenty-something daughter undergoing surgery today to remove a malignant brain tumor.  She is a few years younger than I am, and a friendly acquaintance from my hometown.  With a magnetic personality, dazzling smile, and penchant for bringing laughter and levity to nearly any situation, this young woman is facing this formidable challenge with deep faith in God and a huge legion of supporters.  She is being treated at the same hospital that cared for my friend Jake and all he went through.  I can't help but think of him in reading her story.  I'm sure they would really hit it off if they ever knew each other.

I can't fully understand what each of these families -- and so many others who know grief, uncertainty, and suffering today -- is going through. I can only pray for them, that they may know profound peace, comfort, and strength.  I know Christ is present in their struggles and will remain with them.  Please keep them all in your prayers.

wonders never cease

My diminutive but spunky (some might say fiesty) maternal grandmother Fran would be 96 today.  Lately my younger lad has been singing little ditties, some with words, others just improvised melodies, as he goes about his doings.  In this way, he reminds me of the little badger Frances of the Frances books.  Sunny little fellow that he is, I think my grandmother Fran would revel in him just as much as the rest of us (and I bet she does from her vantage point in heaven).  He'd probably find her equally delightful.

Speaking of spunky, the multitude of prayers being offered for my friend paralyzed in late January by complications of bacterial meningitis are being answered!  In March she relocated out of state to a hospital devoted to spinal cord injury patients.  Since her arrival there, she has weaned off the ventilator, can move both arms (which means she will one day be able to hold her baby boy, who is growing steadily and may soon get to leave the NICU for home), and can wiggle her fingers.  Her husband, daughter (who shares a birthday with my elder lad, remember), and two-and-a-half year old son visited her this past weekend.  She's been able to speak to her family by phone and is now learning such skills as how to use a computer via voice recognition.  We continue to pray for complete restoration of her faculties and a reunion with her family very soon.  As evidenced by these hopeful strides, truly wonders never cease.

perspective

A week or so ago, my friend paralyzed as a complication of bacterial meningitis moved out of the local hospital to one equipped to teach her how to live life to the fullest in her present state while maintaining hope that she will one day regain movement.

The thought of her being hundreds of miles away from her family and friends while she tries to heal is one that weighs heavily on my mind.  In fact, the enormity of her situation is something that I struggle to understand -- and don't really think I can -- but I don't believe God has caused this to happen to her.   As this homily by Fr. Jack Gleason from the Third Sunday of Lent addresses, that is not how God operates.

While I can't explain why my friend is suffering so greatly (and each in their own way her husband, children, family, and friends), my faith tells me it is not without meaning.  I can find great hope and strength of faith in seeing the ways people have responded to this family's crisis.  Untold numbers of people are praying for her recovery and for the protection and well being of her children and family.  Her direct caretakers and those caring for her children have had and continue to have opportunities to give comfort, offer aid, show mercy, and allay anxiety.  And each one of us aware of her situation cannot help but be moved to consider the multitude of blessings and gifts bestowed upon each of us -- down to the very gifts of life and breath.

I continue to pray God's will be done in my mama friend's life and in the course it takes from here.  If it is his will, I pray she is restored to complete health with full use of her body.  Considering the road she is on helps keep the road I travel each day in proper perspective.  Each of us is not without struggle or difficulty or pain, but most of the time what I face as a result of fatigue or stress or whatever else pales in comparison to what she must grapple with.

The move to this hospital is one that will, as our mutual friend has written, teach her "how to live in her home, with her family, raising her children."  So many people suffer so greatly in so many different ways.  Never far from mind are my Aunt Robin and my friend Jake, who both lost battles with cancer at early ages, and the many people in my family and friends who struggle with chronic illness and the grief of having lost loved ones.  Disease and suffering are never easily understood for anyone of any age.  When they strike "young" people, it is even more difficult to comprehend.    Keeping this in mind helps me maintain some perspective -- specifically, the grace to be grateful for the particular cross Christ calls me to carry, knowing that he will supply all the grace and aid to carry it, and that such suffering is not without value when joined to those Christ endured on the cross.

It seems my friend has been living Lent in a very tangible way since late January when she fell ill.  I pray as Easter approaches, she and all those who suffer will know Christ's healing grace.

girlfriends

Shortly after I accepted the post as director of music and liturgy way back in the day, I received a note in the mail from the director of religious education at the parish welcoming me aboard and thanking me for taking the job.  I had met her a few times already because I had been playing the early Sunday morning Mass at the parish for a few months before taking on the full time job, but I didn't know her very well.  That gesture of friendship and hospitality was the beginning of a very dear friendship that continues today.

She is a mentor to me in many ways, especially in living out this vocation of marriage and motherhood.  She has two sons and a daughter close in age like I do -- but they're teenagers now, so she has much-needed perspective, experience, and insight to offer me.  She shares my affinity for chocolate, and she is my elder lad's Godmother.  We are bonded forever in a special sort of sisterhood.  Her sensitivity and faith-informed insights have proven invaluable aids to many seeking spiritual direction, hope, healing, and renewal.  She is a reflection Christ's love to everyone she encounters.

Today is her birthday.  I wish for her a year full of blessings, hope, joy, peace, and grace.  Love and cheers to you, girlfriend...