The Divine Gift of Motherhood

How to do nothing for 31 Days

2012-01-30T19:12:00.000-08:00

While individuals vary in their levels of ambition, I am pretty certain that most mothers are unaware of the overambitious manner in which they approach their normal day. Wake up, get the kids off to school (or set on their homeschooling curriculum), and survey the house. Set to work on the part that needs the most tending to, while reviewing the day’s calendar in your head and mentally tackling the first chore on your to-do list for the day. Delegate to tomorrow’s – or next week’s – to-do list that pile of papers sitting on your desk, unless there is something in there with a looming deadline.

My New Year’s Resolution this year was very different from my normal list of ten areas in which I can improve. I decided I needed to “reclaim my time”. I had to limit how much of my valuable time I gave away outside the home, so that I had something left over to give to my family. There is nothing really pressing to do once Christmas is over, so why not give myself a period of rest during the month of January? So I set about to do as little as possible for 31 days.

My husband is permanently like-minded, seeing the home as his haven for rest after his long work day. If he is home, he is most likely on the couch. I joined him on New Year’s Day, resting and napping and watching television with the children. In the middle, I made homemade pizzas and cookies with the kids. Then we went back to resting. That was a great start to the year.

I had also given myself a week off from taking writing assignments in between Christmas and New Year’s so that I could be fully present to the kids. So when they started school, I started working again. But I restrained myself in bidding on work, so that I would not be overwhelmed with overlapping deadlines, nor would I have to work past the time the kids got home from school.

This strategy worked out great. I was able to go through my days at a normal pace, get my work done plus the basic housework, and be sitting in the window with newspaper in hand by the time the school bus arrived. I could be completely present to the children, helping with homework, and making dinner while they worked in the next room. I left some chores for them to help with, such as carrying the laundry downstairs and setting the table. My two younger children had a re-awakened interest in playing the piano, so I pulled out my beginner’s book (which is 30 years old) and started from Middle C.

Over the Christmas vacation the DVD player had ceased reading disks, but the VCR still worked. So we reorganized all our old VHS cassettes and reacquainted ourselves with some really good old children’s movies. Some of the original Walt Disney movies, such as Dumbo, my littlest one had never seen. She would pick one out and we would cuddle up on the couch for two hours.

During high school testing week, my teenage daughter accompanied me to the Catholic school to help me in my volunteer hour overseeing the kindergarten lunch period. Afterwards, we stopped at our favorite Chinese restaurant. We were great friends for a couple of hours – until I reminded her she needed to clean her room. I also got to go to one of her track meets.

After each day, I was completely happy with how I had chosen to spend my time that day. At the end of this month, I am feeling rested and ready to prepare for tackling my busy spring season. My family is happy and secure. Can the job of Mommy be done while doing next-to-nothing? I think my month-long experiment has proven that it can be.

“Be still, and know that I am God.” – Psalm 46:10

Reclaiming Time

2011-12-22T19:52:00.000-08:00

Montre Molle au Moment

I must reclaim my time. That is my first resolution for the New Year.

Every year, I think things will get so much easier. Then I am shocked when I feel busier than ever. “After I stop homeschooling”…nope: our life filled up with extra-curricular activities. “After the little one goes to Kindergarten”…nope: my life filled up with coaching and volunteer activities at school. “After the cross country season”…nope: I took on so many freelance assignments I barely had time to floss my teeth. Not to mention travel softball which never stops, and Little League planning that goes on year round.

Now that my Christmas preparations are done and I decided not to take on any more work during the vacation, I am feeling so much more like myself. I hate rushing around! I hate crowds, I hate traffic, and I really hate having my life scheduled to the second. I really love just hanging around the house in comfortable clothes, letting it get a little messy, baking and enjoying my kids.

It seems to me there has got to be a problem when a stay-at-home mom has no free time. Is it society that pressures me to do more, or is it me? I’m sure it’s a whole lot of both. There are all these people who kept asking me what I was going to do with my time and, although I don’t feel like I have to prove anything to them, maybe I am still trying to prove to myself that what I do is valuable.

So somebody asks me to do something at the school and I think, well I have lots of things to do but no good excuses why I can’t come in…and there is one full afternoon gone. I get offers for work and I think, yes I have two unscheduled days so I can bid on two assignments…then both bids are accepted and I am rushing to meet deadlines, getting nothing done around the house.

Lack of boundaries is a big problem for many mothers. In the work place it is easy to set and maintain boundaries, but at home everything blurs together. When your work place is at home, and you have no defined office space or work hours, your physical and mental spaces are both going to get disorganized and difficult to maintain.

In spite of my love of spontaneity, to maintain my sanity I am going to have to lay out a weekly and daily schedule. Weekends belong to the family. One day a week I can volunteer at school. Then the school/workdays have to be subdivided into household chores, errands, and work. If I can do this then I can greet the kids with a smile every afternoon and enjoy my time with them, without worrying about all the stuff I still have to get done.

I’ll have to say NO much more often so I can say YES to my life.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to all my readers. If I meet this resolution you will be hearing from me much more often in the New Year.

Triple After Midnight: Extreme Sports

2011-11-07T09:43:00.000-08:00

Halloween Weekend, 2011. My 14-year-old daughter was scheduled to play in the season’s “last look” collegiate softball showcase in Quakertown, Pennsylvania. First game was set for 8 a.m. Saturday, so we had to be there Friday night. I was taking my 5-year-old, who loves taking these trips with me, and leaving my 10- and 12- year-olds with my husband, who would be taking them to their local games on Long Island.

I wasn’t rushing to get out of the house. There was no point in trying to get through New York City before 7 p.m. Then I got a text from the coach: “Snow expected tomorrow. We have been offered a game for tonight at 9:30 or 10:30 p.m. How many of you can get here on time?”

“Are they crazy? Don’t people work? This game will never happen,” I said to whoever would listen. I texted back, “We can’t leave until 6 and she has a cough so I’d rather she didn’t play tonight anyway.”

About an hour later I get another team text, “Game is on for 10:30 p.m. 25 college coaches are there to see the game.”

I really didn’t care about the college coaches. While many parents are investing their time and money into this sport depending on the slim chance at an athletic scholarship, she is there for one reason: she really loves this game. But I really didn’t want her playing in this game tonight. She was running for the cross country state qualifiers the following week and I wanted her to get rid of that cough beforehand. There had been no response to my individual text so I assumed she was off the hook for that night.

So we’re driving through Brooklyn and I get another text. I threw the phone back to my daughter so she could read it and answer. “What is your ETA?”

What the heck is an ETA? Does he mean GPA? Then I realize he means estimated time of arrival.

“Tell him 10:30,” I said, assuming he wouldn’t put her in the game with no warm-up time. My GPS was set for the hotel – not the field.

“We are short one player. We’ll delay game and wait for you,” he answers.

Shoot. Now we were under the gun of a whole team depending on her so they could get this game in. I redirected the GPS to the field. We’d be there at 10:15.

We got to the field and it actually was not too cold. My 5-year-old woke up. “Are we at the hotel yet?” she asked, sleepily.

“Believe it or not, we are at the field for a game tonight.”

She reconciled herself to this news pretty well, perked up, and decided she would brave the outdoors to go sit and watch the game.

Game started at 11:15. The girls were playing well, and my daughter was happy with her plays at shortstop. The highlight of the night, for me, happened at 1 a.m., when my daughter hit a triple. That started a rally going, but my little one and I were cold and I watched the last inning from the car. We got to the hotel at around 2 a.m. The 8 a.m. game was canceled, with most of the Sat. games probably off. They were planning on putting a tarp down on the field.

“What about the outfield?” mused the father of an outfielder.

We woke up at 9 a.m. to take advantage of the hotel’s all-you-can-eat breakfast. I looked out at the falling snow and, worried about snow getting in the car window that doesn’t shut completely. Everybody figured it was canceled for the day but the Sunday games were still on. We wondered if they planned on bulldozing the fields. After breakfast I settled the girls back into the room and went out to wipe down my car and park it under a tree.

I came back in and was informed that the whole weekend was now off. Half the team was staying the night, to travel on dry roads tomorrow, and half was going. What drove me crazy was that people were standing around pretending like this didn’t really STINK. I missed my family, so chose to go.

It took a total of 7 hours to drive back – what had taken 3.5 hours the previous night. I averaged around 30 miles per hour.

How many times over that long drive over snowy, icy, sleety roads, did I wish we had stuck with cross country? How many times did I wish that, like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, I had red, magical shoes that I could click together to get myself home?

When I was finally home, warm and cozy with my family all around me, I decided I was not going to leave the house again until I absolutely had to.

“How did it go?” asked my husband.

“That was a fun game,” my daughter replied.

And THAT is what it is all about. When you have a kid who is passionate about something, you do all that is in your power that allow them to do that thing that they love.

Parents who are just getting into travel sports, or contemplating taking their kids to tryouts, know what you are getting into. There are many highs, and more lows. It is extremely time-consuming, and expensive. If you have more than one child enrolled in a sport, it gets very tricky to plan out your nights and weekends. Your own social life will be confined to teammate’s parents on the field.

But if you can bear all that, and you want your child to learn about strength, dedication, time-management, and sacrifice (all the same things that parents will have to learn more about during this journey), then go ahead and start out on this adventure they call TRAVEL SPORTS. You will never be the same.

Why I Feel $26 Richer Today

2011-10-08T19:35:00.000-07:00

“I wonder what would happen if I lost this ticket?” I said to myself more than once this weekend, driving back and forth on the New Jersey/Pennsylvania Turnpike for a series of college softball showcase games. I placed the ticket sticking out toward me, in between the CDs that sat in a little nook right beneath the stereo.

Then it happened. My five-year-old was whining for her Winnie-the-Pooh songs and she had been so good all day. I took it out of the small pile of CDs, ejected the Second Chapter of Acts’ “Roar of Love”, and placed the old CD in the same case. Then she asked to see the case, so I handed it back to her.

We got to our exit and I looked for the ticket which should be sticking out conveniently for me; it wasn’t there. I got off the exit and pulled off to the side, looking all over the seat next to me (which was piled up with an accumulation of traveling stuff), and on the floor between me and my little one.

Did I forget to take the ticket? This had to happen once in a while, right?

I gave up after 5 minutes; found my $1.10 receipt from the reverse trip I had made from same exit that morning; and drove up to the right-most toll booth. I handed him $1.10 and the receipt.

“I lost my ticket,” I explained, “but here is my receipt from where I went this morning.”

“Where did you lose it?” he asked.

“In my car.”

“Well, I can give you a paper to fill out and mail in, but you will have to pay the full price.”

“What is that?”

“$26.”

That is not the kind of money I can afford to throw away, so I asked, “Can I pull over and look again for the ticket?”

He said I could, and informed me that he would be writing down my license plate.

So I looked again, and just as I concluded that I had been daydreaming at the ticket-taking booth and never had the ticket in the first place and that I would have to fork over $26 for my stupidity, I saw the ticket under my foot.

I ran back to the booth and paid. The driver who stopped to let me cross smiled, as if he knew exactly what had happened.

So that’s what happens when you lose your ticket on a toll road.

Do I have a moral to my story? Not really, except that busy moms sometimes make dumb mistakes, and we really shouldn’t get upset when there is no harm done. Somehow, I feel $26 richer now.

Kindergarten

2011-09-23T11:55:00.000-07:00

Wednesday, September 7, 2011, 6:30 A.M. I woke up my five-year-old with a gentle hug. “Rise and shine. It’s time to get ready for school.”

She had been looking forward to this day for a few years now, as she watched her siblings leave for school and come back every day. Now it was the dog’s turn to watch the kids all leave, forlorn, wishing she could go wherever they went all day.

She was so sweet and cheery all morning as she got ready. She wanted me in the same room with her as she got dressed, had breakfast, and brushed her teeth, although she needed no help doing those things. Yet she seemed to have no problem leaving me for the day.

Fortunately for all of us, she has two of her older siblings on the same bus with her, as they all attend the same Catholic school this year. So I had no concerns about her being on the bus by herself. The bus driver seemed like a very kind woman. Her older sister held her hand as she got on the bus. She helped her to buckle her seat belt, something we never had on the bus when I was little. She looked out the window at me, smiling, as the bus pulled away. I stood there, waving, until the bus disappeared down the block.

And I smiled. I never cried when my other kids went to school for the first time; I was always too busy with other little ones. I had thought I would be a little sad when my youngest one went, but I felt content. Not giddy, as in, “Oh I’m so happy to get rid of the kids so I can have some peace and quiet,” but satisfied that things were as they should be.

I really like how the Catholic schools start off the first week with half days. It really gives both the parents and the kids time to adjust to the new schedule. For me, I think it really made that first day a breeze.

I went inside, had my coffee and breakfast, then for a brief moment said to myself, “Now what?” Not that I didn’t have a ton of chores to tackle – I didn’t know where to start. “First things first,” I answered myself, and started by cleaning the floor. I proceeded to the most obvious things, and before I knew it I was rushing to finish up what I had started before the bus came back.

My husband missed her – as did the dog. Honey moped around the house, roaming from room to room, aimlessly going in and out the back door.

My eighth grader has a phone now, and she texted me so that I knew when to come outside and wait for the bus. My littlest one came back off the bus, smiling. The dog went crazy, jumping happily inside at the sight of the children.

I laugh when I think of the nosy cashier at King Kullen who commented last spring, “You’re not going to know what to do with yourself when she goes to Kindergarten.”I responded back to her, “I was thinking about taking up golf,” facetiously.I didn’t feel I needed to justify to her what I really was planning to do with my time: write full time, get the house in order, and do some home improvements.

Now we are almost done with September and I didn’t even notice when autumn had officially begun. Time just has a way of filling itself up, especially when you juggle multiple children, sports, volunteer activities, and freelance work. I have been in the kindergarten a few times, and am happy to see how well she is adjusting socially, emotionally, and academically to her new environment.

My life is full. My heart is full. My cup runneth over. To everything there is a season.

Those of you who would like to become a Kindergarten teacher can learn about classes for an online masters in education via this resource.

Review of “Stealing Jenny”: A Novel by Ellen Gable

2011-08-29T18:20:00.000-07:00

I have reviewed Ellen Gable’s first two novels “Emily’s Hope” and “In Name Only” on this blog, and have eagerly awaited her third novel. Ellen is a pro-life writer who writes in an engaging manner, with keen personal insight and always a hopeful and pro-life message.

After enduring three miscarriages, Jenny is expecting her sixth child. Denise is her neighbor, who secretly envies Jenny her ability to pro-create and watches her and her children from across the street. She is plotting to kidnap Jenny and steal her baby.

Unknown to Denise, Jenny has a complication that requires a caesarian section. Although the title gives away the main event of the novel, the reader is kept in suspense, as the well-being of Jenny and her baby are held in the balance.

At home, Tom takes care of his five children, praying and hoping that Jenny will be found and returned before she goes into labor. Kathy is the police detective who follows the scanty clues to try to find her whereabouts.

“Stealing Jenny” departs from the Ellen’s previous novels in style in that it is modern, without historic elements, and more of a thriller in its genre, with out-of- the ordinary events happening to the heroine. However, the undercurrents of faith, hope, and marital love present in the first two novels are the same here.

The self-analysis that the characters go through in her first two novels is also a big part of the book. Ellen writes in the omniscient third person, bringing the reader into the thoughts of each of her main characters. At times, the characters reminisce, letting us know what has happened in the past to cause them to act or think the way they do in the present. Ellen does this skillfully and seamlessly.

Why anyone would be so ignorant and blatantly disregarding of human life to try such a scheme, Ellen explains by giving Denise’s history. Ellen’s attitude toward the protagonist is a Christian one, hating the action but showing sympathy toward the sinner.

Any woman who has ever really wanted to conceive; any woman who has been through a miscarriage; and any woman who has been through a difficult pregnancy, will sympathize with Jenny, even before she gets kidnapped. Her condition adds a heightened dimension to the plot of a kidnapping.

I would recommend this to anyone who likes suspenseful novels. If you are going to give this to a teenager, you should read it first. The book deals with such topics as premarital sex, abortion, and labor in an unusual situation. The moral viewpoint is Catholic and pro-life.

“Stealing Jenny” will be available from Full Quiver Publishing and Amazon.com on September 15, 2011.

Look for my review of “Come My Beloved: Inspiring Stories of Catholic Courtship”, edited by Ellen Gable, in the coming weeks.

For more information about the author Ellen Gable and her books:
www.ellengable.com
www.fullquiverpublishing.com
www.twitter.com/EllenGable
Editor, Come My Beloved: Inspiring Stories of Catholic Courtship www.comemybeloved.com
Author, "Emily's Hope" www.emilyshope.com (Honorable Mention 2006 IPPY Awards)
Author, "In Name Only" www.innameonly.ca (Gold Medal winner 2010 IPPY Awards)

Irene

2011-08-28T21:33:00.000-07:00

A Passing Shower On Long Island

The impending storm barely blipped on my radar earlier this week. I received an email from Examiner asking for articles relating to “Extreme Weather” in connection to Hurricane Irene. In recent years we have had so many tropical storms come our way that I don’t give them much notice. “Every family should always be prepared for an emergency,” I wrote in my column, “If you have all the staples in your house you won’t have to run out and buy batteries, bread, and water.”

On Thursday night, I had a list building up, and finally decided to take a trip to Wal-Mart. The bunny and dog needed to eat, and I recently noticed the family’s underwear was getting a little threadbare. My twelve-year-old tagged along, wanting to buy some new material for a project she wanted to sew.

Rolling around the store with a cart filled with socks and underwear, I felt amused looking at the things other people were buying. Stacks of water bottles. I made a mental note to start filling empty jugs with tap water.

“Sorry, ma’am, we’re all out of batteries. Flashlights too,” an employee explained to a customer. I wondered, why did people need all these batteries and why did they not have an emergency supply at home? How many people did not already have a flashlight at home?

I felt proud of myself as I checked out. I had none of the mundane supplies other people were buying. We had materials for a weekend project, our pets would be fed, and if we had an emergency we would not be caught with holes in our socks or underwear.

Friday I saw the Red Cross signs outside of our local high school and I started to get nervous. I went back to Wal-mart to buy tape for my windows. I noticed they had restocked their batteries.

On line with my three rolls of Duck brand strapping tape, I stayed quiet as a large, rough-looking man in front of me waved his arms and declared, “All this … for Irene…. BAH!” and he threw a small piece of rolled up paper into a side display. “After I check out I have to take care of the a—hole in the auto department. He told me he was all out of batteries and I said, ‘Show me where they used to be,’ and he pointed, and there they still were, and I said, ‘What do those look like, a—hole?’… I know a shyster when I see one and I knew he was a liar...A real con artist…You’re pretty quiet aren’t you?” [I nodded.] “You don’t let much bother you do you?” [I shook my head.] “Yeah I can tell about people.”

I looked away, hoping he would stop talking to me, and fortunately he was swiftly taken care of. I noticed a big supply of batteries behind the counter. He had told someone else he only had AAA and AA so I asked him for the largest package of AA. Not that I didn’t have them at home; it is the size we most frequently need. I scanned the display for flashlights. I didn’t see any and didn’t ask. I knew of at least one working flashlight in the kitchen drawer.

As I walked out, I passed the man at the courtesy counter, complaining about the a—hole in automotive.

When I got home, there was a message from the Town of Brookhaven. “This storm will be a historic one of epic proportions,” it said, and listed all the important things to do. [Note the current advise is NOT to tape the windows, but my dad was a builder and he still says tape them, so I do.]

The kids asked me why I was taping up the windows. I remembered asking my parents the same thing before Hurricane Gloria in 1985. I remembered their answer. “It keeps the glass from shattering if it breaks,” I answered.

“It’s not even going to be a big storm,” my eldest said.

“You have never seen a real hurricane honey, you are in for an experience,“ I said.

“Didn’t you write in your column you were supposed to tell your kids not to be scared?” she challenged.

“That is true. But I also want you not to be blasé about it and help me to prepare,” I answered.

We walked around the yard, picking up toys, furniture, flower pots, garbage pails, and other loose items. We secured them all in the shed and garage. After swimming, we secured all the pool stuff in the pool storage unit.

I went food shopping, not because of the storm, but because we were out of food. I planned on having the electricity go out on Sunday. So I bought enough perishables to last through Saturday night and got lots of bread, nuts, fruit, vegetables, and cereal. I remembered my need for coffee and picked up some instant coffee. Three gallons of milk and six cans of evaporated milk.

A man behind me had a shopping cart filled with beer and iced tea. A Hurricane Party?, I wondered. The lady in front of me had a cart filled with junk food. People don’t even buy healthy food when they’re not in a hurry, I thought.

Saturday brought a little rain and kept my husband home. “I’m going for a swim,” he said. We pulled out a couple of pairs of goggles and all did our laps. I showered, my last shower for the week, I thought. I made dinner, my last fully home-cooked meal for the week, I thought. I filled the washer machine with water for flushing toilets and washing hands in case the water stopped pumping.

Then we waited. The kids wanted to stay up for the storm. We told them they would miss it if they slept too late. We stayed up and watched the coverage.

I didn’t sleep well. There is a very tall pine tree behind my bedroom, and I was worried it would crash through the roof and land on me while I was sleeping. I kept waking up, and turning on the television to make sure we still had electricity and satellite service. At 3:00 a.m. there were young men walking around in the streets of the evacuated town of Long Beach with a blown-up dolphin. At 4:00 a.m. there were people swimming at Long Beach. At 5:00 a.m. the eye was coming into the tri-state area. At 8:00 a.m. it passed over New York City. It was downgraded to a tropical storm.

At 10:00 a.m. the phone rang. My little brother had called to check up on me. “We’re fine,” I answered groggily, “We were sleeping.” I went back to bed, and when I woke up at 11 the storm was over.

The kids woke up and looked out the windows.

“We told you it would just be a little rain,” my daughter said.

“You did say that,” I responded.

“And you said it would be a big storm,” she prodded.

“None of us is the expert. You made a lucky guess,” I said.

I was thankful we were okay and that everyone we knew was okay, but I couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. I had kind of wanted my kids to experience a real storm – but safely. One of these days there really will be a direct hurricane hit here, and nobody will believe it.

Upon further inspection, I discovered my gutters had come a little lose in three spots. That will require some tacking down. Maybe we did have enough of a storm after all.

My daughter and I made a pillow together – so the weekend wasn’t a total loss. I drove to the library to return a movie. The traffic lights were out. I passed three uprooted trees.

On the radio, a meteorologist stated that this year several hurricanes will follow the same path. The next one is due in 15 days. “Consider this last one a dress rehearsal for the direct hit of a real hurricane,” said another of my favorite meteorologists.

I have a full stock of batteries and water, a roll of strapping tape, and five loaves of bread. Maybe I should leave the flowers in the garage.

Welcome to the Texting World

2011-08-09T07:04:00.000-07:00

“Give me your cell number so I can text you the information,” the coach said over the (home land line) telephone last week.

“We don’t have texting,” I replied.

He laughed at me. “Well, texting is how we get information to the parents during our away tournaments,” he explained, “so it really is necessary.”

The next day I was on the phone with my cell phone company adding texting to our family plan.

My husband and I have resisted this for several years now, seeing no “up” side to the ability to text information to people, when email and phone calls can do the same job. Everywhere I look I see people looking down at their phones, their thumbs going crazy. Up to this point, I have been happy to be relatively immune to the outside world when I am out with my children. The cell phone only rings if one of my children needs to get in touch with me. I can enjoy the here and now.

I started to have second thoughts while at Pony Nationals in North Carolina two weeks ago. I was at a park in the middle of nowhere at 7 a.m., my 12- and 5- year olds in tow. I was carting a medium-sized cooler full of ice and water bottles. I was on foot when I realized I was at the wrong field, and there were six other fields in the park. Then I was told there were copperhead snakes in the woods.

I called one of the other mothers on the team, who picked us up, brought us back to our car, and had us follow her to the correct field. When I got there, the other parents said that the manager had texted them the correct field number.

So I thought maybe, just maybe, I would add it on to my plan before the next school year started. My older daughter has been missing team texts for cross country, and my son’s baseball team now uses texting as its primary form of communication. I also get bad reception on the phone and can hardly hear the person on the other end.

I tried to send my husband my first text. “I” I wrote and hit send by accident.

He called me back. “Did you try to call me?” he asked.

“No. I tried to write I love you.”

“Why don’t you just call me?” he stated, annoyed.

“I’m sure the office will appreciate you have texting now,” I offered.

“The beeper works fine,” he insisted.

Friday found us on the way to Massachusetts for the tournament with this new team. My 12- and 14- year olds were pretty quiet in the back seat, giggling once in a while about something someone had texted them. They were communicating with every girl they knew who had a cell phone, even the ones they don’t usually talk to.

We got to their cousins’ house and found there was no cell phone reception in the house. I was slightly relieved. Until that evening when I was still waiting for a text from the coach about what time to meet for breakfast. I had to go out in the middle of the street, being eaten by bugs, to find a signal.

They locked up the house, not knowing I was out there. I rang the doorbell. My brother-in-law opened the door, surprised. “I was trying to get a text,” I answered, embarrassed.

“Welcome to the texting world,” my friend texted me.

“Thanks,” I replied.

“Yeah,” she wrote.

Full Count

2011-07-08T19:28:00.000-07:00

Ball one. Outside.

It is a stressful evening, getting four kids ready to go out the door for our typical evening of sports. Dinner is on the table when they get home from school. Three of them play for travel ball teams, and they all have to be in different locations at 5:30 for games or practices.

Strike one. On the swing.

I drop one daughter to her coach’s house at 4:30. She has a 12U softball game at 6:00. The older daughter will get picked up by a teammate for her 14U softball practice, also at 6:00. I decide to go with my son for the emotional support he needs as starting pitcher on his baseball team.

Ball two. A little high.

My four-year-old looks frantically for all the little things she must have in her backpack. I question my son: Do you have your sports goggles? Water bottle? Athletic cup? Glove? Cleats? I double check the location of the game. We get out the door, carefully, making sure our big naughty puppy doesn’t get out with us.

Strike two. Looking.

In the car, I am feeling really stressed out. “Just a little more grace, Lord. I just need a little more grace to get through this evening.” Once I get to the game, I feel much better. I clear my head of where everybody else is, what has happened earlier, and what will happen later. My daughter finds other little girls to play with. My son goes to warm up. I say hello to the other parents.

Ball three. Inside. FULL COUNT.

We’re up one run, top of the sixth inning, and my son is on the mound. Three boys are in scoring position. The rest of the world disappears. My heart pounds. “Take your time, walk around,” I tell him.

Strike three. THE BATTER IS OUT.

The boys run out to the pitcher’s mound and pile on top of each other. In a ten-year-old boys’ world, a win is the happiest moment of his life. And for me, nothing else matters.

A Dream Worth Keeping

2011-06-26T18:25:00.000-07:00

The day of the rehearsal for my daughter’s first dance recital, the rain was as close to a monsoon as it gets on Long Island. My 14-year-old put her 4-year-old sister’s hair up into a bun and arranged her tutu just so. We left an hour before our assigned rehearsal time; with a seldom-used umbrella I carried my little ballerina to the car so she wouldn’t have to step in any puddles.

With my windshield wipers on their highest setting, I could barely see. A truck threw gallons of water on my windshield. “Freakin’ truck!” I complained.

In her toddler seat, my little girl repeated, “Freakin’ truck!” The kids laughed as I reprimanded myself.

I found the entrance for the Stellar Arts Center and entered the parking garage, much dismayed to see that I would have to pay $4 for the privilege of parking. I sent my older daughters ahead to look at the sign which mapped out the university’s buildings. Once they were sure of the path, they led the way and I carried our little girl to the proper doorway.

The dance teacher was a half hour late, which gave more latecomers time to get into their places on time. The studio owners grumbled about how their schedule had been jumbled by her lateness. We all knew she had been suffering adversity other than the weather. The girls played about happily in the front row, the last time they would be able to see each other all together other than at the actual show.

Finally they were ready for us. The girls went up, ages 2 through 5, with no problems because they were so comfortable with their teacher. They took their places, laying in a sleeping position. They danced to a number from one of the original save-the-rainforest animated movies, “Fern Gulley”. I was glad this class got to do a real ballet number, because the other “combo” classes were doing tap, and my daughter wants to be a prima ballerina.

My other children were with me, partly as a way to save money so I wouldn’t have to pay $25.50 for each of them to see their sister’s number on Saturday, partly because I was not sure if their ball game schedule would interfere with their ability to come that day. They got to see it twice, and were happy with that. I got all the pictures I needed.

The studio owner came to the edge of the stage and said, “They could use a touch of color.” To me, a touch of color means a little sun. She meant makeup.

“My daughter can’t wear makeup,” I said, “She has allergies.” The other mothers knew what I meant, because it had come up in conversation recently. Some of us were okay with a little makeup and some of us were adamantly against it for girls so young.

“Well, for those of you without allergies, I recommend a little blush and lipstick. Their faces get washed out onstage and they come up better on the video with a little makeup.”

A video I would not be buying anyway. The recommendation made me a little upset.

Saturday came, and all their games were canceled, but we decided just Kevin and I would go with her. Audrey did her hair again. Sans makeup, I thought she was the most beautiful ballerina I had ever seen.

It was a beautiful day, and parking was free that day. We walked to the center together. I was forced to hand her over to the studio owner backstage. “Will she be okay?” my husband asked.

In the dance arena, she is totally at ease. I knew she would be fine.

The show opened with a ridiculous “artistic” number; then the curtain opened on the little girls. The audience oohed and aahed at the precious little ones “sleeping” on the stage. They “awoke”; the littler girls followed the older girls, who were following the dance teacher offstage. They missed a few steps (I had seen this in practice many times in the studio) and came off their assigned places, but that did not detract from the performance. I cried of course.

I had to go back to retrieve her. She was all smiles when I handed her a light pink carnation. Most of her friends were going home, and she wanted to do the same.

“But I thought you wanted to see the rest of the show,” I protested, “Daddy is waiting for you in our seats.”

She got increasingly upset as we entered the dark theatre. She insisted she wanted to go home. The music was too loud, she said. She was obviously overwhelmed at the enormity of the experience. So we went home.

And she slept, this time for real, wearing her purple tutu.

Book Review: "The Invisible World" by Anthony DeStefano

2011-06-17T18:04:00.000-07:00

If you ever doubted the existence of God, the supernatural, angels, the devil, or Hell, this book will give you pause. Not only does DeStefano give a compelling argument for their existence; he argues that the devil tries to convince us of their nonexistence as one of his tools to win over your soul. Within a general traditional Christian framework of doctrine that both Catholics and Protestants can agree upon, the author offers ways that an openness to the spiritual world will enrich your life.

Did you ever feel the need to pick up the phone and call someone, and it turns out they were thinking about you and/or really needed your support at that exact moment? Did you ever wake up in the middle of the night and feel something was terribly wrong, and pray, and find out the next day that someone you loved was in a crisis? Did you ever have a terrible tension headache and find out that a family member was in trouble? DeStefano calls this “The Haunt Detector”. It could be the Holy Spirit was speaking to you.

Did you ever escape an accident by the most unusual of circumstances? Your guardian angels were looking out for you. DeStefano discusses “The World of the Angels” in his chapter “Invisible Helpers”. On the other hand, are you wondering why you or a loved one has fallen victim to a terrible illness? The author explains this in his chapter “The Power of Suffering”.

The author discusses the nature of the Invisible World including God, angels, demons, the soul, spiritual warfare, grace, suffering, your eternal destiny, and finally how to see the invisible. DeStefano is here to tell you to be open to God’s presence, in its many forms. Don’t be an impractical mystic, but live your life, while continually looking for the little ways He is present to you. Don’t ignore your gut instinct, which is actually the Holy Spirit, guiding you on the right path.

You might not need this book if you have already been reading the works of great spiritual writers such as St. Thomas Acquinas, St. Catherine of Siena, St. Theresa of Avila, and St. Therese of Liseux. I highly recommend this book as an introduction to the spiritual world for the general reader.

“The Invisible World” by Anthony DeStefano was published by Doubleday in 2011. It is available on at Amazon.com and at Barnes & Noble and Borders bookstores. For more information see the author’s webpage at www.anthonydestefano.com or see the video trailer at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1foChLV7z7s

Parenting to Potential

2011-05-18T20:25:00.000-07:00

May 19, 1997. 3:14 a.m. In the months, hours, and minutes leading up to that life-changing moment, I knew I was going to have a blessed addition to my life. What I didn’t know was that my life was about to change at the most fundamental level.

All my preconceptions about God, my life plans, parenting, relationships, and who I was as a person went out the window that day. Like my figure, there was the pre-baby me and the new me.

Having a baby caused me to trust God more; examine my relationships with self, God, and others more; and live in the present. As I rocked my baby to sleep in the early morning hours, the past and the future melted away. During the daytime, lack of sleep made me feel like my neurons were shriveling away; instead, new connections were building, making me smarter in the ways that matter. I felt weak but in that humble state asked for grace...and that grace made me stronger.

In a few hours my baby girl will be 14. When I look at her, I see myself in many ways, but I see other things that just amaze me. I don’t know what God’s plans are for her, but I know she is using the gifts He gave her to become what she is meant to be. At every stage of development, it is like watching a miracle happen.

As we approach each stage for the first time, nothing in the books can fully prepare us to handle them. It is only with the support of family, prayer, and quiet listening for the guidance of the Holy Spirit that we can get through it with grace. And, like with every child’s stage of psychosocial development, when we get through that stage with him or her, we become stronger too.

Not only does God have a plan for every child; He also uses them to help their parents fulfill their own potential. Love them at every stage!

It is you who were the author of those events and of what preceded and followed them. The present, also, and the future you have planned. Whatever you devise comes into being;
the things you decide on come forward and say, 'Here we are!' All your ways are in readiness, and your judgment is made with foreknowledge.
- Judith 9:5b-6

Every Day is Mothers’ Day

2011-05-09T18:04:00.001-07:00

Lotte (Werther\'s Leiden)

My Mom
Elizabeth
Nice, loving,
Hardworking, moneymaking, caring,
Very nice to people
Mom
Happy Mother’s Day 2011

This was the card my ten-year-old son gave to me the day after Mother’s Day. He had written it in school, of course, as the teacher has them do every year, but had forgotten to give it to me, as I knew to be the case.

I was just as pleased to receive this on Monday afternoon. The adjectives I knew came straight from his heart, and I was pleased to see how he saw me. It was nicely balanced between the characteristics of the traditional mom and those of the modern mom. My Monday was much more relaxing than my Sunday, and I soaked it all in.

Mother’s Day started at 7 a.m., when I was woken by my alarm and repeatedly went to my twelve-year-old daughter’s room to wake her up for her softball games. It was a lovely 70-degree-day with sun and a breeze; it was warm enough to wear shorts and cool enough to wear a sweatshirt. I scored the full fourteen innings of the double header, during which my daughter’s entire team played great.

At home, my husband went food shopping, tended to the younger kids, and then took my eldest daughter to her softball practice. We finally met up at the latter practice, where I opted to stay and bask in the sun and other mothers’ company while he took the younger ones home.

Once home, I took a nap while dinner was cooking. (The previous day had been even busier and I had opted to order dinner out that night instead.) After dinner and coffee, I got to work on a 3,000-word essay that was due Monday morning. I finished that up around 2 a.m. and slept until 10.

It is my freelance writing job that has taken me away from my blog lately. I take what jobs I need to pay for our growing sports bill and the gas to get to all the games. I opt to work at night so I can concentrate better and free up my days to do all the things we do.

The kids like to look over my shoulder. “What are you working on today, Mom? How much are you getting paid?” I like that they take an interest in how I make a living. I think that my husband and I set a good example to them of how a couple can and should cooperate as equals, sharing in household and family duties, while budgeting according to the family’s priorities.

The kids need me less in some ways, but more in other ways. They force me to toe the line on a daily basis. Comment too much on my almost-14-year-old’s Facebook page and she tells me to stop it. Fail to comment for a few days and I get, “Why didn’t you say anything about the drawing I posted?”

Mostly they just need me to wash their uniforms for their daily games. On Friday I neglected to do the laundry and Saturday was yelling at them because they couldn’t find their uniforms. Right before game time I found them on the bottom of the laundry basket. I took them all with the appropriately colored shirt minus the proper logo.

The drier stops. Gotta go fold that right away because this mommy doesn’t have time to iron.

Every day is Mothers’ Day.

Stitches

2011-03-23T14:48:00.000-07:00

Istabraq, Champion Hurdler

What do you think of when you see a fence? To me a fence represents a challenge, something blocking my way from where I want to go, something to be climbed.

In my lifetime I have climbed many fences, both metaphorically and physically. The first time I climbed a fence that I remember, I was eight years old. I was in the yard of my elementary school and saw the tops of trees from the neighboring sump. I was so curious I had to climb the chain link fence to see. My adventure ended in the nurse’s office with butterflies on my left hand. I still have the scar.

Flash forward thirty years.

I am at my daughter’s softball practice and a ball goes over the fence into the neighboring golf course. This time it is a seven-foot tall chain link fence. But no matter. Thrilled to have something to do, I jump over the top of the fence. As I bring my left leg over, I discover that I am caught in some brambles. I try to disentangle myself and wind up putting my hand through the top of the fence. This time it is my right hand. It has gone straight through the webbing between my thumb and forefinger, and I can see the muscles in my hand.

One of the coaches is trained in first aid, and wraps up my hand. “Do you need a ride to the hospital?” he asks.

“No, I’ll be okay,” I say, trying to put a brave face on things.

I leave my one daughter in the coach’s care and stop home to tell my oldest daughter what has happened. I ask her to let her daddy know what happened but not to alarm him. I am feeling a little light-headed. Attributing it to my lack of dinner, I grab a canister of almonds and make my way to the hospital.

On my way, I yell at myself for being so stupid. The pain is really getting to me. I start shaking and I don’t know why. About halfway there, I feel really woozy. I think I am going to pass out. I signal to the driver to my right to let me in, drive myself off the road, and call 911.

So the ambulance comes and I humbly repeat my story several times, although I can barely speak. On the way to the hospital, the shaking gets worse. My blood pressure is up to 160. “What is happening?” I ask the kind EMT.

“You are going into shock. You have to think happy thoughts. Put yourself in a good place.”

Shock? I don’t even really understand the concept, but it sounds scary. “Can I die from shock? I have 4 kids at home!” I exclaim. I am making things worse, knowing (with my psychology degree) that I am making things worse, and I feel helpless to stop it.

Now I’m in the emergency room, and several professionals take a look at my hand before I get the same doctor I had four years ago when my infant scratched my cornea!

“Have you been here before?” asks the tall, gaunt Russian doctor.

I nod.

“I never forget a face…you had a corneal abrasion.”

I’m impressed.

He inspects, confirms no nerve or muscle damage, and guides the physician assistant in stitching up my hand. Seven stitches (and four hours) later I am ready to go but still haven’t been in touch with my husband. My cell phone won’t work and there is no public telephone. I walk to the lobby, where someone lets me use the courtesy phone.

“I need you to pick me up,” I say.

“Didn’t you drive?”

“I’ll explain later.”

A half hour later, my husband is relieved at my explanation, and I am relieved that the reason he hadn’t come was that my daughter had misunderstood the story and told him I just had a small scratch from a rose bush!

“What, do you think you’re 14?” he jokes.

One week later, I am on the mend, now able to type again. The stitches come out in another week. Over the weekend, I resisted the temptation to go over a few other fences to fetch errant balls, finding my way around or through a few.

Romans 8:38-39
“For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor present things, nor future things, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

**These are the times when you hope that your doctors are well-trained and the nursing assistants have completed CNA certification courses.**

Petition against Statue Offending Our Blessed Mother

2011-03-23T11:50:00.000-07:00

Mary was pure and courageous enough to give birth to Jesus, who gave his life that we might live.

Along comes artist Soasig Chamaillard who blasphemes the names of Mary and Jesus, turning Our Blessed Mother into a vampire. Vampires represent the anti-Christ; they suck the blood and life out of people while he gave his blood that we might live. In the form of a statue, Mary is also represented as My Little Pony and Superwoman.

Note that while I am for free speech and expression, we also have the right to express outrage when Our Lord and Our Lady are attacked. If you are horrified by these misrepresentations, please take a moment to sign a petition to remove this exhibit from the Albane Art Gallery in the city of Nantes, France.

Grounders

2011-03-14T20:01:00.000-07:00

I felt the pain when I tried to cut my daughter’s English muffin in half. As I brought my arm back to perform the cutting motion, the ache throbbed from my neck to the back of the upper arm.

Grounders.

How many grounders had I tossed during the live draft of the minors baseball division the previous day? Three to a boy, for about 90 boys…270. That could do it.

The most fun was when my own son came into the gym. I grinned wide.

“Watch, I’m gonna throw them really fast to him,” I said to his friend, who was catching the balls that the boys would throw back.

“Don’t throw it too hard!” his friend called across the gym to my son.

I threw the first one really hard, and bouncy, so he’d have to watch for the hop. Then one fast to the right, so he’d have to shuffle his feet and move to get it. The last one was fast to the left.

I threw them like that to all the boys that came out looking confidently athletic. Slow to the boys who seemed hesitant or undeveloped.

When they were all done, I drove my son home, took the temperatures of two daughters who were not feeling well, administered medicine, made sure my eldest daughter was ready to be picked up by her teammate for travel softball practice, grabbed a handful of almonds and a banana, and drove back to the high school to sign in the boys in the majors baseball division.

The inclusion of women in sports can only have a positive effect on society. Males admire athletic females; today they are not afraid to admit if one is stronger, faster, or more skilled in a sport. At the leadership level, they respect their input, organizational skills, and the “female intuition” they can bring to the table.

As a mother, getting involved in your child’s sports beyond the spectator level can be extremely rewarding for both you and your child. Your child knows that you share his passion; he learns more about you as he sees how you interact in a different sphere from home; and he may admire and respect you even more as you surprise him with what you can bring to his favorite sport.

“Because of the global dimensions this activity has assumed, those involved in sports throughout the world have a great responsibility. They are called to make sports an opportunity for meeting and dialogue, over and above every barrier of language, race or culture. Sports, in fact, can make an effective contribution to peaceful understanding between peoples and to establishing the new civilization of love.” – Pope John Paul II, Jubilee of Sports People, Homily, Oct. 10, 2000

I came across a terrific document, a special edition of “The Living Light” that includes several essays about “Sports as Religious Education”. You can download it here.

Gnomeo and Juliet: A Movie Review

2011-03-02T20:31:00.000-08:00

Who could forget the story of Romeo and Juliet? Anyone who had this story overanalyzed in their high school literature class will remember the tragic events leading to the deaths of both young lovers. Here we have a retelling with a happy ending. The other major difference is that the characters are played by garden gnomes.

With very little prologue, the audience is taken to the front yards of the Capulets and Montagues. The owners of the houses hurl insults at each other as they leave for work. Once they are gone, the garden gnomes come to life, revealing the materialistic and antagonistic tendencies they have inherited from their owners. The Blues (Montague) and the Reds (Capulet) are obsessed with outdoing the other’s gardens.

While on a mission to obtain a beautiful flower from the top of a greenhouse for her family’s garden, Juliet Capulet meets with Gnomeo Montague. He is on a revenge mission and they are both in disguise. It is love at first sight, and they play-fight over the flower until their disguises are removed and they discover they each come from opposing families.

With the help of a frog gnome, who plays the nanny to Juliet, and a pink flamingo, who serves as a sort of chaperone during their trysts, Gnomeo and Juliet meet several times. In the meantime, the war between their families continues. Ben Montague loses his tall blue hat in a fight with Tybalt Capulet. Gnomeo attempts revenge through a mower race with Tybalt. Tybalt loses, crashing his mower into a fence and getting smashed. An angry crowd chases Gnomeo into the street.

It appears that Gnomeo has gotten crushed in the street, but actually what they see is a broken teacup that has fallen out of a truck. With Gnomeo missing and taken for dead, the war between the houses escalates, with the purchase of an upscale tractor mower. Juliet’s father glues her to a pedestal at the top of a fountain so she can stay “safe” at home.

I love the part where Gnomeo converses with a statue of William Shakespeare, asking him how his story ends. Shakespeare found it both suitable and satisfactory that they both die in the end. Gnomeo is determined on a better fate. He returns just in time and, although both gardens are ruined by the upscale tractor mower that has gone into “destruction” mode, the two families decide to end their feud and forgive one another.

The movie ends with a wedding. The flamingo finds his long-lost love. Tybalt even gets glued together and is seen dancing at the wedding.

A few parts that parents may find objectionable include a garden gnome in a revealing bathing suit that shows his entire backside, a joke about a squirrel losing his “nuts”, and a flashback scene in which the flamingo is showing how he lost his true love due to the separation of the couple who owned their house. In my opinion these are trivial issues that don’t take away from the overall charm of the movie. Parents may want to discuss the fact that Gnomeo and Juliet sneak out to court without the permission of their parents.

The message of the movie is a Christian one of love and forgiveness. Courtship and matrimony are also shown in a positive light.

Review of “Song of Renewal” by Emily Sue Harvey

2011-02-22T08:48:00.000-08:00

Emily Sue Harvey published her first novel, Song of Renewal, in 2009. Apparently she thought she could do better, because she went on to add 35,000 words for the paperback version, which will be released in February 2011.

Song of Renewal is the character-driven story of a nuclear family, each member described in great depth with third-person omniscient narration. Liza, a prima ballerina, gives up dancing to be the devoted stay-at-home mother of her little ballerina. Garrison, a gifted painter, puts his artistic dream to the side so he can better support his family through his commercial art business.

At age 16, Angel is struggling with living up to her mother’s dream for her to be a dancer, while she wants to be a doctor. She is in love with the boy next door, and one fateful, rainy night they go off to a show. Troy is killed and Angel is left in a coma.

The couple is left to pick up the pieces of their marriage, once passionate in their early and idealistic years, now in a cold stand-off. Liza struggles with feelings of abandonment, based in childhood trauma; Garrison is unable forgive her for letting the couple drive that night. Angel’s thoughts, as she lies in a coma, reflect the experiences of coma survivors, well-researched by the author.

Later in the novel Liza’s hard-as-nails-on-the-outside sister Charlcy enters the picture, with her own marital issues to resolve. Other secondary characters include Penny, Angel’s best friend from cheerleading, who seems to be ever at Angel’s bedside and a great support to Liza; and a doctor who has herself recovered from paraplegia.

Harvey knows how to choose her words. She uses the language of artists and dancers to describe the passions of her main characters. She is able to speak about marital sex in a dignified way that preserves its holiness. And she is able to explore the depths of each character’s soul in a way that makes the reader feel the character is real and knowable.

She also knows how to carefully construct a story, using preludes, flashbacks, personal thoughts, and dramatic conflict. When you reach the climax chapter, you will know you are there, because the emotional tension is as tight as it can get before it is released, and you cannot remain unaffected by it.

Although never preachy, the values of this book are thoroughly Christian, maintaining the importance of a whole marriage, and demonstrating the healing power of forgiveness. Both Old and New Testaments of The Bible are referenced with the characters’ thoughts. The chapel is an important room within the hospital.

Song of Renewal is a delicious read from cover-to-cover, extremely well-written, with a satisfying ending.

The book was originally released in hardcover in 2009. The new paperbook version, which has 35,000 additional words, was released on Feb.22,2011.

For ordering information please visit the publisher’s website “The Story Plant”

Emily Sue Harvey hosts her own website, “Renewal Stories”, which offers some of her own short stories and allows readers to share their own stories of renewal.

Being a Model for the Pro-Life Cause

2011-02-18T14:36:00.000-08:00

Phil. 4:8 "Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is gracious, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things."

The purpose of my blog is to highlight the blessings that come from motherhood. It is easy to get bogged down by the hardships of everyday life. Sometimes that just comes down to the monotonousness of doing laundry and endless cleanups after small children – or growing children who should know better. Add in the stress of finances, jobs, household maintenance, illness, and death, and sometimes the joy gets lost in the mix.

I try to portray a realistic picture of my family, so you know I am just like you, doing my best to be the best mom I can be to my little blessings. But I also don’t dwell on the negative. A thankful heart is a happy heart. I hope that my readers come away from my blog with a little ray of sunshine that will help with the rest of their day.

I don’t talk about abortion on my blog very much but it is always on my mind. I was horrified to hear the statistic that 41 percent of babies conceived in New York City are aborted. There is genocide going on every day in America, and our leaders are condoning it.

I also bear in mind the sobering statistic that shocked me when I was in my early twenties: one out of three women has had an abortion by the time she reaches the age of 40. Statistically that means that, perhaps unknown to you, out of your three best friends one has probably had an abortion.

What does that mean to me in the way I go about my life? For one thing, it means that I don’t go around bashing people who have had abortions. I believe that most of the mothers who have lost their babies go through a lifetime of mourning and what they need is forgiveness and healing. They don’t need to be reminded on a daily basis of the decision they made, most likely under the worst of circumstances and without the positive support of loving family members and friends willing to help save two lives.

My husband once commented, “We don’t need a pro-life bumper sticker. People can see the four kids getting out of our mini-van.” The way to be a model for the pro-life cause is to show people that kids are wonderful to have, not burdens. Go around and treat people nicely. If you see another mom having trouble with one of her kids, show her some compassion; don’t give her a dirty look. If someone you know is thinking about having a baby, give her encouragement.

Many of my friends on Facebook are pro-life and put up pro-life messages every day. Most of these are informative and supportive of the cause. Sometimes they go a little too far and put up pictures of aborted babies. When I see this, it is like getting a knife in the heart. I am on Facebook trying to communicate with my friends, and without warning I am faced with a picture portraying “excessive violence”, which happens to be against the rules on Facebook.

So I put up a status update stating: “I am 100% prolife but am offended by pictures of aborted babies posted on FB. I have hidden posts from anyone who does this.”

A good friend of mine from high school commented, “Omg who does that?!”

I am still waiting for a good explanation.

There are people on the pro-life side who don't realize that these kinds of techniques are hurtful to the pro-life cause making us look like radicals. Take the PETA people and their in-the-face commercials and advertisements. If you like to eat meat, what they do is not going to change your mind. However, if someone presents evidence in a civilized manner that cows are mistreated, perhaps I will go out of my way to purchase meat from a farm that practices humane care of their animals. Throw paint on my fox fur coat and I will not think kindly of you. Tell me nicely that you once had a pet fox and it hurts you to see me wear that kind of fur, and I might take it off.

Besides the fact that it makes good business sense to treat people with dignity and respect when trying to influence the way they think about an issue, we are Christians. Christians always act out of love, using gentle means toward their positive goals.

Valentine’s Day: Slices of Life

2011-02-14T10:50:00.000-08:00

St John The Evangelist Teaching The New Commandment 'That Ye Love One Another', 1861 Canvas Painting by Valentine Cameron Prinsep - Easyart.com

Valentine’s Day 1991. I was lifeguarding during the evening swim hours at a local public school with a couple of my guy friends. They sent me out to buy a pizza at a fancy Italian restaurant that just happened to have a good deal on takeout pizzas. Waiting for my pizza in the lobby, I watched couple after couple come in and sit down at a cozy table for two.

I’ll never meet anybody worth spending time on, I thought. Maybe I am supposed to be a nun. Such hopelessness from a usually-optimistic 18-year-old !

Valentine’s Day 1992. After dinner with my first boyfriend, he said to me, “I love you.” Other than my Daddy, he was the first man to ever speak those words to me. Taught not to ever take or speak those words lightly, I said, “Thank you.”

I don’t remember when I finally said it back to him, but it was after much long consideration. Once we both knew we were meant for each other, we didn’t wait long to marry. We tied the knot on July 23, 1993.

Valentine’s Day 2011. He’s working, and I’m taking the girls to their evening travel softball practices. There are homemade paper valentines and chocolates on the table for our four little valentines. There are no candles in the house. A left-over manicotti casserole is defrosting on the kitchen counter.

There will likely be valentines and small gifts exchanged later…but it’s all just icing on the cake of life. Every day is Valentine’s Day when there is love in a family.

I John 4:7
“ Beloved, let us love one another, because love is of God; everyone who loves is begotten by God and knows God.”

Contraception Commercials

2011-02-05T04:58:00.000-08:00

What’s worse: a broken watermelon in your living room or a perforated uterus? If the latest Mirena commercials are to be believed, the first one is horrific; the second, just one of many possible side effects. This new series of commercials features a mother with two children, sometimes adorable, with a nice house and plans to travel. Suddenly they make a mess and she is saying, “Maybe I had enough”. Then there is another sweet moment, followed by a “…or maybe not.”

This whole picture of family life is totally jaded. When you marry someone it is “for better or for worse”. When you have children, it is for all of those moments of all kinds. It is the whole experience of what God is going to give you in that little mystery package you carry for nine months.

People don’t believe that a contraceptive mentality leads to abortion. Why, then, does New York City, which boasts high availability of family planning, have a 41 percent abortion rate? It is this very picture that is presented in the commercials. You can keep your perfect life with your well-formed plans, or you can throw caution to the wind…and something unpleasant might happen to your off-white parlor.

I, for one, try to keep a neat living room, but wouldn’t trade cleanliness or a bigger bank account or a trip to Europe for less kids. Finger paint on the walls, moldings eaten by the dog, red ink that exploded on the piano, muddy cleats on the front porch…these to me are the marking of a happy life, filled with the love of a husband and four kids…and all their pets.

Natural family planning has the same effectiveness as the birth control pill. In its practice, the difference is the trust factor. NFP fosters trust in God, your partner, and yourself. In the outcome, it can also mean the difference between “oops” and “a blessing from God”.

If you enjoyed this post you might want to read an older post of mine, “Our Little Observers: Talking to Kids About Contraception and the Media”.

Blog Giveway to CSN Stores

2011-01-18T19:16:00.001-08:00

It's a blog giveaway! One lucky winner will be awarded a $55 gift certificate to CSN Stores, a group of online stores selling everything for the home from baby cribs to adjustable bar stools. The certificate will cover anything in the stores except for shipping. To enter just email me your name and email address. The winner will be announced on Valentine's Day.
ekgeroldmiller@gmail.com
THE WINNER WAS BARB! THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO PARTICIPATED!

Saints for the Sick

2011-01-18T17:56:00.000-08:00

I was contacted by Zac Brakefield, Video Director for TAN Books and Saint Benedict Press, who has begun to produce book trailers for some of their most popular books. He asked me to post this trailer for Joan Carol Cruz's SAINTS FOR THE SICK, "a book that reinforces our Catholic faith and gives renewed hope to those who are dealing with bodily struggles". This title appealed to me as the daughter of a man who has struggled daily with multiple sclerosis from the age of 40. While I have not read it yet, it comes highly recommended by a good friend of mine. I welcome comments from those who have read it and I promise to post a review when I have read it myself.

"The Overachievers: The Secret Lives of Driven Kids" by Alexandra Robbins

2011-01-13T19:47:00.001-08:00

If you have a college-bound teen in your house, then “The Overachievers: The Secret Lives of Driven Kids” (Hyperion, 2006) is a must-read for you. In this 448-page book, Alexandra Robbins delves into the lives of several high school students to disclose what parents need to know about the pressures kids are under today to get into prestigious colleges.

Robbins went back to her alma mater, Walt Whitman High School, and followed several students as they went through the college application process. She detailed their heavy schedules and included portions of their personal diaries and online discussions with friends. She talked about how much (actually, how little) sleep they got and how their interactions were with their friends and family.

The author followed the applications as they went through the hands of high school counselors and college administrators. She went into New York City pre-Kindergartens and revealed the shocking imbalance of supply and demand and the effect it has on parents bent on getting their youngsters into the right pre-K program. Finally, she spoke to students of other schools around the country to make sure the experiences were not based on one school or area.

Some of Robbins’ points include: the need for teens to get more sleep; the stress of having too many activities; and the dangers of being too focused on entrance to a school based on its name. She claims there are many excellent schools out there where the students are happier overall and have equal success in life with those who graduate from Ivy League schools. And she reveals the way statistics are twisted so that the top colleges stay on top of the charts year after year.

The research that went into this book is obvious, and the evidence to back her conclusions well-documented.

I picked up this book because I was amused by the picture. My ninth-grader balances school cross-country/track and travel softball as well as a few advanced courses. Missing from our picture is music: although we have a piano, we never had time for me to give her lessons and she lost interest. I thought she had enough activities and that she was happy and well-balanced.

One of the reasons I opted for public over Catholic school is I noticed how much pressure I thought many of the parents put on their children to be perfect on paper. Some of the kids would cry if they came home with a 99 on an exam. I was criticized for putting sports over academics. In the end, she came out in the top of her class with several scholarship offers from local Catholic schools. I turned them down and so far we are both happy with this decision. Reading this book clinched that for me.

While Robbins was focused on academics and school sports, I have been part of the world of travel softball as well, and could write a whole book on the politics of this sport. Girls now play four seasons per year, with games in indoor sports domes in the winter. Elite softball teams abound, promising college commitments to their top girls. We turned down the elite teams in favor of a small, local team that has talented girls who play for fun. Reading this book made me happier about that decision.

I am glad I read this book because it made me more aware of the dangers of putting too much on a kid’s plate and forcing them to live up to expectations that will not help them with their personal goals.

For the author’s website visit http://www.alexandrarobbins.com/

To order from Amazon click here.

I obtained this book from my local public library and as of this writing have had no correspondence with the author.

Resolutions 2011: How to make chore lists for kids

2010-12-31T09:42:00.000-08:00

My final Examiner post this year is on How to make chore lists for the kids. Happy New Year and here’s to helping our kids to become independent contributors to society…starting at home.

Five Barbie Dolls

2010-12-26T18:05:00.000-08:00

Every year on the Eve of the Feast of Saint Nicholas, the children write a letter to Saint Nicholas and put it in their stockings. This is an Austrian tradition I found in The Story of the Trapp Family Singers by Maria Van Trapp.

In the letter, they must say that they have tried to be good all year. Then they ask for their top five wishes, promising to be good in the future. Although they hand me a longer list around Thanksgiving (so I can get a jump on my shopping), this makes them really think about what they want the most, and why.

They also know they have to be reasonable. My second daughter would love to have her own real live African elephant; but she knows this is not possible, so perhaps she will ask for a stuffed elephant. This teaches them to really hone their expectations, a skill that will prove invaluable one day when they have to negotiate salaries or contracts. Most of the time they will get everything on their “top five”, as well as some of the things from the longer list.

My 12-year-old helped my 4-year-old to write her list. Top on the list was: “Five Barbie dolls”. When I asked her, “Why five?” she could not explain. Every day she would tell me to please make sure Santa got her the five Barbie dolls. “Nobody needs five Barbie dolls,” I thought, and bought her one Ballerina Barbie.

The week before Christmas, my 12-year-old was playing Santa with her. “Do you really need five Barbie dolls? Won’t one do?” she asked, at my request.

“Well, maybe two?”

“Okay. I think you can have two.”

The day before Christmas Eve, we were all hanging around, thinking everything was done. Then a story came out.

It sounded like a version of Agatha Christie’s murder mystery “And Then There Were None”. Apparently, over the summer, her five Barbie dolls suffered some rather cruel fates at the hands of some visitors, ending with the decapitation of the last doll, whose head our poor preschooler found floating in the toilet bowl. I was horrified.

“I have to run to the store,” I told my husband. He understood.

I walked into the store, cart-less, hoping to get through the crowds easily and get out of there. I picked out two more Ballerina Barbies…four sleds (“good sled” was on everyone’s longer list)…toothpaste, soap, a dog bone, and three other small toys.

So there I stood in line along with everyone else, shopping at the last minute, with exactly twelve items balanced in my arms on the non-moving 12-item Express Line at Wal-mart.

I entertained the women around me with my tale of why I was there.

“I hope she enjoys her Barbies,” said one, “My daughter used to make her Barbie be the teacher with a bunch of crayons being her students…now she’s a teacher.”

“She talks about me like I’m not even here!” her daughter exclaimed.

Christmas morning came and the three Barbies danced along with Angelina Ballerina and Strawberry Shortcake’s friend Rasberry Torte. They got along just fine.

Loren Christie's Blog

2010-12-23T10:31:00.000-08:00

Day Dream, 1880

Today a local newspaper attributed my blog title to my good friend Loren Christie. Her blog is called Dude Where Am I? and can be found here. Loren recently put all her stories together into a book I hope God is laughing: Confessions of an imperfect parent that is now available on Lulu.com. Loren is an excellent writer and her stories about raising three kids are hilarious. This book would make a great gift for yourself or any mother.

Celebrate the Whole Christmas Season

2010-12-23T07:15:00.000-08:00

While Honey was at the vet getting spayed, Thumper got loose and explored under the Christmas Tree. Click here to see my Examiner column on how and why families can celebrate the entire Christmas Season (at least until Little Christmas).

“Doing-it-all”: the Bare Minimum Approach

2010-12-21T12:20:00.000-08:00

House Sparrows (Restrike Etching)

Today I am baking for my Christmas baby: a cake to celebrate at home, and cupcakes to bring to batting practice and school. With my four-year-old helping, I started pouring the first batch into the pans before realizing I had forgotten to put the eggs in. I went through a dozen eggs trying to make three batches of my egg white cake without getting any yolk in.

I didn’t make my Christmas houses this year – or my gingerbread – or my banana bread. And it’s okay. We finished our Nutcracker story ornaments and have been working on our Jesse tree symbols. Even that is touch-and-go. With sports after school, sometimes I can’t get the whole family together to do that, so on other days we will catch up by doing one scripture and symbol per child.

They also wrote their letters to St. Nicholas, which they put in their stockings on the eve of the Feast of St. Nicholas on December 6. Finally, we have our advent bead boxes. There are different colors to represent different types of good deeds; the children tell us what they did and they get beads to put in their boxes, which they offer to Jesus by placing them under the tree on Christmas Eve.

The older the kids and I get, the more I realize that you can leave a lot of stuff out – it is in the way that you do things that really matters. I can’t bake for every class party, but if I do I do it out of love. I can’t be at every one of their sporting events – now that they are all at different places doing different things – but they know I do my best to see each of them do their thing, and when I am there I am completely “present”, eating up every pitch, play, or move they make.

It’s also tricky toeing the line on how visible they want me to be, although they all want me there. My four-year-old wants me at the door of her ballet class watching every step, often photographing and videotaping. My nine-year-old is okay if I’m not there, but he prefers knowing that either his dad or I saw it if he had a good hit or pitched a great game. My twelve-year-old won’t admit that she cares if we are there or not, but she does. My fourteen-year-old can now go to sporting events on the school bus, but she begs me to go see her if I can. She smiles when she sees me show up, but then shoos me away, signaling for me to keep my distance.

“Doing it all” suddenly becomes a lot more doable when you aren’t really doing it all – just doing the really essential things right (or as close to right as you can make it).

Luke 12: 25-26
Can any of you by worrying add a moment to your lifespan?
If even the smallest things are beyond your control, why are you anxious about the rest?

“Little Star” by Anthony DeStefano

2010-12-10T11:23:00.000-08:00

If you are looking for an original, Christ-centered Christmas picture book, then “Little Star” by Anthony DeStefano might just be the one for you.

A little boy is looking out his window for the Christmas star and his father tells him why he cannot see it in the sky. He tells the tale of a little star who is often overlooked by the bigger stars. They are all talking about the upcoming birth of Jesus. When the great event occurs, the little star puts forth all of his energy to cast light upon the infant Jesus to keep the baby warm and help others to find Him. He burns himself out in the process, but is remembered forever for his place in history.

You can look at this book at many levels. Behind the story in the forefront lies a loving relationship between father and son. Parents who have been sharing the lives of the Saints with their children might also want to talk about the way the little star gave his life for Jesus as did many of the Saints. Children can also be invited to discuss bullying (as displayed by the bigger stars) and using their little talents to glorify God in their own ways.

“My goal was to try to encapsulate the whole gospel message in a simple Christmas story,” said DeStefano. This he has done, and has received rave reviews on Amazon.com and elsewhere.

A few months ago DeStefano’s first children’s book was published - This Little Prayer of Mine. He has also written a couple of bestselling non-fiction books — A Travel Guide to Heaven, and Ten Prayers God Always Says Yes To — both published by Doubleday. You Tube has a video of Pat Boone reading the new book to a group of children.

With realistic, colorful illustrations of the humans in the story mixed in with the fanciful cartoons of Little Star, Mark Elliott has captured the meaning of the story in a way that will be easily understood by children. My own four-year-old was a little scared of the pictures for some reason, but that is for you decide if you think the paintings will appeal to your children or not.

The author sent me his book in exchange for my honest opinion.

10 Reasons to be Thankful for a Cold

2010-12-09T20:55:00.000-08:00

Girl In The Hammock

Although I suffer from seasonal allergies, I very rarely come down with a full-blown cold. Although no one ever wants to have a cold, the relative discomfort has made me more thankful for my good health. I also felt grateful for the ability to work from home, where my schedule is extremely flexible during the school day.

Most days I keep myself busy from the moment I wake up in the morning until at least midnight. Being sick gave me a good reason to give myself a break, chill out on the couch with my pre-schooler, and treat myself to hot soup and lots of tea. It reminded me that I should really give myself some downtime during the day on a regular basis.

Here are the lovely things I enjoyed while recovering from my cold:

1. A variety of delicious, aromatic, hot herbal teas.

2. Hot, sleep-inducing chicken noodle soup.

3. A nap on the couch curled up with my pre-schooler and growing puppy.

4. Baking rolled shaped Christmas cookies with the kids on their day off for
the Feast of the Immaculate Conception.

5. Watching Peanuts videos with the kids on their day off; laughing at Snoopy’s antics and trying to figure out why Charlie Brown always loses his clothes after every pitch.

6. Reading dog-training books.

7. Catching up on our Jesse Tree scripture readings.

8. Wearing comfy sweats and oversized sweaters.

9. Reading Christmas books.

10. Staying home from the stores.

Of course, the best part is the recovery: suddenly realizing I can breathe freely, that my head doesn’t hurt, not having to blow my nose every five minutes.

I wish my readers good health through Advent and Christmas. If you should come down with a cold or something worse, try to make the best of it!

Reaping What I Sowed

2010-11-23T11:38:00.000-08:00

Cats in a magnolia tree, 1993

Writing is a tough way of life. Like motherhood, it is not something you choose for earthly riches. You have to really love doing it. Not just that…you have to feel compelled to do it.

Like many of my writing friends, I have been writing my whole life, mostly for free and occasionally for a few pennies. It is largely a thankless job, with the rewards being seeing my name in print, treating my kids to ice cream on occasion, and accolades from my good writing buddies and very close friends and family who know how important my work is to me.

I have been sowing seeds on all sorts of soil for many years. My blog has given me the joy of writing for myself while getting feedback from those who enjoy my kind of stories. Next came my Examiner column, which gave me the prestige of a formal title and a small paycheck.

For the past several months, I have been so busy with my children’s sports that I have only been doing maintenance writing…writing just enough to keep my blog and column up-to-date. Then suddenly some remarkable things happened.

My running poem was published in a “Chicken Soup” book. An editor from CBS news contacted me saying that she liked my style and would I be interested in writing freelance for them? A good friend helped me to get a freelance article into a local newspaper.

God has a great sense of timing. My goal has been to be writing full time by the time my youngest is in Kindergarten, and I seem to be on the right track.

“Look what is happening…and I’m not even trying!” I said to my husband.

Not exactly. It’s like planting a perennial or a flowering tree that doesn’t bloom for the first few years. You tend to it, fertilize it, maybe give up and forget about it for a while, and then suddenly you are surprised with some really beautiful flowers. They only last for a few weeks, but if you prune and tend to the plant it will come back again the next year, bigger and bearing more blooms.

Children are like this too. During the early years they need quite a lot of tending to. Sometime in the middle school years their talents really come to light and suddenly they can do the most amazingly things on their own. You wonder sometimes how it is possible that they can do what they do…they usually don’t give you any credit and often you yourself forget what you have put into them. They still need attention – not too much and of a different sort - to thrive, but keep up the good work because you are in for a bountiful harvest.

2 Cor 9:6-10
Brothers and sisters:
Whoever sows sparingly will also reap sparingly,
and whoever sows bountifully will also reap bountifully.
Each must do as already determined, without sadness or compulsion,
for God loves a cheerful giver.
Moreover, God is able to make every grace abundant for you,
so that in all things, always having all you need,
you may have an abundance for every good work.
As it is written:
"He scatters abroad, he gives to the poor;
his righteousness endures forever."
The one who supplies seed to the sower and bread for food
will supply and multiply your seed
and increase the harvest of your righteousness.

Honey the Lion Hunter

2010-11-08T12:41:00.000-08:00

“She’s out again!” my husband yelled through the front door on his way to work today.

I really don’t have the time or patience for this. For the third time today, I ran out and wrestled the dog to the ground, picked her up, and carried her into the house. Then I went out to inspect the fence again.

You really forget the troubles of puppy ownership when you have lost an old, tired dog and succeeded it with another. The housetraining, biting, jumping, whining, and escaping are all enough to make me not like the dog so much when she is misbehaving. Then she sits there cutely begging for a treat, or sleeping curled up on her doggie bed with her tongue hanging out, and she’s loveable again.

“Hound X” is the breed notated on her papers. Being a rescue dog, her exact origins will never be known to us. She has the qualities of a hound, Labrador, bulldog, with the webbed paws that only a few breeds boast of.

On Halloween, we had her walking with us when a neighbor stopped us.

“What kind of dog is that?” she asked.

“I don’t know. She’s a rescue dog.”

“I think she’s a Rhodesian Ridgeback?” she said.

“A what?” I questioned, and she repeated it.

“Your neighbor around the block has one. It’s huge. She has all the same characteristics – the markings, the ears, the webbed feet, and the coloring.”

I looked toward the corner just then and saw one of the hugest dogs I have ever laid eyes upon coming around with her owners. As they approached, I said, “Hey, someone just told me my dog is the same breed as yours.”

“Yep, she looks just like he did when he was a puppy. She’ll be a little smaller though – her paws are smaller.”

Their dog, besides being a male, was tremendously overweight. I let them sniff each other quickly and then, just as quickly, said goodbye. She hasn’t been spayed yet (a requisite for adopted rescue dogs) and I didn’t want to take any chances.

Once inside the house I looked up Rhodesian Ridgeback on the computer. This dog was bred in Africa to hunt lions. It is a brave dog and resistant to pests such as ticks. It is intelligent and great as an athletic trainer. The puppy pictures looked just like our Honey! The only thing she is missing is the “ridge”, which is a line of fur running opposite the rest of the coat on the spine. I read that this ridge is caused by a mutant gene but is a desired trait in the breed. The twenty-five percent that are born without the ridge are “culled” (sometimes that means “killed”) or removed from the breeding population.

So maybe Honey and her sister were purebred throwaways! Suddenly I saw her in a different light – she wasn’t just an unwanted mongrel but a potentially valuable dog. If she nipped at me I would say she was looking for a lion to hunt. I gave her some of the kids’ toy dinosaurs.

Why should her breed make a difference though? I started to get a little angry at whoever would get rid of a dog for the lack of a silly characteristic. A dog is a dog no matter where she came from and they all have lots of love to offer whoever wants to receive it.

"Also the animals possess a soul, and men must love and feel solidarity with our smaller brethren."
- Pope John Paul II

Monica and David: HBO looks at a young wedded couple with Down Syndrome

2010-10-26T20:00:00.000-07:00

Isn’t it sweet? In one of its newest documentaries, HBO looks at a young couple in love during their wedding preparations and the early stages of their marriage. The bride and groom just happen to have Down Syndrome. The footage is taken by a cousin of the bride, so one would hope it would have a positive take on the situation.

Monica and David were each born to 20-year-old mothers who were left by their husbands within a year of the birth of the children; they remarried supportive husbands. Monica appears to be very high functioning, with a high level of understanding. David is also high functioning but does not have the depth of cognitive understanding that Monica does. They met in a seven-year-long life skills course.

David never had a girlfriend before Monica, and when they met he was jealous of her then-boyfriend. She has had several boyfriends, which he is not happy with. Eventually he won her over, and the two families worked together to allow the two to court and have a beautiful wedding.

The bride’s family took the couple into their home while refurbishing another home, where the couple would have their own wing. The couple hopes to eventually be able to live on their own, but their parents say this is an impossibility. Although they are able to work on the outside, the parents are very protective and do not let them go anywhere without supervision. The parents worry what will happen to Monica and David when they (the parents) are no longer able to care for them.

Early in the marriage, David is diagnosed with diabetes, causing him to be even more dependent on his in-laws. The couple expresses the desire to have children, and they are shown helping to care for a relative’s baby. This is the one piece I have a problem with.

Monica’s mother, who earlier on describes her daughter as “the light of my life”, comments that one of her responsibilities is making sure the young couple uses birth control (she does not say what kind). She says that, since they are just like kids themselves, they will never be able to bear the responsibility of a child.

Now, the first reaction I had to this statement was: how can you put two people in a situation where they can understand the meaning of love, and be fully intimate, and desire children, and forbid them from having children? I know the responsibility the parents of Monica and David is incredible and taking on the responsibility of grandchildren on top of that must be a consideration, but bear with me as I explore the meaning of this.

To treat people like they are capable of having sex without having babies is to treat them as less than soul-less animals. Even animals with little intellect have the intuition to know how to care for their young. To say these young people can love each other and marry but not bear children is demeaning to their humanity.

If indeed Monica’s mother believes her daughter is incapable of the responsibility of bearing children, another path she could have chosen was to steer her in the direction of lifelong virginity…preserving her innocence and protecting her from the heartache that comes with continual dating and breakups. A life without romantic love is not an unfulfilling one.

Other than this one digression, I thought it was a very nice documentary showing how adults with Down syndrome can lead a productive and happy life.

The topic of their childless marriage has been explored in Inside Catholic by Jason Negri – in a controversial post “Down Syndrome Couples” which brought on many comments.

Why not sterilize the inconvenient? by blogger Simcha Fischer is a commentary opposing the view taken by Negri.

Honey

2010-10-07T19:54:00.000-07:00

Once upon a summer, a trucker was driving down the highway outside Fayetteville, North Carolina when something made him stop short. A pair of scrawny, copper-colored puppies was limping along the side of the road. He stopped, picked them up, and called the local animal rescue.

The loving people who came to pick them up nursed them back to health. Penny and Lacy had little burn marks around their paws from the hot tar on the road. They had to be de-wormed and brought up to a healthy weight. Then they made the long trip to Long Island, where they were fostered in a large house with the family’s four children and four dogs. One of the daughters of the house, a lover of designer labels, renamed them Gucci and Chanelle.

The foster parent put a picture of the puppies on Craig’s List. Chanelle was adopted first by a family in the Hamptons. Gucci was adopted by the Miller Family, which quickly renamed her Honey. Honey is sweet, a very feminine name, and the color of the dog.

The first time she entered the house, she had a ball. She ran all over the place, jumped all over the couches, and chewed on whatever she could find. The foster mother called, asking, “How is she doing?”

“Oh, she is having a wonderful time exploring her new home.”

“You didn’t let her have free reign of the house, did you?”

“Uh, yeah.”

What followed was basic instruction on crate training, which the Millers ignored.

Honey is about the same size as the four-year-old girl, and they have great fun snuggling up together. Sometimes Honey tries to eat the little girl’s clothes and has to be separated from her.

Once a day, she takes Honey for a walk around the block. Her mother has to help her a bit. Neighbors stop, asking, “What kind of dog is that?”

“I don’t know,” says the mother, “She is a rescue puppy.”

The nine-year-old boy loves to run, and when he gets home from school he has running races with her in the back yard. Then she comes in, exhausted, and goes to sleep in her doggie bed.

The eleven-year-old girl also loves to run, but she has school work to do when she gets home, so she just gives her loving attention while she does her work.

The thirteen-year-old girl runs so many miles a day for her cross-country team that she gives her a few friendly pats and throws herself on the couch to rest. In the morning, however, she is the first to rise and take Honey out in the yard, while she checks on the rabbit.

The mother in the house is very busy and Honey is eagerly trying to learn how to please her. When the father in the house comes home, she settles herself under his chair. She knows he is the master here.

Then there is the white bunny that lives in a cage outside. Honey isn’t quite sure how to deal with it. Sometimes she goes up to Thumper and gives it a friendly sniff and sometimes barks at it for a few minutes. They seem to get along.

That is Honey’s story so far. The Millers hope it is the beginning of a long and happy one.

How to Adopt a Dog

2010-09-30T11:02:00.001-07:00

We adopted Honey Bear Miller from Save A Dog A Day in East Hampton. The process was rather complicated. Here is my latest article on How to Adopt a Dog. (Blog posts with puppy stories will be here soon!)

Bear's Pet Memorial Garden and Stone Marker

2010-09-24T07:06:00.000-07:00

Click here for a post on how to make this garden marker as part of a pet memorial garden. My 13-year old was artistic director for the garden marker and my 11-year-old for the seashell design. My 9-year-old son and 4-year-old daughter helped with both. This was an extremely healing activity for our family. Bear's gentle spirit will always remain with us.

Bear Midnight Miller

2010-09-19T19:02:00.000-07:00

"Also the animals possess a soul, and men must love and feel solidarity with our smaller brethren."
Pope John Paul II

“Bear is going to Puppy Heaven today,” I told my four-year-old daughter on Friday, “She will be able to go play with all our bunnies who are there - Hoppity, Peach, and Lucky.” She seemed to understand. She had watched me change bandages on her bleeding paws and carry her around because she was no longer able to walk, and she knew Bear was old and sick.

Bear, who has been in perfect health all thirteen years of her happy life, had a sudden decline over the past two weeks. Her had stopped eating and breathing was so poor that we knew her time was imminent.

“I can’t stand to see her suffer any more,” my husband said, and so we arranged to have a traveling veterinarian come to our house that evening at 7:30 PM, when we could have the whole family together. Still I hoped for a natural death for my gentle friend.

I carried her outside for some sunshine. At around noon, I went out and blessed her with holy water. “Please Jesus, take her home to be with you. St. Francis of Assissi, please help her.”

Although I had bathed her two days before, her smell was attracting flies, so I brought her in to the kitchen. I cleaned the house, put out freshly cut flowers and lit candles, to make the atmosphere peaceful for that evening.

Two of the children came home at 3:35. I explained to them what we planned to do and why. They were a little upset. At 3:40 I went outside to push my little one on the swings. At 3:45 I heard a yelp and the water bowl crash. I ran inside and saw that she had passed, her head on her paw.

I called the children and when they all met in the kitchen at once, they all started to howl. I tried to hug them all at once, and moved them into the living room. We stayed there for about 20 minutes and then moved outside to the deck. I was surprised that they were able to enjoy a goldfish snack, and actually play a little game with the goldfish crackers.

We had to pick up my older daughter from cross country at the high school. I warned them not to say anything to her until we got home. I didn’t want to cause a scene in front of the school or even in front of my house.

She came out of the school looking very happy. “I had a great day!” she declared.
Her sister and I exchanged looks when she was putting her stuff into the trunk.
We got home and I said we needed to go around back. I wanted to tell her in the back yard before going into the house.

Later she would say that she always knows what is coming when I tell them to sit down. We had gone through this with the bunnies.

“Come here,” I said, as I put my arms around her.

“Is it Bear?”

She looked at the other kids and knew. It was even worse for her. We had gotten Bear as a two-month-old puppy when she was a two-month-old newborn, and we celebrated their birthdays together.

Coming home to no dog was hard. . .

On Sunday morning I dreamt that Bear was playing with Alamo, the golden retriever of my childhood. I woke to the sound of giggling girls. I knew we were going to be okay. I went to Michael’s to purchase a garden stone kit. Together we made a garden stone for Bear, and planted mums around her grave.

"All things bright and beautiful,
all creatures great and small,
all things wise and wonderful:
the Lord God made them all."
Cecil F. Alexander"

This Old Dog

2010-09-14T21:34:00.000-07:00

This week brought a new trial to the Miller household. Our black Labrador, Bear, who has been completely healthy for thirteen years, started bleeding from her paws. I originally thought she had broken off her claws and wrapped them up, thinking they would heal on their own. When the bleeding failed to improve, I brought her in to a veterinarian. I was in for a big shock.

Bear hasn’t left home in years, and she was shaking from the time I carried her out to the car to the time I lifted her onto the table.

I started by apologizing that she hadn’t been bathed recently; I hadn’t wanted to aggravate the bleeding and she has been spending her days outside. I also felt the need to explain why her claws hadn’t been trimmed recently. The assistant was very understanding. Again I felt apologetic as I removed her bandaging and she started bleeding all over the table.

“She has tumors in her paws,” the lady vet with the kind eyes told me.

My mind flashed back to my childhood dog, Alamo, a lively golden retriever whose life ended at the age of fourteen after we found tumors on her head. It was the first time I ever saw my dad cry; the second time was when his own father died.

Was she going to tell me to put her down? My eyes filled with tears.

I saw the doctor’s nose redden in response to my own show of emotion. “We can try an antibiotic for ten days,” she explained, “After that the only option would be surgery, which I wouldn’t suggest for a dog her age. Please call me by the end of the week and tell me how she is doing.”

I went home crying. I had to tell the kids what was going on with their beloved pet. As the days go on, they watch as I change her bandages. She doesn’t want to get up, so they have been bringing her food and water. She stopped eating hard dog food, so we bought her canned food. She even turns away from that now, and I have to force her to eat her pills, wrapped within deli meats. It feels odd now that I don’t have to watch the table to make sure she doesn’t jump up and eat my husband’s dinner.

Four days into the ten days of antibiotics prescribed, I wonder if she will improve; if she will pass peacefully; or if I will have to make a decision to euthanize my loyal friend.

"Parenting with Grace" by the Popcaks: A Book Review

2010-08-23T10:37:00.000-07:00

Parenting with Grace: The Catholic Parents’ Guide to Raising Almost Perfect Kids, 2nd Edition, by Gregory K. Popcak, PhD., and Lisa Popcak, and a foreward by Dr. Bill and Martha Sears, is an authoritatively written text outlining everything the authors believe a family should do in order to bring up their children in a Catholic way.

The Popcaks offer practical solutions to many of the difficult situations faced by parents, including sleep problems, tantrums, dating, and technology, within the framework of the Catholic faith. Every chapter has quizzes for parents to see how they are doing in a certain area, as well as suggestions for how to improve.

Integrating The Theology of the Body and the philosophy of attachment parenting into every chapter, the Popcaks make a good case for their method of parenting. They show us why Catholicism can and should be a part of how we parent, and how it should set us apart as a special breed. They argue that, because Catholics believe in learning by natural law, science and the Catholic way should work hand-in-hand to show us what is the best way to raise our kids, from breastfeeding in infancy to sending our teenagers off to college.

After outlining the basics of Catholic parenting, the Popcaks go into great detail on each stage of development: infancy, toddlerhood, early childhood, school-age childhood, and the teenage years. They talk about faith development, sibling rivalry, childhood fears, dealing with technology, and working parents. I thought it was amazing that they were able to touch on so many various topics. This book is in touch with the modern parent and issues of today, and yet the authors are not afraid to put forth opinions that many will disagree with.

The Popcaks never say any of this will be easy. Their suggestions for improvement are rather methodical and specific. While most of what they say resonates with my own family values, I think that it would be difficult for many families to follow their instructions on improving family life. However, I do think their methods would work for parents that are set on fixing the things that have not been working in their family.

Be forewarned that their point of view is Conservative Catholic; if you are not looking for this then you will not appreciate the book. If you disagree with the attachment parenting espoused by Dr. Bill and Martha Sears, which includes co-sleeping, breastfeeding, and carrying your baby in a sling, you might have a difficult time with the book; or, you might start to see these practices in a different light.

The book end with chapters devoted to natural family planning, motherhood, fatherhood, marriage, and family maintenance. Appendixes include “The Natural Institution of the Family” by Herbert Ratner, M.D., and “Ten Reasons We Can’t Spank: A Catholic Examination of Corporal Punishment”.

I highly recommend this book for all Catholic families with kids of all ages.
This review was written as part of the Catholic books reviewer program from The Catholic Company. Visit The Catholic Company to find more information on Parenting With Grace, 2nd Edition.

The Send-Off

2010-08-20T11:54:00.000-07:00

“Promise me you won’t swim on the ocean side,” my husband warned our thirteen-year-old daughter. She was packing to visit her friend on Fire Island overnight.

A few days prior, we had a small scare with my son at the ocean beach at Smith Point. The kids were within yards of me and my eldest daughter yelled over that it looked like her brother was having trouble.

She came over to hold my four-year-old’s hand while I dove under the first breaking wave and got to where he was. He was swimming against the riptide, hard, and getting tired.

Another wave was coming. “Quick – dive under it” I warned. We both took a tumble under it – when we came up we were right next to each other and I guided him to shore. The lifeguard had us in his sights and was ready to dive in to assist if necessary.

I asked him to take a drink of water and lie down for a while. He was a little shaken, as was I. The rest of the time he chose to dig tunnels in the walls of sand, and I kept our little one busy making sand castles while watching my two older daughters and their friend like a hawk.

I worried about my daughter’s upcoming trip, knowing that the riptide would be worse on the barrier beach and I would be a ferry-ride away. As much as I love the beach, I was glad when it was time to go.

Monday morning I took her to the ferry. Her baby sister came to see her off. We were the first ones on line, and I had to fight not to cry as the time for her departure came upon us. She is a big girl, taller and stronger than I, with a good head on her shoulders. Yet sending her off to sea was a big step for me.

One of her friends was dropped off to leave on the same ferry, and I was glad she would have company on the way there. I gave her a big hug and asked me to please call me when she got safely to the other side. The gates opened, and they walked through, crossed the ramp onto the boat, and seated themselves on the top – on the opposite side, where I couldn’t see them.

My four-year-old and I waited for the boat to leave. We watched it as it got smaller and smaller, until we could no longer see it. I saw her going off to high school – which she will be doing in two weeks – and eventually leaving for college.

When I got home, my husband heard me sniffling in the kitchen. “What’s the matter?,” he asked.

“What – you don’t know?” I finally answered.

“Don’t worry – she’ll be fine,” he comforted me.

“No it’s not that so much – it’s just hard to send her off like that when I’m so used to all my kids being close to me.”

“She’ll always be our baby, no matter how big she gets,” he said, completely understanding my thoughts.

Erosion

2010-08-07T18:27:00.000-07:00

“CAUTION STRONG RIPTIDES NO SWIMMING ALLOWED” the sign read at Smith Point, our nearest ocean beach. It was 5:30 PM; the lifeguards were just leaving and we were just arriving, avoiding the $8 parking fee that is charged until 5:00.

Walking along the boardwalk that is adjacent to the Flight 800 Memorial, lined with flags representing the countries of origin of those who went down in the controversial plane crash, we watched as the lifeguards waved all the people to shore. As soon as the lifeguards were off the beach, the people waded back in.

Looking down over the guardrails, we could see new fences that had been put around the boulders at the base of the boardwalk’s foundations. There was now a twenty-foot drop from the boardwalk to the beach below. Last year this time, those boulders were not visible and the sand had almost reached the level of the boardwalk. This was all the work of erosion, and it was fortunate for us beachgoers that the beach was even open for our enjoyment.

The kids were excited by the wild waves, which became deceptively calm as they came closer to shore. As a former lifeguard who has had herself to be assisted in the riptide at Montauk Point, I have a very healthy respect of the ocean. I held on tight to my four year old with two arms and watched my three older ones like a hawk – they were instructed to go no deeper than the knees and no farther than ten feet from me.

We all went together for a sandwich break behind a sandhill, which had been built by the lifeguards to keep their watch stand in place. They all began building a sandcastle, and I was able to lay there, admiring their youthful enthusiasm, with the backdrop of the blue sky and the awesome ocean.

The stress of the busy summer and decisions for fall commitments dropped away as we enjoyed the present. What had kept me away from my favorite place? How much more would I put on my plate so that there was less and less time to fritter away here?

Erosion is the wearing away of a natural surface by redepositing its particles elsewhere. It is a natural and inevitable process; the beach must be watched and seasonally built back up by transporting more sand to renew its levels. Otherwise, before you know it, it’s gone. We can allow our souls to be eroded if we don’t keep careful watch and allow ourselves to be renewed on a regular basis.

St. Paul knew what it meant to be worn down and he encouraged the first Christians at Corinth to be present to the everlasting renewal offered by Christ. Today’s distractions are very different from those of that time period, but the message is more apt than ever.

2 Corinthians 4 : 16-18
16
Therefore, we are not discouraged; rather, although our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day.
17
For this momentary light affliction is producing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison,
18
as we look not to what is seen but to what is unseen; for what is seen is transitory, but what is unseen is eternal.

Living Deliberately

2010-07-13T09:17:00.000-07:00

Walk Along Walden

“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practice resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life.” – Henry David Thoreau, Walden

A long time ago, it seems – really just five years ago but it seems like a lifetime ago – I had a pretty quiet life. We were homeschooling, and took life one day at a time. I looked at some of my friends who worked and had their children in multiple activities and felt sorry for them. Their brains seemed so full of scheduling dilemmas that there was no room for intellectual depth.

Now, with three kids in school and all of them involved in travel softball and baseball, we are busy every day. There is so much activity packed into spring and carrying over into the first few weeks of summer that it takes a few weeks to catch one’s breath. I try to schedule some “down time” into every day, a few hours of swimming in the pool before dinner and that night’s ball games, but it is still mentally and physically exhausting when there is no break in the constant commitments.

Leisure is needed to allow for depth of thought. Why I haven’t been writing as much as I used to has as much to do with the state of my brain as with my schedule. I used to wonder why those busy friends of mine seemed so “shallow”. Was I becoming like them? If I kept up at this pace, would I become a thoughtless creature, going through the motions of life without the whole of my soul involved?

We finally had a few days with nothing scheduled, and I even turned off the computer, which often provides distraction from absorption into family time. We read books, played chess, watched baseball, and just hung around. It was great. After a full day of doing next-to-nothing, I sat down and did a long-put-off project and was quite pleased.

Summer is a time for rest and restoration. As the kids get older and are provided with more options for activity outside of the house, it requires much deliberation to balance purposeful activity (whether work/play, or a combination of the two, such as sports) with rest and thought.

Are you getting enough rest to restore your soul on a daily basis? Is there a deliberate purpose to whatever you have planned for your family this summer? Are you just keeping busy or are you living deeply, sucking the marrow of life?

Five Raccoons

2010-07-04T19:20:00.000-07:00

Group of raccoons standing erect

Coming out of the King Kullen parking lot, a light blue Oldsmobile with Florida plates cruised uncertainly ahead of me. Was that an old man with a hat driving? Suddenly I was reminded of my Poppop, John S. Nagy Sr., my maternal grandfather who passed away a year ago, with the honors of being both a New York City Police Officer and Veteran of War. Not to mention world’s funniest grandfather who wore his old man’s hat with style.

The tears that came then were both of happiness and sadness – happiness that the memories of Poppop and the time we had spent together will always be with me – sadness that he is gone from this world forever, leaving his wife of several decades behind. I think of him whenever the Mets play the Marlins, because he was both a Mets fan (being a native New Yorker) and a Marlins fan (having moved to Florida in retirement).

Wiping away my tears, I was driving down the long country road that leads to my house, when my headlights shone on a family of five raccoons crossing a yard ahead of me. No one was behind me and I stopped short. I thought they had stopped right in the center of my front end. To be certain, I edged up and turned around.

No road-kill in the middle of the road. There was one raccoon on the right side of the road, standing upright and keeping watch as the other ones re-crossed in the opposite direction again. I watched as two cars sped by in the opposite direction. Why did I care?

My Dad would have said it was good riddance. In my childhood neighborhood of Bethpage, squirrels and raccoons were pests that were gotten rid of by multiple methods. Drowning, carbon monoxide, and bb guns were common methods of killing them off. A farming neighbor said that if you caught them and spray painted their tails and then drove them off to the state park, they would be back within three days. My Dad did that and sure enough there were blue-tailed squirrels running up the Maples in my backyard three days later.

The next day I went to carve up the watermelon for the kids as they swam. I searched the packed fridge and couldn’t find it. “Where did you put the watermelon?” I yelled to my son. “What watermelon?” he answered. I ran to the car and found it under the backseat. It hadn’t been fully ripe when I bought it – it was perfect now.

Why did I stop for those stupid raccoons? Again I asked myself, as I cut up the large, juicy fruit. I brought it out to my husband, kids, and nephews, who jumped out of the pool and eagerly ate it up, throwing the rinds into the woods. Some deer, or more likely a raccoon, would come eat them up, and then run out into the road on the other side. Would they make it?

Review of “The Templars: Knights of Christ” by Regine Pernoud

2010-06-22T16:33:00.000-07:00

The notoriety of the Templars has greatly increased in the current century, due to controversy-stirring portrayals by The History Channel and novelists such as Dan Brown (“The DaVinci Code”). Ignatius Press has done the public a great service by publishing this excellent book by Regine Pernoud, translated by Henry Taylor . An expert in medieval history, Pernoud has set out to set the record straight on the purpose and activities of the Templar Knights.

The order of the Knights of the Temple of Solomon was founded in 1119 by Hugh of Payns, a knight from Champagne in eastern France. A group of monk-knights took vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience, and banded together to protect pilgrims on their way to Jerusalem from Muslim bandits. In 1128 the council at Troyes gave them official recognition and organization under the “Latin Rule”.

Pernoud quotes the Latin Rule in detailing the very strict rules that were followed in the daily life of the Templars, and the way novitiates were received into the order. She goes into their architecture in great detail. The great battles fought by the Templars, and the many men who gave their lives in carrying out their missions, are documented in the chapter ”The Templar Epic”.

The author explains how the Templars acted as the first international bankers, using their treasuries in various locations as credit for Kings and Queens. Their power and control of these great treasuries incited the jealousy of the French crown; Pernoud makes the case that monarchial greed might have been the prime cause of their ultimate downfall.

The Templars were accused of heresy and crimes of indecency; the French inquisitors tortured many into making confessions, and burned at the stake those who maintained their innocence. Most of the Templars were killed and their reputation was sullied for all future generations.

Pernoud makes a powerful argument for the innocence of the Templars, through great detail in documentation and explanations of how mistranslations and misunderstandings were carried through the centuries. The reader is left sharing in the author’s astonishment at the accusations that have been left standing against a group of Christians who gave up everything to defend the faithful.

This book was sent to me as part of the Tiber Review Program by Aquinas and More in exchange for my honest review. For ordering information please click here.

Review of “Sex au Naturel: What it is and Why it’s Good for your Marriage” by Patrick Coffin

2010-06-22T14:27:00.000-07:00

Leave it to a well-informed Catholic to be able to write for 134 pages about sex without being “sexy”. Despite the romantic cover, this book is actually a rather technical and philosophical treatise explaining the true meaning and reasoning behind Humanae Vitae and other church documents pertaining to human sexuality and marriage.

“Sex au Naturel: What it is and Why it’s Good for your Marriage” by Patrick Coffin was written primarily for practicing Catholics but all Christians may benefit from it. Whether the reader believes whole-heartedly in the teachings of the Catholic Church regarding sexuality, dissents, or is confused either about what the catechism teaches or how he or she feels about it, this book offers rational clarification. One may disagree at the end, but with a better understanding of many different facets of the issues.

Coffin first explains the basics of the 1968 papal encyclical “Humanae Vitae” (“On the Regulation of Human Life”) and the world’s reaction to it, in the context of the 1960’s, the introduction of the Pill and the Sexual Revolution, and the Second Vatican Council. Other little known encyclicals are referenced.

The author explains the mistaken view of conscience that powers the movement of dissent against the Church’s sexual ethics. Then he delves into the scriptural basis for these teachings and the logic of natural law that coincides with the same. He explains how Protestant churches originally reached the same conclusions and why they diverged from them.

What does the marital act have to do with the Trinity? This section is mind-blowing in its comparisons of pro-creative sex with the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. The argument for “Sex au Naturel” from here on gets more and more powerful.

Proceed from there to the explanation of how contraception contradicts natural law. Coffin also goes into how exactly contraception is different, both physically and spiritually, from natural family planning, and how couples who have been sterilized can get a “second chance” in following Catholic teaching in their marriage. He also explains how reproductive technologies go against the grain of Christian teaching when marital love is taken out of procreation.

The appendix includes many informational references on Natural Family Planning, Theology of the Body, Catholic Teaching on Sex and Marriage, Educational Organizations, Sexual Addiction, and Marriage Counseling and Support.

This book is excellent reading for anyone who wants to be better informed about Catholic teaching on sex and marriage. It would be a great complement to marriage preparation classes or marriage counseling sessions.

This review was written as part of the Catholic book Reviewer program from The Catholic Company. I was sent the book for free in exchange for my honest review. Visit The Catholic Company to find more information on Sex au Naturel .

Report of 2010 Memorial Day 5K Run/Walk for the Unborn

2010-06-11T11:27:00.000-07:00

Our first annual Memorial Day 5K Run/Walk for the Unborn was a small success. We had a small group in attendance from our church's pro-life group. We hope with more promotion to get a bigger turnout for next year or for the Labor Day event. See my Examiner article for the report and links to sign up your local community for the Labor Day 5K Run/Walk at 9 a.m. Sept 6, 2010.

Where have I been?

2010-06-04T07:56:00.000-07:00

“I’m so thankful for friends like you,” I told my friend over coffee the other morning, “I know I can always come back to you.”

When I took up the hat of Softball Director, I had no idea of how many other facets of my life would go by the wayside. Personal paperwork piles up while softball papers get neatly filed. Friendly emails go unanswered while queries from coaches are returned immediately. Writing my daily blog has been replaced by composing dozens of emails that get sent out daily.

I don’t get paid but the perks are priceless. Like having my kids get announced on the field at the Long Island Ducks game, and being involved in the decisions that affect how their season is run.

My husband is so easy-going; he picks up milk and cereal at the start of the day, and the toys in the living room at the end of the day. When I missed a wedding shower, my future sister-in-law acted like no forgiveness was needed. My kids don’t clean their rooms but get their homework done and are always ready to go back to the field.

I say no to most other social activities to give us time as a family. When the kids get home from school, we hop in the pool for a half hour, have dinner together, and then get ready to go to at least one game or practice. We get home, have ice cream, shower, and go to bed. How much room is there for anything else?

This weekend I threw my daughter a sleepover/pool party with 15 guests. Half of the girls were from school and half from softball. This was partly to make up for all the sleepovers and playdates I have had to say no to throughout the year due to our busy schedule. They had a great time and I enjoyed watching them enjoy themselves.

“To everything there is a season”. My father always talks about how our roles in life change from time to time throughout our life span. For a season of several years I was a very involved homeschooler. Now my children are independent learners and thriving in the organized school sphere. Outside of school they are learning things on the field that will stay with them for the rest of their lives. I am having the time of my life watching that happen.

“My brain isn’t going anywhere,” I told another writing friend, “My writing is still in there and will come out in due time.”

Thank you for your patience as my posts remain thin during this busy time. I know you are all busy too and I pray you can take a moment to feel blessed for all of those things that you are putting your time and energy into.

Picture is of my family at the Met game at Citi Field on Mother's Day.

Thirteen

2010-05-18T11:22:00.000-07:00

A birthday is always cause for celebration, but some seem so much bigger than others. As we come upon my eldest daughter’s thirteenth birthday, I find myself become extremely emotional, more so than for any other of my children’s birthdays that have passed.

The reflections I have in looking back on her life so far are as much about myself as they are about her. The studies I read about human developmental stage in earning my Psychology degree – especially those of Erik Erikson – make so much more sense now that I have lived through early adulthood and have a child entering adolescence.

To everything there is a time and season. According to Erikson, we must progress through stages successfully in order to go on to the next. It is our job as parents to help that happen, by encouraging them in the right direction. But the individual has to master skills on his or her own – if the parent does too much it stifles development. So parents are constantly weighing what is the right thing to do – or not do – as their children grow.

We see our children as a product of ourselves, so our own self-esteem is wrapped up around how we perceive our children. If we are happy with how they are turning out, we can feel good about that; if not, we are filled with waves of self-doubt. In both cases, we have to offer up our children to God, giving Him credit for who they are and asking for grace to deal with the challenges we face as their parents.

Being a parent has changed my whole perception of reality. I have learned exponentially with each year more about God, life, and myself. I see that I worried unnecessarily about little things years ago that don’t matter now. I see that you can direct your path to a certain degree but some things you can never predict.

I look with wonder and awe at a child who biologically is the product of me and my husband and who has been shaped to a certain degree by us, but who constantly amazes us with qualities that could only have been God-given. I think of all the choices we have made and the results of those and I am happy that God guided us; and that we listened.

I think with hope toward her future and pray God will continue to guide us in the right direction; that she will continue to listen to the Holy Spirit in all she does and constantly grow in her faith and as the person God has meant for her to be.

I pray for all the parents out there in whatever stage they may be, that they can be thankful for whatever it is they have been given, and put themselves and their children in God’s hands, accepting the past and embracing the present, always looking forward.

Pictured above: Audrey reads "The Weight of a Mass" by Josephine Nobisso to the Little Flowers group at Our Lady of the Island.

Perspective

2010-05-03T19:42:00.000-07:00

I finally learned how to keep the scorebook for my children’s softball and baseball games. That is, I got the basics down. My husband explained to me how it is a constant learning process because there are so many intricate rules to a ballgame that it takes a lifetime to fully understand them. Every ballgame he watches on television he says, “There never ceases to be plays that have never happened before.”

During a 20-inning Met game, I sat down with a scorebook and practiced. I had to keep asking my kids to explain what was going on and by the end I thought I had it. Then I tried to keep score at my daughter’s game and messed up the very first inning, after looking up and responding to someone’s question. My husband said it was virtually impossible to score a girls’ softball game because of all the errors that take place. It also goes much faster than a major league game - where you have like five minutes in between batters and replays in between.

I kept practicing and in the process have been given a greater understanding and appreciation of the game. Between scoring and calculating statistics for the league, I now see the game in terms of numbers. If my daughter gets an out going to first but brings in a runner, I can say, “Oh, that was a sacrifice…it’s okay because she brought a runner in.” I now have a grand slam recorded for each of my daughters and look forward to the day my son will hit one.

Finally I was ready and the coach surrendered his book to me. I stood way off from everyone and refused to acknowledge anyone who tried to talk to me, knowing it would throw me off. I like to keep track of the balls and strikes as well; but it is so easy to concentrate on the pitcher and batter and then lose track of stolen bases and errors. You have to constantly be scanning the field and noting where all the runners are as well. And because the plays happen so fast and you’re trying to keep track of where everybody is, sometimes it becomes necessary to ask someone else what just happened.

Parenting is like this too. The little things do matter – but you can’t lose sight of the big picture. Your big dreams have to be constantly kept in the background, knowing that it is all the small decisions you and your children make each day that will bring you there. Constant change in focus and perspective is necessary to keep it all in balance. And one person can’t possibly do it all. Husband and wife need to keep each other appraised of what is going on play by play, from different viewpoints. If a single parent doesn’t have that on a daily basis, the job is so much tougher; he or she needs to have as much support as possible from other trusted adults.

I Thessalonians 4 captures both the intricate and the life summation in one short passage. In Christianity every thought and action that takes place in your daily walk is of importance; it all leads to eternal salvation. We are told not to “fall asleep” – we must be constantly aware and ready. Like we tell our girls not to fall asleep in the outfield because when that ball comes to them they have to be in “ready position” or bad things happen (like homeruns being scored on errors).

1 Thessalonians
Chapter 4 (NAB)
1
Finally, brothers, we earnestly ask and exhort you in the Lord Jesus that, as you received from us how you should conduct yourselves to please God--and as you are conducting yourselves--you do so even more.
2
For you know what instructions we gave you through the Lord Jesus.
3
This is the will of God, your holiness: that you refrain from immorality,
4
that each of you know how to acquire a wife for himself in holiness and honor,
5
not in lustful passion as do the Gentiles who do not know God;
6
not to take advantage of or exploit a brother in this matter, for the Lord is an avenger in all these things, as we told you before and solemnly affirmed.
7
For God did not call us to impurity but to holiness.
8
Therefore, whoever disregards this, disregards not a human being but God, who (also) gives his holy Spirit to you.
9
On the subject of mutual charity you have no need for anyone to write you, for you yourselves have been taught by God to love one another.
10
Indeed, you do this for all the brothers throughout Macedonia. Nevertheless we urge you, brothers, to progress even more,
11
and to aspire to live a tranquil life, to mind your own affairs, and to work with your (own) hands, as we instructed you,
12
that you may conduct yourselves properly toward outsiders and not depend on anyone.
13
We do not want you to be unaware, brothers, about those who have fallen asleep, so that you may not grieve like the rest, who have no hope.
14
For if we believe that Jesus died and rose, so too will God, through Jesus, bring with him those who have fallen asleep.
15
Indeed, we tell you this, on the word of the Lord, that we who are alive, who are left until the coming of the Lord, will surely not precede those who have fallen asleep.
16
For the Lord himself, with a word of command, with the voice of an archangel and with the trumpet of God, will come down from heaven, and the dead in Christ will rise first.
17
Then we who are alive, who are left, will be caught up together 4 with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. Thus we shall always be with the Lord.
18
Therefore, console one another with these words.

Picture is of Audrey playing catcher in a travel game October 2009. If you enjoyed this post you might also enjoy reading “Statistics: Who Needs Them?”

Statistics: Who Needs Them ?

2010-04-22T16:46:00.000-07:00

"A passion for statistics is the earmark of a literate people." - Paul Fisher

My newest project is that of calculating statistics for the softball league and posting them to the sports website. When I got the first batch of numbers, I had to ask my husband what they all meant and he happily brought me our huge hardcopy of John Thorn’s “Total Baseball: The Official Encyclopedia of Major League Baseball” so that I could fully understand and appreciate the history behind the stats tables.

I got the first table up and went outside, hoping I had gotten it right. I’m one of those people who can’t sleep if a little detail is wrong. “What’s the big deal – it’s just a little girl’s game, right?” I imagined what someone might say if they knew how worked up I had gotten about getting it right. Then I remembered back to the statistics courses I had taken, and eventually student-taught, as part of my psychology degree. “Why do we have to know all this? Of what use are all these calculations?” students would constantly moan.

One of the basic calculations is that of the average. Average can statistically mean one of several things, and if you don’t know that you will walk through life letting the newspapers report to you whichever of those fits the news they want you to believe. It can mean “mode”, or the most recurring number or other value, as in: The average person has brown hair. It can mean “median”, or the number that falls right in the middle, as in: The average person lives in a $200,000 house. The only type of average that mathematically means anything is that of “mean”, which is the sum divided by the number of values, usually resulting in a decimal, as in: The average person has 2.2 kids and half a dog.

Statistics can be as accurate as you want them to be. My professor used to tease me because I always liked to carry my calculations to the third decimal. The decimals can go on and on as far as you want to take them.

Statistics are used to objectify information that is used for decision-making. How do we know who is the best teacher, best student, or best ball player? By their statistics. This takes out the human factor so that everyone can see a rational justification for someone being appointed for a position or an award. Statistics make things fair.

Statistics are used by scientists to study the world. Every experiment is analyzed by statistics to come up with scientific conclusions. Lots of experiments are repeated and meta-analyzed to further generalize a theory. Statistics help us to discover and understand about God’s creation.

Little kids playing baseball or softball can look at their numbers and know that they can improve them through practice. As they see their decimals increase in value they can have the satisfaction that comes with improving their game, just as a runner strives to decrease the time it takes to run a mile.

Statistics speak the truth and enlighten us towards wisdom – and all that testifies to the light comes from God.

Proverbs
Chapter 8 (NAB)
1
Does not Wisdom call, and Understanding raise her voice?
2
On the top of the heights along the road, at the crossroads she takes her stand;
3
By the gates at the approaches of the city, in the entryways she cries aloud:
4
"To you, O men, I call; my appeal is to the children of men.
5
You simple ones, gain resource, you fools, gain sense.
6
"Give heed! for noble things I speak; honesty opens my lips.
7
Yes, the truth my mouth recounts, but the wickedness my lips abhor.
8
Sincere are all the words of my mouth, no one of them is wily or crooked;
9
All of them are plain to the man of intelligence, and right to those who attain knowledge.
10
Receive my instruction in preference to silver, and knowledge rather than choice gold.
11
(For Wisdom is better than corals, and no choice possessions can compare with her.)
12
"I, Wisdom, dwell with experience, and judicious knowledge I attain.
13
(The fear of the LORD is to hate evil;) Pride, arrogance, the evil way, and the perverse mouth I hate.
14
Mine are counsel and advice; Mine is strength; I am understanding.
15
By me kings reign, and lawgivers establish justice;
16
By me princes govern, and nobles; all the rulers of earth.
17
"Those who love me I also love, and those who seek me find me.
18
With me are riches and honor, enduring wealth and prosperity.
19
My fruit is better than gold, yes, than pure gold, and my revenue than choice silver.
20
On the way of duty I walk, along the paths of justice,
21
Granting wealth to those who love me, and filling their treasuries.
22
"The LORD begot me, the first-born of his ways, the forerunner of his prodigies of long ago;
23
From of old I was poured forth, at the first, before the earth.
24
When there were no depths I was brought forth, when there were no fountains or springs of water;
25
Before the mountains were settled into place, before the hills, I was brought forth;
26
While as yet the earth and the fields were not made, nor the first clods of the world.
27
"When he established the heavens I was there, when he marked out the vault over the face of the deep;
28
When he made firm the skies above, when he fixed fast the foundations of the earth;
29
When he set for the sea its limit, so that the waters should not transgress his command;
30
Then was I beside him as his craftsman, and I was his delight day by day, Playing before him all the while,
31
playing on the surface of his earth; and I found delight in the sons of men.
32
"So now, O children, listen to me;
33
instruction and wisdom do not reject! Happy the man who obeys me, and happy those who keep my ways,
34
Happy the man watching daily at my gates, waiting at my doorposts;
35
For he who finds me finds life, and wins favor from the LORD;
36
But he who misses me harms himself; all who hate me love death."

Picture: Audrey at bat at a travel game Columbus Day Weekend 2009.

Run/Walk for the Unborn Memorial Day Anywhere

2010-04-20T21:09:00.001-07:00

This is a shadow event to raise money for the prolife cause. Register at the website and then organize your own walk or run anywhere at 9 AM on Memorial Day. I will be organizing one on Eastern Long Island. If you are interested please email me at ekgeroldmiller@gmail.com

Being the Underdog

2010-04-14T19:08:00.000-07:00

“If you can accept losing, you can't win.” – Vince Lombardi

When watching a sports game in which none of our favorite teams are playing, Kevin always likes to root for the underdog. It is just great to see a small name team come out on top and surprise everyone. This takes on a whole new dimension when the underdog is your own child. Last year I wrote about how my daughter’s in-house softball team came back from a 0-16 season and beat the 16-0 team in the playoff game. Little did we know what a year we would be in for with travel ball.

Last summer our town league started its first travel softball team. The manager warned us that it would be a tough first season, with a new team playing against much more experienced girls. It was harder than any of us imagined, with our girls playing their hearts out and still losing with scores like 28-2, night after night and week after week.

I had to convince myself that I didn’t care about winning – I just wanted to watch my girls play their best and improve their skills. “Hope deferred maketh the heart sick” it says in Proverbs – so I just stopped hoping we would win and got used to losing.

By the end of the season, many of our girls had improved so much that they tried out for other more established teams and were picked up. We were left with a core group of loyal girls – girls that could have made it onto Division I teams but wanted to stay with their coaches – and parents who wanted to stay local and pay local prices. These girls and their coaches worked hard all through the winter.

The managers worked hard to organize a spring travel season – on top of in-house – putting on an optimistic air externally but secretly fearing another losing streak. These underdogs played their first double-header set of travel games on Sunday.

The pitcher in the first game was the same girl who helped us win that playoff game I wrote about last year. By the third inning we were so far ahead that we were sure we would “mercy” them by the fifth inning. (If a team is 12 runs ahead after the fourth inning, they win by the “mercy rule”.) But in the fourth inning our girls got sloppy and allowed the other team several runs. We thought our coach was going to have a heart attack. We caught up our runs and won 22-17.

The pitcher in the second game was my daughter Audrey. She shut them out from scoring any runs the first three innings. By the fourth inning she was tired and a few runs were allowed. We won 16-5.

What a thrill it was for all of us.

We don’t do our kids any favors if we make things too easy for them. The parents who stuck by the underdog team allowed their children the sweet taste of victory that is even sweeter when gotten the hard way.

Competition is a great way to teach important lessons about adversity in life and the strength we gain every time we put up a good fight.

Sirach
Chapter 2
1
My son, when you come to serve the LORD, prepare yourself for trials.
2
Be sincere of heart and steadfast, undisturbed in time of adversity.
3
Cling to him, forsake him not; thus will your future be great.
4
Accept whatever befalls you, in crushing misfortune be patient;
5
For in fire gold is tested, and worthy men in the crucible of humiliation.
6
Trust God and he will help you; make straight your ways and hope in him.
7
You who fear the LORD, wait for his mercy, turn not away lest you fall.
8
You who fear the LORD, trust him, and your reward will not be lost.
9
You who fear the LORD, hope for good things, for lasting joy and mercy.
10
Study the generations long past and understand; has anyone hoped in the LORD and been disappointed? Has anyone persevered in his fear and been forsaken? has anyone called upon him and been rebuffed?

A Natural Woman

2010-04-06T16:33:00.000-07:00

This is a guest post from Kimberly Zook, editor-in-chief at The Motherhood Muse. One commenter will receive a free subscription (see below).

In the first issue of The Motherhood Muse literary magazine, we published an essay titled “The Natural Mother onus,” written by Caroline Poser. This essay came from her book, MotherMorphosis, and after reading the essay and book I began to ask myself “How is a natural mother different from a natural woman?”

My first introduction to the idea of a ‘natural mother’ came well before when we were living in Canada. My husband and I arrived at our prenatal class reunion with our 1-month-old baby. The nine other moms and I were first shuffled onto a patio deck with our little ones to get a group photo. Every mom stood there beaming holding happy, quiet babies while I stood there smiling with uncertainty as I held on to my screaming, colicky baby. As we moved indoors to the next room our daughter’s cries drew curious, confused and concerned looks from all the newbie parents. My husband and I did not know any different as our daughter had been crying from colic since the day she was born. We left soon after arriving to calm our baby. On our drive home I looked at the photos in our digital camera, and that’s when it hit me: the other moms looked like naturals. I, on the other hand, looked like I was barely hanging on.

I still see moms at the playground who have it all together: polite kids in clean, matching clothes, a stroller packed with snacks and sippy cups, a humorous comment about last night’s date with her husband to another mom, abundant energy to chase the children, coordination to speak in coherent sentences while changing a diaper and keeping an eye on the other children, a body resembling pre-pregnancy, a face glowing of health, and an overall aura of togetherness. A natural mother.

I usually sigh, tuck my disheveled hair back behind my ears, avoid eye contact with the spit-up stain on my shoulder and bend over to continue digging in the sandbox with my two daughters. I’m lucky if I get a shower every three days, find matching socks for my daughters, remember to pack clean diapers before leaving the house, get my older daughter to eat any of the snacks I brought and recall what my husband and I talked about the night before. Motherhood is a work-in-progress for me.

I should be honest that parts of it have felt natural for me. Like nursing, cuddling, protecting and loving. But I struggle with everything else.

After reading “The Natural Mother onus” by Caroline Poser I decided to create the feature in The Motherhood Muse literary magazine called “A Natural Woman.” I created this feature for all moms who struggle with motherhood and feel unnatural at it.

I decided to call this feature “A Natural Woman,” because in the moments when I am feeling stressed, tired, or frustrated as a mom I often seek that deep, often lost and forgotten part of me that is just me. Me before children. Me as a woman. Who was I? Who am I now?

It is nature who helps me reconnect to that hidden, former part of myself.

After a day of tantrums, unfinished laundry, unanswered emails, crumbs stuck to the soles of my socks, no naps, a frozen dinner, and too much chocolate, I find the only way I can calm down is to open the front door and stand outside in the night air. Sometimes I only get the time and space to only think about nature, but in so doing it centers me. Nature still nurtures me, me as a woman. In the peace that it brings my mind and heart, nature gives me the chance to think about who I am.

The goal of The Motherhood Muse is to help mothers reconnect with nature for many reasons, one being for ourselves. The literature published in our magazine aims to do so by connecting readers to experiences of parenting and nature. Readers, however, may not always put themselves in the shoes of the author, which may not bridge a personal connection to nature. To do so, readers will find the feature “A Natural Woman” helps them to question how nature nurtures who they are and how being a mother influences their relationship with nature. I hope this feature will help every mother find a way to feel the natural connection we have with our environment.

“The Natural Woman” feature is open to anyone who wishes to write about themselves or interview another individual. If you are interested in being featured in this piece in our magazine or know of someone who might be, please email me at editor@themotherhoodmuse.com

Thank you for joining us here today and we look forward to your comments! One winner will receive a free subscription to the 2010 issues! To continue on this blog tour with us, please visit themotherhoodmuse.com for our blog tour schedule.

Under the Boards

2010-03-31T19:39:00.000-07:00

“If you don’t behave,” my Dad said to me sternly but half-jokingly, “We are going to cut your hair short, dress you like a boy, and have you come build houses for me. We’ll call you Lee.”

“Really?” I answered, thinking that would be great fun.

I was eight years old. I wouldn’t have a sibling until I was eleven, so my parents each imparted to me what skills they had, regardless of traditional gender roles. Mom taught me to sew; Dad taught me to cut wood with an electric saw. Mom taught me to be a lady; Dad taught me to think like a business man.

When I found out my first baby was going to be a girl, I decided she was not going to be a girly-girl. The woman who sold me a gallon of blue paint looked at my third-trimester tummy and knowingly commented, “You’re having a boy?”

“No, a girl. I like blue,” I said, defiantly.

Almost thirteen years later, I sat today watching my lovely young lady at the basketball awards party. She is two inches taller than me and absolutely beautiful. She carries herself with confidence. She is smart and athletic and knows it; yet she is too friendly for anyone to think she is conceited.

The coach introduced his award for Most Improved. “This player never played basketball before, and learned it fast. She took a beating under the boards, especially defending against those Southampton girls…” I knew he was going to say Audrey Miller.

I thought back to those big game moments that might have made a mother tremble with worry, or anger, or both; when she fought as if for her life under the basket to get the ball back to whoever on her team could get it down to the other end; when she was elbowed, scratched, and knocked to the ground, hard; and she retrieved that ball, held onto it as long as necessary, and expertly passed it off.

I was never worried because I knew she could take it; and I was proud of her for taking it; and I knew that every time she did this she would become stronger, both as a player and as a person.

I think of all the times people have told me that God gives us trials to make us stronger, and only gives us what He knows we can handle. Suddenly I realize that I have understood this along; that this is how I have been raising my kids because instinctively I knew this to be true.

James 1:2-4 (NAB) says: “Consider it all joy, my brothers, when you encounter various trials, for you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. And let perseverance be perfect, so that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.”

Let us all take those beatings under the boards with strength and grace. The ball is in our court.

Picture above is of the girls' basketball team captains: Audrey is the first on the left.

No Turning Back: A Witness to Mercy (A Book Review)

2010-03-25T08:44:00.000-07:00

Father Donald H. Calloway, MIC, has written an autobiographical book about his conversion from a drug-addicted teenager with a criminal record to a well-spoken priest responsible for helping to form young men for the priesthood. He now travels quite extensively bringing the moving and inspiring story of “No Turning Back: A Witness to Mercy” far and wide.

This book has an important message for a wide audience, both worldly and religious, but I will tell about reading it from a mother’s perspective. Father Calloway and I don’t have much in common except for being born in 1972 and loving the beach. I don’t as a general rule read autobiographies, books by priests, or conversion stories, and yet this narrative had me from page one.

Father Calloway introduces himself as a priest with an important testimony about the Divine Mercy and the radical changes it has brought into his own life. Then he dives into the midst of his teenage drama as he is being caught by the military police in Japan. He is a migrant military-child-brat who loves surfing, girls, and drugs; he will steal without compunction to get what he wants. The story is unbelievably captivating. As I read this I was thinking to myself that here is this now-very-educated, spiritual, and well-spoken man telling this story, relating the thoughts of his younger self that was so ignorant, worldly, and unsocial; and I was wondering how on earth this was possible.

As he relates the details of his upbringing, it is obvious that the constant uprooting from place to place and step-father to step-father has a great deal to do with his rebellion from his parents. Yet he never blames his mother for the hard decisions she had to make, and gives her credit for always taking him back with open loving arms, and patiently waiting for him to come back both to her and to God. He compares her to Saint Monica, who prayed endlessly for her son Augustine; he was a great sinner who eventually became one of the most esteemed of the Church’s scholarly saints. His mother’s present husband he compares to Joseph, who quietly and loyally supported Mary and Jesus.

About three-fifths through, after reading how he went from one rock bottom to another and wondering how low he has to go before he changes, the reader is hit by the same “Divine two-by-four” that hit Father Calloway in the head. One night he stays in his parents’ home alone and reads a book about Mary that they had in their bookshelves. He reads all night and then in the morning tells his mother he needs to speak to a Catholic priest. Seeing the extraordinary event that has happened to him, she tells him to RUN to the military priest. When he goes to Mass he miraculously understands the mystery of the Eucharist and that day is converted.

When I read this part, I was sitting on the beach watching my three-year-old play on the playground, surrounded by other moms and children. The way his conversion happens is so beautiful and amazing it was all I could do to not freak everybody out by crying right there. He makes it clear how a Catholic conversion through Mary and Jesus is fundamentally different from what is understood as the Evangelical-defined “born-again” experience. From that point, Father Calloway details the journey from his calling to the priesthood to where he is now.

The whole story was so compelling and insightful. I would recommend it to any teen or adult.

For more information see the author's website at http://www.fathercalloway.com/books/ntbbk.php

Father Calloway sent me this book in exchange for my honest review.

The Young People's Book of Saints

2010-03-17T17:33:00.000-07:00

The Young People’s Book of Saints by Hugh Ross Williamson is a compilation of 63 saints of the Western Church from the first through the twentieth century. Originally published in 1960 by Hawthorne Books, it is now available as an ARKive Edition from Sophia Institute Press.

Starting at the year 58 A.D. with St. James the Greater and ending with St. Frances Xavier Cabrini in 1850, Williamson strings the stories along in chronological order, traveling from country to country and from the houses of kings to those of servants. He tells the essentials of their lives, not sparing the sorrowful details of their deaths, but in a matter-of-fact way that respects the way children can absorb this information. Many details and higher concepts are included that often are left out in more modern texts; the author realizes that children indeed are capable of understanding. The illustrations by Sheila Connelly are appealing to children and display the individual traits of each of the saints quite well.

I have taken my time in writing this review because I wanted to read it for myself, as well as present the material to children in different forums to see how they reacted to the stories within. I was pleased with the organization of its content, the selection of saints, and the way their stories were told. I used several of the stories in my Little Flowers group, which is a Catholic girls’ group composed of girls ages 5 through 12, in teaching about the saints and their virtues. I also had my eight-year-old son read some of the stories for his Blue Knights group, a Catholic boys’ group that also learns about saints and their virtues. The children both understood and enjoyed the stories.

Each chapter can be read on its own, as I did with my groups of children. When read from pages 1 through 239, however, this could be used as part of a Church History or World History course in a homeschool. The book would also make the perfect gift for a birthday, First Communion, or special achievement for a special child in your life.

This review was written as part of the Catholic book Reviewer program from The Catholic Company. The company sent me the book in exchange for my honest review. Visit The Catholic Company to find more information on The Young People’s Book of Saints.

What I Gave up for Lent: "Feeling Aggravated"

2010-03-10T17:03:00.000-08:00

Kids pulling on both ends of an elephant

I gave up “feeling aggravated” for Lent.

I had not made up my mind what I was going to do until after we had been to church on Ash Wednesday. Giving up a physical thing seemed to be meaningless. Giving of one’s time/material goods are things that should be done year-round. A true sacrifice that also meant acquiring a virtue seemed to be what I needed to do.

Some days I seem to breeze on through, feeling grateful for my beautiful family, nature, and all else God has given me. Other days I feel besieged by children who refuse to cooperate, incompetent clerks, people who have problems communicating clearly, and people who bounce checks.

Normally my blood pressure runs about 110/70, a very healthy number, but when I start to get aggravated I can literally feel my blood boil. I actually registered at 130/80 (“prehypertensive”) one morning when I was feeling like this. I know this is not a healthy state either physically or spiritually. I also wonder how I could allow external circumstances to alter my internal state of peace.

St. Therese of Liseaux wrote in “The Story of a Soul” of her frustrations dealing with the sisters she lived with. They would torture her in all the little ways they could, taking away what little comforts she could possibly have in her monastic lifestyle. She would respond by praying for them, and by trying to learn how to love them better. She actually had to avoid one sister for a while, for fear of saying or doing the wrong thing; but she eventually got so good at loving the good in her that the sister thought she was one of Therese’s favored ones.

Did Therese actually feel aggravated? Probably – she also wrote that it wasn’t wrong to feel a certain way except for how it makes you respond. Some days I think that if I didn’t have to deal with any people I would never get aggravated. That wouldn’t be too practical though.

One day I went ice skating alone with my three-year-old; another day we fell asleep on an early spring day in the sun. “Isn’t life wonderful,” I would think, and vow to hold onto that feeling when times got tough. Playing ball with my kids I also forget all that is bothering me – there is no sound but the cracking of the bat in my brain. Running also clears my mind, and leaves me with a sense of well-being for much of the day. “Maybe I should just stick to these activities that make me feel peaceful,” I think. Or I could live in the real world.

One morning I was doing fairly well. My kids came home from a half day and I had to lean on them to get them to finish their education fair projects. Within a half hour I was yelling, feeling at the end of my rope with one of them. I thought of my resolution. “Does EXASPERATED count?” I thought. I lost it about ten times that day.

In casual conversation, I have been mentioning my resolution with other moms. They usually think I’m joking. “Good luck with that,” they say.

One of my Facebook friends,Br. Cassian Sama, commented:
"Don't worry my friend! Struggling with impatience is God's way of telling you that he wants to bless you in that virtue. If you don't give up and continue to strive for it, then you can easily attain the rest of the virtues that will make you the holy wife, mother, and woman God has destined you to be. For Patience is the engine and force that gives life to all virtues."

Today I received a rejection letter for my book proposal. It was a “good” letter because it said some nice things about the merits of my book – but it still is kind of like winning the silver medal in the Olympic hockey game. Close, but no cigar. This scripture speaks to me on my handling of both “aggravation” and disappointment.

Romans
Chapter 5
1 Therefore, since we have been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ,
2 through whom we have gained access (by faith) to this grace in which we stand, and we boast in hope of the glory of God.
3 Not only that, but we even boast of our afflictions, knowing that affliction produces endurance,
4 and endurance, proven character, and proven character, hope,
5 and hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.

17 Again: A Movie Review

2010-03-03T17:44:00.000-08:00

[Spoiler alert.]

In "17 Again", Zac Efron plays Mike O’Donnell, the once-college-bound athlete with promises of a “free ride” scholarship, who later thinks that he threw it all away to marry his pregnant girlfriend Scarlett. At the age of 17 his girlfriend tells him of her pregnancy right before the biggest game of his life. With the scouts watching and his girlfriend walking away, he walks off the court to chase after her and ask her to marry him.

Flash forward to middle-age, wherein Mike (now played by Michael Perry) has a nowhere job and does nothing but complain about his family life. His wife (Scarlett, played by Leslie Mann) throws him out and he is forced to move in with his wealthy software genius nerd and best friend Ned Freedman (Thomas Lennon). He walks to the high school to reminisce. There a mysterious janitor apparently casts a spell on him and he meets with an accident that transforms himself into his 17-year-old self. He is still, however, in his own time.

After he convinces Ned that he is himself, Ned enrolls him in the high school, thinking he is meant to live out the basketball-college-star-dream he was once on track for. However, Mike soon realizes that his true path is to help his own children, who are also presently enrolled in the same school. His daughter is dating a boy who is pressuring her to have sex, and his son is a talented basketball player who just needs a confidence boost to get himself on the team and make some friends. Mike is able to befriend his children in a way he would not have been able to in the state of their previous father-child relationship.

Meanwhile, Scarlett is starting to date, while forced to remember the good old days because of the haunting presence of this young man who looks exactly like her husband did when he was 17. Things escalate to the point of divorce proceedings before all is made right. The kids’ problems are solved, Scarlett and Mike fall back in love, and Mike is transformed back into his normal aged body – with no regrets.

This movie is a great conversation-starter for parents and kids. The messages are pro-life, pro-abstinence, and pro-marriage. I recommend this film for teens; and for pre-teens with parental guidance. It can also be used as part of an abstinence program in any youth program.

Presently playing on HBO.

How to build a raised garden bed

2010-03-03T09:16:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I was so excited to pass by the baseball fields and see green grass. Today the snow is falling again! As much as we have enjoyed the snow this winter, we are all looking forward to getting out and playing some ball - and gardening. Those of you who have been following my blog for a while have already read about my raised garden beds that I built with my children last March. We were really pleased with the crops we produced. I have written up my step-by-step instructions on my Examiner column. This is a fun, easy, and inexpensive project that reaps great rewards. You can read my article here

A Touch of Heaven to Hold Onto

2010-02-23T18:31:00.000-08:00

On Monday morning the three older children returned to school and I took my three-year-old ice skating at our favorite outdoor rink.

The outdoor rink at Port Jefferson Harbor Park is built next to an old boathouse, which was converted into a community center, a few hundred yards away from the actual harbor. I much prefer the outdoor rink to an indoor one, with its cold, stale air and lack of scenery. While we skate, we can take in the endless view, occasionally disrupted by the departure of the huge, white ferry, which we occasionally board to visit the cousins in Massachussetts.

Last week, during winter break, I had let the children all stay up every night until midnight watching the Olympics. My three-year-old attempted the figure skating moves on the living room rug, often blocking our view of the routines. She wants to be an ice dancer like one of her favorite literary characters, Angelina Ballerina.

She has been skating on the sandbox-turned-ice rink in our backyard on a regular basis, and when I can take them all to the rink she is able to skate independently. So we really enjoy our time together on the ice.

When we arrived, there was one couple with a girl her age; they soon tired of the effort and left. That left us two and an elderly gentleman, who quietly skated around and around the perimeter.

Although she knows she can do it, she always starts off by clinging to me. Then I hold her hands and skate backwards with her, until she decides to let go and skate towards me. Then she starts to mimic my moves. As the ice gets more and more scuffed-up, her confidence increases. During this session, probably the last of the year, she learned to skate backwards as well as in circles. I promised her a cup of hot cocoa if she would smile for a few pictures.

They let us stay on the ice longer, because there were no more customers for the next session. We just kept going and going until we were both utterly exhausted. We put a dollar in the beverage machine for a hot cocoa and another in the snack machine for a bag of Goldfish.

We brought all our stuff out onto a bench at the harbor’s edge and just sat there, sipping our hot cocoa and snacking on Goldfish, and watching the stillness and beauty of the cold, quiet water, glistening on this sunny, forty-degree day. It was truly a touch of heaven to hold onto.

Sirach
Chapter 18
1
The Eternal is the judge of all things without exception; the LORD alone is just.
2
Whom has he made equal to describing his works, and who can probe his mighty deeds?
3
Who can measure his majestic power, or exhaust the tale of his mercies?
4
One cannot lessen, nor increase, nor penetrate the wonders of the LORD.
5
When a man ends he is only beginning, and when he stops he is still bewildered.
6
What is man, of what worth is he? the good, the evil in him, what are these?
7
The sum of a man's days is great if it reaches a hundred years:
8
Like a drop of sea water, like a grain of sand, so are these few years among the days of eternity.
9
That is why the LORD is patient with men and showers upon them his mercy.
10
He sees and understands that their death is grievous, and so he forgives them all the more.
11
Man may be merciful to his fellow man, but the LORD'S mercy reaches all flesh,
12
Reproving, admonishing, teaching, as a shepherd guides his flock;
13
Merciful to those who accept his guidance, who are diligent in his precepts.

After Midnight

2010-02-16T16:28:00.000-08:00

St Cecelia

The kids are convinced that they scheduled the Olympics to coincide with President’s Week winter break, or visa versa, to allow children everywhere to stay up late and watch the games. I have been allowing them to stay up until midnight so that we can enjoy the figure skating competitions together. Although the routines are taped, the television station chooses to torture us by stretching it out from 8:00 PM through midnight.

We are used to having the kids to bed between 8:00 and 9:00. They all go to bed at the same time, with the occasional exception of my eldest if she has a big school assignment to work on. Then my husband and I have the evening to ourselves.

I dislike it when he allows them to stay up for a ballgame, so I have to see his point of view when he complains about my letting them stay up this late for figure skating. He’ll go upstairs to watch High Stakes Poker, and occasionally come down to laugh when a skater falls.

Last night my son fell asleep in a chair around 11:55. I put our three-year-old to bed and flopped on top of my own. My two preteen girls somehow found their way to my bed and we wound up lying there, chatting and laughing, for another half hour.

We talked about school, and funny things that teachers and other kids said. We talked about their friends. We talked about Lent, and why we are supposed to give up meat and other things. And we talked about softball.

Over the weekend we were approached by our coaches with the option of splitting the girls onto separate teams. Last year they were in different age divisions but this year they are back in the same division and I had been looking forward to simplifying my schedule by having them on the same team.

However, it has recently become apparent that having to compete with an older sister is not necessarily good for the younger one’s self-esteem and development as a ball player. I had been wrestling all winter with how to deal with this. When I found out the coaches had come to this same conclusion on their own, I was very encouraged. My husband was in agreement and the girls suddenly became very excited about facing off against each other on the field.

I did this to myself, and some may think I’m insane; I also have to fit my son’s baseball games in there. But the truth is that I love being on the field everyday (even though I am allergic to pollen and rely on my Claritin or Zyrtec to survive), and love watching my kids do what they love to do best.

People are always telling me that they are sad to watch their children grow up. Maybe I don’t feel that way because I still have a little one at home. But God gave each child a purpose for being and a gift to be fulfilled. So when I see my children blossoming and coming into their own, it fills me with great joy.

Sirach has some wise words on disciplining children so that they may bring joy to the parents when they grow up…

Sirach
Chapter 30
1
He who loves his son chastises him often, that he may be his joy when he grows up.
2
He who disciplines his son will benefit from him, and boast of him among his intimates.
3
He who educates his son makes his enemy jealous, and shows his delight in him among his friends.
4
At the father's death, he will seem not dead, since he leaves after him one like himself,
5
Whom he looks upon through life with joy, and even in death, without regret:
6
The avenger he leaves against his foes, and the one to repay his friends with kindness.
7
He who spoils his son will have wounds to bandage, and will quake inwardly at every outcry.
8
A colt untamed turns out stubborn; a son left to himself grows up unruly.
9
Pamper your child and he will be a terror for you, indulge him and he will bring you grief.
10
Share not in his frivolity lest you share in his sorrow, when finally your teeth are clenched in remorse.
11
Give him not his own way in his youth, and close not your eyes to his follies.
12
Bend him to the yoke when he is young, thrash his sides while he is still small, Lest he become stubborn, disobey you, and leave you disconsolate.
13
Discipline your son, make heavy his yoke, lest his folly humiliate you.

Review of Sarah Palin’s “Going Rogue: An American Life”

2010-02-10T19:10:00.000-08:00

As one would expect, Sarah Palin’s book “Going Rogue: An American Life” is political in nature – and yet, regardless of your politics, I think any woman with American Judeo-Christian morals would enjoy this book immensely, especially if she is a mom. Men will also enjoy her messages of ethics over politics; dealing with the political machine; and balancing family with work.

Sarah Palin wrote this book to clear the air on a number of issues. She writes about how the media turned around her actions and words to portray her badly; the GOP campaign advisors did nearly as much damage; and the people of Alaska and her own family wound up suffering as a result. This book clears her family name where it was smeared; outlines the non-basis of ethical charges leveled at her and her office; and explains why she felt it was in the public’s best interest for her to step down from her position as Governor of Alaska.

The book tells quite a great deal about Sarah Palin’s life and character. She is driven to serve the public. She is amazingly balanced. She is a mom first at heart and loves America.

Sarah’s description of her family life is awe-inspiring. As a mom who is busy with her own volunteer work as well as children in travel sports, reading about all she does makes me think, “If Sarah can do all this and also serve in public office, surely I can do this!” She has a great relationship with her husband; although his work keeps him away from home for weeks at a time, they are able to coordinate their complicated schedules so that the children are always taken care of. She is very involved with all aspects of her kids’ lives, acting as a high school girls’ basketball coach and traveling the wide reaches of Alaska to get her children to their various sporting events.

As a public servant, her ethics are unaffected by party affiliation. She personally keeps down her living and travel expenses that are paid by the public. She is not afraid to stand up to the establishment to get her job done properly. Her honesty in answering questions during the McCain campaign is what inspired the title of the book: her “handlers” were complaining that in going off-script she was “going rogue”.

Early in the book, Sarah bares to all her feelings as she discovered she was pregnant with her fifth child; then again, as she received the news that he would be born with Down syndrome. Not wanting the news to affect her job in any way, she kept the pregnancy quiet until her seventh month; she never got the chance to prepare her family properly for the special challenges they would face. Later in the book, she will talk about her “grizzly bear mama” feelings as her children, including the youngest and most innocent, are unfairly attacked by the media.

As a person, Sarah is very “real”. She does not care about high fashion; she hunts; she runs; she personally handles fish guts. Sarah pays due respect to mothers everywhere, whether they are full-time stay-at-home moms, working moms, work-at-home moms, or professional volunteer moms. Whatever your call in life, she believes you should listen to your conscience and follow it.

Some notes on where Sarah stands on some issues, which will affect how some read her book. Sarah was baptized Catholic but is a practicing Evangelical Christian. She is pro-life in all circumstances. She believes in contraception, which has put her at odds with some pro-life groups. She believes in free competition, small government, and stream-lined budgets. She admires the Republican Party of the Reagan years but does not align herself completely with either political party.

I have heard people say that they thought this book was “ghost-written”, but I could hear Sarah’s voice telling her story throughout. In the Acknowledgements section she thanks Lynn Vincent and a number of assistants for helping to get her words on paper. While she evidently did not personally write every word, it is apparent that the meanings of the words are hers and that she was involved in the book process from beginning to end.

Sarah loves Facebook, which puts information in the hands of the people. You can find her fan page here.

Follow her on Twitter here.

Find her website "Sarah Palin for America" here.

The World is too Slow for Me

2010-02-06T10:19:00.000-08:00

Girls in a garden

Being involved in a sports organization is so exciting when I can contribute my ideas to help make it run better for my children. However, being just one wheel on the train I have to wait for all those other wheels to turn along with me! For me to do my job I have to wait for people to return my calls or emails and get me the information I need.

Patience is not a virtue I was born with. Like I teach my girls in Little Flowers, the virtues must be perfected by practicing them. If you don’t feel cheerful, start with an outward smile, and you are on your way to perfecting the virtue of Cheerfulness. So every day I pray for the patience I need for dealing with all the challenges of motherhood. Even when I feel impatient, I try to act patient; at the very least I give the outward appearance of calm, which is contagious to those around me.

As the week progressed, I was feeling rather dubious about presenting the virtue of Piety to my Little Flowers group. With all my pent-up feelings of impatience, I felt like I was the last person to be representing this virtue.

On Friday morning I brought a softball flyer down to Staples to be copied. It sounds like a simple task but I was surprised at all the complications: (1) getting approval from the school district to distribute it in the classrooms; (2) finding out how to pay for the copies through the treasury; (3) about 20 minute questions from the photocopying manager before she could get me a quote on the cost. I brought the flyer down and thought I was done. Then she asked me if I want plain white or the league color (green)?

I had to agree that my flyer looked lovely in green. But I didn’t know what the rules were for handing out flyers in the school; would a colored background be acceptable? My cell phone had lost its charge. So I told her to hold the order until I could get confirmation from my supervisor. I went home and emailed him the question.

An hour went by and I became increasingly impatient. Staples had enough collators that morning to get the job done before a big snowstorm came in; and I was planning on taking my kids ice skating when they got home from their half day at school. “He’s probably busy at work and doesn’t want to be pestered with this stupid question about green or white”, I thought. So I put in a call to the school district and found out that background color is fine.

I emailed him again saying, “School district says color is fine. I’m going with green unless you tell me otherwise”, waited five minutes, and called the lady to say we had decided on green. “That’s great,” she said, and I hung up.

Then I got the reply to my first email, “White”.

So I called her again. “I’m really sorry, but I just got the reply from my supervisor. We will have to go with white.”

“Don’t worry about it – I didn’t start yet,” she said.

Then I got a reply to my second email, “Green is great.”

We finally confirmed the decision through a telephone conversation. “Green would be nice, but if you don’t want to call her again I understand,” he said.

But I really liked the idea of the green flyer, so I called the lady one more time. “I promise you I’m not crazy,” I pleaded, “But I just got permission from the district that I can use green. I promise you I won’t change my mind again.”

“Well, we’ll see about that,” she replied, but with a good-natured tone.

With an hour to go before the kids got home, I sat down to go over my lesson plans for Little Flowers. I opened up the book and was pleasantly surprised…

I started my lesson by asking all the girls what they thought piety was, or how a pious person should act. The picture they all seemed to have was of a really serious, straight-faced person who prays and talks about religion all the time. Then I told them that that was what I thought too, and that I had thought I was the last person who should be presenting this lesson. I shared with them the green-or-white story. Then I told them what piety really is.

From “The Catholic Girl’s Guide”, edited by Fr. Francis X. Lasance:

“The genuine flower of piety is no mere sentimentalism and does not consist in a multitude of pious practices. If you would be truly pious, do everything you have to do as a service done to God. We see true piety to be an interior frame of mind or disposition, a love which comes from within and gives life to everything which is without. Or it is the active love of God which makes men eschew evil, do good, and endure suffering. An unmistakable mark of true piety is that it makes its possessor cheerful and merry. How indeed could it be otherwise? Who has more reason to be cheerful than a truly pious young girl? Who can look up to heaven with more confidence?”

I said that because I was acting out of devotion to my children, which springs from the love of God, my actions of the week could be seen as actions of piety. Whatever they are called to do on a given day, if they do it out of the sincerity of their hearts and through love of God and neighbor, they are practicing the virtue of piety.

I got home to an email from Staples. She had gotten the order done in half the time she had estimated – either she was nervous about the snowstorm or she didn’t want to give me a chance to change my mind again!

High Demand

2010-02-03T20:16:00.000-08:00

As the kids continue to grow older and more independent, I have had more time to spend on other projects. While I avoided volunteer work during the newborn stage, I started last year to start saying “yes” to more things, and to sometimes even throw my hat in the ring just because I knew my kind of talent was needed. I always make sure I am putting my time into an interest that will also benefit my children – teaching their religion class, coaching their sport, or putting my organizational skills to work in their sports organization.

For the first time, I allowed my children to take part in winter sports this year, and I am still wondering if that was a good idea. I always liked to take a little time off from all that running around; to enjoy Advent, and my daughter’s birthday, which falls around Christmas. I usually read a nice long book in January, and then do some serious writing. This year I have not had the leisure to either read or write at any great length.

Although we have quite a busy schedule, when we are all together in the house sometimes it feels like I am no longer needed by them in a direct manner. Then suddenly one of them comes to me for help and I am very pleased. The only problem is that this always seems to happen to all the kids at the very same time.

Today my eldest daughter, who practically taught herself while we were homeschooling and catches on to math skills quite easily, came to me for help with her algebraic inequalities. It took about an hour to explain things to her. During this hour, my three-year old daughter continually came asking for me to play a game for her; my eight-year-old son kept asking for advice on a picture he was working on; and my eleven-year-old started crying for no apparent reason.

Done with the primary task at hand, I went on to my second daughter, asking yes or no questions to try to get at the cause of her crying. I finally got at it – she had come home with a C on a test about primes and composites and was afraid to tell me. Note that this is the same teacher who had not properly explained things to my older daughter. So I explained to her that if she didn’t get the math concept it wasn’t her fault, and we worked on understanding the test together.

My son didn’t really need my help; he was just responding to the high needs of everyone else around him and demanding his own piece of me. My three-year-old gets more than her fair share of my attention and needs to learn to wait her turn.

During this time, somebody ate all of my husband’s oatmeal cookies and all of the apples that were supposed to go with the lunches for tomorrow. My husband arrived home, ate the dinner plate I had prepared for him, and asked how I could allow that to happen!

“I don’t know. It’s my writing night,” I replied, and took my laptop upstairs to write this little piece.

Psalms
Chapter 131
1
A song of ascents. Of David. LORD, my heart is not proud; nor are my eyes haughty. I do not busy myself with great matters, with things too sublime for me.
2
Rather, I have stilled my soul, hushed it like a weaned child. Like a weaned child on its mother's lap, so is my soul within me.
3
Israel, hope in the LORD, now and forever.

Painting above: “Lotte (Werther’s Leiden)” by Wilhelm Von Kaulbach

Grace Under Pressure

2010-01-27T17:51:00.001-08:00

I woke up this morning to a migraine headache, something I get a few times a year, usually when a cold front is coming through and smashing up against a warm front. I was thankful that I had a few hours before I had to go pick up the kids from school and drive them way out east for a basketball game.

I managed to consume a banana and a cup of tea so I wouldn’t have to take analgesics on an empty stomach. Then I snuggled up with my toddler on the couch and watched a Thomas the Tank Engine video.

She roused me at the end of the video and I realized it was time to go. I felt absolutely nauseous and was not sure how I could possibly drive. “Go get your hairbrush,” I told her.

She was on her way up the stairs, when she complained, “I think there’s something stuck in my nose.”

Thinking it was a “boogie”, I stuck my finger in her nostril to see if I could clear whatever was bothering her. I didn’t feel anything.

“There’s nothing in there,” I said.

“There’s something stuck in there!” she insisted.

So I placed her on the couch and looked up her nose. She was right. There was a miniature jingle bell stuck up her nose. I hadn’t seen this happen since my eldest was two and had stuck a bead up her nose; it had required a visit to the pediatrician to remove it.

I looked up at the clock nervously. If I couldn’t get it out, maybe the school nurse would remove it for me. I picked up a tweezer and a toothpick, random items left on top of the microwave.

The toothpick fit perfectly into the hole in the jingle bell, and it came smoothly out. She seemed to suffer no discomfort. “Phew!” Suddenly my nausea was gone. That fight-or-flight hormone adrenaline had kicked it out of my system. Thank God.

As we drove, I felt the pain in my right eye gradually dull, fading into my sinuses. We stopped at a light and the sun peaked out of the clouds at me. I found myself thanking the Lord for the headache, which had reminded me that I always need to ask for His Grace to get through a busy day of being a mom.

It was a long drive. When we arrived, the coach went into the gym and came out to tell us that, due to a drama rehearsal, the game was being delayed for a half hour. We were welcome to hang out in the snow-covered parking lot in the meantime. I realized we had forgotten to bring water. We took our extra time to go to McDonald’s for some nuggets and shakes. At least dinner was out of the way for the night.

The game started with the other team ahead. Finally, a close game, one worth watching, I thought. We had been undefeated, and none of the other teams had given us much of a challenge. I soon realized that the other team was composed of experienced eighth graders, towering over our mixed team of sixth, seventh, and eighth graders. By half-time it became apparent that we might be in for our first loss.

Our poor girls really suffered at the hands of the opposing team. There was scratching, slapping, kicking, elbowing…not a girl escaped without a mark to her face or body. Sure, they had fouls issued, but the damage was already done.

So we walked away from our first loss, bruised in body and ego, but knowing we had played by the rules and done our best. Kudos to the coaches as well, for giving all the sixth graders some playing time even when we were behind. I am sure every parent drove home giving their children lessons to be learned about sportsmanship even in the face of the lack of the same from the other team.

Some days just aren’t that great…but we can still glean some great thoughts from them. Like when you get a gift that is hard to appreciate at Christmas, but then you still remember it’s a gift. Every day in this walk is a gift, and with our children in them they are all golden.

Picture above is from a game played in Dec. 2009 - both teams displayed good sportsmanship in that game.

A Review of “Poet”: Forty Poems by Paul Gerard Dextraze

2010-01-20T20:03:00.000-08:00

Paul Gerard Dextraze has self-published a book of his forty poems. Originally the purpose of his book was to preserve them as a legacy for his grandchildren and great-grandchildren. However, as he began to share his writing with his friends he was encouraged to publish his work for the enjoyment of others. He sought out beautiful photographs to complement the subjects of his poems, obtained permission from the photographers to share them, and printed up his book. The purpose of the book was to share his gift with others as a blessing.

Paul’s poems follow the traditional rhyme with rhythm. Most of the poems are in quadrants, either with rhyming couplets or with every other line rhyming with each other. I found this to be a refreshing change from the often confusing ramble of non-traditional poetry. There is even a poem on “Modern Poetry” that discusses this pet-peeve of classic poets.

The poems are on a multitude of topics that hit the high and low notes of every emotion. The humourous poems made me laugh out loud. The sad poems bring tears to the eye but, unlike the poems of Robert Frost, they still have an undercurrent of joy.

Section I, entitled “Humour”, discusses the writing of poetry, animals, aliens, and chastity (in a play of words entitled “Unchased Virgin”). The last of these is followed up by a cartoon in the back of the book in which a reader, puzzled, asks, “Doesn’t he know how to spell ‘Unchaste’? Oh wait - I get it!”

Section II, “Nature”, is a collection of lovely poems about various animals, accompanied by colorful photographs. Even my three-year-old was delighted by them. With the author’s permission, I quote the shortest of them…

A Northern Cardinal Visits a Fool (By Paul Gerard Dextraze)

December rose, I dare to ask
The reason why you wear a mask –
To shield your eyes when snows are bright?
Chip! He says, and takes to flight.

Section III, “Sorrow”, delves into Christ’s life and death, and personal pain. Section IV, “Grief” is composed of some tear-wrenching poems about the loss of a child. Section V, “God’s Love”, shares the omnipresence of God throughout our trials. Section VI, “Rejoicing”, celebrates autumn and Christ’s sacrifice. Section VII, “ Romantic Love”, brings to mind Shakespearean love poetry; it includes a chaste look at marital love. Section VIII, “Love of Child”, covers both the joy of a parent in his or her child and the sorrow of a child who has passed on. Section IX, “In Defense of Babies”, has both an anti-abortion poem and a poem rejoicing in pregnancy.

Anyone interested in this quality book of poetry may email Paul at callmedex@comcast.net for the free pdf. A limited number of free hard-copies of his book are available for serious poetry fans.

The picture above is taken from the cover of the poetry book. This picture was taken by Fred Walsh and is copyrighted to him. The link for this picture of the northern male cardinal is http://fredwalshphotos.blogspot.com/2009/03/northern-cardinal-male.html

For more of Fred Walsh’s beautiful photographs of birds, please visit his picture blog at http://fredwalshphotos.blogspot.com/

The Apple of my Eye

2010-01-13T18:23:00.000-08:00

A Mother And Child In An Interior

Keep me as the apple of your eye; hide me in the shadow of your wings – Psalms 17:2

One of my very favorite things about being a stay-at-home mom is that mornings are so laid-back. The school-aged children know how to get themselves ready, and the bus stop is right at the end of my driveway. They kiss me and my husband goodbye and we go back to sleep, cozy and warm, until we are good and ready to start our day.

My three-year-old, now nap-free, goes to sleep at the same time as the older children and sleeps until around 9 a.m. She comes into our room and climbs between us, where we snuggle as our brains come to life.

On my husband’s side of the bed I have set up his favorite mementos: some Star Trek stuff, and a picture of our three older kids in front of the old Shea Stadium, circa 2005. Every time I dust, I think of replacing it with one that includes all the children, but I just can’t bring myself to put his beloved Shea away in a box.

This morning after my husband rolls out of bed she studies his personal belongings and declares, “Mommy, I not in there!”

I think about the significance of her statement.

He comes back over and I say, “Tell Daddy what you said about the picture.”

“Daddy, I not in there!”

“You weren’t born yet,” he explains.

“But - why I not in there?”

We are at a loss for words and answer by giving her some more morning snuggles.

An old saying comes back to me. Old friends of my parents used to say to me, “I knew you when you were the apple in your mother’s (or father’s) eye.” That statement puzzled me as a child. Then I learned in General Psychology that the pupils dilate when one is in the early stages of romantic attraction, and the saying became clear.

Although I always had the number four in my head for the number of children I would have, as a couple we have taken things one kid at a time. We never knew how many we would have – we still don’t know – but God always knew.

So in a larger sense, this little three-year-old was there in that picture. She was the apple in my eye, and in her father’s eye, and a plan in God’s eye. They always were, and always will be.

No heat in the middle of winter?

2010-01-12T18:14:00.000-08:00

After our main heating unit broke down twice within three of the coldest days on Long Island this winter, I wondered what a family would do if they did not have a backup heating source, or a close friend or family member with whom to spend the night. Today's Examiner article tells the whole story of what happened to us, what we did, and what I suggest families do to have some kind of an emergency heat disaster plan.

My fears of freezing to death really were worse than the actual cold, and I was left feeling more sympathetic than ever toward those in the plight of having no shelter whatsoever in this weather.

Visions went through my head of the people who must have suffered in the camps at Krakow, Poland. I visited there when I was 18 and I can still remember the small, bare hovels. My imagination peopled those rooms with women and children, no meat on their bones, struggling to keep each other warm as snow came in the poor shelters.

We have so many comforts in our modern life, with much to be thankful for. If you are reading this on a computer, you are probably in a well-heated environment right now, with clean tap water within reach and something good to eat if you desire it. Say a pray of thanks.

Visit at a friend’s house

2010-01-06T19:27:00.000-08:00

Sun and Moon Flowers

I park in front of my friend’s historic house and get my things together. My three-year-old is all excited to go to “Sissy’s” house. I’ve broken the rules of social engagements by inviting myself over, but my friend never minds. She lives right around the block from my children’s school, which is a half hour from my house. So whenever I am at the school volunteering, I give her a call and invite myself over. This time I am serving snack from 12 to 1, and have to be back again at 2:30 for a basketball game.

She usually puts out something nice for lunch, but I don’t want her to fuss, so we bring our own sandwiches and eat them in the car. When I arrive, I am glad that I did that, because she is still trying to get five minutes to eat her microwaved birthday dinner leftovers, as her two- and four- year-olds vie for her attention.

My three-year-old instantly makes herself at home, trying on Disney Princess dresses with Sissy and sipping “tea” while watching Little Bear. Every corner is a delightful discovery. In one corner is a writer’s desk, clear but for a laptop and a notebook. In another is a quaint table with antique tea cups – which kids are still allowed to use. On one wall you find an unused mantle where a life-sized china cat keeps watch over some dried flowers. Nearby on a Victorian-style couch lays a huge, long-haired, real white cat.

We alternate between sitting and getting up, as my friend attempts to eat something while her two-year-old, no longer restrained by gates, roams to far corners of the house asking for her help. The conversation doesn’t stop for anything – we have too much to cover in the course of an hour. Writing goals, personal dreams, childhood sicknesses, and housekeeping rants all need to be shared.

For an hour, I feel like a person with no required functions. I am just me, and my friend appreciates all that I have to offer without expecting me to actually do anything. Except listen.

It is over too fast, and it is heart-wrenching to have to force my three-year-old out of her Princess dress, leave her friends, and go out into the cold to go back to the school. For the next three days, she repeatedly pesters me, “Mommy, I want to be a Princess at Sissy’s house again.”

“Me too,” I reply.

Snow: A Lesson in Temporal Beauty

2009-12-30T20:05:00.000-08:00

“Where’s my Frosty ?!?” I heard my three-year-old exclaim on Sunday morning, as she went downstairs for breakfast and looked out the back door.

We had had a blizzard the previous weekend, which left behind a record 26.3 inches of snow here on Long Island. The first day it was too dry to make a snowman and the older kids had spent much of the day making trails in the snow for her to walk through. By the third day, there was enough moisture for them to make large snowmen and even a snow bunny. My three-year-old had proudly put the finishing touches on the bunny, adding a purple scarf for it to stay “warm”.

After one week of white beauty, it rained – and rained – and rained – enough for most of all that snow to be washed away. All that was left of the snow creatures were sad little piles of hats and scarves; a carrot; and caps for dishwashing liquid that had served as green “eyes”.

The kids explained to her that Frosty had melted but that it would snow again soon and he would “come back to life someday”.

“IT’S…NOT…FAIR!” she screeched, so that I could hear her from the opposite end of the house upstairs.

When I came back downstairs, I tried again to explain it to her. “The things of this world fade away,” I quoted to the older children, which of course went over her head.

It’s a lesson that children quickly learn; one that can leave them feeling disenchanted, depending on how their parents handle it.

[Here my eleven-year-old hops on my computer and inserts what she thinks my thoughts must be. I leave it because I find it extremely amusing.] I think that it should snow when I want it to snow so I can be happy and have my children not messing the house around so it would be clean and peaceful. Until they come in the house again ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh it is messy again!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[Here my twelve-year-old takes a hold of my keyboard and, like her younger sister, comes frighteningly close to the truth of how I feel.] Although the kids mess up the house when they come in from the snow, the peacefulness that I experience when they are out of the house is beyond amazing. Therefore I wish that it would snow anytime I wanted it to. I think that it should be impossible for the snow to come in the house, and then this world would be perfect! Oh yes, and one more addition. That the snow “creations” never melt so that I won’t have to ever hear that snow melting is not fair ever again!!!!!! [Children’s insertions end here.]

Knowing that the world is imperfect, we can find beauty in nature and admire its Creator, knowing that what He has planned for us in everlasting life is way beyond the glimpse He offers us here. We can show our children this, by praising the beauty given us, and letting them know that, although it does not last here on earth, there is a greater beauty beyond our imagination that will go on and on. Snow that does not melt and yet does not make us cold. Leaves that change color and yet do not die and fall to the ground. Greenery that does not make us sneeze and our eyes water.

The stability of the family the child grows up in is yet another glimpse for them into the security of God’s love. As parents we cannot be the perfect Father that God is, but we can give them our unconditional love; the comfort they need as they discover the pain that is inevitable in this world; and the nurturing of their childlike wonder that we should try our best to emulate.

Revolutionary Road: A Review with Spoilers

2009-12-28T17:09:00.000-08:00

I find it impossible to review this movie without spoiling the ending for my readers. I have read numerous reviews on Christian sites, which seem to be afraid to talk about the main focus of the movie. Yet the topic of the movie – abortion – is something that the viewer will have wished he or she knew before going into it.

The star-crossed lovers of Titanic have reunited on the set, but their relationship is nothing to be admired. In the story based on the 1961 novel by Richard Yates and directed by Sam Mendes, Kate Winslet and Leonard DiCaprio play a husband and wife who have reached the stage of boredom in their 1950s upper-class suburban home in Connecticut. Two children float in and out of the picture, having no real roles but that of accessories, like the bland but elegant furniture in the large house in which they live on Revolutionary Road.

After starting his birthday with a marital argument with his wife April, Frank Wheeler seduces a young secretary at work. When he arrives home, there are tears in his eyes as his wife and children surprise him with a cake. Later, April convinces him that the way out of their unhappy situation is to sell all they own and move to Paris. There, she can take a good-paying job and he can find his purpose in life.

Setting a date for September, she purchases steamer tickets and puts the house up for sale. With some hope on the horizon, the couple seems happy that summer until two things happen that put their decision in jeopardy: she becomes pregnant and he is offered a job promotion.

“Don’t worry, Millie tells me as long as I take care of it before 12 weeks it will be okay,” she consoles him, and he says nothing. When he finds a piece of tubing in the bathroom closet, he knows she is seriously thinking of aborting. The tension grows and she becomes more and more emotionally distant. She frequently smokes and consumes alcohol. While she appears to be in control, there are times where privately she totally “loses” it, including when she gets drunk and cheats on her husband with the next door neighbor.

The night on which her pregnancy is dated at 12 weeks, they have a really awful fight, during which they both admit to hating each other, and he says he wished they had gotten rid of “it”. He later says he didn’t mean it, but he has already triggered a chain of thoughts in her mind that has set her resolve.

The last morning, there is a chilling scene during which she plays the perfect wife, making him a nice breakfast. She has placed the children in her friend Millie’s care, and you know what she is going to do as soon as he leaves the house.

Wearing perfectly starched linens, she carries the necessary instruments to the bathroom and closes the door. When she walks down the stairs, she stands at the window and smiles. She starts bleeding and calls for help. She dies in the hospital.

The movie ends with Wheeler sitting on a park bench, watching his children on the swings and obviously grieving over what he has lost.

I do not recommend watching this movie for fun. I would absolutely not recommend it for minors. I do think the movie tells some important truths, including the facts that: (1) abortion has been around for a very long time; (2) more often than society likes to admit, abortions happen even in upper-class marriages, just because the baby is not convenient; (3) abortion is a life-or-death decision for both the baby and the mother.

This post has also been published on Catholic Media Review.

The Art of Motherhood

2009-12-23T06:48:00.000-08:00

In certain occupations, such as baking, medicine, and architecture, perfection is of utmost importance. Motherhood is not one of them.

One of the hardest lessons I have had to learn, as a born perfectionist, is that, like cooking and painting, motherhood is an art, with more room for creativity and imagination than we usually take; it can be stymied by trying too hard to adhere to a certain worldly model – that “perfect mother” that many of us have built up in our brains, composed of pieces of motherly characters from books, movies, and real life.

I don’t think I contradict myself to say we should strive to be like Mary. I think she would not have tried to do things perfectly by our modern standard. Everything we know about her motherhood came about the “wrong way” for her time. She conceived a baby out of wedlock, gave birth in a stable, lived as a poor wife of a simple carpenter, lost her son in the temple, and had to watch her son die a cruel death.

When we view motherhood as a gift, we don’t have to pay God back by being perfect mothers. He knows we can’t, and He doesn’t expect it of us. All He asks is we give them Love. Treasuring a child means putting him or her as our first priority and doing our best for them, given whatever circumstances we are in.

A good friend recently reminded me that to think we could do things perfectly on our own is a sin of pride. Let us offer up our weaknesses then, to God, and ask Him for the grace we need to help bring these young ones up to glorify Him.

Luke 1: 46-55 (NAB)

And Mary said: 16 "My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord;

my spirit rejoices in God my savior.

For he has looked upon his handmaid's lowliness; behold, from now on will all ages call me blessed.

The Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name.

His mercy is from age to age to those who fear him.

He has shown might with his arm, dispersed the arrogant of mind and heart.

He has thrown down the rulers from their thrones but lifted up the lowly.

The hungry he has filled with good things; the rich he has sent away empty.

He has helped Israel his servant, remembering his mercy,

according to his promise to our fathers, to Abraham and to his descendants forever."

Painting: “The Madonna of Humility” by Robert Campin, Netherlandish, circa 1450-70

How to take a cake from crumbled disaster to fabulous

2009-12-22T14:26:00.001-08:00

My most recent semi-disaster-turned-to-life-lesson came in the form of a cake. After baking a quintuplet batch of banana bread, I forgot to flour my pans when making my daughter's birthday cake. It was a crumbled mess. Rather than let it go to waste, I got a little creative. My daughter was delighted wth the result. I chronicle the steps I took from start to finish in today's article on Examiner: "How to take a cake from disaster to fabulous".

A Gingerbread House Making Birthday Party

2009-12-19T15:03:00.000-08:00

My daughter's eleventh birthday party was a success! Although we were expecting a blizzard tonight and the snow was just starting to fall as the party started, most of the girls who live close by still came. They had a great time assembling their own mini-heroes, gingerbread houses, and cupcakes, while singing to Christmas and radio music. Then they all bundled up and went out to play in the snow. Please go to my Examiner article for pictures and instructions on how to bake the gingerbread house pieces and set up for a housemaking party.

"Your shipment has been intercepted" and other gifting disasters

2009-12-17T20:15:00.000-08:00

Under The Mistletoe

I looked in horror at the tracking information on my computer. “Shipment has been intercepted.”

A few weeks ago I decided to buy Rebecca Reuben, the newest American Girl doll, for my daughter’s eleventh birthday. Why not see if it was going for cheaper on ebay? I went over and found it for about $20 cheaper than the company’s price. With about 11 seconds left to the bidding, I placed a bid and won. I was thrilled!

Eleven days passed. A serviceman at my door mentioned that I had no numbers on my house. I remembered that I had removed the numbers when painting my mailbox over the summer and, having broken some, had neglected to purchase new ones. I wondered if the UPS man was having a problem finding my house. I went to Home Depot, purchased the needed digits, and went out in the 30-degree chill to nail them onto the post.

I checked the tracking information. It had been returned to the shipper! Was it because of the lack of numbers on my house? Looking back a little farther, I found that the doll had arrived at the UPS center two towns away from me two days after I had placed the order. At that point, the shipper had requested an “intercept” of the package and turned it around. Further exploration showed me that the shipper was no longer a “registered user” on ebay. My paypal payment had gone through successfully.

I burst into tears. Maybe this was not an appropriate reaction. At that moment, it seemed to be a total disaster that my daughter was not going to get this doll in time for her birthday.

“Why don’t you tell her about the problem?” suggested my very reasonable 12-year-old daughter, who was busy baking gingerbread cookies in the kitchen.

“Because then it won’t be a surprise,” I said.

But then I realized that that was the best course of action. If I was going to go through the trouble of re-ordering the doll with priority shipping, I should see if this was really something she wanted in the first place.

So I went to my still-10-year-old and explained to her the problem. She was totally nonplussed. She said that she really would like to have Rebecca and that if it did not come on time for her birthday it would still be okay, as long as she knew it was coming.

Her sweet and calm reaction showed me that my own had been just a little over-the-top. I ordered the doll directly from American Girl (serves me right for having ordered from an unauthorized dealer), paying extra for two-day shipping; opened a complaint with E-bay; and wrote a courteous email to the seller giving him one day to reply regarding a refund before I filed a complaint with Paypal.

I realized that I had been temporarily overwhelmed by the responsibilities of organizing a Little Flower group on Friday night, Confirmation Class Saturday morning, and birthday party Saturday afternoon, with a whole lot of Christmas planning thrown into the mix.

Sometimes the things we think are of utmost importance for our children aren’t really that important to them. And when you put them into perspective of the grand scheme of the universe, there is no cause to be upset over tiny details such as finding the perfect gift on time.

Why moms should ignore all the dieting articles and enjoy their Christmas cookies

2009-12-15T16:10:00.000-08:00

Today's Examiner column is a re-run of a rant I went on last Advent about women's magazines that tell us we can lose five pounds by Christmas. I claim that this is the very worst thing you can do for yourself. We should enjoy our Christmas cookies and start working out in January. Use a little moderation and common sense here. A good friend of mine gained five pounds after following my advice and blaimed it on my article. Please click here to read it.

The Ultimate Wait

2009-12-11T08:35:00.000-08:00

It seems I have spent the better part of this month waiting. ..

Waiting for my turn at parent-teacher conferences…

Waiting for my camcorder tape to transcribe to the computer and then write to DVD (15 hours). ..

Waiting for my computer to install Microsoft Office 2007 (4 hours)…

Waiting for the cesspool company to arrive (6 hours)…

Waiting for the cable company to fix a cable cut by road construction so I could recovery my telephone and internet service (4 hours)…

Waiting for General Electric to come repair my oven (3 hours and counting as I write this)…

Waiting for slow-moving cars and people to get out of my way…

Like most humans, I am impatient when my time is in the hands of others. If I don’t get my mind on something else and try to make the best use of my waiting time, it can be truly maddening and I wind up with a big headache. Yet whatever is at the end of my wait – even if it is just getting home or having something work again - is greatly rewarding.

Thinking about my recent frustrations, I realized it is quite fitting that I would be spending so much time waiting this month. After all, it is Advent, and we are waiting for Christmas. A few minutes or hours here or there are just a drop in the bucket compared to the two thousand years we have been waiting for the second coming of Jesus.

The book of Acts tells us about the disciples as they stood watching Jesus be lifted up into the clouds before them. He had told them, “The exact time it is not yours to know. The Father has reserved that to himself.” (Acts 1:7) They kept staring until some angels asked them why they were still standing there. Then they got to work establishing churches throughout the world. They might have thought they would have to wait a few days, weeks, or maybe years. Here we are still waiting, and working for the Lord in the meantime.

Children are just as impatient as us, and their behavior this month can be extremely frustrating. Their actions simply mirror ours, and we can use this time to teach them some lessons about eternity. The four weeks of Advent waiting for Christmas can be treated as a microcosm of the wait for Jesus to return to take his Bride, the Church, home to Heaven forever. As the tale of the seven bridesmaids tells us, we are always to be ready and waiting. How we use this time on earth is of utmost importance.

Making this month a joyful and prayerful time can help keep the children – as well as ourselves - focused on Jesus.

Some activities that can help include:

Making Christmas cookies or chocolates

Keeping a Jesse Tree and reading the daily Advent scriptures for each symbols

Other Advent Calendars with daily activities or stories

All Christmas books

Lighting an Advent wreath

Putting beads for good deeds in an Advent bead box

Letting St. Nicholas come and put small treats in their stockings from Dec. 6 through Dec. 24; if they are naughty the Krumpus comes and leaves a potato instead.

Painting: 38 Scenes from the Life of Christ: 22. Ascension
1304-06 Fresco by Cappella Scrovegni (Arena Chapel), Padua

Tips for saying sane during Advent

2009-12-07T05:51:00.000-08:00

It should be the most joyful time of the year. Yet many of we busy moms are so intent on "doing it right" that we miss out on the "Merry" part of Christmas. The "KISS" (Keep it Simple Stupid) principle will help you to feel blessed in these final days of Advent. Please click here for my article that includes 10 tips for saying sane during this wonderful season.

How to make a Jesse Tree and ornaments for Advent

2009-12-05T17:40:00.001-08:00

If you are looking for a new and meaningful tradition to add to your Advent repertoire, you will love making a Jesse Tree. My Examiner article tells you what a Jesse Tree is and lists all of the 28 symbols, along with the complete scriptures from the Revised Standard Version.

Community outreach activities for families during Advent

2009-12-03T17:13:00.000-08:00

My sister Joanna Cummings, a youth and children's minister, has guest posted a column for me on community outreach activities that would be great for families to participate in during Advent.

The Night’s Dark Shade: A Novel of the Cathars by Elena Maria Vidal

2009-11-30T06:14:00.000-08:00

I had the pleasure of reading Elena Maria Vidals’ new historical romance, “The Night’s Dark Shade: A Novel of the Cathars”, released by Mayapple Press in November, 2009.

The Night’s Dark Shade tells the story of a young heiress, Lady Raphaelle, who is caught up in the turmoil of the Albigensian Crusade in thirteenth century France. En route to meet her betrothed in the castle in the Pyrenees that is hers by right, she is rescued from an ambush by the brave and alluring Sir Martin.

The sparks between the two are flying from the very beginning, while the readers learns of the history of the crusade as well as the mysterious Cathars, a polytheistic sect which claimed to be Christian. In the first chapter the setting, plot, and all the main characters are all well-established. The second chapter instructs us on some history as told by the sweet-smelling knight as he carries her on horseback to her castle. The novel moves on, mixing history and drama, at a good pace. Raphaelle is caught up in several major dilemmas; we can truly sympathize with what she is going through.

Raphaelle is a strong character who insists on doing what is right for her people. All that she does, including following through on her betrothal to a man she does not love, is seen as her duty to them. Even so, she is torn by the feelings she has for another man. She also chooses to harbor an evil object which results in dire consequences. Vidal shows us how even the very best of us can struggle with sin.

The book addresses some surprising delicate moral issues of the time that are seldom brought up in a Christian novel. The Cathars were against marriage because it regularized procreation, and they thought children were evil. The religious midwives used herbs to prevent conception or to abort, even killing live babies if they were not deemed fit to survive. They promoted homosexuality because it did not result in children. People were encouraged to live together without marriage because they were more likely to contracept.

These topics are intertwined through the plot; the immoral acts are alluded to but never described explicited. The historical research is well documented, and moral deductions drawn by the author are all consistent with Catholic doctrine.

The more you read about history, the more you realize that there is truly nothing new under the sun. What is going on in modern society is a rerun of what was happening in the Middle Ages. If you haven’t heard about the “dark side of being green”, many environmental groups have been saying that children are “emitters” and the best thing we can do for the environment is to stop having children! Planned Parenthood is supported by so many large and well-reputed organizations that it is hard to go shopping, go to a movie, or go to a theme park without purchasing a product that will go toward their “cause”.

I was pleasantly surprised by the ending. I was up until 3 AM reading the suspenseful ending! Justice is served (medieval style!) to the protagonists. The main characters all make turn-arounds for the better and there is forgiveness all around. The choice Raphaelle makes in the end is completely satisfying.

Elena Maria Vidal sent me a copy of the newly released book in exchange for my honest review of her book. The author studied the Cathars at SUNY Albany before receiving her Master’s Degree in European History. She also authored Trianon and Madame Royale. You can follow her blog at http://teaattriannon.blogspot.com

The book is available from Lulu.com and will be available from Amazon in a few weeks.

Signed copies can also be bought directly from the author at her blog

This review also appears as a guest post at Catholic Media Review.

First Sunday of Advent

2009-11-29T20:04:00.000-08:00

I was filled with such great joy this morning when I woke up this morning. It is the First Sunday of Advent! Last night I put out some new Advent Bead Boxes for the children, each with one bead to start them off. The beads represent good deeds. On Christmas Eve they will place their boxes under the Christmas Tree as their gift to the Christ Child. Please read my column today, in which I tell about some great Austrian Advent traditions I learned from Maria Augusta Trapp's "The Story of the Trapp Family Singers".

Happy Thanksgiving!

2009-11-25T16:41:00.000-08:00

These chocolates were made by my children today. They are girl and boy pilgrims, bats with baseballs, and turkeys. I am so thankful for them, for America, and for my readers. Happy Thanksgiving!

For flowers that bloom about our feet;
For tender grass, so fresh, so sweet;
For song of bird, and hum of bee;
For all things fair we hear or see,
Father in heaven, we thank Thee!
~Ralph Waldo Emerson

When Mommies Make Mistakes

2009-11-23T12:11:00.000-08:00

The school yard

Things could be worse. Suppose your errors were counted and published every day, like those of a baseball player. ~Author Unknown

I thought I was having a really great Mommy weekend. I managed to spend individual one-on-one time with each of my children. My 3-year-old and I planted some bulbs. I took my 8- and 10-year olds on separate library trips. I played a full-court, no-foul, no-boundaries, no-time-outs, one-on-one basketball game with my twelve-year-old and let her beat me 22-0. We all went out to Friendly’s for dinner and ice cream.

Sunday night I took my two older girls out to buy Thanksgiving outfits. We aren’t big clothes hogs in this house, but for special holidays I like to make sure everyone has something beautiful to wear. They each picked out something gorgeous and I was trying on a flattering red blouse with scarf.

“Maybe I’ll wear this to my son’s Thanksgiving play,” I thought to myself, “When is that again? Friday? Wait, we have off this Friday, which means..it..must..have..been..this..past..Friday…OMG…OMG…OMG…”

I got home and ran to my son before my daughters could open their big mouths. He was playing Battleship with my husband. “Did you already have your Thanksgiving play?” I burst out. “Yeah,” he said, nonchalantly. The look of horror on my face told all to my husband. I ran upstairs to have a good cry.

I pride myself on keeping our complicated schedules in order. I have my little book in my pocketbook, which gets written on a large dry erase calendar in the laundry room. Around that are corkboards where the important flyers hang. But something went wrong with my system in this one particular case, and I was never going get back the chance to attend my son’s Thanksgiving play.

I emailed an apology to the teacher, asking if she knew of any parents who had videotaped the play. She wrote me back a nice note saying not to beat myself up over it and gave me a name. I emailed the person, who sent me a nice picture and promised to copy the video for me. So I will eventually get the chance to sit and watch the play with my son. In the meantime, I will be taking him out for lots and lots of ice cream.

I woke up still feeling bad, and was glad to find this quote by Henry David Thoreau : “One cannot too soon forget his errors and misdemeanors; for to dwell upon them is to add to the offense.”

I also liked Sophia Loren’s “Mistakes are part of the dues one pays for a full life.” And how about F. Wikzek’s “If you don't make mistakes, you're not working on hard enough problems. And that's a big mistake.”

I was thinking that I couldn’t go on writing this blog when I couldn’t do something really basic like attend a school play. Then I read Niels Bohr’s quote, “An expert is a man who has made all the mistakes which can be made in a very narrow field.”

And finally, from Alexander Pope, in Swift, Miscellanies, “A man should never be ashamed to own he has been in the wrong, which is but saying... that he is wiser today than he was yesterday.”

We are responsible for so much as mothers, and when we mess up the best thing to do is say “I’m sorry”, take a look at our priority list, and move forward.

Everlasting Summer

2009-11-19T18:37:00.000-08:00

An August Afternoon (Restrike Etching)

“Nature gives to every time and season some beauties of its own; and from morning to night, as from the cradle to the grave, it is but a succession of changes so gentle and easy that we can scarcely mark their progress.” - Charles Dickens

Reluctantly, my three-year-old and I pulled out the faded marigolds that have lined my driveway since August. She and I deadheaded the plants, putting the seeds away for safe-keeping until the spring. I was sad to see the color go, but happy to see the clean look of the driveway once the leaves and dead flowers were gone.

Usually, the seasons don’t come and go without warning. They ease in and out, and with relatively predictable timing. Still you hear people exclaiming their shock at the “sudden change” in weather.

Children and the elderly are like that too. People are always telling me it seemed like “yesterday” that their children were little. They say it happens when you “blink”.

When the kids went back to school in the fall, the school nurse remarked about how many inches my eldest daughter had shot up over the summer. I measured her and realized that she is taller than me. When did that happen?

An older friend or relative, after suffering through an illness for several months, passes away “suddenly”. From the outside, this is easy to see. From the inside, it is harder to be objective about the time as it passes.

I think of the seasons translating to human development as spring for birth, summer for young to middle-aged adult, fall for the elderly, and winter for death. There is no birth or dying in Heaven. Everyone will have new, perfect bodies and be in the prime of their development. When the universe is renewed at the time of Jesus’ coming, it will be like a one-time spring that turns into an everlasting summer.

Flowers will bloom and never fade! Leaves will bud and never fall off! There will be no weeding, for no plant will be deemed undesirable. We will walk around the garden of life praising God for ever for His Glory.

We will not be sad to watch our little ones grow up, or to watch our elderly die. We will not hesitate to form human bonds, for friendship will never die and neither will our friends.

In the section of the Catechism of the Catholic Church entitled “The Hope of the New Heaven and the New Earth” (section 1042), drawing on sacred scripture, we read:

“At the end of time, the Kingdom of God will come in its fullness. After the universal judgment, the righteous will reign for ever with Christ, glorified in body and soul. The universe itself will be renewed:
The Church…will receive her perfection only in the flory of heaven, when will come the time of the renewal of all things. At that time, together with the human race, the universe itself, which is so closely related to man and which attains its destiny through him, will be perfectly re-established in Christ.”

Send your old Christmas cards to St. Jude's Ranch for Children

2009-11-18T16:12:00.000-08:00

Every year I take out the Christmas decorations the day after Thanksgiving. Tucked neatly into one of the boxes I will find last year's Christmas cards, tied neatly with satin ribbon. I don't know what to do with them, but I am too sentimental to throw them out. So I put them in a box full of cards from previous years, and place the box back in the garage, along with old, broken, homemade ornaments that I still hold onto.

I always knew I would find a good use for them one day, and now I have...

For the rest of this article published on Examiner.com please click here.

Igneous Rocks, Farmville, and the Horses of Death

2009-11-15T22:34:00.000-08:00

“So, what’s new in the virtual world?” my husband asks on Saturday evening, kissing me hello.

“Nothing much. What’s new in the real world?”

Dinner has been ready but I have been keeping the meatballs warm in the oven for the past half hour. I take them out and mumble an apology.

“They look like igneous rocks,” he comments.

“You’ll just have to use my sauce then,” I say, “It’s been simmering for the past three hours.” To prove that, the house is filled with the glorious smell of olive oil, garlic, onions, tomato, and basil, with just a touch of White Zinfandel.

The kids come to the table and answer his original question with an explanation of all the new developments in Farmville. My children have never spent much time on the computer, but since they were introduced to online games and it has been raining quite a bit lately, this online game has become a household obsession.

After dinner, I tell them that I want them to stay off the computer on Sunday because it is going to be a nice day.

“But Mom, I just planted $15,000 worth of watermelon seeds! If I don’t harvest them when they ripen, they will wither and die.”

“Don’t worry about your virtual plants, honey. I’ll check on them from my computer and make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“No Farmville for you, either,” my husband teases me.

On Sunday morning we were treated to a reading about the end times. The deacon tells us that this really is about the present times. We are always to be ready, for no man knows the hour at which Christ will come. I think to myself: Would I want to be caught playing Farmville when Jesus returns?

On the way home, I am chastising them for their treatment of each other. During the Lord‘s Prayer my two middle children had been squirming around and not letting the other hold hands. “If Jesus came back right now, would you want Him to catch you mistreating each other?

I am still working my way through The Catechism of the Catholic Church, from front to back, one section at a time. After lunch I pick it up and read:

“Every action of yours, every thought, should be those of one who expects to die before the day is out. Death would have no great terrors for you if you had a quiet conscience…Then why not keep clear of sin instead of running away form death? If you aren’t fit to face death today, it’s very unlikely you will be tomorrow…”

[quoted in section 1014 in The Catechism; from The Imitation of Christ, 1, 23, 1]

I thought again of the Horses of Death in the recent version of A Christmas Carol. My ten-year-old had wanted to know what they represented. I had explained then that we should have no fear of death if we are in a State of Grace. Scrooge was afraid because he was not.

We went out to set up a new pitching net and spent the afternoon raking leaves and working on softball skills. It was time well spent. Dinner was a hodgepodge of leftovers from the previous three nights. Then we turned on our computers to check on our farms.

Painting by William Blake: “Death on a Pale Horse”

"Messenger: The Legacy of Mattie J.T. Stepanek and Heartsongs" by Jeni Stepanek

2009-11-12T21:24:00.000-08:00

"Messenger: The Legacy of Mattie J.T. Stepanek and Heartsongs”, is written by Jeni Stepanek, mother of the hero of the book, with Larry Lindner. It includes a foreword by Maya Angelou. It was released on November 3, 2009, by Dutton, a division of Penguin Books.

Mattie J.T. Stepanek was this amazing kid who just happened to suffer from a rare disorder that later came to be known as Dysautonomic Mitochondrial Myopathy. His three siblings all died by the age of four of the same disorder, and his mother was diagnosed with the adult onset form after having given birth to them. They are the only five people ever diagnosed with this particular form of the disorder.

Told from the first person, Jeni is one of the main characters of the book, as the mother who cared for her son and supported his efforts, yet Mattie is the focus. She sees him as a gift from God and is thankful for the time she was able to share with him and her other children on this earth.

From the beginning you know that he is going to die at the age of thirteen, and the suspense of the reader in seeing how he is going to live his life in between crises, and when he is going to die, is a faint echo of what you know Jeni and Mattie lived through in real life time. Jeni is very descriptive of all that they went through, but the book is much larger than that.

From an early age, Mattie defied the doctors’ predictions, so that eventually they gave up saying there was no hope and just let him go the course. He taught himself to read and write, and was so far ahead of his age peers in school that homeschooling became the best option for him. By middle school he was attending a local college for his coursework.

By the age of three he was writing poetry, and became a bestselling author. He published six collections of Heartsongs poetry and one collection of peace essays. “Heartsong” is a word he coined for a person’s essence. He believed that everyone should share their heartsongs with each other to make the world a better place. His poetry and his life work were all for the purpose of spreading the message of peace and hope.

He was the National Goodwill Ambassador for Jerry Lewis’s Muscular Dystrophy Association for three years in a row, traveling along with his all his life support equipment to give inspirational talks to large audiences and appear on television programs such as Larry King Live and Oprah Winfrey. His final project was assisting Jimmy Carter in the writing of the book “Just Peace”.

The book features never-before-published essays and poems from Mattie’s journals, as well as e-mail exchanges between him and one of his best friends, Oprah Winfrey.

I had a few reservations about the book that I feel I must disclose to the Catholic reading audience. Jeni, herself a Catholic, chose to leave an abusive marriage; divorce is mentioned but not an annulment. Mattie’s best friends are also some of the more liberal celebrities. If you are not a fan of Oprah, you might get tired of reading all of her supportive emails to Mattie. You may not agree with the choices of books and movies Mattie enjoys.

There is one story on p. 203 that gave me pause. Someone asks Mattie if they can put a “Celebrate Diversity” sticker on the back of his wheelchair. When a nurse and close friend explains to him and Jeni that it is a “gay pride” sticker and that people might think he is gay, he chooses to leave it because “God’s love includes all people”. I understand his point of view, but Jeni goes further in stating in the book, “So many people who are antigay point to the Bible to support the opinion that homosexuality is a sin. But Mattie understood that the Bible had to be read with an eye toward historical and cultural context.”

Other than that, the book is profoundly pro-life. The doctors all begged her to get an abortion; she would not. They told her to put Mattie in an institution; she chose to be his mother. She chose to let him live his life as much as he could, and went to great lengths to allow him to see his vision through. When it came to the end of his life, she allowed him the dignity to take part in the decisions about heroic life-saving measures. She and others made sure that all of his wishes were carried out when he was buried. They honored his life through continuing to carry on his message to the world.

Dutton sent me a preview copy of the book in exchange for my honest review. I have to admit that, when I read the description, I was not too excited about it. It sounded like a depressing topic, and I usually like to read to escape reality for a while. But I took the assignment and was glad I did. Other than the reservations I have mentioned, I recommend this book as a tribute to a great young soul with a message of hope and peace.

This article appears as a guest post at Catholic Mothers Online.

For more about Mattie and his life see his tribute website.

For ordering information see Dutton Publishing at Penguin Books.

Disney's "A Christmas Carol"

2009-11-10T07:23:00.000-08:00

If you are wondering whether A Christmas Carol is too scary for your child, please read my review over at my Examiner column.
Leticia Velasquez also has an excellent review at MercatorNet.

Teaching kids historical perspective through the movies

2009-11-09T08:34:00.000-08:00

On Friday I took the kids to see the new Disney’s Christmas Carol. It was amazing technically, and filled with real Christian messages. Musical selections included “Hark the Herald Angels Sing” and “Joy to the World”. The message front and center was that you gain happiness by helping others.

After the movie, my ten-year-old was filled with questions. Why were the horses of death chasing him? Why was the Ghost of Christmas Present keeping two children called Want and Ignorance under his skirts? Did people really have to go to jail because they were poor? I was so glad that I had been able to take them to a quality movie that offered the opportunity to discuss such deep questions.

On Saturday my twelve-year-old surprised me by requesting that we watch Gone With the Wind. This is my favorite movie of all time. Why the sudden interest? She has been studying the Civil War in school and they have been watching Glory, which is told from the Northern perspective.

So we sat and watched the whole thing. We paused the movie many times so I could explain what was going on culturally. The difficulties of those times made me so thankful for the modern conveniences we take for granted. What was chloroform and why did they have to cut off solidiers’ legs without it? Why did they have to boil the soldiers’ clothing?

There were also some tricky moral questions. Why was Belle Watkins considered a bad woman? Why were Scarlett and Ashley kissing when they were married to other people? Why was Scarlett marrying her sisters’ beaus?

I also got to give them a little movie history. I recited for them the names of the actors, the awards the movie and the book had reaped, and why the sunset kiss between Scarlett and Rhett was controversial for its time.

Not only do true classics never go out of style; they offer great opportunities to share your knowledge and make it relevant to the world that your children are familiar with.

10 steps to planting bulbs with your kids in the fall

2009-11-05T18:13:00.001-08:00

Planting bulbs is such a great activity to do with your kids, and they are fully capable of performing all of the steps from the age of 2. Please click here to see my article on 10 steps to planting bulbs in the fall with your kids.

10 reasons to get your kids to rake leaves

2009-11-04T06:41:00.000-08:00

If you have kids, and you have leaves, it should be obvious you should put them together and make both disappear for a while. For those who need some convincing, I have written 10 reasons to get your kids to rake leaves in today's Examiner column.

Where’s the water? It’s in the fax machine.

2009-11-03T17:39:00.000-08:00

Gondolas in Venice

“We’re going to vote,” I told my three-year-old as we walked out the door.

We drove the mile to the nearest school and parked.

“Where’s the water?” she asked me.

“I don’t have any water,” I said.

“But where’s the water? There’s no boat.”

“No, not boat. VOTE. You’ll see.”

We went in and voted.

Next stop was Staples, a long overdue trip.

Last summer, while dusting some shelves, I knocked a small water globe onto our fax machine. This is one of the necessary pieces of office equipment for my husband’s process serving business.

While the perfumy smell of the water fill the room, I tried to rescue the machine from the ravages of the water and broken glass.

It was still able to send, but not receive or copy.

Due to a combination of my dislike of shopping and not wanting to spend the money on a new machine, we have gone for months receiving PDF files from clients via email in lieu of faxes. The problem with this is that my husband does not know how to use the computer. So every time he needs to retrieve a file, I need to be home, download the file, and print it out. Sometimes clients use a program that is incompatible with my computer, causing more frustration.

We also have a weird combination of programs that work on one computer and not another, and printer problems, which result in my having to email files from one computer to another in order to print out a simple document.

The other problem with faxing, which was present before the actual machine broke, was that I had to be home in order to manually switch the line to receive a fax.

All my problems related to faxing were solved today!

I found a display unit on clearance, as well as a machine that automatically switches to receive a fax, without requiring a second line.

Ah, freedom! Freedom from having to retrieve documents online, freedom from having to pick up business calls during the day, freedom from picking up the phone to hear the annoying BEEP BEEP BEEP of a fax machine.

It is so amazing what a simple piece of technology can do to change your life.

A Beached Whale at Sunken Meadow State Park ?

2009-10-27T09:07:00.000-07:00

Yesterday my two older girls ran two races in a row at Sunken Meadow State Park. That they were allowed to do this was purely by accident of the officials. However, I am proud of their courage to do it, as well as their stamina.

Once a year the middle schoolers are offered a chance to run the high school course. The middle school course consists of a one mile run around a moat, often called “the mouse hole” because the trees bend over the path to look like one. The high school course adds another loop to this, which includes “cardiac hill”. This is a very rough, very steep hill, followed by a rather scary steep drop down the hill, for an added 0.4 mile.

The official failed to inform the children that they needed to choose between the two courses. So my girls wound up running both, one right after the other. They needed to do the middle school course so that the girls’ team could get a team score; so I gave them that choice, knowing that it would be difficult but that they were up for the challenge.

When they got back from the first run, my older daughter said, “I felt like I was having an asthma attack – and I don’t have asthma.” Neither of them felt up to the second race, but on they went. They completed it a little slower than normally, but they did it. I was so proud of them both.

After the race, my twelve-year-old daughter said, “I saw something weird in the water. It looked like a dead whale! It was white with speckles. I really want to see what it was. Can we go back and see it?”

So our family retraced the path. I was amazed at the conditions of the hill they had run.

My three-year-old walked the whole thing, propelled by her interest to see the “dead whale”.

“This is really dangerous!” I exclaimed.

“That’s cross-country, Mom,” said both the girls.

Then we came to the “dead whale”. It was a giant white rock, on which were perched several water birds. We all had a good laugh. I realized then that the reason she had never noticed this before during previous races was that the foliage had been thicker, hiding the rock from her view. Now that the leaves had been stripped away, you could see more of the water. I could see how, speeding by, out of the corner of your eye it could look like a whale.

So many things, as well as people, are not what they seem at a cursory glance. It is often worth taking a second look.

*I have entered this photograph into a contest! Please vote for me at http://photocontest.examiner.com/bin/Rate?image_id=1008902316

Sirach
Chapter 11(NAB)
1 The poor man's wisdom lifts his head high and sets him among princes.
2 Praise not a man for his looks; despise not a man for his appearance.
3 Least is the bee among winged things, but she reaps the choicest of all harvests.
4 Mock not the worn cloak and jibe at no man's bitter day: For strange are the works of the LORD, hidden from men his deeds.
5 The oppressed often rise to a throne, and some that none would consider wear a crown.
6 The exalted often fall into utter disgrace; the honored are given into enemy hands.
7 Before investigating, find no fault; examine first, then criticize.