On the Grocery Line

Woman and dog pushing shopping carts

The Middle Island King Kullen has recently removed two traditional cashier posts for the installation of two self-help checkouts. I never use them – I have too many groceries – and I rarely see anyone else using them either. I typically shop during the weekday, when most of the other customers consist of elderly women who can’t be bothered learning the new technology either. Anyone who buys a great deal of produce will find these stations a real nuisance, because then you have to find the appropriate codes for all your fruits and vegetables. It seems the checkout stations were installed without first checking for the demand in our area.

The management seems to have made the decision that these stations removed the need for two cashiers – which makes my long-age problem even worse. The problem is that I typically arrive on line with my cart overloaded with groceries – and I use the shelf underneath, as well. There are one express checkout and one or two regular lines. I approach this area with caution – seeing who the cashier is, how many on the line, how many approaching the line, as well as how many goods the approaching customers have.

I avoid the line with the nosy woman cashier – the one who always comments on how much stuff I have; when she last saw me in there; and how my husband was in there for apples, milk, and his favorite cereal again this morning; and why doesn’t he pick up more stuff while he’s in there? There is a very nice woman who is working at the Express checkout. She also has 4 children, and she knows my problem. She sees me coming…

As I approach the line, several elderly women stare at me, taking in the amount of groceries I have. Most of them only have a small hand-held basket with select goods. I make sure none of them are looking for a line before I take my position.

I get behind a man who has a small amount of groceries. He appears to be quite conscientious, from the brown cage-free eggs to the way he quickly turns his head away from the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition and other magazine covers flaunting scantily-suited women. The young man serving us is always very courteous.

Now a few little old women are looking for a line. “She has too much stuff!” one says loudly, but good-naturedly before getting on the express line. Her eyes then move to the bottom of my cart, and they seem to bulge as she realizes I have even more stuff down there.

A little old woman gets behind me. “I guess I have too many things to get on the Express Checkout,” she says with a sigh. I look and take a quick count – maybe she has around 15 items.

“I have 4 kids,” I explain to all the elderly women who are openly staring at me. I am more amused than embarrassed. The man in front of me turns, also amused, but in a polite way.

“Mine are all grown,” the woman behind me says, “but I have 5 little grandchildren now, so sometimes I have to shop for them.”

I see the clock and figure I have an hour before the school bus comes. I make sure nobody else is approaching the line before I make my offer, “I’m not in a hurry, if you want to go ahead of me.”

“No, that’s okay, I’m not in a rush either,” she says.

That’s when my favorite cashier, the one with the 4 kids, comes to my rescue.

“I’ll take the next customer over here,” she invites toward the Express line.

The woman behind me motions for me to go and I say, “No, please, you go,” which she happily does.

Now the pressure is off….only to build again.

It’s my turn to load my groceries onto the belt. I start with the heaviest things first, from the bottom of my cart, and I am almost breathless as I try to do this as fast as possible. I see the line building behind me.

Then the medium-weight stuff…oh dear, they are all staring at me. I wonder if I will remember the pin number for my husband’s debit card.

Finally, the bananas, eggs, and bread. Oh gosh, this has never happened before. I hope I will remember it when I get to the pin-entry pad.

All my stuff is loaded onto the cart now, and I run to the end to bag as quickly as possible. The cashier tells me the amount due, I swipe my card, and … draw a blank. I have the house alarm pin number stuck in my head, and put in a derivation of that.

“I’m sorry,” I apologize to everybody.

I get my husband on the phone…thank God he picked up! “What‘s your pin number?” I ask.

He tells me. Later, he would say from the tone of my voice he had thought someone had died.

It’s in…I’m done. More stares as I walk out of the door, bags precariously balanced on top of one another. I manage to get to my car without dropping anything.

I open the trunk…oh goodness, the girls left their softball gear in their again!

An elderly man passes my car as I am loading up the trunk.

“Now you get to put it all away,” he says with a smile.

Five Raccoons

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?

What Ever Will I Do With Myself?

My favorite outspoken cashier was at it again today. My long-time readers may remember the story about the cashier who, upon noticing my then-blossoming pregnant tummy, remarked, “Oops!” She always has something to say about the type and amount of groceries I buy. “The Millers are buying out the store again!” she’ll announce, thinking it is funny for the hundredth time.

Today, we were discussing how all our children were getting along in their new school year. She leaned over to my toddler and said, “Mommy won’t know what to do with herself once you go to school.”

I said jocundly, “Oh, I always find plenty to keep myself busy.”

“I know, cleaning and stuff. . .” she trailed off.

I knew better than to correct her. But as I went home the thought horrified me, that people think all stay-at-home-moms-with-school-aged-kids (SAHMWSAK) do is stay at home and clean! What horrified me even worse was that I used to be once of those who wondered what stay-at-home mothers did when their children were in school all day. I did think life must be dreadfully dull.

That was back in my homeschooling days, when I had more than my hands full with three children constantly in my care. I commented about one such SAHMWSAK in my neighborhood to another homeschooling mom.

“I wonder what she does all day?” I mused.

“I bet you could eat off her floor. . .,” answered my friend.

“But she has a house cleaner come every week.”

“She probably does charity work,” reasoned my friend.

The fact of it is that, although it may seem that we clean all day, we do not. A friend of mine who keeps a lovely, tastefully decorated and well-organized home, actually clocks her housework at 3.5 hours per week! That leaves an awful lot of time for do more intellectually fulfilling activities!

Once I had the children in school and “just” a newborn baby at home, I thought my life would be one of luxury and constant streams of creative writing. I learned all too well, too quickly, that that was not to be so.

Those of us whose husbands work overtime to afford us the ability to stay at home often turn into do-it-yourselfers, out of necessity. Jobs normally relegated to the husband or a hired handyman are taken on by us tough super-moms. The more we learn to do, the more we see of what we would love to learn to do, if only we had the time!

I look at my yard and fill in the empty spaces with raised garden beds that I will build, fill in, and plant. I see in my imagination brick walls around groves of trees, overflowing with bulbs. On every fence are roses of every color, climbing, falling, blossoming. . .

I look at my bathroom walls and sigh, thinking of the free How To Tile clinic given at Home Depot on Saturday mornings. One day I will take that course and have bathrooms a millionaire would envy.

And of course there are my novels, books and books of handwritten pages just looking to be edited, word-processed, and proposed about.

Oh, if they only knew. . .

The funny thing of it is that my own mother, who worked as a per diem registered nurse when I was younger, defied categorization. Some days she was a stay-at-home mom. Some days she was a working mom. I always knew she filled all too many shoes. Later we would earn our masters’ degrees together!

But still we fall easily into stereotyping, especially when we finally find a clique of moms “just like us”. (I have yet to re-find that – and am not sure I want to.) We need to justify our own decisions to work, not work, work part-time, work-at-home; send our kids to private or public school, or homeschool, or maybe a little bit of both. If we are not too sure about ourselves we must by necessity see “the other” as wrong so we can be right.

I see Palin as one role model that will help bring together all mothers. Already I see the stay-at-home moms blogging in favor of Palin’s decision to be involved in politics at the highest level while also tackling the tough problems of mothering. She has shown us, just by being who she is and proud of it, that when you point your finger, three are pointing right back at you.

So what will I do when I am a SAHMWSAK? A little bit of this, a little bit of that, a whole lot of the other. I publicly pledge than not more than ten percent of my time will be spent on cleaning. I am sure it will be quite fulfilling.

Painting, Mary Cassatt, Mother and Child against a Green Background (Maternity) , 1897

Our Family's Easter

Easter Sunday had its ups and downs, as do all days.

It started at a little after midnight.

When my little brother and I went food shopping on Saturday night, we picked up six half-gallons of ice cream. He put them on the conveyor belt in a pyramid, hoping to cheer up the cashier, who was in a grumpy mood. It didn’t work; she was ready to sign off work and her smiles had been completely worn out.

I figured we were safe to give up our Lenten ice cream fast after the sun had gone down, but I waited until after midnight anyway. It was my favorite kind: Edy’s Chocolate Chips. And it tasted twice as good for having given it up for 40 days.

Fast-forward eight hours to morning. For the third year in a row, my eggs came out soft-boiled and were not edible. They certainly were pretty, though.

We got to the 11:00 Mass ten minutes early, but still could not find a pew where we could all sit together. There was a run-over service in the parish hall, so we went there. My toddler would not stop talking in church and I spent most of the mass out in the hallway. The few times I tried to go back in, she would say something and I was given some looks that could kill. My seat had been taken as well. My only consolation was my remembrance of that beautiful Good Friday Mass I had been able to thoroughly enjoy.

I had asked our good friends to be at my house promptly at 1:00 so that we could have an early dinner. They were there on time, but we did not eat early. I had gotten an eleven-pound smoked ham, which I had thought was precooked and just needed to be heated up. When I peeled off the instruction sticker, I realized with horror that it would take 4 hours at 350 degrees to cook the ham.

I called my mother, who had taught me the quick way to bake a foil-wrapped turkey. It turned out she had made the same exact mistake as me, and she too was waiting for her ham to bake down in Tennessee. She was not sure if the turkey trick would work with pork. I put a cover on my baking pan and upped the temperature to 400 degrees.

My friends had brought The Sound of Music on DVD. It was perfect for the waiting time; dinner was ready in three hours. I apologized up and down. My friend was happy she had finally been able to get her husband to watch The Sound of Music.

After dinner, the kids went exploring in the woods while I got ready for dessert. They had an awesome time!

My brother had a 7:30 AM flight out of LaGuardia, so we watched a late movie, took a power nap, downed some English Breakfast Tea, and drove to Queens at 2:30 in the morning. The drive was easy, with no traffic in the middle of the night, but I was still nervous about encountering drunk drivers. It turned out I mostly shared the road with truckers, which was just fine with me. I was very happy to be home.

I put on an Alfred Hitchcock film and fell asleep on the couch around 5:30 AM. The kids were on vacation and helped me take care of the baby until I woke up for good around 11:30.

Fast-forward to evening, when I was able to enjoy yet another bowl of my favorite ice cream!

Allelujah! He is risen!

Artwork above:
Fra Angelico, 1400’s
The Resurrection,
San Marc Museum, Florence.

Continuing in Our Fasts

Following my husband’s lead, the entire family has given up ice cream for Lent. Kevin and I have replaced our late night bowl of dairy delight for popcorn – lots of popcorn. We are really getting sick of it! Lately I have been having this vague desire to drive to the food store and pick up some ice cream.

Now I have a great excuse of having an ice cream–loving houseguest arriving next week. I plan to go food shopping on Saturday night, and was toying with the idea of abandoning our fast and stocking up on ice cream. Only so that our houseguest could feel at home, of course.

Kevin said no. We had made this commitment, we have stuck with it thus far, and we were not going to give up now.

After exploring my reasoning I realize I really want to buy ice cream for myself, not my houseguest. He would be equally happy with my homemade cake, cookies, or – yes – popcorn.

Perhaps we can allow ourselves a celebratory meal (in honor of our guest, of course) one day next week and go out for ice cream, but we will not bring it into the house.

I pray I can keep my resolve and walk quickly past the frozen dairy case this Saturday evening.

Whenever I talk about fasting, I always put this up as a reminder, especially for many of my readers who are pregnant or nursing.

Those who are excused from fast or abstinence:
Besides those outside the age limits, those of unsound mind, the sick, the frail, pregnant or nursing women according to need for meat or nourishment, manual laborers according to need, guests at a meal who cannot excuse themselves without giving great offense or causing enmity and other situations of moral or physical impossibility to observe the penitential discipline.

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

If you enjoyed this post, or you are faltering in your fast, you might enjoy reading my post on “Failing in Our Fasts”.

Stair Climbing for Winter Indoor Exercise

“Do you not know that you are the temple of God, and that the Spirit of God dwells in you? If anyone destroys God’s temple, God will destroy that person; for the temple of God, which you are, is holy.”
I Corinthians 3:16-17

Warning: While intended to inspire, this essay is not one that will make you feel good by passively reading without subsequent action.

I fell off the exercise wagon this winter. It must have happened sometime between Thanksgiving and Christmas, and the effects are now undeniable.

It annoys me when women blame their weight gain on having kids. Sure, a nulliparous twenty-year-old can have a flat stomach without working out. We have to do crunches every day to net the same effect. A young woman might get away with skipping exercise for six months with little noticeable effect. Within a month, an over-thirty-five’s jeans no longer fit.

Age and multiparity surely have their effect on a woman’s metabolism. But with a purposeful attitude toward diet and exercise, the whole family can benefit from Mom’s judicial lifestyle practices. Wise shopping, cooking, and daily family walks can keep the entire family in good health and spirits.

Having had gestational diabetes in my third pregnancy, I took that as an “early warning” that I was at risk for developing diabetes later in life. This has been an added incentive for me to keep myself physically fit.

But when it gets cold outside, the excuses mount, and I am no exception. I may send the kids outside for daily exercise, but I really do not like winter weather. With young ones around, and no off-limits rooms, I do not consider weight equipment to be safe. And try working out to an exercise tape with a toddler – those kicks and arm movements may delight the baby but she is not going to give you a safety zone in which to work.

I have a few cardiovascular movements involving baby that can build muscle and get your heart rate going. One is crunches with baby sitting on your tummy. She loves this! And the extra weight on your stomach enhances the benefits of the movements. Another is holding the baby out in front of you and bringing her up over your shoulder level. This also is fun for her, and great for your upper body. And, throughout the day, simply holding your baby directly in front of you rather than on your hip will help keep that “pouch” in check.

Stair climbing is my favorite fallback. It requires no fancy equipment – just your time and motivation. This winter I had numerous excuses to not do this. Most importantly, the baby wants to follow. And when she is napping, I am afraid to wake her up.

But this week I realized I had to stop my continued denial of my winter weight gain. I realized I was relying on my stretchy jeans beyond week 4 of my cycle. During the months of January and February I did a colon cleanse, drank apple cider vinegar before meals, and ate organic grapefruits. They might have cleanse my system but did nothing for that five pounds of abdominal fat. There was no easy fix here. I really had no choice but to get back into exercising if I was to fit in my bridal dress for my sister’s wedding this summer.

So, yesterday, all excuses were put aside. I put the baby in for her nap, took off my shoes, and started running up and down the stairs. I did this ten times before running out of breath. It was a good start. After doing that, I felt so mentally energized that I sat down and sent off a poem to a magazine, and a book proposal to a publisher.

Today, I was determined to reach the benchmark of twenty, but knew I was not yet ready to do this consecutively. I did five, then continued at a slower pace as I accomplished other tasks. On each trip, I would jog around the floor looking for things that had to go either up or down the stairs. This gave me a little breather between the more demanding climbing. After number 15, I swept the kitchen floor. I ran up the stairs and cleaned my bathroom (16). I ran down, out the door, got the mail, and brought it up (17). I ran down for a glass of water, brought it up the computer and turned it on (18). Two more times and I was done. The housework was done and I was ready to get into writing mode!

The workout can be enhanced by doing warmup calisthenics beforehand, and a cool-down. As you get used to stair climbing, you can add light weights. Simply holding them while climbing boosts the cardiovascular and muscle-building effects of your movement.

If you live in a ranch or your stairs are under construction, you have a good excuse not to try this at home.

Stock Photo Above: Arc de Triomphe by Francis Toussaint

Failing in our Fasts

On Ash Wednesday, the baby turned her dinner bowl over onto her head. She looked adorable in her silly “hat”.

Then I remembered what had been in the bowl.

“Flounder! Fish hair! Oh no! Bleah bleah!”

Having fish for dinner is no sacrifice at our house. It is a great excuse to browse in the fish department and try new ways to make it.

My eldest daughter said that she was going to give up dessert for Lent. “All except for Fridays,” she said, “because I already give up meat those days.”

I hated to be a stumbling block for her, but I had already begun a batch of chocolate chip cookies. This was part of my new strategy, based on some advice from my Nanna, to give the baby baked goods before bedtime. This has worked all week in filling her up so she can sleep through the night.

“Are you sure about that resolution, honey?” I asked.

“Well, since we had fish today maybe I can have the cookies tonight.”

Later, my husband decided he would give up his nightly pint of ice cream.

Thinking of the scripture, “As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord,” I thought, “Why don’t we all follow suit and give up ice cream together.”

After all, much as we love our ice cream, this was one that would not rely on our self control. As I do the shopping, all I had to do was not stock the freezer with ice cream for 40 days. I thought maybe this would be too easy for the family, and not count fully as a sacrifice.

But then I remembered that this is what we are to do on a daily basis to avoid sin. “Flee from evil,” we are commanded. We are to remove ourselves from situations that tempt us to sin.

I know I may seem to be contradicting my last post, in which I said food was not my first choice as a sacrifice. This is one way I can make it easier for my family to give up something for an entire 40 days. I am also encouraging everyone to make their own sacrifices in addition to that.

I announced my own, to give up “critical complaining”. The kids rejoiced until I explained further. This doesn’t mean I can’t ask the kids to clean their rooms. It just means I have to do it in a more constructive way, complimenting them first on what they have done, and gently asking them to improve their messy ways.

Within minutes of this proclamation, I had already broken my promise.

On Day Three of Lent, many of us are in a similar predicament. We have already cheated on our personal Fasts and wonder if we should just give up, or perhaps exchange one vow for a new and easier one.

St. Paul complained that he was unable to stop sinning. He failed what he set out to do, and wound up doing what he did not want to do. But did he give up and go back to his old self, Saul? No, he knew that “we have all come short of the Glory of God”, and he simply asked God to help him to fight his sinful nature.

So I encourage everyone to stick to their vows. If you break your fast, ask Christ to forgive you and give you the strength not to do it again. That is why He died for us, so that His Blood may continually wash away our sins. This is why we celebrate Lent.

Painting above:
“Landscape with the Temptation of Christ”
Augustin Hirschvogel, 1545. State Hermitage Museum.

Gestational Diabetes: A Book Proposal

I am preparing a book proposal to submit to a publisher of informational health books. My working title is “Gestational Diabetes: What to do if you have it, and natural ways to reduce your chances of having it in the future”. This is the sort of title I wish I could have found in the library during my third pregnancy and in preparation for my fourth pregnancy.

It came as quite a shock when I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes in the third trimester of my third pregnancy. I had always exercised and had excellent nutritional habits. I was 29 years old, had never been overweight, and had no family history of diabetes.

Now I had to follow a special diet. I roamed the aisles of the food store for over an hour that first week, studying food labels and shaking my head in dismay at my limited choices. I made up a spreadsheet, upon which I diligently recorded everything I ate. I took my blood sugar upon waking and after each meal.

I was given a book with dietary guidelines, but many things I had to find out on my own. I soon noticed certain foods were causing my sugars to be elevated. Tomato sauce and rice were the main culprits. I learned how to make my own tomato sauce, and avoided rice. I also realized that if I made my own oatmeal cookies I could have one with a glass of milk without causing my sugars to go up.

My nurse practitioner was pleased at the recorded blood sugars. My son was born a day before his due date, completely naturally, at a weight of 9 lb. 13 oz.

My first child was 7 lb. 6 oz.; second child was 8 lb. 13 oz. “Does this mean if I have another child he or she will be 11 pounds?” I asked my NP at my postnatal checkup.

“Not necessarily. But you should know that the woman’s body is made to be able to deliver that size baby no problem.”

“Is there anything I can do to prevent having gestational diabetes in the future?”

“Not that I know of. But your sugars were in such good control that I wonder if you ever did have it in the first place.”

I looked in vain for a book that would address the prevention of gestational diabetes. Nothing. I did find little bits on GD in various pregnancy books, and scoured the internet for the original studies. What I did find were several correlations suggesting a diet high in fiber and magnesium, among other nutrients, as well as exercise, tended to lower a woman’s chances of contracting GD.

I went with the information I had in preparation for my fourth pregnancy. When I mentioned the data I had gathered, my NP said she wasn’t sure if it would work, but it would not do any harm to be circumspect in my diet. She did say magnesium was excellent as a preventative for several pregnancy related disorders, and was surprised it was not included in my prenatal vitamin.

My file was red-flagged as “high risk”. My NP informed me that she would be sending me for an early sugar tolerance test. Assuming the worst, she had me skip the one-hour and go straight for the three-hour test.

Now during this time I was avoiding all refined sugars, baked goods, and prepared foods. I was eating a high-fiber diet, complete with lots of vegetables, whole-grains, protein, and some fruit. My fear of GD was high enough to keep me in complete control. I actually found that my appetite was fully sated and I had no food cravings whatsoever!

It was wintertime, so I took out several exercise DVDs designed specifically for pregnancy. One had me dancing to salsa music. It was fun, and I felt good! Weather permitting, the kids and I went for a daily one-mile walk around the block after school.

I passed the first test at five months, and the second test at seven months. My baby was a healthy 8 lb. 3 oz. Amazingly, within a week of delivery, I was only ten pounds over my pre-pregnancy weight!

My book will outline what I learned through my own personal experience, and will be heavily documented with methodologically sound research.

I am looking to incorporate the experiences of other women out there who found ways to deal with their GD naturally, and/or who were able to have a subsequent pregnancy without contracting GD. Any correspondence would be kept completely confidential. Any details that could be provided will be helpful. Age, race, number of pregnancies, other risk factors, and pregnancy outcome (health of baby and mother, weight of baby, etc.), are some important details.

Correspondence may be sent to me at my personal email address.

Find out about “The Mystery Painting at Hampton Court” here.

Complaining at Christmas Time

Okay, we all know we are supposed to be full of good cheer this month, but I am sure all of we moms lose patience at least once with all we have to do. So I am going to take this opportunity to gripe publicly. But I promise I have a point and will end on a positive note.

We just read the Old Testament story about how God sent vipers to punish his people for griping in the wilderness. Moses had to put up a bronze serpent so that all who looked on it would not die of their bites. I am reminded of this as I look behind my computer chair at our Jesse tree with the symbol of the bronze snake.

I hate shopping. I mean, I really, really hate shopping. Especially at times like this when stores are a mob, and I am only there to meet a necessity.

My daughter needed a new winter coat, so I found myself on a long line at Kohl’s today with my single purchase and my toddler standing up in her stroller and whining. The lady behind me on the line had a sleeping pre-schooler in a stroller, whom she kept absent-mindedly pushing into my legs. It took every ounce of restraint I could summon to keep myself from spinning around and say, “Do you really think you are going to get to the cash register any faster by smashing your child into my legs?” A few times she left the child there to go a few yards away and look at another sale item. I took that opportunity to inch away and position myself so the next nudge would annoy a little less.

The upside to my ordeal was that I received a real bargain on the needed coat. The cashier was surprised that I had waited on the line for only one item. Upon ringing up the coat, I remarked that it was only computed as 25% off rather than the 60% advertised. A nearby manager, desperately trying to manage the long line, told the cashier to give it to me at 60% off. He calculated it on his cell phone while I quickly worked out the math problem on a scrap piece of paper. When I got home and looked at the circular, I saw that “athletic” coats were excluded from the sale and so, indeed, this had worked to my advantage.

My daughter happened to have a difficult time with her math homework tonight and I promised I had a surprise for her after she had completed it. This helped out with her attitude a bit, and she was very happy with her new coat.

Last time I was in a complaining mood, my husband commented, “It could be worse. We could have been borne in the Middle Ages during the Black Plague.” Having read about that ordeal in Kristen Lavransdatter, I quieted myself and tried to look for a silver lining somewhere.

And there always is. A good friend of ours is about to be shipped off for Navy Reserve Boot Camp, a few days before Christmas. What was his family doing tonight? Personally delivering food, clothing, and Christmas gifts to needy families on Eastern Long Island. (They run a website called Help for Long Island.) Now that is inspiring.

“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.”
Phillipians 4:8

The Little Pink Ball

Sometimes I have a day that is special in its absolute normalcy. I am following my normal routine and somehow every activity is enhanced with a joyfulness that is delicious. I know these days are a blessing from God and are given to us as encouragement and a reminder of his gifts. This happened to me yesterday.

I had a late start getting the baby and myself ready to go food shopping. The telephone rang and it was a relative I had not heard from for a long time. I was delighted to hear from her, and we talked for a while. We complained about how long it takes to go food shopping, but remembered to be thankful we had enough to eat.

I dressed the baby in a pink crocheted dress that had been mine as a baby, and that my second daughter had also worn. Now too short to be worn as a dress, I paired it with a pair of jeans and sweet little cranberry shoes. She looked absolutely adorable!

I had two certificates for free turkeys, as well as two “ten dollars off” coupons, so I made two separate trips into the store, loading up the car to the gills. Mind you, I am not hosting Thanksgiving. We really eat that much in a week.

During my shopping, I met a mother of four with one on the way. We exchanged nice words, encouraging one another. I also ran into a lady from church, who fawned over the baby and how she had grown.

The baby had her eye on a big basket of blow-up playballs, which were on sale for 99 cents. Probably for the first time ever, I bought a toy for my child on impulse. I gave her a pink and orange swirly ball and she giggled with glee. It was a good thing I was almost done shopping, because she then started doing what babies are supposed to do with balls.

At the milk case, she threw the ball onto the floor. It bounced and rolled to an elderly gentleman, who happily bent over to pick it up and hand it to her with a smile. Now at the yogurt section, she threw it to a middle-aged woman, who also was glad to comply. Eggs, ice cream, and we were done, with a few more games of catch thrown in.

I could not have her continue this in the parking lot. At the checkout counter, she lost her ball to me and I snuck it to the cashier, instructing her to hide it. She mistook my instructions, scanned it, and started to hand it to the baby, who was still looking around on the floor for her ball. “No no, hide it!” I whispered to the young lady urgently. Now she put it in a bag and it was out of sight.

Back in the car, I returned the ball and she gave me a laugh that meant, “There it is!”

Once at home, I placed her in the house with the ball. She looked out at me through the glass storm door. Every time I came to open the door, armed loading with groceries, she threw that ball out at me.

Finally, all the bags were in. She stood up and threw her ball, walked to it, and picked it up. She had just learned to walk independently over the weekend, so this was some pretty fancy footwork for her. To me, it was the perfect picture.

I ran and got my camera. This will be one of the days to treasure in this mother’s memories of childhood.

"Be cheerful no matter what; pray all the time; thank God no matter what happens.
This is the way God wants you who belong to Christ Jesus to live."
-1 Thes. 5:16-18

School’s No Vacation for this Mom!

The last two nights were spent at open school nights: one for the middle school, and one for the elementary grades. Getting to these mandatory meetings is quite an ordeal for our family. The teachers still give out homework, which must be done earlier than usual; dinner finished and cleaned up; the children all set for bed. My self-employed husband must brave the “rush hour” to get home “early” at 7:00. I kiss the children goodbye and, as soon as his car pulls in the driveway, I am out the door.

The first night I was fifteen minutes late. The baby was fussing and giving me trouble about going to bed at 6:55. I finally had her asleep and was able to leave at 7:15. It takes a half hour to get to the school, park the car, and walk to the auditorium.

When I opened the door, it was clear I was the latest one, and they were in the middle of the opening prayer. Mortified, I closed the door behind me as quietly as I could. I imagined several people giving me dirty looks. (Imagined or not, given a choice between several hundred parents staring at me and leaving the house with the baby crying, I’ll choose the former every time.)

The second night I left just five minutes earlier, but the traffic lights worked with me and, if I had not gotten stuck waiting for a long train, I would have made it on time. Still, at 7:35, people had not yet sat themselves down, so I was okay. I made polite chit-cat with a school board member. “This must be like a vacation for you,” she commented, referring to my days with the kids in school.

“Believe it or not,” I told her, “I had more free time when all the kids were home for the summer!”

How quickly we all forget how much attention a baby needs the first few years of life. The active ones cannot be left alone for a second! I myself am guilty of forgetting this, as I have sometimes wondered why friends neglected to call for long periods of time after having a baby.

I go through my day logistically mapping every step in front of me. In the morning, I ask myself what chores I can accomplish with the baby with me. Today we ate breakfast together and went food shopping.

Because I cannot fit all our family’s food in one cart, I go through the store once, load up the car with the non-perishables; then go to the dairy and meats for a second run. The cashiers who are unfamiliar with me always make a funny comment when seeing me on their line for the second time. “Forget a few things?” When the baby fusses on the cashier line, I give her my cell phone and she happily pretends to talk to her daddy.

When we got back, I had to repeatedly place her in the farthest part of the living room away from the front door, then run to my car to get a few bags before she could get to the front door. A few times, she beat me to it, and I had to coax her away from the screen door so I could open it. After repeating this several times, I finally had the groceries loaded onto the kitchen table. I put her in the high chair with a banana while I quickly put the groceries away. Several times I had to stop what I was doing to rinse off the banana, which she kept throwing on the floor. Then I sat with her for my own lunch.

Finally, nap time. I am religious with our 12 to 2 nap time. I nurse her, put her down, and she is out. I think God made babies need naps because he knew mommies needed them to. This is the only time I have to myself until midnight.

Now I think to myself: what chores need to be done that I absolutely cannot accomplish with her with me? Sweeping or mopping the kitchen floor is always first on the list. Then bringing down the laundry. Today, for my major task I decided to clip the hedges in the front yard. I also chopped up the broccoli for dinner. I had a few moments to check my email and put up a post that I had already prepared ahead of time. I try to have most of the housework and errands completed before the kids get home from school. This way I can give them my full attention for the duration of the day.

The baby wakes up, we have a snack, and go out in the yard. At 3:20, we go out front and wait for the school bus. Although slightly fearful of the large yellow vehicle, her face lights up because she knows her siblings are home to play with her.

No homework this weekend – yay! We weeded and planted some bulbs together. We took the bunny for a walk around the yard. The kids played wiffle ball, until all the balls had landed in the pool. The baby played in the dirt, happy to get dirty and happier still to have a bath afterwards. It was another happy, productive, day in the life of this mom. I will sleep well tonight!

Pictured above: "The Menagerie" by Franz Sonderland