Visit at a friend’s house

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.

Playing Dirty

The Baseball Game

This year my eldest daughter happened to be placed with the worst team of the league. It isn’t that her teammates can’t play – several of them have great raw ability and were selected for the summer travel team. The problem is that they have received no coaching this spring. The coach has called no practices and doesn’t have much to say during the games. The parents have picked up the slack, yelling from the sidelines where the plays are supposed to be going to. Most of the time, I have had to be at games for my younger children and have missed out on the horrible experience of watching a team that looks like the Peanuts gang.

They have not won a single game. This has been extremely discouraging for the girls. At the All-Star Game, we were teamed up with the best team in the league, much to the other team’s chagrin. One girl, who happens to be physically an excellent athlete but socially displays a really bad attitude, was selected for the All-Star Team and refused to play with us because she said we would make her lose! When news got around of this the girls were not too happy.

The All-Star Game actually was quite excellent. But when we played against them this Monday night, tempers were hot (parents included, although we keep our complaints to whispers and are polite to the other team). For most of the game, the other team would not hit any balls that were pitched to them; they waited to be walked. One of our pitchers got such a severe headache that she had to go on the disabled list. One of our girls was hit hard in the leg by a ball, en route to first base, and also had to go out.

Another of our pitchers decided to take matters into her own hands. She hit the snotty above-mentioned girl in the rear end. It looked to us like she had walked into it, and we had to laugh when she said, “Ooh, you got me in my booty!” and ran gingerly to first base. Said pitcher was next up at bat and coincidentally also got hit in the rear end.

At the last inning, my daughter was pitching to the snotty girl who had started it all. She gave her a good pitch and the girl returned it, hard, a line drive down center field. My daughter caught it and ran to home with it before the girl got to first, and she was out – the last out of the game.

My daughter was horrified when her friend confided to her that she had purposely hit the snotty girl in the rear end. I said that I was proud of her for doing things the proper way. We were all glad for the game to end on that note. But I was sad to see the poor teamswomanship that had been displayed during this dramatic ball game.

Later, my husband told me this was part of the intimidation game between pitcher and batter that normally goes on in professional baseball. But, I said, these are young girls, and most of them are friends on and off the field. Shouldn’t this cut-throat behavior be prohibited in friendly Little League games?

Moments like these are real teachable moments for all parents involved. We have to talk about the behavior we have seen. It is hard not to be judgmental about the characters of those who have not acted well. We are trying to show them that how they act in such situations really does build what kind of character you will have – yet not condemn the guilty individuals as being bad characters already, at such an impressionable age.

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. “

- NAB

The Friendly Blogger Award

Winnie the Pooh - Friends

My good friend Loren at "Dude Where Am I" has bestowed upon me The Friendly Blogger Award. She has so many really nice things to say about me here. I have watched her writing abilities really blossom as she explores the inner working of her own mind and shares her discoveries with her readers. I am blessed to have such a soul not only as my colleague, but as my friend. Thank you!

I am passing on this award to another good friend Leticia. She is the one who inspired me to start blogging. She is gradually becoming more and more of a success as a published writer through her own hard work and determination. She stands up for what she believes in and does all she can to protect the lives of the littlest among us. Thank you!

“The Test of Faith: 1896-1897”: Chapter Ten of “The Story of a Soul”*

I have been reading “The Story of a Soul”, by St. Therese of Lisieux. (See below for links to my previous posts on this book.) Chapters 10 and 11 contain the writings from what had been known as “Manuscript C”, which was written in the form of a letter to her prioress, Sister Marie de Gonzague.

I had a great deal of difficulty reading and relating to this section. At this time, Therese was very ill and near to death. Her writing becomes very lofty and general, and goes off in tangents, so that it is difficult to follow at times. Then she comes back with specific stories that are very relatable. Part of this is because of the way she was forced to write, with many interruptions throughout the day.

She writes of hoping to arrive at sainthood by staying “little”, or simple. She believes she is about to die, and is joyful at the idea, only to find that she has more time. Then she writes at great length about the trials she has with dealing with all of the sisters she lives with.

We can all relate to what she writes about loving our sisters, complete with all of their faults. We must look for their virtues so that we can love them better. We also must never judge. When we consider how our own actions have been misinterpreted by others, we must also see that we might possibly be misjudging others. The best thing is to assume the best intentions on their part.

I once had a good friendship go terribly awry due to misinterpretations on both sides. My very best girlfriend was going to move far away and told me that it really bothered her when people got all emotional about the news. So I pretended that her move didn’t make me sad. I carried on this charade for a whole month. It was one of the hardest things I ever did! On her part, she thought that I was glad to see her go; that I disliked her and was happy to get rid of her. And I was horrified that she would think I would think that. The move was postponed; but, sadly, our friendship was never quite the same after that.

It is very funny how Therese writes of a sister whose character seems to be “very displeasing”. Therese goes out of her way to smile at this sister, trying her best to see within the depths of her soul whatever it must be that God must find pleasing there. The sister thinks that Therese has favored her and Therese lets her believe it to be so.

I was able to use this idea in a conversation I had with my daughter about her upcoming birthday. She is turning twelve next week, and we were discussing ideas about how to celebrate with her friends. “How many friends are important to you?” I asked her.

“Ten,” she said.

“Is that all the girls that are in your class?”

“No, there is one that I don’t like.”

“So you would exclude her and invite everyone else?”

“No one else likes her either. She doesn’t get along with anyone.”

“So she has no friends in the class?”

“She’s really annoying.”

“Maybe if she had a friend she wouldn’t be so annoying. She is the one that is most need of being loved.”

“But what if nobody else comes because they don’t want to hang out with her?”

“Well, that would be really wrong.”

We agreed in the end that she would include the girl in the invitations, with some reservations on my daughter’s part.

Therese ends this chapter with a discussion of true charity. We are to give without expecting anything in return. But in that sort of giving we do receive the most joy. I hope that in giving this invitation (even reluctantly) my daughter receives a special grace that she will never forget.

*The chapter divisions differ from translation to translation. The one I am reading is translated and edited by Robert J. Edmonson, Paraclete Press, 2006. The writings that have come down as “Manuscript C” comprise chapters 10-11 of this book.

For my reflections on the first nine chapters, please see my previous posts:
Manuscript A
Chapters 1-4
Chapters 5-8
Manuscript B
Chapter 9

Palm Sunday 2009: The Week in Review

For the first time perhaps in our entire family history, we got to church early enough to get seats for Palm Sunday. I love it when we can get a whole pew for our family. Usually there is a solitary person sitting at the end of the pew, and they look like their peace was disturbed when all six of us trip past. Then they have to tolerate all the bumps and nonsense that occurs throughout the mass. Often the person disappears right after Communion. I wonder if they found a better spot or left entirely.

“Wasn’t it worth getting there ten minutes early?” I ask my husband as we leave.

“What’s the difference? We have to stand for most of it anyway,” he replies.

He’s not the one the little one usually goes to, so if we are forced to stand I wind up holding all 30 pounds of her, while wearing heels. Just knowing we can sit if we need to is a relief.

So I enjoyed our Mass. As soon as we got home, my ten-year-old daughter and I went to get our raggedy hairs trimmed. Then we all went for a bike ride.

The kids and my husband spent what seemed like hours washing the cars. They haven’t been cleaned for the entire winter, so there was lots of scrubbing to do. Meanwhile, I worked in the kitchen, making up my own special dish I christened Chicken Extravaganza, which will be featured in this blog tomorrow.

I also helped my eleven-year-old daughter with her Hungarian culture project. There was research to be done for the report, and for the class food sample we made these lovely little cookies that are similar to Linza Tarts. These also will be displayed on this blog this week.

We got some fun shopping last night. I am not big on shopping, but I do enjoy buying Easter dresses for my girls each year. I took my two older girls to Kohl’s where they each tried on about twenty dresses. They were really hysterical, laughing and commenting loudly to each other through the stall. I wondered how many people outside were listening to the songs they made up.

They finally settled on what they called “seaweed mermaid dresses”. They are matching, flowy, green and blue dresses with thick straps, which they will wear with white sweaters on Easter. They reminded them of mermaids because of how flowy they are, and of seaweeds because of the surreal mixed green and blue pattern.

This week at softball practice I commented to another mother on how cute the girls were at this age. She looked at me like I was crazy. She looked at my toddler and said, “I’d like to bottle them up at this age and keep them that way forever.”

What I thought adorable was the pure enjoyment that girls take in their friends and teammates. My girls have been playing in the same league since they were five, and have played with each of the other girls on the same team at least once, and against their team on the other years. When they met for the first practice, they literally jumped into each other’s arms, hugging one another.

God made babies to grow up, and watching them fulfill their potential as they grow through each stage is such a blessing.

Painting by Fra Angelico, 1450, Entry into Jerusalem

Childhood Friends

Young boys playing on trike

I’ll never forget the day “Becky” told me I was her tenth best friend. She was so smelly and bossy; but we were friends out of habit. She was expecting another friend to come over later that day, and told me that the other girl was her first best friend, but that I was a close second. Then she amended her first statement. “No, wait, that would be Katie, and then Carly, and then…” until she declared me as number ten in importance. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I was too hurt to respond.

We went outside and began playing hide-and-seek outside. Her new bike was standing in the driveway. When it was my turn to hide, I knocked down her bike, got on my own, and pedaled away. She continued to look for me.

Her mother called my house, crying, a half-hour later. “We can’t find Lisa!” she said. (That was my childhood nickname, a little-known derivative of the alternative spelling Elisabeth.)

“She’s right here,” my mother said, perplexed. She looked over at me. I looked like the cat who had eaten the canary.

She hung up and got from me the full story. Out poured all my feelings as to how I had been repeatedly abused emotionally by Becky. Other telephone calls would be received from Becky’s family in the upcoming weeks. My behavior had been shocking, after I had seemed such a meek and quiet one for so long. Her mother wanted to “work it out”. My mother said, “I think my daughter has made up her mind.”

I was willing to forgive, but not forget. Her past behavior was indicative of a character I was no longer willing to associate with. I knew I deserved better. And I would much rather spend my afternoons alone than in her company.

As I watch our children make and break friendships, I am careful not to tell them with whom they should or should not associate. This is easy to do now, as they are presently attending a Catholic school where all the kids come from fairly good homes. We do often sit and talk about their friends, analyzing their virtues and faults, as I gently try to steer them towards hanging out with the ones who display more of the first than the second. For the most part I have been pleased with their choices.

The hard part is watching their little hearts get broken when someone speaks cruelly to them. “And I thought she was my friend!” Then come all the platitudes about how someone who could treat them poorly was never a true friend to begin with, and isn’t worth all the heartache, but I know it doesn’t take the pain away. We are helpless to take it away, nor should we. It is one of the arenas in which all we can do is listen.

Playdate Overload

Blue Dancers

Winter vacation has been overscheduled, much to my chagrin. When we were homeschooling, we could spread things out much better, staggering quiet at-home days with social outings. Having to rely on the school calendar compresses too much into too small a time frame.

Another big change is the way playdates are handled. It used to be that a mom with four kids could get together with another mom with four kids. There was a whole mix of ages and everyone got along together. I still do this with an old homeschooling friend, but for the school friends it doesn’t work this way.

For the five days of winter vacation, I had to give each child a day on which he or she could schedule a playdate with one friend. That left one day for us to do a library program and one day to get together with the aforesaid homeschooling friend. (I fondly call that our “family playdate”.)

Today’s plans were canceled, leaving us with time to climb trees, read, write, and bake. Noone else is scheduled to come over, and I can relax about the cleanliness and orderliness of the house. We finally got to the doctor to see about a sinus problem one of the children was having.

Yesterday was an exciting day for my oldest one. Most of her school friends live several towns away, and it is a rare occasion when they can come over. So she got to have her two best friends over at once. The girls were so sweet. They went for a walk, had a valentine-themed luncheon, did makeovers, and played games.

But the self-imposed pressure to keep the house looking presentable until they arrived was awful. Together we polished furniture, cleaned bathrooms, cleaned and swept floors, and vacuumed. At noon I had a lovely lunch spread out on the table. They called and said they were going to be late.

That gave me two choices: I could wrap everything up and set it out again later, or I could sit watch over the table to make sure the dog didn’t jump up and eat it all. I chose the latter, busying myself in the kitchen until they arrived.

It turned out the mom dropping off and picking up did not have time to come in, so all my fears of judgment on my house were in vain. The girls had a lovely time and I enjoyed the knowledge that my daughter knows how to pick good friends.

“We took sweet counsel together, and walked unto the house of God in company.”
Psalms 55:14

Encouraging the Discouraged

Two Girls at the Piano

I was feeling discouraged this week by a number of things: the kids’ being sick, negative comments made by complete strangers, and the rejection of one of my most precious manuscripts.

It’s funny how you realize, while facing adversity yourself, that you can’t seem to give yourself the advice you would give others in the same situation. Yet, what bore me up were all those little things my friends said to try to make me feel better. Even just the fact that they were trying was a help.

Often one feels put in an uncomfortable position when trying to think of what to say to a person in need of comfort. If you ever were on the silent end of a phone while a friend grieved the death of a loved one, you know what I mean.

But anything is better than nothing. Even what you might think of as “lame” helps to bolster. Those little pebbles fill in the gaps between the more substantial rocks. And when you speak the truth in love, that forms one of the boulders your friend will lean on for support.

“A faithful friend is a sturdy shelter; he who finds one finds a treasure.
A faithful friend is beyond price, no sum can balance his worth.
A faithful friend is a life-saving remedy, such as he who fears God finds;
For he who fears God behaves accordingly, and his friend will be like himself.”
Sirach 6: 14-17 (NAB)

The Golden Standard in Friendship

Tonight I am thankful for my dear friends who reach the “gold standard”, as described in the wonderful book of Sirach.

“A kind mouth multiplies friends, and gracious lips prompt friendly greetings.
Let your acquaintances be many, but one in a thousand your confidant.
When you gain a friend, first test him, and be not too ready to trust him.
For one sort of friend is a friend when it suits him, but he will not be with you in time of distress.
Another is a friend who becomes an enemy, and tells of the quarrel to your shame.
Another is a friend, a boon companion, who will not be with you when sorrow comes.
When things go well, he is your other self, and lords it over your servants;
But if you are brought low, he turns against you and avoids meeting you.
Keep away from your enemies; be on your guard with your friends.
A faithful friend is a study shelter; he who finds one finds a treasure.
A faithful friend is beyond price, no sum can balance his worth.
A faithful friend is a life-saving remedy, such as he who fears God finds;
For he who fears God behaves accordingly, and his friend will be like himself.”

Sirach 6:5-17

If you don’t have a friend like this, start looking. If you do, recognize her great value and treat her as such.

Happy Thanksgiving !

Painting by Norman Rockwell