Parenting to Potential

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“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

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

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

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

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

"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

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

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

“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

“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.
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For this momentary light affliction is producing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison,
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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.