Happy Thanksgiving... or Black Thursday?

I always hated Black Friday.  When my kids were young, the thought of taking them into the crowded stores just to get a good sale never appealed to me.  I always made a point to stay home all day that day, baking and doing crafts with the kids.  Sometimes we would host team sleepovers.

The last few years have seen an appalling development.  The hours got so early into the morning that some stores were opening at midnight.  This meant that many store employees would have to leave their family dinners early to prepare for the midnight opening.  I started to call it Black Thursday.

This year, several major retailers are opening at 10 PM Thursday night, and some even at 8 PM.  This means that Thanksgiving is now ruined not only for employees, but for the families whose gatherings will end early because someone wants to go stand in line to get a good sale.  “Sorry Mom, I just have to get to this sale.  I promise to get you a really nice designer pocketbook.  Love you, bye.”

The only way for this madness to stop is if the people don’t go to these sales.  Even if a small percentage stands up for their beliefs with their actions and this does not impact the stores, what parents decide to do will make an impression on their children.  Do we place a higher value on family and special traditions, or do we value material things more?

“For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”

Matthew 6:21

Mark Francis Gerold

I have had creative writers’ block for months.  My Dad passed away this summer, and I thought my next post should be about my Dad, but then I just couldn’t bring myself to sit down and write about him.  How could I do justice to a lifetime of a complex man in an essay?  I am coming back now to review the notes I wrote for the Pastor who delivered his Eulogy.  I still can’t do much better than this, but I am afraid my perfectionistic tendencies will lead to its never being done.

Dad always was up for a challenge, and he always set our sights high.  He seemed to know exactly how much he could push us to do our best.  He used to take me for bike rides when I was little.  He’d get out ahead of me and go around the next corner, and I’d have to go faster to catch up, but he was always there. On one of these bike rides I said to him, “I love you Dad” and he said, “Yeah but do you like me too?” I said “of course!” Then he said “Well when kids get a little older a lot of the time they don’t like their parents.” I said, “Of course I will always like you!”  And I did. 

Dad was always one of my best friends. As I grew up I knew I could talk to him about anything.  He involved me in all of his projects around the house, and when I had my own house I would feel like he was there with me as I painted and fixed things. When I became an adult, I would have great, lengthy conversations about all kinds of topics.  Sometimes we would have arguments, but we always respected each other, and I really treasured our relationship.

Dad also taught us to be prepared for whatever life threw at us.  He would say to have a plan A, plan B, plan C, and so on, so that we could plan for any contingencies.  If we had inter-personal conflicts at school or work he would do role-playing with us to help us to stand up for ourselves.  He taught us how to play chess, checkers, and backgammon, and never just “let” us win; he taught us the right moves so that we could eventually beat him on our own.  This all taught us to be self-reliant and productive adults.  He always said to us, “You can do anything you put your mind to.”

Dad was a great role model.  He taught us by example.  Dad read his Bible every night. He kept it next to bed. His faith was solid and set such a great example for us.  Dad also taught us how to take great care of our bodies, “temples of the Holy Spirit”, by exercising, eating healthy foods, and getting a good night’s sleep.  He taught us how to manage our money, and set priorities.  He didn’t believe on spending money on status items.  He said the only things worth investing money in are land, an education, and good experiences.

He also taught us not to procrastinate.  On his desk was a plaque that said “DO IT NOW'.  This was short for:  “Don’t put off until tomorrow what you can do today”.

Other notes:

What he did for a living – builder and sales engineer – he and his brother started Gerold Brothers Home Improvement as teenagers, and in his 30s he sold large cooling systems in Manhattan.

How he grew up – in Bethpage Long Island with his 3 siblings

What his hobbies were – swimming, biking, board games.

What made him laugh – talking about what mischief he caused as a kid or what mischief his own kids got into

What music did he listen to – Beach Boys, Rocky Soundtrack.  

I think about Dad when I am doing things that we used to do together.  Swimming, going to the beach, staining the deck, doing any kind of home improvements, playing board games, reading the Bible.  Sometimes I feel his approval when making a decision that upholds the ethics he taught me.  Spending time with family, going to church, saving money, or spending it on worthwhile things and experiences.  Making sure my kids do well in school so they are on track to go to college.  Making sure they have the opportunity to do what it is they excel at.

Dad was 60 years old when he passed away, due to complications from Multiple Sclerosis.   He died the same day as my Grandfather, John S. Nagy.  I know that he is in Heaven now, in the company of my grandfather and other loved ones, free of pain.

Longwood Youth Mourn Dominic Trionfo

Last week the whole Longwood community was in mourning for the loss of fourteen-year-old Dominic Trionfo, of Middle Island, New York.  After getting his license to operate a jet ski, he was taking out his grandfather’s jet ski for the very first time in Peconic Bay.  Tragically, he came to close to the anchor chain in front of his grandfather’s boat and died in front of his family.  Dominic was well-loved at Longwood High School and it was his first year working as an umpire for Longwood Little League / Longwood Youth Sports Association. 

Parents and youth alike struggled with dealing with the death of one so young.  Grieving counselors were available at Longwood High School all week and moments of silence were held in his honor at the Academic Achievement Award night and other school events.  At Longwood Little League, moments of silence were held at ball games.  At the wake, umpires came dressed in their uniforms to show their respect.

A letter from Ron Webber, Director of Umpires, describes how one game in particular was held in honor of Dominic:

“This past week at our major baseball field was to be Dominic's first major baseball game along with his best friend John Hernandez, as these two young umpires have worked hard to move to this rank. As a tribute to Dominic, I worked the plate and John the bases, and we used special baseballs with Dominic's name on them. After the first pitch I removed the ball and presented it to Dominic's best friend John Hernandez. Everyone in attendance clapped for this gesture. That was a show of support and unity. The game was played as if the coaches and players were playing in a professional game and the game was one of the best of the season. I could not thank the coaches, players, and parents enough for their professionalism at this game. Not only was it an honor to remember Dominic at this game, but word got back to his family and they came down to watch and thank us for what we were doing. I had the honor to present Dominic's family with a game ball. I cannot thank all of you enough for what that game meant not only to me but to the many who knew him.”

It was eerie passing the news truck every day as I picked up my daughter from the high school.  They were there interviewing the students, teachers, and passers-by about how they felt about Dominic’s untimely death.  Mothers spent their days crying, even if they did not know him.  Maybe they overlooked a few fresh remarks or looks, because they were that much more thankful to have their children alive.  Maybe they stopped complaining about their busy sports schedules because they realized that at least their children were alive and healthy enough to participate.  Men were just as emotional, but they expressed it in thoughtful gestures, such as Ron’s tribute during the baseball game.  Those who had the money contributed to scholarship funds and family fundraisers.

Every time there is another end of the year activity I think, would Dominic have received an award tonight? Would he have been asked to the junior prom? Would he have umpired this year’s Little League All Star Game?  As I see a boat being transported on the highway I wonder if Dominic’s family will ever take the boat out on the water again.

There is no wrapping your head around the loss of a young person…no matter the cause.  All people can do is support the family, and come together as a community, as people did after Dominic’s death.  Give your kids an extra hug tonight and say a prayer for someone who wishes they could.

The Hunger Games: A Side-by-Side Review of the Book and the Movie

(I am going to try to do this without spoiling anything for those who have not read the book or seen the movie! I will not reveal the end!)

A Prelude..

I delayed seeing this movie as long as possible. When it first came out, I found the very idea of kids watching kids kill each other repulsive.  However, I read a few reviews that said the book had some excellent political overtones, and that the book was food for thought.  So I put the book on reserve at the library.

First I read the book and found it to be a very good read, with no objectionable content for my teenage daughters. The book, the first in a trilogy, is itself divided into three parts.  Part I , “The Tributes”, gives the history of 16-year-old Katniss, her family, town, and the games in general; Gale, her best friend, an older boy with whom she has hunted for years; and Peeta, the bakers’ son, who will be selected as the other tribute.  Part II, “The Games”, is the suspenseful story of the games.   Part III, “The Victor”, contains the climax and conclusion.

I passed the book along to my 14-year-old, who stayed up all night reading it and begged me to take her to the movie, which was still playing in some local theatres. I figured the movie would be comparable to one of the classic science fiction movies my husband and I have enjoyed, such as “Logan’s Run”.   I asked my 13-year-old to read Part I as a requirement to go. I felt that Part I gave enough background for her to understand where the main characters were coming from and the political purposes of the games.  Part II and III were largely composed of action which would be played out in the movie; she could catch up on Katniss’ thoughts later if she wished.

Briefly, the background story from Part I is…

Basically, America has been transformed into 12 districts, ruled by the Capitol.  There had been an uprising, which was squelched by the Capitol, followed by a period of peace.  To keep all the districts in their place and remind them never to try to revel again, every year each district must send 2 tributes, a boy and a girl ages 12 to 18 to fight to the death. The children are selected via a Reaping.  One victor emerges, bringing showers of gifts and wealth to the family and district.

Katniss is from District 12, which is very poor. She and Gale hunt outside the district borders, which is illegal, but they are not punished because the town officials like to buy their meat and fruit on the black market.  They dream of running away, knowing they can fend for themselves, but know they cannot because their families depend upon them for survival.  Katniss’ mother was mentally incapacitated when her father died, and she has been taking care of her 12-year-old sister Primrose for years. 

The unfairness of poverty is shown by how it related to the odds of being selected.  For extra food for the family, an eligible adolescent can put his or her name into the drawing more than once; Katniss and Gale often have had to do this. Gale’s name is in the drawing 42 times this year.  Primrose, whose name was only in once, is chosen, and Katniss volunteers in her place.  Peeta is the boy who is chosen.

Peeta has been in love with Katniss since they were children – but she does not know this until much later.  She knows that once when she was very young and her family was starving he threw her a loaf of bread; she never forgot this and felt indebted to him.  She doesn’t know his true feelings for her and distrusts him, knowing they may have to kill each other in the end.

My thoughts…

I was not disappointed by the movie.  I was glad I had read it in advance, partly because I knew what Katniss was thinking from the book, and her thoughts were not narrated in the movie, but also because I knew when to avert my eyes, because I knew when the deaths and injuries would occur.  My daughters laughed at me, watching the scenes wide-eyed.  Watching sideways, I could see not too much was shown.  (“No gratuitous violence”, one review had promised.) 

I was disappointed, however, that the movie changed the origin of the Mockingjay pin.  In the movie, Katniss finds it on the black market.  In the book, it was given to her as a gift from the mayor’s daughter, a rich girl with little chance of being selected as tribute.  The Mockingjay, an accidental mutation left over from experiments done by the government, was significant as a symbol of the government’s totalitarianism.

The movie added in outside perspectives that I had wondered about during the book, but which could not be revealed as Katniss was narrating from her singular point of view.  Katniss’ mother and sister were shown watching her on-screen. So was Gale, as she feigned romantic feelings for Peeta and kissed him in the cave.  Haymitch, their mentor, was shown talking it up with the sponsors to get the much-needed gifts of medicine sent to them, and even persuading the game makers that they should allow Katniss and Peeta to continue on because the audience would love the romantic angle.

A poignant scene in the book was the death of Rue, the 12-year-old girl from District 11 who reminds Katniss of her little sister.  The two girls had temporarily teamed up, and Katniss found Rue trapped in a net. She didn’t get to her on time; she was pierced by a spear.  In the book, Katniss shoots Rue’s killer partly out of revenge, partly out of self defense, and later realizes that was her first intentional kill.  In the movie, she gets Rue out of the net and then sees her attacker; she shoots defending Rue, but the spear still pierces Rue.  She holds Rue in her arms as she dies, singing her a lullaby she remembers her father singing.

In the book it had also been revealed that she did not like to sing, because it reminded her of her father, who used to sing to the mockingjays, and who had died in a mining accident.  Gale’s father had died in the same accident.  The movie had opened with her singing this same lullaby to her little sister, which was lovely for the effect of her later singing to Rue as if it was her little sister, but this really would not have happened because she did not like to sing.  She does it for Rue, however, because she is the first real human contact she has had since the games began.

In the book, Katniss remembers what Peeta had said about hoping he could do something that made a difference in how people thought about the games.  She weaves flowers around Rue’s hair, knowing that they will have to show this on television.  She honors the girl, and for this she is thanked doubly by District 11: first, by sending her a piece of bread shaped in the symbol of their district, and second, by the boy from District 11 later sparing her life in appreciation.

In the movie, Katniss is shown picking the flowers and placing them around Rue. Then she puts up a hand sign, one that had been shown by her people after she volunteered as tribute, rather than giving the expected applause.  It seems to be a sign of solemn respect, one that recognizes that something is wrong with the way things are being done here.  The movie cuts away to a scene of the people of District 11 watching her, giving the sign back, and then starting an open rebellion.  This (I believe) is the foreshadowing of what will happen in the next installment.  General Snow is pondering what to do with her, and this is when Haymitch pulls strings to persuade him to let her live.

In conclusion…

I won’t go into how the others died. It comes down to Katniss and Peeta in the end. I also won’t reveal what happens here, but there is emotional deception which is necessary for survival, and the way it ends is not quite satisfactory to the Game Makers.  Katniss is warned that they will have it in for her.  There is much to look forward to in the next installment, “Catching Fire”, which I am going to put on reserve next.

Just a bit about the name “Catching Fire”. Katniss’ stylist, wanting to ensure she is never forgotten, designs outfits for her and Peeta that spurt out fire. He says he wants everyone to remember Katniss as “the girl who was on fire”.  During the games, when Katniss has run far toward the edge of the arena, the game makers send fire balls to chase her back near the others.  I can see “Catching Fire” as a book about rebellion she has incited, as well as her being pursued by the government.

I do think this book and the movie, seen together with your teen, can be an excellent starting point for conversations about poverty, government, and respect for life.  I would advise reading it ahead of time so you know exactly what to expect. Only you know if your child is ready for it.

Mothering through all the Seasons

This spring has been a bit anti-climactic for those of us living on Long Island.  The magic of the season, with its newly discovered green, has been lost.  Bulbs have been poking through the ground since November.  What a contrast this is from last winter, when we had so much snow we thought we would never see a green field again!

I reflected on my feelings about spring – which is my favorite although I am severely allergic to it – in relation to parenthood.  I think pregnancy is most like winter, when everything is dormant but still harboring nutrients and warmth.

The birth is your own individual spring, a new beginning for your own life, marriage, and family, as well as for your newborn.  It is a busy stage, and one that older and wiser mothers will tell you to treasure while it lasts.
 
Then comes summer, toddlerhood and the pre-school years, as your baby learns to walk and talk.  Your child’s personality is emerging and he or she is starting to become independent.

The elementary school years are a little like autumn.  Your child’s talents and uniqueness are like all the colors of the changing leaves.  Your child knows how to do a great deal on his or her own.  Like your garden, you have done the work and can just sit back and watch.  It is a pleasant time, with little storminess for most, and you can coast through fairly easily.

Now that I have an almost-fifteen-year-old, I feel like I have been through most of the earlier stages.  Just on the cusp of the stage here, I can see adolescence may sometimes seem like a whirlwind through all the seasons at once.

But mostly I see it as a long winter.  So many things are going on beneath the surface.  Childishness has gone the way of autumn.  Many of the things you say appear not to take hold, but they are still there, like the protective mulch you put around your evergreens.  You think it will never end.

But then – one day it is over and this is the new spring, when your child has blossomed into a full adult.  You can admire what he or she has become.  Maybe you can embrace each other now as friends…maybe this will take more time, until he or she becomes a parent and can appreciate the cycle that has come full circle.

Just as nature needs to cycle through all its stages, so do our children.  Whatever stage your child is in, be sure to appreciate it.  Take time to reflect on how his or her stage has changed you as a person.  Pray that you can be the best parent possible to help your child to reach his or her highest potential.

“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.”
Ecclesiastes 3:1 (KJV)

On the Grocery Line

Woman and dog pushing shopping carts

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How to do nothing for 31 Days

Snowmen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Reclaiming Time

Montre Molle au Moment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Triple After Midnight: Extreme Sports

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How did it go?” asked my husband.

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

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

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

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

Why I Feel $26 Richer Today

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where did you lose it?” he asked.

“In my car.”

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

“What is that?”

“$26.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kindergarten

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Irene

A Passing Shower On Long Island

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The kids woke up and looked out the windows.

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

“You did say that,” I responded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Welcome to the Texting World

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

“We don’t have texting,” I replied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. I tried to write I love you.”

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

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

“The beeper works fine,” he insisted.

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

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

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

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

“Thanks,” I replied.

“Yeah,” she wrote.

Full Count

Ball one. Outside.

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

Strike one. On the swing.

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

Ball two. A little high.

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

Strike two. Looking.

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

Ball three. Inside. FULL COUNT.

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

Strike three. THE BATTER IS OUT.

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

A Dream Worth Keeping

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Book Review: "The Invisible World" by Anthony DeStefano

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

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

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

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

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

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

Parenting to Potential

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.**