How can I protect you?

If I really could speak to the Cosmos, I'd have a long conversation with It. If I were an op-ed writer, this column would be dense. But I am not. Still, I have something to say.

Please, for the love of God and all that is good and holy in this world, stop stealing our children's childhoods. Stop taking from them what makes them beautiful and innocent and darling and, well, children. Will we have to redefine this word, like we have so many others, because in a few years, it literally won't mean what it did a decade ago?

I found my sweet boy, on the eve of his 15th birthday, using his new Ipod nano to download videos of pornography. He was using the only computer in the house without parental controls, and sneaking to do it at 10:30 at night. I found him only because I'd come in for a glass of water.

He started crying. He was shaking. He was embarrassed, humiliated and stunned. He lied about what was happening until I forced him to come away from the screen. It was dark in the kitchen, except for the hideous glow from the computer. 

Words cannot describe my reaction, my emotion or his. This is not the first time we've found him looking for or listening to pornography. This topic is most dear to me because I feel it is the most precious gift given to us by God. If I mess this up with my kids, I've failed. End of story. This insidious "education" of women, sex, love, intimacy, dignity, self-worth, reality, truth and expectations is creating a generation of men. The next generation of men who will marry or not, rule our country or not, be kind or not, know God or not. 

And, we're a good family. We are attentive parents, with a lot of controls in our house and our devices. Our oldest is the only one with a phone (that is not a smart phone and that is now located in my pajama drawer for all eternity). He turns it in at night and has limits on its uses during the weekends. My boys don't play video games involving guns, they have allotted times on the computers, and cannot download songs with the F-word or the stamp of "Explicit." We say prayers. We believe in God. We go to Mass. We talk about morals and values and women and love and try very hard to set a good, no a great, example of marital harmony. We love our kids, we give them books for Christmas, we play Yahtzee, and once in a while, when they ask for something like an Ipod nano, we like to give it to them. 

Why must it be so hard? Why must this fifteen year old boy be tempted like this? Why must he see these things? And I know--there are traits like self-discipline and self-control. And I expect him to develop them. But should he have to have them tested against a pervasive, overwhelming reality such as this, and at an age when he simply cannot handle the temptation? He says many boys he knows (he wouldn't say everyone) have these videos and more on their phones. He says it's everywhere at school. All the time. 

And I'm a woman walking around my home with a son who has seen things and knows things that I haven't! He has been warped and damaged and scared and thrilled, I suppose, at images and scenes I dare not imagine. These are not magazine still-lifes of naked women posing atop silken sofas. These are videos of the highest moral twistedness. And they aren't hidden under your friend's bed or your cousin's house that you get to see once a month or even once a week. They are downloaded and viewed as much you like, in the quiet of your own room. I never even thought to have him "turn in" his Ipod at night. 

What lengths must we go to, in allowing our children to be in the world but also safe from it? Am I to walk in fear and eliminate everything with a plug but the toaster oven? I don't think that is the way God teaches us to live. But then, how can I give my children devices that could be the tools to end their childhood? What decent parent would do that?

Listen to me, Mr. Cosmos. I will not give up this fight. This is really important. I will not raise my children to believe that this behavior is good or acceptable or normal. I will raise them to love women, to treat them with dignity and gentleness and kindness and honor. I will teach them what love means and what dedication is and what it means to protect those people you cherish above all else. I will teach them by example, for I love and adore Nick and will not allow him to lose this one. 

Our children are faced with things in the hallways of schools we never had to encounter, let alone refuse. I am scared for Nick, I am angry and hurt and disgusted at his choice; however, he is my child and Steve and I will do everything and then some that we know to do to protect and help him. I just wanted you to know, Cosmos, that I'm pleading with you to give all our kids a break. They need it.

That is all.

Precious Gift

This morning, Steve is competing in a Tough Mudder 13 mile obstacle course. Because it's cold (number 1 reason) and it costs $40/person to be a spectator (ridiculous), we are waiting for him to finish and then meeting the entire team at a traditional spot to celebrate Tough Mudder (evidently): Hooters. Awesome. This week has been filled enough with explanations and questions and fears regarding sexual topics. Penn State (and ESPN) have filled my boys' heads with images and concerns and sadness. My family has been consumed by this. The last thing I wanted was another talk about sex. But God had other plans, and I was pleasantly humbled by them.

Jacob (this is predictable) followed me into my room after mass and asked me about Hooters. I described in benign terms what it was like, and the description led to a discussion about Father Tom's homily (while I was trying to go to the bathroom, change my shirt and remove my hose :)). It was, appropriately, about the sanctity of women and marriage and the most precious gift we're given of being man and wife and co-creating life. Jacob loves that stuff. Seriously.

While talking about Hooters, I taught him the "die on a hill" concept. This was not, I explained to him, something I was willing to die over. I could have made the situation difficult for Daddy, created a division when really he wanted some excited support from his family. I guess getting muddy and running through electrical wires and into ice ponds and wading through waist-high mud is something to be celebrated? At any rate, I conceded that we would bring two cars and if Hooters was like Buffalo Wild Wings, I'd take the fat cheeseburger and greasy fries (moral support for Steve's high energy morning). If we thought it didn't feel quite right for the boys, I could politely exit with them.

Jacob then asked (good question) what would be different between Hooters and a place I would die on a hill for. Enter strip club topic. We talked about marriage and respect and love and dignity and protection. . . And for all my verbosity, he was like Occam's razor with his understanding. "Why would a man go to a place where women are treated as objects when he loves his wife (imagine confused, quizzical brows)? Why would they look at naked women and expect their (big emphasis and sarcastic expression) wife to not be naked with anyone but them?" And then he said (he was on a roll), "You know. A strip club is taking our most precious gift and treating it like trash. And people pay to do that? You know what they need to do, Mom? Get. A. Life." Well said, little grasshopper.

I'm going to make a Hummingbird Cake now. God was busy this morning with Jacob.

Sing. . .Sing a Song!

 "A bird doesn't sing because it has an answer. It sings because it has a song." L. Holtz

I was reminded this morning of that quote when I went for a little autumnal jog. Sounds odd, an "autumnal jog," but I am so enjoying this seasonal weather, the morning run felt like that Dogwood Trail again, brisk, crisp and happy. And I could hear the geese making their way out of here because, supposedly, it's getting bitterly cold at some point. And they were so loud. Sounded so excited! And I laughed--gosh, do they know something I don't?! They're singing, not because they have to, but because they want to. Oh, to be a bird!

And my children. These past few weeks have been such fun. From collecting pumpkins to picking apples to finding JUICY caterpillars and making first tackles in 8th grade football. It's been happy.

 Does your face light up when you see your kids? I heard Maya Angelou ask that question once. Does your face register how you feel inside? Do they know, from your expression, that they are worthwhile and loved? It's such a simple thing, such a quick, fleeting little "hello." But doesn't it make all the difference? I think we can each remember how our mothers made us feel. I can remember how my mom made me feel special, really special, just by how she'd look at me when I walked in from a late night dance class. She really looked happy to see me, and I can remember feeling surprised! Gosh, I didn't know I mattered that much to her that my "hey, Mom" would make her happy! Though the moment was so short and the feeling brief, I knew she loved me and I knew I was worth it. Do I show my kids they're worth it? Do they know I love them just as they are, even when they don't brush their teeth for days (Jacob) or hole up in their room and only come down for feeding times (Nick) or break a figurine because it doesn't survive a quarterback-like pitch down the kitchen (Ellie)? I hope so. Because I do.

Manners Lesson

 The entire state of New Jersey is invited! Please come to my class, White Gloves and Party Manners. All are invited. I cannot wait to see you. Here is what you will learn:

1--No, absolutely, no, flipping off at ladies. Ever. Under any circumstances. Especially when they have the right of way when driving. You should be a gentleman at all times, yielding to them even when they are idiots (see Rhett Butler).

2--No accelerating to cut off other people. When merging, you should yield to other traffic. Not because you want to, but because it is the NICE thing to do.

3--No F%*# words. Ever. Especially in the grocery store. I heard one dropped the other day, followed by "she is such a bitch." What? In the grocery store? You need to wash your mouth out with soap (will be provided at class) and take a sugar pill. Your life is not difficult or complicated (see Somalia or Kenya for examples there).

4--When there is a lady behind in you line, and she's holding a baby, a gallon of milk and a cup of coffee (during a state-wide power outage because of a natural DISASTER), and another line opens up in this packed gas station check out, let her go first. Do not, I repeat, do not, cut in front of her to get to the register first. That. Is. Rude. And makes that gallon feel like a small elephant.

You know when you feel like you've been behind an 18-wheeler all day, going 17 mph? That's been today. I've just been stuck.

"Take a broader look at your life and recognize that you are a spiritual being having a human experience."

Gathering the Handkerchiefs

Before we'd set off into the great unknown of the Dogwood Trail, we'd gather our handkerchiefs. Tie them in knots and pierce long sticks through them. They would hold our precious necessities for the journey--rocks we wanted to share with our cousins, gum and crayons. We would not consider entering the Trail without our pack, our carefully prepared little handkerchief blob.

Hurricane Irene should hit us today, so we're gathering our handkerchiefs. Steve, Nick and Jacob lived through Katrina--in a parking garage of Charity Hospital. They know the exceptional, so they prepare for it. Jacob wants to know how high the water will come into our house (their home flooded while they were playing Gilligan's Island with Daddy). Nick is concerned about our dog, Bonnie, and where she will go. Steve, like for Hurricane Katrina, is on call, so he will be available for assistance via remote satellite (mobile phone if working). The boys cannot think about hurricanes the way most of us do. It is not just rain and wind and an exciting time to eat poptarts for a week. For Nick and Jacob, it's real. People die. People lose homes and dogs and innocence.

We'll build a palet party on mats in the basement, and have a candlelit book party. Maybe we'll call each other Huckleberry and Scout and Harry?! Ellie, God willing, will be sound asleep in her pack and play, dreaming of sugar plums. Somehow, I'm not imagining that with real confidence, but I'm trying!

With our batteries, bananas and peanut butter, toilet paper, bottled water and candles, we are ready for Irene. Though we did not invite you, per se, we'll meet you!

"Make a commitment to look for joy everywhere." I think I saw it this morning, while watching Ellie feed Bonnie. She's not supposed to do that (ruins our carefully placed "ladder of power" :)), but there they were, Ellie handing off her scrambled eggs and slippery waffles.

With a baseball team's worth of patron saints for storms, I think we'll hit all the positions with prayers and see how fun this handkerchief packed party can be.

The Little Big Things

It's true, I think. It's the little things. But don't the little things become your big things? A professor once taught us to "mind your big rocks." Put your big rocks into your bucket first, then you can fill it with the little pebbles. If you mind your pebbles before your stones, you won't have room for the big rocks.

The little moments, mundane afternoons and monotonous activities are little things, but they have become my big rocks. I never thought I'd see God at a football practice, but He was there. He was there in Jacob's patience, in his genuine joy teaching Ellie to walk. And He was there in her face, her little prancing feet and the peace I knew watching their trust grow. She's a whole soul who is beginning to love another soul. And I'm privileged to watch it happen. At a football field. Who knew?!

Jacob once told me he'd never want to be a superhero. "Why, Jacob?" "Because, they have all the time for the world, and no time for love." (He was watching a making of Spiderman and felt sorry for the poor guy who couldn't keep a girlfriend!) Jacob, though, is a superhero to Ellie. Because of a little thing that is really a big rock.

"To know that love is all there is is all there is to know."