May Day

So, before the babies come, 

I'm going to read all of Matthew Kelly's books. Not really, but in searching for them today after several of them were recommended during my Bible Study, I couldn't decide which to "tackle" first. Which would be best to grasp before life changes? Building Better Families seems an obvious, sure winner. The Rhythm of Life: Living Everyday with Passion and Purpose would probably feed my more personal interests (and my Dad should totally read this: his two favorite words: passionate and productive. Seems appropriate, yes?). Or The Seven Levels of Intimacy. Maybe I should read this to remind myself that different levels exist and surely one includes middle-of-the-night double feedings. Seems remarkably intimate to me!

Our life in Texas has not been particularly exciting, but I think that's good. We've reconnected with friends and seen family a lot. The boys are adjusting, schools are good and--as I told Steve once is the greatest indicator of "being settled" in a place--I've run into people I know at Target. Thank. The. Lord.

Sweet friends had a brunch for Ellie and me :)

As I sit and think about what a great fighting chance we have of becoming part of this community--like, for real--I marvel, truly, at the stages we're in, all simultaneously. Is this normal? Nick and I had an in-depth conversation at dinner about diocese vs archdiocese. Last night, he and Steve were trying to figure out supply and demand, conservative and liberal, and the differences between communism, socialism and Just Plain Bad Idea. lol. I have to give Steve kudos--he did try very hard to be objective.

Jacob's first spring football game.

And then Jacob right now, lies on his floor, asleep under a quilt and on top of his school uniform, sick from or of something--too distracted even to do his homework. He's the sweetest kid, he's trying. . .I think. And somehow, with a child so different in demeanor and behavior from Steve or me, it's challenging to parent him while being the "best version of ourselves." And I'm pregnant, so I can't drink.

Ellie and Mary, visiting at the boys' school.

And then during Mass today, Ellie tells me she has to go to the bathroom. I'm so excited--this will be "our" chance (I've thought this before).

Me: "Ok, Ellie, please don't go poo-poo in your diaper. Let's run to the potty and, remember? If you go poo-poo in the potty, you get a sucker!" (All in a relatively loud, animated whisper.)

Stinker: "How about you go poo-poo in the potty, and I'll give you a sucker."

It's going to work, and I know it. All of it. Life is so good, and we are so abundantly blessed. We have friends and dreams and possibilities and options. We also live in the great hope that one day Ellie will want to wear panties. 

If you ever start feeling like you have the goofiest, craziest, most dysfunctional family in the world, all you have to do is go to a state fair. Because five minutes at the fair, you’ll be going, ‘you know, we’re alright. We are dang near royalty.’ 

---Jeff Foxworthy

Sweet Bananas

There was a time, not too distant in the past, I asked God to deliver us from the heartache and confusion we were experiencing. I begged Him to rescue us from what we saw as a situation that could only end badly. We had been told several times that conceiving naturally again would be "highly unlikely," despite the apparent ease at which Ellie came into the world. We were struggling and sad and confused. I think we were just reaching the peace of our future when I found myself sick in a ditch in the rain of a New Jersey winter. 

Was it the food we had eaten? Was it Steve's bat-out-of-hell driving (highly likely)? Was it the real-deal martini I had enjoyed before dinner?

A stick in the Target stall (not recommended if privacy is important) confirmed my quiet hopes, and there we were. Pregnant with a miracle, considering our consistent, sobering medical "diagnosis."

In His infinite generosity and humor, God gave us two. No kidding. "Oh," said that doctor just weeks after he had pronounced us hopeless, "there's another one." I couldn't breathe, I couldn't stop crying or laughing, and I couldn't wait to see Steve's face when he saw the ultrasound picture (He was home, keeping Ellie, for we thought this early appointment a routine experience. Ha.).

We have journeyed tentatively through this pregnancy, and we are not nearly to the end. But, at 20 weeks and after a "very normal" ultrasound with a perinatologist last week, we actually bought some little clothes and began looking at cribs. We think this might happen, and we are in constant gratitude. 

A little boy and girl. "Womb-mates" as my brother calls them. :) Ellie thinks Katie and Flick are good names. Mary Claire suggested Harry and Sally. Mom just likes to call them Tweedledum and Tweedledee. 

They are as big as bananas.

Jacob comments almost daily on the size of my tummy. "Wow, Mom, from the side you are HUGE." Nick just wants to turn 16, so one, two or three babies seems quite inconsequential. Steve doesn't understand why we need a double stroller, and Ellie kisses them everyday--"my babies" she says. 

Please keep us all in your prayers. :)

Let everyone try and find that as a result of daily prayer he adds something new to his life, something with which nothing can be compared.  --Mahatma Gandhi

Lent--Becoming a Saint

I've written about this before, but in the midst of our family's great changes, I find myself thinking of the sacrifices necessary to become a saint. I'm wondering if unpacking a house and sorting through frames and silverware and pillows and random sets of sheets count. . . kind of doubt it, but I would like to put it up for consideration, next time "acts to become a saint" comes up for discussion.

Recently, I skimmed a book while in Adoration about the visionaries who see Mary. They began as children who now are adults (obviously), with an intense devotion to Our Blessed Mother and an overwhelming gift and responsibility of seeing her. 

So. I would like to believe in this whole heartedly. I'd like to see her, for heaven's sake! I'd like for her to lay her hands on me and give peace to my children and husband. I'd like to hear her voice and know what her hair looks like and what color her eyes are and what she smells like. But, really? Does this really happen? I am no qualified skeptic. There have been droves of people--hired by the Church, the media, governments and scientific think tanks--to disprove the visionaries. And they haven't. They've become their biggest defenders and protectors. So, this leaves me at the very beginning of a search--both spiritual and intellectual. I haven't felt this compelled about a dilemma since my economics grade in college. 

One of the visionaries reported that Mary told her something, and this little nugget has lodged itself into my consciousness for the past few weeks.  She supposedly said, "Do nothing that is a hindrance to your sanctification." She didn't say "Do something occasionally and My Son will overlook it," or "Do nothing that is a hindrance to you being nice or friendly or accepted or kind or generous." She said do NOTHING that will prevent you from entering the kingdom of heaven. 

So, in my lenten journey, and in my greater pilgrimage through this temporary life into my eternal home (that I pray is in the clouds and not in the flames), it is difficult to imagine even a day where I do everything good and nothing that distances me from God. It is my prayer that I learn to see my failings, and how they contribute to the greater worldly pain we find ourselves in, and ardently strive to fix them. It takes a lifetime, doesn't it? And even at the end, all we can do is beg for mercy and hope we in fact led a Saint in Training life, and not just a nice one. 

Happy Lent from the disorganized Gales!

Saying Goodbye to New Jersey

One year and 10 months. Our time here was eventful, but shorter than expected. It was like picking up an O. Henry book hoping to settle in for the evening, only realizing the beginning, middle and end take up a mere 13 pages. 

Our New Jersey memories will be like an O. Henry short story. Packed with details and to the point. 

Ellie learned to walk here, with the help of Jacob. I will never forget how patient he was. And how funny.

The boys learned to ski (well, kind of). I totally count riding the Magic Carpet ride up and down as "learning." Jacob was a master of that thing.

We befriended a wonderful man and his wife--Terrance and Jenny Ganaway. They taught us that being a Jet isn't as good as being a Ram and that the power of prayer and Catchphrase is nourishment for the soul. We are more special for knowing them.

We survived two hurricanes and several blizzards. We have spent more time without power than Abigail Adams (exaggeration). We consider 35 degrees "not bad," and 65 degrees "an answer to a prayer."

 We will miss our sweet little garden in the back that Steve so lovingly and carefully cultivated. Ellie thinks all "begtebles" come from Daddy.

 We will miss New York, Princeton and fruit picking. Those "pick your own" places only need a "bring your own" beer sign and they would be the HIT of party. We will miss these little day trips--they were fun and interesting and great, great people-watching.

Our kids changed so much--our height board looks like a race to the top. Nick discovered he couldn't eat enough (he started fighting with Bonnie for the carcass of the rotisserie chicken). Jacob discovered he liked to wear the same shirt everyday. Every, stinking, day. And Ellie grew hair, and teeth and a personality. Oh my!

Thank you, New Jersey, for being good to us. But what can I say? How could someone resist living in a state that sings THIS song?! We, for one, cannot! So, we're off. Saddle up, cowboys.

The stars at night are big and bright
Deep in the heart of Texas
The prairie sky is wide and high
Deep in the heart of Texas

The sage in bloom is like perfume
Deep in the heart of Texas
Reminds me of the one that I love
Deep in the heart of Texas

The coyotes wail along the trail
Deep in the heart of Texas
The rabbits rush around the brush
Deep in the heart of Texas!

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.

Trail Turns

Sometimes, on the dogwood trail, the path would break to the left or right, and you'd have to crawl over the fallen branches and find your footing on the other side.

Our path has broken to the southwest, to be exact. Right over Tennessee and into Tyler, TX. We are on our way home!  No more hurricanes (hopefully), no more coats in the car, and no more of these crazy things that make you look like a chipmunk.

We're so excited, we're lost for words. :)

 

Steve has taken a position with a hospital there--we'll be able to drive to see family and share our lives with those we love. We'll be able to invite Daddy-O and Mamalise for graduations and 16th birthday parties, take baths with Susie and Jack more often, crash David's house and learn to eat crawfish with Casey. I am so excited to give this village to my children, especially Nick and Jacob.

We have been touched and blessed by many good people in New Jersey, and I will always consider myself lucky to have such a broad horizon of experiences. But my spirit feels peaceful and hopeful about this return to Texas. My children have seen so much (maybe too much?) for their short lifetimes. They definitely have the wings--I'm so happy we can dig in and give them roots.

Lessons from Sandy

Some things I knew, some things I did not. Sandy did not barrel in; rather, she crept into our evening like a welcome autumn storm. Calming, really, and quite romantic. Ten days later, we are tired of each other's company and had I known what a quiet, unwelcome guest she would be, I would never have stood staring at her from my kitchen sink. These days brought us some personal setbacks, but nothing, of course, to the many many people who lost homes, families or treasures. I do not compare my life to theirs. I only reflect on my little piece of the universe Sandy chose to invade.

 1. Never take Halloween for granted. Ellie was a scarecrow the Saturday before Halloween. The tulle episode still sits on her floor. 

2. When leaving your home for an overnight stay, remember your loofah. Washing without a washrag or scrub leaves you feeling like you did as good a job cleaning as Jacob. Which isn't good. 

3. People surprise you. I don't know how to phrase this one. . . I've gone back and forth trying to word it accurately. I think the most genuine way to say it is: (and after all, it's a blog, not a New York Times article. I write this for myself, not my job!) Friends and family I'd never expect to help, did. They called, asked, supported and prayed for us. Others' plates shrunk overnight and never even texted. Surprising, like I said, and a bit disheartening. A lesson for me, not a criticism on them. 

4. Ellie can use the phrase, "Mom, I need a beer" in correct context and with beautiful inflection. 

5. I knew Hillary and Kevin Shipp were darling and funny and great. I did not know they would be answers to my prayers.  

6. The majority of the country proved it does not think the way I do. I did not know it before Tuesday.

7. I knew Jacob and Nick were sweet boys. They are cooperative, flexible and very understanding. I learned how good they are. Truly, this experience brought out the best in them.

8. I love coffee. We are very close. We miss each other so much when we're not together in the morning, and when we don't know when we'll see each other again. It's painful, really.

9. Disasters can bring out the most resilient characteristics in us. They can also encourage our Quit.

10. Steve is a great daddy. I am so proud of myself for choosing him as a partner in all of This. He is dependable, funny, strong and honorable. I love him.

11. Sometimes, you have to stop to enjoy the moment and take in the scenery. In an effort to divert the troops, we took a nice driving tour of Allentown, PA. Right up there with the 2 hour lunch at Cracker Barrel, this was our favorite site. Yes, it reads Nappy BY CHOICE. As Leigh said, "Where is Miss Judy when you need her?" She would have died a second death at this.

12. When it can't get harder, it does. But you survive, or you die. And either way, according to my belief system, is pretty good. The snow came at just the time we didn't need it. Our house was cold, my family was tired (several different hotels, nights on mattresses in one bedroom, lots of peanut butter, no school, no friends, no RELIEF, no privacy) and I wasn't sure how to keep smiling when I felt like nursing a bottle of Bailey's. But Jacob's LSU Christmas hat made us laugh. And that, sometimes, is really all you need, yes?

13. Lastly, I realized that everyday, you need some naked time. Being dressed all day in front of your children in a bedroom or hotel room makes me feel suffocated. I missed the walk from the toilet to the shower, or the shower to the closet. Just the few moments to breathe by myself. And that was something Sandy taught me. It had never occurred to me before to seek out the Free Minute. But it makes a difference. Try.

Picking Fulton

Two things have been on my mind lately (well, more than two, but whatever). 

Fulton Sheen.

Picking up.

I discovered this treasured "Venerable Servant of God" when looking up "famous people from Peoria, IL" where Steve is from. I don't remember why I was doing it or how I convinced myself it was a good use of time. Nevertheless, the only name that had a hyperlink to it was Fulton Sheen! Let me say, I cannot get enough of this man. I've ordered two of his books (there are so many more!) from the local bookstore and cannot wait to feed my soul with his counsel. Treasure in Clay is his autobiography and Life is Worth Living is a collection of his television programs that ran in the 1950s. To quote from fultonsheen.com, "In 1951 he also began a weekly television program. . . Life is Worth Living. The show. . .was not expected to offer much of a challenge against ratings giants Milton Berle and Frank Sinatra, but surprisingly held its own, causing Berle to joke, "He uses old material, too." In 1952, Sheen won an Emmy Award for his efforts, accepting the acknowledgment by saying, "I feel it is time I pay tribute to my four writers—Matthew, Mark, Luke and John."

I find myself thinking of him during the day and finding comfort or grace in a man I've barely met. It's like I'm making a new friend, and I've just said, "Hi. I'm Katie. Welcome to our family! Would you like to be a part of our lives?!" lol. And I think, partly because he thinks of Steve as a neighbor and partly because I've nagged him enough, he said "yes."

The second thing, dear Fulton. Picking up. Holy moly. Lately, I've been exhausted and annoyed and feeling quite put upon with the CRAPOLA in my house that people leave like the scattered fallen leaves in my yard. I don't think the socks or crayons or jackets or shoes (we must have 5k pairs in this house) or underwear or legos or glasses of water or whatever are in any greater quantity that usual or, quite honestly, are in great quantity at all. I think it's me. Each little item nags at me, like some little annoying kid playing "Marco Polo" who just keeps yelling "Polo! Polo! Polo!" at the end of the pool and is no where near the Marco player. You know that little annoying kid who thinks he's all that and a bag of chips? I could name him with several examples of kids I remember, but that would be rude. That's what this house is full of. Annoying Polos. And they shout at me all day.

Plus. And this is an image from my mother. My love tank is emptied, like a little drip, all stinkin day. Just drained, sometimes punctured, throughout my waking hours. Rushing, seeping, whatever--it depletes until I have this little sloshing at the bottom like backwash. I want Jacob to be able to do his homework on his own. He's almost 12. I want him to be self-sufficient and confident and accountable and dependable and responsible. I don't want to fuss anymore or care that he's fallen behind or slipped up on homework. I don't want to have to check everyday (every. day.) with him, backtracking, confirming and reaffirming him. It's not very rewarding. And at 4 pm, I'm close to empty anyway. Ellie isn't napping well (or at all), the house is a disaster (did I mention that already?) and I've still not eaten yet. Grrrr. And we haven't even gotten to Nick getting home at 6 needing me to cut his hair into a "fauxhawk" for the cross country meet Saturday and Steve wondering why Ellie is in a bad mood and, with that look in his eyes, kind of sort of blaming me for her new habit called Throwing When I'm Frustrated.

And then I think of Fulton. And here's what he has to say about my plight. He's quite understanding.

“Love is the key to the mystery. Love by its very nature is not selfish, but generous. It seeks not its own, but the good of others. The measure of love is not the pleasure it gives-that is the way the world judges it-but the joy and peace it can purchase for others.” 

“Love burdens itself with the wants and woes and losses and even the wrongs of others.”  

“Each of us makes his own weather, determines the color of the skies in the emotional universe which he inhabits.” 

 “To value only what can be "sold" is to defile what is truly precious. The innocent joy of childhood, the devotedness of a wife, the self sacrificing service of a daughter--none of these have an earthly market. To reduce everything to the dirty scales of economic values is to forget that some gifts, like Mary's, are so precious that the heart that offers them will be praised as long as time endures.” 

And, I think, my favorite:

“The mark of man is initiative, but the mark of woman is cooperation. Man talks about freedom; woman about sympathy, love, sacrifice. Man cooperates with nature; woman cooperates with God. Man was called to till the earth, to "rule over the earth"; woman to be the bearer of a life that comes from God.” 

And there goes the filling back up of the tank. From within. My life is beautiful and a gift, and I know this to be true. I want so badly to matter. To really matter. And I realize, in the still quiet of my heartbeat, that I do. I mean, who's going to perfect the fauxhawk if I'm not around?

Endless Song

Every time I hear this song, I pray they are my last words. They bring me comfort and serenity in times of confusion or doubt. I find myself singing this song in the car or in the kitchen, and I love how the Holy Spirit must be giving it to me to remind me of the source of all strength and peace! "No storm can shake your inmost calm, Katie! What are you worrying for?"

The last few days have been interesting ones in our house. The boys started school. I started back to a mom's group I belong to. Steve is in conversation with some people regarding future opportunities. (That sounds like a mafia. For the record, he is not Capone.) We had a very big, crossroads kind of conversation with Nick regarding his "girlfriend" and, well. Should I just say that Steve used the phrases "playing with fire," "too big for your britches," "we're going to help you by eliminating some things for you," "in over your head," "possibly next year." We still pray for another baby and we still praise God for His many blessings. We are grateful but not satisfied. Is that an oxymoron?

Today, I will keep this in mind. God is good, all the time. All the time, God is good. Oh, happy day!

My life goes on in endless song
above earth's lamentations,
I hear the real, though far-off hymn
that hails a new creation!

Through all the tumult and the strife
I hear its music ringing,
It sounds and echos in my soul.
How can I keep from singing?

No storm can shake my inmost calm,
While to the rock I'm clinging!
Since love is lord of heaven and earth
How can I keep from singing?

New Panty Day

 So. There's something about beginnings that gets people all "hot and bothered." Everyone likes a beginning, whether or not it's a new start to the year, the diet, the school semester, the project, the goal. New beginnings signal another chance to be right, to be good, to be successful. They are so full of hope and promise, some people like a new beginning everyday! And why not? Breaking fast is such a simple way to say, "Ok. I'm starting again. Not giving up. It's a new day. I've never lived this one before, so let's see what I can do with it." (That's a really good breakfast.)

My second favorite beginning is school starting. I love all that goes along with it, so much so that my boys think I'm the one going to school September 6th. I like the new supplies, the new socks, the new teacher, the new locker, the new friends, the new hope for great. Checking off the supply list does something to my heart. It's real love, I think.

My first favorite beginning is new panties. I love them. I don't buy them often. In fact, I buy them so seldomly my friends have taken to mailing me sets for my birthday. I don't know what it is about my unmentionables (that I'm mentioning) that makes me think they are made of steel and will survive the next nuclear holocaust. I wear them until they are riddled with holes and don't qualify as a garment anymore. But buying new panties, the 5 for $25 or even the 3 for $25 (splurge) is so exciting I feel like a new person. Kind of like new mascara, only better. And more colorful.

So today, my first day after LASIK surgery, I bought new panties. I figured, new eyes, new underwear.

Ellie agreed. New panties rock.

This summer, we celebrated my dad's beginning of a new decade. He turned 60 July 29th, so we all met Mom and Dad in Wyoming for a week of hiking, rafting, nail polish and napping. It was one of those times in my life that will always be remembered--we were all there. Dad kept mentioning it made him sad that Susie and Ellie won't really remember coming. That for them, it will all be only pictures. Of course Jack won't remember either, and neither will all the other grandbabies who will come along (God willing!) who won't even be in the pictures. Nick and Jacob will tell the stories and hopefully they'll remind the little ones of how much we are all loved and cherished by Daddy-O and Mamalise.


Right. Enough of that. Beginning again in this blog, here are some of those very pictures, taken
by David, my brother. He captured the essence of that week so well--joyful, energetic and so good for the soul.

The O'Banions.

Oh, Leigh. She's so good for Ellie.

 

Great idea.

Happy 2nd birthday, sweet girl.

The Banshees.

Oh Ellie.

Susie and Jacob. He loves that she loves him.

My Big Little Boys

It was a fun week in our house-- Jacob and Nick graduated from elementary and middle school and ended their first full year of school New Jersey. I can't believe how big they've gotten, how different they are from the children I met over four years ago. They have shared their lives with me, and I am privileged to get to love them.

Halloween 2010

Something scared Jacob. . . was it me?!

February 2011

Summer 2011

Now, they are young men who make Steve and me so proud. They are precious, funny, curious, imperfect children of God who test our patience and understandings while giving us such unabashed, limitless love. We are blessed to be on this journey with two such special people. Oh, the places you'll go!

5th Grade Recognition on Monday.

8th Grade Graduation on Wednesday. 

Last day of school on Thursday! Busy week. :)