What We Didn't Know

We found the Grand Canyon. We jumped right into it, and here we are, floating, paddling, surfing--gosh, I don't know, pick your verb--the Colorado River. 

The babies arrived July 29, 2013 on my Dad's 61st birthday. "The Baby Thomas" (as Ellie calls him) played by all the rules and was delivered easily. He came out screaming and very little. The Baby Olivia was a little more stubborn, arriving 12 minutes later, feet first. I have a feeling this will be typical of her. 

 

Steve and I kept telling each other (even in the delivery room) there would be so much we couldn't prepare for. So much we didn't know we didn't know. As we are learning these "didn't knows," we enter week 3 with some knowledge and tools to live a life of five children, spanning 15-newborn. So, our list of Didn't Knows that now we know:

1. Delivering in an OR is like entering heaven. Or at least what I think it would be like. Very bright. Very white. And lots of people up in your grill. Way up in your grill. Very personal and intimate. And crazy bright.

2. Two babies it not "pretty much like one," as many people told me. Nope. There are two. All of the time. They are not the same person or the same mouth or the same bottom or the same soul. They eat and poop and scream and chatter all on their own. Not like one. More like, you know, two.

3. You can double nurse while dressing your toddler for school. 

4. You can sleep through the season premiere of Duck Dynasty.

5. Going to Target alone feels as exciting and thrilling as the day you turned 16. Or 21.

6. You think you'll know your babies by their cries. You don't. They sound the same.

7. When your mom leaves, you think you'll curl up and fail (I already knew this part.). But you don't. You grow another set of arms somehow and still manage to breathe and eat (sometimes) and shower (rarely, but it does happen). 

8. You grow more in love with your husband. Not just as a daddy. As a man, a provider, a partner and a person who now knows what you look like when you need help going to the bathroom because you're 36 weeks with twins, hooked up to an IV pole, using the handicap bar for assistance and can't see to properly keep up with hygienic requirements. You love him for loving you and for telling you that "though you're really acting ridiculous right now, I can't believe I got to marry you." (That was a compliment in case you missed it.)

9. You seriously consider taking a walk with the babies in the middle of the night. Why not? They settle well in the stroller and you're so tired you'd tie them up by their toes if someone told you it would help.

10. People are really nice. A lady brought us dinner one night--I had never seen her before. Just a friend of a friend who "heard about that poor woman with five kids!" No joke. She said that. She brought dinner, a gallon sized bag of trail mix and cupcakes for the kids. I introduced myself as she walked in my front door. No way. So nice. And that's just the tip of the iceberg. I didn't know people would be so generous and sweet and go out of their way to help--in the parking lot, at bedtime, during school pick up hours, for Mass. Anything. 

11. I am so happy we live here. It has truly been a community effort, and I am grateful. 

12. You'll continue craving foods. I actually crave more now than I did when I was pregnant. Sweets. That's it. And that's not like me. Toffee--made a batch a week ago. Brownies, cookies, chocolate bars. Whatever. I think about it a lot. Almost as much as coffee. 

13. My go-to baby songs seem to King of Anything (a throwback to what was popular when I had Ellie. I sang that song all the time to her because it was on the radio every day, every 3 minutes) and When the Saints Go Marching In. Why? I have no idea. Catchy tempo? But it came back to me with a vengeance as soon as I started swaying and rocking and singing to the babies. There it was. Saints and Kings. Not bad, I guess.  

Each time we'd go to the doctor, I'd cry with happiness and relief. Both babies were still there. Both still had heartbeats and both looked so good. Why had God graced us so generously?! And would He really let me keep both of them? I remind myself of these answered prayers while I try to manage both babies in the middle of the night, with a sleeping husband and a dark house. I remember how much I wanted just one, so the juggling (literally) of the two babies on the sofa while watching Say Yes to the Dress at 3 am seems comical, really. I can't believe I was given what I begged for--"Please, let me be pregnant just one more time. If that is all I can have, let me experience this miracle just once more." Ha. He sure pulled a fast one over on me! 

More than anything, I've learned that "whatever it is, it doesn't really matter." I find myself saying this almost as a mantra. I pray a lot, I talk to Mary a lot, but in addition to that, I hear myself saying these little seven words. And it's true. Whatever it is (that's bothering me, that's wrong, that isn't working, that won't work, that I thought would be awesome and is crashing and burning--eg, experience at park yesterday that didn't last as long as the car ride to get there), it doesn't matter. What matters is what I hold in my arms--my family, my children, my husband, my faith. That's it. 

In a few months, remind me I said that.

Pray for us, oh Holy Mother of God. That we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ!

Approaching the Grand Canyon

The other day, Steve said he feels like those pioneers who rode blissfully along the Arizona plateau when they suddenly found a Really Big Hole in the middle of the woods. We, unlike the pioneers, know the Hole is coming, but we aren't really sure if we're ready for it. Take that back: we're pretty sure we're not. 

So, as pioneers do, we have packed our chuck wagon and tried to accomplish all we needed to before the Hole (aka beautiful, precious babies) appears. Countdown: approximately 2 weeks. Or, as Jacob said this morning, "So what you're saying is it could be ANY MOMENT?" Sure. If we err on the dramatic. Sure. 

Nick started and completed his driver's education course. He thinks he's 20 now. At least. He drove home from Texarkana in his new car, donated by his generous Uncle David and Daddy-O. He loves it. 

Ellie now uses the potty. That's all. Really big deal. I'm really happy. That makes us now not outnumbered when the babies come--all but two will have bladder and bowel control. Sweet.

Ellie learned to stand on Daddy's head (was inspired after watching the Flying Welendas cross the above mentioned Grand Canyon). Daddy organized the garage, and then the family had a much needed summer painting class. New rocker, pretty flower and some Pollock-inspired free form. 

High on my list of "Really Would Like to Do Before Reaching Really Big Hole" was having Ellie's birthday party. She hasn't actually had one before, so I was excited about having cake and presents and family and friends. After some initial false starting, the party proved to be plenty of fun for little kids and, though almost a month early, Ellie felt like a real three-year old.

Jacob came home! Big completion. Everyone is back in Tyler in one piece, so the babies are now invited to arrive. Please do not judge me by Nick's shirt (that he wears twice in this blog entry). It was a gift from my parents. I think it's his favorite. :)

Ellie helped me clean our baby gear. She insists the baby girl get the new car seat and the baby boy use her old one. Not sure where she gets this, but we're probably not telling her that when we're piling into the car, Mommy won't care who goes where or if the seat belts work. After all, the pioneers traveled cross country without even a seat, let alone a belt. She seems so big to me, now. I can hardly picture her fitting into this little thing.

 

And, we got Jacob to camp. That was my last adventure, which really turned out to be pretty ordinary. Thank goodness. Van, TX is great, I'm sure, I just didn't want to have my babies there. Jacob was happy and settled, it seemed, before we even got his bed made.

35 weeks today. My doctor tells us we just need to make it past 36. So that's my dad's birthday. 37 would be great, and that's Ellie's birthday. The Big Hole is coming, and I think it looks breathtaking and overwhelming and magnificent!

"Of all the hardships a person had to face, none was more punishing than the simple act of waiting." --Khaled Hosseini, A Thousand Splendid Suns

Life IS a Choice

A woman who had her first child as a teenager is being lauded as a champion for women, "giving voice to thousands of Texans." I am saddened and so disheartened that, though I do not know the entire history of this story (and I freely admit that), I do know enough to find this ironic. She "chose" to keep her baby, raise her in a trailer park (and be proud of her "working poor" background, as she should be) and then claim to be a voice for thousands of Texans?! Who is the voice for the babies being murdered because they are inconvenient, not chosen, unaffordable or too difficult? 

As I expressed in my first blog entry, this medium for me is not for others. It is for me and maybe my children one day. It is a way to release to the cosmos those things I cannot keep inside. I feel so strongly about this that it would be wrong of me to keep silent. 

As a Texan today, I am ashamed of what we think is "good," "right," and "strong." How can people post on Facebook that "as a Christian, I do not believe in abortion, but as a woman, I believe in the right to choose what happens to my body?" You cannot separate being a Christian and being a woman, just as you cannot separate being a man and being married, or being a man and being gay, or being a woman and being a mother. 

What happened to our sense of basic responsibility? You choose to behave a certain way, there are consequences. Always--whether or not the decision was a good, bad or indifferent one. That's a law of nature. Why is it permissible now to do what feels good, what you want to, what makes YOU happy or safe or popular or brave? Why don't others matter, the ones affected by your choices?

As a quote from one of the articles:

"[She] read testimony from women and doctors who would be impacted by the changes, but who were denied the opportunity to speak in a Republican-controlled committee. During one heart-wrenching story describing a woman's difficult pregnancy, [she] choked up several times and wiped tears.

The bill would ban abortion after 20 weeks of pregnancy and force many clinics that perform the procedure to upgrade their facilities and be classified as ambulatory surgical centers. Also, doctors would be required to have admitting privileges at a hospital within 30 miles – a tall order in rural communities."

I am not arguing against health care for women. Clearly. I am a woman. :) I want health care, and I want it to be good. I like feeling confident in my care and wish every woman (and man and child, for that matter) experienced the same care as I do. However, I believe the issues are separate. You cannot catch your abortion as health care. It is not. It is murder. When you choose to participate in an act that could (by miracle of miracles!) result in a human life, that was your choice. You chose life, do you not see that? And then to deny that baby a chance to live outside the womb is not caring for your health. It's caring for everything BUT your health. 

Drawn from several sources, these are some of the facts regarding abortion. The most shocking of all is that most women (72%) who have abortions are already mothers. The following is just a sample list. . .

Over 48 million people have been killed through abortion in the United States since the Roe vs. Wade decision.

Abortion worldwide kills more people every 2 months than the Holocaust did in 12 years.

Almost 1 out of every 4 Americans babies are aborted.

Abortion is inherently unsafe to the mother.

Physical problems from abortion can include hemorrhage, infection, sterility and even death.

Psychological effects can include depression and mental trauma to divorce and suicide.

The psychological effects of an abortion are so well documented, that psychologists have grouped them under one name: post-abortion syndrome (PAS). 

Women may experience symptoms of PAS right after the abortion, but oftentimes PAS does not manifest itself until many months or years after the abortion.

Symptoms of PAS are: recurrent memories, dreams of the abortion experience, avoidance of emotional attachment, relationship problems, sleep disturbance, guilt, memory impairment, hostile outbursts, and substance abuse.

30 Weeks

Well, here we go. I feel like we're on the last lap (or maybe the last few laps?). Knowing I won't go a full 40 weeks of pregnancy, it seems like #30 week is a milestone (at least I'm seeing it that way!). 

40 weeks. Day I went into labor with Ellie.

30 weeks with the twins.

So, we wait and get hot and squished. Poor Ellie has run out of lap room. :) We've finished "nesting," I think--two carseats, two beds, two little bassinets, a double stroller and Amazon Mom for the 3000 diapers (apparently each baby will go through 8-12 a day. A. Day.). Ellie's uniform is bought for the new school year, and I keep checking the school's website for the boys' supply lists. I've pinned some ideas for freezer crockpot meals so my kids and husband don't live off of Papa John's for 2 months (I'm sure they'd be devastated if this happened). We have pacifiers, burp cloths, onesies, cute little white hangers and lots of Boudreaux's Butt Paste. That should do it, right? 

It's what I keep telling Steve--I just don't know what I don't know. We still need to find a babysitter to help me, and I don't know how exactly the three "big" kids are getting to and from school. I'm not really sure how the three carseats will work in the car--I guess straight across the middle and the boys will just have to get in through the back hatch door of the suburban? Nick thinks we should just buy a church van. Maybe get our own logo and theme song. Oh, and the second dog is due to arrive sometime in early October. 

We are abundantly blessed, no? I knew my 33rd age would be great, I just didn't know it would be this great. 

For my Children

My sweet children,

Sometimes I speak too quickly. Or too loudly. Or not well enough. Often I mean to express things but don't know how or am not brave enough to. I want you to read this when the sky seems too gray, the days too long or you've forgotten how much you are wanted and loved and cherished.

Lead the life you were born to live.

Dream while you're awake. You cannot live without dreams.

You are a human being, not a human doing. Be great. Be marvelous. Be your best.

You know all the things that make you happy. Focus on these things. Don't get caught in the busy-ness trap where you think you are pursuing happiness. You're not. 

There is a difference between surviving and thriving. Thrive! If you simply survive, you are no different than the simplest of God's creatures.

Do not allow our culture's crisis of commitment disable your life's purpose. If you're going to say it, do it, promise it, want it, believe it--then dedicate yourself to it and complete it. 

You are beautiful. Beautiful. Your eyelashes are perfect. You matter. You come from God and to Him you are going. Do what is right. Be what is good.

Be the best version of yourself. Because we are our habits, make it a habit to be the best You everyday. Not the ideal parent or friend or spouse or employee. Just the best You.

Find a companion. Know that this choice is your most important. Find someone who cherishes you, wants to watch you sleep, challenges you, shares your joy, anticipates your pain and comforts you when you are sad.

Follow your dreams. Your dreams are real. They are real. (Write this down and read it everyday!) A comfort zone is an illusion.

Dedicate yourself to things that deserve your dedication. That is all.

Life is not a dress rehearsal. Living with regret over things said or done is tolerable. Regret for things never said or done is heartbreaking.

Nothing will influence you more than your friends. Choose them well, for you will become like them.

Waste time with those you love. Don't box them into a schedule. Real relationships don't fit into time.

Be quiet and still. Learn to seek out these moments. They will feed your sweet soul.

Find your genius, your passion and live it.

Always works towards a clear conscience. There is great joy in knowing you did the right thing for the right reason.

Be a good decision maker. Be guided by your life's purpose and make your own choices.

Know that I love you. With a depth you do not understand but a brokenness you do. You are the best thing that ever happened to me. You. Carry this worth with you always and remember you are a child of God and a creature of Heaven.  

(Some of these ideas were influenced by Matthew Kelly's The Rhythm of Life.)

Learned from my Mom

My mom once told me, "I know you better than you know yourself, Katie. Remember, I knew you before you knew you!" Good point. And I now understand what she meant--I doubt there will be much Ellie will share with me about herself that will be surprising. I know her.

And, she tried to explain, "You can never love me like I love you. You think you do because you love me a lot. But you don't. You won't understand until you are a mother." And, again. Good point. She was right. So I know my "lessons" from my mom won't nearly come close to describing her influence and importance in my life and on my self, but in honor's of Mother's Day, I wanted to reflect on why my mom is not necessarily "the best," or "the funniest," or "the coolest," or "the nicest," (for how can we really know any of that?), but why she is MY mom. And that is all that matters.

 

So, as a mom, when I encourage my kids with these "suggestions," I often preface them with, "Wow. Mamalise would SO say this if she were here!"

1. Join a club. 

It's good for you. You meet people that way. You'll enjoy yourself. If ever in my life I felt listless or lonely, this was the second thing she'd say, with the first thing being:

2. Put a little lipstick, you'll feel better. 

Enough said. Always true.

3. Pray.

Always, about everything, for whatever. Never stop asking, never stop hoping. Go to Mary and beg.

4. Know their name. 

Anyone and everyone. The plumber, the janitor, the kid in the hallway, the professor, the friend's mom, the lady who serves you coffee everyday, the sacker, the produce manager at your grocery store. . .right. Everyone. She told me once, "Everyone's favorite word in the English language is their own name. Use it. Look them in the eye when you say 'hello' and say their name. It will matter."

5. Try it (except for illegal substances and bad ideas). . . you never know.

6. Take lemonade out to the man mowing your grass--even if it's your brother.

7. Be a good sport, but. . .

8. Stand up for what and who you believe in.

This is really important (and sometimes hard). This is called integrity, and you are nothing without it. Figure out what it is you'd fight for, and for goodness' sakes, fight. And when someone needs or deserves your defense, defend them. Always. It will make you unpopular (which makes #1 kind of hard :)), it might mean your are misunderstood or left out, but that idea or that person is more important. 

9. Keep your elbows off the table.

I can't think of one exception. Not even BBQ or oysters.

10. Stand up straight.

Again, no exceptions. Often, I've heard her say, "Bless her heart. She'd be so pretty if she'd stand up straight and hold those shoulders back." Something about a ballet posture that makes you feel better, leaner, prettier and lovelier. Hold your tummy in, cross your ankles, and put an iron rod up your spine at all times. 

Thicker than Blood

Blood is thicker than water

Oh, but love is thicker than blood.

So, big news flash. Nick and Jacob are not my biological children. They are from Steve's first marriage. Falling in love with Steve and realizing I was called to love him and be his partner began that whole "coloring outside the lines" thing when that man meant and fashioned for me came with two children I had not seen in my dreams.

Loving them and being their mother has brought special meaning to Mother's Day. It has made it a little less simple than I'd imagined it would be, but simultaneously, it's been this huge bonus in my life. God gave me three people instead of just one when I said "I do!" Because they live with us all the time, the lines of definition ease the confusion of common "shared" homes. I get the "Wow, you look good for having a high schooler!" often or the "Oh, how smart of you to give yourself a big break between groups of kids." If I like the woman, I explain. If I think she's being nosy, I just smile and let her think I had Nick in high school (senior year, to be precise). 

Moments after we were married, Jacob asked, "Can I call you Mommy now?" Despite the obvious highs of the day, this one brought me to my knees. 

I had prayed for children. I had prayed for someone to love and share my life with. I had prayed God would help me find the man He had intended for me. I didn't ever expect to get all my prayers answered in one day. Just never occurred to me. 

I love Nick and Jacob with a special love. It's a different love than my love for Ellie. It's more careful, less taken-for-granted, I think. I feel like I borrow them from God, not like they are mine (I know this is false even with Ellie, of course. No child belongs to us, anyway. They are gifts, to be loved and cherished and protected for as long as we're given them.).

But I feel as if they are mine to hug and hope for and protect and guide, but that the returned love is not obligatory. And that makes me want it and work harder for it. They made me a Mother, and for that, I am forever indebted to them. I love you, sweet boys. Thank you for calling me Mommy. xoxoxo

Coloring in the Lines

When I was young (aka, before I married), I thought my life would look like this: 

No joke. The only thing I would change about this picture is the umbrella. It actually needs a better "home" than tilting to one side in that bucket. But you get the idea. Organized. White. Clean. Very, very straight. Lots of labels and striped rugs and cute yellow boots (that weren't actually ever worn). 

I was not a creative kid, nor did I aspire to be. My hardest subject to study was "jazz," at Miss Judy's because its rules were mere suggestions, you turned your feet in not out and if you wanted to wear you hair in a ponytail rather than a bun. . . YOU COULD. Yikes. I doodled in squares, not circles, set goals everyday (that I achieved) and knew that if you worked hard enough and wanted it badly enough, you could be the All-American and get it. 

Then, I got a Diet Coke one day and the whole thing went to pot. This man told me he liked my shoes, the cafeteria lady gave That Man my office number, and we were engaged in three months. I thought he was like me. His scrubs were color coded, his boys' rooms looked like a cute Mini-Museum display, his kitchen was sparkly and there were no magazines littering his island.

After we were married, I found out that had been false advertising. His nanny had been a housekeeper, too. No. Way. So, now, rather than the cute little cubbies and locker room style entry way, my house feels more like this:

Not exactly, obviously, but the operative word above is "feels." And it's my own doing, of course. That whole "not coloring outside the lines" bit is for real with me. And it's a demand and a requirement and sometimes it's exhausting. Today, when hanging some prints in the babies' room, I was trying to hang five across a wall perfectly level. And at some point, I thought "Oh, that's good enough." Ah! I felt like Grover in "There's a Monster at the End of This Book." "What? What did that say?? On the first page. . .what did that say? Did that say there is a MONSTER at the end of this book?" I actually said out loud, "What? What did I just say? Did I just say 'oh, that's good enough?!'" I felt like I'd failed before I'd even started. Oh, Katie, what has happened to you? You've never said that in your life, and now, in hanging nursery rhyme prints, you're thinking it. Un. Accept. Able. 

A friend of mine once told me that after I had Ellie, I'd be so tired I'd let Bonnie (our dog) lick the spills on the floor. I sadly realized then that this close friend of mine didn't really know me, for I'd NEVER allow that to happen. Lysol, blue rag and immediate clean up is complete. 

She was right. Worries me slightly expecting two. However, we are getting another dog weeks before the babies are born, so that should about do it.

I sound like an idiot, and sometimes I feel that way. If only I could live more relaxed, I do truly think I'd be a better mom and a better wife. So I try. I pray for it. And I know someday I'll allow the umbrella to sit sideways and not feel guilty for ignoring it.

 

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.