The phone rang while I showered this morning. Since my husband is out quite early in the morning, a thousand worries pop into mind when the phone rings so early. This morning it was school announcing its closing. Since Sadie had answered, and since the storm we’ve been warned was coming had not yet hit, I had no idea what was going on. A trip to the school website answered that question–a busted pipe in the basement utility room. I called up to inquire whether Mass was still on for the Immaculate Conception. “Yes, but bundle up. There’s no heat.” I was disappointed, though, that no Marian hymns were sung. But one can’t be too unhappy when one’s six children are all good as gold through Mass.

At least the problem of getting to Green Bay before the big storm hits was solved. Ben still hadn’t gotten a decent winter coat, and the plan was to go tomorrow after early release. Half way there I regretted that decision. Blizzard Allison had arrived, ahead of schedule. Upon reaching our left turn onto the highway into Green Bay, we missed the turn completely. As we u-turned to attempt the ramp again, three more cars with their left blinkers flashing slid slowly through without slowing. We turned up the ramp and ended sliding perpendicular. Slowly I righted the van and crept up the ramp, any increase in speed resulting in instant fish-tailing. Too far to go back, we kept on and managed to reach St. Vincent without incident.

Our shopping completed, we headed to Burger King with a play place for lunch. We were able to meet up with Brian for lunch, too. During the time we were shopping, the road crew salted and cleared the major highways, but the Burger King parking lot was still an ice rink. Coming in, we slid towards a grassy island in the parking lot, frightening the truck parked in the adjacent spot, who back preemptively out of the way, though we didn’t really come close to hitting. Continuing on, we parked and went inside.

While placing our order, we began smelling smoke. Looking around, we discovered smoke pouring out of a ceiling vent. Thankfully, the fire was extinguished quickly. We finished our meal and the kids played for a good while before heading home. As we headed home, we thanked our Guardian Angels for their protection thus far and implored continued safety for the trip home. Though we passed icy patches, we managed to reach home again without incident.

Ben’s basketball practice was not canceled according to the local stations’ websites, so out again to drive the mile down to the school. We nearly didn’t get beyond our street, as the intersection was so icy we first slipped straight into the curb. Then, we couldn’t get traction, so reversed and got going, but had to stop for an oncoming vehicle (which missed the turn into the street entirely), then back and forth a few more times, a few more vehicles, and finally enough room to go. Plows have not been sent out onto the side streets of our small city yet.

So, what are the odds tonight’s school Christmas Concert is canceled for the second year in a row?

“Zizzy, do it again!” – Paul giggles as Eliza (pet name, Zizzy) stomps her feet, claps her hands and hollers, again and again and again.

“What does Eliza have?” – precedes finger searching of her mouth. Sometimes she will compliantly spit out whatever it is just at this phrase. Other times, she will get up and run away.

Ask her a yes or no question, and she will nod or shake her head, often appropriately, usually with hilarious effect.

Words Eliza (18 mo) can say: Mum, hi, door, woof, dog, Ben, Oliver

Signs Eliza knows: Hi/bye, Milk, Please

After finishing up the baking on Tuesday, a dozen cookies were left on the cooling rack over night. I was willing to deal with the risk of a missing cookie or two in the morning, as an early rising preschooler I know loves to help himself. However when I arose, I discovered a grand total of five remaining cookies. Now, I had instructed my dear, sweet husband the previous night to help himself before he left the house in the morning, but I know him and there’s no way he’d take seven cookies. Likely three, perhaps even four, but that’s stretching it. Normally early rising toddler was still asleep, and can’t even climb the kitchen gate yet, so she was ruled out. Early rising preschooler, however, had been up.

“Paul, did you eat the cookies?”

“No,” he answered with a silly grin.

“Tell the truth,” I prompted.

“They’re in my drawer!” he laughed. Sadie went and checked, and sure enough three completely intact cookies are discovered in his not-so-secret stash drawer.

The cookies returned to the rack, we finished getting ready for school. I made a mental note to ask Brian how many cookies he took. Oldest son, Ben, finishes loading the dishwasher and we bustle out the door. Ollie spends 10 minutes searching for his jacket, running out a couple minutes behind the rest of us.
…
Upon returning from dropping off the school children, I notice a cookie, three-quarters nibbled, lying partially hidden under the cookie rack below the other stack of cookies. Hmmm.
…
Brian calls at his usual morning time, and I confirm that he took three cookies with him. That leaves one cookie three-quarters eaten and one cookie entirely missing.
…
After returning home from school, enjoying her reward for helping with her share of the laundry-putting-away, eldest daughter begs to wash down her Banana bread with the fraction of a cookie left out.

“No way, that’s EVIDENCE,” I state.

Number 1 suspect, Ben, is still at Basketball practice, and will return to be interrogated near dinner time.
…
Ben is home and Daddy has returned from work. While puttering in the kitchen, I remember the cookie mystery. Holding up the EVIDENCE, I ask Ben if he is responsible.

“Not me.”

The investigation widens. Denials abound except for one quiet little 7 year old boy. I remind everyone to be honest, looking pointedly at Oliver.

“I nibbled it, while nobody was looking, when I couldn’t find my coat. I didn’t think anyone would notice,” he whispers sheepishly.

I fail to suppress a laugh and hand him the remainder of the cookie*. After suffering the devastating loss of nearly half his piece of Banana bread to a scavenging baby sister, unscrupulous 3 year old brother and an opportunistic dog earlier in the afternoon, I felt merciful toward him. “Thank you for telling the truth, but you won’t get a cookie with everyone else after dinner. Now who ate the other cookie this morning?”

Paul pipes up, “I did!”

Eliza slept well the night before, which together with my morning cup of coffee set me on a tare.

I blessed my family by:
doing three loads of laundry;
adjusting the furniture layout in the dining/toy room;
thoroughly sweeping the dining room (this is Sadie, Ollie and Simon’s chore area, so sometimes needs additional detail attention);
sweeping and wiping down the stairs (with Paul’s help);
cleaning and detailing the electronic piano, which was filthy;
rearranging the living room and sweeping the entire room in preparation for easily placing the Christmas tree;
unfolding the couch to give it a thorough cleaning (still looking for the 2 months lost TV remote);
finishing up the baking of several dozen cookies (batter had been left in the fridge for 2 days) to be mailed to family;
reading story books to Paul and Eliza;
while taking numerous nursing breaks with Eliza;
and picking up a quick dinner from the grocery store since Brian had classes until 9:30 pm last night.

Having typed all that out, perhaps it is no wonder that after picking up the older kids from school and:
Paul set Simon screaming by trying to snatch his class photo he’d just received;
having unbuckled his seatbelt and left his car booster seat, refusing to return;
once home, purposely woke Eliza up from napping (she rarely naps, EVER!);
continued trying to snatch and destroy Simon’s picture;
ripped out notebook paper to crumple it up, scatter it over the floor and shove it under the toy train table;
used the upstairs toilet, leaving the door open so that Eliza could suck on the toothpaste and drop the toothbrushes into the toilet bowl for the third time in a week;
went jumping on Oliver’s bed which he’d already broken on Sunday (all while I’m busy helping kids with homework);
and Sadie knocked Eliza down causing her to bang her head on the floor;
used the butter I’d set out to soften for banana bread, for the stuffing mix instead;
and Ben took the boys up to their room to wrestle, again on the already broken bed;
and Simon and Ollie decided to fight over a flashlight when they were supposed to be in bed sleeping, whilst I completed the parish Lector/Server schedules, up through Easter, no less;

I lost it. Not just once. It’s humiliating. Perhaps by remembering my failures in detail, I can formulate alternatives to screaming at the children, while in a calmer state of mind. Question number one (unfortunately not the first time I’ve pondered), when I’m frazzled, why does it never occur to me to take a deep breath and pray? Any suggestions for pounding this one through my thick skull?

And thank the Lord, Brian does not have class on Wednesdays, and I get to go off to Community Band practice with Ben for some “quiet” time.

Every Advent since becoming Catholic, we have participated in a family advent project. I found a wooden box resembling a manger at St. Vincent de Paul store the first year. It sits empty on a table through advent, ready to receive our acts of love to the coming baby to soften his bed when he arrives. This year we are focusing on works of generosity, whether it is being generous with our time to read a book or play a game with a yearning little one, or letting someone else go first, have the last piece of pie, or the toy we really wanted to play with. True generosity involves personal sacrifice of our own desires. Every time we make such an effort, a little cotton ball goes into the manger. By Christmas, Baby Jesus will have a soft and cozy place to lay his little head.

I must admit, I need this season’s little lesson as much as any of the children. I have become too protective of my own belongings, time, and those leftovers I find myself particularly craving. None of this is good for my soul, but especially I find my faults reflected right back to me in infuriating detail in the six little lives we’ve welcomed to the family. So my prayer is that together, by being deliberately generous through these weeks until Christmas, we can mold happier habits of giving of ourselves and sacrificing for others.

I discovered I am an introvert as an adult. I enjoy deep conversations with people. I do not like to be completely alone, and never have. I would drive my little sister crazy wanting to be with her all the time. But put me in a group of more than three others, and I am completely drained and likely to return home with a staggering headache. I think this is a large reason why I find online interaction easier.

So I tend to be selective and purposeful with joining communities. It’s led me to contemplate quite a bit what the human need for community is. “It’s not good for man to be alone.” (Gen 2:18) Our communities can help us find direction, support us in our goals, or can do the opposite, pulling us away from what we have learned to be right and true. Most people are far less intentional about communities, but I think this is one commonality among converts. We recognized that the communities in which we originated did not hold the same goals, or provide a determined path by which to achieve common goals, or we simply decided that following truth was more important than remaining a member of our current community.

For my experience, a priest at a neighboring parish shared a relevant illustration. If you want to make a certain kind of cake, you need to follow a recipe, step by step. You can be sure that the recipe will make the kind of cake you seek by seeing and tasting the results of others who have followed the recipe. Introverts like me often would rather just do it ourselves. But if you really want to reach the goal, you follow the tried and true recipe (the road well-traveled).

In my original community, I didn’t feel that I was being challenged to become the disciple of Christ that I saw and read about in the Bible. I didn’t feel I was being called into obedience, or taught to shape my conscience in accordance with absolute truth and righteousness. There was plenty of exterior conformity, but little interior development of the soul. I have discovered a deep appreciation for the Communion of Saints. From ancient history into modernity, I can trace the results of the Catholic recipe, knowing the faith of the people by the works of love they have displayed consistently through millenia. Transitioning into the Catholic Church from my previous community was eased since we’d just experienced a family move, however the significance of leaving so much of what I had shared with my family growing up still caused some interior conflict.

For those converts who read here, how did your interactions with your original community impact your decision to convert? What drew you to the community in which you are currently engaged? Has your experience of community since converting supported your spiritual growth?

Check this related post in Saintos’ comic diary today.

Also, be sure to join us in remembering those within the Communion of Saints who are residing in purgatory during the next month — 30 Days for the Souls in Purgatory. You can add names for those you would like to be remembered particularly in the comment section of any post there.

{dusting off the cobwebs, sweeping up debris from long disuse…}

I’ve been thinking about the blog a lot, obviously not posting any of my thoughts. Like several of the individuals whose blogs I follow, I struggle with my commitment to blogging and reasons behind doing so. I began this blog as an exuberant new Catholic whose online community had unraveled , trying to integrate newfound Catholic fervor with a particular bent toward apologetics, an evolving political quandry progressing from evangelical conservative roots through Libertarianism turned topsy-turvy when informed by Catholic ideals, and an overarching passion for midwifery, birth and moderately crunchy parenting choices.

What I have discovered over the intervening years is that I cannot sustain my Catholicity and spiritual growth based upon defining how Protestant I no longer am. I pray continually for unity, but it will not be achieved by pointing out how “they” are wrong and “we” are right, even when the intention is simply explaining what we really mean by {insert peculiarly Catholic doctrine here}. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate those who do so in charity, and still follow some who accomplish this with eloquence. On the other hand, I can’t help but contrast myself against other spiritually uplifting bloggers with whose words I strongly identify. While they express themselves with inspiring and humorous prose, I find myself only capable of nodding my head in agreement, my tired brain unable to string together any theologically oriented nouns and verbs worth displaying for others’ consumption, and feeling conspicuously pretentious when attempting to do so. So blog foundation #1 seems chipped and fractured.

Over the last several political campaigns, I have becoming increasingly disenchanted with our unique American political and economic systems, the foundations and ideals upon which they are based, and above all the modern interpretation of those foundations and ideals. I firmly believe that Catholics are disenfranchised in America today and have slim morally acceptable pickings among the viable national players. Despite sporadic bantering supporting a Catholic or Natural Law oriented alternative within the blogosphere, there seems to be little will and even less financial support to promote such an endeavor over the long haul. I don’t desire to become another tiresome echo chamber, and have all but tuned out of the national political chatter, excepting only the pro-life cause. So foundation #2 has crumbled.

Thirdly, I was shown with absolute clarity by several convergent factors that there is no way I can raise my family in the manner worthy of God’s calling and also be running around chasing births and a midwifery career. At this point in my life, my vocational priorities need to be established firmly. I have also become uncomfortable sharing intimate details of other families’ birth experiences in which I have participated, though I have assisted my school in establishing a website to which parents can submit their own birth stories. So at the moment, I have scant experiences from which to draw illuminating posts, and any which I may develop are more likely to find their way to the aforementioned website. Goodbye foundation #3.

I have thought long and hard about whether to continue blogging at all here. I’m reluctant to completely close up shop, simply because I like having an outlet. I like to write when the mood strikes. I have identified two factors by which I might invigorate my blogging. The first is the recognition that my thought processes and creativity are facilitated by two-way dialog. Shouting into a vacuum is unsustainable. I would dearly love to participate once again in a group format blog. I have some thoughts about inviting some new voices, and also would gladly consider any who might like to volunteer whether to join this place or embark on something new. More importantly, I need a definable focus. My initial motivations having run their course, what have I left to say? I have found that I spend a lot of time contemplating community, whether within my local parish, the Catholic Church at large, family as community, the birthing community, the abdication of local, real life community for online, virtually generated community, and the impact all of this has on myself, personally, and on the human person. All of my former trajectories will inevitably be intertwined amongst these threads, but within a focused exploration. I look forward to inviting lively discussion over this essential component of human life, our modern experiences, and ways in which we can develop or expand our own communities.

There is a possibility of my husband’s company getting a large contract back, which would mean money directly into our personal finances because of Brian’s commission structure. They have been hit pretty hard by the economic downturn, and this would be a great help in getting through this next winter. If you feel so inclined, please pray that this contract goes through!

Preview today only. Masterful storytelling, artistic vision, and a powerful message about the dignity of man, in just 20 minutes.

The Butterfly Circus.
Starring Eduardo Verástegui (Bella), Doug Jones (Pan’s Labyrinth, Fantastic Four) and featuring the debut performance of Nick Vujicic.

“The greater the struggle, the more glorious the triumph!”

Holy Gospel of Jesus Christ according to Saint Matthew 16:24-28.

Then Jesus said to his disciples, “Whoever wishes to come after me must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me. For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it. What profit would there be for one to gain the whole world and forfeit his life? Or what can one give in exchange for his life? For the Son of Man will come with his angels in his Father’s glory, and then he will repay everyone according to his conduct. Amen, I say to you, there are some standing here who will not taste death until they see the Son of Man coming in his kingdom.”

This is the true challenge of living the Gospel, which I struggle with daily. Not only denying myself, but doing so happily and in a way which allows me to continue to be able to perform my duties as wife and mother. It almost seems an impossible synchronicity. There are many ways in which I can deny myself willingly as part and parcel of what is required of a good wife and mother. Is that enough? I feel I need to keep stretching this concept, going further, becoming more selfless, yet I feel I never quite meet the threshold of what I imagine to be true Christian self-denial. Much of my life is set up to serve my own self-interest. Today’s society neither offers much instruction, nor even encouragement, sadly not even within many local parishes.

How have you found ways to stretch your ability to deny yourself happily? Who can you relate to as a wonderful example of self-denial?