Momopoly

Rockabye Baby

2009-11-09T22:27:00.001-05:00

Tonight I was a rebel. I broke the parenting rule that says you should never rock your baby to sleep if you ever want her to learn to fall asleep on her own.

Actually, this wasn't my first offense, and it won't be the last time either. But whatever.

After I nursed M.E., she was fading but still awake and so I drew her close and rocked my sweet baby girl. I pressed my lips onto the soft skin of her cheek. As she snuggled close, I felt her chest gently rise and fall. She sighed contentedly, and I breathed in the smell of her milky breath. And I began to pray.

Even after I knew she'd melted into a deep sleep, I held her and continued to be content in the kernel of the moment. Even when a nagging voice in my head threatened to disrupt my cloistered peace as it told me I ought to be doing laundry, packing for an upcoming trip, or exercising instead of holding a sleeping baby, I just kept rocking. And praying.

This is my work. This is my worship. My prayers are silent, my work often unnoticed. Quietly, I make my children's worlds turn. There is no hard evidence of my labor, especially now when I am alone in the darkness with my baby producing nothing other than a shared moment. Yet with God's grace, it is my hope that the sum of these shared moments might help to positively shape my children's lives. It is my hope, Lord, that I might love my children into loving.

Now it is time for me to sleep. It is late, and I did not accomplish all I'd hoped. My neglected "to do" list taunts me, but one final peek at my dozing baby reminds me that as a mother, my life's most satisfying moments do not come to me when I'm involved in great matters. Instead, they often occur when I am hidden, my soul is stilled, and my child rests in my arms as I rest in God.

Filling the Gaps

2009-11-06T06:16:00.007-05:00

This past Sunday I attended Mass at my parents' church. I always enjoy their pastor's homilies when I'm visiting, but this one was a standout.

Father spoke of the saints in honor of All Saints Day and how they are here to help us in our Christian journey. Father reminded us that becoming a saint is not as far-fetched as we might imagine. Saints have pasts and sinners have futures, he said.

He also pointed out that none of us believes it all or believes all of the time. Then he shared a story of a woman who had lost her son in a car crash. In her despair, she turned her back on her faith and questioned how an all-loving God could take her son in such a tragic, horrific way, especially since she had been so faithful. Father said we could react to her fallen faith in three ways. We could say she no longer belongs in church since she'd given up on God - clearly, an un-Christian and harsh way of responding to her sorrow. We could tell her she was facing only a temporary bout of depression and that everything would be fine. But this response was not appropriate either. Everything would not be fine - at least not for a long time. She had lost a child and would never be the same because of this great loss. Lastly, we could reach out to her, minister to her, and give her permission to grieve and to be angry. And in the absence of faith, we could believe for her.

We could believe for her.

It was a simple enough idea, what Father was saying (and he said it far more eloquently than I'm doing here). Yet, I'd never really thought about faith like that - how as a community of believers we could believe when others could not. How the communion of saints is at our disposal to replace our doubts with faith. Like a choir, Father said, together we can create beautiful music even if as individuals, it's impossible to hit every note every time. Thank goodness God did not design us to be soloists. When we get off-key, we have backup singers to keep the song in harmony.

As I listened, I thought of Madeline's love for jigsaw puzzles and how no matter how insignificant each individual piece may appear to be, it is critical to the whole. We are many parts, but we are all one body. In our human weakness, we cannot believe everything. We cannot believe all of the time. But the Body of Christ can help to fill in the gaps. Thomas helped Peter when he denied his Lord. Then Peter helped doubting Thomas. We can do the same for each other.

1 Corinthians 12:21-22 reminds us that "The eye cannot say to the hand, 'I do not need you,' nor again the head to the feet, 'I do not need you.' Indeed, the parts of the body that seem to be weaker are all the more necessary." The grieving mother Father spoke of certainly needs her sisters and brothers in Christ to bring her comfort, but we need her, too. She is necessary for us to do what God created us to do: "To give greater honor to a part [of the body] that is without it" (1 Corinthians 12:24), to serve God through serving others.

The Holy Spirit was working through Father on this Sunday because I know I have some gaps to fill right now. There is someone whom I love dearly who does not - cannot - at this point in her life, believe. And so I must believe for her.

God is not near to her or even real to her right now, but I am. How will I reveal His love to her? Not with what may seem like empty platitudes to her. Not with quoting Scripture. Not with heavy-handed lectures on why she should believe. Not with reason. Nor with passion. But with love. Simple acts of love that show her that God's love is not earned by our level of belief. It just is.

An Almost Wordless Wednesday: Mommy, I Look So Stupid

2009-11-04T06:16:00.003-05:00

Don't blame me, kiddo. Gaba was the one who bought you that silly fish getup.

Complete Pregnancy Fitness DVD Set Review

2009-11-02T07:48:00.003-05:00

UPDATE: The giveaway is now posted at Catholic Mom.

Anne McClure of Catholic Mommy Brain recently invited me to review the Complete Pregnancy Fitness with Erin O'Brien DVD set as a part of Catholic Mom Pregnancy Giveaway. As someone who was already a big fan of the Prenatal Fix DVD, I was eager to test out the Postnatal Rescue.

I’ve tried my share of prenatal workouts (thanks, Netlfix!), and O'Brien's Prenatal Fix is by far my favorite prenatal fitness DVD. I’m a big believer in staying fit during pregnancy (providing you get the green light from your midwife or OB/GYN), and this is one of the few prenatal routines I've seen that pushes you physically. All the exercises are completely safe for pregnant women, but it's challenging enough to rev up your heart rate and give you a good workout.

Erin, a personal trainer and certified exercise instructor, leads you through a 40-minute routine that includes cardio, strength training, and tension-relieving stretches. I did the workout once or twice a week while pregnant with my third, and I could feel the burn - in a good way.

The fitness routine’s setting is a living room, and no fancy equipment is required. I hate it when DVDs become impractical for at-home moms because they call for enough fitness gear to equip a small gym. That just seems to defeat the economy and convenience of using DVDs to exercise.

In addition, Erin is very pregnant in the DVD and actually does the same routine she leads the viewer in, and she even thinks to give you a potty stop during the workout (I definitely took advantage of this built-in break later in pregnancy). Erin’s demeanor is encouraging but not too chirpy. (I’d bet most preggos would agree that an overly perky instructor can be a bit unnerving when you're at the point where you can actually feel your hemorrhoids as you practice your squats.)

The DVD also includes a partner routine where Erin demonstrates moves with her husband, actor James Denton of Desperate Housewives. This is not a selling point for me because number one, I don't watch the show and because number two, I strongly suspect my husband, as wonderful he is, would find it ridiculous if I asked him to allow me to use him as a human resistant band. (I actually tested my theory by showing him a clip of the partner workout, and his expression said only one thing: "You can't be serious.")

I also enjoyed Postnatal Rescue, the second DVD of the set, although I admit I went straight to the third exercise progression since my baby’s nearly seven months now and I was very fortunate to have an easy delivery. However, the DVD is appropriate for brand new moms since it offers three exercise progressions that allow you to ease back into exercise in the postpartum period.

Each of the progressive workouts is 15 minutes and works the back, abs, buttocks, inner thighs, and hips. Research shows that just 15 minutes of resistance training, two to three times a week, can boost your muscle strength. That’s good news for busy moms who are short on time.

The promotional materials say the DVD is designed for women to use from the start of their recovery after labor (the DVD includes a bonus section that guides you through gentle first stretches) to one year postpartum; however, if you’re a regular exerciser, you’ll probably be ready to move on to something more challenging before your baby’s first birthday. Don’t get me wrong: Erin’s Pilates-inspired moves provide a good workout and offer the kind of moves that look effortless but really target the muscle groups affected by pregnancy. But those who are more militant about fitness probably will be ready to up the ante – or at least the length of the workout beyond the 15-minute sessions – before their baby is blowing out her first candles. (Erin does recommend incorporating at least 20 minutes of cardio a day to bounce back from pregnancy more quickly.)

I've personally reaped the emotional and physical benefits of breaking a sweat and aim to exercise a little bit almost every day whether pregnant or not, so I’m always looking for new, quality exercise DVDs that provide simple but effective workouts that I can squeeze into my life as an at-home mom. Erin O’Brien’s Complete Pregnancy Fix fits the bill.

Stop by Catholic Mom for a chance to win the DVD set, or buy it here.

You can also purchase the DVDs separately:
Prenatal Fitness Fix
Postnatal Rescue

Horse Crazy

2009-10-30T07:13:00.004-04:00

I thought Madeline was horse crazy, but her affinity for four-legged beasts is lukewarm compared to her little sister's. We cannot get Rae get off this horse at Nana and Pop's. At home, she runs up and down our hallway and asks to be called the Black Stallion. She also keeps asking when she can ride a pony again (she had the chance to straddle a trusty steed at a county fair earlier in the fall).

I was a horse crazy youth myself and spent a big chunk of my childhood atop a horse. I never minded mucking out stalls or smelling like hay or manure. So I keep telling (warning!) my husband this may not be just a little girl phase. The child is transfixed when in the presence of a horse - real or imaginary. Although I don't try to encourage Rae's zeal for horses (too much), I have to admit I've found myself daydreaming once or twice about taking a trail ride alongside my daughter(s).

Do you have any childhood loves that your kids appear to share?

He Loves Me, I Love Him Not

2009-10-28T05:48:00.002-04:00

It wasn’t supposed to happen. I’d been strong for so long. I’d resisted him. For nearly five years, I’d kept him out of my home, out of my children’s lives. But one moment of weakness, and now our lives are forever changed.

It wasn't all my fault. Really. I thought the curious monkey was supposed to be around, but it was this guy instead, and I caved in to my child's pleas to see more of him. Now she's infatuated. There's little, if any, hope of taking her back now. He's like preschooler crack, and she is a happy addict.

Of course, even when he was only lurking in the shadows (or the quick promotional spots on public television), I could not shield my firstborn completely. Somehow she still knew his name and the features of his large face. I don’t know how. I thought I’d made her impervious to his charm, but I was wrong. Very wrong.

Why, then, was I so surprised when she caught a glimpse of him the other day and begged to be able to see more of him?

“Why?” I asked.

“I love him,” she explained. I flinched. When did this happen? How could I be so blind? So naive? Love him? How can you love someone you don’t even know?

“Why don’t you like him, Mommy?” she asks. He really has her, I realize. He’s captured my 4-year-old’s heart.

I have no real answer. It’s a fair question, I suppose. I should have to explain my intolerance. Why am I not more open-minded?

“I just don’t like him,” I hear myself saying.

What kind of lessons am I teaching my child by snubbing the object of her affection just because he's different than us and sickeningly saccharine sweet? I just don't believe he's being completely sincere. Does the guy ever have a bad day?

He’s definitely too old for her. Not to mention, too reptilian. And that voice of his. It’s annoyingly nasal. And his eggplant-purple skin and that plastered on smile and those perfect, gleaming white teeth (those have to be caps).

Oh, but Madeline has fallen hard for his timeless allure. (I mean, isn’t his kind supposed to be extinct?)

“I love Barney,” she says, eyes glazed over, face flushed with the fervor of young love.

Resist his dinosaur charm! I want to scream, but it’s too late. From her dazed expression and the dreamy tone of her voice, I know she means it. He’s singing that ridiculous song, and she’s buying it.

But I’m not. Not for a second.

“I love you, you love…”

Oh, but I don’t. Yours is an unrequited love. It always has been, and it always will be.

New Column: Real Draw for Real Presence

2009-10-27T08:49:00.004-04:00

I'm over at Faith & Family LIVE! today trying to explain why I'm Catholic. Or perhaps more to the point, why I bother to go to Mass when it's not always easy ~~to pay much attention~~ to know where I even am with three little ones clinging to me.

Here's the Cliff's Notes answer: It just so happens that Mass is the only place I can receive Christ bodily. Over and over again I keep coming back to the Lord's table because everything I need can be found in the Eucharist.

Here's the article.

For anyone interested in learning more about the Eucharist, here are a few helpful links:

Definition of the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist from Catholic Encyclopedia

The Celebration of the Christian Mystery from the Catechism of the Catholic Church

I also love this post on Adoration from Conversion Diary.

Anyone else have any helpful links or words to help explain the Real Presence of Christ to curious non-Catholics or loved ones who have left the Catholic Church?

What are Your Easter Sunday Brunch Traditions?

2009-10-26T13:59:00.004-04:00

Yup. That's right. I'm already thinking about Easter, and it's not even Advent season yet. I'm a born planner, but even someone as anal as I am doesn't really start planning for Easter before Christmas unless I'm working on an article. The publishing world is always thinking ahead. Thus, the reason for this post.

I'm writing an article on how to celebrate with your family at an Easter brunch for Faith & Family magazine, and I'd like to include some family traditions. Do you do anything special to celebrate the Resurrection of our Lord? Any favorite family recipes you reserve for Easter Sunday? How do you spruce up your home to celebrate New Life? I'd love to hear from you. Leave a comment, or feel free to email me at kmwicker [at] gmail [dot] com.

24-Hour Diner

2009-10-26T08:11:00.000-04:00

Preschooler, hearing the baby start to fuss: Order up! One Mommy coming up!

A Baby's Job Description

2009-10-23T19:19:00.000-04:00

We take pride in productivity here at Momopoly, so it's no surprise that Madeline recently summed up M.E.'s professional profile: "You chew on your fist. You like to drink mommy milk. You pull hair. You scratch me with your nails. That's your duty. Oh, and you pee and poop."

With regards to the latter, this baby is one efficient mass producer.

Opening a Can of Worms, Bacteria, and Viruses

2009-10-21T22:14:00.031-04:00

I may be considered crunchy when it comes to some of my parenting choices (practicing extended breastfeeding, advocating for natural childbirth choices, preferring to read Mothering over mainstream parenting mags, etc.), but my crunchiness begins to crumble when it comes to vaccines for my children.

I've been reluctant to broach this topic for myriad reasons. First, I have friends and family members who read this blog (and I read their blogs) who have chosen to not vaccine their children. I don't want to alienate anyone. I've always hoped this blog will serve to bring people - especially moms - together, not divide them. Finally, I also have friends who struggle every day with an autistic child and can never begin to silence the "what ifs" or "whys" that constantly rifle through their mind. They want answers. I would, too.

Yet, my feet are planted firmly on the side of science in the vaccine debate. Just recently I've been reading even more about the potential dangers of vaccines as my husband and I faced the decision of whether or not to vaccinate our girls against the swine flu (we chose to get the vaccine for all three girls). In the past, I've seen the research on vaccines and the incidence of autism, and none of the data suggests a causal link between vaccinations and the neural disorder, although mainstream media would have you believe otherwise (they've got to keep you panicking about something).

I've listened patiently to my husband's arguments (remember I'm married to a doctor) that pseudo science does what science refuses to do: It makes fallacious jumps from a "toxic" trigger (AKA vaccines) to a disease with no known cause or cure (autism) in order to provide balm to a confused, hurting parent with a sick child. Science says, "There is not enough evidence to show that vaccines cause autism." As a mom, I can see how to a concerned parent that statement is not all that comforting.

Pseudo science says, "There isn't enough evidence to show vaccines don't cause autism; therefore, they must be to blame."

But to use the old Leprechaun theory: Just because you can't prove Leprechauns don't exist doesn't mean they do.

The burden of proof lies in the hands of science, which won't - despite the fact that study after study shows the currently recommended vaccines are safe and effective - conclude, "There is NO evidence that vaccines cause autism." It's unfortunately virtually impossible to prove a negative claim such as this.

I wince every time my babies have to endure the prick of a shot. I know, too, that there are risks to vaccines. In fact, very few - if any - medical interventions come without any risk. It's up to doctors and their patients to determine whether the benefits outweigh the risks. Modern medicine, which I'm not claiming is always an exact science, helps us make this sometimes difficult decision. In the case of vaccines, the benefits overwhelmingly outweigh the risks (adverse reactions are very, very rare). (I'd present a much different position when it comes to certain medical interventions during pregnancy and labor, but that's another post for another ~~day~~ blogging lifetime.)

My husband recently encouraged me to read an article on the topic of vaccines from the November issue of WIRED. Whatever your stance on vaccinations, I highly encourage you to read the entire article; however, the following quote from "An Epidemic of Fear: How Panicked Parents Skipping Shots Endangers Us All" by Amy Wallace really jumped out at me because it shoots straight in to the heart of the debate:

"Offit [a pediatrician and coinventor of the rotavirus vaccine], like everyone else, will do anything to protect his children. And he wants Americans to be fully educated about risk and not hoodwinked into thinking that dropping vaccines keeps their children safe. 'The choice not to get a vaccine is not a choice to take no risk,' he says. 'It’s just a choice to take a different risk, and we need to be better about saying, ‘Here’s what that different risk looks like.’ Dying of Hib meningitis is a horrible, ugly way to die.'”

(Again, the whole article is worth your attention. Read the rest here. The "How to Win an Argument about Vaccines" sidebar has good information as well.)

Put simply, Vaccines don't ruin lives; they save them. Without widespread vaccinations, some pretty hideous diseases could make a comeback.

Still, despite what science tells me, I admit that in the past I've been tempted to demonize vaccines and see them as not being worth the risk. Why? Because autism has a face. Because I personally know of children who have autism. You may, too.

However, I don't know any kids with the measles or the mumps (thanks to vaccines). I don't know of a child who has died of the rotavirus. You probably don't either. But Dr. Offit has. Wallace's article shares how he watched a young girl die of dehydration caused from the infection during his medical training, and the experience fueled his desire to develop a rotavirus vaccine.

Truth is, it's easy to start seeing the very diseases the widely recommended immunizations are administered to protect against as being no more real than the Boogedy Man. Yet, everywhere we turn and with a quick click of the mouse, we're put face-to-face with autism. Not surprisingly, the disorder seems much scarier and real than some "abstract" disease that no outspoken, pretty celebrity is writing books about or going on Oprah to discuss.

Autism has a face - a scary one. Diseases like measles are faceless in this country - for now. But that could change (and is starting to change in some areas) if we don't start showing parents what we could be up against if we stop vaccinating our children. While I don't doubt for a second that parents who choose not to vaccinate are doing so out of a great love for their children, this love as well as the fear of autism is hurting the very children we want to protect.

Still not convinced? Consider these words from Dr. Offit in the same WIRED article:

"I used to say that the tide would turn when children started to die. Well, children have started to die,” Offit says, frowning as he ticks off recent fatal cases of meningitis in unvaccinated children in Pennsylvania and Minnesota. “So now I’ve changed it to ‘when enough children start to die.’ Because obviously, we’re not there yet.”

I realize I'm opening up a can of worms here, but the anti-vaccine movement is opening something much worse: The return of potentially-deadly diseases. All this said, I do welcome your thoughts on the topic. Just please no personal attacks, and keep your comments respectful.

As the Twig Bends

2009-10-21T06:31:00.006-04:00

So the baby's first feeding went well. M.E. eagerly opened her mouth like a little bird and smacked her lips when she got her first taste of solids a week ago. She giggled and grinned. Her body language and lively expressions suggested the experience was fun, yummy, and something she'd enjoy repeating.

But the next day when I attempted to feed her, she recoiled and glared at me with absolute repugnance. Since then I've unsuccessfully tried to feed her mushed up avocados and bananas, placing them in front of her so she could eat and explore their textures on her own.

Both dishes inspired disgust. When I used my finger as a spoon and placed a taste on her tongue, she looked at me with wide, pleading eyes that seemed to be saying, "Please stop poisoning me."

Then she started to gag. Oh dear. We have another drama queen on our hands.

I'm following her lead. I'm content to nurse her as often as she likes. I'm not worried about her reluctance to start solids even when all the parenting books say she shows all the signs of being ready.

Fortunately, both Rae and Madeline gulped down solids as soon as they hit the six-month mark. I never had to worry, but I admit I probably would have - especially with my firstborn. As a new mom, I paid far too much attention to all those milestone charts. Was she on schedule to do this or to do that? My Type A personality definitely trickled down into my parenting. I was overly eager for each new phase. When she was rolling, I was ready for crawling. When she was crawling, I couldn't wait to see her toddle along on her two feet. I anticipated the day when her conversations with her toes would become exchanges with me. I was well prepared for her pediatrician checkups and could recount exactly when she first sat up unsupported, when her babbling turned into real words, when those tiny fingers mastered the pincher grasp. Her achievements were documented to the hour, minute, and second.

Now I do well to remember exactly how old M.E. is. Getting close to 7 months, right?

Oh, it's still exciting to watch my baby change (seemingly by the hour these days), but I'm not in a hurry for the next stage. Maybe it's because I know that when a baby meets a milestone like eating solids, she's that much closer to no longer needing my body to feed her or to being comforted simply by nestling close to me and hearing the familiar rhythms of my heart.

Babies don't keep. Neither do toddlers. Or preschoolers. Milestones now seem to be nothing more than evidence of this.

When I was asked, "How many times a day does she nurse, and for how long?" at M.E.'s recent well-child visit, I wanted to say, "Enough." But I knew the nurse wanted numbers, so I made some up.

"Have you started solids?"

"Yes, but she's not interested yet."

"Well, she's obviously growing," the nurse remarked giving props to her chunky thighs and Michelin Man rolls.

Perhaps M.E. will be ready for solids next month. Or not. As the nurse observed, she's obviously thriving. That's the important thing. No need to fret over the whens or hows of her development.

Baby by baby, I'm learning that it's usually best to allow young saplings to grow according to their nature. You can bend the twig all you want, and you can be sure that the tree will grow - but maybe not by your own or that competitive mom you meet at the playground's timetable. She may not grow how you expected her to grow either. The ballerina you dreamed of may prefer digging in the dirt for earthworms to practicing pirouettes. While you can prune your children to encourage new growth and to help them lean into the Light, they will take their own unique shape. Just as I tend to kill houseplants by watering them too much, I have to resist the temptation to micromanage my children. It's my job to give them strong roots and to invest time in nurturing them. But then I have to take a step back and give my children the space and the freedom to bloom all on their own.

*I really wanted to post a photo of our little one and her delicious rolls, but something is wrong with our computer that stores our ridiculous amount of digital photographs. We have approximately 2,372 (give or take) of our firstborn and about 20 of M.E. (Well, probably a few more than that, but we're past the stage of taking pictures of every single milestone like when your precious offspring picks her nose for the first time). We're not sure when we're going to be able to fix the problem. My husband built the computer himself, but he's been too busy with work and studying to perform surgery on the ailing beast and computer nerd I am not. (Though my nerdiness manifests itself in other ways such as in my love for charts and lists, an occasional snort-laugh, and in this completely unrelated addendum to an otherwise un-nerdy post.)

Letter to a Second Child

2009-10-19T05:56:00.002-04:00

From the 2007 archives (because life and germs happen; perhaps one day soon I'll write a letter such as this to my third child):

Dear Rachel Marie,

On Friday night, we were alone – a rare occurrence for the two of us (aside from middle-of-the-night feedings). Your daddy had to work late and your big sister was having a sleepover at Nana and Pop’s. I took advantage of our solitary pairing and brought you into the bath with me. I cherished this intimate moment together and want to remember this special bath time - the way you looked at me, the way you felt, slippery with soap, the way a simple, everyday grooming ritual passed into a pensive study in motherhood. Thus, I write this letter to you.

I fill the tub with warm water and plop you down, using my legs as a protective border. Your hands slap the water and then slide across my legs slick with bathwater.

You watch me pour water over my head – you notice everything now. Your face breaks into a smile. I must look silly to you, sopping wet. When my hair is drenched and hanging limply in front of my face, you stare at me, slightly bewildered. For a moment, you seem unsure. Who is this sodden thing? But then I speak and your expression shifts to one of recognition. That’s my mommy. You’ve known my voice for a long, long time. By the 25th week of pregnancy, we believe babies can begin to recognize their mother’s voice.

I slather shampoo in my hair and rinse it and then I do the same for you, pouring the warm water slowly over your head that’s covered with soft, blondish hair. You swallow some of the bath water and begin to cough. Red rings form around your eyes. I gently pat your back and the coughing ceases. Then I bathe your body – your soft arms, your round belly, your chunky legs, your dimply butt, your perfect face with your rosebud lips, button nose, and elliptical eyes, which are still a nebulous color – something between a brown and a green.

After I rinse off the soap, I take your bare, squirmy and delicious, little body and put you on my own naked form as I slip beneath the blanket of warm water. We’re chest to chest. You look like a descending skydiver as you balance on your belly with your arms and legs flailing. As you kick, water laps against the sides of the bathtub and splashes onto our bodies. Your eyes gaze into my own until Madeline’s collection of bath toys bobbing around us diverts your attention. You reach for a foam letter and put it to your mouth.

I watch you interacting with your environment, trying to reach a plastic cow that’s floating by, splashing the water, putting everything into your mouth. I marvel at how, on one hand, you seem so old to me, no longer a mewing newborn, but at the same time how feeling your slippery body against my own brings me back full circle to the day you were born and that moment I first held you – my second baby but no less of a miracle.

I speak again and you look at me. You smile. Then your eyes widen with inquisitiveness as you seek out another fascinating object – a blue foam “B.” I stare at your wet hair molded on your head. I caress your wet body, wishing to memorize how your skin feels soft and pudgy, reminding me of flour when it gets wet. And then I become wistful. I know all too well – I’ve had your big sister to show me – how quickly you’re going to grow up.

The sloshing sound the water makes as your arms and legs splash conjures up an image of you floating in my womb. It wasn’t so long ago that my arms were aching to hold you, my eyes burning to see you for the first time. And now here you are, a baby on the cusp of being a toddler (they say the “golden age” of infancy is from 6 to 9 months and you are nearly 8 months old; I suppose that means your reaching your baby mid-life crisis). I know you’ll soon be too big to rest on my chest and maybe even too modest for us to bathe together. You’re frequently sleeping through the night (unlike your restive big sister who still wakes up a few times ) and while I crave sleep, I miss nursing you in the stillness of the night, your body curled into me. You're sitting up, playing with colorful baby toys. You’re on the verge of crawling away from me and toward alluring things. You’re as slippery to me as your wet body in the bath; I can’t hold onto you, not well enough.

So I savor this ritual. A mother and her baby, alone, skin to skin, swathed in warm bathwater. My love for you almost primal. I am made to love you. I think. God designed me to love you.

Another stray bath toy captivates you. You try to grab it. You’re determined, but you’re grasping for something beyond your reach. Frustrated, you cry out. I want to hand you the toy, but I hesitate. I let you struggle. I know you won’t be so helpless for long. I want you to need me.

I wrap my arms around you. You momentarily forget about your pursuit and you reach both of your starburst hands to my face. This time, I willingly let you touch the object of your desire.

7 Quick Takes

2009-10-16T04:36:00.006-04:00

~1~

We hope to hit an orchard this fall but even if that doesn't end up happening given our busy weekends over the next few weeks, I plan on stocking up on apples while they're in season. (Apples hit their harveting peak this month.)

Now what to do with all our bounty?

Well, Madeline and Rae had fun making these apple print cards, which we ended up sending to the grandparents for Grandparents' Day. Even a not-so-artsy-fartsy-mom-like-me can manage a craft like this.

We also whipped together an easy and delicious apple loaf. Find the recipe here.

Then there's always my easy-peasy homemade applesauce. This makes great baby food, too. Just omit the sugar.

~2~

Me: I think Rae has grown. That dress used to come down to her calves.

Madeline: What did you say? The dress used to come down to her fawns?

Wrong baby animal, kiddo.

You gotta love the way kids' minds work. It reminds me of the other day when I said something about the baby being a light sleeper. "I'm not a light sleeper though," Madeline said. "I'm a dark one."

~3~

Like Air Jordan, Madeline is unable to score without her tongue dangling out of her mouth (look at the photo closely).

Always one to emulate everything her big sister does, Rae couldn't keep her tongue in her mouth either when she had a chance to mess around on the soccer field.

~4~

Just because we're urbanites doesn't mean we can't enjoy some homegrown goodness. We had two successful containers this year, thanks to Pop (my husband's dad). Pop not only bought our tomato plant as a gift and helped plant the carrot seeds in a pot, but he served as our gardening consultant as well. (My thumb is black, so I need all the help I can get.) We were very pleased with our crops. We enjoyed having fresh tomatoes on hand, and our girls loved unearthing carrots and then munching on them like little rabbits.

~5~

I recently had the amazing opportunity to chat with Fr. Leo Patalinghug of Grace Before Meals. Talking to him made me not only hungry for some good eats but also for the Bread of Life. His zeal for the faith is tempered only by his humility. Read more about the faithful foodie here.

~6~

I must be hungry or something considering most of my Quick Takes mention food. I think I'll go get a snack. These sound yummy.

~7~

Since I'm at a loss for words at this point (that seventh QT is always a challenge for me), I'll borrow someone else's:

"God doesn't expect immediate perfection; he loves progress."

Word Among Us Meditation for Tuesday, October 6th

For more Quick Takes, be sure to stop by Jen's Conversion Diary.

Have a wonderful weekend!

Grace Before Meals

2009-10-15T06:26:00.013-04:00

Matthew Warner of Fallible Blogma recently launched “Support a Catholic Speaker Month.” As part of his initiative, he invited bloggers to “adopt” speakers and to share information about them and/or their apostolates in order to support those who give the Catholic Church a voice and help to spread the Good News.

I’m beyond thrilled to be showcasing Father Leo Patalinghug, the faith-filled foodie and face of Grace Before Meals, a movement that strives to build stronger families and communities one meal at a time. I had the opportunity to chat with Fr. Leo earlier this week, but this isn’t the first time I’ve encountered the down-to-earth priest. Back in 2008, I had the chance to hear Fr. Leo speak at the Catholic New Media Celebration. And along with millions of other viewers, I watched him duel it out with Bobby Flay on national television.

What continues to impress me about Fr. Leo - besides his charisma and the way he wields a chopping knife - is his humility. Sure, he's funny and good behind a camera - a born entertainer - but right off the bat you sense that this isn’t about him. This is about God and giving others their daily bread.

During Throw Down with Bobby Flay, the renowned celebrity chef made the observation that Fr. Leo feeds appetites as well as souls. That he does. This is what I hope to do in my kitchen as well: To nourish my family both physically and spiritually and to serve them well.

Now more from the culinary master himself:

Please share with us your journey into the priesthood and into the kitchen.

“It was a slow conversion. It really started as a reversion back to the faith when I was about 19 years old and coming to understand the Eucharist better. I started praying more on my own, which led me to a more active life in the Church. From there it was a very natural progression of me realizing I enjoyed the faith so much.

Then there was that fated phone call of actually talking to someone in the priesthood about the priesthood. I went on some discernment retreats. I finally made the application. I was accepted. I went to Catholic University for one year, and then they sent me to the North American College in Rome for the rest of my training in the priesthood. That’s where I fell in love with the whole idea of cooking. I’d always done it, but there’s something about being in Rome and being with Italians. Their love for food is amazing. There were many times when dinners would last three or four hours. [The long meals] helped to turn my seminarian classmates into true brothers in Christ, so that’s how I ended up spending a lot of time in the kitchen. I missed family meals, and serving meals gave me a chance to start a new brotherhood with these guys."

Tell us about Grace Before Meals. How did it get started?

“The idea for Grace Before Meals started shortly after September 11th because I was supposed to go to France with two other priests, but all of our flights were canceled. Instead, we went on retreat by ourselves, and I did a lot of cooking. A priest just suggested how much fun it would be to film me cooking and talking and sharing a little bit about faith, family, and food. I honestly told him that was one of the stupidest ideas I’d ever heard, but he kept egging me about it. And the other priests did, too, because they knew there was a great need to bring families closer together around the table, especially post-September 11th. I knew it, too. There was a real hunger for family, more comfort food, and for the spiritual encouragement that comes from a meal that is sacred when we make room for God at our table. So I joked around and said, ‘Okay, and we can call it Grace Before Meals.’

But nothing really happened until about two years later when I was reassigned at my church, and I met a man who produces TV shows and commercials. His name is Tim Watkins. He’s the owner of Renegade Productions. It was just by chance that we met. I simply asked him a generic question about what he did for a living and when I found out, another priest, who was there at the time and was in on the joke, brought up Fr. Leo’s Grace Before Meals – a priest cooking show! And I’m thinking, ‘This is ridiculous. It’s just a joke.’

This producer took it seriously enough to film a pilot. The pilot was put on the Web in 2003. The website received so many requests and hits that we had to keep producing information, which has turned into the weekly email blasts. We get 40,000 hits a day and that’s without really any advertising at all. It was the encouragement of my brother priests not only suggesting the idea, but telling others about it that made Grace Before Meals a reality.”

Grace Before Meals started as a web series, but now it’s become an international movement that aspires to strengthen relationships through the preparing and sharing of meals. What do you hope people will get out of your weekly email blasts, your speaking engagements, your cookbook, web series, etc.?

“Grace Before Meals is not going to turn you into a theological scholar. It’s just not. What it’s supposed to help do is turn you into a better person and to be a better person with grace. You can squeeze out a 15-second prayer and if you do it sincerely for you and your family, I honestly believe God can make a powerful moment for people.”

You’re a big advocate of regular family meals. What are some of the benefits of eating together as a family?

“There’s research out of the National Center on Addiction and Substance Abuse (CASA) at Columbia University that supports something we believe on the social level but also spiritually: If you want to reduce teenage pregnancy, suicide, drug addiction, plus increase your teenager’s SAT scores, then eat together as a family. The number one factor in successful teenagers is regular family meals. It’s such common sense, but we’ve complicated things. Common sense isn’t so common anymore."

Explain the idea that a shared meal is a conduit to grace for families.

"I’m all about finding Catholic connections. The meal is the most Catholic thing because Jesus became our meal. If you want to have a good healthy, spiritual life, have children who are going to try to become saints, children who are going to stay away from sinfulness, the best thing is a regular Sunday meal with the Lord.”

As parents, how can we better feed our flock?

“Feeding the flock means we have to address the hunger. I think people want company around the table – a communion of persons. Also, allow mealtimes to become an opportunity for instruction. Make sure you are talking about the things that are important to the family. Teach young people how to talk appropriately and speak well – even when they disagree.

Another thing people can do to feed their sheep better is just to simply make better food. Not only healthy food, but fun food, food that’s going to make them say, ‘Wow! That’s awesome.’ Food that’s going to make you think of a memory. I still know Mom’s fried chicken. I still know Mom’s pan fried steaks with caramelized onions served over sticky rice with pickled vinaigrette. Serve delicious, fun food that has a purpose.

My recipes are in no way going to win five-star ratings, but hey, one won a throw down. I use ingredients that you can find in any grocery store and are perhaps already in your pantry. I just want to give people a chance to explore flavors, to play with their food a little bit and have good, delicious food."

Yes, speaking of throw downs, your fusion fajitas beat Bobby Flay’s dish on the Food Network. What was your recipe for success?

"I won because I used the secret ingredient: Holy water. "

Besides learning how to prepare gastronomic delights, what lessons have you learned in the kitchen?

"Patience and humility, organization, an open mind, a desire to listen to people more because the only way I’m going to satisfy anyone’s hunger is if I know what they’re hungry for. This requires me to pay very close attention to the people I’m serving and feeding."

Help Support Grace Before Meals

Like any apostolate, Grace Before Meals depends on your generosity to keep dishing out quality programming. Here are four ways Fr. Leo says you can help support his mission to strengthen families through food:

1. Subscribe to the weekly email blasts on the Grace Before Meals website, what Fr. Leo refers to as the real bread and butter and meat and potatoes of the ministry.

2. Buy Fr. Leo’s cookbook. As an owner of Recipes for Family Life: Grace Before Meals, I can attest that this is so much more than a portfolio of delicious recipes. The book is as good for the soul as it is for the stomach and includes mealtime prayers, spiritual reflections, conversation starters, and ideas for celebrating family milestones and holidays like (ahem) Mother’s Day.

Keep in mind that book sales and Fr. Leo’s speaking engagements are what pays for the website productions. “People are always surprised by just how much it costs. We get a lot of press, but that doesn’t translate into dollars. I try to make sure people are being fed with good food, dynamic food that’s going to be entertaining because we’re competing against a very rich secular world that puts a lot of money into TV with junky messages. If you like quality programs like this, then support good Catholic media,” Fr. Leo says.

3. The website is always looking for sponsors as well. Learn more here.

4. Pray for Fr. Leo and Grace Before Meals. Believe it or not, this is his “side job.” Fr. Leo works full-time as a professor and Director of Pastoral Formation at Mount Saint Mary’s Seminary. After appearing on Show Down with Bobby Flay, Fr. Leo is well on his way to becoming a household name – at least among Christian foodies. The Grace Before Meals site received over one million hits after the show aired. “It’s been crazy with all the increased attention,” Fr. Leo says. “The whole TV thing has put a very simple priest on a different platform that I never expected. So pray for me. I’d really appreciate the prayers.”

Learn more about Fr. Leo and the Grace Before Meals movement here.

Check out more featured Catholic speakers at Fallible Blogma.

Battling Burnout

2009-10-13T08:36:00.002-04:00

I'm over at Faith & Family LIVE! today sharing five strategies to help keep your life in balance. Please stop by and share your own tips for beating burnout.

This is What Hope Looks Like

2009-10-12T10:41:00.009-04:00

And most of all, it looks like this:

His name is Thomas (he's the one with the white t-shirt thrown over his shoulder), but he often answers to T-Dog. He's my 16-year-old cousin who wears a Nike hat with the words "LIVESTRONG" imprinted on it. And that is what he does every day: He lives strong. His courage and indomitable spirit seem to have a prismatic effect on everyone around him. He's fun and preternaturally mature and wise, but he's also just a really cool teenager. I love Thomas. I love the remarkable family we both belong to, and I'm indebted to all the friends and relatives who helped Team T-Dog raise over $2,800 in the fight against cancer. Above all, I love that I had the chance to see up close and personal just what hope looks like.

Read Thomas's Caring Bridge Journal here, and help others "LIVE STRONG."

Good Eats, Good Times

2009-10-09T20:42:00.001-04:00

Alternate Post Title: Mom's A Big Geek

The baby's just over six months now and had her first taste of rice cereal served with mama's milk. She found the whole process hilarious and kept giggling when we offered her a taste. Then again, maybe she was just laughing at how ridiculous her mom looked. (Dorky woman pictured at left with big mouth answers to Mommy.)

Cleanup Time

2009-10-06T06:59:00.000-04:00

I recently had a long phone conversation with a very wise, old woman who has a few decades on me (like almost six) whom I admire and love dearly.

We talked about motherhood and how exhausting and overwhelming it can be at times (she's a mom of nine kids). We talked about faith (or lack thereof). We talked about a private, personal intention, and she reminded me for the umpteenth time that I can't control the situation. "It's God business," she said.

And it is.

We chatted about my struggles with perfectionism. "You're wonderful," she said. "Stop trying to be perfect."

"I'll try hard to work on it," I said.

"Don't. Stop trying. You're trying too hard at everything."

"I know. I know it all intellectually. I know what I need to be doing, but it's hard to make it happen."

"Taking things from the mind to the heart is always the toughest part."

That it is.

I said, "Thank you so much for this. You always make me feel better. I want to be you."

"You know who you should really want to be?"

God? I think it, but I don't say it out loud.

"Katie because you're good and you're wonderful."

And then she said (clearly having read my mind), "And don't try so hard to be God, or you might end up crucified." This is her trademark humor. I chuckled and then choked on some sobs.

"I'm sorry," I sniffled.

"Don't be."

"Okay."

We even talked about blogging. This 88-year-old has an Internet connection and computer, although she admits she isn't all that impressed with the technology. "It's such a time sucker."

I agreed with her.

"The few blogs I've looked at and I don’t know, maybe it’s because I’m such an old lady," she added. "But the impression I get is that moms take mothering and themselves so, so seriously. Everything we do isn't that big. Kids grow up in spite of us. We're not in control nearly as much as we'd like to think we are."

"I know," I said and then sniffled some more.

"Stop trying so hard," she repeated. "Take it all to God. Lay it all down at His feet. It's okay to just tell Him, 'I'm a mess. Please clean me up.'"

We hang up. I sit quietly for a moment. I don't try to do anything except pray.

Please clean me up.

And amazingly, that simple prayer is good enough as I imagine Him holding my messy, broken self close while He begins to patch things up, piecing me back together and offering me the hope for wholeness.

One Thing at a Time

2009-10-05T08:15:00.003-04:00

I'm over at Faith & Family LIVE! today marveling at my husband's remarkable ability to do just one thing at a time. Please stop on by and read "I Cut the Watermelon."

Taking the Good with the Bad

2009-10-04T14:04:00.005-04:00

Today is St. Francis of Assisi's Feast Day, so it seems fitting that I share some thoughts on this humble servant of the Lord whose likeness adorns many outdoor gardens and natural sanctuaries. St. Francis of Assisi, the patron saint of animals and ecology, tops my list of favorite saints. When I was in the eighth grade, I chose Francis as my confirmation name. As a horse-crazy kid, I suspect it was the depictions of him befriending birds and beasts and his appreciation for nature that appealed to me. But as I've grown to know him more through readings about the saint and a pilgrimage to Assisi in my early twenties, I see that he was so much more than an animal lover.

I recently had the opportunity to read a wonderful biography of St. Francis courtesy of The Catholic Company's Reviewer Program. Francis of Assisi by the late Michael de la Bedoyere* brings Francis as well as the world in which he lived to life. Its language is lyrical, its descriptions vivid.

After I read the in-depth biography written by a notable historian and scholar, I realized another reason I've always loved St. Francis is because as the biography's back cover reminds us: He was like so many saints, he was an ordinary, flawed man who, with God's grace, was able to do extraordinary things.

In his youth he was conflicted between a burning desire to serve his God and the intoxicating lure of worldly pursuits and riches. Some of his internal tortures reminded me of the very same struggles someone like me - what with my bizarre sanguine-melancholic blend - is faced with from time to time.

When I read the paragraph below in particular, I thought, "Oh, dear St. Francis, I know what you mean."

"Francis was to become a man who wanted to laugh with joy at his freedom in God's beautiful world and weep with compassion and love at the sufferings of his Lord, and he never seemed to know which to do."

I haven't always been sure how to react to God either. Do I cry? Laugh? Rejoice? Mourn?

God is too big to conjure up just one emotion. There have been times when I've been in awe of Him. Being close to nature or giving birth to a child can do that to me. I feel so small as I experience an indestructible sense of wonder: God created this mountain, this dancing dandelion's white fuzz puffed into air, the depths of this vast ocean, this new life nestled in my arms.

There are other times when I don't want to accept the atrocities of the Passion of Christ. It's too painful.Wasn't there another way? I don't understand. I don't understand. And I'll shudder thinking of Jesus, bloodied and battered, crucified for us all. And I'll cry when I hear about a child who has suffered, hollowed out and starving because there was nothing left to eat. Or I'll weep in confusion when I'm reminded of the woman whose baby was ripped from her arms in tsunami that formed in the same ocean that seemed so beautiful to me once but now seems violent. Again, I'll say: I don't understand.

But I'll take the good with the bad. Just as St. Francis did. He faced his fears, kissed a leper, endured the stigmata, led with joyful simplicity, yearned for more but accepted less when it was God's will, sowed love out of hatred, replaced doubt with faith, discovered joy in sadness, and died with a "song in his heart." He drank up suffering and humility and ended up being described as someone who was "drunk with God's love."

There's so much in life that can fill me up with empty promises of guaranteed happiness - money, acclaim, bylines, thinness, a bigger house, a bigger life. Meanwhile, God is waiting, waiting for me to abandon my heart to Him, divert my passion to following His will, and drink up His goodness.

Lord, make me an instrument of peace. Guide my conflicted heart closer to You and so that like St. Francis of Assisi I may be satisfied and drunk with a complete, lasting love. Amen.

Read the Prayer of St. Francis here.
Send a St. Francis e-greeting.

*I received this book for free in exchange for an honest review.

Diane Tandy Update

2009-10-02T13:27:00.012-04:00

One of the most common ways people end up on my blog is after they Google "Diane Tandy." Diane is a Catholic certified nurse midwife who delivered my last two babies and helped to give me the most beautiful birth experiences. (The picture above is from my most recent birth this past April.)

I've been meaning to give an update on Diane's contact information so that other women who are lucky enough to be in the Atlanta area might be able to use her services. Diane is now with Gifts of Grace, a Christian-based OB/GYN practice. In fact, I saw her in her new office just this week.

Diane is a compassionate and skilled health professional. But she is so much more. She not only helps deliver "gifts of grace," but she herself is a gift to women, babies, and families. She is also a woman of faith and a courageous defender of the inviolability of human life.

Diane has over 20 years of midwifery experience and for the past seven years, she has been reaching out to women in crisis pregnancies, providing free ultrasounds, reduced prenatal care, and sometimes even a place to call home by opening her door to girls who have nowhere to turn. Above all, Diane gives hope to women who feel hopeless. In doing so, she saves countless lives.

According to Diane, midwifery didn't always top her career list. "I wanted to go into the medical field so I could look after elderly people, but every time I tried to go into geriatrics, I'd be pulled back into OB," says Diane, who estimates she's delivered more than 10,000 babies since she started practicing in 1982. "I didn't choose midwifery. God chose for me." (This is an excerpt from an article I wrote for Canticle called "Diane Tandy's Special Deliveries." Read the rest here. Please also consider reading Mary Elizabeth's birth story to get a glimpse into the kind of birth experience Diane helps give families.)

Here's Diane's new practice information:

Gifts of Grace
6335 Hospital Parkway
Suite 210
Johns Creek, GA 30097

(Located in Physicians Plaza of Emory Johns Creek Hospital)

Phone: 770-622-5889

The Bottom Line

2009-09-30T20:39:00.001-04:00

4-year-old: Mommy, your butt's hanging out. Your underwear's too small.

For your information, I was wearing nice briefs, thank you very much, and my bum did not hang out. Much.

Me: They're not too small.

4-year-old: Well, then your butt's too big.

I realize she didn't mean it the way it came out, but still...

Goose Bumps

2009-09-29T21:07:00.003-04:00

After a particularly rough day, I recently prayed (begged is a more accurate term given my desperate despondency over a personal intention): "God, I don't need a miracle, but I do need to know your hand is at work in my life." (I should have added, "But if you have any miracles to spare, I'm game.")

Then I waited patiently - for about 30 seconds.

Unfortunately, I've come to expect God to be like the Internet and to give me instantaneous results in my seeking. But God is not Google, and I've got to stop thinking He's going to give me what I want and need right now. I also have to reanalyze what I want and if it even comes close to matching God's plan for me.

On this specific evening, when I heard nothing, saw nothing, felt nothing, I decided it was time for bed.

The following night I found myself worn out and was tempted to skip my evening prayers, especially since I felt like God hadn't delivered the night before. I'm not proud of this admission, and lately I've been wondering if my spiritual dry spells are mostly a result of my own laziness in my prayer life. I don't pray enough because I'm too tired. Then I wonder why I can't see God working in my life more.

Ummm. Maybe because you're not even opening the door to your heart and when it cracks open just a bit, you slam it in God's face.

Somehow I overcame my temptation to forgo my prayers this night and resigned myself to thinking that maybe if I just showed up, something might happen.

I had recently started praying, "Lord, I believe. Help my belief." Sometimes it was the only prayer I could muster when I felt so far removed from God's embrace.

When I went downstairs to pray, I picked up our diocesan paper. Lately I haven't been reading much of it, but out of the blue I just decided to read a column. (It's not one I've ever followed.) It was about our questions and the mystery of faith - how we will only see glimpses sometimes and that our faith has to be enough.

Hmmmm...that was kind of cool. Especially since part of my spiritual dryness has stemmed from frustration in not finding answers to some of my questions about faith and God and why I believe in Him.

Then I picked up a devotional book I've been reading. The day's Scripture passage was Mark 9:1-29, which included the healing of the boy with demons and the father who cried out the very words I'd been praying: "I do believe, help my unbelief!"

That's when my first set of goose bumps appeared.

But that's not all. Later in the week something else happened. First, the kids - all three of them - slept in until 8 AM one morning. That's a miracle in and of itself.

Second, I opened up that same meditation book and in my bleary eyed state I thought it said that the day's reading was John 16, so I started to read and these words jumped out at me: "Amen, amen, I say to you, you will weep and mourn while the world rejoices; you will grieve, but your grief will become joy."

Your grief will become joy.

More goose bumps. And then a few tears. Because the previous night I went out to dinner with a dear friend who happens to be in town for the month. This amazing woman has a real reason to be sad. She unexpectedly lost a loved one, and it makes no sense at all. Yet, she talked about how she was trying to see the goodness in her sorrow.

While I could not begin to understand the depths of her sorrow and wasn't about to compare our crosses, I have been dealing with my own kind of grief. I cannot say for sure why I am sad or why I hurt. Could it be the chronic sleep deprivation caused not only my being a mom to little ones but also by problems with insomnia? Or maybe the potent postpartum hormonal cocktail my body seems to be sipping after this third pregnancy? I don't know. Sometimes the fact that I can't come up with a good explanation for my sadness and that I should really feel tremendously blessed at this juncture of my life only adds another tough emotion to the mix: Guilt. My friend has a reason to grieve. I do not. I feel guilty for grieving with her instead of just along with her.

Yet, God is here to comfort us all, and I was, indeed, comforted by what I read in John 16 (I shared this with my friend as well), including this: "No one will take your joy away from you."

And then: "There will be trouble in the world, but I have conquered the world."

Heartache is a part of life. So too are depressive episodes that are out of our control. There will be trouble. Lots of it. And yet, hasn't worst possible thing that could ever happen already gone down?

God died. Let me repeat that: God died.

But the best thing that ever could happen did, too.

God rose again. He took impossible sorrow and despair and turned it into hope.
Now it's my job to turn this hope into faith.

I was thinking about all of this and was so thankful I'd picked up my meditation book on that morning and been given such an appropriate passage to ponder. I closed my bible and returned to my meditation book and started reading the reflection based on the Scripture. It was all about obedience and I thought, "Huh? What does obedience have to do with the passage I just read?"

That's when I saw that I was supposed to read John 14, not John 16, about how we show our love to God by following His commandments. But you know what? I didn't need to read that - not at that moment. The words I needed, and I think the Holy Spirit (or the fact that a 16 looked like a 14 in my "mombie" state, but whatever) helped to make it happen, told me there is a purpose to my grief - even to my dark night of the soul - and that there will be joy. There will be joy!

More goose bumps. More warm and fuzzy feelings.

These were nice. I'm thankful for these moments, but I've had some frustrating experiences lately as well, and I'm beginning to see God was there, too.

First, there was my showing up at a scheduled confession time and then having the priest not show up. Good news is I made it to confession later that week, and Erin's comment following my original post where I'd mentioned my frustrations with God thwarting my plans (how dare Him!?) gave me some more goose bumps.

Then I stumbled upon this great post on burnout when I was ironically over at Elizabeth Foss's place re-reading some of my favorite burnout-busting advice (I've also re-read her burnout chapter in Real Learning: Education in the Heart of the Home , a book that has inspired me more as a Christian mother than any other book and will remain on my shelf whether I continue to homeschool or not).

All of this reading about overcoming burnout reminded me of the draft of a post I'd written during my own recent recovery process. If you give a mom a burnout survival guide, she'll remember she started writing her own burnout survival guide but became too burnt out to finish it. That sort of thing.

A few weeks ago I'd recently submitted an article to Faith & Family LIVE! on the subject (it seems a popular topic for moms). I could not squeeze in all the tips I wanted to because of my tight word count, so I wrote post as well. Now it was about time I tweaked the my draft and scheduled it for blog publication. In the post, I wrote a lot about how using my iCal application, after reading this and this, was helping me to get organized and find a more sane rhythm to my day. (You'll see why I'm telling you about the post instead of just scheduling it in a minute.)

Well, I opened what I thought was the file, but it wasn't the right content even though I'm 99 percent sure it was the document I'd created. So I did a search. And another search. And another. (OCD much?)

Then I thought that perhaps I was going crazy and I'd actually drafted the post on Blogger rather than in Word. Nope. Maybe it was on Dave's computer. Nada.

Where was that blasted burnout post?

The clock was ticking. The sun had set long ago. I needed to be getting to bed. In the misplaced post, I'd actually discussed how I was determined to not burn the midnight oil and to return to retiring with the sun and being the morning person I'm programmed to be. I'd promised myself I'd be in bed early that night. I'd promised myself this blog was not going to be a source of stress or a contributing factor to burnout. I was working on being happy and at peace with being a mom.

Yet, here I was getting all worked up about a stupid, inconsequential blog post on burnout. My, there's a lot of irony in my life.

Not to mention - if I remember correctly - the whole point of my writing was about how I was striving for a more Godward life by building in more prayer time into my life and by not simply turning to spiritual books or other blogs as a source of encouragement. I need nourishment from God right now. The rest - books on faith, Christian blogs - are only the icing on the cake. God is the cake. I'm afraid I've been stuffing myself with too much icing and leaving little room for the cake.

I'm not suggesting I have regrets for having read Jen's burnout survival guide, because first off, it's chock full of great advice and had a lot I could relate to like:

"We're all designed to need regular periods of rest and refreshment, and if you're not getting that, it's critical that you recognize that that's a big problem. For me, it is usually pride and fear that cause me to ignore my own basic needs: I don't want anyone to think I'm weak or lazy if I can't do as much as other people can do, I won't take anything off my plate because it's all too "important" (yet I refuse to ask for help), and I fear that critical things wouldn't get done if I broke down and admitted that I just can't do it all."

However, there's a bigger reason I'm glad I read it. It made me think of that MIA post. Which led to frustration as I thought about everything I wanted to share like how my nifty iCal is certainly helping to lighten my load. Instead of feeling like every minute of my waking hour should be devoted to tidying up, for example, we have specific cleanup times. Oh so much nostalgia for that vanishing post. It was so much more eloquent than what I'm writing here (anything that goes unpublished is always our best work, isn't it?).

I so wanted to find that post, but my maniacal search was fruitless. But not really. Because just as I was feeling my blood pressure begin to rise and considered chucking my computer (iCal included) out the window, I realized I was doing it again. I was shifting the focus from God to what I wanted. I was sweating the small stuff when I needed to be saving my energy for tackling bigger issues.

I was not suffering joyfully. Really, at that moment, I shouldn't have been suffering at all. It was a silly post for goodness' sake, not my 2,000-page novel (that one can't be lost because it's in my head, not stored on some temperamental hard drive, so take that you sneaky computer).

Still, I shed a few tears. My frustration burned inside of me. Then I quieted my interior ranting. I stopped my grievance collecting, and I listened. And I heard my husband, who is not a signs and wonders guy at all, say, "Maybe this is a sign to just let it go."

And that is what I did.

However, I didn't just let go of that errant post, but I released my feelings of frustration over this and bigger things into God's care, too. I felt that's the least I could do after all He'd done for me over the past week.

I've been praying for signs that God is at work in my life. God answered this prayer. There were no flashy miracles. It wasn't earth shattering. It wasn't enough to ease all my doubts and the litany of questions that clutter my mind. I am not and never will be inoculated against struggle. But for now, what God gave me is enough.

What did He offer me? Glimpses of his goodness and providence, gentle divine nudges. Cynics might call them coincidences, but a good friend of mine once told me that since God is not showy, coincidences are merely His way of remaining anonymous. Sometimes He chooses to be subtle so that we're forced to look outside of ourselves more.

I realize God won't always give me goose bumps. He won't always answer my prayers the way I'd prefer them to be answered (with a chorus of ethereal, halo-wearing angels, please). But He is at work in my life. He's right here. Now and always.

Worth the Interruption

2009-09-29T08:54:00.004-04:00

Toddler, knocks on bathroom door and then opens it before I can say, "Come in." (or, "Privacy, please!"): Need help wiping, Mommy?

Thanks, but no thanks.

Me: That's okay.

Door shuts.

Then opens again.

Toddler: I 'fogot,' Mommy. I 'fogot' to say, "I love you, Mommy." I love you, Mommy. Good bye.