We started this turkey thing last week.  Well, it didn’t start out as a turkey, but as a vase.  Thankfully, I found this empty turkey in my Thanksgiving stash, and it works just great.

The turkey, the pad, the pen — they’re out on the counter all day, every day.  When someone in the family feels inspiration, feels thankful for something in their lives, they write it down.  It’s all anonymous.  Well, kind of.  I’m writing out B’s for him.  The idea is that on Thanksgiving, we will gather as a family and read all the things that we’re thankful for.  It’s turned into a nice way to keep the kids focused on “Thanks” part of the upcoming season.  I haven’t read many of them.  I did cheat just once to find out if they had the idea of it.  The one I pulled out said “I am thankful for my freinds.”  Spelling mistake and all.  I think they got it.  B put one in today “for chocolate chip cookies before lunch.”  Or maybe that was mine.  It’s a fuzzy line.

And, because I forgot, here is the crew from Halloween:

B refused to dress up.  He went as an ND co-ed, I suppose.  The costume we had for him was the same one they’ve all worn at this age — a big furry Pooh disguised as a bumble bee.  He liked it, in theory.  As long as it wasn’t on him.

Had we known, we would’ve tried this:

This was last weekend while playing “Doctor” with his sisters.  He had received his flu shot earlier in the day, and then wanted to continue to act it out.  For some reason, he enjoyed giving the girls shots to their head.  The other day, however, was a little disconcerting when I found him in the front entryway, sitting on the floor, leaning up against the wall, sleeve rolled up, with the “shot” injecting himself in the arm.  I think we’ll put the “shots” away for a while.  It looked too much like those films where you see the junkie in the alley getting his fix.  Creeped me out.

And on that note, I’ll go back to giving thanks.  I’m thankful that tomorrow I travel to NYC to see my new baby nephew who is one week old tomorrow.  I love newborns.  In the more immediate though, I get to ride on a bus tomorrow for 5 hours by myself.  Five hours of uninterrupted time.  My oh my.  I’m thankful.

To whom much is given, much is expected. Luke 12:48.

This Bible verse has traveled with me throughout my life. It’s always there, hanging out in the deep dark recesses of my mind and soul. I believe it. I feel it in my bones. I try to act on it. Imagine my surprise when it arrived in the mail today. Right there, on the outside of an envelope. My law school, calling me to give.

I would love to give to my law school. Really I would. The University provided an excellent Catholic education and filled me with the desire to do justice in my world. To use my law degree for good, and not for evil (or greed or some other malevolent purpose). Someday, I will give to them. But not now. There are more important matters at hand.

To whom much is given, much is expected.

Again, there it is. Calling to me.

For this past week, a group of six bloggers has traveled to the Dominican Republic with Compassion International, a wonderful Christian child advocacy ministry that helps to release children from spiritual, economic, social and physical poverty and enables them to become responsible, fulfilled Christian adults. You can read about the bloggers trip here.

Today, Compassion helps over 1 million children in 24 countries.

The idea is that Compassion helps the children within their world, which often looks like this in the Dominican Republic:

Compassion works within the structures already in place in the community being served, the churches especially, and gives them the resources they need to serve their people. You can see Compassion’s financials on their website, but most years, more than 85% of the money you send in goes directly to the child programs and not to administrative costs.

Please do go and read about the bloggers trip. The photos are heartbreaking and uplifting at the same time. Is that even possible? The idea behind Compassion is that you adopt a child. You can choose the child, or they can pick one for you. You then become a (much-needed) emotional and spiritual support system for that child. You and your family exchange letters with the child, art drawings, presents, etc… You also pay $32 a month towards some of the more physical support of the child — food, much-needed health care, educational programs, etc…. You make a difference to that child. And it may be the difference that makes all the difference in the world.

It is a commitment to enrich a child’s life.  But something tells me your family’s life gets pretty enriched along the way as well.

To whom much is given, much is expected.

Please pray for these bloggers on their trip, and pray for the children whom they are meeting in the Dominican Republic. And say a prayer that some readers out there will be moved to adopt one of these needy children, whether from the Dominican Republic or from one of the other many countries that Compassion serves, for their own.

My dear Notre Dame du Lac, I received your message. I hear you calling. Thank you for the nudge. I will someday donate to your cause, but right now, I hear children calling. I know you’d approve.

To choose a child for your family, you can click on the link right there in my sidebar.  Thank you for giving it your thoughts and prayers.

Photos courtesy of Compassion Bloggers Dominican Republic Flickr site.

The process. The Office of the President.

Hope.

Hope that maybe the other side can learn something.

Pride.

Pride in what’s been accomplished in this great country of ours.

Shame.

Shame upon realizing the disrespect that’s been shown our President.

Respect.

Let’s do better.

This article is worth a read.

Indeed. Be careful what you wish.

That’s all I’m saying.

For now.

Other than Starbucks is giving a free cup of coffee to all of America today if you go in and tell the barrista that you voted.

N.B. I had to remove the photo because the link was failing.  The sentiments remain.

on this little boy butt.  Does it get any cuter?  This may become a series.  I apologize in advance.

What does the hair look like now? Well, here it is:

Here it was one year ago:

It’s been a long, long process (and it continues…). I’ve always said I’ll keep it if I like it, and if not, I’ll go back to dying it. If I could just be a natural brown, believe me, I’d choose that. But I’m not. So my journey to gray continues.

I’ve also always said it’s about what I think, not what others think. And then I’ve not really asked anyone’s opinions, you know, because I really don’t care what you think. Nice, huh? I can be like that.

Well, now is your chance. I’m taking a poll. AND, it’s anonymous. Yes, anonymous. You can vote, and I won’t know who voted for what. So, now is your chance to tell me what you think without fear of reprisals. ‘Cause you all who know me know my reprisals aren’t anything you’d ask for.

So, here goes:

Thanks for participating. Oh, one more.

Hehe. I’m going to like these poll-thingies.

As an aside, I finally figured out my Halloween costume. Make my hair all crazy-like, add a little mustache, an oxford with a little tie, glasses. Can you guess? You can put that in the comments. I’m all polled out. Hard to believe that only 13 years ago I was Slash from GnR.

See that nice header up there?

Not so much anymore.

I am lucky. And if you’re reading this, chances are you’re lucky too.

You do not go to the grocery store and fight for food. In the U.S., our government does not ration us to 10 pounds of food. 90 miles away, in Cuba, moms are not so lucky.

I like to read other blogs. I’m sure you do too. Blogs give people a voice to the world. Listen world, hear me speak. Listen to this mom, living in Havana:

I argued with a lady in line for malanga root. She wanted to let her two friends cut in and I figured that if they did I wouldn’t get the ten pounds of food, rationed since the hurricanes. In the end I let the two old ladies cut the line and didn’t even insult them when the clerk announced, “It’s closed, there’s no more!” It depresses me to get into a fight over food which is probably why I’m so skinny. In the pre-university where I studied, I never had the claws to grab for a better share and it always went to the strongest. When I see myself reduced to fighting for food I feel badly and prefer to come home with an empty shopping bag. Of course my family offers no thanks for my excessive pacifism.

To console them, I bought a few boxes of bouillon cubes, which has come to be the most common food for the vast majority of the people in this city. When some confused tourist asks me what a typical Cuban dish is, I answer that I don’t remember, but I know the most common everyday recipes. And I list them: “Rice with a beef bouillon cube,” “rice with hot dog,” “rice with a bacon bouillon cube,” or the delicacy of “rice with a chicken and tomato bouillon cube.” This last one has a color between pink and orange that is most amusing.

If we’re constantly fed pre-digested news on the television, canned speeches past their expiration date, little cubes of patience and waiting to get by day-to-day, why shouldn’t our plates reflect these same bitter flavors.

So I resign myself and buy the happy placebo that will make me believe my rice contains a tasty rib or a piece of chicken. After the most “complicated” preparation, I put the steaming dish on the table. My son, smelling the odor, asks me reproachfully, “Why didn’t you fight harder in the line for malanga?”

I write because I can.  She writes, under threat of punishment, so someone will hear her.

You can read more of her writing here.

This weekend, the crew and I headed up to Manhattan for a baby shower for my sister-in-law. She and my brother are having their first baby sometime around Thanksgiving. We had lots of fun, and there will be more photos to follow. For now, I share these:

It was only after I downloaded my photos that I noticed in this last picture that my little 5 year old used her tiny little hands to make a heart on her aunt’s belly too. How sweet is that?

To see more Best Shot Mondays, featuring lots of love, check out Mother May I?.

Life lesson #53,218.

So much of motherhood involves balancing, weighing choices.

For me, it now comes down to this:

How long will it take me to clean up that mess that he’s making?

versus

How much quiet time will it buy me?

Is it worth it?

So, more often than not, I’ll let him play in the bathroom sink while I finish my cup of coffee. I’ll let him empty out every. single. pot. and. pan. and. mixing. bowl. while I cook dinner. I’ll let him color on the walls with crayons while I eat breakfast. (Just kidding Hubs. Really, I swear I didn’t see it happening.).

It’s all about balancing.