Writer-Mommy

Holy Beautiful

2012-04-24T11:22:00.000-07:00

I want to be profound here but know that I will fall short of the mark; my words are rusty from lack of use lately.

So - brevity, perhaps?

I stepped outside this afternoon and spotted this rose in full bloom, the first of the season.

Normally this bush blooms deep, bright pink roses from early spring until Thanksgiving. But this first rose is so markedly different that I had to step closer to make sure I was really seeing what I was seeing -

An imperfectly perfect pink rose - half light, half dark.

Wholly beautiful.

And I am reminded of life - time gone by, time yet to come, time here and now:

There is light.

There is darkness.

And all of it is is holy beautiful.

From Left to Write February 2012 Book Club: Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver | Sugar, Suburbs, and Strawberries

2012-02-20T09:38:00.000-08:00

Could you live an entire year eating locally or the food from your garden? Barbara Kingsolver transplanted her family from the deserts of Arizona to the mountains of Virginia for their endeavor.

Join From Left to Write on February 21 as we discuss Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: A Year of Food Life * by Barbara Kingsolver. As a member of From Left to Write, I received a free copy of the book. As always, all thoughts, opinions, and quirky points of view are 100% my own.

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On Saturday, knowing I had a deadline looming for a post inspired by Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver, I tossed the book in the van with me and my youngest as I drove him to a classmate's birthday party.

After making my hellos, I sat reading off to the side of the parental unit group, while our twenty-odd kindergartners spent an hour getting good and tired out running around in gymnastics room and then refueled with the gonzo sugary snacks standard to kids birthday parties: cupcakes and pop.

The irony of the moment - me reading about Kingsolver's plan to eat clean and local while my six year old and his buddies got hopped up on an array of products loaded with high fructose corn syrup - has stuck with me. A solid hour of sweaty exercise (a good and needed and disappearing event for many young children) followed by heaping helping of sugar and fat. It's a mixed message our kids get from the adults who feed them; no wonder the obesity epidemic in the United States includes 1 in 3 adults and a whopping 1 in 6 children as of 2012 data from the CDC.

Before you slap your hand through your computer screen to knock me off my high horse, I will come clean: we eat cake and pop on birthdays at our house, too. There are also boxes of sugared up cereal (Cinnamon Toast Crunch and Honey Nut Cheerios) on the shelves in my pantry. And yesterday, my house was a major distribution point for Girl Scout cookies, those boxes of overpriced, tasty sugar (and who knows what else) that annually doom even the most stoic of New Year's resolution dieters.

I'm no less guilty of the sins of sugar and preservatives than the next parent raising children in this age of industrialized food.

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I'm not yet finished reading the book (I'm about 100 pages into it), but as I read it on Saturday while the kids played and rolled and jumped, I was immediately reminded of another book I read earlier this year: Growing a Farmer: How I Learned to Live Off the Land* by Kurt Timmermeister (I highly recommend it). The books share a similar theme in the wish of the authors to find a way to eat whole, eat clean, eat local, and live off their own land.

I read Timmermeister's book with a sighing wishfulness; I find myself approaching Kingsolver's with the same sort of, "Ahhh....if only...," attitude.

If only we had a few - even just one - acres. (We have a quarter acre lot in our neighborhood.)

If only I could raise chickens in the backyard. (A flagrant violation of our neighborhood's home owner's association.)

If only the housing market wasn't scraping the bottom of the recovery trough here in my part of SW Ohio. (We'd love to move out of town into a more rural area in the county but aren't too keen on taking a financial beat down by selling our house for less than we paid for it.)

If only local free range meats and local produce wasn't far more expensive than the offerings at the grocery stores. (We are fortunate to live in a county where we have several CSA farms near us and farmers who raise beef and chickens but the cost to go 100% local and natural is prohibitive.)

Our neighborhood is of the suburban-type without truly being suburban; our little town has a rich 200+ year history and an identity of it's own. We just happen to live in a recently developed area of our town (our neighborhood is about 15 years old) and our home is a typical suburban-type home: high square footage home smacked on top of a tiny lot of land.

I do garden with some success (mostly tomatoes and cukes), but our lot is shady and the soil is poor and in need of amendment every time I dig a new bed. While I dream of planting fruit trees and have a few blackberry bushes tucked in along the fences, growing an abundance of food from my backyard has yet eluded me. After reading Timmermeister's book as well as Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, I am inspired to do more this year, to plant more beds in my yard and to even look into renting a Victory Garden plot at my YMCA for serious veggie production.

But in the end, I can't escape the reality of life in the suburbs. Suburban neighborhoods like mine were never built to create a means of sustainable living; they were built to give people a place to sleep and to house the symbol of American freedom: the automobile.

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We stopped in Kroger on Sunday after Mass and along with our sugar-bomb donuts (delicious but riddled with guilt), I picked up a few boxes of strawberries on sale for $1.50/lb.

Knowing they aren't in season locally, knowing that these strawberries were likely shipped from the growing grounds of south Florida or the sunny coast of California didn't stop me from buying them. We like strawberries, the strawberries are on sale; ergo, there are now strawberries in my refrigerator.

I don't know if I would have the strength of conviction to do what Kingsolver and her family did, to eat only what is fresh and locally grown, to turn away from all the rainbow of colors in the produce section of my grocery store. I doubt my kids would survive a week without grapes or berries or apples during these last days of winter.

But I would like to try.

As I type this, I've got whole milk in the crockpot, almost ready for me to start another batch of homemade yogurt. (It's very tasty.) I cook most of our meals from scratch (using those troublesome long-distance shipped veggies and farm-industrial meats, but still). Despite our current high inventory of Thin Mints and Tagalongs, I bake cookies for the kids lunches and offer healthy after school snacks (apples, cheese sticks, popcorn) with a tall glass of water.

I do pretty good on the food front but I could do better.

It's time to at least try.

*My Amazon affililate link. Thanks for your support.

**I'll be perusing Seed Savers Exchange later today. It's time to start planning my garden. Any of you fellow dirt-lovers have recommendations on varieties? Many thanks. ;-)

From Left to Write February 2012 Book Club: The Art of Hearing Heartbeats | Why the End Isn't the Reason Why We Begin

2012-02-01T11:34:00.000-08:00

When Julia travels to Burma to search for her missing lawyer father, she discovers much more than she expected. Join From Left to Write on February 1 as we discuss * by Jan-Philipp Sendker.

As a member of From Left to Write, I received a free copy of the book to read and review. As always, the thoughts and opinions in this post are 100% my own.

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All of my three children learned to read by the time they were five. The only credit Knute and I can take for their early literacy is that reading out loud to them was a part of their every day routine from the time they were babies. Bed time meant story time and there were many nights when we would find ourselves reading the same tale again and again and again until our own heads began to nod. I imagine I'll be reciting, "The truffala trees! The truffala trees! All my life I'd been searching for trees such as these!**" and other Seussian lines under my breath in odd moments for the rest of my life.

These days, Knute and I don't find ourselves often reading aloud to the kiddos; they curl up each night in bed (after what feels like half an eternity of wrangling, silly bantering, and outright belly-aching about our repeated requests to brush their teeth, get their jammies on, and get.in.bed.already.dangit!) with a book, their bedside lamps on for another half an hour of reading time.

In some ways, I miss those years of reading stories with them. There was the delight in discovering new children's tales together, ones that made both of us - child and adult - laugh out loud. (Read any kids books by Doreen Cronin, Kathi Appelt, or Jamie Lee Curtis and you'll be laughing, too.) There was the comfort of the end-of-day routine. And there was the great satisfaction of opening the pages of an oft-told tale, one whose ending we already knew.

I was not far into the pages of The Art of Hearing Heartbeats before I had a clear idea of how the story would end because it is so skillfully and - bear with me on this pun - so artfully foretold. While foreshadowing, when done clumsily, will absolutely ruin a story for me to the point where I will put the book down without finishing it, it works beautifully in this fine novel by Jan-Philipp Sendker because the end of the story is not the purpose of the story.

The telling of the story, as recounted by one character to another, is the purpose of the story.

How often in life do we see the end as the purpose, the reason, the driver to all we do?

Today, I flipped over my calendar from January to February. One month gone already in 2012, thirty-one days where one of the leading topics across main stream media and new media alike was the subject of resolutions. Early in January, the topic skewed toward making resolutions. During the middle of January, the topic shifted toward keeping resolutions. As January wrapped itself into the annals of history, the topic shifted again toward re-kindling resolutions or getting back up on the ol' resolution horse as February approached.

So many resolutions. So many goals. So many ends to meet, so many finish lines to cross.

When we race forward, always forward, relentlessly forward, the life around us begins to blur like the view seen from the window of a car speeding down a highway. When we finally reach our destination, we have trouble remembering what we saw along the way.

We're finally there, yes; but the journey is over and we have few memories of our travels.

Reading and reflecting on The Art of Hearing Heartbeats made me consider my own TypeA approach to life: To Do lists; goal setting; looking forward.

Always forward.

While I know myself well enough to know that I won't ever stop pushing onward, striving upward, I'm reminded of how important it is to remember to slow down, to turn my head to see and experience what is around me.

I'm reminded that the end should never be the only reason we begin.

*Disclosure: This post contains my Amazon affiliate links through which I earn enough spare change to buy approximately (1) Starbucks Skinny Mocha every six months or so. Thanks. ;-)

**From "The Lorax," by Dr. Seuss, one of my youngest's faves to this day.

Wordless Wednesday | Future Briefcase Boy

2012-01-25T03:00:00.000-08:00

I've never seen a kindergartner SO excited about a Trapper Keeper!

I only wish I could find a link to explain the "briefcase boy" stories that my father-in-law used to relate about his days at St. X.

For more Wordless Wednesday fun, be sure to visit 5 Minutes for Mom.

7 Quick Takes | #3 of 2012 {The Catholic Edition}

2012-01-21T11:50:00.000-08:00

{This week, I'm sharing some of my favorite Catholic resources online - I'd love it if you'd share your favorite Catholic sites, blogs, or podcasts in the combox. Thanks!}

1. The Catholics Next Door. Almost two years ago, I joined a mom's bible study group (holla girls!) that had been started in my parish; one of the moms mentioned that she liked listening to Catholic podcasts when she was working around the house. I'd had my iPhone for a few months at that point and had never once used it to listen to a podcast. I decided to search "Catholic" on iTunes and discovered what has become one of my all-time fave podcasts to listen to while running on the track, mopping the floors, or folding laundry - The Catholics Next Door, hosted by Greg and Jennifer Willits. If you have Sirius Radio, you can catch them daily on The Catholic Channel, 1-4 pm.

What I love about The Catholics Next Door is their honesty. It's not easy to live an authentically Catholic life in our modern world; Greg and Jennifer don't sugarcoat their own struggles. I can't say enough about how much they inspire me and have helped me in my own constant conversion.

2. Catholic in a Small Town. Listening to The Catholics Next Door helped me discover one of my other fave Catholic podcasts: Catholic in a Small Town by Mac and Katharine Barron. They are funny folks. It's a good thing I like to run my circles on the blue track at o'dark-thirty in the morning; I don't have to worry about startling too many other runners when I start laughing out loud at their stories.

I can totally appreciate their perspective as Catholics in a small southern town; Knute and I lived in Florida for two and half years and while we weren't in a small town, it was definitely an eye-opening experience to be a Catholic living in the south. I'm so thankful that Knute and I are raising our kids in the greater Cincy/Dayton area where there's a strong history of Catholic culture, education, and values (not to mention fish fries and festivals!).

3. Catholic Answers. Catholic Answers is like a podcast catechises - I learn so much from every one of their episodes. It's a fantastic resource for anyone out there who wants to learn more about our Church teachings in an approachable way. After listening to Catholic Answers for the past six months or so, I feel like I'm finally beginning to come into a mature understanding of my faith.

4. Word Among Us. When I joined my bible study group in 2010, I searched online for a daily Catholic devotional and discovered Word Among Us. I usually drink my first cup (of many!) of coffee early in the morning while reading the day's meditation which is based on the daily Mass readings. The meditations are short, inspiring, and a great way to start the day.

5. Catholic Mom. The hands down best resource online for Catholic moms. Lisa Hendey and the team of contributing authors at Catholic Mom are wonderful.

6. National Catholic Register. I discovered NC Register via Jen at Conversion Diary and I've enjoyed reading the different bloggers who post at NC Register. There are many great news articles and additional resources to be found here as well.

7. Fallible Blogma. Matthew Warner's personal blog - great reading and always well-linked resources if you want to chase down the rabbit trail after more info. This recent post? Fantastic stuff, so much so that I sent it out to my bible study email list so we could all chat about it next time.

I'd love to stumble across more great Catholic resources online - feel free to shout out your links in the combox below!

This post is linked up at the home of 7QT, Conversion Diary. Be sure to hop through the links there for more great takes from around the blogosphere!

Like a Prism | From Left To Write, January 2012 Book Club: Quiet by Susan Cain

2012-01-18T17:53:00.000-08:00

Are you an introvert or extrovert? Author Susan Cain explores how introverts can be powerful in a world where being an extrovert is highly valued. Join From Left to Write on January 19 as we discuss Quiet: The Power of Introverts* by Susan Cain. We'll also be chatting live with Susan Cain at 9PM EST on January 26. As a member of From Left to Write, I received an advance copy of the book to read and review. All opinions, as always, are my own.

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I started reading Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking by Susan Cain during the long and lazy Christmas break. Our family was busy in the days leading up to Christmas; in the days that followed, however, there was a long stretch of time where our family calendar was empty. We had nowhere to go and nothing to do.

And it was wonderful.

I spent many hours engrossed in reading. I taught myself and my daughter how to finger knit. I organized my little TypeA heart out. Knute and I stayed up late talking and watching movies and sipping wine. The kids played on the Wii together, stayed in their jammies until well past lunch, and for the most part got along swimmingly. For the better part of a week, we enjoyed the simplicity of just hanging out together as a family.

And knowing myself and my family as well as I do (and perhaps with a bit keener insight after reading Quiet), I can understand why a week of nothing was just what we needed.

While none of us are dyed-in-the-wool introverts, all of us - Knute, myself, and all three kids - are at our most balanced and best thrive when we have some downtime to ourselves away from the noise of the world. For us (at least, for Knute and I) a dream vacation isn't one that involves visiting Mickey or cruising the seven seas any other sensory overload version of the American Family Trip. The perfect vacation for us involves nature, solitude, opportunities to socialize in small doses, and ample time to just hang out and do less, not more.

In the pages of Quiet, I saw many bits and pieces of myself. Writing this post was difficult simply because I had so many different a-HA reactions as I flipped through the pages and so many different post titles popped into my head, titles like:

Behind the Screen.
Wherein I discuss how blogging is the perfect medium for more introverted souls.

Sweet Spot.
Wherein I describe my ever-burning need to find an organized spot in my home for quiet, downtime, and where I can write, read, and dream.

Modalities of Me.
Wherein I remember all the many Mando Fun events I attended with my husband during my years as a Navy Officer's Wife and how I dug deep to smack a smile on my face and put my best high-heeled social foot forward.

Group Project.
Wherein I shudder at remembering all the different group work I was required to do during college and how I abhorred it.

Small Doses
Wherein I describe my deep love for my friends and family and the different groups to which I belong and how I best enjoy their company in small groups, not big crowds.

Nerved Up.
Wherein I connect the dots between being easily overloaded by sensory stimuli and introversion.

His Own Man.
Wherein I chat about the charms of my older son, the gregarious introvert.

Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking opened my eyes to the positive aspects of my own introverted tendencies. In a world where the loudest voice wins, where sensory overload is the new normal, and the group dynamic dominates from the classroom to the boardroom, it's refreshing to read a book that champions a quieter, more thoughtful approach to life.

*Disclosure: My Amazon affiliate link, just so you know.

Wordless Wednesday | First Snow 2012!

2012-01-18T03:30:00.000-08:00

Last Thursday (1/12/12) after school, dancing in the {finally here} snow.

For more Wordless Wednesday fun, be sure to visit 5 Minutes for Mom.

7 Quick Takes | #2 of 2012 {The Kindle Edition}

2012-01-13T17:03:00.000-08:00

Image courtesy of Amazon

1. Because "simple" really means "techy". Every time a gift giving occasion rolls around, Knute and I pinky swear that we won't go overboard, that we'll keep our spending low and our gifts simple. And in the past few years, some of Knute's "simple" gifts for me have included a laptop and an iPhone and now, this Christmas, a Kindle. And what did I, his dear wifely unit, get him in return, you ask? What every child of the 80's secretly craves: ATARI Flashback 3*.

Not only is Knute having fun playing Asteroids again, our kids are both mystified and aghast at the primitive level of gaming with which their parents had to subsist during their childhoods.

2. Small but big. My Kindle is the basic one without ads (without special offers, in Amazon-speak). It's lightweight, thin, and super-portable. One of the first books I added - and actually paid for - was the New American Bible, Revised Edition 2011*. I love having a digital copy of the bible literally at my fingertips and I'm looking forward to taking my Kindle with me to Bible study next Tuesday and leaving the big ol' print one at home. Being able to keep large reference books handy in e-format is a huge selling point, especially if you are a student.

3. Free books. There are tons of FREE books available in the Kindle store. I've found that the best way to search is by ratings (4 star or above) in order to weed out some of the crapola.

4. Classics. This is by far one of my favorite things about my Kindle - the sheer number of literary classics that are available for - you guessed it - FREE. I have a number of books loaded to my Kindle that I've wanted to read for years and never did, either because they weren't required for one of my classes or because I just didn't have time or a copy. I love the idea that I'm now carrying around a virtual library of good books in my purse.

5. Accountability. My daughter also received a Kindle for Christmas as a combined gift from her Gma, aunt, and uncle - it was the ONE thing she wanted more than anything. I set her Kindle up on Christmas Eve (before I knew I was getting one) on my Amazon account so now both our Kindles are linked through my Amazon account which means I can see whatever is on her Kindle and vice versa. It's a nice check and balance for both of us and - BONUS - she can access my books via her Archive and vice versa. Cost effective!

6. Library books. Using my library card, I can borrow ten ebooks at a time from the Ohio eBook Project for two weeks at a time. Sweet!

7. And yet... I will never be fully and solely a Kindle reader. Reading a book, a real-live-paper book is a total sensory experience, from the feeling of smooth pages under your fingertips to the smell of the ink to the sheer weight of a hefty tome. The experience of curling in a corner chair, balancing a book with one hand and a cuppa java with the other is something the Kindle, no matter how useful, can't replace. And then there is the sense of coming home to exactly where you belong that happens when you walk into a room filled with books. I like my Kindle, yes, but I love my books.

Be sure to hop over to the home of 7QT, Conversion Diary, and click through the links. Enjoy!

*Yo. Those are my Amazon affiliate links, just so you know.

7 Quick Takes {1st of 2012!}

2012-01-06T10:19:00.000-08:00

1. Christmas break was WONDERFUL. I cannot say enough good things about how rejuvenating it was to all five of us to have a much-needed break from our regular busy schedules of school, work, sports, activities, and volunteering. Knute, I, and the kids had a great time just hanging out together, playing on the Wii, reading books, and playing games. I feel ready to take on 2012.

2. Resolutions. There were about umpteen-gazillion posts at the end of 2011 and in this first week of 2012 about resolutions - how to make them, how to keep them, personal resolutions, business resolutions, and even posts from the antiresolutionists. Myself? I have nothing for you. I was too busy chillaxing the last week of 2011 to even think about all that goal setting stuff. ;-)

3. Wii-vil. Yes, we finally did it. Knute and I broke down and let Santa bring a Wii for the kiddos this Christmas. It was their one BIG gift and it has been a huge hit. However, I am not too fond of how the Wii can bring out whiny, complaining, I'm-gonna-win-no-holds-barred behavior from my offspring. I now see exactly what a friend once told me two years ago about her kids and their Wii: they can get mighty Wii-vil.

4. Books, books, BOOKS! I read a bunch over break and I'm sure I'll post about them soon. I also received a Kindle for Christmas and I'll be posting next Friday's 7QT focused entirely on my thoughts about it.

5. Winter is missing. Tuesday this week (1/3/12), it was cold as snowballs here with a high of around 21 degrees and a nice little windchill to make things more interesting. I know just how interesting because I had lunch and recess duty on Tuesday at school and - in case you didn't realize this - Catholic schools here in Ohio are most definitely Old School when it comes to recess time. They still send kids out for a 15-30 minute recess even when the temperatures are bitterly cold. I was bitterly cold. However, Tuesday has been our only very cold day so far in January. While I type this, I can peer out my kitchen window at the green grass, the blue sky (blue sky in January in Ohio?!!), and see that the thermometer says it's about 50 degrees out. Craziness.

6. Quiddler*. This game is like Scrabble in card form but even more fun. My daughter and I have played it and played it and played it. Fellow word nerds, I highly recommend it!

7. 7QT 2012. I know I just said up there in #2 that I've made no real resolutions for 2012 so I'm contradicting myself when I make this next statement: I do resolve to post a 7QT every Friday here at W-M. Not only do I like the quick, pithy format (kinda like Twitter), I can't say enough good stuff about the work Jen over at Conversion Diary does with her blog. It's inspiring and funny. Gotta love that - go check it out!

Be well in 2012!

*Disclosure: Amazon affiliate link.

Social Media Hope

2011-12-29T10:46:00.000-08:00

I've been in a social media funk for quite some time. My Twitter account is gathering cobwebs, my blogs have sat waiting for me to better organize them and add new content, and I have received umpteen-gazillion emails from Facebook letting me know I have notifications pending.

Don't even get me started on the LinkedIn invites.

But I have shied away from my social media outposts (a nod to Chris Brogan on that term; yes, I still like to listen in to the convos at the big kids table) for the better part of two months. Sure, I've posted here a bit, but not consistently and certainly not with any clear direction or purpose. Any recent activity here at W-M has been less about creating and sharing good content with you, my loyal audience (God love ya), and more about simply blowing off steam when the words in my head pile up on each other like waves ahead of an advancing hurricane.

There is so much I love about social media, about the Digital Revolution. A voice for all. A platform for anyone. The breaking down of barriers to getting and sharing information, to seeking and sharing stories.

Our stories, yours and mine.

But there is much about it that wearies me. It is incessant and urgent and ever-present, 24/7, 365 days a year. I have found that ignoring all my electronic devices by diving into a good book or working outdoors in the yard are the best ways to escape it.

That I received a Kindle for Christmas and have already loaded about ten books is rich with irony. ;-)

Yet there is so much about social media and our Digital Revolution to love, to appreciate, and to cultivate despite the weariness and overload - precisely because of the weariness and overload.

Because there is good to be found in social media, much good, and there are moments, like today, when I see something that makes me remember the reason why four years ago I dared to take my first step onto the Digital Continent.

I wasn't dreaming of being an influencer or creating a new business or even landing a book deal when I wrote my first post.

I simply wanted to do one thing: share my story.

So watching Ben Breedlove (may he rest in peace) share his story this morning - a morning during which I walked my dog, fed my kids, and worried about trivial things like the frizz level of my hair and which paperwork task to tackle first - helped me remember all that is good in my life.

Ben's story helped me remember the ultimate good that social media offers:

One person sharing their story with the world and (hopefully) changing the world.

Thank you for the hope, Ben - for eternity and for Social Media.

Links {@ Amy's Finer Things & @ A Holy Experience}

2011-12-19T10:27:00.000-08:00

:: Feeling overwhelmed by the demands of this season? Maybe you feel like the silver linings in the clouds of your life's challenges are never bright, but only tarnished and dull? Take a minute to read Somebody Wants What You Have at Amy's Finer Things then look back up at your storm clouds with new eyes. There is silver to be found, I promise.

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:: Looking for a last minute stocking stuffers or simple gifts for dear friends? Why not print and share this charming foldable gratitude booklet from Ann Voskamp at A Holy Experience. Before you print it, be sure to read (and watch) her post today.

Be well, friends!

Something Bigger

2011-12-18T06:00:00.000-08:00

The tree is lit, shining brightly through the front window since the Friday after Thanksgiving.

Over the fireplace hang the stockings. On the front door, the wreath. The kitchen table is covered with chips of white frosting from the three gingerbread houses that serve as our centerpieces.

But there are no lights.

Our annual light display isn't grand or fancy; there is no color theme or music or even any semblance of design. Simply woven through the tree branches or draped across the shrubs, the lights I usually put up outside just haven't gotten done. Life came fast and furiously at us after the end of Thanksgiving weekend.

There was rain, and then more rain, ark-building rain falling at the tail end of a year of epic rain in SW Ohio.

There was the youngest who had a cough, then an ear infection, then more coughing, then finally bronchitis.

There was his older brother who had his own ear infection that decided to hang in there for a second grudge match with a stronger antibiotic.

There was the stomach flu and it's faithful sidekick - biohazard laundry - that took out 2/5 of our family just as all the other coughs and germs fled the premises.

And then there was just the usual stuff on our family calendar: homework and meetings and scouts and sports. And there was just the basics of life - groceries and dinners and making beds and walking the insane canine and occasionally sleeping when my five cups of coffee finally wear off.

The lights may never get done this year, much to the chagrin of my oldest.

But as I remind myself, trying to keep my mind from spinning out of control over the details of the season, the season isn't about this world's details.

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I sat at Rosary on Monday with three friends, my mouth opening with a prayer request before I'd even realized I was speaking .

Help me remember The Reason, I asked.

Help me remember and help me see the real reason behind all the insanity that the world says December is all about, behind all the stuff and the tasks and the gifts and the guilt when we try and try and try but still fail to make a picture-perfect Christmas.

Every year, I vow to do more that points to The Reason and less that the world demands to make Christmas right.

And every year, I fail, in ways small and large.

But the failing, the falling - that's all part of it, isn't it?

That's the whole point of it, isn't it?

If we didn't fail and fail and fail again, falling face-first into the mud of this world, we wouldn't be a people who need saving from ourselves.

We wouldn't be the stumbling sheep in need of a Good Shepherd.

If we weren't perfectly imperfect, we wouldn't need a perfect Savior who comes to us in a most imperfect way - as a child, a baby born to a teen mother huddled among farm animals in a drafty three-walled shed.

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Tuesday, when all seemed impossible, when three were home sick and I was fading fast myself (a pox on all stomach flus!), I raced through the day, caffeinated, forgetting to pray in the midst of all the chaos.

Late that night, Knute and I whispered about life and our the kiddos.

He told me that our oldest had spent the day tending our youngest, despite how poorly she herself felt.

I asked him if he had heard our older son talk at dinner about his reconciliation at school that day, about how he was scared but then he felt better.

He told me how while I was gone at Girl Scouts with our oldest, The Grinch had come on TV. The boys had leaped up at the point in the tale when Christmas came, it came just the same, both shouting over each other that of course it comes without presents because Jesus comes.

Something Bigger happened on Tuesday, something bigger than sickness and errands To Do lists and forgotten lights and still unmade Advent paper chains.

I saw the spirit of Advent in the caretaking of our oldest child.

And in the relief at repenting by our middle one.

And in the echoing of the Grinch by both boys as they heralded the coming of Christ.

When I prayed at Rosary on Monday, I prayed for help to truly live in the season. To feel the joy and excitement.

For help to see Christmas through the eyes of my children once again.

To see Something Bigger.

So how wonderful, how humbling, it was to have that prayer answered by the spirit of Advent shining through my own perfectly imperfect children.

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Merry Christmas!

Two Christmas Videos via YouTube: Change for a Dollar and The Christmas Story

2011-12-16T08:29:00.000-08:00

I was working on a post yesterday about Christmas and Advent and how I'm never really ready and how that's ok in the end. Shockingly, I didn't finish writing it yet.

Yes, that last sentence was drenched with a healthy dose of self-deprecating sarcasm. ;-)

I may get back to my keyboard and get it done; until I do, I did want to share a couple of YouTubes worth watching, especially if the insanity of the season is making you feel more like Grinch and less like George Bailey at the end of It's a Wonderful Life*.

"Change for a Dollar" popped up in my Google Reader last week courtesy of both Patrick Madrid and Fallible Blogma. Kleenex Warning - it made me cry a little bit (yes, it does happen on rare occasion!).

It never ceases to amaze me to consider how the little things we do, the little spur-of-the-moment acts of kindness and goodness that we make toward others in the midst of our busy days, can have the biggest effect and impact on their lives. I think I'll be dropping some pennies around town...

Thanks to Fr Schninppel for sharing this version of A Christmas Story. It's adorable, touching, and OMGOlly!! The NZ accents of the little kids?! TOO cute.

Merry Christmas all!

*My fave Christmas movie of all time. And no matter what, it is a pretty wonderful life, ya know. ;-)

Bottomless Cup

2011-12-08T11:15:00.000-08:00

I am thoroughly - and quite happily - addicted to caffeine. (For those of non-caffeinated folks out there who just might feel the need to sing the praises of clean living in my combox below, go ahead. I'd be happy to read all about the virtues of the Decaf Life while sipping my third cuppa later today.)

I know this is the caffeine talking but I don't care - a strong cup of coffee serves to not only wakes me up at o'dark-thirty in the morning or boost my energy level in the doldrums of the afternoon (only.ten.more.hours.to.go.today!), it also bumps my optimism meter right into the red zone. Sip, sip, sip....YOU GO GIRL!

I feel almost invincible (again, fresh caffeine running through my veins while I type this super-fast) with a cup of coffee in my hands. Anything is possible! To Do lists are mine to conquer! Brilliant and witty text is wrapping itself around the inside of my brain just waiting for a chance to be transcribed!

There have been times when I have willingly forgone coffee. The first trimesters of all of my pregnancies, for example, where I not only didn't have a sip of any type of coffee but couldn't even bear the slightest smell of it, either. But that wasn't coffee's fault; during the early part of my pregnancies, a time defined by the weeks when I squirreled away plastic shopping bags in my pockets, purse, and van for the fits of spontaneous vomiting that occurred all.day.long, I couldn't bear the smell or taste of anything but Tostitos Hint of Lime Chips, Claussen's Kosher Pickles, and lemonade made without sugar. Apparently pregnancy makes all but the sour sector of my taste buds go haywire.

If not for the endless rejection by my body of all things edible, digestible, and nutritious during early pregnancy, I would have likely had some coffee during those months. I suppose it's good that my body knew better than my mind (and the hopped-up-on-java-monkey-on-my-back) what was off-limits during those critical months. I would have had a hard time resisting coffee's siren call.

I've also willingly given up coffee a handful of times in my adult life during a couple of terrible stretches of insomnia. After spending my days functioning just one or two notches up from total zombie for a week to ten days, I was willing to give up just about anything to get a good night's sleep. But my insomnia wasn't helped by the lack of caffeine in my system; if anything, it was exacerbated by the ringing caffeine-withdrawal headaches I experienced. The cure for those? Coffee, of course.

I have family members who have given up the bean as they've gotten older and health concerns demanded it; I know they're doing what's wise and what's prudent. Still, I find myself hoping (fingers-crossed!) that I'll be waking up every morning in my twilight years to a steaming mug of caffeine-rich, strong-brewed French Roast java.

I should go the extra mile here and wax eloquently about different articles or studies that support my java-jolting lifestyle. But I won't; at least, not right now -

Right now, it's time for another cup!

Rock Collector

2011-11-29T12:19:00.000-08:00

When I was in second or third grade, I developed an interest in rocks. (Nerd alert: I even had a rock identifying kit and guidebook.) I think most kids go through a rock-loving stage where every smooth stone found on the ground fascinates, where every glittery pebble near creek's edge sparkles with the possibility of treasure.

As I grew up, I still kept an eye out for unusual rocks whenever I walked on trails or near water's edge. But for the most part, my rock collecting days were behind me. Hauling all those pretty chunks of quartz and flint and sandstone around the country during the many moves Knute and I made during the early part of our marriage ended up being too messy and cumbersome.

But my little love affair with rocks didn't end entirely; it simply morphed and changed just as I myself did with the new responsibilities of adulthood, marriage, and motherhood.

I still collect rocks these days as I journey through life; rocks that are shiny, rocks that speak to me, rocks that look easy enough to lift, seem small enough to squeeze in and balance among all the other important things lay claim to my strength, that fill my time.

Some of the rocks that I find in my path, rocks that glint in the sun, were maybe never meant for me to find, much less pick up and carry as I walk onward.

As I climb upward.

Of course, those rocks aren't really rocks*

You know that, right?

Some do shine and glitter. (Oh, vanities.)

Some are weighty; noble and worthy. (Oh, volunteering.)

Some are just scrap pebbles that would grind themselves to dust if left to the passage of time and the pounding of the elements. (Oh, vagaries.)

What I'm finding now is that while it is easy to pick up those rocks, it can be very hard to put them down. There is something in me - in most of us, I'd wager - that feeds on the idea of shouldering heavy burdens.

But what I am also discovering is that to do what I am supposed to do in this life, to live my life to it's full purpose, I must lay those extra rocks down and simply carry the ones that are mine alone.

It's easier said than done.

Are you a rock collector?

*Excerpt from Chapter Four of Having a Mary Heart in a Martha World by Joanna Weaver; passage quoted at Insight for Girls. Many thanks to my dear friend A for pointing me to this book and specifically to this passage.

Feed Him Well

2011-11-17T10:51:00.000-08:00

Huck is a rare soul among our extended mouthy Irish family; he's a man of few words.

As a little guy, he talked late, not saying much until he was about three years old. There wasn't much need for him to talk; with a big sister like Becky to do the non-stop chattering for him, all he had to do was play happily and wait patiently for his sippy cup to appear, for the TV channel to be changed, or for mom to put his shoes on for a trip to the park.

There was one word that Huck did learn before he was two and knew how to say quite clearly amidst the babble of his toddler patois:

Hungry.

That this word would be one of the first words he quickly understood and used did not surprise me; as a baby, Huck was almost nine lbs at birth and grew to be the size of an average two year old (height and weight) by the time he was just one year old. From day one of his life, eating was something Huck did often, did well, and did (and still does) with much gusto.

One night when he was two, I woke up to the sound of that word coming from his room. I checked my clock; it was somewhere well past o'dark-thirty and I was a very tired and a very pregnant mom.

I heaved out of bed, headed to his room, and turned the light on. Sure enough, there he sat in his toddler bed in his footie PJ's, the cowlicks of his hair sticking up every which way.

"Hungry," he repeated.

Down we went to the kitchen, he and I, and I fixed him a big plate of leftovers from dinner. One of the dogs (the two original members of the insane canine posse) had followed me down; I figured what Huck didn't eat could get scraped into her bowl.

He ate.every.bite.

I remember sitting there, sleepy, watching him, my mind rolling over the long list of worries Knute and I had knocking on our door in fall of 2005. The new baby coming. Searching for a new job for Knute. The reality that we would probably have to sell our house and move again when he did find a job.

But what I remember most from that night was simply looking at my little boy, my little giant of a boy, and feeling thankful.

Thankful that he was so hale and hearty.

Thankful that we were tucked inside a warm house on a cold November night.

Thankful that we had an abundance of food to feed my hungry little guy.

Thankful that all I had to do in that moment to make things right in his world was to feed him well.

Thanksgiving is near - do you have a thankful moment or memory that feeds your soul?

NQP | November 2011 Book Club "Expecting Adam" by Martha Beck at From Left to Write

2011-11-08T20:28:00.000-08:00

Being pregnant while in graduate school is no piece of cake and even more stressful when you learn your unborn child has Down syndrome.

In her memoir Expecting Adam, Martha Beck battled almost everyone over her decision to continue her pregnancy. Join From Left to Write on November 10 as we discuss Expecting Adam. We'll also be chatting live with Martha Beck at 1:00 PM Eastern on November 10 on From Left to Write.

*Disclosure: I received a free copy of Expecting Adam to read as part of From Left to Write. As always, the thoughts shared in this post are entirely my own.

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If you know me well in real life (or maybe from my other blog), you know I am a mom who loves a good deal.

One of my favorite retailers for my family is Lands End; not only do they make pants for tall dudes (Knute is 6'4"), they make quality kids clothes that wear well and last long enough to be handed down to a younger sibling.

Whenever we need a new school uniform piece or swimsuits or just a pair of jeans, I head over to check out what's on clearance at Lands End. And while I'm there, I always click around the sale section known as NQP -

Not Quite Perfect.

As the name states, this is the section where LE sells their items that just didn't meet their standards for some reason. Most of the items are fine; I've had luck buying them in the past. They simply weren't, well - perfect.

As I read Expecting Adam by Martha Beck, those initials - NQP - kept popping up in my head; a troubling thought since the book wasn't about a pair of poorly hemmed pants but about a child who, as Beck related so eloquently, was NQP in the eyes of the majority of her Harvard colleagues.

I shared in this post (more book reviews; yay!), recent studies show an extremely high abortion rate for pregnancies where genetic testing indicates the child has Downs Syndrome. While in this decade (Beck's son was born in the 90's) we have more social programs, more educational interventions, more outreach programs, more medical interventions to help improve the lives of children and adults with Downs Syndrome, we don't necessarily have more children born with Downs Syndrome.

Because those children were determined to be NQP, they simply aren't here.

During my own three pregnancies, I (respectfully but firmly) turned down the triple screen test when it was offered early in the second trimester. While I can understand the point of view that knowing is half the battle, that knowing the worst outcome, while terrifying, at least gives you the opportunity to process the information, to prepare yourself and your family, to grieve the loss of the dream of a QP (Quite Perfect) baby.

I get that. I really do.

But from my point of view, the triple screen test was simply a door propped open, one that once opened, couldn't be shut. Once I walked through that first door, others would follow, and behind those doors lie who knew what - doubt, fear, despair? Redemption and relief?

Maybe.

But the foreboding feeling I had as I sat looking at the paperwork, my pen slowly scratching through the NO box, was that eventually, all the doors led to the same destination: a generic physician's office where I sat, mute with grief, listening to my OB/GYN discuss my options.

Or, in their opinion, my last and final option.

And that was a discussion I never, ever wanted to have.

Reading Beck's memoir, I couldn't help but think about all the children I know who are NQP.

Cystic Fibrosis? NQP.

Juvenile Diabetes? NQP.

Cleft Palate? NQP.

Heart valve malformations? NQP.

Weird ear growth and life threatening asthma? NQP.

The reality is that all of us are NQP. Maybe one person's flaws and weaknesses and potentials for illness or serious medical issues aren't as readily observed as the next but they are still there.

Which leads me to my final thought (and I am oh so tired as I type this so please bear with me as I try to frame my words): what is our goal as parents?

To make our kids perfect?

Or to love our kids - despite all their flaws, because of all of their flaws - as perfectly as we can?

I myself struggle to deny the first question and embrace the second. It's not easy.

But in the end, knowing my own imperfections, my own failings, my own brokenness, my inherent weaknesses and my own mortality, how can I do anything but love them just as they are?

And be thankful for the chance to do so.

Just Because

2011-11-07T14:18:00.000-08:00

Sometimes you see words your soul just needed to hear.

Thank you to Jen at Conversion Diary for posting a link to the the Litany of Humility. If you - like me - are a continually recovering TypeA personality, that prayer may be one that speaks to you as well.

Be well!

Memoirizing Life

2011-10-26T17:29:00.000-07:00

In Lost Edens, author Jamie Patterson struggles to save her marriage which may or may not be already over. Keeping her attempts a secret from her family, she attempts to mold herself into the wife her husband wants her to be.

As a member of From Left to Write book club, I received a copy of this book for review. You can read other members posts inspired by Lost Edens by Jamie Patterson on book club day, October 27 at From Left to Write.

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One of the first memoirs I read by choice, rather than as part of a literature or history course in college, was Angela's Ashes by Frank McCourt.

It was some ten years or so ago, but there are still scenes and passages and moments that I clearly recall; the details of Frank McCourt's dire poverty as a child in Ireland during the early part of the century were grim and sobering. I remember silently thanking my great-grandparents for immigrating from Ireland at the turn of the century as I turned the pages.

After Angela's Ashes, the seldom-heard-from-before genre of memoirs exploded; suddenly, it seemed, everywhere you turned, there were best selling books filled with personal narratives, life histories, and stories of childhoods filled with horrors beyond comprehension.

Some were good; some not so much. But one thing many of those early memoirs had in common was an author who was older, an author who may have outlived some of the very people featured in their memoir.

I still read memoirs regularly; who doesn't love a good underdog story or conversion story or pulled-myself-up-by-my-bootstraps story? What I have noticed, however, is that many of the memoirs I've read in the past few years are authored by people my age.

My age, or younger.

While my kids might argue otherwise, I'm not that old.

So reading Lost Edens by Jamie Patterson, a deeply personal narrative about the implosion of her marriage during her twenties, made me wonder about the idea of The Memoir itself.

It made me wonder:

How soon is too soon?

There is something about a memoir penned late in life by an author who has the perspective that can only be gained with time and distance. Who, after struggling through life's challenges, emerged, phoenix-like, and lived.

And lived well.

It's a curious thing to me, these memoirs written about short slices of a life while that life is still playing out, is still an unfinished work in progress. And then there is the delicate issue of the privacy of those whose lives intersected yours; how does one write with honesty about your experience without infringing upon the privacy of others?

It's a puzzle to me.

Would you ever consider writing a memoir, and if so, when?

Recent Reads: October 2011

2011-10-20T16:24:00.000-07:00

October is nearing its end; autumn has arrived with a rainy and blustery vengence here in my corner of SW Ohio.

As the wind blows outside, slapping the branches of the trees together and shaking the free the yellow and orange leaves, I want to do nothing more than curl up with a hot mug of tea, a fleece blanket, and a good book.

I have a habit of reading books quickly (and simultaneously) then moving on to the next good find without taking the time to note what I've read and how it affected me.

With that said, I thought I'd share some of my more recent reads from the past month or so...before I forget about them!

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I read Growing Up Amish: A Memoir by Ira Wagler in about two evenings. It's a compelling personal memoir about the challenges of the Amish life and how the author left and returned to the Amish not once, but many times.

I've always lived fairly near Amish settlements; growing up in Maryland, we had the Pennsylvania Dutch just a couple hours to our north; many Amish families would travel down to our area to sell their crafts, canned goods, and quilts in local fairs and festivals.

When Knute and I lived in Illinois, our little town was just south of a big Amish area around Arcola, Illinois. It wasn't unusual to be behind one of their buggies as I drove the back county roads.

I think the Amish are so compelling to us Plain or English folk simply by the way they keep a slower, simpler lifestyle in this 24/7 hyper-digital modern world. Ira Wagler's memoir is a unique look at how challenging it can be to accept the totality of that simple life even for some that are born into it.

Ira Wagler also authors a blog if you're interested in checking it out.

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Good Enough Is the New Perfect: Finding Happiness and Success in Modern Motherhood by Becky Gillespie and Hollee Temple was the May 2011 book selection for From Left to Write, the online book club that I participate in when I *cough* ~~remember to write my reviews~~ have the time to read the current book of the month.

I didn't receive a copy of this book for the May book club; I was in over my head this past May with the usual end of the school year insanity. My friend SSM over at A Good Joe did receive a copy and chat about it as part of FLTW this past May; you can see her post here. She was kind enough to lend me her copy this summer and I skimmed through it fairly quickly.

{I say skimmed because this book is based on surveys and interviews of educated women who are balancing motherhood and their careers; it's not the most compelling prose.}

To be frank, I couldn't relate to much of this book, probably because I have never faced the choice of staying in my high-powered career or ditching the job and becoming a stay at home mom. While I worked many jobs in my years before motherhood, Knute and I moved so many times with the USN that climbing a traditional career ladder simply wasn't in the cards for me.

I think this book is good for those moms who value both their career and motherhood and are seeking to find some balance between the two. And there is value in the overall message in the title that carries throughout the book - good enough is truly good enough. Shooting to be perfect in every way, every day, only leads to frustration, burnout, and an inability to seek contentment.

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I actually read The Memory Keeper's Daughter: A Novel by Kim Edwards earlier this summer; I had found a copy in my gently loved used bookstore during one of their Bag of Books for $1 sales (I loooove those sales!) and it sat on my bookshelf waiting, waiting, waiting for me to open it.

It's a hard story but a good story about what happens to a set of fraternal twins right after birth. One is born healthy and normal; the other is born with Down's Syndrome. The story is set in the early 60's, a time when disabilities - especially mental disabilities - were treated much differently than they are today.

Of course, as I type that line, I have to wince as I recall recent studies cited in political discussions that the rate of abortion for babies determined to have Down's Syndrome after genetic screening during the mother's pregnancy is astonishingly high. Maybe we aren't treating our disabled any better today than we did decades ago.

Without spoiling it, I will tell you that it is a good story, with characters that make good and bad choices; this is a novel that would make for a good book club discussion.

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Speaking of book club discussions, my little book club group read Angry Housewives Eating Bon-Bons by Lorna Landvik for our September meetup.

{Lest you think that we have deep, heated discussions about plot, antagonist/protagonists, symbols, and literary themes, let me set you straight right now. Book club = cheap & fun night out away from the kids/house/laundry.}

I have to admit, I've known about this book for a long time but was never interested in reading it. The name alone really put me off; anything mentioning "housewives" usually gets my hackles up because I hate it when that word is applied to me (even though what I do fits the job description pretty well).

But - I loved this book, mostly because the women in the book have their own book club; you get to read about all the different books they read over the years and decades, all with a bit of historical context of what was going on in our country at that time. There were more than a few books noted in this novel that I found myself wanting to read as well.

This is another good book club discussion, especially if your book club is like mine - a bunch of moms who are friends and who love to read. I only hope my little book club stands the test of time like the one in this novel. {Hear that, KWBCers? Let's hope we'll be reading together when we're old and gray!}

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The Help by Kathryn Stockett was the latest book club selection for my group and

it definitely led to some great chatter when we met up this month.

Again, no spoilers, but it is set in the early 60's in Mississippi and deals with segregation in the deep south but from a different point of view - the women.

The dialect/voice in the book is spot on; if you read Huck Finn and found the dialect difficult to follow, you may find that to be the case in this novel as well.

Again, no spoilers; one of my biggest takeaways from this book was just how confining life in the south was for women - both black and white. It brought back some memories of my own time living in Florida and Virginia; while they aren't deep south like Mississippi, I still saw bits of the remnants of the southern lifestyle portrayed in this book.

If you get a copy of this for your book club, be sure to get one that has discussion questions in the back. Very useful!

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I've been reading The Seven Storey Mountain by Thomas Merton; I'm about two-thirds of the way through it.

This summer, I picked up a copy of The Inner Experience: Notes on Contemplation but quickly realized it was most definitely not light, just before bedtime reading. No, it was some deep stuff, more of the wide-eyed-with-a-mug-of-coffee kind of reading, a few pages a day.

I returned it to the library with a bit of defeat; I've heard such good things about Merton and his story of conversion to Catholicism and I really wanted to give his writings a good go of it.

Luckily, The Seven Storey Mountain, while very well-written, isn't as spiritually or philosophically challenging to read. The autobiography of his early life up through his conversion and his eventual entrance into the Trappist monastery in Kentucky, it's - to use a very overused word - truly inspiring.

If you've not read any Merton or you're looking for a book that helps you in your own constant conversion as a Catholic, I highly recommend it

Have you read any good books lately?

*Disclosure: Those are my Amazon affiliate links; thanks!

The Big "What If?"

2011-09-21T11:41:00.000-07:00

Knute and I met young; impossibly young, it seems to me now, especially when I do the math and need add only eight years to Becky's ten and realize she's more than halfway to the age that I was when I met her father.

I had a pretty typical adolescence for suburban girl. There were the crushes, the first dates, and even a couple of guys who I went out with more than once. But I really never had a serious boyfriend in high school and looking back, I'm glad that I didn't. I had far more fun in high school just hanging out with my girl friends and I was far too busy with school and work.

When I met Knute unexpectedly at the end of our first year of college (at a party put on by some of his fellow Midshipman celebrating the end of their Plebe year), it was one of the pivotal moments of my life. Not because the few hours we chatted at the party and after, at Denny's and on the way back to the Academy were perfect.

Far from it.

Most of the Mids at the party had had too much to drink and were acting like thirteen year olds; Knute's roommate was with us when we headed to Denny's for a bite to eat since I was gracious enough to offer them both a ride back to the Academy before curfew.

Myself, I was a ragged, didn't-even-brush-my-hair mess of a girl with a few spaghetti sauce stains on her shirt because I hadn't bothered to change before I left the house. I didn't really want to be at the party but I had promised my friend (whose boyfriend happened to be Knute's other roommate Plebe year) that I would go so off I went, lackluster attitude and all.

What makes the night I met Knute so pivotal despite all the oddball moments was the quiet sense of certainty that settled over me the more and more I talked to him.

This was the guy.

The one.

Even now, as certain as I am that I was right that night (and with almost twenty years together like peas and carrots, I'm more certain than ever), it's still astounding for thirty-eight year old me to look back at eighteen year old me and see that moment, to remember that quiet and steadfast knowledge that I had right.from.the.start.

I'm glad I did; I'm glad I listened to what clearly was one of the few moments in my life when God whispered through the thin veil of our earthly world and spoke directly to my heart and my soul.

But there are times when I wonder.

What if?

What if I hadn't trusted what I knew was bigger than me?

What if despite all the certainty I had that first night followed by the unexpected appearance of Knute at the dance the following night, the dance I had reluctantly promised my friend I'd attend (Knute had sent his dress uniform home a week before for his sister's upcoming wedding; he spent all day Saturday walking around Mother B begging his fellow football players for dress uniform pieces that didn't quite fit him just so he could have the chance to see me again before he left for summer training), the dance where the certainty laid down roots between the two of us underneath that night sky lit bright with fireworks -

What if I hadn't listened to what I knew to be true?

Every once in a while, say, perhaps when I tell new friends that I was only twenty-one when I got married or when someone comments on how long Knute and I have been married, their eyebrows furrowed as they try to do the quick calculation of married years vs. our ages, this thought will pop up:

What if we, so young and hopeful, so certain of the ease of our hopeful futures, had waited to get married -

And had ended up on different, divergent paths?

What if?

As I read Carry Yourself Back to Me, that question arose again in the back of my mind. It's a fine book but the fullness of the story is sad to contemplate.

Reading it and pondering that question once again made me ever thankful of my - our - certainty despite our youth.

Life flees past. Time is a giddy pickpocket robbing you blind while you stand still, sightseeing, so sure that the next big adventure is only as far away as a hope and a wish.

That I only wonder What if? but will never really know is a undeserved, but treasured, gift.

*Deborah Reed's debut Carry Yourself Back to Me follows heartbroken singer-songwriter Annie
Walsh as she digs into the past to exonerate her brother from murder. As a member of From Left to Write book club, I received a copy of this book for review. You can read other members posts inspired by Carry Yourself Back to Me on book club day, September 22, 2011, at From Left to Write .*

*Disclosure: This post contains my personal Amazon affiliate link.

Hallo-SCREAM!

2011-09-19T16:42:00.000-07:00

It's that time of year again, the time of year when opening my mailbox is as pleasant as listening to the proverbial fingernails-on-chalk (or my personal audio bete-noire: fingers squeaking on balloons).

I opened my mailbox today and found the first one, the first of many yet to come:

Halloween costume catalogs.

Growing up, I trick-or-treated just a handful of times. Halloween happens to be the same day as my dear old dad's birthday; when 10/31 rolled around on the calendar, we'd usually leave all the lights off at our house and head out to dinner instead.

I used to think this made for a minor poverty in my childhood.

Oh, but for the lost treasure trove of unenjoyed Pixie Stix, BlowPops, and tiny Hershey Bars!

Then I became a parent myself and began seeing Halloween through different eyes.

In the beginning, Halloween was cute.

It was fun.

I dressed the babies up as pumpkins or bumble bees or dragons. Knute and I would load them in the stroller or wagon and pull them around our street. They'd get the thrill of staying up past bedtime and getting free candy.

Back in those days, when Becky and Huck were tiny together, we lived on a small street with a cul-de-sac. There were maybe ten or twelve houses on our street and just one or two other similarly small streets near us. Many of our neighbors were retired or didn't have young children and as a result, we didn't get too many trick-or-treaters.

Fast foward by a few more years, two moves, and another kiddo in our blue-eyed gang and Halloween is a much different kind of night altogether.

First, there is our personal family rule: if you are 10 years old (hi Becky!), you are too old to be out trick-or-treating.

I know, I know - I am the Grinch of Halloween. Feel free to throw caramel apples at me now.

Second, there is the addendum to Rule #1 above that even if you aren't trick-or-treating, it's still perfectly fine to dress up in an age-appropriate costume for our school's Halloween parade and for handing out candy.

And therein lies my beef with the Halloween costume catalogs; apparently, the latest Halloween fashions for tween girls (and even little tiny girls) are inspired by moments of cultural greatness like the Toddlers in Tiaras episode where the mother dressed her toddler up like Julia Robert's character in Pretty Woman.

It's beyond icky, some of these costumes in the catalog. Some are just creepy, and not in that Nightmare on Elm Street kind of way, either.

Third, I have a feeling I'll be rewriting my Top 10 Inappropriate Halloween Moments of 2009 because last year, I flat out told a few of the teenagers who showed up at my door with pillowcases and a few random lipsticked blood smears on their faces as their Halloween "costumes" to MOVE ALONG.

Oh yes I did.

So as the Halloween shopping season swings into full steam, I'm thinking about alternative ways to deal with the sugar-frenzy-entitlement-borderline-pervy-costumes-for-kids mess that it's become.

I think we'll be making dinner reservations for seven and baking Grandpa a birthday cake.

Let's hope my house doesn't get TP'd!

Thursday Thought: Editon #1

2011-09-01T04:20:00.000-07:00

This is one I need to permanently ink on my brain. ;-)

Have a wonderful and thoughtful Thursday!

First Day

2011-08-30T07:14:00.000-07:00

After Becky was born in 2001, Knute stayed home for a few days with us before heading back to Big Giant Corporation to earn a living for our little family.

I remember his first morning back to work only vaguely; already the trials of new motherhood were working me over the coals. Sleep deprived, painfully engorged, and swinging from one adrenaline-laced peak of giddy joy down to the dark valleys of oh-my-dear-Jesus-is-this-baby-ever-gonna-stop-crying?! despair every few hours left me with scant mental space to think, much less store memories.

But I do remember him hugging us and heading out the door, both of us wide-eyed and somber, both of us bearing the weight of our new roles and responsibilities as father and mother - him, to provide; me, to sustain.

And I remember being terrified.

I was the youngest of three in my family. I had younger cousins, but they lived far away. I had never once held a babysitting job in.my.life. Other than the books I had read and the childbirth classes I had taken at the hospital, I knew nothing about taking care of a baby.

And here I was, infant in arms, charged with the task of keeping her fed, clean, alive, until Knute came home.

It seemed a near impossible task.

But I survived that first day and many more to follow, the dark days as well as the easy days. We all survived in the beginning, Knute, me and Becky, and by survived, I mean just that - survived. There is no other way to think of it when you have a new infant, especially when that infant is colicky and refuses to sleep for more than 2 hours at a time.

Food was brought by friends, pizza was ordered, and the dirty clothes began their rapid and steep ascent into the Mt. Laundry that has taken up permanent residence in our household. The dogs didn't get walked, the mail sat unopened, and we, all three of us, knit ourselves together into the beginnings of a family.

It got easier; it always does, thankfully. It got easy enough that we added another baby, and then another, and started the whole re-knitting of our family all over again. Each time was easier in some ways and harder in others.

Hardest for me and for my ego was looking forward at the calendar and seeing so many years of my life devoted not to myself and my goals but to them. Through our careful planning and through simple circumstance alone after moving and moving again, I was fortunate to have the choice to be a stay at home mom.

But it was hard.

All the trappings and voices of our culture, all that has been held up as being necessary, worthwhile, hard-fought-for entitlements for women of my generation, women who, like me, were told from the a very young age as we watched Sandy O'Connor take her Supreme Court seat and Sally Ride rocket into space that it's now possible to have it all, fantastic career, happy family, strong marriage, still worked on my psyche, still tempted me, still made me feel that somehow I had not tried hard enough, that I was lazy, that I was settling.

That I was just a mom.

Then a funny thing happened.

My kids got a little older. Their personalities blossomed. They gained perspective as each birthday passed and began to be more than people who just needed me 24/7.

They began to step into the world as their own selves: capable, kind, curious, and loving.

And from time-to-time, they began to say things or do things that made me see the seeds I had planted so long ago, the hours given over to feedings and play groups and puzzles and pushing on the swingset had been far more valuable than I could have ever imagined.

Those seeds of my love and sacrifice had fallen on good ground in each of them; they began to bloom in the world, to bloom and to grow and to bring goodness into others lives.

To bring goodness even back to me.

And so this First Day was tinged with sadness, yes, but just a small portion.

For I know that my days gone past with them were ALL good days, even the hard days. I know that I have done something fine and honorable and important.

On this First Day, unlike the very first First Day, I felt joyful.

I love you, Becky, Huck, and Tom.

Thank you for making me a better person by being just your mom.

Write On! {Links} :: August 13, 2011

2011-08-13T05:19:00.000-07:00

There's so much great content published online about writing and the writing life. Here are a few links that captured my attention this week:

:: Chris Brogan shared a great four part series on Writing a Book this week: click though to read part 1, 2, 3; part 4 is yet to come.

The advice isn't earth-shatteringly new; I know that what has lacked in my writing life is discipline while what has abounded in my writing life is worry, fear, and typeA perfectionist tendencies (which feed the first two quite nicely, thankyouverymuch).

There is one point, though, where I have to clear my throat and offer a slight difference of opinion: the issue of time.

For us moms, the simple reality of being mom makes it harder to find the time/mental energy for writing anything more compelling than a grocery list, particularly during the early years.  We're the ones dealing with pregnancy, b'feeding, attached-to-mommy's-hip-like-glue syndrome.

No, I'm not trying to start a war of the sexes; yes, there are lots of hands-on dads and more and more stay-at-home-dad's (big props to you dudes because it ain't easy - I know).

I'm just pointing out one reality that I had to accept when I had three kids in about four and a half years; my personal goal to write something big (like a book) got moved to the bottom of my priority list, somewhere beneath showering daily, sleeping for more than four hours at a stretch, and dealing with diapers, pottying, and tantrums (oh my!).

I also should point out that I am excellent at the art of creative procrastination as well as the time-sucking sport of websurfing.   I could and should manage my time better.

That said, this is a great series written by someone who has done what he says (rather than by someone who hopes to do what he says; big difference). What makes this series worth reading is the fact that CEB is a very, very, very busy blogger, writer, book author, consultant, and father; he's writing through all the chaos of his life and getting it done. Gotta respect that.

:: The Wordserve Water Cooler is a new group blog authored by authors who are all represented by Wordserve Literary Agency (I read and highly recommend agent Rachelle Gardner's blog).

I loved this post by Camille Eide, Peace in the Process. There is nothing more crippling than self-doubt and despair and let's face it: the road to a finished book is paved with those two dark and heavy stones.

Great reminder to stay on the road and stay in the process; keep walking forward, one word at a time.

:: Over at Copyblogger, 6 Ways to Supercharge Your Writing gave some useful ideas on how to step outside of the box when you feel like you need to refocus, reset, and reinvigorate your writing.

I really liked #4 (reading a kid's book for inspiration).  Some of my faves: The Little Prince* by Antoine de Saint Expury, Charlotte's Web* by E.B. White, or any of The Magic Tree House Series* by Mary Pope Osborne (they're fun, well-structured, and well-researched).

Did you read any great posts about writing or the writing life this week?

*Amazon affiliate links; disclosure and all that. Thanks.