I just added on the sidebar links to poems the kids are working on. Billy just started his poem last week. I love RLS. His poems for children truly capture the workings of a child’s mind. They are fabulous and easy to memorize.

Fritz has been working on his poem for WEEKS. It’s a tough poem. It has a tricky rhyme scheme which makes it harder to remember. I admit, it took me at least a week to get comfortable reading it, and although I have it memorized if I can go through it without stopping, I have a hard time starting halfway through.

But over these weeks, I’ve really grown to appreciate this poem. I’m glad it has taken so long for him to learn it, and I’ve really grown to appreciate the exercise of memorizing poetry in general. I’ve spent quite a bit of time comtemplating who the narrator is, what really happened to the dog and cat, and if the audience believes the narrator’s story.

When I was in the 2nd and 3rd grades, I had to memorize a poem for school. I won my class’s poetry contest and had to go on to compete in front of the entire school for 1st – 3rd grade champion. I won both times, had my picture in the paper – my 2 minutes of fame (alas, that was the end of it). I didn’t think it was a big deal, but now I do. Memorizing poetry is a dying practice.

I stopped working for a paycheck over 6 years ago. I got rid of most of my professional wardrobe, keeping only a few suits that I could wear to weddings or funerals or just in case someone hired me for a speaking engagement (haha). I also kept my nice shoes: two pairs of modest, practical pumps (one navy, one black). They weren’t cheap shoes, but I have gotten my use out of them. And Bill is very handy with polish and can make them look like brand new. But they are modest, practical pumps – maybe a 1 1/2″ heel. Nothing fancy or decorative. And I have worn them to every dressy function I’ve been to in the last 6 years.

So, now there’s this formal dinner on Saturday which is no more special than any other formal dinner I’ve been to, but I got a new dress and decided that I should get some new shoes to go with it. I went to Walmart and they had EXACTLY what I was looking for: 3″ heels, barely something there over the toes and another barely there strap around the ankles to keep the things on. Perfect. Oh, and the price was perfect too: $8.92. Can’t beat that.

And the best part was the look of shock on Bill’s face. “I never would have expected you to wear something like that,” he said. I don’t know why. Doing something unexpected is just like me.

Princess Happycakes (that would be Jenny) can’t wait for her birthday. My “happycakes” coming soon, Mom? she queries multiple times every day. Sure it’s coming soon, I tell her. Eight months really isn’t a long time. But then I remind her of all the other birthdays to come first: Billy’s, mine, Fritz’s, Petey’s, Katie’s, Daddy’s and then finally hers. In other words, she had the most recent birthday in our immediate family and has to wait the longest. But time does fly, for us grownups at least, so it will be her birthday before we know it. Heck, I’m afraid to go to sleep at night for worry that I’ll wake up and one of my kids will be heading off to college.

Just kidding. I’m so tired at the end of the day that it is no trouble at all for me to fall asleep. Usually I lay my head down and think, “Dear God, thank you for…..zzzzzz”

Speaking of birthdays, all of my kids are born in the second half of the month. {mental note: plan better next pregnancy} This means that it hits a child’s birth month, for example, Billy’s birthday is the 25th of this month, and we all suffer through the agony of waiting for all those days to pass. Well, the birthday child suffers and the rest of us suffer listening to his suffering. February is the l.o.n.g.e.s.t month of the year because there are no distractions in the weeks leading up to the “big day.” At least for Christmas, there is decorating and baking and shopping. For the spring and summer birthdays, we can do stuff outdoors and keep the mind off the calendar. But February is just one long month of wait.

Only 17 more days.

wow. I just noticed that the forecast for today’s weather is calling for scattered flurries. Is it really winter? Gee…with all the balmy 60 degree days, I swore it was spring.

I just put the baby down for a nap in his crib. He’s asleep, but his eyes are open.

Freaky.

It was a very busy and highly emotional weekend. We are all glad to be home.

Saturday morning, Fritz made his first Reconciliation. It was nice. But, as usual for me, I struggled to rein in those tears that always come when he, my oldest, meets a milestone. I cried when I packed away those 0-3 month sized clothes when he was a few weeks old. I cried when he cut his first tooth. I cried when he lost his first tooth. And now here he is, examining his conscience and doing his penance. He diligently wrote down his sins on Friday, recounting them to his father and I with every confidence of our continuing love (of course, we knew everything). I had him go to the elderly priest who baptized Peter. He gave Fritz a beautiful prayer card with Mary on it when Fritz was done. It was a wonderful morning.

Then home as it’s starting to rain. Pack up the car and off to New Jersey to visit old friends. As we neared Monica’s house where we stayed, we made a slight detour to pass St. Greg’s and swing through our old neighborhood. Billy started to cry about missing NJ, but my words of comfort were no help since I was crying too. Bill just smiled and shook his head and squeezed my hand. Pitiful.

Sunday began with mass and standing in the vestibule talking. Then brunch with Bill’s parents, then over to Lena’s house and then on to Kathy’s house for her huge Superbowl party (and the reason we made the trip). Oh how I miss these women. Where else can I stand around the kitchen talking apologetics? Back to Monica’s house and a relaxing Monday morning talking about homeschooling and politics and religion.

This was better than a trip to a spa.

Not that I’ve ever been to a spa.

But better.

After lunch, we headed to another friend’s house that was on the way home and had dinner. We got home really late last night, but the kids all transitioned into their beds with no fuss.

And today is clean up and organize day. The kids will be happy to have another day off from school. It’s an administrative holiday.

At 820 this MORNING I announced, “OK everybody. Time to get pajamas on!” When the result was CHEERING, I did a quick rewind and replay and then corrected myself, “No, it’s time to get DRESSED.”

Being a stay-at-home mom is only mundane for those who lack creativity or who aren’t up to a challenge. I mean, what’s boring about taking 5 kids shopping for tennis shoes? I think training for the Olympics – perhaps figure skating – is a worthy comparison. You do the same moves, the same jumps, the same twirls over and over and over. And then you perform once or twice and hopefully get thunderous applause. And even if you fall down, you know you’ve done better than most people can do. So moms remind the kids to say please and thank you at least 5 times a day (per child) for approximately 17 years and change diapers ad naseum and on and on and on and then one day your child is grown up and you, hopefully, get thunderous applause.

From Catholic Exchange: how the radical feminists think that going to a dreary desk job and crunching Excel spreadsheets is somehow superior to stimulating and developing the intellect and psyche of our future leaders, scientists and doctors and being queen of a castle where all your subjects think you are the smartest AND most beautiful woman in the whole world.

And then there’s abortion to make sure that all women get to have those dreary desk jobs without the baggage of kids. Why women have allowed themselves to be duped into accepting something that only benefits MEN and a greedy for-profit industry is beyond my ken. Because of abortion, women can now be used as a vehicle for sex with no commitment at all by their lover. I mean, if a woman were to get pregnant, the man can walk away and tell her to get an abortion. At least 50 years ago, he felt some guilt. And perhaps the risk of pregnancy was enough to keep the clothes on when the car got steamy.

And if 8 people died as a result of a new vaccine to prevent colds and flu, the vaccine would be pulled and the company bankrupt.

All the kids got up today at roughly the same time. The requests for food and drink started to come rapid-fire and I set off for the kitchen…but, no, the baby isn’t happy anymore, so back to the living room to pick him off the floor and there I go to do my morning chores with baby on hip. As usual.

I’m stooping to retrieve clean dishes from the dishwasher and multitasking the preparation of Aunt Jemima frozen waffles and pancakes, cereal, milk, and juice and internally laughing again at the (male) friend who was shocked when I confessed to chronic lower back pain (mild) for the past, oh, 9 months or so (last part of pregnancy into 7 months of baby), when I feel wetness on my arm.

I pause to check the baby’s undershirt, suspecting a very wet diaper (it’s first thing in the morning), and finding that it’s not urine but it’s sure yellow.

sigh.

No wonder the kid was fussing. What a beautiful start to the morning! And my PJ sleeve is yellow too. And now I’m reminded of the growing pile of laundry…

Here’s Pete at breakfast yesterday.

“Do you mind, Ma? I’m trying to eat.”

Maybe this works for some babies, but given the fact that I could not put my baby down for a nap AT ALL yesterday and given the excessive amount of gas and spit up I had to deal with as a result, I believe, of consumption of this product, I give this formula a thumb’s down. Pete’s food problems apparently go beyond just milk protein sensitivity. I’m sticking with breastmilk alone (except for that dinner in a week) for a few more months. And no milk, cheese or yogurt for me either. 😦