While driving…
Fritz: Hey! Look! Geese!
Everybody: Oooh! Wow! Look at all the geese!
Katie: Fritz, what do geese do?
Fritz (dryly): Lay eggs…make more geese.
Monthly Archives: March 2007
Dress fitting
My niece tried on the dress with her veil. It looks much better on her than it did on Fritz.
Thanks for the pics, Barb!
What was that address again?
For Lent, I’ve clamped down on the random kid-channel surfing my kids like to do. We’ve gone on-line and printed out the TV lineups for PBS and Playhouse Disney and Nick Jr. They have to tell me what they want to watch.
Jenny asks, “Mom, can we go on the computer to dot com to see what I want to watch?”
Feast of Saint Dominic Savio
Saint Dominic Savio is the patron of boys, children’s choirs and juvenile delinquents to name a few. A good patron for Billy?
The very first thing this son of mine said to me this morning was, “Happy Feast of St. Dominic, Mom!” He has recently realized that every saint has a feast day, and our Picture Book of Saints lists that day under their pictures. He obsessively flips through this book reminding me of upcoming feasts. I think he’s afraid that we might forget to honor someone. Wait until he learns that this book doesn’t list every single saint, and that hardly a day goes by without a saint’s association to it!
Ingratitude
I’m definitely going to bake this bread today. Thanks, Suzanne.
I have to laugh at myself sometimes. I don’t know how many times I have read the book of Exodus. There the Israelites are, led by a pillar of fire or a pillar of cloud (depending on the time of night or day), and what do they do? Complain. They moan and whine from thirst, and God gives them water. They cry from hunger, and God gives them manna. And what do they do? Claim that things were better when they were slaves because they had meat and honey.
Every time I read this account, I marvel that a people could be so ungrateful. Every morning, they wake to find a miracle: thin wafers of life-sustaining bread resting like the dew on the field. There is plenty for everyone to get their fill. Nonetheless, after a bit, the Israelites dream of better meals: heartier breads, fresh fruit. This daily gift from God is taken for granted and even despised.
Before meals, we ask God to bless us and the gift of food He has bestown upon us. Yes, perhaps I labored to make that lasagna or bake that pie, just as the Israelites had to labor to gather the manna, but ultimately, those dishes are from God. The more removed I am from the creation of the dish, the harder it is for me to appreciate its Divine origins. And so, during Lent, I avoid restaurants and take out food. I avoid social situations where someone else prepares the food. I eat simpler meals, no sweets, very little meat, and I try to avoid extras like salad dressing and mayonnaise.
Nothing makes a ripe juicy pear taste sweeter than having no other source of sugar.
My main food options are soup and bread. Often, the soup is from scratch. This week I made tortilla soup from a package. I didn’t want to put the effort into a flavor I wasn’t sure I would like. Oh, goodness, this soup is fantastic, and I can’t wait to try one of the many recipes I’ve seen for it. And most of the breads I eat are homemade. I use the bread machine to make the dough, and then put it in a loaf pan. For the kids, I use this pan to make mini-loaves, and they love the slices that are just right for their hands. But the little slices don’t go in the toaster well, so I prefer normal loaves for my cinnamon-raisin bread and onion-rye bread. And, since I am very weak, I did not give up the butter that I generously spread on each delicious slice.
Unlike the Israelites, I am not at a loss for flavor. I’m not restricting myself to broth and plain bread. My food is quite enjoyable. And yet…
And yet, I found myself looking longingly at the lunchmeat I was serving my children yesterday. Under normal circumstances, I eat lunchmeat about once a month. It’s not my first choice for lunch, when I typically eat leftovers. But there I was thinking that a few slices of salami slathered with some Hellman’s on my homemade bread would really hit the spot.
{sigh}
In my misery yesterday, I recalled my judgement of the Israelites as ingrates. They did not even have cinnamon-raisin bread or the decadent cream-of-tomato soup that is in my freezer for next week. Two weeks of Lent, and I am longing for salami, yet I dare criticize those who had plain wafers for months for not being happy with what they have? Oh, how the Lord knows us so well.
Every Lent, I am reminded just how attached to this world I truly am. Perhaps I don’t need a big house or a fancy car, a plasma TV or a spa tub. Perhaps I can pat myself on the back because I do recognize the obvious blessings in my life like a high-speed internet connection and central A/C. But the bottom line is that I take for granted my basic requirements of food, clothing and shelter. I pray “…give us this day our daily bread…” the way my children mutter “thank you” out of habit and not true appreciation and with the expectation that there is always more just waiting for them.
I have a long way to go.
Around the World in 8 Days
Actually, he went halfway around the world and then turned around and came back.
Bill has called me twice today, on his cell phone, from Germany. I was wondering what we would ever do with all those rolled over minutes that we have been accumulating. He’s on his way back from a brief visit to Afghanistan. He spent two days there and the rest of the time through his return tomorrow afternoon (about 6 days) is travel time.
While “in country” he sent me this email:
Leaving soon … good trip overall..had dinner w/ Perry this evening…it was great to see him!!! {The Boss} recognized him from his visit and called on him frequently. This place is a dump but I feel guilty being in my position. I get VIP coattail treatment while everyone else is … well deployed. I’ll have a beer in a couple of days, they won’t. Heck they may not live a couple of days. You’ll be pleased to know security has been real tight and I feel quite safe. Hope things are well there.
War is hell. Now, in 18 months, when he gets deployed as I predict he will, he’ll try to tell me just how safe the place is. The emphasis added is mine – that’s all I saw when I read that note.
Bill typically gives up beer for Lent, but not this year. I’m willing to bet, knowing he’d be spending the night in Germany tonight, he intentionally did not give up beer just so he could indulge in one today. What amazing foresight. The man has his priorities straight.
A month or so ago, Bill had to fly out to Missouri and then California over the weekend. As he was saying goodbye to all the kids that Saturday morning, Billy blithely said, “Bye, Dad. Hope nobody shoots your plane down.” Bill assured him that it wouldn’t happen, but I pulled him aside and mentioned that planes don’t get hijacked in this country either, huh? I don’t like to speak in absolutes to children, unless it really is an absolute (death, taxes, God’s love, and the way somebody will urgently require your attention the moment after you pour milk into the cereal that tastes really nasty when it’s mushy).
Billy’s comment stemmed from his knowledge of a helicopter crash in Iraq that killed soldiers from my husband’s office. We didn’t include the kids in most of the conversations about the incident, but they hear things, they know things. Obviously, though, he just didn’t grasp the meaning of it all. That people don’t generally live through those situations doesn’t seem to enter his mind.
When Billy asked me at the school table last Wednesday where Dad was going on his trip, I very lightly said, “Afghanistan.” “But that place is dangerous,” he spluttered and immediately was in tears. I calmed him somewhat by mentioning all the people we know who are over there ***although I am most happy to know that as of today, my friend Stacy’s husband is on US soil…she will see him on Friday!!!*** and by telling him that people live there: families, children. Eventually though, I had to forbid him any tears in front of his sisters lest he upset them, and I made him stay in the den until he could get a grip on his emotions. (That’s right, son, repress those tears, be a man.) He’s been weepier than usual about little things this week, and I’ll be happy when he sees his dad tomorrow.
Fritz argued, “But this is the second time Dad has been deployed.” As if deployment were a disease like chicken pox that you became immune to once you got it. I wish. I explained that two days in country does not count as a deployment.
Nonetheless, Billy, my talker, went around to everyone he saw (clerks at the grocery store, people at church), telling them his dad was in Afghanistan. Living on a military installation, we would get sympathetic clucks. Then Billy would say he was coming home in X days, and they would get all excited for us. It was quite embarrassing.
Both boys have been pestering me the entire week about making Dad a welcome home banner. Not a picture, but a big ol‘ banner like you’d hang on the front porch, if we had a front porch. No, I tell them. If you can plan making a banner the day after the man leaves, it’s really too short of a trip to warrant such displays. They look at me as though I’ve just declared their Dad unworthy of love.
I’m just grateful that the girls seem oblivious to the hullabaloo. Their normal shenanigans are enough for me. And I’m grateful that Bill will be getting up in a few hours and heading for home.
Recent photos
If you get a camera out around here, everybody wants to get in front of it, even the dog.
Katie has that “Queen Esther from Veggie Tales” thing going on with her hair. She likes it like that. Boy, do I have flashbacks to being an adolescent and having my mom tell me to get my hair out of my face. So, just another decade or so of pictures like this…
This is the photo I wanted most of all. This is Jenny’s favorite dress. She was on a dress-wearing marathon and made it at least FIVE days with this same outfit. And then walked around half naked the next day waiting for me to cycle it through the laundry. I suppose that’s better than where we were a month ago when she would go through six outfits a day. This dress is cute, but it’s really too small for her. It looks fine with the black tights, but usually she prefers pink or purple socks (yes, with red plaid), and the skirt barely covers her bum. I was struck by how much she looks like me in this photo. I usually have a hard time seeing it.
And this one…what will be more embarrassing to him in ten years: the strutting around completely naked, or the wearing of his sister’s pink shoes? I assure you, he was quite unabashed in his traipsing around the house as only a child can be. And the only shoes he prefers to the pink ones are the shiny black tap shoes, which he loves to wear, while naked, while dancing on the kitchen floor.
What I Just Found…
…on my way upstairs.
That’s Jenny.
Out cold.
Because the stairs are so much more comfortable than the bed…
C’est fini
I took my sister’s wedding dress and turned it into her daughter’s First Holy Communion dress.
It shouldn’t have been that hard, but we wanted to use the existing hemline from the adult dress with a train. The front came out all right, because there was a slight curve to the adult dress and it manged okay on the kid-sized dress. But the back panels of the kid-sized dress were made from a completely straight hem along an adult dress with a train. There was no way to force a curve. So, the middle back is longer on the Communion dress than the front. I think it will look okay – a bit like a train perhaps. I’ll take pictures when my niece wears the dress in April.
If you click on the photos, they get really big and you can see the details, like the beading I hand-stitched around the neckline…or how lousy my zipper is!
Lots and lots of prayers went into this dress. I really was unsure that I could pull it off. Definitely, all that is good about this dress is from God, and all those imperfections are mine.
What I like best is that the dress is completely recycled. Even the zipper is off the wedding dress. The only thing I had to provide was thread, which I happened to have already. So, total cost was $0.00 plus three months labor. It was worth every minute. I plan for my daughters to wear it as well, and so I was working for three dresses, not just one.
And now, if you will draw your attention to the wedding dress – or rather, if you will consider the setting of the photo, you must realize that this is my bedroom. That is a picture of General Patton on my bedroom wall. It hangs right above the valet, where my husband hangs his uniform when he’s home. I think it’s a nice juxtaposition. Also note the pictures to the left of the dress. There are eight mini-pictures of cavalry soldiers and a medium sized picture of a cavalry soldier above my dresser. On the next wall (out of view) is a pretty big print of this painting.
Fortunately, my husband is quite aware that I spoil him rotten by providing this masculine sanctuary. He is most grateful, and in return, allows me free reign in the rest of the house. I’m not a real flowery kind of person anyway.
Conversion
Interesting dilemma. I can’t imagine how difficult it must be to tell everyone you know that you’ve gone over to the perceived “dark side” of conformity. I, too, once thought Catholicism and all of Christianity was all about conformity. I, too, now realize that conforming to Christ is definitely not the same as conforming to society. Oh no, conforming to Christ is much much harder and definitely means ostracism in most quarters. Even among “good” Catholics, I find myself holding back lest I be seen as some saintly, perfect creature I know myself to not be. It is pretty easy to be a generic goodfellow and live by the motto, “no harm, no foul.” But to “be who you are, and be that well” is a most daunting challenge indeed.
Reit This Way 