The art of digital photography

The best thing about digital photography is the ability to take lots and lots of pictures and merely delete the bad ones. If you have kids who want to express themselves through this medium, you won’t have to pay a ton of money to discover two dozen blurry shots of stuffed animals.

This is Pink Puppy. I fear Pink Puppy will one day accompany a certain daughter on her honeymoon.

Every so often, a kid takes a shot that makes me laugh. I’m pretty sure Jenny is the photographer here. I think kids will ham it up differently for each other than for mom.

Love the eyes.

So what if I have to download 30 or 40 pictures…of pictures

…to get to the one good one? It’s worth the time.

Signs of Life in Bikini Bottom

Bikini Atoll’s Nuked Coral Reef Bounces Back to Life

The tiny island was the site of hydrogen bomb testing in the 1950’s. One test in particular was devastating:

The massive explosion vaporized everything on three islands in the atoll, raised water temperatures to 55,000 degrees and left a crater that was 1.2 miles (2 kilometers) wide and 240 feet (73 meters) deep.

But there’s good news:

A team of scientists recently led a diving expedition into Bravo Crater and found an unexpectedly thriving coral community.

Some bad news:

Though ambient radiation readings are fairly low at Bikini, radioactive material accumulates in the soil and in produce such as coconuts, making them unsafe to eat.

I guess that means The Krusty Krab wouldn’t be a recommended spot for hungry travelers?

What child is this?

Fritz set his alarm by himself with no prompting so he could get up early to watch cartoons.


Yesterday, Fritz asked me if he needed to watch his Latin DVD. No, we had done Friday’s work on Thursday. Peter the Parrot must have heard us. A few minutes later, he came up to me waving the Latin DVD.

“Mommy, I watch Latin DVD?”


Wednesday morning, Mary had her well-baby checkup, but I didn’t have time to stay for shots. When I went back in the afternoon, Katie and Jenny begged to come with me. As the nurse filled out all the paperwork, my girls stared at all the stickers and lollipops. Since once I actually had a nurse at a different facility tell my kids that only the child getting shots could have a sticker (prudently protecting the government’s pennies, I suppose) and not wanting them to get their hopes up, I told them they wouldn’t be getting anything.

Jenny asked, “Can I have a shot, Mommy, pleeeease?” And since I admitted to her that she’s due for her DTaP booster, she’s asked me every day since when I’ll take her back.

Stumbling blocks of sin

I have a friend. I haven’t known her very long, but every time we get together, I like her more and more.

She is a convert to the faith, and she has an incredible story of her journey from being raised in an atheist and dysfunctional household through drug dependency and to the brink of suicide where she stumbled into a Catholic Church near the end of Holy Week and found physical healing. She and her husband, with a conversion story of his own, joined the Church several years later as an engaged couple and were married within a week of their initiation.

They were young – early twenties – and, like most young adults, still had a lot of growing up to do. But neither of them had any idea about how to be Catholic. Of course, adult catechises is practically non-existent in most parishes, and most Catholics assume that the majority of us are cradle Catholics or married to cradle Catholics. Those who somehow find their way to the Catholic Church on their own are pretty much left to figure it all out by themselves. And this just doesn’t work well for those who don’t have a Catholic support system.

As an example, her two sons are three years apart. When the younger one was a baby they sought baptism – for both of them. The priest couldn’t believe that their three year old wasn’t baptised yet. They had no idea that it was something you should do as soon as you reasonably could. It was out of ignorance that they neglected it.

Anyway, my friend, like all of us, is still on the journey to holiness. About a year or so ago, she began to evaluate her wardrobe, especially what she wore to church. She hadn’t really thought much about her appearance before, but she was starting to consider that perhaps the current fashions were not appropriate for Mass. She had worn spaghetti strap tops and a halter top dress. But on her own she was starting to consider what an educated Catholic would call the virtue of modesty. This was the Holy Spirit whispering to her.

Just at this point, a pious mother of many left a book on her car about how women should dress modestly for Mass. She had anonymously done this to several women at the church who had all felt hurt, but nobody had said anything to her. My friend, who had admired this woman from afar for her devotion, confronted her. The woman admitted putting the book on her car, said that she had been wanting to say something for six months (the whole time my friend had been a parishioner there), and called my friend “a stumbling block of sin to the men of the parish.”

Well, now.

The spiritual works of mercy are:

To instruct the ignorant;
To counsel the doubtful;
To admonish sinners;
To bear wrongs patiently;
To forgive offences willingly;
To comfort the afflicted;
To pray for the living and the dead.

There is no question that my friend could have used some instruction and admonishing, but

We can not know fully where someone is on their journey to God. We can not expect that with conversion of heart will naturally follow sin-free behavior or even understanding of the basic rudiments of faith. We can not compare our journey of 30 or 40 or 50 years from childhood with wonderful role-models to someone else’s journey of 10 years with no assistance save that of the Spirit.

Of course, this woman did not know of my friend’s journey. She didn’t know that my friend was open to advice and counsel if done charitably. She didn’t know that my friend was already thinking about modesty. And that’s exactly my point.

Because now this pious woman, who likely meant well by her actions, has become a stumbling block of sin for my friend. Her method was so blunt, so hurtful, that my friend still struggles to forgive the injury. She’s only human.

There are many ways to be a witness for Christ. There are many ways to perform the spiritual works of mercy. Only the Spirit knows the best way for each person at any particular time, which is why prayer is so necessary when trying to serve the Lord.

I only hope that in my own zeal I have not been a stumbling block of sin for someone else.

Late to bed, late to rise

I would like to get up at 5 am. There is so much that I can accomplish in those early morning hours: uninterrupted, quiet, calm, peaceful. I love that time of day.

Bill would like to get up at 6 am. He doesn’t have to leave, usually, until after 8 am, and he hates to rush. But two hours for breakfast, getting ready, and reading the Drudge Report is plenty for him.
Unfortunately, in recent weeks, we’ve been living in the Land of Nod. Bill’s classes have him “burning the midnight oil” – notice the lamps on his unit patch? They aren’t kidding.

Bill has been going to bed between midnight and 2 am, and I, stupidly, have been pushing my own bedtime later as well, I guess because I’m not used to going to bed without him. Well, I am used to going to bed without him, but without him physically anywhere nearby. I’m not used to saying goodnight to him and going to sleep while he, poor man, is making himself a cup of tea at 11 pm to help him stay awake.

Yesterday morning, I woke up at 6:53 am. (I had been up an hour earlier with the baby, but fell back asleep.) I nudged Bill to get him up, and then snuggled back into the pillow. A minute later, Bill leaned over me and broke the bad news, “You have a doctor’s appointment.” I had a half hour to get out the door with Mary for her 6 month well baby.

She went in her pajamas.

Last night, I went to bed at 10 pm. I’d like to say it was an act of discipline that put me there, but, honestly, I was loading the washing machine when Mary started to cry. Had I not had to respond to her, I would have gone on to fold the clothes I had taken out of the dryer and possibly tried to put the play room in some sort of order (read: hid 25% of the toys until I can smuggle them out of the house to donate them to the thrift store).

I’m going to force myself to drop everything at 930 pm. Maybe I’ll even set an alarm. I just can’t compete with my husband, and I shouldn’t try. Early to bed, early to rise.