Category Archives: home life

01.22.07
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March of Life

My friend and I sat through the same homily yesterday. Hours later, as she is enjoying a fresh pot of my coffee while Bill puts the wheels on her son’s pinewood derby race car, she asks me if I’m going to the March tomorrow (today).

A little robot in my brain started flailing its arms saying, “Warning! Warning!”

I told her that although I had gone several years ago, obviously no, I would not be taking my five little kids to D.C. to stand around in the freezing cold (or rather to run in 5 separate directions driving me completely batty). Had she ever gone?

Well, no, as a matter of fact, she didn’t feel that she had any business preventing a woman from killing her child, as long as the child was unborn, of course.

She was polite about stating her opinion, and no, she didn’t really use those words because how can someone phrase it like that and really mean it? Murder is, after all, one of the chief crimes we expect our society to prevent. And those who murder children are ranked at the bottom of the scum pool with an extra-special lowlife status for parents who take the life of their children. But somehow, for some reason, it’s different if the child is still in the womb?

The only thing that is different is that the child’s cry has not yet been heard; the child’s eyes have not yet found a mother’s face; the child’s mouth has not yet awkwardly formed a smile; the child’s fingers have not yet curled around a gentle hand.

It is a good thing that human nature tends to amuse me more than anything. What inspired my friend to ask her question while receiving my hospitality? Had I begun the conversation, I would expect someone to freely defend his or her position. But I just don’t think it’s polite to go to someone else’s house, say, that Catholic homeschooling mother of five’s house, and bring up controversial topics when it’s likely that your position will be counter to hers. I don’t go to my evangelical friends’ homes and try to teach them about the Catholic faith.

My guess is that she brought the subject up because, deep down, she’s looking for someone to convince her of the truth. When you are convinced of the truth, your heart is at peace. You search no more. This doesn’t mean you know everything; it just means that you discern what is right with clarity. Having once spent many years in doubt, I know the difficulties of having to justify a false morality. It is a heavy, oppressive burden. The Lord’s yoke really is light, because it comes with the comfort of truth.

Having been there already, I know that there was nothing that I could say to change her mind right then. Had it been that easy, I would have spared myself a decade of agony. Faith is a gift, and if you lack that gift, you are lost. The good thing is that the gift is there for everyone. You just have to want it and ask for it and you’ll get it, sometimes in a gut-wrenching instant.

I found out over a year ago that my friend was Catholic, but had allowed her child to be her excuse for not going to Mass. He had been baptized, but the difficulties of taking a child to Mass (and he was born with some special needs) quickly made Mass attendance low on the priority list. But he and Billy are good friends, and he had to wait until afternoons on Sundays to play. And then Billy (dressed in camo) would come over singing his favorite song he learned at CCD: I’m in the Lord’s Ar-my, yes, SIR! And her son wanted that. He started passing the chapel and telling his parents he wanted to go too. No no, they said, very boring…you’d have to sit still for an hour (quite a challenge for this kid). I offered to take him (silently praying, “Your will, God, but please have her say no!“). I offered to take them both. I told her Mass times, and which one I thought was best based on how long it lasted and what kind of music they played (we have a variety here). Finally, over Christmas, her mom told her she was going to hell. Unconvinced of that, she apparently felt guilty enough that she’s been taking him to Mass and put him in CCD too.

And so it was that we both listened to our pastor talk about the defense of the unborn. He said that although not everyone is called to march or pray in front of abortion clinics, he does believe that on Judgment Day we will each be asked what we did to protect their innocent lives. Praying for an end to the atrocity is the basic first step. Beyond that, I think we, especially those of us currently raising children, are called to be models of the culture of life. If you are joy-filled in all that you do, I have noticed two different reactions to that joy. One is a rejection of it in the form of animosity, envy, mean comments, or worse. The other is a curious envy: what do you have and can I get some too (but can I get it without going to church, having more children, or giving up my me-centered lifestyle)? I don’t push my beliefs on others. I simply am. And in this post-modern era, what I am amounts to a freak on a traveling side-show. But there’s no admission to get a glimpse, and I can only hope that those who enter the tent go out the other side at least pointing in the right direction.

01.20.07
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Embarrassing moments

I confess that I am somewhat hot-headed at times.

My husband is at least as hot-headed, if not more so.

There are moments when the voices raise, the tempers flare, the eyes narrow. Sometimes I even wag my finger in his nose. Seldom does the emotion last long. Like a tea-kettle whistling, such outbursts are often the signal for us to remove the source of heat. And once the heat is removed the boiling ceases and things begin to cool down.

One such moment occurred this afternoon as we were cleaning up the house in preparation for some guests due to arrive in ten or fifteen minutes. And, why yes, that was my voice yelling something at my poor husband just seconds before the ding-dong of the doorbell.

Nice, huh? I’m sorry, honey.

01.18.07
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Learning Latin

This year, Fritz is learning Greek and Latin root words, and next year he’ll move into Latina Christiana. I’m floundering with just the roots! I have little idea how to pronounce the words, and so I do the flash card drills with less confidence than a teacher ought to have.

Fortunately, I have an aunt who taught Latin – at the collegiate level, I think. I emailed her an S.O.S. last week, and she said she put some pronunciation guides in the mail. I can’t wait to get them.

She also sent me a link to Living Bread Radio. They have the Our Father and the Hail Mary in Latin, and you can listen to a Latin expert recite them to learn how to say them properly. The Latin expert happens to be my aunt. I thought it was neat to hear her. And now I can learn those prayers.

This weekend I listened to Living Bread Radio for a bit. I left it running on my computer and would hear bits and pieces. I had a funny kind of nostalgia. The station is out of Canton, Ohio – what was once HOME for me. I lived in that area until I was 9, and the vast bulk of my mom’s family still lives there. One ad was for Walsh University. I remembering attending my father’s graduation from Walsh College. One thing I remember about my grandmother’s house was that she always had the radio on in the kitchen. She would listen to Paul Harvey as she went about her chores – cleaning up after and feeding a house full of men who were all working the farm. Living Bread Radio doesn’t have Paul Harvey, but I bet Grandma have listened to it had it been around then.

I need a mini-computer for my kitchen – an under-cabinet mount kind that has nice speakers. An ordinary radio won’t cut it because I’m stuck with local programming. Do they make such things?

01.16.07
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Down for the Count

I woke up Sunday morning with a searing pain across the middle of my back. I’ve spent the majority of the last two days either moaning or hissing depending on how efficacious the Advil has been and the degree to which it has been upsetting my stomach.

I’d say I’m doing better, but it’s not even 6 am. We’ll see.

I plan to do school from the couch with an ice pack on my back.

12.30.06
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Confused?

Pete’s newest word is “horsey.” He first used it two days ago to correctly identify a Fisher Price toy. Yesterday, he picked up a stuffed giraffe and said “Horsey!”

Jenny corrected him. “It’s not a horsey,” she said sweetly. “It’s a zebra.”

Later, I took the three little ones to the grocery store. Jenny brought a headband with reindeer antlers on top. She asked if she could bring the “binoculars” in the store.

Katie corrected her. “They’re not binoculars, Jenny. Binoculars are what you use when you go swimming.”

I sat there in silence pondering that one. After a minute, she said, “Oh, no. Those are goggles.” I’m really glad we cleared that one up.

Some days, I feel superfluous, much as Danielle Bean described earlier this month. Other days, well, zebras are spotted and deer are prized for their nice goggles, and I know I’ve got a long way to go with their education.

12.23.06
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Christmas rehash

Heading up to PA to visit Bill’s family for just the day. Kids will get loads of presents and sugar and thus begins the hyper, too-excited to eat, sleep or think coherently phase that marks a truly good holiday season. Say three Hail Marys for a safe and happy trip – we’ll need it with I-95 traffic.

Since I don’t plan to blog much over the next few days, here’s something to chew on, should you happen to have some down time and are looking for something to read.

It’s hard to believe that it’s already been three years, but it has. Three years since the worst Christmas ever with Bill deployed to Kosovo and not due back for two more months. The day after, I wrote about what it was like and I like to dig it out every year to rehash the misery. It serves as a reminder of where I was, what I survived, and what other families are going through right now. If you’re in the mood for something upbeat…this might not be the thing right now. Come back in a few days. In the meantime, say a prayer for the troops overseas and for their families. God is listening.

A Deployment Christmas
December 26, 2003

I know many people will ask me how my Christmas was, so I thought I’d write it down. I want to remember it too. I’m sure by the time Bill comes home in mid to late February, I will have forgotten already how hard it was.

With Bill away, I debated for a long time about how to spend the holidays from Thanksgiving through the New Year. For many years now, my family has gone to Ohio for the week of Thanksgiving to be with my parents. My dad and mom helped me continue that tradition by driving me to and from their house. It wasn’t too bad to be there without him, because I’ve been to Ohio with the kids and not him many times. And this year we went a little wild and had lasagna for “Turkey Day”, so it didn’t even feel like Thanksgiving.

But Christmas couldn’t be disguised as another ordinary day. I decided to tone things down a bit: no outside lights, minimal interior decorations, and only a fraction of the ornaments on the tree. I held out hope until the very end for some home-baked cookies, and finally settled on pre-made store-bought dough. And since I consider chocolate chip cookies “everyday” cookies, not “Christmas” cookies, this was a tough thing to accept. There are many days left in the Christmas season, so I still hope to get a batch or two of real cookies made up.

For the past few years, I have hosted a small Christmas Eve gathering: my husband and children and his parents and brother and sister. The day is spent in final preparation for the birth of Christ. At last, the ornaments can go on the tree and carols can be played. I run to the store for fresh ingredients and to get a green wreath for the front door. The guests arrive as the food is cooking. The kids watch the sky for the first star – a sign of the birth! At last, the Savior is here! We bless the Christmas tree – a blessing which recalls the fall of man and the need for a savior. The baby Jesus is found and paraded and placed in the stable with his mother and father. We sing “Away in a Manager” and “Silent Night”. We read the story of the birth of Christ from the Gospel of Luke. I commend my in-laws for going along with all this pageantry with such good-nature.

This year, with no husband and a nursing infant, I couldn’t face all the stress of hosting and a moment of sagacity made me realize that I would have lots of work to do after the kids went to bed that night. My sister-in-law came over early in the day so I could get to the store, and she held the baby as she slept so I could unearth my nativity set from the mound of clutter. She also baked my not-so-Christmasy cookies, which saved me that hassle.

In the afternoon, my husband and I had a “date” on the computer with our web cameras. I couldn’t believe how empty the computer center was for Christmas Eve. We spent about an hour together. The kids came and went throughout that time. At one point I was swarmed with all four kids who were hamming it up for dad. I heard a jingle and realized that Bill had sent me an instant message – one that made me blush. And then another jingle – he was laughing that he could see me blushing. I guess it’s nice to know he hasn’t changed much in the last ten months.

After our date, my sister-in-law was gone and I started dinner while the three older kids took a bath. I wanted a nice dinner for Christmas Eve. I knew I couldn’t have everything I usually make, but thought I could swing something decent. I was wrong. The baby just wanted to nurse and be held, so she spent quite a bit of time screaming as I did some basic things. In the midst of this chaos, three-fifths of the Cincotta family stopped by to sing me a Christmas carol. My kids got out of the tub, and I didn’t have a free hand to get them dressed and didn’t have the energy to hassle them. Eventually, Fritz got himself dressed, Billy put on some underwear, but Katie remained completely nude…and we sat on the floor in front of the Christmas tree to listen to carols and eat our dinner. The baby would not let me put her down without her crying, so I either had to juggle her AND the food, or eat and listen to her cry.

After dinner, I called the children together to get the baby Jesus and take him to the nativity scene. In my mind I imagined angelic children singing “Silent Night” with their sweet voices as we presented the baby Jesus to his mother. I saw wide eyes glistening as I read from the Gospel of Luke, and heard innocent voices asking questions about the true meaning of Christmas. Instead my half-naked children were fighting over who got to carry the statue of Jesus, who got to lead the procession, and who stepped on whose foot first. When my 5 year old threw a temper tantrum because the 3 year old didn’t hand him the baby Jesus properly, I threw my own temper tantrum. I announced that Christmas was over and told them to get ready for bed. I put the baby in her pajamas and closed the door to the boys’ room so I didn’t have to hear them and sat on the couch and nursed the baby and cried. I cried because Bill was gone. I cried because my children weren’t interested in the story of Christmas. I cried because I had lost my temper.

I cried because I was crying.

As I emailed Bill earlier in the day, “I have everything I need/want…besides material possessions, I have a wonderful husband, (mostly) great kids, and most importantly, a loving God who is taking care of me. I have nothing to cry about.” I despise self-pity and self-induced misery. I hated that I felt lonely and sad.

After about a half hour in the bedroom, the kids got restless. I reminded Fritz that I was done for the day; the show was over. Worried, I suppose, that I might cancel all things Christmas (oh, like Santa and presents), he was interested in cooperating. I didn’t care. I was tired of trying to get the kids to conform to my mental images of a perfect Christmas Eve. I told him, “You don’t even know what Christmas is all about! I’m trying to teach you, and you don’t care!” He yelled back, “I DO know what Christmas is all about!” “What is Christmas all about?” I asked. “It’s the birth of Jesus,” he said. “But what does that mean?” I pressured him, still not willing to relent. He answered, “It means we can go to heaven.”

Wow. Did I teach him that?

Hark, now hear the angels sing,
a new king born today,
and man will live for evermore,
because of Christmas day.
Trumpets sound and angels sing,
listen to what they say,
that man will live for evermore,
because of Christmas Day.

So I relented. What else could I do? We blessed the Christmas tree. We sang “Silent Night” with my voice cracking from so much yelling. We read from the Gospel of Luke. There were no precocious questions, the kids couldn’t sit still, there were a few minor skirmishes, and Katie spent the whole time removing santa hat-fuls of ornaments from the tree and hiding them in another room.

Afterwards, the kids went off to bed. There was very little talk of Santa and presents. Billy said (for the millionth time in the last month) that he missed Daddy. I said I did too. He asked if I could catch daddy. I said I sure wish I could, and if I could I would give him lots of hugs and kisses and then I would grab Billy and Fritz and Katie and Jenny and we’d all give each other lots of kisses and hugs. He suggested I use a “cowboy rope”. I said, yes, a lasso. I’d lasso daddy and then tie us all up together and we’d never be apart ever again. The boys seemed to like that idea.

I tucked the kids in and sat on the couch to nurse the baby to sleep. It was quiet and peaceful. The phone rang. Bill had attended Midnight Mass and then went to his office and called me. We talked for quite a while. It was the first time in over six months that I was able to talk to him without also tending to our children. It was very pleasant. I didn’t want to get off the phone, but knew that he was sacrificing his sleep to talk with me. Of all the presents I got from him, this quiet conversation was the best. I didn’t even hear a single yawn the whole time.

After I said goodnight to him, I had a bit of work to do. I tackled the heap of dishes in the kitchen. I prepped breakfast for the next morning: a spinach and egg bake that I love but which I hadn’t had in months. I wrapped the last few presents, put everything under the tree, and filled the stockings. I hung the spider ornaments and hid the pickle. I ironed the kids’ clothes and had them all ready for church.

There were a few things which didn’t get done. I decided that none of the presents needed ribbons or bows. I decided that Jenny’s exersaucer did not need to be assembled that night. I decided that the box to the unassembled exersaucer did not need to be wrapped. In fact, I decided it didn’t even need a gift tag because it was very obvious to whom it belonged.

I munched on Santa’s cookies and grabbed a cup of eggnog. I planned to sit for a bit and look at the tree and listen to the cool Christmas CD my sister sent me, but as I walked into the living room, I heard the baby crying. It was just as well. As I headed up to bed with her, the clock said 11:45 pm. Best to go to sleep anyway.

The baby woke up again around 5 am to nurse. She was a bit restless and I couldn’t fall back asleep. I guess I was a bit excited and was eager to see if the kids would like their new things. Fritz woke up first around 5:40 am. We spent about an hour together before Katie got up. He was happy that Santa had come. He waited patiently for everyone else to awaken so he could get in the stockings, but couldn’t resist peeking and was thrilled to see Batman and Superman action figures popping up from his and Billy’s stockings. Billy finally woke up around 7 am. By then I had already started getting the girls dressed. Fritz got dressed quickly because he wanted to wear the new socks he found in his stocking. I brushed hair and tied neckties while the kids played with dinosaurs and ate chocolate. Katie found the magic markers in her stocking and quickly “dressed up” her white tights. At least she kept the marker away from her face (after church, she didn’t).

Somehow I managed to get everyone in the car and off to church in pretty good timing. We came in as Father Rich was intoning the generations from Abraham to Jesus which is before the processional hymn. We quickly found a seat. I allowed Katie to bring a few small stuffed animals and the boys to bring their Superman and Batman, although I told them I would take them away if they got too loud. They didn’t get too loud, but Katie did. She wanted their toys. They shared with her for a bit, but just at the consecration she asked for them again and was told no. Immediately she began a typical age 2 tantrum. Immediately I picked her up and hustled her (and Jenny) out of the room leaving my 5 year old and 3 year old alone! Great mom, huh? Fortunately, Katie was so very upset at being removed from church that she promised she would quiet down, and we were able to return after only a minute or two. As I got back to my row, I thanked the gentleman in the row behind me who had apparently been assuring Billy that his mother would return shortly.

The rest of the mass passed without much incident. The lady at the other end of my row helped me by putting the car seat up off the floor and taking Jenny. I let her keep the baby after communion too. Fritz asked why the lady was holding her. If I weren’t hushing him for talking during mass, I would have answered, “Because it is obvious to everyone nearby that I am in desperate need of help.”

And then I noticed Billy fussing with his tie. When I tied it before mass, I knew it would be a problem, but didn’t have time to fix it. The skinny part in the back was too short to fit through the tab on the back of the fat part in front. It took him an hour, but he finally noticed it and it really bothered him. He wanted me to fix it. I told him it would have to wait until we were home in just a few minutes. We stood for the final blessing, and he began a typical age 2 tantrum (except he’s nearly 4 now). As the choir began to sing “Hark the Herald Angels Sing”, I started handing out coats. Billy wanted nothing to do with his. Fritz got his coat on. I zipped up Katie and got the baby from that very nice lady who held her for so long (Thank you God for charitable people!). As I buckled the baby into her car seat, another gentleman tried to help Billy with his coat. This only made him scream louder. I tried to go down the row to get to the aisle, but Billy intentionally blocked my path. I had to half drag/half kick him out of my way. I wanted to stop by the manger scene to pick up a piece of straw for Bill, but the noise was so loud that I decided to skip that part. I scooped him under my arm and carried the car seat with my free hand. Calling to my other two children and dodging people who didn’t seem to notice the flailing legs of the screaming kid, I made my way to the door. Sister Alice, laughing, patted me on the back and wished me a merry Christmas.

The nightmare continued. I somehow made it outside without Billy assaulting anyone. Fritz took off for the car and ran into and through the parking lot. And then, like a game of Frogger, decided to run back to me, tag up and head back for the car again. I caught him as he began his second run to the car, unmindful of the elderly man trying to back up right in front of him. I tried to yell at him but was distracted by Billy who was now upset because he was cold (he wouldn’t put on that coat while inside the church). I got the coat on him, but he continued to scream – now about how he needed gloves (it wasn’t that cold). I began trying to usher all the kids through the parking lot, and, fortunately, another kind man offered to carry the baby.

And this is why I avoid public places with the kids.

The rest of the morning was uneventful. We went home. We all calmed down. We opened presents. We ate breakfast. We called a few people and wished them a merry Christmas.

Bill sent me an email saying merry Christmas and that he wished he could be home. “But alas I am away, standing sentinel over a troubled land that knows not the joys of Christ or the wonders of Christmas.” And because we are so very fortunate to have this knowledge, we can rejoice. Even in our sorrow and through the pain of our separation, we can rejoice, and we can pray for those who know not the comforts of Christ.

Fall on your knees
Oh hear the angel voices
Oh night divine
Oh night when Christ was born

In the afternoon we went to Bill’s parents’ house. The kids behaved well – no tantrums. They got more toys from Nana and Grandpa and Aunt Margaret than from Mom and Dad and Santa. Margaret got the boys these cool Batman and Superman belts that talk. They say things that Batman or Superman would say. One phrase for Superman is “Emergency! The Earth needs my help! Let’s go!” I guess he’s supposed to be talking to one of the Superfriends.

We headed home early enough that it wasn’t a mad rush to get them off to bed. The house was a wreck. I didn’t even bring in the bags from the grandparents until today when I’d had a chance to move the other new toys around. Today was spent playing with toys and cleaning. There is a lot of organizing left to do. Now the toys are getting smaller and pieces are getting scattered to the four corners of every room. Fritz needs to learn to be responsible for his toys, but he also has to have a place to put them!

As I head off to bed tonight, I can’t help but wonder what it was like in Heaven before Christ was born. Did he turn to the Holy Spirit and say, “Emergency! The Earth needs my help! Let’s go!”??

12.14.06
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Decluttering for the holidays

Among my Advent tasks is a scaled down version of my spring cleaning. I’m not so worried about having yeast in my pantry as I am focused on the clutter in the closets. I am a very orderly and organized person (the mess on my desk notwithstanding). But I live in a home with five little people who have no understanding of just how bothersome it is (to me) to have My Little Pony accessories mixed in with the tea set.

And I can handle My Little Pony. But where I fail entirely is in the Lego and Playmobile arena. I dumped the Lego container yesterday afternoon and told the boys that only Legos were to go back inside it. And we began. Of course, the boys then proceeded to say things like, “Billy, look! You were looking for this piece!” And their sorting and cleaning was distracted by their search for other similar “jewels” for Billy’s “invention.” It was a team effort, but they were playing a different game than I.

A fly on the wall would have heard ten minutes of:

“Is this a Lego?” Affirmative grunt.

“How about this one?” Affirmative grunt.

“Legos?” Affirmative grunt.

“These?” “Oh, that’s Playmobile.”

“How about these?” “Legos.” “Really?” “Yes, Mom, they go to the Millenium Falcon.”

I am way out of my league here. I even contemplated for a few minutes that the entire endeavor to put pieces in the proper containers was really just over-the-top in organization. But then I recovered my senses and finished the job.

After an hour of cleaning the bedrooms, I released the kids to watch some TV. This gave me a chance to stealthily remove from their room all the things that I’ve decided they no longer get to keep. Some of the items were toys they rarely play with and will find a new home with another family via the post thrift store. Other things were broken toys that the kids insist are repairable by Magic Dad with the Gorilla Glue or were accessories to toys long gone.

When the kids came up a bit later, Billy remarked that he could see his dresser. Yes, it’s amazing how one can see the furniture when one puts toys, clothes, books and art projects where they belong. There are still two containers left – a bin of Army guys and a bin of cars. I need to make sure that GI Joe isn’t hanging out at the motor pool, and then the boys’ room is done. In the girls’ room, we need to re-build the Playmobile Palace destroyed by the huns, and then I have some sorting to do in Pete’s closet.

My inner soul will be at clutter-free peace for a week or so. Then comes the onslaught of New Stuff. At least there is room in the closet.

12.08.06
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For the record…

…this morning, my soul doth soar.

I managed to get out of bed this morning with little resistance. I took Greta for a run. I sat down with my husband to do morning prayers and remembered it was the Feast of the Immaculate Conception. I love Marian feasts.

Holy light on earth’s horizon,
Star of hope to those who fall,
Light amid a world of shadows,
Dawn of God’s design for all,
Chosen from eternal ages,
You alone of all our race,
By your Son’s atoning merits
Were conceived in perfect grace.
Hail, beloved of the Father,
Mother of his only Son,
Mystic bride of Love eternal,
Hail, O fair and spotless one!

Despite the early hour, I would have sung this if I had known the tune. I’m sure I’ll be humming Marian hymns all day long. I am so grateful that the Holy Spirit has filled me with joy today. The next 48 hours are rather daunting, and I’ll need all the extra graces I can get. And so, I say for now, my soul doth soar. We’ll see how I feel tonight after the kids go to bed!

What’s on the agenda?

Daunting Activity #1: Mass with the kids

Today is a Holy Day of Obligation. No begging off because Bill isn’t here to help. God is all the help I need, and I must trust Him to get through it. The last time I did this was very frustrating, but I’m sure it will be different this time. Sure. Perhaps what will be most different is Mom’s attitude!

On a good note, I had one of those half-awake revelations the other day. The Mass here on post is at noon, which doesn’t work for the baby who likes to take his nap at that time. I go to another church not too far away. I went there on November 1st, and I went there on August 15th – another Marian feast. On August 15th, they sang no Marian hymns. I was a bit…flabbergasted. Disappointed. Shocked. Sad. And really, really angry. As I was lying in bed, not motivated to get up, I remembered this incident and reminded myself to go to another church, one more likely to honor Our Mother through a few of the many beautiful hymns about her.

This is good, because beginning the day angry does not set a good tone for other activities scheduled like…

Daunting Activity #2: Christmas party at the boss’ house

The boss is a three star general. The whole family is expected to attend. You military folks will know that this is not optional, and that my husband, for good or ill and as unfair as it may be, will be judged by how his family behaves (or doesn’t).

For you civilians, this means probably very little. A three star is like the CEO of a very large corporation. And he’s friends with all the CEOs of all the other corporations, so if a worker bee is a bad worker bee and one CEO knows it, it would be difficult for that worker bee to find another hive.

I’m not one to stress about appearances, and my children are fairly well behaved. But they are just children, and they are young children at that. I fully expect my kids to do just fine. But I fully expect it to be due in no small part to my constant vigilance. And that’s not much fun.

Daunting Activity #3: another Christmas party

This one, on Saturday night, is more optional, but not really. One of those professional acquaintance situations. My friend Stacy was there on Thanksgivng and warned me about all the child unfriendly decorations at child accessible heights. To make it worse, there’s a 50/50 chance Bill will have to work Saturday night. This does not let me off the hook. Especially since Stacy will be going sans her deployed husband. And her two littlest ones are the same ages as my two littlest ones.

Ah, the stress. Gotta love it.

And now, off to scour the house for Jenny’s church shoes. Won’t she look nice in pink tennies and her dress at the general’s house?

11.27.06
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Football, running and coffee creamer

Although it is painfully clear who won the Bengals – Browns game yesterday, I’m not certain who won the Bengals – Packers game played in my backyard around the same time. Both my boys seemed to have sustained minor abrasions. Billy, for once, was excited to see his own blood pouring from his lip. My suggestion that they tone down their tackle “football” to something a bit less aggressive fell on deaf ears.

At one point, I poked my head into the backyard and Fritz said, “Mom, look how muddy I am!” And then Billy said, “Mom, look how muddy I am!” I asked if the point of the game was to get muddy, and Billy answered in the affirmative with a look that seemed both shocked and bewildered that I didn’t already know the answer to that question.

Later, Bill played with the boys and is now nursing an injured knee.

Of course, who I am to point out their foolishness? At least they had fun obtaining their wounds. The palm of my hand and my knee are still stinging from a fall I took this morning barely a tenth of a mile into my run. It would have been much better had I just stayed in bed that extra half hour. Instead of exercising myself and my dog, I hurt myself and put three holes in the only well-fitting pair of running pants I own. And my left ankle doesn’t feel great either, having been rolled off the edge of the pavement causing my fall.

ugh.

On a good note (always must end on a good note), I have to chuckle at a man I overheard at the grocery store yesterday. He and his wife were contemplating various flavored coffee creamers as I reached for International Delight’s Pumpkin Pie Spice. Having had too many of Starbuck’s Pumpkin Spice lattes (and if you’ve had one, you’ve had too many: my SIL accurately compared them to crack – have one, get addicted), I eagerly jumped at the opportunity to inexpensively recreate the flavor in the comfort of my own kitchen. The man was rejecting the Pumpkin Pie Spice because he felt it was a Thanksgiving leftover. “There must be a reason nobody else wanted it,” he said, implying the reason was that it wasn’t good tasting. I actually paused for a nanosecond, contemplated the under $2 purchase and considered returning it.

But now, as I sit here enjoying this little luxury, I’m happy I didn’t listen to the man. There are many reasons these creamers might be there – not just the possibility that the hoards tried the flavor and found it lacking. The risk of trying it was pretty insignificant; the pleasure of success is immeasurable. It’s a shame the man was more willing to follow what he perceived, possibly erroneously, to be the crowd’s opinion than to take a minor risk and find out for himself the truth.

And I suppose this is the lesson I need to learn today as I whimper over my injuries and wish I’d stayed in bed instead of wasting my morning. I could have gotten a half hour more sleep. But I could get a half hour more sleep every day. Instead, most days, I get up and I run two or three miles with success. Today, I was not successful. There is no guarantee that I will or will not have a good run when I head out at 430 am. But had I stayed in bed, there is 100% certainty that I would not have had a good run by the simple fact that I would not have attempted it.

To paraphrase Moses, we can choose life or death. I say, we can choose a premature death by not living life. God, help me to live.

11.26.06
by

THE RULES

Last night, Bill and I herded the last of the kids into the boys’ bedroom where the usual pre-bedtime melee was in full swing. We sat on the floor, since the beds were heaped with squirming, squealing lumps.

“Children, ” I said, “come sit down here. We have an important matter to discuss.” And dutifully, they all presented themselves in a line on the floor.

“Come sit here by me, Daddy,” said Katie.

“Oh, no,” he said, “I’m on this side of the discussion.”

And so I began: “You guys have been giving us a hard time for weeks now at bedtime. I’ve been thinking it over, and I’ve decided that perhaps you just don’t know what THE RULES are. So, I’m going to tell you all THE RULES, and then we will expect you all to follow THE RULES. In a few minutes we will say prayers, and then we will tuck you all into your beds and say goodnight. At that point, it is bedtime. THE RULES are that you will lie on your beds, close your mouths, close your eyes, and go to sleep. You will not talk. You will not go get a drink of water. You will not go to the bathroom. You will not stop by your brothers’ or sister’s bedroom on the way to the bathroom to see what they are doing. You will not come downstairs to tell us all the rule breaking your siblings are doing.”

At this point, Katie raises her hand. She is on the verge of tears, but she’s been on the verge of tears for five years now. She barely manages to squeak out her question. “But when are we supposed to go to the bathroom?” Katie happens to be our worst bedtime offender.

“NOW, Katie. You see, when we send you up to get ready for bed, we expect you to get ready for bed: wash up, pajamas on, teeth brushed, bathroom, drink of water, all that. So when we tuck you in and say goodnight, you’re all ready to go to sleep.”

“But what if we really have to go to the bathroom, Mom?” Fritz is old enough to reason that we don’t really want wet beds either, so which “rule” is going to win? I know if you give a kid an exception to a rule, you will deal with exceptions for an hour every night, since that’s been the problem for the last few months.

“Going to the bathroom after bedtime is against THE RULES. If you have to go, I suggest you not get caught. And the best way to not get caught is to go right there, hurry up and get back to bed fast. If you take a long time, stop to admire yourself in the mirror, swing by your sisters’ room to tell them what you’re doing or invite your brother to keep you company, you WILL get caught.”

“Oh.” Hmmm…breaking THE RULES but not getting caught…interesting concept…

“OK, let’s review: after bedtime, are you supposed to stay in bed?”

“YES,” comes a chorus of voices.

“Will you talk to your brother or sister or sing or jump around or read out loud?”

“NO,” comes a chorus of voices.

“Good. Now, infractions are punishable – possibly by spanking. Everybody understand that?”

“YES,” comes a chorus of voices.

And so, after prayers there was a bustle of final preparations for bed that should have been done earlier and will be done earlier tonight, and then the kiddies went off to bed. Five minutes later, Bill passed through and did some remindings of the rules, and five minute after that, I passed through and chased a few kids back to bed. And we heard some thumping from the boys’ bedroom for about ten more minutes. And when we finally went upstairs, we found Katie in her usual spot – sleeping at the top of the stairs, because she’s scared of the dark in her room.

{We allow her to leave the bedroom door all the way open and she’s turned her pillow to be at the foot of her bed and right by the door – basically it is just as light by her head in her room as it is in the hall, but she prefers the hall. This photo was taken last month when she convinced Jenny to sleep with her in the hall.}

We did not spend an hour telling kids to be quiet, so I think it was a success, despite the minor infractions.

And thanks to Advil, the teething toddler made it all the way through the night without waking. Wow. I think I can take on the world after all this rest.