Yesterday, Fritz went to a birthday party which included attending the movie The Spiderwick Chronicles. I’ve not read the books, and hadn’t really heard much about the movie, but I let him go, because he’s nearly ten, the movie was rated PG, and I realize that I can’t hold his hand forever. He, and all my children, will eventually have to live their own life without their mother filtering the things to which they are exposed. It’s things like that which give me growing pains.

He liked it, but admitted it was a little scary. I think he’s proud of himself for braving it without a grownup. This kid, two years ago, could not sit through The Goonies, even with his parents right there telling him it was going to be okay.

This family-friendly review gives it a B+.

Fritz describes the characters putting salt across the windowsills to ward off the monsters or something like that. I find this very curious, since I myself have done the same thing, using blessed salt, especially if the children were having nightmares. I would just like to understand the context under which the salt is used, so if any of you have seen the movie, can you clue me in? (My email address is on the sidebar.)

The man and woman were 85 years old, and had been married for sixty years. Though they were far from rich, they managed to get by because they watched their pennies. Though not young, they were both in very good health, largely due to the wife’s insistence on healthy foods and exercise for the last decade.

One day, their good health didn’t help when they went on a rare vacation and their plane crashed, sending them off to Heaven. They reached the pearly gates, and St. Peter escorted them inside. He took them to a beautiful mansion, furnished in gold and fine silks, with a fully stocked kitchen and a waterfall in the master bath. A maid could be seen hanging their favorite clothes in the closet. They gasped in astonishment when he said,

“Welcome to Heaven. This will be your home now.” The old man asked Peter how much all this was going to cost. “Why, nothing,” Peter replied, “Remember, this is your reward in Heaven.”

The old man looked out the window and right there he saw a championship golf course, finer and more beautiful than any ever built on Earth. “What are the greens fees?” grumbled the old man.

“This is heaven,” St. Peter replied. “You can play for free, every day.”

Next they went to the clubhouse and saw the lavish buffet lunch, with every imaginable cuisine laid out before them, from seafood to steaks to exotic deserts, free flowing beverages. “Don’t even ask,” said St. Peter to the man. “This is Heaven, it is all free for you to enjoy.”

The old man looked around and glanced nervously at his wife. “Well, where are the low fat and low cholesterol foods, and the decaffeinated tea?” he asked. “That’s the best part,” St. Peter replied. “You can eat and drink as much as you like of whatever you like, and you will never get fat or sick. This is Heaven!”

The old man pushed, “No gym to work out at?”

“Not unless you want to,” was the answer.

“No testing my sugar or blood pressure or…”

“Never again. All you do here is enjoy yourself.”

The old man glared at his wife and said, “You and your bran muffins. We could have been here ten years ago!”

I sorted through one of many, many boxes of photos I have that are not organized in any manner whatsoever. It’s one of my goals this year to at least group the pictures into piles for the different children, and maybe pull out some for different holidays. I’d really like to have a “Christmas” photo album and an “Easter” photo album. Someday. Right now, I’d be happy with a “Christmas” pile and an “Easter” pile.

Anyway, this photo was in there. It’s from 1990 or 1991. I was 19 or 20. Bill had hair! And doncha dig those glasses?

Silly girl. I had no idea what life had in store for me.

And still apropos today:

The boys had their Cub Scouts’ Blue and Gold Banquet yesterday. Every family was supposed to bring a side dish. The theme was “Chinese New Year” and our $5 per family contribution was paying for Beef with Broccoli, Sweet and Sour Chicken, rice and drinks. Since my kids don’t like Chinese food (and probably half the kids I know don’t either), I thought I’d make macaroni and cheese.

That was THE PLAN.

When I went to the grocery store early in the week, I completely forgot about THE PLAN. For the rest of the week, I kept reminding myself I needed to go back there for virtually every ingredient in the recipe. I even made a list. The week progressed into Friday morning, then Friday afternoon, then Friday evening, and I was too tired to summon the strength to go to the store. I looked in the fridge and saw grapes and a melon and apples. Suddenly, I had a NEW PLAN: fruit salad.

A little voice in my head told me I’d better do it right after the kids went to bed. But I was tired from my usual long day, and wanted to sit for just a few minutes. I reminded myself that if I didn’t do it that night, I wouldn’t have time the next day. But my few minutes of sitting was all the free time I had. My adoration hour is from 10 pm to 11 pm, and by the time I got back from that, I crawled straight into bed.

The next morning, I thought about my NEW PLAN, and told myself that I would still be able to do it. It would only take about ten minutes. But I had a house full of kids to get ready, Mary would not let me put her down, and I was trying to help Billy decorate the cake he was entering in a contest at the Banquet. Finally, it was time to go.

I washed the grapes and put them in a bowl. It was MY SOLUTION.

In the end, there was more than enough food. At least two other people brought macaroni, and several brought spaghetti. All my grapes were gone.

Next time, MY SOLUTION will be THE PLAN.

I come slowly to this holy hour,
Within my heart deeply regret my pace.
In truth do I long to receive His grace,
Knowing this time in prayer it does shower.
Time and again witness to His power,
I should eagerly run and take my place.
Seeing Him there contained in that gold case,
Incomprehensible Truths; I cower.
How can it be that God, Maker of all,
Deigned to be there for all of us to see?
Crumb of Divinity captured and shown.
Something so great found in something so small.
God speaks softly in a whisper to me,
Blinking back tears trembling before His throne.

I’m shopping for clothes…ack.

I wouldn’t mind shopping for clothes if my size were in the single digits.

{sigh}

The idea of spending money on something that really had better not fit me in 3 months is depressing. But so is getting dressed every morning.

And it doesn’t help that I’m very picky. My arms are short, so nothing long-sleeved. I like 3/4 sleeve best unless it’s hot. No V-neck (always too low). No boat-neck (they always slip off my shoulders). No trim at the neck or cuffs that might irritate my sensitive skin. Must be nursing-infant accessible. And what is up with cowl-necked sweaters? Can we please move on to the 21st century? Or at least the last decade of the 20th?

And then there are color issues. I like blue. Outside of that, my taste is very limited. Black and gray and navy are great…for winter. But spring is coming (right? spring is coming? sometime?) and I prefer lighter colors in the spring. But a wardrobe of blue shirts ranging from pale blue to robin’s egg blue is rather boring. Lilac is cool. And, uh, that’s about it. I’m actually considering pink, because coral just won’t look good on me.

And then I look at pants. I prefer boot cut. Tapered legs seem plentiful. Yeah, I’ll order one of them and a cowl-necked sweater and play some Go-Gos.

I’m just glad I’m doing this all online and not in a store. I’m exhausted and I’m not even physically trying on clothes.

Thank goodness I’m not looking for a bathing suit.

P.S. Holy cow! Spell checker worked!

On Saturday, Katie and Jenny were moaning because there were no little girls around to play with. I needed to go to the grocery store, so I invited them along, and the proposition did cheer them. Of course, I took the baby, too. But by the time we headed for the door, Peter was up from his nap with shoes on and coat in hand. He has a sixth sense.

“I want go too.” Nevermind that he has no idea where we’re going.

“Use this time wisely,” I scolded my husband wondering why I was taking four little children to the grocery store on the busiest shopping day of the week.

It wasn’t too bad. Mary didn’t get fussy until the very end, and Katie was very helpful in putting the items on the belt for the checkout.

But I could tell I’ve grown weak from lack of doing such an exercise in quite a while. I bought kid yogurts AND drinkable yogurts AND a big container of pretzel rods AND a bag of generic fruit loops. Believe it or not, I said no to twice as many things.

My friend emailed me this list. I’ve seen it elsewhere, but still think it’s funny the second time around.

Top Ten Conservative Catholic Pickup Lines

10. May I offer you a light for that votive candle?

9. Hi there. My buddy and I were wondering if you would settle a dispute we’re having. Do you think the word should be pronounced HOMEschooling, or homeSCHOOLing?

8. Sorry, but I couldn’t help notice how cute you look in that ankle-length, shapeless, plaid jumper.

7. What’s a nice girl like you doing at a First Saturday Rosary Cenacle like this?

6. You don’t like the culture of death either? Wow! We have so much in common!

5. Let’s get out of here. I know a much cozier little Catholic bookstore downtown.

4. I bet I can guess your confirmation name.

3. You’ve got stunning scapular-brown eyes.

2. Did you feel what I felt when we reached into the holy water font at the same time?

1. Confess here often?

** Update: I think I loaned my copy to my sister, so I can not confirm. But my memory tells me that I first saw this list in The Bad Catholic’s Guide to Good Living.

**Update again: yes, page 47.

The last time I had my cholesterol checked was in 1995, and a nurse-friend of mine intimated recently that I was being vaguely irresponsible in not checking it more regularly. I hate having blood drawn.

Back in 1995, I regularly obtained meals from the fast food drive-through. I was a working woman, and five days a week, I ate a hot lunch off some menu somewhere. On the weekends, my not-yet-husband and I ate out more often than not. Breakfast at a Jersey diner was routine, and I didn’t even glance at the “heart-healthy” choices.

I can’t remember the exact number, but I think my total cholesterol was about 94. Yes, that’s a two-digit number.

I thanked God and good genes and decided that I was just “blessed” in this regard. I rested assured on the matter for more than ten years. Then over the last year or so, I’d have an occasional nagging doubt. What if there was a mistake? What if the results were inaccurate for some reason? I have convinced myself that no matter how many Big Macs I eat, no matter how often I partake in covered and smothered potatoes, my cholesterol will naturally remain low, but what if I’m wrong? I could be a heart attack waiting to happen, and I don’t even know it.

Finally, the friend’s chastisement convinced me to just do it already. I’m older now, and these levels tend to go up as we age. Sure enough, mine did. To 117.

So, I’m thanking God and god genes, praying the kids take after me and not their dad, and making a mental note to check my cholesterol levels again. Like in ten years.