Breaking Even

This morning was fantastic. John got up with the kids, made pancakes and coffee (a treat for a Monday), stayed with us all morning until we could take him to work on our way to a playdate. The playdate was fantastic. A great time catching up with a friend I haven't seen in a while and her two little ones K's and J's age. We stayed through lunch and came home for naptime. It was going so, so well.

Then naptime didn't happen. My packing and housework subsequently didn't happen. I still had a grocery run to make and a few other errands to do and it was coming close to 4:30. I knew it was not going to go well taking the kids to the store that late in the afternoon, but I knew it had to be done. Let's just say I was just about in tears by the time we got home.

Toddlers will be toddlers and babies will be babies, and that is just the way it is. But food still needs to be procured, and laundry still needs to be done, and somewhere in all of that there has to be a way to teach the toddler not to push the baby off whatever toy he's on just because she wants it right then. But I couldn't figure it out today.

What do I take away from a day like today when I'm just breaking even--on a day I know God granted I get somethings so right, and at other times I know my human nature got it so wrong? I have to get better at letting go, at placing the flower on the owie crown. I think what I can take away is that I can remember how great the morning was. And I can try again tomorrow.

In the beauty of holiness...

Let me begin this post giving due credit and praise to the artist behind the painting that adorns this blog and our wall at home. The icon of the Visitation was painted by Jim Janknegt, a dear friend of our family's, and commissioned along with the icons of the Sacred Heart and Immaculate Heart for our wedding. Each day I am inspired by the message that Jim brilliantly articulated when painting these images, and each day I am awed by their beauty and presence in my home.  See more of Jim's amazing work at Brilliant Corners Artfarm.

Which brings me to something I've been stewing on for a few weeks now. I have been attending a scripture based mother's group in the area since the fall. It has been an enriching part of my life for the past few months, and I was sad today when we had our final session until the fall. But a few weeks ago the topic for that particular session was about forming a "Deuteronomy 6 lifestyle" and a "Christian" home. The speakers point was that our entire lives should radiate the love of God. She was focused on how this applies to our interpersonal familial relationships. We are to "drill into" our children the Lord's goodness to us and what He asks of us in return.

I don't know, maybe it's the visual learner in me, or the Catholic who is drawn to the richness of the beauty of the Church, not to mention the physical presence in the Eucharist, but I believe that a "Christian" home is made up of a lot more than just the words, emotions and interactions of the interpersonal relationships. I was struck by how she did not once mention anything about the actual home. I think the way we approach our physical beings and possessions, our surroundings and appearance teaches a lot about God's love for us as persons and how we should reflect that love to others.

What?! Slow down. Am I implying that a tidy home filled with pretty things and well-kept people but that is devoid of all affection, communication, and deep relationship is the way to bring up a family. Surely you know I do not. But I do believe that having a home decorated at least a little with things of beauty, like artwork, music, flowers, or simply dusted shelves (which I can never seem to get done!), is enriching to any one's soul and can be a launching pad for educational moments.

I think back to Valentines Day when my husband picked out a special little Gerber daisy for our daughter. She paraded down the busy town street with that flower and thought it was the greatest thing ever. She helped us put it in a vase on the homeshrine. For the next week every time she saw that flower she said, "Tata gave K a flower!" with a great big grin on her face. That was a moment where something beautiful, yet so simple, taught the little girl about a father's love, and hopefully laid the foundation for her further learning of the Father's love.

I do know that without love, all of that is mute. So we keep loving, and hope they're learning to love, too. And as for the beauty, we expose them to it where we can. And I am so grateful we have such a beautiful piece to share with our family, and with you!

Every Sacrifice

So I had "Heavenwards, Always", by Kathy Kanewske, playing in the background today as we were getting ready for nap time. My daughter and I were reading one of her stories, when she suddenly started whispering something rhythmically under her breath. I paused to listen.

"Every sacrifice and trial we face fills our treasury with your good grace."

Joy moment!

I tried singing along with her. She said, very emphatically, "No mommy can sing," and went right back on singing along. I just sat and listened to her for a few moments, completely in awe of how much she soaks in, and how much of what soaks in she is able to make her own.

And that one line, repeating over and over, brought back to my mind what has been floating around since Lent began, about sacrifice and how to teach love and service to our little ones. Even though she is not understanding every aspect of everything we say or do, I know these moments are somehow being etched into her person. She is being formed by what she sees and hears and participates in.

But developmentally things are tricky. We're smack dab in the middle of the "mine" stage and the "no" stage. Though these days those two words aren't heard as much, the stage shows in her actions. The baby brother, who is cruising now, often has his hands picked up and pushed off of whatever furniture he adheres himself to, resulting in the dampened thud of cloth diapered bum hitting wood floor. Or there is the "no J can touch this" accompanied by a swift shove, push, head butt, or really any effective form of two-year-old force. I'm realizing more and more that how I respond in these situations will also in some ways form who she becomes, and who the baby becomes. And I can tell you that however I react doesn't seem to be having the desired effect for anyone.

There is only so much separating one can do. Only so much distraction, so much reasoning. The time-outs are rule of law now, and the situation is escalating. It is such a struggle coming up with good solutions, communicating them effectively, and remaining consistent in the limits and consequences. And this seems like such a common parenting concern!

Phew! Parenting is tiring. But in a good way. Because one minute you're about to lose your cool (or do!), and the next their singing to you, or playing [gnawing on] ball with each other, or actually "good nice sharing." And every sacrifice and trial we face fills the treasury of grace.

Feast Week

While our Lenten sacrifices usually take precedence over more celebratory days, two days this past week deserved a little more festivity than the rest.

Thursday was the Memorial of St. Patrick of Ireland. We celebrated in true Irish form...or as close as I, an American, could muster. I cured my own pork for a bacon boil with cabbage, and made a delicious brown bread and champ on the side. We started with a toast  of Irish Mist to St. Patrick and to Ireland, and finished with maybe a not so traditional dessert--shortbread shamrocks dipped in milk chocolate.

We got to the end of the evening, after the kids were in bed, and I realized I had done all these things to bring Ireland into our home, but had completely forgotten to come up with some prayers to commemorate the day! Dropped ball. I turned it somewhat secular even without the green beer and leprechauns! Next year. One step at a time!

And you may be wondering how I could have pulled all this off with two under two. I had lots of help. My dear sister-in-law was here and lent both hands, helping with the kids and with the preparations. Thanks Ciocia!

The other feast is today. It is the Solemnity of St. Joseph, husband of Mary. We're celebrating today in a scaled down version of the Sicilian-American celebration of New Orleans. Breads, cookies, wine, pasta, stuffed artichokes. It is going to be fun! 

I've set up an altar similar to those built in parishes and homes all around New Orleans. Normally they are extravagant altars, many tiers in height, with statues, icons, breads and cookies in shapes symbolizing St. Joseph and the Holy Family. Here is our attempt:

We have breads in the shape of a staff, cross, and monstrance. We have cookies and flowers, statues and vino, all to celebrate St. Joseph and his intercession for us.

Why such celebration? Well, the story goes that in the middle ages Sicily went through a tragic famine. The people prayed to St. Joseph, and the famine ceased. In thanksgiving they built these altars with food from the harvest. St. Joseph became the patron saint of Sicily. Emigrants brought these traditions with them to New Orleans, and though I am not aware of any kind of Italian or Mediterranean blood in my veins, as the daughter of a New Orleanian, I feel it is my duty to pass on this aspect of my culture and heritage. Our kids are going to be very confused by all these cultural traditions. That or very proud of their heritage.

And if I have confused my history, please comment with the correct one! 

I just wanted to share our celebrations with you! Pray a little prayer to St. Joseph today, for all the Josephs and fathers in your life!

Spring has sprung!

A blessed St. Patrick's day to you all! We're celebrating in true form here with bacon and cabbage, soda bread and champ. I'll post pictures of our celebration tomorrow.

It is a gorgeous day here in New England. It's the first day the temperatures and barely kissed the 60's, the sun is out and there is just a hint of a cool breeze. As my kids napped, I sat in the backyard soaking in the sun and some caffeine chatting with my mom. Then I noticed the flowers.

Cue rushing sound of release. Release of the cloud that has been hovering over my head the last few days, release of the tension and disappointment that comes with long days followed by long nights. Release of the feelings of weariness from a long long winter. Spring! 

I've been having more "up" days since little ones started napping again. (Hence the blog). But the "down" ones still rear their ugly heads every now and then. I have trouble staying calm and patient with my little ones. I know I ought to let go of it, and give it to God, but the selfish part of me wants to hang onto these feelings of frustration in order to have something to control. 

Yesterday at the mother's group I attend the topic of the day was prayer, or as the study called it: "plugging into the power source". The speaker said something that resonated with me, that sometimes the prayers of a mother, especially one of very young children, are nothing more than, "HELP!". God hears that as a prayer. So yesterday and today as my patience dwindled walking down the sidewalk, getting into the car, and going down for naps my prayers were: "Help!", "HELP!", and "help."

And then I saw the flowers. It was the answer to my prayers.

"Animated with love"

Last night at night prayer we introduced our two-year-old to the crown of thorns. Two-year-olds amaze me. Two years ago our daughter was only six days old, and now, now she's worried about Jesus. John showed our daughter the paper crown of thorns and explained to her about the "owie crown" and told her that it scratched Jesus head. Then he took our crucifix off the wall to show her that Jesus was wearing the owie crown on the cross. He then showed her the heart stickers we had on hand to use until we procured the flowers. The little lady got a very concerned look on her face and said, "Put happy sticker on Jesus head." We tried to get her to put it on the paper crown, but she was determined. Jesus had an owie on his head, and she was going to make it better with a happy sticker (our term for band aid). John tenderly placed the heart sticker on the cross. This still wasn't enough for my empathetic little girl.

The cross on our wall is a unity cross. It depicts Mary at the foot of Jesus collecting blood from his spear-pierce side into a chalice. Little one apparently thought that Mary was hurt, too. I tried to explain to her that only Jesus had the owie crown on. Silly me, so task oriented these days. John says, "Well, Mary's heart hurts because her son's head hurts. So let's put this sticker on her heart."

Unity cross

Who is to know if this is what she understood when she asked to put the sticker on Mary. Or if she thought that the whole cross had an owie. But how profound the thought was. Made even more profound to me that I was reminded of it in a simple exercise by a two-year-old. As a mother I can now understand a little bit what Mary must have been going through that day.  Even more so because I want to believe that my daughter did think that Mary's heart hurt, too. And that made me glad.

Later I was reading from Pope John Paul II's Familiaris Consortio (pick it up and work through it if you haven't already) on education. Specifically the section on "The Right and Duty of Parents Regarding Education" stood out to me. John Paul II quotes from the Second Vatican Council that

"[S]ince parents have conferred life on their children, they have a most solemn obligation to educate their offspring. Hence, parents must be acknowledged as the first and foremost educators of their children. Their role as educators is so decisive that scarcely anything can compensate for their failure in it. [ouch!] For it devolves on parents to create a family atmosphere so animated with love and reverence for God and others that a well-rounded personal and social development will be fostered among the children."--Declaration on Christian Education, Gravissimum Educationis, n. 3.

First of all, dem's fightin' words..."scarcely anything can compensate for their failure in it"! Wow. It is up to us as parents to teach our children. But the amazing thing about this quotation and it's message is that even though the task is so "solemn", so daunting, it is at the same time so, well, fun! We have to create an atmosphere that is alive with love. Not staunch and hard, but alive!

So I'm hoping that our little exercise is alive, and that it exemplifies joy and life for our children. And I do hope that even if she doesn't get it now, she gets it later. Mary loved her son so much her heart was pierced also.

leap 4 joy

Owie Crown

View of our Lenten homeshrine in progress.

"Then they put an owie crown on his head and it scratched his head..."

So the other day at breakfast John and I were discussing what we should "do" for Lent as a family. During Advent we decided to do a treasury of grace exercise. For those of you out there who may be reading this with no idea what that is, here is a little background. I was first introduced to the idea by a dear Schoenstatt sister they day I met her. I was protestant at the time and was having a terrible day. Casting lists had just gone up for my last year in the Nutcracker and I didn't get the part. I was devastated. This sister described this comforting idea of placing our disappointments, failures, joys and victories into the "treasury of grace", in essence offering them up to Mary so that they would be transformed into graces. We offer them as prayers to Jesus through Mary, and as prayers they become treasures. I spent the next few hours thinking about this spiritual offering and wondering if there was a physical representation of it somewhere on that land. Ha! Little did I know how full the Catholic faith was of physical representations! I thought that somewhere there must have a been a treasure chest full of sacrifices. What would those sacrifices look like?

So for Advent this past year, which is the "kinder, gentler Lent" (so says this sister), we placed a small treasure chest shaped box on our homeshrine with a pile of gold and silver glitter foam stars in a bowl next to it. Every night for night prayer my husband, 2-year-old daughter, and myself would each take a star and at the end of our usual prayers tell the Blessed Mother what we offered for her son and place the star in the box. I had every intention of creating a larger star out of the smaller ones to place on our tree or over the creche, but as my life goes, that didn't end up happening. Next year.

So this beautiful, kind, gentle treasury of grace exercise was perfect for a two year old, perfect for the beautiful season of Advent leading to the joys of Christmas. But what about Lent? What images of the extremely sacrificial nature Lent could we use in our family devotion?

I saw an example of one involving a crown of thorns. I love the idea. Each sacrifice is a paper flower placed on a thorn of the crown, portraying how Jesus's sacrifices blossom into graces for our salvation. While I would normally encourage even a toddler to be exposed to and use the real materials for nearly any activity, this particular example could be dangerous. Especially since she's at just the right height to reach up and pull down the crown of thorns onto her baby brother's head. So as we're sitting around the breakfast table trying to come up with ideas the discussion of the physical dangers of having a crown of thorns in the house turns into a discussion of the Way of the Cross for toddlers. Just how would you describe this to a two year old? Our version went something like this:

"They told Jesus he was going to die and put an owie crown on his head that scratched him, then they made him walk with his cross, then he fell down and saw his mom, Mary, then he got back up and Simon helped him, then he fell down again..."

Just didn't seem...um...how do you present such an important yet graphic aspect of our faith to innocent little lambs? Question for another time.

Our discussion turned back to the sacrifices for our night prayer and we finally settled on the image of the crown of thorns with flowers. For now we'll start educating our little ones with the images and practice of the exercise of sacrifice without the dangers of sharp thorns poking around the homeshrine. My talented husband made this version of a crown of thorns on Illustrator. We'll make purple flowers out of paper and paste them on the thorns with a glue stick.

John's work of art

The toddler's sacrifices will probably include using her words, saying please, and sharing with her baby brother. And for a two year old those are pretty tough.

leap for joy

Here we go...

So I'm a mother of two young children, babies really. I'm a stay at home mom who wishes she liked the sound of "home manager" better than "homemaker", but just feels the title tries to put a pretension incongruous with the duty of a Catholic mom. I make a home. I cultivate a family, our persons, our physical dwelling and, hopefully, our spiritual growth through my life and work.

Why "The Second Joyful Mystery"? My husband and I were married on the feast of The Visitation, the day we celebrate and remember Mary's journey and meeting with her cousin Elizabeth. Both women pregnant, both in unusual circumstances to say the least, and both leaning with the greatest of faith into the grace and will of the Father, thus playing two of the most important roles in the continuously unfolding drama of salvific history.  Specifically, though, this event drew huge importance and meaning to us as we prepared for our marriage and began to grow our family. The themes of hospitality, life, family, joy, childlike faith, and joyful servanthood so pervasive in the images and story of the Visitation were ideals we wanted to see alive and fruitful in our lives and the lives of our children.

So as our young "domestic church" continues to grow and mature, I wanted to share some of the successes, joys, anecdotes, ideas, thoughts, failures, struggles and questions that make their way into this life and will hopefully carry us to the next.  I don't claim to be an expert on the Church, faith, theology, psychology or any such thing. So take me with a grain of salt. Ask me questions. Hopefully this blog with be thoughtful and thought-provoking. And hopefully I bring some of Jesus with me to you, the reader, and hopefully something in you leaps for joy when you see Him.

leap for joy

rebekah