St. Therese...the little things

Hey! I just remembered...I have a blog!

As a quick foray back into this blogging thing I wanted to share a little something the kids and I did to celebrate the feast day of St. Therese (which is today).

But first I have to brag on my K. I told her this morning we were going to go to a park with some friends after nap. Not just any friends, the friend who so loves one of K's dolls and will cling to it for dear life if ever in the same room with it. K is always good about sharing this doll with her friend, and always gets it back when the play date is over, even as the friend is in tears having to detach herself from the doll. Well this morning K says, "Momma, I want to bring my doll so [friend] can play with it and then she can bring it home and play with it." Little miss wants to not only share her doll, but let her friend take it home to play with! What a sacrifice! We'll have to wait and see how this pans out.

Back to the main point...

Since one of my goals as a parent is to pass on the faith to my children I want to live the faith, celebrate the faith, and do all that is required joyfully.

Since St. Therese said she would send a shower of roses from heaven, I decided that we'd shower the pastoral and support staff at our parish with roses to commemorate the day. We went to the store, the kids helped me pick out roses (they quickly moved on to pumpkins from there), and then I attached a card to each stem with a ribbon which read, "Sending you a shower of roses! St. Therese, pray for us!"

We went to the church offices. I wanted this to be anonymous, but remembered once there that it was Monday, so a lot of the staff wasn't around in the morning. So K, J and I marched down the hall leaving roses in some doors, visiting with whoever was there after the little ones shyly presented the rose, and leaving the rest in a vase in the office for the others.

Hopefully we brought a little joy to the staff on this Monday. And hopefully the kids learned another lesson in giving.

I think this will be a tradition!

Cute things they say

Those who've read the first few posts on this blog know that we're doing our best to not only raise competent human persons, but also to raise faithful followers of Christ. So, when our little humans say or do things that make us feel we're on the right track, we like to boast (a little). Or at least I do. Can't speak for my other half here. But, bear with me as I retell a conversation John and Kate (3) had on the way to, during, and after church this week.

I grab the cans of tuna from the homeshrine we've been meaning to bring to the food pantry for the last two weeks on my way out the door on Sunday morning. Kate sees me put them in the car.

K: "Are we bringing those for the hungry people?"
"Yes we are!"

John's started the wonderful tradition of saying a decade of the rosary on the way to church every week. It's been awesome. But before we begin he asks the kids who or what they want to pray for.

K: "The hungry people!"

So we go through the rosary and make it to Mass (early for once!). Throughout Mass, John and Kate are talking a little bit here and there. During the presentation of the gifts John asks

"What did they just put on the table?"
K: "That's not a table that's an altar!"

"What does all the purple mean?"
K: "It's still Lent!"
"And what happens after Lent?"
K: "It's Easter!"
"What does that mean?"
K: "I get candy!"

Well, it's a start at least. Especially when the rest of the conversation plays out.

"Maybe we should bring some candy for the food pantry so those who are hungry can have some."
K: "But we already brought the hungry people food!"

Like I said, it's a start. And yes, she does say almost everything emphatically enough to warrant an exclamation point at the end of every statement. Emphatically with a touch of excitement and wonder.

waiting

 Grief is a strange thing. And being one who, until now, had never experienced grief or loss, a wholly foreign thing. It is something that one may be able to study and know of intellectually. You know, the stages and process of, the causes and exhibitions of, these are all topics easily found in popular literature, media, university studies, etc. I'd seen people grieve. I'd read about the psychological phenomenon of grief. These things made sense. What doesn't make sense is this hole that seems to persist in haunting my heart and brain like phantom. It is like a phantom. I think it's gone and then suddenly, wham! out of nowhere it hits like a car running a red light at an intersection you've just entered.

And the phantom just sits there, like a hole in the heart and in the brain. I see the joy in things, but don't much feel it. I know there are things that need to be done, but what they are I can't seem to remember. Things like appointments, errands, dates. They've all fallen into the phantom hole. I don't even actively think about the loss, it's always on my mind, like at the center of the hole, but never in my thoughts. Except when that metaphorical car hits. After that it just aches, sitting there at the center of the hole. Waiting.

And that is what I do. I wait. I have this image of a baby in utero, snug up, waiting. That's me, the baby, snug and waiting, enveloped in the love of God and in his perfect timing. And I'm waiting. I don't feel the need to rush. I don't want the phantom hole, I don't want the ache, but I don't want the loss to every leave. So I wait.

Psalm 139

Lord, you have probed me, you know me:

You know when I sit and stand;
you understand my thoughts from afar.

You sift through my travels and my rest;
with all my ways you are familiar.

Even before a word is on my tongue,
Lord, you know it all.

Behind and before you encircle me and rest your hand upon me.

Such knowledge is to wonderful for me,
far too lofty for me to reach.

Where can I go from your spirit?
From your presence where can I flee?

If I ascend to the heavens, you are there;
if I lie down in Sheol, there you are.

If I take the wings of dawn and dwell beyond the sea,

Even there your hand guides me,
your right hand holds me fast.
... 

practice of the virtue

So Kate is wearing me thin. So thin! I never imagined myself the hardened harsh mother who speaks gruffly and sarcastically to her children. I always imagined myself a gentle mother. the image in my head was of a woman dressed in soft white with the sunlight dancing about her, illuminating her hair and face as she sits in the grass with her happy children quietly, yet gayly, playing together. Mind you, there were always four or five children, young children, in these daydreams. Very romantic, no? Is the life I’m living now very romantic? No.

Things have been progressively deteriorating over the past few months. It’s no wonder either, what with John’s work continuing at an insane pace, my own pursuits into teaching infant sign language classes, and other major happenings in the last three months. And then there’s the fact that Kate is now 3 years old. A life stage that seems to imbue an already spirited and opinionated toddler with a more intelligent, questioning, and downright willful pre-school persona. Now, I say intelligent, for her sheer knowledge and ability to retain information is astonishing to me. Yes, she is intelligent but far from reasonable. And it’s this that gets me.

“Kate, please wait there for Mama. I’ll be right there.”

She pauses about 10 feet away, only long enough to turn her curly hair aside and take a peek at my face, and then she smiles wryly and darts off faster than before. Every entreaty to wait, to listen, to walk “like a person”, every warning of time-outs, consequences, or punishments go unheeded. I listen to the escalating severity in my voice as I hurry after and finally catch up with her. And then I’m left hoarse, red faced, out of breath and contemplating re-examining my stance on corporal punishment as a means of discipline. All this while holding desperately onto Jack hoping he doesn’t go toppling out of the one arm I have only half free.

I pray and pray for patience. I’m given daily practice of the virtue. And daily I fail. And the worst is I know the strategies of positive guidance. I know the strategies of parenting that should and could work. Yet I can’t seem to get them from their neat and tidy university-era file in my brain and bring them to the forefront of present life. Maybe it’s not Kate I need patience with, maybe it is me.