Thanksgiving Eve

November 26, 2014 / Julie / 2 Comments

This morning I sit surrounded by unexpected, soft quiet. From the corner of my eye, I see our first snow of the season. It falls fast and thick. My boys are entranced, and so am I.

How soothing that this lovely blanket has come to fall upon us, covering our unraked leaves and the toys my boys leave scattered behind our house. It smoothes our roughness, disguises our messes. It insulates us. And when we glance at our windows and see only a mottled span of white and gray, somehow the space inside our home seems softer and smoother too.

Of course, we don’t have to drive in it. We’re snug indoors, ready to commence the prepping and the baking for tomorrow. Butternut squash, onions, cranberries, cherries, and chocolate – they all lie in wait.

But I have a few minutes to think and pray on the things and people for whom I am grateful – and I’ll take them. I know how blessed I’ve been.

I have a lively, loving, little family and a big, beautiful home. I have an extended family who support and love and even entertain. I have layer upon layer of good, smart, interesting friends: The few I’ve known since childhood; those I acquired in high school and college, in Washington and Annapolis; those I’ve worked with and prayed with; those alongside whom I’m raising my children. I even have some I’ve never met in person: lovely, kind women I know through blogging and long, thoughtful emails.

We have sufficient heating oil and plentiful food. We have electricity and too many clothes. We have peace in our home and our community.

Layer upon layer of goodness.

And I know, of course, that there are far too many people who do not have these particular blessings. Loneliness, hunger, cold, unrest and violence visit too, too many. So alongside my gratitude, I think of and pray for them. For those who long for families of their own, who struggle to provide for the families they have, who suffer violence, who live in fear.

If you’re among them, know that you’re in my prayers.

And whether you are among them or you’re not, I hope that you too get a few soft, quiet moments in which to sit. I hope that this Thanksgiving, you feel the weight of your own particular blessings. And I hope that your blessings do nothing but increase in the coming seasons of Advent and Christmas.

Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours, from me and mine.

Let’s Do More Than Remember

November 12, 2014November 12, 2014 / Julie / 1 Comment

Today was Veterans Day – one of those days, scattered throughout the calendar, when we’re given a break from our normal routine. We (at least those of us who live in the lands of plentiful federal employment) have absorbed such days as a matter of course. The federal holidays aren’t so much the secular versions of that word’s root (holy day), but rather “holidays” in that more British sense – what we call “vacation”.

Sure, in this, the Age of Facebook, lots of us post online remembrances of our favorite veterans and change our profile pictures accordingly. But I’d venture to say that for the vast majority of Americans, November 11 is no different from the days immediately before and after it. Except, of course, that federal employees and other lucky ducks don’t have to set their alarm clocks. The same goes for Martin Luther King Day, Presidents’ Day, and Columbus Day. Memorial Day, Independence Day, and Labor Day are special insofar as they involve barbecues, and maybe fireworks or parades.

I’ve always been a little unsettled by this tendency to take something that’s supposed to be special and treat it like it’s not. After all, if we’re not focusing on Veterans on Veterans Day or Martin Luther King on his day or Columbus’ “discovery” of the new world on that day, then what’s the point? Why give out a handful of vacation days and pretend they’re special?

When my husband and I started our family, I figured it was time for me to change things. I was going to make my mark – at least on my husband and myself and however many little people we ushered into this world. I wanted to do more than vaguely “remember” the reasons for those days. I wanted to mark them in ways that would teach my children about sacrifice, about civic responsibility, about making a difference – the secular values that (I imagine) are supposed to be imparted by the observance of the federal holidays. (Note: I also wanted to teach my children about religious holidays and the values their observance is supposed to impart. I aspired to live out both the federal and liturgical calendars.)

So far, I’ve mostly failed.

So far, I’ve mostly contented myself with “remembering” the reason for a holiday and tossing a few prayers heavenward. I’ve gotten too comfortable in the “I love plenty of veterans!” mentality. After all, my husband is a veteran. His father and stepfather were. My father is and my grandfather was. Brennan and I both have uncles and cousins who are veterans, or who still serve. Our nephew is a veteran. I grew up in an Army town and spent much of my young adulthood in a Navy one. So I’m covered, right? I can claim to “understand,” to “honor,” to “remember,” simply because I love. Right?

That thought, of course, feels about as empty as it is. I don’t deserve a pass on this one. Very few of us do. If I value that which is supposedly honored by a holiday, then I should act like it.

On our first Veterans Day after becoming parents, Brennan and I took our then five-month-old to Arlington National Cemetery to visit the graves of our son’s namesakes. Our boy is named for my Great-Uncle Breck, who served in World War II and went on to make his entire career in the U.S. Navy. My great-uncle, in turn, was named for his Uncle Breck, who served in the Army in World War I and was killed on a battlefield in France, less than a week before the Armistice was signed. (Heartbreaking, isn’t it?) We plopped our baby down on the grass in front of those two men’s graves. We took pictures. We talked about how we’d continue to go to Arlington as our son grew, about how we’d teach him about his namesakes’ sacrifices. Veterans Day became more personal to us.

We named our second son in honor of a veteran too – this time my husband’s father, who served in the Army. We took a picture of him sitting at his grandfather’s grave in a military cemetery in Minnesota.

But we haven’t done much since. We’ve made one more Veterans Day trip to Arlington, but we’ve treated the others pretty much like normal days. We haven’t marked Memorial Days, Labor Days, Martin Luther King Days, or any of those other federal holidays (or Catholic Holy Days, for that matter).

We’ve done just a little teaching. Today I had a five-minute conversation in the car with my boys, trying to explain Veterans Day to them. For now, they’re young and they don’t understand much. To explain veterans, I first had to explain the military, and then war. I had to hope that they understood the concept of “country.”

Soon enough, though, my boys will be older and better able to understand such things. And I’ll need to be ready. If I want them to honor veterans, I’ll have to show them how. If I want them to memorialize those who died for our country, I’ll have to do it first. If I want them to value the contributions of workers and explorers and those who fought for civil rights, then I’ll have to make sure my boys understand just how valuable those contributions were.

So next year, I need to do more than remember. I need to save those freebie days for the observations they deserve. I need to head back to Arlington. I need to pull out photos and have more involved conversations. I need to find real, tangible, and teachable ways in which to honor.

Why You Should Vote – Even When It Feels Like It Doesn’t Make A Difference

November 3, 2014November 4, 2014 / Julie / 4 Comments

When I was a child, Election Day was one of my favorite days of the year. My grandfather was a local elected official, so for the kids in our family, Election Day not only meant NO SCHOOL, it meant the excitement of holding signs while shouting out, “Vote for my Pop-pop!” It meant handing out campaign materials at polling stations. It meant getting to stay up late at election night parties, watching with baited breath as folks scurried in with boxes of precinct results, which were then written-up on long, papered walls. (Now that results are released online, election night parties are considerably less exciting.)

These days, I greet Election Day with far less enthusiasm.

I’ve grown up. I’ve awakened to the fact that we live in an imperfect world full of flawed people. And I’ve now (mostly through my work as a lobbyist) had a close-enough view of politics to know that its poor reputation is pretty well deserved. I’ve become frustrated with our political system and I’ve given up the idea that any candidate (except my grandfather, of course) can be a knight in shining armor.

But I still vote. I vote in every single election* and you should too. Here are some reasons why:

Vote As A Tribute

1.) People died so that we could live in a democracy. I know this argument can sound a little trite, a little tired. But it’s worth remembering. More than a million Americans have died in military conflicts since our country’s first fight for independence. They’ve fought so that we can have a say in our own governance, they’ve fought to keep our country together, to keep (or make) our people free, to protect us from threats. Each and every one of those casualties were real people, with loved ones and interests and struggles and hoped-for futures. We should not take their sacrifices for granted.

2.) People struggled for the vote. It took decades of hard work for women to gain the right to vote and decades more for (most) stumbling blocks for minorities to be removed. Those struggles shouldn’t be taken for granted either.

3.) Many still do not have the right to vote. Across the world today, billions of people are unable to make their voices heard through fair, secure elections. We shouldn’t pass on our own opportunities to vote when others would love to have them.

Vote To Make Whatever Difference You Can

4) Local elections matter. Though Congress and the presidency may dominate the news and even our political imaginations, our ballots are dominated by candidates and questions on the state and local levels. Which is appropriate, because that’s where most legislating is done. Roads, schools, law enforcement, social services – you name it – most of the decisions that impact our everyday lives are made at the state and local levels.

5) Margins in local elections can be really low. It’s simple math: your vote means more when fewer people are voting. With smaller electorates, state and local elections come down to the wire more often than federal elections do. And when they do, a handful of votes can make all the difference. Be part of the handful.

6) Assumptions can easily throw off a race. Are you assuming that the incumbent in your district is a shoe-in? Lots of other people are probably thinking the same thing. And when lots of people all make the same assumption… that’s when surprises happen. Maybe you like the guy, maybe you don’t – but when enough people stay home because they think he’s a sure thing, there’s a real chance that his opponent will catch him. Take challengers seriously. Don’t assume.

7) Your vote sends a message even when it’s not cast for the winner. Political types don’t just look to see who won a race. They look for how many people turned out, how close the margin was, how third-party candidates fared, etc. Maybe your guy won’t win. But if he does nearly as well as his opponent (or even just ‘better than expected’), that winner is more likely to tread carefully once he’s in office. Also, this election’s results may impact next elections’ prospects: a candidate who makes a good showing in one election cycle will likely have an easier time raising funds and attracting supporters in the next one.

8) National politicians start out as local politicians. If I haven’t pounded home the “local is important” message enough and you’re still not convinced that local politicians are worth paying much attention to, let me point out that national-level politicians come, almost exclusively, from the ranks of local politicians. Start paying attention to your local elected officials now, because your county councilman today might become your county executive tomorrow, your governor after that, and eventually your president. Have as much of an impact as you can on your local elected officials now, because they may influence your future in more ways than you can imagine.

Vote As A Legacy

9) Voting sends a message to your children that civic engagement is important. Maybe you live in a state (like I do) that’s completely dominated by one political party. Maybe you’ve rarely had one of your preferred candidates win an election. Maybe it feels like your vote has never mattered. But your children may find themselves in quite a different situation. They may go on to live in a different state, in a competitive district, where their vote makes a world of difference. Set the precedent now; help them to see voting as normal, as a responsibility and an honor.

Even if your children don’t end up in a district where they feel like they can make a difference, seeing you vote – in every election – will teach them something about stepping up. It will teach them something about doing their part, about trying to make a difference against all odds. That will serve them in more of life than just the voting booth.

So, Election Day is tomorrow – what do we do now?

If you’re registered to vote but you’re not sure where your polling station is, look up your local board of elections. (Google your state board of elections first. It can direct you to your county or other local board.) Their website should let you input your address to find your polling station and maybe even a sample ballot. Find one there, or pull out the one they mailed to you a couple of weeks ago. It’s probably under that stack of paper sitting on your desk or your kitchen counter. (You know you’ve got one somewhere!)

Once you’ve gotten the kids to bed tonight, open up that sucker and do some good, old-fashioned cramming. Google the candidates and take a look at their websites. (But don’t expect too much from them. Maybe you’ll find a few policy statements, but most candidate websites are pretty vague.) More importantly, consider which issues are most important to you. Abortion? The environment? Friendliness to business? Labor? Are you a Catholic who wants to know where candidates fall on issues of concern to the Church?** Whatever your priorities, look them up. Some groups make endorsements, others conduct candidate surveys. When you don’t know much about the candidates you’re asked to choose between, consult an organization you trust to see what it says about them.

Better yet, ask a knowledgeable friend. Do you have one of those – a friend or relative who’s been in your community forever and seems to know everyone? Do you trust their judgment? Call them up, ask them what they think. They may know more than any website or candidate survey could ever tell you.

If you can’t find any good information on the candidates of a particular race and they don’t list a party affiliation to give you some idea as to their political leanings, leave that one blank. Don’t resort to choosing the most attractive name or doing the good ol’ eeny, meeny, miney, moe. You might not have been able to do the good of choosing the worthier candidate, but at least you’ll not have done the bad of inadvertently choosing a wacko.

Mark up your sample ballot and stuff it into your purse for tomorrow. If your state has voter ID requirements, make sure you bring the required identification with you. (You can look that up on the board of elections website too.)

Tomorrow, make the time. Since this is a midterm election (i.e. no presidential candidates are on the ballot), you probably won’t have a very long wait. Just do it. And don’t forget to take your kids with you. Let them go in the voting booth and press a button or two. Let them insert that card or tap that touchscreen. Talk to them about what you’re doing and why it’s important.

Ready now? Good for you. Let me know how it turns out. Did you learn anything interesting while cramming? Did you meet some notable characters at the polls? What did your kids think of the process? I’d love to know!

*My sense of honesty and my perfectionism require me to admit that I did not actually vote in my little town’s last municipal election – but only because I was unaware that it was taking place until the last moment. And last moments, with three small children underfoot, are not good times in which to begin researching candidates.

**Many state Catholic Conferences (which are the voices of the bishops to their states’ legislatures) publish candidate surveys or other guides of use to Catholic voters. Below I include links to those in some of the states where I know I have readers. Are you in another state? Let me know and I’ll look to see what might be available from your state Catholic Conference (if you have one) and I’ll update this post with the link.

Honesty From A Fed-Up Mommy {pretty, happy, funny, real} (Vol. 15)

October 23, 2014October 23, 2014 / Julie / 6 Comments

Welcome to another installment of “My kids are driving me crazy, so let’s focus on the {pretty, happy, funny} and – okay fine – {real} of my little ol’ life this week.”

{pretty}

Baby pictures, but of course. Because he’s undeniably, unequivocally beautiful. But also because he’s too little to be too annoying just yet.

Sure, a cold has transformed the poor child into a fussy, needy, restless little thing with a spigot for a nose, but… those cheeks. Those fat little hands. Those blue (if red-brimmed) eyes. He’s so {pretty}. And so sweet (for now). We’re so, so lucky to have him.

{happy}

Three words: Gin And Tonic

Wait! Two more: Sleeping Children

I know – I’m a horrible mother to be classifying pictures of hard liquor and sleeping children (the two are completely, totally unrelated to each other – promise) as my {happy}. But I’m all about honesty, and those pics? At this moment, they’re honestly what my happy looks like.

It’s just been one of those days. Besides the baby being sick and the weather being miserable, this has been The Day Of Meltdowns. My middle son completely lost it this morning when he woke (very late) to find that his brother had already left for school. He’d wanted to say goodbye. Sweet, hm? (Hint: It would’ve been sweet if the meltdown hadn’t lasted nearly an HOUR!) Then when we picked up big brother from school, BOTH boys lost it over an umbrella – a stupid, yellow, bumblebee umbrella. We ended up walking through the rain in a huddle, me holding the umbrella aloft, them screaming and jumping and grasping and (I think) hitting.

Meltdowns continued in the car and at home, over the above and over who-knows-how-many other things. Just before dinner, I actually illustrated to the boys just how fed up I was by holding a glass under the tap and letting it fill to the brim, then spill over before their eyes: “See this, boys? This glass is like Mommy. At the beginning of the day, Mommy’s got plenty of space. But then lots and lots of noise fills Mommy up through the day and when she gets to the end of it, she doesn’t have any space left, so all the noise spills over and Mommy loses it.” (So please let’s just have a quiet dinner!)

{funny}

If all that’s not {funny} enough for you, how about a bandit/cowboy? Gosh, he’s cute, isn’t he?

And then there’s the game “cowboys having a big cowboy fight.” Apparently it involves ropes (that’s what that toy measuring tape is supposed to be) and swords (sticks, of course).

{real}

We came unprepared (but of course) to the scarecrow-building activity at my son’s school last weekend, so this is as far as we got: scarecrow legs and torso. Nothing to connect them, no head save a precariously (and temporarily) perched pumpkin.

Thus it sits on our porch. It’s cheerful enough, if rather too {real} to be really well done: The thing is headless, propped up next to the two little pumpkins my boys decorated that scarecrow-building evening. It sits below the tacky, cheapy Wal-mart scarecrow I only purchased because my son tore off one of its legs. We are talented seasonal decorators, we are!

There! There’s some cheer for your Thursday! Even if it’s only the kind that comes at someone else’s expense. Ah, well… stop by Like Mother, Like Daughter to locate some nicer, kinder cheer – the kind that comes from lovely people reflecting on the {pretty, happy, funny, real} contentment in their own (probably less grumpy) lives. Enjoy!

What Matters To Him

October 13, 2014 / Julie / 1 Comment

This weekend I was laid low by a fever and a few other bothersome symptoms, so today I took myself to the doctor to be checked out. Diagnosis: sinus infection. It’s my standard affliction – all-in-all, not such a big deal.

While I waited for my new insurance information to be processed, I noticed a sign on the counter:

“IF YOU HAVE VISITED AFRICA IN THE LAST THREE WEEKS AND YOU HAVE A FEVER, PLEASE INFORM THE STAFF IMMEDIATELY.”

Ebola. How awful that we – that anyone – should have to be worried about that horrible, alienating disease. I’d thought about Ebola victims over the weekend while in the chilled, achy throes of my fever. How much worse they must feel. How scared they must be. How much they must want to be helped and comforted by those they love.

Heck, I only had a 101 degree fever and I texted “Wah! I want my Mommy!” to that lucky lady.

On the drive home from the doctor’s office, the news program I was listening to also focused on Ebola: this time on the nurse in Dallas who’s been infected and that city’s efforts to keep residents informed and the disease contained. I was thinking on all of it as I walked to my back door.

But then I opened it and my beautiful little four-year-old turned his head to me with a horror-stricken look on his face. Someone had died, surely.

“I don’t get my treeeaaat!”

He had tears running down his face and peanut butter smeared all over his mouth. His hand was stuck in mid-air, holding a spoon full of the stuff. I looked to Brennan for an explanation.

“He was crumbling crackers – he made a huge mess for me to clean up, so he doesn’t get a treat.” (Please know that this is a long-standing issue with this child. Anytime we give him a food that crumbles, he crumbles it. Not in the normal, accidental way that any child is expected to do – no, this guy delights in crumbs; he makes piles of them and pushes them around the table and they go ev.er.y.where. We’re working on it. And part of working on it is, you don’t get treated for good mealtime behavior when you don’t, um, exhibit good mealtime behavior.)

Anyway – Ebola. Here I was, stewing on death and fear and serious, grown-up issues, when I walked into my kitchen and found my little boy, devastated because he wouldn’t be allowed to have dessert.

I couldn’t help but smile. I hid my face while I tried to stop myself from laughing. It was just so beautiful, so delightful. My child was so safe and healthy, so loved, that he felt the loss of a handful of M&M’s as if it were a great tragedy.

What matters to him is being able to eat mediocre milk chocolate in a colorful candy shell. What matters to him is being able to play with his little brother’s new metal airplanes. What matters to him is getting to dump “avalanches” of animal and dinosaur toys onto himself and his brother. What matters to him is giving his father and me the right number of kisses on our cheeks.

These things matter greatly to him, and how I love him for that. He feels deeply. Someday he’ll mourn the wars and diseases of the world, but for now he’s consumed with treats and play and the people he loves.

Once I’d gotten my laughter under control, I walked over to my stricken little boy and held his face in my hands. I whispered some words to him, words meant to comfort but not to undermine his father’s authority. I hugged him and wiped the peanut butter off his face.

How lucky we are.

And how lucky this boy is, to have these be the things that matter to him. (Matter so much that his father’s heart softened and he gave the boy another chance.)

Little Scientists And Cheerful Mischief: 7 Quick Takes Friday (Vol. 32)

October 10, 2014October 10, 2014 / Julie / 1 Comment

It’s a gray and gloomy day in these parts. (I wish I’d made it to the orchard for apples – talk about perfect baking weather.) And we’re closing out yet another week of gloomy news. See this piece if you’re in the mood for a cry. And don’t miss this one for a valuable lesson:

Every moment of your life has meaning, and your suffering is not in vain. You have a right to be here. Every moment of the life you have been given is a gift, and nobody has the right to take it from you.

Not even you.

So (sniff, sniff) I thought I’d wrap up the week with a bit of cheer, courtesy of my boys whom I love so very much, even when they spend half the day fussing and sobbing.

—1—

After our two failed attempts at celebrating our newly-minted three-year-old’s birthday last week, this past Saturday we went to the Maryland Science Center in Baltimore, where we succeeded! We’re falling into a little pattern of hosting a birthday party for our child one year, then doing a fun day trip as a family on the following birthday. And so on and so forth. This year our four-year-old got a party and our three-year-old got a day trip. Next year we’ll switch.

So anyway, last weekend we did the Science Center and it was perfect. My parents met us there, but very few other people seemed to have had the same idea, so we just about had the place to ourselves. The birthday boy’s favorite game to play these days is “mooseum,” so he was thrilled to get to go to one in real life. He kept talking about how excited he was to see the dinosaurs that came alive at night and the animals that stampede down the stairs.

Hm.

Lack of living exhibits notwithstanding, he and his big brother especially loved the dinosaurs. We had to visit that section of the Science Center twice. They also enjoyed the kids’ room, the weather exhibit (including an actual mini tornado you could stick your hand into!), and the electricity exhibit. (Which Grandpa, a DIY’er and electronics buff, probably enjoyed more than the average visitor.)

We saw an IMAX movie (Island Of Lemurs: Madagascar 3D) which I, personally, would have enjoyed much more if it had been in plain ol’ 2D. I think the boys would agree: they both took off their 3D glasses a few minutes in. The birthday boy then promptly fell asleep on Grandma’s lap. His big brother lasted almost all the way through the movie, until he needed to hit the can.

Birthday Boy was a little more antsy a few hours later when we attended the Planetarium presentation (Black Holes: Journey Into The Unknown). But his big brother enjoyed it and the baby, to everyone’s surprise, loved it. He laughed and squealed and had a grand old time. Who knows, maybe we have a future astronomer on our hands?

—2—

After a good six hours at the Science Center (I know – we were pushing it), we walked to the other side of Baltimore’s Inner Harbor so that Brennan, the boys, and I could grab some dinner. Mom and Dad headed home and left us to our own exhausted devices.

Aren’t they cute?

We really just barely made it through the meal: the baby screamed for the first few minutes (before falling asleep on my chest) and the four-year-old was teetering right on the edge of a meltdown the whole time. But we did it. We all ate and it was delicious.

T-Rex loves pizza.

We kept it together in no small part because of Brennan, who spent half the meal entertaining the boys with crayon drawings on their placemats. The birthday boy kept requesting pictures of dinosaurs eating one another. Perfect.

—3—

As we ate, and then later as we pulled out of the parking garage, we got a couple of quotes from the boys that wrapped up the day beautifully:

Brennan: “What was your favorite part of visiting the Science Center today?”
4yo: “Seeing Gwanpa.”
Brennan: “Seeing Grandpa?”
4yo: “Yeah, and Gwanma too.”

Brennan: “Boys, say bye to the science museum!”
3yo: “Bye science mooseum! I miss you!”
4yo: “Bye science museum! I hope we see you and your dinosaurs again soon!”

—4—

Moving on…

I feel like as our three-year-old becomes more verbal, we’re getting a clearer and clearer picture of his personality. And it is something else.

For one thing, he’s been using the word “baby” as an expletive. Any time he’s the least bit unhappy or feeling aggressive or confrontational, he spits out “Baby!” with a grimace on his little face. And because he’s figured out that it bothers his brother to no end, we keep hearing a little voice throwing out “Baby!” at random times, followed by his brother’s wail, “He said ‘baby’ to me!”

Sigh.

The other day while driving in the car, the little guy was mad at his older brother for having done something to him. What? I have no idea. But he made it very clear just how mad he was:

“Dat wee [that tree] is mad at you and dat wee is mad at you and dat wee is mad at you… And dat sign is mad at you and dat caw is mad at you and diss caw is mad at you and AW DA DINGS is mad at you!”

Yesterday while driving again, we were playing “I Spy.” Every time the boys found what I was spying, he claimed to eat it.

Me: “I spy a red sign…”
Him: (GULP) “I ate it!”
Me: “I spy a big, white truck…”
Him: (GULP) “I ate it!”

—5—

When we were waiting at the pediatrician’s office last week (because of my oldest son’s ear infection), I entertained the boys by reading one of the books provided in the office.

It was old and a little dirty and raggedy, but I quickly fell in love with it. The thing was hilarious. It (Our Animal Friends At Maple Hill Farm, by Alice and Martin Provensen) listed all the animals on a farm, with the funniest, most unexpected descriptions for a children’s book:

HORSEPLAY

IBN RAFFERTY is chasing Ichabod.

CHAOS is chasing Ichabod.

They don’t mean anything by it. It’s just that everybody chases ICHABOD.

Everybody except COMANCHE, who likes Ichabod, and LUCKY, who is fat, lazy, and good-natured and thinks only about eating.

Ibn is sly. Chaos is grumpy. Lucky eats too much. Comanche runs away and Ichabod chews up fences. Oh, well, no horse is perfect, but they are fun to know.

THE SHEEP are silly. They are so silly the geese can hardly be blamed for wanting to pinch them. Still, there’s something sweet about sheep even if they aren’t clever.

GOOD NEIGHBORS are valuable and well-loved. These dogs are good neighbors. They do valuable things…

Other dogs are foolish dogs who do useless, foolish things. These dogs aren’t around any more.

This dog chased cars and was run over. His name was CANNY.

This dog bit people. Now she lives in a kennel. Her name is BISCUIT.

This dog killed sheep and had to be put away (as the saying goes). His name was ARGOS.

This dog snapped at children and wet on beds. He is not around any more either. His name was SWEENEY.

This dog ran away from home and went to live with someone else. No one can remember his name.

HA! Having become a parent in 2010, I’ve become used to sickly-sweet, uber-PC children’s books. You might think ill of me for saying so, but what a breath of fresh air this one was!

I was nearly giddy about it, which made the pediatrician look at me a little warily. I thought of making the office an offer for the book on the spot, but I didn’t want to push my luck. So I emailed myself the book’s title and looked it up on Amazon when I got home.

Triumph! It’s still in print, and only something like $8 to boot. (Wait – right now it’s only $6.08! Get one for yourself!)

—6—

Guess who is already SIX MONTHS OLD? Isn’t that crazy? I think time flies faster with every child we have. It seems like he should still be a newborn.

—7—

I’ve got to close with the best grocery store pics I’ve snagged yet:

Wait. You need a close-up.

Isn’t that beautiful? And ridiculous? My boys do have an uncanny knack for falling asleep anywhere (and they have fallen asleep in the car cart before) but this… this was brilliant! Not only did it make for a peaceful shopping experience, but it elicited chuckles from shoppers throughout the store.

You never know how you can brighten someone’s day, do you?

Happy weekend, everyone! Be sure to stop over to Jen’s to check out all the other Quick Takers!

Courtney’s Love

October 9, 2014October 9, 2014 / Julie / 2 Comments

A few months ago, I wrote a post about the Little Sisters of the Poor and their loving, life-giving ministry to those who are nearing the end of their lives. I’ve thought about that post, and the work of the Little Sisters, a lot since writing it.

I thought of it when learning of a friend’s death this summer from brain cancer. I thought (and continue to think) of it when hearing about Ebola victims in Liberia, where many die without the comfort of human touch or even simple, loving attention, due to the (well-founded) fears of transmitting the disease. I thought of it the other day while listening to yet another episode of the Diane Rehm Show, this one about “Being Mortal: What Matters In The End.”

And I have especially thought of it while reading Facebook and blog updates from Mary Lenaburg, of Passionate Perseverance. For those of you unfamiliar with her blog, Mary has a 22-year-old daughter, Courtney, with some very special needs. Courtney is unable to talk or walk, to feed herself, even to see. She also experiences frequent, frightening, and often severe seizures. Sadly, it now appears that Courtney’s life is nearing its end.

Mary and her family have spent years (and a not-insignificant amount of money) caring for Courtney and providing for her every need and comfort. Doctors’ visits, therapies, surgeries, medicines, tube feedings, illnesses, hygiene care, round after round of wrangling with insurance companies – the Lenaburgs have done it all.

That’s remarkable enough – the sheer work and angst of caring for a completely dependent, very ill child for 22 years. But what’s more remarkable, and more to the point, is that the Lenaburgs have loved.

Courtney Lenaburg has been loved unlike anyone I’ve ever encountered in my life.

Mary and Jerry Lenaburg and their son Jonathan have loved Courtney through their work to care for her. But they’ve also talked to her, prayed with her, read to her, laughed with her, held her, clasped her hands, given her massages, sewed her clothes, dressed her with great attention, made her surroundings beautiful and cheerful… and so much more.

Honestly, nothing I write here can come close to describing all the ways in which the Lenaburgs have loved Courtney.

Mary and Jerry have also, through their extended family, their church, and Mary’s blog (and many other avenues, I’m sure), built up an incredible community of friends around Courtney, and around themselves. They’ve loved those friends too. They’ve prayed for them, they’ve helped them, and they’ve afforded them the great privilege of doing the same.

(When I was in labor with my youngest, Mary sent me a message to tell me that she and Courtney were praying for me. I’m sure that I’m one of many, many people to have received such a message from the Lenaburgs through the years.)

I don’t know Mary well. We met last summer at Like Mother, Like Daughter’s DC meet-up. We enjoyed a great Cuban dinner together with another Mary friend a couple of months later. And my boys and I had the opportunity to visit with Mary and Courtney at their home this past spring. Yet I feel like I know Mary well. Part of that, I think, is the mark of a good blogger. But the bigger part of it is that Mary puts her love out there for the world to see, and that love has a way of catching you, of drawing you close and folding you up as if it were your own.

In this year of knowing Mary (and through her, Courtney), I’ve learned something about love. (An undefined, powerful kind of something that I feel in my chest, but can hardly describe except to say, “I’ve got to love more.”) I’ve learned something about loving your child, your husband, your friends, about loving God. I’ve learned something about loving through hardship, about tenacity and stretching to meet the challenges put before you.

And I’m just one person.

I have a hard time conceiving of just how many people have been touched and taught by the Lenaburgs. Courtney’s love has gone out into the world and done amazing things, I’m sure of it. It’s softened hearts, it’s shored-up relationships, it’s brought people closer to God. It’s spurred generosity and engendered gratitude. It’s helped people to see the value in those around them. What a beautiful legacy.

As Courtney’s time here comes to a close, I am comforted (not that I have any right to require comfort) by the knowledge that when she passes, Courtney will be surrounded by as much love as one could possibly be. And that she’ll be passing straight from the loving arms of her earthly family to the loving arms of her heavenly Father.

Love, love, love.

The beautiful thing, of course, about the Little Sisters of the Poor is also love – their love for Christ, their love for those whom they serve. Just as the Lenaburgs care for, love, and pray for Courtney, so do the Little Sisters care for, love, and pray for the elderly poor.

What a gift.

It is this love – between Mary and Courtney, between the members of the Lenaburg family, their friends, and their online community, between the Little Sisters of the Poor and the elderly poor – it is this love, a gift from God, which touches us and teaches us and gives us a glimpse of the divine.

Thank you, Mary, for sharing your love with us – for sharing Courtney with us.

~~~

To learn more about Mary and Courtney, please visit Passionate Perseverance. The Lenaburgs are having a particularly rough (and now in some ways, a particularly blessed) time of it right now. Not only are they caring for Courtney and preparing to say goodbye to her, but they’re also planning Courtney’s funeral. On top of that, Jerry is slated to be laid-off from his job at the end of the month. And (can you believe there’s an “and”?) they’ve just learned they’ll need to make some major (read: expensive) repairs to their sewage line.

In the past 24 hours (the 24 hours it took me to finish this post!) there’s been a tremendous upsurge of support for the Lenaburgs, so it looks like the repair costs will be taken care of. But they could still use help in covering the cost of Courtney’s funeral and in paying down their medical debt. I hope you’ll consider helping them out if you’re able. GoFundMe and PayPal buttons are located on Mary’s blog. Thanks in advance for any assistance you provide – and for your prayers!

Disappointment, Truth, And Chocolate Cake

October 6, 2014 / Julie / 1 Comment

Is it Monday yet?

Because I’m really, really done with last week. With the last fortnight, actually. (“Fortnight” – let’s bring back that word. Isn’t it delightful?)

In the last fortnight the members of our household have suffered: a (thankfully, minor) car accident, a decently bad fall, a fever, a mild stomach bug, an ear infection, a glass shattering high enough up that we needed to clean a fine dust of glass off half the kitchen, two thwarted birthday celebrations before we hit upon a successful one, enough internet connectivity issues to make me somewhat concerned for my mental health, and a pickle juice spill in the refrigerator. (You might think that last one’s silly, but you didn’t have to clean out the refrigerator.)

Lesson: Steer clear of our family right now. You don’t want to be standing next to us when whatever’s-coming-next happens.

Folded into that litany of woes were two great disappointments for yours truly: First, due to my boy’s little stomach bug, I had to miss Jen Fulwiler’s talk at the Catholic Information Center in DC. And second, what “should” have been a nice evening of board meeting/reception/birthday dinner/walk by the water/maybe-even-ice-cream turned into a sad, stressful, embarrassing couple of hours of trying to distract my boy from the intense pain in his ears. And stop him screaming. (Poor boy – he suffered all those ailments in the span of three days.)

However, as disappointments sometimes do, these gems helped me recognize a few truths:

1) It’s not so awful to miss out on a good thing when you do so for the sake of someone you love. I’m definitely an angsty, crying-over-spilled-milk type of person by nature, so I surprised myself a little last Monday evening when I wasn’t a whiny, resentful mess over missing Jen’s talk. In fact, once the decision to stay home was made, I relaxed. I gained some clarity. I left my dress laid out on the bed and took my freshly-made-up face downstairs to spend some time with my sickly boy. We snuggled on the sofa and read his brother’s new books. I don’t do that often enough – just sit with him on the sofa to read. It was a lovely silver lining to our disappointing change of plans and it felt so right and so good.

2) Small children don’t care as much about plans as grown-ups do. My middle son turned three last week. Because we had a commitment the evening of his birthday, I made a few days’ worth of birthday plans so we could fit in everything I thought necessary to “properly” celebrate the occasion. Then most everything went wrong.

On Sunday, when we were to have our birthday dinner as a family – spaghetti and “wochate cake”* and presents and all – our oldest son and Brennan’s mother were both unwell. They ended up half-way joining us for the meal, present but not entirely so. Most of the birthday boy’s gifts (all but the bedtime books) were put off for another day. We sang “Happy Birthday” tired and deflated and sad about the unwell grandma and the glassy-eyed, red-cheeked, somber little boy who just needed to go to bed. We ate just a little bit of cake.

When they don't eat their cake, you know they're sick.

You’ve got to be sick when you won’t eat your cake.

On Tuesday (the actual birthday), we were due to head to Annapolis. I was to attend a board meeting while Brennan watched the boys, then we were all to attend an informal little reception. Afterward we planned to walk toward the water for a pizza dinner, maybe some ice cream. But as soon as we arrived, (though he’d seemed perfectly fine all day) my oldest son mentioned that his ear hurt.

Soon, that little off-hand comment turned into full-on wailing. The poor child couldn’t stop moving; he seemed to be trying to walk away from the pain. He wandered around, screaming. “My ear huuurts! I want Daaaddy!” (Daddy had gone to the drug store for some Children’s Advil.) “I want to go hooome!” (Please understand that this might be the first time in his life that this child has ever uttered those words. Our little social butterfly would usually rather be anywhere but home.) I tried to help. I sat on some steps and tried to hold him, to comfort him, but he was beyond comforting. All he wanted from me was pain relief, but until Daddy arrived, I couldn’t provide any.

But the birthday boy? (Getting back to my point now – promise.) He was fine. I could wish that he’d had enough empathy to be concerned about his brother’s plight, but I’m really just glad he was fine. He followed us around wherever we walked, singing and performing and pretending that a formal little flourish to the concrete steps was a trophy he’d won racing back and forth across the lawn. He showed me how fast he could go. He threw himself down on the ground and rolled in the grass. He ate a little cupcake.

He didn’t care that we’d driven so far for a couple of hours of confusion and concern and wailing. He didn’t care that we never got the pizza or walked along the docks or ate the ice cream. He was fine with pretending to be a race car. He was fine with the mini cupcake. He was fine with the chicken tenders he ate on the way home. He was fine with the frazzled, grumpy parents on his birthday evening. He’d been fine, too, with his sad little birthday meal on Sunday night. He was fine.

The plans, as it turned out, were for me, not him. He had people who loved him and wished him a happy birthday. He had a couple of presents. He had a “wochate”* cake. He was a perfectly happy little boy.

*(When I’d asked him what kind of cake he wanted for his birthday, he answered, “wochate.” “A rocket cake?” I asked. “No, not wocket, wochate.” (They sound the same.) “Oh, you want a chocolate cake? We can do that! But what do you want it to look like?” “Wochate,” he repeated, “wiff eminems.”)

I obliged.

3) As hard as you try, as well as you mean, as much as you plan, sometimes taking your children out into the world is going to go horribly. I’m a very stubborn person. I tend to think I can just force something into place. I tend to think that if I’ve thought something through and tried very, very hard to achieve it, I will. And even though I know theoretically that everything can fall apart for reasons outside of my control, I really don’t expect them to.

So it’s not like I went into Tuesday’s meeting/reception/dinner plans thing on a whim. I usually don’t take my children with me to such events. (Or the mobile children, at least; I routinely bring my infants to meetings.) I’d arranged to have my husband meet me there to watch our boys during the meeting. I knew he’d enjoy chatting with some of the people at the reception anyway. I knew we’d be at a location where the boys could run and play with some freedom. I knew that my boys enjoy being around new people and that they’re generally well-behaved in public. I knew that we’d only be at the reception (i.e. my little people in the same space as all the grown-ups) for about an hour before we walked into the land of pizza and ice cream and water viewing. We weren’t there because of a thoughtless, “Hey, I want to do this thing! Let’s bring everybody, regardless of temperaments/accommodations/situation!” I’d thought it through.

But it didn’t matter! Just as small children don’t care about plans, neither do ear infections. My poor boy was caught unawares by a sudden onslaught of pain, and so were we.

I wish I could tell you that when my child was wandering around that beautiful place, wailing his sad little head off, he was my only concern. But he wasn’t. Though I felt horrible for him and hated how helpless I felt not being able to make him feel better, I was concerned about the other people at the reception too. I felt badly about our family creating such a distraction. I was embarrassed. (What a cliché we must have seemed: harried parents chasing after screaming children!) I was frustrated that I couldn’t force this situation back into place.

Just keep thinking about the cake.

This must sound like another cliché, but I feel like I learn something new from this motherhood gig all the time. And even when the something isn’t entirely new, it becomes more present in my mind or more relevant than I’d previously considered. So it was during this (wonderful! terrific! ha!) past fortnight. And like so much of what I learn, this fortnight’s truths can be boiled down to one simple message:

“Chill, Julie.”

This Child

September 30, 2014 / Julie / 1 Comment

This child… oh, this child. He is passionate, he is fierce. He loves aggressively. He’s my most attached, the one who tries to burrow himself right into me.

He has a twinkle in his eye and a grimace in his grin. He barrels. He has strong arms and tight fists.

He’s agile. He’s fast. He’s cautious. He covers his face when we sing “Happy Birthday” to him. He clings to me when we go somewhere new.

He’s even-tempered for a long ways, but will suddenly explode with emotion. He’s sensitive. He’s a little bit wicked. He forgives easily. He shows mercy and he seeks it.

He loves, he loves, he loves.

And oh, how we love him back. How thankful we are for that evening, three years ago today, when he fought his way into our arms.

Follow my blog with Bloglovin

When Things Fall Apart

September 26, 2014September 26, 2014 / Julie / 4 Comments

(Sometimes it pays to just give up.)

Today was the only day this week when we didn’t have to be up and at ‘em, out and about, busy. And it was a lovely day to be inside: dark, cool, and drizzly. So I milked it.

Once the flurry of breakfast happenings had been gotten through, I cracked some windows in the kitchen, turned on the radio, and sat down at the table with my cup of coffee. I sorted through the near-avalanche of magazines and papers on my side table. I re-organized my stash of paper plates and plastic utensils, which had been strewn throughout my kitchen and dining room for most of the summer. I cleaned the disgusting top of my refrigerator. I took out the trash and the recycling. I put random things in their places.

The baby alternated between napping, sitting happily in his high chair with a few toys, and taking his bottles. His big brothers played (mostly) quietly and happily, and watched just a couple of their favorite shows. There weren’t many fights. There wasn’t much fuss. It was such a good sort of day: peaceful, quiet, and productive.

Until it wasn’t.

He said that they were going to a tool meeting, where they would be fixing stuff.

A little after 4pm, I pulled the carrots and celery out of the ‘fridge and put the chicken on the stove. I started the washing and the chopping that should have gotten me well on my way to some homemade chicken pot pies.

But then one boy peed all over the bathroom and I had to clean it up. I had to direct him upstairs to wash his hands while I cleaned the bathroom. I had to tell him that if he was too tired to walk upstairs, then he’d better just go to bed. I had to deal with the other boy, who was unhappy about not needing to wash his hands too.

I had to direct the first boy back upstairs to find clean shorts. “No, not those. Those are your brother’s. Yours are on the left. The left. This one is the left.” (He’s learning.)

The baby was fussing, so I had to make him a bottle and sit down to feed it to him.

I had to intervene upstairs when one boy hit the other with a (toy) hammer. I had to intervene again, when somebody did who-knows-what to somebody else. I had to send the first somebody to bed and then call him back out again to appease his brother/victim, who wanted his playmate back.

I had to check on the chicken, but I didn’t anticipate all the steam that would come from the pot once I removed its lid, so I burnt my arm. I ran cool water over it for a while, then I wrapped a towel around an ice pack and used it whenever I could. It sat there on the counter, next to the cutting board with fewer cut vegetables on it than there should have been.

I had to take at least three phone calls.

I had to change a couple of diapers.

I had to deal with the boys again: they were chasing and screeching underfoot, their faces right next to the baby’s. No longer able to deal with interruptions with anything like grace, I yelled at them for bringing their crazy into the kitchen when “I NEED TO MAKE DINNER!”

Finally – 1.5 hours, one pot of chicken, six carrots, four stalks of celery, one onion, and one burnt arm into dinner prep – I gave up.

“That’s it! I give up!” I actually said out-loud. I probably even threw my hands up in the air.

I put plastic wrap over the vegetables and chicken, stuffed them into the ‘fridge, and pulled out some leftovers. I made plates for the boys and sat them in front of “The Cat In The Hat (Knows A Lot About That)” to eat their dinners in the mesmerizing glow of the television. I heated up my own and sat down to eat in front of my laptop, my arm resting on its ice pack.

And you know what? It was absolutely the best thing I could have done.

There was a time when I would have pushed through, no matter what. I would have kept on yelling and rushing and complaining and working so hard to get it all done that I made everyone miserable. I would have put dinner on the table at 8:30 at night and felt a mixture of exasperation and guilt about little boys who fell asleep in their plates. I would have lost my appetite from the stress of it all and cried at the dishes left in the sink.

But tonight, I decided to cut my losses. Tonight’s thwarted dinner became tomorrow’s dinner prep. We each enjoyed our own separate, relaxing dinners rather than suffering through a family meal that would have been late and stressful.

“Giving up” is usually far from the ideal thing to do, but when you’re a perfectionist learning how to deal with the imperfections of family life, sometimes it can be just right.

These Walls

Sharing stories from within the walls of my home; encouraging discourse on the wider world outside them.

Author: Julie