Today (er, yesterday – I’m getting this posted past midnight) the closing mass for World Youth Day 2013 was held on Copacabana Beach in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. Have you seen the pictures? Have you seen that three million people attended the mass? Three million people in one place. That’s like the whole state of Iowa, squeezed into a 2.5 mile-long stretch of sand. It’s mind-boggling. It’s just about impossible to visualize.

Eight years ago, I was struggling to visualize what one million people looked like, and I was standing in the middle of it. Back then I was attending the closing mass of World Youth Day 2005 outside Cologne, Germany. I was out in the middle of a massive field, to which we had hiked for what seemed like hours. Maybe it was hours, I don’t know. The whole thing’s a little fuzzy to me. I just remember walking through a small town (Maybe we were bussed there? Maybe we were delivered via train?) where people lined the streets to watch us pass. Then we were trudging along a rugged path; finally we were stepping onto a ginormous field filled with hundreds of thousands of people.

We set up “camp” (the term is used very loosely – I think I might have slept under an umbrella) and spent the night on the ground, so as to be in place for mass the next morning. When we went to sleep, the place seemed crowded. By the time we awoke, it was packed. People had filtered in through the morning hours, filling in just about any space they could find. It wasn’t just WYD participants, either – lots of locals had also come. I kept hearing that there were a million people there, but all I knew was that there were people everywhere, as far as I could see.

To get a sense of that amazing number, I looked up at the altar (which I could see decently well, though I was only able to see newly-elected Pope Benedict XVI through a pair of binoculars) and some jumbo screen landmarks and got a sense of where I was in relation to them. Then I looked onto the screens themselves, where they kept showing aerial footage of the crowd. We were almost directly in front of the altar, about half-way back. Soon enough it dawned on me that my “everywhere,” my “as far as I could see,” was maybe 1/5^th of the entire crowd. You simply can’t see one million people when you’re in the middle of them.

Obviously, the experience made an impression on me: this sea of young people, taking it in turns to laugh and sing and pray. Even at home, even on a regular Sunday, sometimes at mass I’m struck with the wonder of it all: that modern people, pushed and pulled by the demands of their everyday lives, would come to spend a quiet hour in the company of One whom they cannot not see. That they would sit and listen to words written thousands of years ago about people in an entirely different part of the world, words that somehow also apply to them. Here. Sitting here in their sundresses and flip-flops and polo shirts, pockets filled with muted iPhones and jangling car keys. That they would walk quietly up the aisle to eat bread and sip wine that is somehow also the very body and blood of the One for whom they came. That boggles my mind too.

So if a “regular” Sunday mass (sometimes) strikes me as so amazing, imagine how amazed I was at seeing one million people at mass. Most of them cold, wet, tired, hungry and young? Like I said, it made quite an impression.

You know what also made an impression on me? The way WYD was received by the local community in and around Cologne. I didn’t have the typical WYD experience while I was there because I wasn’t a full “participant,” technically. I was a volunteer in the U.S. bishops’ temporary office, which served as a home base and troubleshooting center for the leaders of the U.S. groups attending WYD. Sometimes those leaders stopped by with their participants; sometimes a few of the bishops dropped in. But I really enjoyed when the locals visited. I speak German (These days I just kinda sorta speak German; back then I actually spoke it), so I was usually the one who got to chat with the local visitors. And what I heard warmed my heart.

One older couple stopped by “just to see what all the young people were up to.” Most were curious and maybe a little bemused at this invasion of Catholic youth. You see, Cologne is used to crowds. They host a massive Karnival celebration every year (think: Mardi Gras), so the locals thought they had a pretty good idea of what to expect when hundreds of thousands of young people descended on their city. But to a person – whether visitors to our office, or taxi drivers, or the host couple who took me in – the locals I met were pleasantly surprised, impressed, and even touched by their experiences with WYD participants.

Western Europeans, of course, have a reputation for being very secular. Their churches are said to be empty and they seem to be, at best, ambivalent about religion. (Now, I know that’s not the rule everywhere. I spent a summer in Bavaria, where the church seemed to be very much alive.) So it was beyond refreshing for me to encounter all these Germans who were having a positive, hopeful encounter with the Church. For a moment, at least, I think they saw another way.

And you know what? Those kids did that. Those noisy, sloppy, joyous kids did it. The Holy Spirit used those kids to reach out to people who had perhaps become unaccustomed to opening their hearts and minds to God.

Now, I don’t know how great of an impact a one-week-long event can have on the entirety of anybody’s life, whether participant or witness. But I think it can plant a seed. I think there are thousands upon thousands of people who remember those few days of 2005 fondly – perhaps with joy, perhaps with peace, perhaps just with interest. I feel blessed to count myself among them.

The other day at her Crazy DC Meet-Up, Auntie Leila pounded home the idea that we should do at least three things for our girlfriends: (1) Watch their children when they need to go to the doctor’s, (2) bring dinner to them when they’ve had a baby or are otherwise in need, and (3) have a shower for them every time they have a baby. (Not just the first time.)

This, of course, got me to thinking of my own girlfriends, especially a few that I’d been planning to mention during this week of the Epic Blogging Challenge anyway.

There’s Krista, who just started a blog. It’s called And Another Thing, Hon and I think this post does a good job of describing what she wants to do with it. Krista is a great writer (she used to write full-time; now that she stays at home, she freelances). She’s funny, she’s insightful, and she has very entertaining children. (Two very pretty, very imaginative, very smart little girls.) I’m one of the chorus of friends who has been pelting her Facebook posts with “you should start a blog!” comments for years.

Krista threw me a bridal shower and I helped throw her a baby shower. We’ve thrown a few more together. She read at my wedding; I sang at hers. We brought each other dinners when our babies were born. I don’t see as much of Krista these days as I would like, so I’m glad that with And Another Thing, Hon, I’ll have another way to keep up with what’s running through her mind.

There’s my friend Betsy, who blogs at The Adventures of an Amateur Housewife. She writes about her projects around the house and her sweet-as-can-be little boys, Joseph and John. (Seriously – it’s hard to find little guys as easygoing and likeable as Betsy’s.) I sang at Betsy’s wedding and threw her a baby shower. I also watched Joseph (whom my 3-year-old – much to the chagrin of his real little brother – dubbed, “my yiddle brudder”) when Betsy was in the hospital for John’s birth. We brought each other dinners when our babies were born. We visit (pretty) frequently and watch each other’s boys when one of us needs a hand. Betsy’s a great there-when-you-need-her kind of friend.

There’s my friend Mary, who I’m kind of calling out here, because she’s thisclose to starting a blog. She’s a terrific writer and she’s super smart and savvy, so I can’t wait to see what she’s come up with. Mary has two cutie-pie little girls and another on the way. She and I never hosted showers for each other, but we did have a joint shower thrown for us when we had our first children. (Her oldest is just about six weeks younger than mine.) We supported each other with dinners when our babies were born and we get together for playdates, though not as frequently as we should. Both Betsy and Mary were there the other night at Auntie Leila’s Crazy DC Meet-Up.

Then there’s Stephanie, who has just recently revived her blog, Watcher of the Morn’. I don’t know Stephanie quite as well as these other three ladies, but I sure do like her. (And I will always appreciate the help she gave to Brennan and me on our wedding day!) Stephanie is now about a month away from entering the convent as a postulant with the Sisters, Servants of the Immaculate Heart of Mary. When you visit Stephanie’s blog, you can read how she discerned her vocation and learn about some of the more practical aspects of having a loved one in the convent. (Or this one, at least.) You can also read her thoughts on the religious life:

I’m choosing the religious life because part of answering the restlessness was making a commitment. A life commitment. Sure, I could do that by getting married and taking seriously the vow to love and cherish my spouse till death do us part. But for me, the idea of marriage and a family was a restricting one…

[E]very time I sit in a room full of young families and watch them in action and listen to their stories, I’m haunted by the thought, “But I want more.” A family of my own just isn’t enough for me! I know individual families that have done incredible things, and made huge impacts in the lives of those around them. But in my heart I knew I’d never be satisfied with that narrow sphere of influence.

I’ve spent the last four years working for a religious order, and have seen up-close the impact these men have in the lives of those they serve. Many of them have connections with people that go back 40 years. They are members of dozens of families, and they’ve impacted thousands of lives. Those in religious life will likely never know the extent of the impact they have until we all, God-willing, get to heaven. But that’s one of the things that attracted me to this life – the ability to impact the world, albeit in a quiet way. The ability to touch the world and leave behind an eternal fingerprint.

In a world with so much noise and opinions and information overload, I’m choosing religious life because I happen to believe strongly in something Pope Paul VI said in 1975. Addressing members of the Vatican’s Council for Laity, he said, “Modern man listens more willingly to witnesses than to teachers, and if he does listen to teachers, it is because they are witnesses.” Yes, it’s totally possible to be a witness as a lay person. But as a member of a religious community, especially one that wears distinctive clothing, I hope to be one of those witnesses the pope talked about. In a world where images are so powerful … the sight of a woman in a habit, standing out in a crowd, speaks louder than anything that might come out of her mouth…

This is an invitation to a radically different life, and it’s not for everyone. But it’s a life that spoke to my heart at its deepest level. That small whisper that said, “come and see.”

I am struck by how Stephanie, like many modern women, wants “more” than family life. She knows she “would never be satisfied with that narrow sphere of influence.” But unlike most of those who share her sentiment, Stephanie chooses not career and single life, but rather the convent.

Stephanie recently came to my house for lunch and we discussed this idea at length. Personally, I always felt very much called to the vocation of wife and mother. I was sure that it was what I was supposed to do. But I can see where Stephanie is coming from. I can see how the religious life – contrary to its popular portrayal – could be liberating. How freeing it could be, to point your mind and body and daily occupation all towards God! And to have your focus be so obvious to both you and the world. Now, I know that I serve God when I serve my husband and children, but I don’t usually think about it. (I should, but I don’t.) My husband and boys don’t think about it either; neither do the people we encounter on a daily basis. But (I would imagine), it’s pretty clear to a religious sister that what she’s doing, day-after-day, is serving God. And when they see her habit, the rest of the world knows it too. Society doesn’t expect her to be fully ‘of’ this world and that has got to be liberating.

Anyway, now you know a bit about four of my lovely friends who blog* (or who are, ahem, about to). Three of them, like me, find their place in their home, surrounded by the people they love. The fourth has found her place in the convent, focused on God and the work he has put before her. I hope you’ll visit all of their spaces and take a look around.

* I have more, but we’ll save them for another day…

— 1—

I’m more than a little excited that the estimable Auntie Leila shared a link to this piece I wrote yesterday about Wednesday evening’s “Crazy DC Meet-up.” Views to this very young blog more than quadrupled within a couple of hours after her share. (!!!) Ahhh, the power of Facebook and a well-loved blogger…

— 2 —

I missed last week’s 7 Quick Takes because we were away on vacation. The obsessive-compulsive part of me regrets that I missed a week. (I hadn’t done so since I started the blog at the end of May.) The more pragmatic part isn’t sweating it. Vacations with young families are hard work! And I have been dutifully complying with Jen’s “7 Posts in 7 Days: An Epic Blogging Challenge.” One need only glance at the interior of my home to tell. Partially-unpacked suitcases sprawled open on the floor? Check. Dirty laundry still tied up in shopping bags? Check. Dining room table cluttered with stacks of never-packed clothes and wrappings from packed snacks and toys? Check. Before we arrived home, I had been hoping to take a page out of Rachel’s book and have everything unpacked and put away as soon as we got home. But, ah, no. Too tired. And too much blogging to do.

— 3 —

As I type this, my sister-in-law is in labor with her fifth child. She and my brother already have four girls and they don’t know the gender of this baby. I only have one brother. My father has no brothers who carry on the family name. His father did, but his only brother had all daughters. We literally don’t know anyone else with our uncommon surname but my brother’s family, my parents, and my grandmother. So… no pressure, guys. None at all.

(Seriously though, we looove baby girls in our family and would be thrilled to add another little doll to the mix. And as I personally feel destined to have all boys, I’m happy to have as many nieces as I can get.)

UPDATE: It’s a… GIRL! A healthy baby girl! Yay! Congratulations, Eric and Michele!

— 4 —

I heard two really, really interesting stories on NPR the other day. The first was a Fresh Air interview with Keith Lowe, the author of Savage Continent. It was fascinating. And heartbreaking. The book describes Europe in the wake of World War II: the physical destruction, the breakdown of law and order, the loss of institutions and lives, etc. It was horrible. And yet there was so much in the interview that I could relate to, either in simple human sympathy, or because I’d encountered someone who’d lived in Europe at the time. There were all those stories told to me by Nina’s grandfather. There were those told to me by our sister-in-law’s grandmother, who fled Germany after the war. There were, of course, the World War II veterans I had met or continue to know.

If you’re a history buff, I highly recommend listening to the interview. If you’re not, I recommend it anyway. I always like to take in books, radio, TV, and movies that teach me something about what it is to be human. And that make me feel connected to people who have lived in different times and different parts of the world. Savage Continent most definitely fits the bill. You be sure to check out the interview; I’ll check out the book.

— 5 —

The second was a segment on All Things Considered that concerned an innovation in nursing homes called The Green House Project. Given that we just visited my husband’s stepfather in his nursing home last week, the topic was fresh on my mind. Ed happens to be, at this point, in a very nice, new, comfortable kind of a nursing home. But it still feels like an institution. And I’ve been in other nursing homes that feel like scary, depressing institutions. Are these the kind of places that I would like to live out the last days/months/years of my life? Absolutely not. Nobody would. Everybody would (I wager) rather be at home. Their own home would be best, but somebody else’s home would probably be acceptable too.

The Green House Project seems to come pretty close. From the brief piece I heard, Green Houses represent the best of both worlds: private bedrooms and baths for each resident, staff present 24/7 to care for them, no more than 12 residents at a time, a look and layout similar to a suburban home, an open kitchen, shared meals, and lots of flexibility. And believe it or not, they’re often more affordable than a standard nursing home. I find it all very interesting and encouraging. If you do too, I hope you’ll listen to the segment.

— 6 —

Our town had a little parade last night. (Random, hm?) I packed the boys into the stroller and walked down the road so we could take it in. We found a nice little spot next to our neighbors and spent a lovely hour chatting, viewing fire engine after fire engine, startling every time an engine blared its horn, clapping to the beat of the bands, enjoying the cool air and the beginnings of a pink sunset, and getting pelted with candy. It was wonderful – such a lovely break from our regular evening routine. The boys were so happy. (I was too.)

— 7 —

Let me tell you, it was a very good thing that we had such a nice beginning to our evening, because the end? It didn’t go so well.

Wait – do you get queasy easily? If so, stop reading now. Thanks for stopping by! Nice having you here!

If you don’t, however, and you’re one of those people who enjoys reading about vomity children as long as they belong to someone else, then read on. I’m your gal. My ultra-sensitive-gagging-boys have given me more vomit stories to share with you than you could ever hope to read. If you’re a Conversion Diary reader, you may remember Jen’s Poop Fates. Well, maybe I called down the Vomit Fates with my “My babies hardly ever spit up!” comments while they were still in their infancies. Because ever since – ever since they were gagging on solid foods and mucous, that is – they have both produced more than their fair shares of vomit.

Right now, it’s the 21-month-old. When I got back from the “Crazy DC Meet-up” Wednesday night, my husband greeted me with a “Well, both of the boys are sick.” What had been just ‘a 3-year-old with slightly congested-sounding breathing’ quickly turned into ‘both boys definitely have very drippy, gunky colds.’ That night the little guy coughed, gagged, and threw up. Not such a big deal – I got him to the sink in time.

Last night, though? Just as I was sitting down to write my 7 Quick Takes, the 3-year-old came down to tell me that his brother had “frone up.” I went up to my bedroom to find my husband (who had been reading the boys their bedtime story) and the little guy and my pillow and my bed (down to the mattress – thank goodness we have a guest room!) all covered in vomit.

“Oh, well,” I tried to tell myself. I’d needed to change the sheets anyway: the 3-year-old had peed on them that morning.

One big clean-up later, the boys were settled in their beds. Until we heard some more coughs. And gags. This time the little guy had vomited all over himself and his bedding. Another big clean-up (and another addition to the washing machine) later, he was finally settled down and sleeping.

Good thing he’s so cute:

Don’t forget to go visit Jen and all the rest of the Quick Takers!

Last night I attended Auntie Leila’s “Crazy DC Meet-Up.” To those who are already familiar with her – How exciting is that?! To those who aren’t, “Auntie” Leila Lawler blogs, with her daughters, at Like Mother, Like Daughter. She provides practical and insightful advice on making a home, along with the family, parenting, marriage, and faith matters that go along with it.

Anyway, the event was great. So great, in fact, that I hardly know where to start in writing about it – or even mentally processing it. Auntie Leila is so perceptive and thoughtful and good at putting her finger right on the truth of a matter. She has a real gift. She’s also very real and relatable, which – though I know I should have – I hadn’t really expected.

Auntie Leila has done and will do a much better job than I could of providing an overview of the content of last night’s gathering. But here are the points that I took away from it, that related most to me, in my own particular situation (that is, a mother to two toddler boys and someone who recently moved into the home and town were we plan to live for years to come):

On community and friendship:

• I am responsible for cultivating the community of friends in which I want to raise my family.
• To do so, I need to approach people, get involved in my parish and neighborhood, invite individuals and families to my home, and give, give, give. (Namely by giving a hand – a meal, a few hours of child care – to a friend who needs it.)
• I need to remember that friendships are not static, that not all friends need to be your best friend, that I shouldn’t limit myself to making friends of my same age or family situation, that I can always use another friend, and that others can too.
• Not only should I always be reading something, and should some of what I read be challenging and instructive, but I should also arrange to be reading the same something as my friends every once in a while, so we have something to discuss when we’re together.

On parenting:

• Children (especially boys) need a lot – a lot – of time to run around uninhibited. Outside is best. So is getting incredibly dirty and sweaty and tired.
• Children also need to be taught to sit still (for a little while) and to obey their parents. So many things – making it quietly through mass, for instance – depend on the laying of that groundwork.
• They need to be taught to think of others – their parents, their siblings, their friends, and those they encounter only in passing. They need to be taught to be helpful.
• Boys need to be taught – especially by their fathers – how to channel their aggression. They need to be taught to stick up for themselves and to protect others – especially those who are weaker than they are.

Now, I’m not going to pretend that all of this was new to me. As I told my husband last night, much of what Auntie Leila talked about, I felt like I already knew, if only intuitively. And yes, I learned lots of it from my own family. (Thanks, Mom!) But Auntie Leila articulated it so well – she presented it so clearly and sensibly, that hearing it from her not only reminded me of the lessons I learned from my own family, it refreshed and energized me.

It also prompted me to revisit some questions I’ve been thinking about for some time, and which at some point I’ll likely write about more thoroughly:

• What qualities do I prize in people?
• What kind of men do I want my boys to grow into?
• What experiences do I want for my boys?
• When am I most happy and at peace?
• When am I most agitated or discouraged?
• What parts of my personality get in the way of me living the life I want to?
• What are the practical, everyday things I can do to help me be a better wife, parent, friend, and citizen?

This morning I spent some quiet time with my boys, pondering it all. We built a castle out of blocks. We talked. I held my 21-month-old on my lap longer than I normally do. I witnessed my three-year-old’s delight as he stuffed blocks into his pockets. I gave and got lots of cuddles and kisses. We were still tired from a poor night’s sleep and my house is still a gigantic mess, but a cool breeze was blowing through the windows and my mind was filled with last night’s good conversation. I felt refreshed and hopeful. Thank you, Auntie Leila.

P.S. I’m posting every day this week for Jen’s challenge. Check out others who are doing the same.

P.P.S. Also be sure to read Jen’s recent post on “building a village” – it fit so well with Auntie Leila’s message.

As I mentioned in this little post, we just returned from a vacation to Minnesota, where we were visiting my husband’s family. To round out my review, I thought I’d jump on the Five Favorites bandwagon to share some more of the trip’s highlights.

But first, it goes without saying that our most favorite thing of all from the trip was just hanging out with Brennan’s family. We usually feel lucky if we fit in one visit with each of Brennan’s relatives on our trips to Minnesota. But this time we saw most of them en masse four different times, plus individual visits with most of the crew. It was great. We also spent some time with Brennan’s stepfather at his nursing home. I wrote a sentimental little post about it yesterday. I hope you’ll check it out.

Here are some of my other favorites, in no particular order:

— 1 —

Kissy faces.

We take one of these pictures (with two of Brennan’s sisters) every time we visit. Our 21-month-old won’t tolerate it, but our 3-year-old is just fine. Our plan is to have a whole series of the shots – from his first Minnesota visit at just six months old, to however old he is when he finally refuses to let his aunts kiss him.

— 2 —

Minnehaha Falls.

I know I mentioned it in my previous post, but geez, that place is wonderful. Not only is the waterfall itself beautiful, and not only can you get pretty darned close to it, but the rest of the park is great too. There are lots of walking and biking trails, there’s an area where you can swim downstream from the falls, and you can even rent one of these lovely contraptions for a tour around the park:

Disclosure: I do not know how to ride a bike. (Yes, you read that correctly.) So I was very little use to my husband on this thing. Poor guy. At one point he complained that I didn’t seem to know when to peddle and when not to. I replied, “How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t know how to ride a bike?!”

— 3 —

These lovely earrings.

Our sister-in-law, Lisa, is a very talented jewelry artist. She makes glass beads to use in her designs and she also makes fine metal jewelry. (Check out her website here.) When Lisa and her husband were visiting us a few months ago, she made molds of some of the ornate hardware in our 150-year-old house. When we saw them in Minnesota, Lisa presented me with a lovely set of silver earrings and a necklace pendant, which she had made from one of the molds. Isn’t that wonderfully thoughtful and generous of her? I was so excited, I wore them for most of the rest of our vacation.

— 4 —

Watching the boys “build a tower” by dismantling their (very tolerant) Uncle Jack’s garden.

First of all, Jack’s garden is one of the most beautiful I have ever seen. I have nearly zero experience when it comes to growing fruits and vegetables, but oh, how I want to learn. I was just about salivating, looking at his gorgeous set-up.

And yes – he was so tolerant. The boys were picking up boards (and, er, bricks) that Jack uses to weigh down netting over his strawberry plants. It was great to see how creatively they played and how well they worked together.

— 5 —

Watching (and dodging) the boys as they wrestled with Uncle Josh.

Poor Josh. Those boys had a heck of a squealing, screaming, thrashing, rolling good time, but Josh came out a little worse for the wear. Our littlest guy scratched his face pretty deeply. I think (hope?) Josh was planning to come up with a better story for his coworkers than “My cousin’s 21-month-old attacked my face.”

— Bonus —

(I’ve got to add a little bonus, not-in-Minnesota-but-still-very-much-a-favorite-part-of-our-trip Favorite, here:)

A glass of wine on the return flight.

Despite lots of people’s suggestions that I should, I usually don’t imbibe on a plane, especially when I’ve got the little guys to keep track of. But this time we barely made it onto the flight.

We were later leaving for the airport than we planned, we hit traffic, security was slow, blah, blah, blah… The end result was that we had to scurry our way all through the airport, trying to make it to the gate on time. It wasn’t quite as dramatic as Home Alone, but our three-year-old did fall flat on his face twice because his little feet just couldn’t keep up with our pace. We hurried up to the gate, huffing and puffing, and were relieved to learn we could still board the plane. We were the last folks to do so. And we had two car seats to install, two toddlers to wrangle, and a stroller to break down and store in a stupid, stupid travel bag. (My littlest guy twice escaped from me while I was trying to break down the stroller. He ran right onto the plane by himself. I had to retrieve him from First Class. Both times.) Our fellow passengers loved us, I’m sure.

Anyway, we settled in for the flight, sweaty and out-of-breath, and I divvied up the sandwiches I had snatched for us on the way onto the plane. (“PleasedoIhavetime- toseeiftheyhavesandwichesinthatcooler!?!” is, I think, what I said to the gate attendant.) The boys were uneasy and we didn’t have much milk to offer them, but thankfully they both drifted off to sleep.

So I ordered my wine. I sat still and I sipped it. I didn’t think. I didn’t occupy my mind or my hands. I just sat and let that dry airplane air and that just-okay-tasting pinot grigio cool and calm me down. I think I may have enjoyed it more than any other glass of wine I’ve had in recent memory. It was lovely.

For about an hour, when the screaming resumed.

Now… go visit Grace (who’s stepping in for Hallie this week) and the others for some more favorites!

— 1 —

This week I opened a Twitter account. I don’t really know how it works and I’ve only put out three tweets, but still, if you want to follow me, you can click here. I think.

— 2 —

See this lovely thing? With the smashed glass and the partially-detached plastic cover? (Plastic which, by the way, was not attached as a preventative measure, but rather after the incident, to keep the glass from crumbling to pieces. And which has captured an unhelpful film of dust, obscuring the images on the screen even further than they were by the cracks.) Nearly three years after this beauty slipped out of my bag and onto the pavement, I finally replaced it this week. I can not express to you how excited I am.

However, the teensiest bit of me is a little disappointed (albeit chuckling at the same time), because apparently the loss of my cracked cell phone screen brings down my ‘cool’ factor. Or my “street cred” as this piece puts it. I heard a radio segment about this fad in which people leave their cell phone screens cracked as some sort of status symbol. Or worse, they purposefully crack them to achieve the look. I think I remember the segment also including something about plastic you can adhere to your screen to make it look like it’s cracked, but I just searched Amazon and couldn’t find it. So that probably means it doesn’t exist.

— 3 —

Between the new phone and the Twitter account and still getting used to WordPress, I feel like I’m experiencing something of a technology overload right now. This could go one of two ways: I could keep my nose to the screen for the following week and tackle the technology head-on. Or, I could take the more familiar path and scorn all instructions, manuals, and tutorials, forcing me to stick to the barest of basics. Hmm… decisions, decisions…

— 4 —

Yesterday I came across this piece by Elizabeth Scalia. It reminded me powerfully of the way I sometimes “wade through thigh-high mud,” as I put it in last week’s Quick Takes. I was not familiar with the concept of acedia, but I am so very familiar with the feeling. Elizabeth’s post lightened my load a little – this is a thing, with a name, that other people experience. Isn’t it a comfort to know you’re not alone? I need to learn a little more about acedia, so I’m better prepared to fight it next time.

— 5 —

A few days ago during a Diane Rehm Show discussion on Comprehensive Immigration Reform, one of the guests made a point that I found really illuminating. He said that the Democratic Party is a coalition-based party, while the Republican Party is based on ideology. Wow! What an idea! I think I had already sensed as much (and probably to everybody else who pays attention to politics, it’s old news) but for some reason, hearing it articulated was a big eye-opener for me. Of course he was talking about it in the context of immigration reform, but it plays out in so many other areas of public policy too. It’s an idea I’m going to be working through for a while…

— 6 —

My older son received the movie Cars for his birthday a few weeks ago. Surprisingly, it’s his little brother who has fallen in love with it. Every day, all day, he asks for “Moom! Moowee!” (“Moom” = car, I think because cars go “vroom.”) I’ve been giving in about once a day. The little guy (21 months old) gets so excited. He squeals and jumps up on the sofa and screams “BAST!” at all the cars whizzing by on the screen. The other day, my older son started to echo my sentiments on the subject, “You watch es too much. You watch da wacecars too much!” Good job, buddy.

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Thank you to everyone who left such kind words for me here and on Facebook, regarding my wedding anniversary posts on Wednesday and Thursday. I haven’t felt so flattered in a long time. Thank you.

Now, go on and check out Jen for all the rest!