Just A Little Slump

September 17, 2014September 17, 2014 / Julie / 2 Comments

Yesterday afternoon I sat in my kitchen, brooding in a comfortable sort of way. The window was open and the day was cool and drowsy. If I’d spent it cuddled by a fire with a good book and no cares, it would have been lovely. As it was, the day felt like a lovely kind of somber. I was preoccupied with my vaguely depressed mood, my feeling of being in a state of “meh.”

I was perched on a pillow because of a ridiculous hip joint that’s been bothering me for a few days. (And by “bothering” I mean making me hobble around like the overweight old lady I feel like I am. And making me wonder whether I’m too old and out-of-shape to be popping out an adventurous man-baby every couple of years.)

But my five-month-old was napping in his swing while his two big brothers took their daily movie-watching-on-the-sofa “resting time.” (I choose my battles and I choose not to engage in that awful, horrible, no-good battle called “naptime.”) All three were quiet and still, so SCORE. Hip be damned.

I had dishes in the sink, but not too many. I had a pile of papers sitting behind me, but not too tall. My kitchen floor was relatively free of clutter, but the dining room was covered with it. I had (ahem, have) loads of lovely emails and blog comments to answer (I love you people even when I take forever to get back to you!) and I’d meant to take care of them then, but instead I decided to finally, finally put school and choir dates in my planner.

I was feeling perpetually overdue, disorganized, and distracted. I was feeling like I don’t spend enough time doing fun things or educational things or creative things with my children. I was wondering whether I’ll ever get my act together. (Please don’t tell me I won’t.)

But I was also recognizing that I have healthy, polite, happy little boys. That they give and receive an abundance of cuddles. That I make dinner most every night and my boys eat reasonably well-rounded meals. That they have clothes that fit and we always seem to have clean laundry to wear, even if it has to be pulled, crumpled, from a pile at the foot of my bed.

In short, I may not feel all that successful at managing my home or my family (or my blog), but I’m keeping it together. Everything is at least functioning, if not flourishing. Meh.

A short while later, wouldn’t you know, my boys reached down into my slump and started to pull me out of it – with some delightfully poor behavior. While I was trying to prepare their dinner, the four-year-old lay screaming at my feet, in full meltdown mode because I’d turned off his movie. I stepped over his flailing limbs, determined to ignore his temper tantrum.

Then I saw it: a wicked robot was advancing, in the form of my slowly-stomping two-year-old. He wore a menacing look on his face and he stretched out his wiry little arms and fingers into claws. He knew that his prey was vulnerable. And… he pounced.

Honestly, I thought it was a brilliant way to deal with a brother who had lost it. And I kind of enjoyed the ensuing ruckus: two boys rolling around on the floor, one sobbing and hollering and the other striking with his robot claws. (We don’t call that kid “fierce” for nothing.)

Soon the baby started screaming too, so I picked him up and sat in the rocker with him while we watched his brothers.

Today my slump has returned, and sunk a bit deeper. Today’s brooding doesn’t feel as lovely as yesterday’s. I’m feeling more discouraged about my hip and a little more grumpy, all around. Those “carefree” summer days seem long over; we’ve now re-entered the season of schedules and commitments and comparisons and knowing that time passes too quickly. I’m feeling sort of unequal to it.

But it’s just a little slump.

I have these wonderful little trouble-makers, you see, who are liable to make me jump out of it at any moment. I’m sort of looking forward to whatever-it-is they come up with next.

For now, they’re pretending to be alligators.

And the little one has brought back something interesting to their alligator nest — a trophy from his latest conquest, perhaps?

A Note To My Four-Year-Old

September 5, 2014 / Julie / 1 Comment

If you have a day full of school and play, and

If you successfully fight off sleep during your mandatory “resting time,” and

If you pull out a looong piece of toilet paper to wind oh-so-carefully-and-tightly around the toilet paper holder*, and

If you shout a mean-spirited “NO!” to your mother as she puts you in Regular Time-out for the toilet paper offense, and

If your nasty “NO!” lands you in bed for More Serious Time-out, and

If you climb under the covers for a more comfortable punishment,

You might just fall asleep.

Sweaty, dirty, still fully clothed.

*He’s been warned.

All Because We Said Yes

July 11, 2014 / Julie / 13 Comments

This morning a little blonde-headed boy appeared at the foot of our bed, asking for his daddy. “Downstairs,” I mumbled, half-asleep. A while later – no idea how much – a little brown-headed boy woke me with a “Jude’s hurt. He’s pwobabwy bweeding.” “Is he actually bleeding?” I asked. “Nope. He’s just pwobabwy bweeding.” Silence. No screams. It can’t be that bad.

The boy climbed onto the bed and crawled over to his baby brother, who was jerking his arms around, chirping at the ceiling fan. He cooed over the baby, smiled sweetly, and said good morning.

All because, five years ago today, we said yes.

I brushed my hair and tried to look less morning-ish, but didn’t get far before the blonde one was back (unhurt), needing a diaper change and a nice, long hug. The diaper was taken care of, clothes were unearthed from the pile of clean laundry, and the boys were dressed.

I wandered back into our bathroom and looked around blearily. I should get myself ready. But the baby was hungry for his bottle, so I turned toward him. I saw you, instead. You looked happy and alert, fresh from your morning work-out. You picked up the fussy baby and we kissed good morning.

Breakfast and more diaper changes and teeth brushing and make-up were gotten through. We gave you hugs and kisses and then some more, and we told you to have a good day.

We dropped off a meal to a friend, picked up her little boy, visited my family’s animals. The boys held chickens and petted goats and cats and turkeys and cows and they pointed at the pigs. We went to another friend’s house for lunch and I nursed the baby while we chatted. The boys rode scooters and ate popsicles and shouted “Watch this!” as they jumped off the sofa.

All because, five years ago today, we said yes.

~~~

Five years ago this morning, my stomach was in my throat. My mind raced over all the details I no longer had control over. My good sense fought my mind, telling it to relax and to absorb as much as I could.

Then I saw you down that aisle and you looked so handsome and you smiled. And everything changed. I was still nervous; I was in the middle of the biggest day of my life, transitioning from one phase of life to another. But I was doing so with you.

We were made one that day. We became partners; we undertook the same path.

~~~

Today we rush from one task to the next. We wipe mouths and we pick up forks that have been dropped on the floor. We step over dinosaurs and airplanes. Sometimes we admonish a “ROAR!!!” and sometimes we join in. We work hard. We sleep little. We go through phases when we don’t fit in more “us” time than the moments it takes to kiss good morning or goodbye or goodnight.

But we’re better partners now than we were on the day we married. Each year, each struggle, each big decision has taught us how to better work together, how to be more patient, how to be more respectful, how to better support each other.

And look at what we’ve done: three gorgeous boys, a beautiful old home, friends who are becoming our community. We have much to be proud of and more to be thankful for.

Especially when it comes to each other. Today I want you to know how thankful I am to have you in my life. I want you to know that I appreciate you even when I don’t say so. I want you to know that my favorite time of day is when you walk in that door. And I intend to be more deliberate about showing you that.

I intend to smile your “hello” and hug you more warmly and sit next to you on the sofa. I intend to act like I love you as much as I do, even when the baby’s screaming and the boys are fighting.

All because, five years ago today, we said yes.

And because that “yes” is the best thing I’ve ever done.

P.S. Remember all those things I told you I loved about you last year? I love them even more today.

Smiles and Summer: {pretty, happy, funny, real} (Vol. 14)

July 3, 2014July 3, 2014 / Julie / 3 Comments

It’s been quite a while since I’ve participated in {p,h,f,r}. We’ve just been through a series of preparing for parties and recovering from parties and dealing with emergencies and illnesses and injuries and… it’s been a little hard for me to see the forest for the trees.

But now I’m breathing a little more slowly and *thinking a little more clearly, and beginning to once again take note of my contentment with our everyday little lives. So I did a quick perusal of my camera’s memory card and I present to you the following:

{pretty}

We’re now getting lots of {pretty} smiles from this little guy, who will be a full three months old on Friday!

And even when he’s not smiling, he sure is pretty.

{happy}

When our oldest son turned four last month, we gave him a sandbox. The boys were so {happy} to be finally helping Daddy put the thing together this past weekend, and then even happier to get to play in it for the first time on Tuesday. They even had friends here to help them break it in.

He’s such a good little worker.

We’ve also been happy to see the bees do well settling into their new home. Brennan brought in some burr comb the other day. (Comb that was built where it shouldn’t have been.) The boys sure did enjoy checking it out!

{funny}

The other day while the boys were playing outside, I suddenly stopped when I remembered it: the sprinkler! In my mother-in-law’s garden! Sure enough, when I got out there, the following scene greeted me:

“We’re aw wet!” Oh, yes they were – clothes and all. I’m so glad I was in the right mood to see how {funny} it all was.

Though I’m not sure the sprinkler thing was quite as funny as the dinosaurs that were – in ever such an orderly manner – exploring our front staircase.

{real}

No. explanation. necessary.

For more images of contentment, don’t miss {pretty, happy, funny, real} at Like Mother, Like Daughter.

*Please note: I hope you’ll stop back here this afternoon, when I’ll be posting on religious freedom and why I think it’s worth worrying about. (Yes, this involves Hobby Lobby. Fun stuff!)

Of Bugs And Crabs: One Hot Mess (Vol. 5)

June 21, 2014 / Julie / 3 Comments

After hosting two big parties and undergoing lots of drama – including snakes and jumping toilets – in the previous two weeks, this week I let out a big sigh of relief: onwards and upwards, turning a new page, and all that.

I had been cooking real meals and going on playdates and helping out friends, when allofasudden we were laid low by those two words that strike fear into the heart of every mother: Stomach. Bug.

Now, as I’ve mentioned before (and much more frequently to my unfortunate friends), vomit is my parenting cross. I am blessed with good sleepers and good teethers and not-so-bad eaters (even if I do hate feeding my children). But vomiting – boy oh boy, are my boys good at that. We went through at least two years of regular gagging-and-vomiting sequences, often multiple times per day.

But my boys had never had a stomach bug. And I knew it was only a matter of time.

Sure enough, on Thursday our time came due. It struck me first: I called Brennan to come home from work (like, now) and I handed off the screaming baby to my mother-in-law. A short while later, I called my newly-returned husband on my cell from upstairs (oh, don’t you love technology) and asked him to go buy some Gatorade.

That’s never a promising request.

(A cute aside: Brennan brought home Powerade instead, which my two-year-old insists on calling “Poweradorade.”)

Several hours later, I was exhausted and depleted and had pulled my neck muscles from the force of it all. Brennan headed downstairs to sleep on the sofa. Just in time for – you guessed it! – the two-year-old to wake up screaming and sick. Then just as we finished cleaning him up, it was the four-year-old’s turn.

It’s a good thing that vomit no longer holds any power over me.

So I spent the rest of the night “enjoying” a little sleepover with my boys, armed with bowls and wet washcloths and “Poweradorade” and Windex.

The next day, thank goodness, the boys were back to their usual wrestling lion cub antics, with a couple of extra naps thrown in to make up for the night before.

But I was a hot mess: weak and exhausted and dizzy, with an awful headache and a terrible pain in my neck. By the time Brennan got home from work, I could barely muster a “Hi. Good night.” before I dragged myself upstairs and into bed, not even bothering to change my clothes.

Oh, well. I knew it was bound to happen at some point. We’re all on the mend and (though I know I shouldn’t dare mention it!) we’re very lucky that the baby didn’t catch the bug.

Beautiful, healthy little thing.

But you know what really stinks? We missed out on crabs!

Brennan and I had lined up a sitter for Friday night. Because we were to go out. Without children. With family. For crabs!

Boo hoo.

Please let next week be kind of “normal.” Please?

Check out more, probably less pathetic Hot Messes over at Blythe’s!

Today, The Walsh Household Included:

June 3, 2014 / Julie / 8 Comments

Six family members suffering exhaustion bordering on hangover from one busy and stressful baptism weekend.

One water line leak requiring one water shut-off and at least one backhoe.

Two baby wardrobe changes before 10am.

One three-year-old reporting the sighting of one big, black snake with three words you’ve just got to take seriously: “I’m not wyin’.”

One mommy, one grandma, and two boys’ witness of said snake slithering out of a basket of toys and into a pile of same.

Memories of similar snakes seen just outside the house on three separate occasions recently.

Yesterday’s specimen.

Three doors shut tight all day in the interest of keeping said snake out of the rest of the house.

At least one prayer of thanksgiving for not having an open floor plan.

One sink and one counter full of dirty dishes which could not be properly cleaned due to water issues and I-just-don’t-want-to-deal issues.

One mama who gave up around 11am.

One desperate trip to a McDonald’s drive-through and a car wash, to nourish (gag) and entertain little boys and to facilitate Mommy’s escape from snake and brown tap water.

One long detour home in the hope of car seat naps for all.

Two minutes of success in that department before baby woke up.

Two books read to three-year-old before Mommy fell asleep sitting up, prompting illiterate boy to say, “Don’t worry. I’ll just wead it myself.”

Approximately 128 nursing sessions and 13 bottles.

Precisely zero naps lasting longer than 30 minutes for the two-month-old.

One big brother whispering sweet nothings to his baby.

Too many hours of mommy staring numbly at the computer screen, aimless and uninspired.

Two slices of key lime pie consumed with loving attention.

Two meals served in front of the television to facilitate said numb internet surfing and pie eating.

One stellar husband prodding pile after pile of stuff with a broom handle in search of the snake.

Zero snakes uncovered.

One sigh of relief – no, wait! – one shudder of horror that the snake could not be located.

Two thrilled/frightened little boys gotten ready for bed with assurances that “No, snakes do not hide in toilets.”

One hard cider sipped over the course of three hours.

Two parents… who can… hardly… keep their… eyes… open…

And yet will still diligently search their bedroom for snakes before going to sleep.

Messes, Monsters, Thunder, and Wasps: 7 Quick Takes Friday (Vol. 29) and One Hot Mess (Vol. 3)

May 30, 2014May 30, 2014 / Julie / 10 Comments

Today I’m linking up Seven Quick Takes with Jen and Takes 1, 3, 4, and 7 to be specific with Blythe’s One Hot Mess. (If she’s doing it this week.) Double-duty.

—1—

We’ve been busy this week, preparing for the baby’s baptism party to be held this coming Sunday. We had more than the average amount of party prep on our plates this time, given that until just a few days ago, every room in our house looked like it was staged to be photographed for Blythe’s One Hot Mess link-up.

Seriously – It was bad. There was the junk, there was the laundry, there were the boxes upon boxes of my mother-in-law’s things that hadn’t been gone through. There were the heaps of dust gathering on and around said junk, laundry, and boxes.

But! After a week of behaving like a responsible, party-planning mother (read: mostly resisting bloggy temptations), we’re very nearly there on the mess front. Just a couple more boxes and a bit more junk (okay, and a lot more dust) to go, and we’ll only have the “normal” amount of boy-wrought destruction. Which, though offensive to the eyes, doesn’t take much more than a whirlwind picking-up session to remedy. The end is in sight.

So I’m sneaking in a quick blog post. How about some of this week’s scenes from our home?

—2—

Yesterday morning I walked into the kitchen to the sound of roars and growls and shrieks of laughter. The boys were half-standing in their seats (a posture that is most definitely not allowed at the table), clawing at each other and at us. I expected to see Brennan looking agitated, but nope! He was cool as a cucumber. “I gave them Muenster cheese,” he said.

Aaahh, yes. Muenster cheese. So easily understood as “Monster cheese” and therefore taken as an opportunity to act like monsters. One bite transforms you into a monster, the next turns you back into a boy. And so on and so forth. You knew that, right?

—3—

The other evening I had a far less endearing experience in the kitchen.

We were in the middle of a big thunderstorm, so loud you wouldn’t think anything could be heard over it: Bang! Rumble… CRASH!

Yet I was hearing quite a lot besides the thunder: My eight-week-old son was screaming because… I don’t know why, exactly. He’s eight weeks old. He screams. My two-year-old son was screaming just for the fun of it. (I’m sure of that one. He looked delighted with himself.) And my three-year-old son was yelling about “Did you know that storms can make trees fall down, Mommy? Mommy! DID YOU KNOW THAT SOMETIMES TREES FALL DOWN IN STORMS?”

All of this was going on while I was attempting to assemble a sorry little dinner for the boys. I stood at the counter with my back to the noise-makers, “Rumble… CRASH! Waaahh! Aaaah! TREES FALL DOWN IN STORMS!” and I couldn’t get the stupid dollops of peanut butter onto the stupid crackers without the blasted things crumbling in my hands. “Bang! Waaahh! TREES!”

My brain could no longer take the sensory assault. I yelled something really charitable, like “OH MY GOSH! What in the world do you think you’re doing? I can’t take it any moooore!” I think I even waved my hands in the air to emphasize that I really was losing it.

Loveliness. Pure loveliness.

—4—

Later that evening, again in the kitchen (which is pretty much where I live), I was trying to nurse the baby. I should have been sitting in the rocker we keep in there, but par for that day’s course, I was distractedly walking around. (Poor, neglected third baby – he gets far too few peaceful, focused feedings.)

All of a sudden, I noticed it: an ugly-looking bug that I thought maybe could be a wasp.

I had to get it. I wouldn’t be able to rest peacefully knowing that that thing was flitting around the house, capable of terrorizing my boys.

But I had to nurse the baby. The poor little guy was so fed up with interruptions that he’d LOSE IT if I set him down to go hunt a wasp. Hm. I’d have do both.

I scurried to the broom closet, grabbed the fly swatter, and scurried back, eyes darting around looking for the maybe-wasp – nursing the whole while. I half chuckled at myself as I moved around the kitchen while nursing my son and holding a fly swatter in the air, stalking a bug which I wasn’t even sure was a wasp.

Then I saw it. On the floor. Right there.

I hastily set the kid down and then WHAM, got the sucker. It wasn’t a wasp after all. I sighed and wiped up the mess as quickly as I could, then I picked up my son and resumed nursing him. Poor, neglected, third baby…

—5—

Okay. Out of the kitchen and back to the sweetness.

Do you know how cute it is to hear this slow, metallic dragging sound, followed by a THWACK and a bunch of little-boy giggles? Very cute. And unnerving at first. What could make that sound? What could cause so much giggling?

Rest assured. It’s just the sound of boys playing with their measuring tape. One boy holds onto the thing while the other pulls the tape out as far as he can, and then – yes – lets go. Drag, drag, drag, THWACK! Furious giggling.

Once I resigned myself to the fact that, yes, they might hurt their fingers and no, that’s not such a big deal, the whole situation was really pretty enjoyable. Go ahead – get your children a tape measure.

—6—

Even more sweet, the other evening I came downstairs to find all of my guys putting on a little “parade”. One boy had a kazoo, another had an improvised noise maker, and Brennan held the baby, bouncing him and making a marching tune from silly little noises. They marched around the first floor in time to the tune – the boys very serious about the whole business, Brennan’s eyes dancing with the silliness of it all.

A moment before, I’d been flustered and rushing and… oh, how that little scene did my heart good. I love my guys.

—7—

Last night I made a late trip to the grocery store so I could do the party shopping without all three in tow. I took the baby while Brennan put the two bigger boys to bed. At first it all went fine – the baby looked around until he drifted off to sleep. Peaceful. Productive.

Then he woke with a little start and everything went right down that hill. Fast. The poor guy seemed so unhappy to wake up in such an unfamiliar and over-stimulating place that he lost it. Once I realized that some vigorous back-and-forth cart pushing wasn’t going to do it, I took him out of his car seat and carried him. Which still didn’t work. I hurried through the rest of the trip as he continued to scream. When I got up to the check-out lane, I started throwing items onto the belt as quickly as I could. One-handed. I was moving fast, but I’m sure it was obvious to all that I needed help.

And then somebody actually stepped forward and… helped.

The gentleman behind me in line, who had thrown me some sympathetic glances a few minutes earlier in the dairy section, started unloading my cart. My very, very full cart. I almost objected – it’s definitely my nature to want to do things myself. I don’t want to need help.

But I stopped. I let that kind man empty my cart for me while I focused on calming my baby. Soon enough, it was working. I soothed, baby relaxed, and my cart was emptied – then loaded – before my eyes. A few minutes later, the same gentleman handed me my bags while I loaded them into my van (to the background music of baby boy screaming, once again.)

How nice. How nice and helpful in that moment, how nice and sweet in my memory. Thank you, Mr. Kind Gentleman In The Grocery Store. You made my day.

Happy Birthday, Blog

May 28, 2014 / Julie / 5 Comments

Yesterday, this little ol’ blog had its first birthday. I’m just enough of a perfectionist that I have to mark the occasion, but just enough of a procrastinator that I’m doing so a day late.

And anyway, yesterday was rough. Nothing terrible happened, it’s just that the baby and I were running low on sleep after a tough night, the three-year-old was an emotional mess, and the two-year-old is coming into his ornery own.

Mid-evening, during a lull in the mayhem (actually, while the boys were eating dinner under strict orders to not! talk! at! all!), I sat on the sofa with the baby and tried to let my weary brain rest for a moment. It didn’t work very well. My mind was all over the place and all I wanted to do was blog it all out.

This little online space has become something like a pensieve for me. (Apologies for the random Harry Potter reference.) I don’t always have time to come here, but when I do, I find relief. It is good to get thoughts out of my head and onto the page (so to speak). To work through them, to revisit them, to build on them.

Sitting there on the sofa, I was pleased to realize that this blog has indeed been a good addition to my life. A year ago, I didn’t know whether it would serve as a distraction from my work caring for my family, or a boon to it. I’m happy to say that while I’ve certainly had my fair share of distracted days, by and large it feels like the latter.

I’m grateful for it, for this opportunity to share my thoughts. And I’m grateful for those of you who take the time to read them.

Thank you.

Better With Bees

May 23, 2014May 24, 2014 / Julie / 4 Comments

Hello there! Welcome back to this sporadically-kept-up little blog.

Last week we suffered a great disappointment in the Walsh household:

Those are bees. Tens of thousands of poor little dead bees.

Oh, what a gloomy day it was.

After 18 long months of being bee-less thanks to one household move and one improperly-applied mite treatment, we were all eagerly awaiting the delivery of two new packages of bees. They’d arrive too late to give us hope of a honey harvest this year, but still, once they arrived we’d be beekeepers again. (And by “we” I mean “Brennan.”)

So it was with good cheer that Brennan took off work that Wednesday morning, one eye on the driveway and another on the door. The bees were supposed to arrive by 10:30. He waited and we waited and… no bees. Afternoon calls to UPS and the apiary revealed the sad news: our bees’ truck had suffered a major delay when one package was punctured and (you guessed it) thousands of bees convinced their driver to pull over and call for help. One long, hot day later and the damage was done: 75 packages of bees (nearly a million of the little gals) were lost.

Our own two packages were to be delayed by just one day, but we knew it wasn’t looking good for the critters. Sure enough:

Poor little dead queens.

Dead, dead.

But! One last-day-of-preschool, a few celebratory ice creams, one evening stroll by the water, and a couple of long days later…

This is the spot where his father proposed to me six years and three boys ago. Mushy, mush, mush…

Poor, neglected third baby gets most of his bottles this way.

We got another shot at the deal. This morning, Brennan once again took off work and kept an eager eye on the driveway. Thankfully, he was not to be disappointed again. Some 20,000 of the little ladies arrived safe and sound.

He’s spraying them down with sugar water.

Not only were they alive, but they were nice and docile, which is a great sign. They looked healthy and seemed to have accepted their new queens. (That is, they were working hard to “rescue” them from their cages. Brennan decided to help.)

He had no problem placing the bees in their hives, so as far as we know, the operation was a success this time around. Let’s hope so, not only for the sake of those precious little things, but also for the happiness of my hubby. (And our wannabe-beekeeper little boys.)

“I wanna hold a queen dead bee!”

Keep your fingers crossed. We’d like to keep adding to the following collection. Life is better with bees.

SOTG, Mommy Triumphs, Personhood For Animals, Feminism, And More: 7 Quick Takes Friday(ish) (Vol. 28)

May 4, 2014 / Julie / 1 Comment

—1—

Yes, I’m more than a little late to the 7 Quick Takes Friday game this week. Right now my free time seems to come in five to fifteen minute spurts. And my two-handed free time comes about once every six hours. (I know, I know… such is life with two preschoolers and a newborn. I know.)

As I mentioned in my {phfr} post the other day, this week I received a certain little book in the mail, one the Catholic blogosphere is all kinds of excited about – “Something Other Than God: How I Passionately Sought Happiness And Accidentally Found It” written by none other than Ms. 7 Quick Takes Friday / Ms. Conversion Diary herself – Jennifer Fulwiler.

Anyone who reads Conversion Diary regularly will know that Jen has put an incredible amount of work into this book (SOTG). And let me tell you, even from just the first few chapters, it shows. I’ve been enjoying Conversion Diary for several years now, so I suppose I’m not the most unbiased reader. But seriously, this book, which tells Jen’s atheist-to-Catholic conversion story (and, um, how she “passionately sought happiness and accidentally found it”) is so well written. It’s captivating – the kind of book you don’t want to put down.

Except that, given the two preschoolers and the newborn, you kind of have to. Which is why it will take me longer to finish this book than any page-turner I’ve ever read before.

Also. Jen’s running all sorts of contests right now to celebrate her book’s launch. A couple of them involve taking pictures of the book – one is for “the most epic selfie” with SOTG, the other is for a picture of it in the weirdest place. I don’t have a chance in either category. I’m way too self-conscious to try for an epic selfie, and I’m sure that other folks have way weirder places to take book pictures than I do. All I can think of is to take pictures of my book on a big pile of laundry, or a counter covered in dishes, or like this:

Are you calling me weird?

—2—

Speaking of the two preschoolers and the newborn, let me tell you about a triumph I had the other day. At the grocery store. (Anybody who’s not currently a mommy to small children may as well just jump right over this take – I won’t blame you for being uninterested in the minute triumphs of life with littles.)

We were smack dab in the middle of a very busy day, just finishing up at the barber’s shop (both boys taken care of!), and everyone – especially the baby – was getting hungry. But we needed just a few things at the grocery store. So I took a gamble and decided to risk it. We walked straight into the store without stopping to stow the stroller in our van. Which left me with a conundrum: how to get a three-year-old, a two-year-old, a newborn, a stroller, and a load of groceries (too heavy for the stroller) through the store by myself?

Answer: You’re not by yourself! Put the littles to work! My three-year-old pushed the cart (a small one, but still!) by himself, with just a little help on the turns. My two-year-old pushed the stroller with some guidance from me.

Our little caravan must have made quite the sight, because people kept stopping to stare. “How old are they?” a few of them asked, looking bemused.

But the boys did great! They didn’t crash into anything or run over any toes, or even fight or take items off the shelves. I was quite the proud little mother hen. Especially when we returned to the car and I thanked the boys for being such good helpers. “Anytime, Mommy,” my older son told me. “You just wet me know when you need me.”

—3—

After developing something of an aversion to it at the end of my pregnancy (why? I have no idea), I’ve fallen back into my old NPR habit. So you can expect me to resume sprinkling random NPR-gleaned tidbits into my 7 Quick Takes. This week, I’ve got two:

First, for the amazing and courageous amidst the horrible. Last week, Fresh Air aired an interview with Tyler Hicks, a New York Times photographer who was awarded the Pulitzer Prize for his photographs of the 2013 mall attack in Nairobi, Kenya.

I found the interview to be more moving than I expected, especially the story behind the photograph of a mother and her two young children. The image shows them lying quiet and still, on the floor next to a counter covered in cups and saucers.

Of course Hicks had no way of knowing what became of the three. Shortly after he was awarded the Pulitzer, however, the woman made contact with him. She’d seen coverage of the prize and recognized herself amongst the photos.

It turns out that she and her children – a 10-year-old girl and a 2-year-old boy – had spent five hours lying on that floor. Five hours of fear and the most incredible stress. The woman had spent the entire time talking and singing to her children, focused on keeping them calm and still and quiet.

I have a two-year-old boy.

Two-year-old boys are busy. They are not known for their ability to remain still and quiet. I have no idea how I’d get through that situation with him (and another child to boot!). No idea. Just thinking about it makes me sick. What an incredible mother. And what awful, horrific circumstances she found herself in.

—4—

This past Monday, the Diane Rehm Show aired a discussion on efforts to grant legal rights – indeed, personhood – to animals. At first I was puzzled to hear that Robert Destro, Catholic University law professor and director of their Interdisciplinary Program in Law and Religion, would be one of those participating in the discussion. Then, ahh, yes – it came to me:

Legal rights – personhood – for animals. Animals that are deemed sufficiently sophisticated on a cognitive level. A personhood that is based on intelligence, on ability, rather than on humanity. What a dangerous thing, to attach personhood to a set of cognitive criteria, to maintain that being a person is somehow distinct from being human.

Yes, this (false) person/human distinction calls to mind the debate on abortion. But it also begs us to consider those who have already been born. Newborns, perhaps even older infants, wouldn’t meet the criteria discussed for personhood. Neither would some people with cognitive disabilities. Do we really want to live in a society that grants legal personhood in such a way that a chimpanzee would qualify, but my four-week old would not?

Definitely a person.

—5—

I’ve never thought of myself as a feminist before, but I might just start doing so. Because Simcha Fisher is right, as usual:

Yes, some evil people call themselves feminists, and do dreadful things in the name of feminism. So what? People do dreadful things in the name of democracy, and people do dreadful things in the name of beauty. People do dreadful things in the name of Christ our savior. That doesn’t mean we abandon the name. That means we rescue it, we rectify the misuse.

—6—

You know one of the things I love about my husband? In the evenings when he’s playing around with our boys, he captures them and holds them tight and when the little one yells, “Wet me det down! I wan det down!” He responds, “Oh, you want to get down? Okay!” and then forces the kid into a little disco dance, complete with music and hand motions.

Oh. My. Goodness. It’s hilarious. Sometimes it can be so entertaining to have small children (and good daddies) around.

—7—

It’s also entertaining to have good grandpas around. And my boys have the best:

Happy weekend, everyone! Don’t forget to stop over to Jen’s to check out all the other Quick Takes!

These Walls

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

Boys

Just A Little Slump

A Note To My Four-Year-Old

All Because We Said Yes

Smiles and Summer: {pretty, happy, funny, real} (Vol. 14)

Of Bugs And Crabs: One Hot Mess (Vol. 5)

Today, The Walsh Household Included:

Messes, Monsters, Thunder, and Wasps: 7 Quick Takes Friday (Vol. 29) and One Hot Mess (Vol. 3)

Happy Birthday, Blog

Better With Bees

SOTG, Mommy Triumphs, Personhood For Animals, Feminism, And More: 7 Quick Takes Friday(ish) (Vol. 28)