Back soon

As the family fell, one by one, to stomach flu this weekend, I prayed that I wouldn't be hit while I was caring for them.

I see now I should have been more specific.

It hit me last night, just after everyone else had begun to feel normal.

I'll be back when I can be upright for longer than two or three minutes. In the meantime, I'm thanking God for little things like indoor plumbing and a wonderful husband.

Post-flu conversations with Ramona

Me: Atticus, look at Ramona. Doesn't she look tiny? I think she lost some weight.

Atticus: Yes ... poor thing.

Me (to Ramona): We'll fatten you back up in no time now that you're all better.

Ramona: Well, I've always been tiny. I think I'm left-over tiny from when I was one and two.

Low key?

Awhile back, I mentioned that I wanted our family to slow down, cut out some activities, and regain the feeling of really being and learning together, rather than having "the next activity" looming over our shoulders.

So, I laughed out loud at this post from Six and the City.

The anonymously quoted mom and I have sliiiightly different definitions of "decompress." Personally, I'll take Six's plans: chasing butterflies sounds a bit more in line with my thinking.

Things only a mother would think ...

...when stomach flu is raging through the house:

"I'm really glad I got into that habit of lining all the wastebaskets with plastic bags."

"Multi-colored carpet is such a great thing."

"Why did I let her have that bagel?"

"Even smart men should not be allowed to make their own beverage choices when stomach flu is omnipresent."

"This isn't nearly as bad as that day at the school where I used to work."

Light on the blogging, heavy on the mothering

No time to write today, as poor Betsy has been hit with a nasty stomach bug. Prayers for her quick recovery are appreciated!

Geography with Ramona

During an impromptu geography lesson with the girls, Ramona took control of the globe and said, "There's Greenland."

She was quite right, to my delight.

Then, pointing to a lavender country, she said, "And there's Purpleland. And this," she said, nodding her head, "is Pinkland. It's a lot like Purpleland, only it's pink."

I'll take one out of three.

Better go investigate

Ramona just said, "Mommy, I killed a bug with this puppy."

(Said puppy is plastic ... don't panic ....)

It's all in the perspective

I got nothing done yesterday.

After having people stay with us for a week (the previously mentioned Grandpa-of-the-digital-camera as well as Grandma, of course) I was all set to whip my house back into order. I had a list (as I am wont to make despite the acceptance of the unpredictable rhythms of my life) and it was a good one:

Laundry
Declutter
Dust and vacuum
Clean bathrooms
Cut out three dozen poster board stars for the American Girl Victory Crowns (to be made today at our Molly meeting)

I did get the first load of laundry started before the "getting nothing done" part of the day began.

You see, Anne had been invited to a movie and birthday party. The problem was, the movie chosen by the birthday girl was not one we would allow Anne to see. I had let the Birthday Party Mom know of our objections and that we'd simply drop Anne off at the party after the rest of them arrived home from the movie. This was going to provide me with an entire day for cleaning before I had to drive any child anywhere.

Then, Wednesday night, we were told that the movie had been switched to something more acceptable. Plans to drop Anne off at 3 p.m. were back on the schedule for the day.

In the meantime, Betsy had been angling for a little something fun out of this arrangement. I let her invite the Birthday Girl's little brother over for playtime during the movie and party. Obstacle: now that the movie had been switched, little brother could go along, and that's what he wanted to do.

So, after getting the laundry started, Birthday Party Mom and I talked again, and it was decided that Betsy could tag along to the movie. When I shared that happy news, she broke into a shaky smile, looking surprised and slightly alarmed. "Hmmm, that's a little odd," I thought, but went on to check my email (and no, that has nothing to do with not getting all my chores done) and who should arrive at my side in tears but Betsy?

It turns out that she was afraid to go to a movie without me. She's never done it before, and new things are sometimes hard for tender-hearted Betsy. So, instead of tackling the shower (and, sadly, I always use steel wool) I sat with Betsy and talked things over with her. We read an online review of the movie, talked about where she'd sit in the theater and that her sister would be there, about what to expect and how she's always felt comfortable playing at this friend's house, as well as other such soothing things.

Then, I embarked on a series of emails with Atticus: Should I go, too, and take Ramona? Would Ramona be ready to sit through an entire movie in a theater? Did Atticus want to come home and go with us (he being the kind of dad who loves to witness things such as a little one's first big screen experience)? Is all of this worth the extra $14 in admission price, or will Betsy be fine without me there?

I got the first load of laundry into the dryer and started a second one. Then, I directed Anne to get ready for the party. (The shower was then occupied, so of course I couldn't clean it.)

After a lovely, long phone conversation with my sister (which had nothing to do with not getting my chores done) I heard from Atticus, who had determined that Betsy would be fine, and should sit with her sister if she needed to, and that her sister should not deny her that kindness, even if it was her friend and her birthday party invitation.

We then had to make sure that Betsy was bathed and ready to go out. The gift still had to be wrapped, and -- amazingly -- I had to settle a couple of squabbles in the midst of these activities.

I also had to help Anne pack (it was a sleepover) and there were some tricky wardrobe choices to be made (sprinklers, hot weather and swimsuits were involved, and which shorts would make the best cover-up over her suit?)

By now it was lunch time and I was immensely tempted to tell the girls to make their own peanut butter sandwiches and eat alone while I vacuumed (if I can call that temptation ... to be "tempted to vacuum" is really an oxymoron.)

But, they said, "Will you read to us?" That was the end of the housework.

I looked at my three gems, miracles every one, and thought of our morning. In the fraction of a second before I said, "Yes, I'll read to you," the goodness of our family life and the events of the last 24 hours flashed through my still-cluttered brain.

It's because we are blessed to be such a close-knit family that things like scrutinizing movie choices, tears over being away from Mommy, and reading whenever (well, almost) they ask for it happen regularly. So, I read from our current Charlotte book and lunch -- rather than feeling frenzied -- was a welcome respite.

Still left to do: drop the girls off for the movie, run to the store with Ramona for cookies (for the above-mentioned American Girl club meeting) and milk, linger too long at the store because I said "yes" to Ramona when she requested a visit to the Barbie aisle, get home in time to give Ramona the promised "special Mommy time" while "her girls" were out (we played with her dollhouse) and then back to pick up the girls and have two extra kids come over for supper and playtime (part of Betsy's angling.)

While Betsy's friends were here, I got the three dozen stars cut out, the headbands made (though the sample-Miss-Victory-Crown is not yet assembled) and a note to myself written: Don't forget the cookies, glitter and glue.

It was after 8 p.m. when Atticus drove Betsy's friends home, and we still had to deal with lots of "I miss Anne!" comments from both Betsy and Ramona.

So. I didn't get anything done today.

Oh, yeah ... except two loads of laundry and those stars. And a lot of mothering.

My furniture is dusty, there are crumbs in the living room, clutter on the kitchen counter and the shower still needs to be cleaned, but my kids made it through another day, secure in the knowledge that I love them better than anything.

And that's the best thing to cross off a To-Do list.

Tags: motherhood, family

Rhythms

Willa's great post at Every Waking Hour reminded me of something from several years ago.

I was complaining to my confessor that my summer routine was sorely inadequate. Everything (or so it seemed on that dark day) that I fashioned, constructed and implemented during the school year was slowly dismantled through the days of summer. I whined that Atticus and I are both night owls by nature, but that when (post summer school) we indulged such inclinations during his weeks off, things such as our morning prayer routine suffered. I was looking for someone to blame ... if not Atticus, then I'd take the fall. I was sure I'd be told that our inexcusable sloth must be rectified and that we should strive for a more orderly and disciplined summer routine. Father questioned me:

"He's a teacher, right?"

"Yes."

"And so this happens every summer, right?"

"Yes."

He was quiet for a moment and then he said,

"Why don't you just accept the rhythms of your life?"

Huh?

Accept the rhythms? There's a concept. I was so intent on flogging myself for falling off the routine wagon that I couldn't see the obvious. There was a predictable, recurrring "routine" of seasons in our lives. Accept them as such? What a novel idea. What a sound idea. What a sane idea.

I let the idea mill around my summertime head for awhile. Slowly, the beauty of it began to permeate not only my view of summer but my entire outlook.

It's not as if we neglect our children, our home, and our duties in those languid days of July, I thought. It's not that we metamorphose into spiritual slugs, incapable of maintaining any contact with our Creator. It isn't that we don't have a routine ... we just have a different routine.

And so my acceptance of the rhythms of our life took root and began to flourish. The outlook spilled over into the entire year, and I accepted all kinds of rhythms:

The anticipation of September, sharp pencils, and plans

The rebirth of my energy in the fall

The slowing-down and waiting of Advent (made possible by observing the liturgical calendar, instead of trying to keep pace with the world, which is hurrying, hurrying through December)

The long winter read-alouds, snuggling, the blahs that are inevitable in February and the fact that dancing can obliterate the blahs

The rebirth of my energy in the spring

The "Happy to see you come, happy to see you go" feeling at the end of another school year

Our summer life

When we admit it, we know that we all live in that ebb and flow. Much as we would like to control our lives -- to find the perfect schedule and put it into practice -- there is nothing real about that. Life is ever-changing. Anyone (and this would be those of you currently breathing) who has aged a year knows it. Every age, each new stage of life, brings challenges, delights and overhauled routines. And the same is true of each week, month or season, depending on the circumstances of our lives and vocations. Teachers, farmers, tax accountants, work-at-home writers, caterers, retail managers, priests and pastors, mothers of new babies: they (we) live with certain rhythms and predictable-yet-ever-changing-and-unpredictable routines.

And, once I accepted that novel, sound and sane idea, I stopped complaining to my confessor.

(Correction: Lest it sound as if I'm now the perfect non-complaining, non-whining confessee, I need to add that I no longer complain about our rhythms. I've moved on to complaining about other things.)

And thanks again to Willa, for her beautiful post, which inspired me to reflect on these ideas.

Tags: family life

Babby, R.I.P.

Betsy fell in love with this little robin.

She named him Babby and tried valiantly to save him, but Babby had fallen from the nest and didn't make it. She wrote Babby a farewell message that was so sweet and so Betsy: she wrote in "invisible ink" (recipe courtesy of her "How to be a Secret Agent" book) and told Babby that he was her dear friend and she loved him.

Farewell, Babby, and thank you for the small part you played in my sweet child's growing sense of nurturing, love and compassion.

(And this photo, by the way, is not a stock photo for a change. It's the real Babby, courtesy of the kids' visiting Grandpa-of-the-digital-camera. Thanks, Grandpa.)

Where are you going?

Beautiful post on the Holy Spirit and Angela of Foligno over at Rome-ing Catholics.

More Margaret and a whale

We were in the library again a couple of days ago, and we scooped up more Margaret Wise Brown. Ramona is loving Another Important Book, which is definitely geared to the young set, as evidenced by the focus on all the new things a little person can do, and the mirror inside the back cover so that said person can admire herself and her accomplishments.

We both like Bunny's Noisy Book, which has the sweetest illustrations. It also offers plenty of chances for noise imitation, always a plus when you're three. A fun plus for me: observing Ramona's delight when she recognized the illustrator, Lisa McCue, as the same person who brought her beloved Snuggle Bunnies to life.

And, though it's not Margaret, Ramona's also been enjoying an old favorite of ours, Dear Mr. Blueberry. It's the very sweet and simple story of a persevering little girl, her teacher, imagination, and love. Of course, we like to believe Arthur is real.

Kids' books and sympathy for that toe

Don't miss the Carnival of Children's Literature over at the Bonny Glen. There's a load of great stuff to read.

And while you're there, don't forget to leave a sympathy note for poor Scott-of-the-right-angle-toe.

Letters to Pilgrim

After Abortion is taking a hiatus for a time, but before they go, here's a moving post about one man's communications with the daughter he never had.

It's going around

HT to Bonny Glen, who HT'd Elizabeth, who HT'd Maureen (and along the way Alice and Jenn were taking the quiz ....)

According to the MotherStyles quiz, my type is INFJ (no surprises there ... I always come out as an INFJ, no matter how I rig it ....) Apparently I'm a “Know Thyself” Mother. They say:

“I believe the joy of motherhood is self-discovery—for them and for me.”

* Sensitive and family-focused, the INFJ mother looks for and encourages the unique potential of each child. Self-knowledge may be her byword. Her aim is to help each child develop a sense of identity and cultivate personal growth. In fact, she may value the mothering experience as a catalyst to her own personal growth and self-knowledge.

* The INFJ mother spends time observing and understanding each child. She is drawn to intimate conversations and seeks a free exchange of feelings and thoughts.

* Sympathetic and accommodating, the INFJ mother strives to meet the important yet sometimes conflicting needs of each family member in harmonious and creative ways

* She is conscientious and intense as well. Probably no one takes life and child-raising more seriously than the INFJ. She approaches mothering as a profession requiring her best self.

Ramona's Reading

She currently loves Margaret Wise Brown. Naturally, we've always loved Goodnight Moon and Runaway Bunny. One would have to have a heart of cold, hard rock to not adore those books. I even love the audio version of "Runaway" -- the song, which at first grated on me when it strained and stretched lyrics to fit the music, grew on me (so much so that it became one of those soppy things that made me cry when I thought about how I, too, just like Mother Bunny, will do anything to reach my children when they need me, "for you are my little bunny.")

Now, Ramona has added some new favorites to the Margaret Wise Brown list: My World of Color, A Child's Goodnight Book, and the very silly The Good Little Bad Little Pig, which struck me as having just the right amount of quirk. Brown is a classic, thanks in great part to Goodnight, Moon, but didn't it ever strike you as quirky that the "old lady whispering hush" is referred to as such? Why isn't she "Mommy" or "Grandma"? That's just plain odd. I adore the book, but it does have its quirks, such as the old lady, and the mush that is left out all night. Ugh.

But, that's what I love about Margaret Wise Brown. She's full of unexpected quirks, just like a child's mind.

I'd rather blame the cat

We have company here, so Atticus and I are sleeping on an air mattress. Overnight, it was losing air, and I told Ramona this morning that we need to look for a leak.

"Perhaps you sleepened on it too much," she said.

"Perhaps," I agreed.

"Or, maybe you're too sturdy for it?"

I'm sticking with the Mr. Putter theory.

Children, Mass, and other unpredictable things

You've gotta love Selkie.

Never read Selkie?

You've gotta read Selkie.

It's NOT?

See "Will Write for Chocolate" here to see why I'm appalled.

Interesting post at Barbara Nicolosi's blog

Read it here.

Reminded me of Tom Hanks on Letterman a week or two ago -- when Letterman asked about Hanks's choice to be in the movie, the first thing he said was something along the lines of "Well, they called me up and said, 'Here's how much money we'll give you ....' "

Shameless sister-in-law promotion

I'm so proud of my sister-in-law and her booming business. Check it out here. She's Amy, of Kitchen Concierge, and if you happen to live in Kansas City and want to assemble and take home some yummy meals, tell her Karen sent you.

(That doesn't guarantee a discount, mind you ... but I think she at least likes me enough that you'll get a warm smile.)

Oh, for that fresh perspective ....

As I was changing sheets on a bed this morning, Ramona walked in and her face lit up.

"Oh!" she said. "Can I help you? That looks like fun!"

And, you know what? Thanks to her delightful outlook, it was.

I'm always late with this kind of thing ...

... but, how was your Mother's Day? And what did you get? (I mean, really, let's get down to business....)

My husband and children know how to delight me. One word:

Books.

Danielle Bean's My Cup of Tea: Musings of a Catholic Mom

Evelyn Waugh: Brideshead Revisited

Carl Olson and Sandra Miesel: The DaVinci Hoax

And the best part? Summer reading. It's almost here.

Are you a writer?

The 75th Annual Writer's Digest Writing Competition is still accepting entries.

Beautiful article on modesty

I remember reading (years ago, when I was newly Catholic) the Catechism's section on modesty. "Modesty protects the intimate center of the person," it said. What a perfect summary, and how much sense that made to me (and still does.)

Further, I remember a priest talking about modesty being charitable and loving. It is a kindness for men and women to dress modestly for one another, because modesty shows a respect for the dignity and humanity of the other, and seeks to avoid arousing a purely physical response.

Here is a wonderful article by Dr. Ted Sri of Benedictine College about modesty, and here are the references in the Catechism of the Catholic Church, under the heading "The Battle for Purity." (See especially paragraphs 2521-2527.)

Tags: Modesty
Catholicism

Celebration of Heart and Home

Among Women hosted the first "Celebration of Heart and Home" on Mother's Day. I'm a little late with the notice, but the posts are still there, just waiting to be read as you sip a cup of tea.

Go here for the celebration!

Tags: Blog carnivals

Divine Fire

I saw the Holy Spirit yesterday.

No, not in a mystical sense, as in a vision. But really, truly? Yes.

I saw His presence and His impact as I attended the Confirmation of my dear goddaughter. Amidst the beauty of the Mass, the regality of the grand old church, and the fussing and tension that are inevitably part of planning for "a big event", the Holy Spirit shone through. He was there in the preparations, so lovingly carried out by L.'s parents. He was there in L.'s sponsor, a living saint if ever I have known one. And He was there in the laying on of hands, the Confirmation in Christ of the young men and women who received the sacrament yesterday. He was there in their peace and joy and He'll use them now, in increasingly powerful ways, as soldiers of Christ.

They've been transformed, in a very real way, and it's a magnificent thing to witness.

I'm remembering another Mass during which I strongly felt the power of the Holy Spirit. Several years ago, I attended an ordination at the cathedral of the Archdiocese. It was one of the most beautiful things I've ever witnessed. Men were transformed from laymen into priests of Christ, and when I left that day, I was stunned that the world carried on outside the church doors. How could life's daily, mundane concerns possibly matter? How could that man walking a dog not know what God had just done behind those church doors? I wanted to cry out to the woman headed into Wendy's for a hamburger, "Don't you know what just happened? God is at work! The Holy Spirit is real! I wish you'd been there!"

And, of course, I'm remembering my own Confirmation and reception into the Catholic Church when I was 35, and the beauty of prayers answered (goddaughter L.'s father, Jack, my dear friend, being first among those who prayed for me.) I still swoon over the miracle of Atticus's reception into the Church and weep tears of gratitude over God's gracious work in our lives. I can recall so many, many times that I've felt and seen the Spirit's power and work. I don't want to bore you with every little detail, but I will say this: when I prayed for a deeper understanding of and relationship with the Holy Spirit, I wasn't quite sure what I was getting myself into.

Be careful what you ask for ... He always means business.

Come Holy Spirit, and fill the hearts of your faithful, and kindle in them the fire of Your Divine Love. Send forth Your Spirit and they shall be created, and You shall renew the face of the earth. Oh God, Who by the light of the Holy Spirit instructed the hearts of the faithful, Grant, that by the same Spirit we may be truly wise and ever rejoice in His consolation. We ask this through Christ Our Lord. Amen.

(The above Holy Spirit clipart is courtesy of Two Hearts Design.)

Tags: Catholicism

Driving with Ramona

As we headed to our friends' house yesterday, Ramona, strapped into her carseat, had a fistful of animal crackers in one hand. With the other, she was popping them, one by one, into her mouth and savoring each smackerel as she watched the busy world zoom past her window. She let out a satisfied sigh.

I glanced back, and she smiled at me.

"It's great to have two hands," she said.

If I could just shut up

H/T to Theresa at Lapaz Farm:

You're Watership Down!

by Richard Adams

Though many think of you as a bit young, even childish, you're
actually incredibly deep and complex. You show people the need to rethink their
assumptions, and confront them on everything from how they think to where they
build their houses. You might be one of the greatest people of all time. You'd
be recognized as such if you weren't always talking about talking rabbits.


Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

The Chocolate Moms

I host a Catholic Moms Club at my house every other week. We go through the Scripture Readings for upcoming Sunday Mass, and discuss the Bible, the Church, and the Lord's work in our lives. We encourage one another in our vocations as wives and mothers. We confide, we laugh, we cry and we keep a number of babies, toddlers and older children happy in the process.

Last night, we had our first Moms' Chocolate Shower. The original idea was a baby shower for one of our moms who has an eleven year gap between her first daughter and her new baby. I was concerned that she no longer had any girl-clothes with so many years between female siblings. So, I considered the baby shower idea (and, this really was a miracle baby....) The problem was, we don't do baby showers for every new little one in the group, so New Mom felt awkward, and worried someone else might feel left out. The thought had also occurred to me, and after talking more with New Mom (who had already been showered with baby girl clothes), I decided on a new take for the evening: Chocolate.

We celebrated all the babies -- the new ones, old ones, the ones in utero, the ones we're praying will soon be conceived. We celebrated our group, our bond, and our God. We said good-bye to a member who's moving, shared tidbits of our pasts that we didn't know about each other, and we laughed so hard that the tears rolled.

Do you have anything to celebrate? If you can count one single blessing in your life, then you have a valid reason for a Moms' Chocolate Party.

Schedule one soon.

Tags: Motherhood

Re-Connecting

This post, at the Bonny Glen, is such a beautiful summary of how connections happen, work, and happen again (and again.) It sums up a living, breathing education, and what I love about homeschooling: instilling an excitement for and love of learning. I want to instill a love of learning about all things true, good and beautiful ("Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is gracious, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things." -- Philippians, 4:8) and I hope that this love affair will continue throughout my children's lives.

And, I see Lissa's post as connected to her most recent post on "Nitty Gritty." It's certainly true that life and homeschooling can resume so quickly after the birth of their baby because having older children is such an enormous help. But's it's also true that the Bonny Glen can pick up their routine where they left off because they're all excited to do so. They love learning, they love reading together, and they love to explore the world. "School" isn't just checking off a bunch of boring boxes in a workbook ... School is Life. Life is School. They're connected. When we lose sight of the fact that they're connected, then "school" becomes nothing more than "that thing to get out of the way so I can get to real life." But, when we keep "school" connected to "real life" and it becomes a way of life.

This reminds me of the first time I taught Anne-with-an-e what the word "allusion" meant. She was very young and we were reading a Clifford book together. There was a storm, and through the window Emily Elizabeth saw a witch riding a bicycle, "just like in Wizard of Oz movie!" I told Anne that when a writer deliberately reminds us of a scene from something else, it's called an allusion. The term stuck. And so I had a 5-year old who said things like, "Mommy, this book has a talking pig. Do you think that's an allusion to Charlotte's Web?" And those kinds of comments continue ("Mom, do you think J.K. Rowling read the Narnia Chronicles? Because some of her stuff reminds me of them.")

Mind you, my kids are not especially brilliant. We just talk a lot around here. But, I've found that when we talk a lot, the payoff in words, ideas and connections is worth all the chatter time (and, of course, I love our chatter time.)

When they're young, you point out the connections and provide your children with names and labels for those interesting, intricate ways in which ideas are woven together, build upon each other, and inspire new thoughts. When they're a bit older, you encourage them to keep making connections. And soon, one happy day (it will be much sooner than you think) they are pointing out so many connections that your brain will start to hurt. But it's a good kind of hurt.

And you say a silent prayer of thanks that a word like "allusion" is not just an excruciatingly boring term from a meaningless grammar class. Allusions have become a part of real life; they have meaning. They're exciting, compelling, and worthy of lots of chatter.

They're connected to us and to our lives. And isn't that what a living, breathing education is all about?

Tags: Read-alouds
Children's Lit

How stuff is made

The other day, I posted about the book Transformed. My kids love this sort of thing, so I was pleased to find AmyAble's post about Cool Stuff Being Made. Enjoy those videos!

Purple pancakes

are what Ramona requested for breakfast this morning. It's a late breakfast, as our schedule has been insane this week, but better late and purple than never.

More blogging later today -- Blogger was giving me fits this morning, thus the light posting.

(And, shockingly, I couldn't find a stock photo of purple pancakes. And, as a reminder to all, I'm not the photographer of all the great photos on this site ... they are thanks to Stock.xchng.com, a terrific site of stock photography, through which many wonderful people share their work.)

Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity

Maureen Wittmann has a lovely post this morning about Holy Communion and the truth that we receive the Lord in whole -- Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity -- whether we receive only the Precious Blood, or the bread and the wine, or any tiny combination thereof.

He's there ... are we?

May we always be as excited and eager to receive our Lord as are those radiant First Communicants.

Speaking of the Star of the Sea ....

Alice, at Cottage Blessings, is my Craft Hero. She is the Queen of All Crafters (though she would deny this, in her beautiful and humble way.) She makes crafting look as natural as breathing (though somehow, at our house it's not that natural ... crafts have been known to make me hyperventilate.) But Alice makes it all look so easy. She breezes through her day, picking up supplies at craft stores much as I would pick up milk and bread. It's just business-as-usual for her, whereas for me, it's ... Craft Time, Kids. Gulp. Alice, though, inspires me to try things I would never otherwise think of.

This "Star of the Sea" craft is simple and I believe that even I am capable of making this happen.

Thank you, Alice, for your inspiration, your step-by-step instructions, and your patience and charity toward Craft Morons like me.

tags: Arts and Crafts

Got traditions?

I've mentioned Paul Thigpen here before, and have written about how much I enjoy his website, Star of the Sea. But I only recently read his book, Building Catholic Family Traditions, co-authored by his wife, Leisa and published by Our Sunday Visitor.

This lovely book focuses entirely on cementing family bonds through the cultivation and practice of meaningful traditions. Brimming with ideas, suggestions and anecdotes, it will spark your imagination and fuel new activities and traditions in your home. Covering everything from the liturgical year, Mass and prayer, to seasonal and birthday celebrations, to traditions designed to "honor and serve one another in the home," this book is a treasure that I know I'll turn to again and again.

The introductory chapter offers this example of an easy-to-implement holiday tradition, and then builds on why such things are so vital for family life:

Somewhere between the last bite of the cornbread dressing and the first bite of the pecan pie -- that's when the basket is passed around each year at our family's Thanksgiving meal. No, we don't take up a collection to pay for the turkey. Instead, we ask everyone present to drop in the basket one at a time the three small kernels of dried corn we've placed beside each dinner plate. With each kernel, we have them give one reason why they're thankful that day.

It's a small holiday habit, yet we never cease to be deeply moved by the results. Most often each speaker thanks God for someone else present while misty eyes around the table begin to glimmer in the candlelight. And when the guests go home in the evening, they inevitably comment: "I want to do that again next year."

This simple practice requires almost no preparation or expense. But its rewards continue long after the meal is over, rippling out from our table into other homes as well. Such is the power and blessing of a meaningful family tradition.

(Read the rest of the introduction here.)

Building Catholic Family Traditions is a practical, useful, funny and sweet guide to starting, or adding on to, your family's traditions and rituals. As Paul and Leisa note in the introduction, "Traditions reveal the significance of our lives." It's worth the time, planning and effort it takes to make those traditions come alive. They strengthen our families, and, as Pope John Paul II reminded us:

the family has the mission to guard, reveal and communicate love, and this is a living reflection of and a real sharing in God's love for humanity and the love of Christ the Lord for the Church His bride.

~~ Familiaris Consortio

Building family traditions isn't something we do only to have a happier home life ... it is something we do to build up the Body of Christ. T

And that's a tradition worth cultivating.

Tags: Catholicism, Family Life

Carnival of Homeschooling

Why Homeschool: Carnival of Homeschooling Week 19:

It's up and running, and they've got terrific quotes from Albert Einstein strewn throughout the carnival, nicely woven in as a unifying theme. (Strewing can be so useful, can't it?)

Check out the carnival here.

Tags:
home education
books

Connections

Charlotte Mason wrote extensively of connections and of the ways in which reading "living books" can help children to make vital connections between themselves and the world in which they live. Recently, we had a nice series of connections occur, related to our read-alouds (this is one of the reasons I consider our read-alouds to be at the core of our home education.)

When we read Caddie Woodlawn, we discussed the scene in which the settlers were banding together at the Woodlawn home, preparing for an attack by the Indians. The purported attack was based solely on rumor, but even so, a couple of the settlers began to plan an offensive attack, rather than to merely defend if that became necessary.

"Why would that be wrong?" I asked the girls. They weren't entirely sure, so we talked about it. I gave a small example:

"Let's say that there's a boy in our neighborhood who looks kind of tough. You've heard that he's a bully. You've heard that he's beaten other kids up, but you've never actually seen it happen, you've just heard the rumors. What if one day you said to yourself, 'I'm not going to wait for him to hit me ... I'm going to hit him first and get it over with.' What would you think of that?"

They were horrified. "We wouldn't hit someone for no good reason!"

Ah, good. We were getting somewhere. Back to Caddie's neighbors. Had the Indians actually done anything wrong? Had they attacked the settlers? No .... If they did, would the settlers have been justified in fighting back to defend themselves? Yes .... But, if they (the settlers) have not been attacked, should they strike first, just to get rid of their perceived problem? No, the girls agreed, that would be wrong, just as it would be wrong to hit the boy rumored to be a bully.

From there, we moved into Church teaching. I briefly explained that the Catholic Church has very specific teachings on what is considered a just war, and that it is very rarely considered moral to strike first, but that defending oneself can be another issue altogether.

This sounds as if it were all very dry and didactic but the conversation really took only a minute or two and was a marvelous way of connecting the literature we were reading (Caddie) to real life (the bully) to our faith (teachings on violence, aggression and self-defense.)

And from there, the connections continue. As we started Little House by Boston Bay a few days ago, we came to a scene in which one of the boys is excited over who might be "whupping" whom, and suddenly Betsy's eyes got that look (the look that tells me connections are clicking into place in that adorable little brain of hers.)

"No ... wait," she said. (Click, click ... ) "It's not right to strike just to strike. You have to wait and see if there's a good reason. And if there is, then you can fight back, but you can't just start a fight or a war just because you want to."

Ka-ching.

Aren't connections fun? Oh, how I love our homeschool.

Tags: Home education
Charlotte Mason

What we're reading

Transformed, by Bill Slavin, (published by Kids Can Press) is a fun book about exactly what its subtitle says: "How Everyday Things Are Made." This is the kind of book I often pick up at the library with the express purpose of leaving around the house, also known as "strewing." When I strew, I find that in no time the kids and I are having interesting conversations about the things they've discovered. But, this time, we're reading it together to find out where fortune cookies came from (probably from Japanese American Makoto Hagiwara, who baked thank-you notes into cookies), how many marbles a factory can turn out in one day (12 million), and that polyester was first advertised via "a wrinkle-free swimsuit that had been worn for 67 days without being ironed." (Yuck.)


We're also embarking on a re-read of all the Martha and Charlotte books by Melissa Wiley. Picking these up is like visiting with a dear old friend. We know the stories, we love the characters and we are delighted to be spending time with them again. We've started with Charlotte and Little House by Boston Bay, after much debate among the girls as to whether we had to begin with Martha or not. (I finally settled with a scientific eeny-meeney-miney-mo. It's Charlotte.)

Tags: Books, Children's Literature

Marth Lava

I just can't say it correctly.

The inchworm the girls found is alive and well in captivity (a handy little bug jar) and we're all thrilled that we didn't kill it after the first day.

It seems to love the lilac leaves we're feeding it, and it's leaving plenty of evidence that it is eating heartily.

But I can't get the words out: "moth larva" keeps turning into "marth lava."

I've decided to give up and just name the thing Martha.

Garage sale shopping with Ramona

As I looked around, determining there wasn't much of interest at this particular garage sale, Ramona began to look through a pile of women's shoes.

Ramona (loudly, with feeling): Well, look at these hideous ....

Me: Shhhhh!

Time to go ....

The easiest monkey bread in the world

Last night, there were two extra little girls here, giggling and talking with Betsy late into the night. For breakfast this morning, they'll be expecting something beyond cold cereal, in keeping with the "slumber party" title given to the festivities. I plan to go start the monkey bread very soon, and no one (but you) really needs to know just how easy this is.

Lazy Mother's Monkey Bread

2 cans refrigerated biscuits (7 or 8 oz. each)

4 T. melted butter

4 T. sugar
4 T. brown sugar
1 & 1/2 tsp. cinnamon

1 cup powdered sugar (for glaze)
3-4 T. water

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees and grease a 9x13 pan.

Set aside all notions that involve quartering and dipping. This is the Lazy Mother's Monkey Bread. We don't quarter and dip here. It takes too long. We halve and dump things.

Cut the biscuits in half and throw them (literally, if you feel like it) into a large bowl. Pour the melted butter over them, and stir the biscuits as well as you can. Remind yourself that even though it doesn't seem to be coating the biscuits as well as the dipping method, this will work. Karen said so.

In separate small bowl, combine sugar, brown sugar and cinnamon. Pour it over the not-so-perfectly-coated biscuits and stir again. Stifle the urge to think badly of Karen for being so lazy. Remind yourself again that even though this doesn't appear to work as well as dipping, it will be okay.

Put the slightly unevenly coated biscuits into your pan and (here's where you have to do a little finger-work, even though this is the Lazy Mother's method....) spread biscuits into a single layer. Use whatever sugar mixture is left in the bowl to even out the coverage. Remind yourself that the monkey bread will be frosted with an insane amount of sugar and your children will not notice that the biscuits were dumped, not dipped.

Bake for 20 minutes. In the meantime, mix up that insane glaze. When the monkey bread has cooled for about 10 minutes, pour the glaze over the top and call the children in to admire your culinary skills. Praise them for appreciating you. Pat yourself on the back for making slumber parties fun with things like Monkey Bread for breakfast and ice cream sundaes, complete with Butterfingers and M & Ms, the night before. Remind yourself that you were entirely in the right to not let them watch that PG-rated movie that a friend brought over last night.

Eat some monkey bread before the kids finish off the pan, and ask yourself why you ever bought into that dipping thing in the first place.

My sentiments exactly

"I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve the world and a desire to enjoy the world. This makes it hard to plan the day."

~~ E. B. White

And that's before tips and bonuses

We stay-at-home moms apparently do so much work that we deserve more than $130,000 a year in salary.

Gee ... I've been doing this on a volunteer basis for years now. Who knew?

It certainly explains, too, why I'm always pining for a nap.

Breakfast with Ramona

Handing me a half-chewed carrot (don't ask):

"Mommy, you can have this. It's just not my temperature."

Looking out for her big sister

Clearly, it's been noticed in our house that I'm the kind of mom who often likes to preview things before the kids read them.

Today, after putting Ramona off a couple of times as I finished some laundry and dishes, I was finally ready to sit down and play the card game she had requested. I called her, and she walked into the kitchen, book in hand, flipping through the pages.

"Are you ready for our game?" I asked her.

"Just a minute," she said. "I just wanna real quick pwe-view this book and see if it's appopwiate for Anne."

Meals with Ramona

Ramona: May I be excused, please?

Me: You certainly may.

Ramona: May you clear my place, please?

Slo-o-o-o-ow down (or, Why I love our read-alouds, Part III)

As we finished Caddie Woodlawn, Anne-with-an-e made an observation.

"It seems," she said, "that families were closer in those days. In some ways. I mean, they had more time. They weren't always running off to the next activity."

Ah-ha.

I had been thinking the same thing. I've been thinking it off and on throughout this school year. "The next activity" seems to be looming over us all too often.

Then, I remembered a conversation with Betsy from a couple of months ago. It was a frigid, snowy day and we were working on a puzzle together. Betsy said she knew how Laura Ingalls must have felt in those long winters, because sometimes it was hard when you couldn't get outside and do fun things and go places.

"But,then," she reflected, "Laura really did have a good life. She had her family, and dolls. And they could read."

"Yes," I replied, "and although they may have been cooped up in their house for days -- or sometimes even weeks or months -- they had each other and that made all the difference. We can sometimes forget, can't we, what it's like to live without all of the busy-ness of our "go-go-go" lifestyle."

"Yes!" she said, looking at me pointedly. "Yes! We forget how to live!"

Ah-ha again.

These little confirmations of what's been brewing in my mind this school year were all I needed to make it official.

Back to Anne's observation. I replied:

"I've been thinking about our activities, too. You know, sometimes I feel like all of our activities, as great as they are, get in the way of other things we really want to do. Lately, it seems that we have to put something aside that we'd really like to do -- like have a new friend over, or bake a cake, or do nothing but read all day -- because we need to be ready to head out to the next activity."

"Yeah," said Anne and Betsy, their eyes widening with discovery. "Yeah!"

"What would you guys think of an experiment for next year? Where we radically cut back on outside activities so that we are freer to make some different choices about our time?"

They exchanged a look that answered my question.

"I think that might be a good idea," said Anne.

"I agree," nodded Betsy.

"Me, too," said Ramona, with a slightly furrowed brow.

And so it has been decided. The vague, nagging feeling that we need to tweak our schedules and lives a bit has come more sharply into focus.

So, was I lying when I recently told a fellow homeschooling mom that this year had been a good one, with a nice balance of home-time and activity-time? Nah. I meant it when I said it.

It has been a good year, and I am grateful for all of the activities and opportunities that have presented themselves. I firmly believe God takes care of our needs and provides the right thing at the right time. For example, a couple of years ago, when I was beginning to fret over time (or lack of it) spent on science and art, we suddenly met a new family. The mom alerted me to a new set of classes at the local arts center, just for homeschoolers. And, she offered to teach a science co-op. Coincidence? Methinks not. I was paying enough attention to that little series of events to say, "Thanks, God. That's awfully gracious of You."

And last summer, just as the kids' Girl Scout troop was falling apart (because aforementioned mom was moving, and she really had been the glue holding it all together) God provided a new friend who invited us to join her American Girl History Club. This club (thank you, Linda!) has been the perfect "girl time/craft time" opportunity for my kids. Thanks again, God. It's amazing how You know just what we need.

And this year, events in our life have taken us down a meandering path that keeps pointing us toward this one thing: Slow down.

I think I'll pay attention.

And continue to love our read-alouds.

Join the Celebration of Heart and Home

Among Women is putting together a blog carnival on mothering, but she's decided to call it something cozier, more appealing, and less evocative of a sideshow. (I love her reasoning.)

AmyAble's "Celebration of Heart and Home" is taking submissions. See this post for details.

Why I love our read-alouds, Part II

I’m still on Caddie Woodlawn, and have to share yet another great discussion starter.

In Chapter 21, “Father Speaks,” Caddie’s father shares with her his vision of a strong woman:

It is the sisters and wives and mothers, you know, Caddie, who keep the world sweet and beautiful. What a rough world it would be if there were only men and boys in it, doing things their way! A woman’s task is to teach them gentleness and courtesy and love and kindness. It’s a big task, too, Caddie – harder than cutting trees or building mills or damming rivers. It takes nerve and courage and patience, but good women have those things. They have them just as much as the men who build bridges and carve roads through the wilderness. A woman’s work is something fine and noble to grow up to, and it is just as important as a man’s. But no man could ever do it so well. I don’t want you to be the silly, affected person with fine clothes and manners whom folks sometimes call a lady. No, that is not what I want for you, my little girl. I want you to be a woman with a wise and understanding heart, healthy in body and honest in mind. Do you think you would like to be growing up into that woman now? How about it, Caddie, have we run with the colts long enough?

And five paragraphs later:

But something strange had happened to Caddie in the night. When she awoke she knew that she need not be afraid of growing up. It was not just sewing and weaving and wearing stays. It was something more thrilling than that. It was a responsibility, but, as Father spoke of it, it was a beautiful and precious one, and Caddie was ready to go and meet it.

I commented to my girls that I really loved Caddie’s father for how beautifully he had spoken of the role of a wife and mother, that he recognized that it is a thrilling and beautiful thing, a treasure beyond compare to be responsible for the human beings God has given us.

A radiant smile crept into Betsy's face. Without looking up, and continuing to color in the princess coloring book before her, she said in a way that was both decided and dreamy, “I want to have kids when I grow up.”

And what higher compliment could a mother or a book receive?

That’s why I love our read-alouds.

Why I love our read-alouds, Part I

I mentioned Caddie Woodlawn the other day and want to expound a bit on the kinds of discussions that grow out of reading books together.

Caddie got us talking about a number of things as we moseyed through the book. One little nugget that really caught my attention was the insightful scene in which Obediah Jones finally finds the thing for which he was made.

One of the biggest boys in school, sullen and ill-behaved, Obediah makes it quite clear that he'd rather be somewhere else, but he'll take school if it means having some fun picking on the teacher who

had her hands full with the boys of the Dunnville School. Some of them were as big as she was, or bigger, and they were used to the rough ways and the crude humor of a pioneer life. Ashur and Obediah Jones were the worst. Great, hulking boys who could scarcely get their knees beneath the desks, they came to school, not to learn, but to see what fun they could have baiting the teacher.

The teacher, Miss Parker, does (later in this same chapter) best Obediah. They have a showdown, and

Obediah had met his Waterloo, and Teacher was at last the greatest person in her little world.

As we read this, the girls of course noticed how disobedient and downright unpleasant Obediah could be. And that was certainly true. He was a bully. I pointed out to them, however, that the author also told us that Obediah "had a slow brain," and one couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for him as he was forced to sit in a classroom day after day, expected to feign interest in things which he could not possibly care about.

Much later in the novel, a prairie fire is fast approaching the school. Teacher has ordered the children out of the building, and yelled for everyone to run into Dunnville for help. But then

... a firefighter was already at work. Obediah, his head down, the smoke swirling all about him, had caught up a flat board and was beating out the fire as fast as he could. When his brother Ashur saw what he was doing, he caught up a board, too, and ran to join him. The other boys, forgetting their panic in a common purpose, began to imitate the two Jones boys.

"Hey, you," shouted Obediah to Tom, "get a shovel or sumpin' to dig with." In the schoolhouse, Tom found the shovel they used to make a path through the snow in winter. He knew what Obediah wanted, and he began to dig and scrape the dry grass away in a trench between the oncoming fire and the schoolhouse. The ground was baked almost as hard as rock and the shovel was not sharp. It was slow work and the sweat stood out all over Tom's round face after a few moments of digging.

"Here!" said Obediah, and he grasped the shovel and thrust his board into Tom's hands. The board was already charred and smoking, but Tom seized it and fell to beating back the fire, while Obediah threw his strength into clearing a trench around the school before the fire reached it. Obediah's great, hulking frame, which fitted so badly into the school benches and desks, seemed splendid at last. No grown man could have done braver or harder work than Obediah did that day to save his schoolhouse.

Shortly afterward:

"Children," said Miss Parker, "you have all been very brave, but one among you has been a hero today, and I want to salute him. Obediah Jones, please come up here in front."

Grinning a little sheepishly, Obediah came forward. His face was blackened with smoke and his hands were cut and burned, but he had lost his hang-dog slouch. Obediah stood straight as a man.

That Miss Parker called Obediah to the front of the room is a superb counterpoint to the scene in which she had beaten him down. Then, too, she had called him forward and had caught him off guard when she whipped him with a ruler. The scene of his humiliation becomes the scene of his triumph.

And so we saw, my girls and I, that Obediah had finally found his purpose, meaning and a reason to be proud. This boy who cared nothing for reading and sitting, reciting and memorizing, knew what had to be done in a crisis, and he did it. His "slow brain" was quick where it was needed, and his physical strength, once so intimidating, saved lives and a schoolhouse.

What gems to discuss with my girls: an individual's gifts, finding one's place in a community, hidden talents, excelling in school vs. excelling in "the real world", the almost impossible job of the classroom teacher (their father, after all, is one) who has to keep order and sometimes exert a control she despises, and the fairness and humility of a good teacher who can admit that a difficult student just might not be so difficult after all, all things considered.

All of this ... thanks to one little scene from Caddie Woodlawn.

Feast of St. Joseph the Worker

The intercession of St. Joseph for our family has been an enormous blessing. I believe he has prayed for us through Atticus's conversion, through miscarriages, doubts, fears about more miscarriages (which can lead to fears of being open to life) and for the spiritual growth of our domestic church.

My dear St. Joseph is the model husband and father ... giving of himself completely, pouring himself out in body and spirit, offering a total self-donation for his wife and foster-son. May he hear our prayers and cries for intercession, and may he intercede before the throne of God for our family, all fathers, and all who call on him with love and faith in the Savior whom he raised.

(The above image is Georges de La Tour's "Christ in the Carpenter's Shop", 1645)