Happy Birthday, Dad!

 

My father is 76 years young today! 

Happy Birthday, Dad!

New Review at Love2Learn -- an IEW program

My recent review of the IEW Student Writing Intensive is up, here, at Love2Learn.

Several other new reviews are up, too. Visit Love2Learn.net to read them all.

Poetry Friday

 

A stunning poem by Fr. Thomas Merton for the season of Lent, with a big tip of the hat to Fr. S, for posting it last week. 

When, in the dark, the frost cracks on the window
The children awaken, and whisper.
One says the moonlight grated like a skate
Across the freezing river.
Another hears the starlight breaking like a knifeblade
Upon the silent, steelbright pond.
They say the trees are stiller than the frozen water
From waiting for a shouting light, a heavenly message.

 

Yet it is far from Christmas, when a star
Sang in the pane, as brittle as their innocence!
For now the light of early Lent
Glitters upon the icy step -
"We have wept letters to our patron saints,
(The children say) yet slept before they ended."

 

Oh, is there in this night no sound of strings, of singers!
None coming from the wedding, no, nor
Bridegroom's messenger?
(The sleepy virgins stir, and trim their lamps.)

The moonlight rings upon the ice as sudden as a
footstep;
Starlight clinks upon the dooryard stone, too like a
latch,
And the children are again, awake,
And all call out in whispers to their guardian angels.

~~~~~

The roundup today is at Check It Out.

Non-Gwyneth Goop

Ramona loves goop.

Not Gwyneth Paltrow's website, wherein we can learn how to drink room temperature lemon water for breakfast and find the best digs in Paris, but the kind of goop that is sometimes a liquid, sometimes a solid, and constantly fun when one is seven years old.

Betsy helps her mix it up, though I suspect Betsy is having as much fun with the mess as Ramona is.  It looks like this:

 

 

and like this: 

And then your table and floor look like this: 

But, do not fear, oh, ye of little-time-to-clean, because in seconds it will scoop up into this:

It's just cornstarch and water, which means it dries, it flakes, it sweeps up quickly.  Or you can just wipe it away with water.  It's nothing and it's magic.

And Ramona adores it.  So do I. You will, too, especially if you've been saying no to lots of messes lately because you really don't want to deal with a mess. This is a mess you can say yes to.  You can seem like a Cool Messy Mom, knowing all the while that clean-up will be a snap.  (One caveat: it does look really messy while they're playing with it.  You will possibly snarl at me under your breath and wonder what I was thinking. You will tell yourself that you'll never visit my blog or trust me again. But then ... yeah.  You'll see.)

To Tell or Not to Tell?

A few years ago, I was part of a prayer group for moms.  We met weekly to talk about the upcoming Scripture readings for Sunday Mass, discuss our faith, and support one another in our vocation. One year, as Lent approached, someone (it could, ahem,  have been me -- I can be both talkative and nosy) asked, "Do we want to talk about Lenten sacrifices?"

Another mom objected, saying that she'd always heard that one should keep all sacrifices a secret or they weren't true sacrifices. I had never heard it put quite that way. I suddenly felt overly talkative and really nosy.

But I understood her point. Certainly, on Ash Wednesday we hear:

“When you fast,
do not look gloomy like the hypocrites.
They neglect their appearance,
so that they may appear to others to be fasting.
Amen, I say to you, they have received their reward.
But when you fast,
anoint your head and wash your face,
so that you may not appear to be fasting,
except to your Father who is hidden.
And your Father who sees what is hidden will repay you.” (Matthew 6: 16-18)

Since this advice comes straight from The Top, I take it seriously. I've never wanted to perfect the gloomy hypocrite pose (though I'm sure I stumble regularly into gloomy hypocrisy without even trying.) I know that our Lord doesn't want us making meaningless sacrifices that appear to be for His sake but are in reality for the sake of earthly kudos. But I also wanted my friend to understand that I didn't advocate sharing Lenten ideas in order to sing our own praises. I didn't want us saying, "Hey, look at all the really big stuff I'm giving up for Lent! I am so good at this sacrifice stuff!"

Rather, I think that on the human level, it can be quite helpful to share ideas and choices, for a few reasons:

1. Sometimes, we fear that we won't do very well with our chosen fast. Telling a few friends about what we're giving up can help us to feel more accountable.  While it's true that we're really accountable to God, it's also true that having a friend say, "How are you doing with that?" or having them pray for us or offer encouragement can be a good thing.

2. New ideas.  The other day, I was telling my daughters about the year I gave up wearing jewelry (other than my wedding ring, scapular, and crucifix.)  They were so interested! They asked how it made me feel, and did my pierced ears feel bare and plain? Did I miss it? What did it have to do with my relationship with God? What did I do when Lent ended? I have also gotten great ideas from other people through conversations like this.

3. Help with the kids.  Moms love to get, give and share advice and ideas. Swapping stories about what works and what doesn't is as much a part of being a mom as a strong stomach is. 

4. Have you ever had the feeling that you're taking on something too big? Too easy? It can be helpful to talk that over with trusted friends.  Sifting through ideas and experiences can lead to new insights.  So can praying for each other that throughout Lent our sacrifices -- however large or small -- will bear fruit.

I suppose that sharing some details of our fasts could turn into a temptation to spiritual pride, but I've always found the opposite -- sharing details is humbling, because as soon as I voice my intentions, I know a couple of things: that I am pitifully weak, that I'm spoiled, pampered and overfed, and that I need God in order to accomplish my goals, which I know that I am only truly accomplishing through and with Him.

All that said, I have to admit that I know there is also enormous benefit in hidden sacrifices. Silence can help us to pursue good works without counting the cost to ourselves. It can keep us from grumbling. Silent sacrifices, hidden from the world, are not hidden from our Father, Who knows when we succeed and when we fail, when we're trying and when we're not, what is too hard, what is too easy, and what is just right.

Still, it would be hard for me to stay silent about everything.  Depending on what I've given up in a given year, there are situations in which those around me would suspect: "Obviously she gave up chocolate, but the silly girl won't come out and tell us that!"  Honestly, in a case like that, I'd rather just say it as have you tempt me with something that is rich and dark and will lead to me embarrassing myself by muttering bitterly about a major chunk of the liturgical year.

But, that's not really always true either. This year, I gave up something that led Atticus to say, "Oh, I'll just give that up, too, and then you won't have to be around it," but I didn't want him to do that.  Sometimes, I think I need to relearn that I can indeed be sitting right next to the thing I shouldn't have, and that, too, is okay.  So, tempt away.  I'll see your temptation and raise you God's grace. 

Anyway, what I have finally settled into over these last few years is a combination of approaches. There is usually some "big" thing, a difficult or challenging thing that I choose to give up. And then there are some other fasts, too, "smaller" things, sprinkled in here and there. Some of them I talk about, and some I keep to myself.

It's the right balance for me -- I can seek support, advice and prayers as needed. I can be nosy and ask my friends what they're doing, if they feel like talking about it. But I also share sacred secrets with my Father in Heaven, and sometimes it's lovely to know that He knows me as no one else does.

Where'd She Get This Supposed Wit?

I'm working on getting Ramona's photo album up to date.  I need to because before today I had exactly how many pictures of Ramona in albums? You guessed it -- zero pictures.

So, as I sorted through a crate of old pictures -- older than Ramona's seven years' worth -- I found all sorts of time capsule stuff from the 80s.

"Oh, look," I said to the girls, "here's another one of me with big hair and a cat."

Anne-with-an-e looked at me with a puzzled expression.

"Ummm , Mom," she said, "doesn't that sort of sum up your life for a certain period? Big hair and cats?"

Philosophy on a sleepy, grumpy Monday

Go here to get Dilbert's take on what half of life is.

First Sunday of Lent: Led by the Spirit into the Desert

Filled with the Holy Spirit, Jesus returned from the Jordan

and was led by the Spirit into the desert for forty days,

to be tempted by the devil.

~~ Luke 4:1-3

(From the archives):

A number of years ago -- it must have been nine years, because Anne was about four years old, and Betsy about 18 months -- I had my first inkling of real Lenten temptation. Oh, yes, in the past, I'd been through the temptation to eat chocolate, or to have a fat, juicy burger on a Friday, but all that seemed quite benign in comparison to a moment at Mass, the first weekend of Lent nine years ago.

I was still a relatively new Catholic, having been received into the Church just three years before. I was certain this would be the year that I'd be a shining, stellar example for Atticus of patience, faith and God's love. I would let Christ shine through me so clearly, so incredibly, that my husband could not help but be touched, and could not help but run to the nearest priest and beg to be brought into the Church.

I breezed through Ash Wednesday, not even missing the things I'd given up. I was too focused on being so good, for Atticus's benefit.

On the first weekend of Lent, we went to Mass on Saturday evening. Atticus was with me, because he had made a Lenten promise of his own: although he wasn't considering becoming a Catholic, he offered to go with me to Mass every Sunday in Lent.

Normally, he didn't attend Mass with me. And, since he stayed home, he often offered to keep our very little girls with him, and I zipped off to Mass alone. Though I longed for us to be "one of those families -- the ones who are together at Mass" I had to admit that I also enjoyed the experience of entering fully, quietly into the Mass, without distractions.

So, there we were, on the first weekend of Lent, all of us. "Together at Mass."

And, I felt impatient.

And uncomfortable.

And angry.

I'd had my daughters with me plenty of times at Mass, but this weekend it suddenly seemed different. They were acting like ... well, like little girls. Energetic little girls. They were squirmy, and loud and fussy (I learned, over the years, that 5:30 Saturday Mass is a tough one for little people.)

Atticus seemed oblivious to everything they were doing. It was impossible for me to be oblivious. I was frustrated with all three of them.

The church was crowded, warm and stuffy. I could barely hear the readings.

But, then, I heard this: "... led by the Spirit into the wilderness for forty days, to be tempted by the Devil."

And I was struck, perhaps for the first time, by two realities:

1. We are not alone in the desert.

2. We are being actively tempted.

We are not alone.

We, too, are led by the Spirit into the wilderness of Lent, but, we are not abandoned. And, we are not expected to do this of our own strength.

To be tempted by the devil.

Yes, certainly, I had, in the past, thought of Lent as a time of temptation, but I thought of it as "me against myself." I thought that if I had enough resolve, if I were good enough, it would be easy.

But, suddenly, in that stuffy church, surrounded by fussy children and a husband who didn't particularly want to be there, I realized that I'd been tempted to impatience with the very thing I longed for with my whole being. My husband's conversion, which would translate into family togetherness at Mass, would mean this?  It would mean unpleasantness, distraction, impatience, anger? The desire to be here alone?

I was being tempted away from the good, away even from the desire to be the clear window through which Atticus could see Christ.

Only by God's grace, was I able to see the moment for what it was.

Temptation in the desert.

But, I was not alone.

The moment was redeemed by that realization. I reclaimed my longing for my husband's conversion. I knew that it would mean giving up "entering fully into the Mass" alone, but it would also mean gaining a new way of entering fully into the Mass: as a family. A loud, messy, imperfect, distracted, and sometimes-frustrated family.

I knew then that there would be many more temptations to come on this rocky road of my continuing conversion. I knew that there were forces at work trying actively to discourage me from praying for my husband's reception into the Church (which did not come until two years later.) I knew that these things would be, and would feel, stronger during times of fasting, when I was hungry -- both literally and spiritually -- and vulnerable.

First Sundays in Lent are still hard for me.

But, I know I'm not alone.

And that has made all the difference.

I will say to the LORD, "My refuge and my fortress, my God -- in Him will I trust."

~~ Psalm 91:2

The Hogwarts Scarf

I have requests from three daughters for three of these scarves:

 

We chose the yarn awhile back but I just finished this yesterday. After I finished, I found this example of a Hogwarts scarf online (thinking I might post it when I first mentioned the scarf, but then decided to take a picture of ours.) I'm relatively pleased by how much this looks like the fake-real thing.  (Or is that the real-fake thing?) Of course, my knitting is much sloppier than the example, but my girls aren't critical fashionistas. They are simply brave and chivalrous Gryffindors who want to stay warm. 

Poetry Friday: I Got Nothin'

Here we are. The first Friday in Lent. And apparently, I gave up Poetry Friday for Lent, because I didn't participate today. 

I must confess: I forgot and/or I did not have time to get a post done. However, I got four loads of laundry done, and I dried them in my new dryer.  Also, the cat has clean litter boxes (yes, it's true: One cat. Two litter boxes. Don't. Ask.)  And the hamster's cage no longer reeks. And the Hogwarts scarf I was knitting is now finished (I'll post a picture tomorrow, for those who knit or love Harry.)

However, even though I missed the poetic fun, I'll still tell you where today's Poetry Friday get-together was: Live. Laugh. Explore! has the goods.

And the opener is really good. Billy Collins. On Turning Ten.

One of my all-time Billy favorites.

And Irene is seeing him tonight.

Lucky Irene. 

And lucky me. Because my clothes are dry, my pets don't stink, and I'm well past the heart-wrenching age of ten. 

A Few Lenten Links from around the Blogosphere (and the Vatican)

• Pope Benedict's 2010 Lenten message

• Suzanne Temple with this on prayer. (And -- alas -- she's not coming to Nebraska to complete her Creighton training. So not fair. To me. Quite fair to her nursing babe and family.) 

• Jen always has something great to contribute to the conversation. 

• And Jen pointed me to this post, at Aggie Catholics, which is loaded for Lent.

• Michele Quigley has a great post about the "tithe" of Lent. 

• Kate Wicker's post, Lent for Little Ones, is full of fun ideas as well as worthwhile links. 

From the "I Love Reading" Files

Ramona ran up to me yesterday and asked, "Mommy, what does 'magnum opus' mean?"

"It means 'great work.'" 

"I knew it," she said triumphantly. "I knew it meant great work!"

As she was running away, I asked, "Hey -- how did you know what it meant?"

"Charlotte!" she called back over her shoulder.

Quote for the 40 Days

"I will attempt, day by day, to break my will into pieces.
 

I want to do God's Holy Will, not my own!"

– St. Gabriel Possenti

Ash Wednesday

Even now, says the LORD,
return to me with your whole heart,
with fasting, and weeping, and mourning;
Rend your hearts, not your garments,
and return to the LORD, your God.
For gracious and merciful is he,
slow to anger, rich in kindness,
and relenting in punishment.

~~ Joel 2:12-13

But, Lord, It's Not Even Lent Yet

Yesterday my dryer died.  (Be careful what you wish for.)

Today we shall find out if this elderly friend still has any life left in her, or if she has permanently left us for the greener pastures of Appliance Heaven.  I may be shopping for a new and expensive thing on this Fat Tuesday.

Not the way I'd choose to celebrate Mardi Gras, but, hey, we take what we're handed, eh?

Win a copy of the Rosary book -- on the radio Monday morning

I'll be chatting with Roxane Salonen at 9:30 a.m. (central time) Monday morning.

Roxane is a writer and a mom of five who blogs at Peace Garden Mama. She also hosts a show on Real Presence Radio, and you can click over there to listen to the interview live over the internet.

Roxane is planning to give away a copy of my Rosary book during the show. I'm looking forward to our chat!

Book Bliss

 

 

Ahhhhh ....

A Mother's Wish List, (or, In Which I Eventually Ponder Heaven)

• That laundry would creep away into a deep, dark hole and die.  For a week -- or, ... oh, dare I dream? -- ten days.
  

• That no one will ask me, "What's for dinner?"  Just for a day.  One day.
  

• That I could eat take-out every night for seven -- oh, dare I imagine it? Ten? -- days. In a row. On paper plates.

• That while I'm consuming decadent, indulgent take-out food and wearing clothes that never get dirty, the cat will announce that he's permanently ceased throwing up.  Also, he would kindly like to point out that his allergies are gone, so he will stop breaking out in those unsightly sores. 

• That the bathroom door would automatically lock behind me. Because I forget to lock it, y'know? Which translates into, "Hey, everyone, come on in and tell me about your day! It's a party in here, despite the drab decor! And hey, cat, wouldn't you like to come in, too? And throw up?" 

• That when I'm sick I could just. Be. Sick. (I'm not sick today, so don't worry about me. I'm just dreaming.) You know? Sick? As in, all day long/in bed/don't touch me/don't talk to me/I'm going to sleep for seventeen hours/I won't cook/I won't tidy/I won't talk to you about math/sick. 

Enough complaining wishing.

The reality -- I know, I know -- is that I love these people. It gobsmacks me, really, how much I love them.

And I even love that cat (Most of the time. Except when he's biting one of my offspring. And throwing up. And chewing on my nightstand at 4 a.m.)

And I love that I have a washing machine (I did the laundromat thing when we were young and poor and I'll take daily laundry anytime), and I love that Atticus has a job and the means to provide the meals I hate to cook. I love that we homeschool, and I love that my husband and kids love me, too (in spite of my pathetic meals.) 

And yesterday, when we were reading The Long Winter, and we came to the passage I quoted earlier this morning, I thought, "Yes. That's what home is. It's a little taste of the divine.  It's Heaven under a roof.  Refuge from the cold world."

And that is the message I try to remind myself of when I get caught up in my wish lists.

That heaven is right in front of my eyes.

Yesterday, Ramona said, "Mommy, there's a place where you can go outside when it's snowing and you don't even have to wear a coat. And you can eat ice cream and drink hot chocolate at the same time, and then go swimming. And there's cake.  And we're going."

"We are?" I asked.

"Yes!" she said, impatient with my thickness.  "It's Heaven!"

Lord willing, we're on the road.

That's my real wish list. That we're doing what we need to do, and that we'll keep looking for those doors He opens to draw us further in, and that we will walk through them -- that this tiny  taste of Heaven under a roof will be our path, someday, to the real thing.

I didn't know Tomie dePaola had a blog!

Today, for St. Scholastica's feast day,  I'll read The Holy Twins to Ramona. It was written by Kathleen Norris and illustrated by Tomie dePaola, and I was just nosing around the internet for the best link to the book.

At Tomie dePaola's website I found a link to his blog.  Fun!

Quote for a Wednesday

"It was so wonderful to be there, safe at home, sheltered from the winds and the cold. Laura thought that this must be a little bit like Heaven, where the weary are at rest. She could not imagine that Heaven was better than being where she was, slowly growing warm and comfortable, sipping the hot, sweet, ginger tea, seeing Ma, and Grace, and Pa and Carrie, and Mary all enjoying their own cups of it and hearing the storm that could not touch them here."

~~ Laura Ingalls Wilder, The Long Winter 

(photo courtesy of Stock.xchng)

Just Read the Book, For Pete's Sake

Do you ever check in on your blog stats?  And you see that someone spent an extended period of time reading your blog?

And so you say to yourself, "Self, that is so rewarding. I'm gratified that someone found something so worthwhile on my blog. That's why I do this. To be helpful."

And then you glance at their search words and discover how they ended up at your blog? And you realize their search words were "Snow Treasure by Marie McSwigan" or "What is the plot of Escape from Warsaw?"

And you know that your ever-so-helpful words probably just ended up in some sixth grader's book report?

And you think, "I really hope you get caught," or, "Did you take out the part about Anne-with-an-e and Betsy after you cut and pasted? Because I hope you didn't."

Not that I don't want to be helpful.  I just want them to get caught before they enter a full-blown life of crime.  I'm talkin' about you and your ilk, Anonymous.

Thus ends today's cautionary tale.

Countdown to Lent

Ten days.

I need to get those "Meaningful Lent" posts in order.

In the meantime, here's what my kids were pondering giving up last year.

Poetry Friday: Pablo Neruda and Truly, Madly Deeply

The girls and I just finished reading Red Glass, by Laura Resau (more on that in another post) in which Pablo Neruda is mentioned as a favorite poet.

We read a little bit of Neruda last year at Jama Rattigan's Alphabet Soup, but I think I first heard him in Truly, Madly, Deeply  (my reactions to that film are here and here) a few years ago.

So.  As I sat down this morning to post a little bit about Neruda, I realized that I didn't really want to talk about Neruda at all. What I really wanted to do was revisit Truly, Madly, Deeply. Again. People seem to either love or despise this movie, and my feet are firmly planted in the love camp. So, I suppose this is really a "Movie Friday" post, but I know that the Poetry Friday crowd is forgiving of such mental meandering, so I'll not worry about it a bit. 

Go here to listen to Alan Rickman and Juliet Stevenson limping exquisitely through an  excerpt from Neruda's La Muerta.
~~~~~

The Poetry Friday round up is at Great Kid Books.

Bits and Pieces of Our Days

 

While she was sick, Betsy decided to learn how to fold paper cranes. She was originally shooting for a thousand (editor's note: Sadako influence) but hasn't made it yet. Ramona is in the picture above, helping with the inital count. 

  

*****

Last night, Betsy and Ramona called Anne-with-an-e into the room to look at something. Anne replied, "It had better be good -- I'm right in the middle of reading about heart malformations." 

This girl is seriously looking forward to upcoming dissections for her biology studies. 

*****

Ramona loves panda bears. Ramona loves crafts. Ramona loves plans.  (Hmmm ... schooliness and crafts ... this is the offspring of the Unschooly, Not-So-Crafty Mom?) Ramona requested a Panda craft, and proceeded to describe her idea: a collage-inspired thing wherein we would cut out black shapes and glue them onto white paper, thus creating her dream panda. Here's the result: 

I'm grateful she comes up with the ideas because my idea of a panda craft would be: "Honey, go cut pictures of pandas out of your Ranger Rick magazine." 

(I did, actually, refer to an old issue of Ranger Rick to do this craft -- we found a panda craft, and I used it as a model for this little guy.) 

Speaking of Ranger Rick, I love both it and Your Big Backyard for loads of Ramona's science. Throw in Kids Discover and National Geographic Kids (thanks, Grandma and Grandpa!) and you've got science, history, social studies and current events, all while cuddling up on the couch with your daughter and a snack. 

*****

Last week for Poetry Friday, I featured a book by Celeste Davidson Mannis, a counting book, packed full of haiku and beautiful illustrations. Unbeknownst to me, another book that I picked up during the same library visit is also by the same author (but a different illustrator -- funny that they both caught my eye.) The second book is The Queen's Progress, ostensibly an alphabet book, but also full of historical facts. I haven't had time to read through it all, but it looks quite lovely.

*****

My time is up for now -- Pancakes for lunch today! The griddle awaits.

Ramona at Bedtime

Last night, as I tucked her in, she said:

"I'm trying to get that classic 'little kid in bed' look.  Okay. Covers under chin: check!"

The Confused Blogger

If nothing else, February 2 shows you to what degree this blog is all over the map.

Links to two past posts:

Purified Tear by Tear is a post considering the connections between the Presentation of Jesus in the Temple and Mary's Purification to my many miscarriages, and the ways in which the Lord has been purifying me through my own presentations.

My Groundhog Day Shrinklit, on the other hand, is not a serious reflection, though it leans toward the metaphysical, as does the movie, without even meaning to, because, honestly, how can one contemplate a single day repeating itself endlessly without eventually bringing the meaning of life into the picture?  I love that movie.

So, today, I'll be my usual schizophrenic self -- crying and laughing on the same day.

I don't think God will mind.

Celebrating Our Catholic School

If you're Catholic ...

and if you homeschool ...

you're

A Catholic School!  So, celebrate!

You are doing everything you can do to give your child an authentic Catholic education. That's worth celebrating during this Catholic Schools Week.

Personally, I always think chocolate should be involved, but follow your own instincts. Our celebrations will also include chocolate chip cookies. Cookies are a necessity for any good Catholic school. And coffee. Teachers need coffee, so don't be shy about consuming gallons of it this week in the name of outstanding teaching.

What are you doing for Catholic Schools Week?  I'm looking for some new ideas (not that chocolate and coffee ever get old ....)

(Custom image thanks to ImageChef.com)