God Will Provide

2009-11-10T16:59:00.001-06:00

I've posted this song before, with a different video, but this one is a little better. It's just really been on my heart lately, and I have a minute to post it. AJ and Sarah, this is for you, friends. Steph, Rebekah, you too.

Love you all so much.

Buffer Zone

2009-11-09T23:30:00.004-06:00

It's late. Really, I'd much rather be in bed, but My Darling took the Pudge up just a short while ago, and I need to give him time to get her to sleep.

Besides, I need time to get my thoughts in order, and this is where that happens. Please excuse any lack of cohesion, but this is where you, the reader, are captive audience to my thought-spew. Great visual, isn't it?

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Saturday.........what an absolutely glorious day! Indian Summer made its return to the Midwest, and we welcomed it with arms wide open. My Darling needed to take care of sighting in his gun for deer hunting, so he took Pickle, Reepicheep and Monkey with him up to Mama Midwife's house. Her husband and My Darling went out onto their land and, well, shot at things. Word has it they used a barrel for a target, and it only took 3 shots for him to get the job done. Pickle and Reepicheep each got to take one shot with a .22--under the watchful eyes of both men, mind you, one of whom is not only a county deputy, but also a hunter safety instructor. Pickle said it was awesome. Reepicheep said she's done. :) Atta girl!

While they were gone, the Frog, the Pudge and I were outside. Because when it's 75 degrees in November, you dang skippy better be outside! I've been waiting and waiting to plant my bulbs. I grabbed them several trips back at ~~our second home~~ the home improvement store, and finally it was pleasant enough outside to get my attention. When the wind came through some weeks ago, it brought this oppressive cold, grey sky with it, and it's been windy, cold and rainy ever since. This weekend began a lovely trend of fair weather that I would far prefer lasting into December....but I know it won't. At any rate, the Frog brought the Pudge outside, along with a blanket. The two of them sat and soaked up the Vitamin D, while I yanked the weeds out of a bed My Darling put in for me three years back.

I had originally intended this bed to be full of red and yellow flowers, and even planted seeds--but nothing ever came of it. So for the past two years, I've been working in compost and letting it go weedy--and then pulling everything out. I've mulched it and enriched it, so that this last time, there were some weeds, but not many by any stretch. On Saturday, I planted red and white parrot tulips, pink fringed tulips, red double late tulips, white hyacinths, and purple/yellow/white crocuses. I still need to get more mulch on top of them, but the weather is to be wonderfully fair for the rest of the week.

While I was working on planting the bulbs, the Pudge was working on planting her little eyelids shut. She ended up napping on the lawn (nestled in with her boppy pillow and blankie) for nearly two hours! The Frog stayed outside with her, and when I went in to clean up my hands and throw open every window in the house, I ended up sprawling across the bed and dozing off myself.

The afternoon brought the final lawn mowing of the year, with the Monkey riding on the tractor with My Darling, grinning that humongous grin that he gets around any motor. It was a truly fantastic Saturday afternoon.

Sunday began as usual--we shared breakfast together and prepared for Mass. My Darling drove us in to town, while I applied my make-up. I'm absolutely proficient at applying mascara whilst bouncing around at highway speeds! So we got to Mass, settled in our pews, the boys processed in with the Crucifix, incense, and candles. Monsignor censed the altar, we prayed, we sang the Gloria, we prayed some more..........and the fire alarm went off.

In a church where incense is used--heavily--every single Sunday, the usual routine has been to silence the alarm. But apparently there was a day last week when the company which services the alarm system had to come do some maintenance, and the thing hasn't worked right since.

The lector read the first reading, but there was no way the cantor could sing the Psalm with the incredibly loud noise beating in her ears. Not that I would know--by that time (about 5 minutes), those of us with little ones had gone outside to the front steps to protect our babies' ears. After what seemed an interminably long time, people began streaming through the doors and onto the sidewalk--Monsignor had dispensed everyone's Sunday obligation, encouraging them to attend the later Mass at the other church in our parish.

Whoa.

Now, I had been mulling over in my mind whether or not to receive the Eucharist, but for Pete's sake, to just have it not offered presented quite a shock to my spirit.

I've definitely been given a wake-up call as to just how blessed we are to live where we do, and have the luxury of just attending a later Mass--of having that option! What an amazing thing!! And how often do people take it for granted? How often does my family take for granted that we can just pop in to Mass any day of the week, at almost any hour we want?

Never again, My Lord, I promise.

We did go to the later Mass, thanks be to God.

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Between the Mass-that-wasn't and the Mass-that was, we were visiting with some friends. Our family and three others came together at another family's home. The dads and boys were going out with wagons collecting food for a local Catholic food pantry, so the moms, sisters and little ones got to stay back and have a nice afternoon. The older girls watched the little ones, and the in-betweens played outside. We women were left with our nurslings to discuss.

What did we discuss? Our Husbands, of course! We are all couples who take part in the diocesan Marriage Preparation ministry, and it was so awesome to talk with other women who strongly value our marriages, and know well how to keep things in perspective. It was so uplifting, and great to have honest feedback about things that we all experience in our marriages.

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I found out this morning that my grandma has been hospitalized with a heart ailment. She's in ICU again tonight, but they anticipate being able to move her to a regular room tomorrow sometime. They are switching her from an IV med to the same medication in pill form, and just want to be sure that she tolerates the change. God willing, she'll go home Wednesday. Please keep her in your prayers.

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Well, there it is. Sorry it's not more inspirational, more organized.....whatever. I'm just not up to it. The good news is--I think the Pudge is asleep.

Small Success Thursday

2009-11-05T23:50:00.005-06:00

I'm so discombobbulated today, I guess I ought to get this posted before it's Friday--uh, that gives me ten whole minutes.

I suppose it's a success that I snuck in a nap. Since I upped my meds, I'm feeling a bit more like myself, but I'm still struggling to get the rest I truly need...so napping is good. I snoozed with the Monkey, which is always a treat.

I sat in the kitchen with My Darling this evening. We ate nearly alone, after the kids inhaled their supper and scooted down to play in the basement. It was almost a date--and it was only interruped three or four times. And we only had to tell the interlopers to leave five or six times before they got the hint.

When I was hungry today, I reached for actually healthy food, rather than just plain empty calories. Empty calories are so delicious........Nutty Bars are my heroin, for Pete's sake. But they are really helping to "Widen My Assets," if you catch my drift. And I think you do. I'd rather not widen anymore, thankyouverymuch.

And so, my final success is a bit of a pre-success--perhaps more of a statement. I hereby endeavor to use the exercise equipment I have here in my home. I have some little hand weights, resistance bands, yoga block dealios (um, the lumbar pad of which currently resides in my seat in the van....), and an exercise ball (which was bought for use in labor--which definitely counts as exercise!). You know, this whole statement feels vaguely familiar. I'll have to check back through my old stuff to see if I've made this particular statement before................

There are lots of other people here celebrating their successes today.....what are yours?

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Please continue to pray for AJ and Sarah. Their news today was not as good as they were hoping for. Please pray for strength, peace and grace to carry the Cross He has seen fit to bless them with.

Prayer Request

2009-11-05T00:06:00.001-06:00

Would you please keep my friend AJ and his lovely bride Sarah in your prayers? It would mean the world to them. Any time at Adoration, any Masses, any mortifications, any Rosaries--any and all, however the Holy Spirit moves your heart would be fantastic.

Small Success Thursday

2009-10-29T17:23:00.003-05:00

Well, well, well. Here we are again at another Thursday, and looking back at the week, I have some small things to celebrate. So, here we go, folks!

1. I have managed to assist My Darling in the priming and painting of the Family Closet portion of the Addition. Photos shall be forthcoming.

2. Last night at Messiah Rehearsal, I was able to correctly sing a few trouble spots without letting them get the best of me--a good thing, since we only have one more rehearsal before we meet up with the orchestra. It's fish or cut bait!

3. I spoke with my doctor and increased the dose of my medication, which I've been needing to do. She totally understood when I explained that I can talk to my other Mom friends 'til the cows come home about it, but when it came to actually picking up the phone, it seemed to become a poisonous cactus. At any rate, it's done, and I'm feeling much the better for it.

4. I managed to resist the siren call of the Dr. Pepper that's nice and cold and fizzy and delicious and a mere 30 or so steps away. Sleep is more important. And caffeine is bad for the singing voice, too. And Heaven knows I have some singing to do.

There are other folks celebrating their everyday triumphs here as well. What are you thankful for this week?

Two down....

2009-10-28T23:04:00.002-05:00

The Pudge has fully recovered, thanks be to God, from her bout with the flu. It's totally up in the air as to whether or not she had the Bonafide H1N1 Swine Flu--after all, with the empirical treatment and complete lack of testing, it seems to me there's a whole lot of assumption going on. Better safe than sorry? Always. I guess we'll just be glad that it wasn't terribly awful, that there were no complications for my dear little Pudge, and that no one else in our family became ill. Praise God for all blessings, great and small!

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This is one of the heaviest weeks, musically, that I've had in a long time. It's not Holy Week, and it's not Christmastide, but this week takes the cake for Most Musically Stressful Week of Ordinary Time by a ~~head~~ full length.

Here's why: Last night, I had choir rehearsal with our Diocesan Choir. Tonight I had rehearsal with the Messiah Choir. Tomorrow night, I have rehearsal again with the Diocesan Choir. Sunday, I cantor at Mass. And then Sunday afternoon, the Diocesan Choir is partnering with a Lutheran choir for a Vespers service to commemorate All Saints Day.

Lutherans, for Pete's sake! Nothing against Lutherans, mind you--some of my dearest and oldest friendships are with faithful Lutherans. But the piece we're singing as a joint choir is not at all something which would be chosen, liturgically speaking, for use in a Catholic choir. It's something quite out of our usual repertoire, and has consumed many chunks of rehearsal time. It's gorgeous, really, with a lush and rather romantic sound to it. But we're frankly just coming into feeling at ease with it, I think. Good thing we have another rehearsal tomorrow night to polish it a bit more.

I'm afraid my voice this evening, upon return home from my second rehearsal in a row, is a little worse for wear. I am banking on my cup of Lady Grey and two full days of rest to restore it, that I may worthily and properly sing the Psalm on Sunday. It's so humbling to be part of the liturgy, to lead the faithful in singing the Psalms of King David. David! He who slew the great giant with a pebble, who led the people of God when the Ark of the Covenant was finally returned once again, who penned the Psalms to the Lord and sang to Him amidst the sheep of his family. And how could I ever be worthy, really, to proclaim the Psalms?

Of course, the answer lies in Grace and Grace alone. My voice should never be heard apart from the Holy Spirit raising it. He has called me to this ministry, and I must answer in obedience.

Must Post

2009-10-23T10:28:00.003-05:00

Has anyone seen this movie? My thanks to Monstrous Regiment for posting this trailer. Looks fantastic.

Mother Teresa Movie Trailer @ Yahoo!7 Video

A Little Something New

2009-10-22T18:01:00.003-05:00

I've been seeing this on some other Catholic Blogs, and I like the idea. The whole "Small Success Thursday" thing seems like a worthy way to inject the late-middle of the week with a little pick-me-up.

So, without further ado, my Small Success This Week:

1. I've managed to keep my sanity amid the Swine Flu. (Saying it like that, and adding it to some sort of "official" list makes it sound more like the black plague the media's making it out to be!)

2. I've done, folded and PUT AWAY around 25 loads of laundry. And it's only Thursday!

3. When grocery shopping last night with My Darling, I kept our cart to my list. Really, this should go on another list which includes considerations for national awards, but I'll keep it here in an effort to stay humble. ;)

Want more inspiration? Check the efforts other folks have put forth here.

What successes have you had this week?

Ok, all right.......I can't avoid it any longer.

2009-10-22T13:51:00.003-05:00

There's just way too much great political-parody stuff out there that MUST be posted. We all need a good laugh! Enjoy this:

Many thanks to The Crescat for being the first place I saw this gem.

Pudgy Little Update

2009-10-21T23:19:00.004-05:00

So here's the scoop:

The fever remains gone. Adios and good riddance! The cough, however, remains. We've given it the eviction notice, but it takes it about as well as my old nemesis the Nausea Bug did. In other words, it's still here.

But the fever is gone, which is what counts, for Pete's sake.

So now we just pray that the fever stays far, far away from the Little Pudge, and that the cough packs up and leaves soon.

Swine flu, begone!!

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This sleeping at odd hours during the day and sleeping for beans at night is for the birds. Really. But it's done a couple of interesting things. First of all, the big kids have been working on their own school projects. They're deeply involved in engineering their own building design, utilizing a spiffy architecture set that My Darling brought home. And the girls are writing stories, in which they are required to use proper sentence structure, punctuation, handwriting and spelling.

I love homeschooling!

The Monkey, who shall shortly be re-named the Squash, has been learning the finer points of mudding drywall. He has a small spatula tool (I'm told it's a knife, but I do not let my children play with knives, for Pete's sake!) with which he slathers the stuff on, creating all manner of interesting sculptures on the wall. Now, he knows that these will all be sanded down to nothing when they dry, but he goes on about his business with the happy heart of a three-year-old boy. Perhaps we could all take a lesson from the joy of a small child.

The Pudge, despite her cough, is back to her delightfully funny little self, thanks be to God. She has been exploring language of late, and we're beginning to be able to relate her words for things to the things she's naming. She has a name for the Frog that is pretty close to her actual name. And to her beloved Daddy, she coos, "Daddoo.....Daddoo...." It melts him like so many chocolate chips in a double boiler!

I realized yesterday that we passed Monday with hardly a glance--but on Monday, my little Pudgy Bug was Eleven Months Old. We are now in the countdown to Birthday Number One. I shudder to acknowledge that she is growing up so fast, but I suppose they all do, then, don't they?

Even she knows how BIG she is!!

Dreaming with her eyes open

2009-10-18T23:59:00.003-05:00

She's on my lap, my little Pudgy Bug. She's snoring, which I ordinarily find quirky and cute, but tonight would rather not hear.

She's more congested than she was the other day, and her cough is awful. But the fever is gone, for the most part, and we pray it stays gone, for Pete's sake. The danger of pneumonia as a complication is at the ~~back of my mind~~ top of my forehead. Saint Rapheal the Healer, pray for my baby. Saint Luke the Physician, pray for my baby.

I've had such encouraging news from many friends recently--marriages being strengthened and healed, families settling into new homes far away, healthy children being born into loving families...

In the beloved style of Fr. Z., tell me some of your good news. And for Pete's sake, please keep praying.

Well, if you're going to be up in the middle of the night..........

2009-10-17T01:17:00.004-05:00

The clock in the corner of my screen reads 1:17 AM. There are two sleepers next to me: My Darling on my left and the Pudge on my right. I'm up anyway, listening to my baby breathe, so I figured I might as well update my humble home on the web.

What a day.

What a few days.

On Wednesday, the Pudge was a little run down--just a little fussy, a little stuffy-sounding, but no cough or dripping or anything. Ah, well, I thought, she's a baby. Sometimes babies are fussy.

By around midnight, she was starting to spike a temp. We gave her Motrin (not a product plug--it's just what we happened to have on hand) and she fell into a fitful sleep. I fell into a fitful non-sleep, as mothers are wont to do when their little ones are under the weather. The last time I looked at the clock was 3:45.

Thursday was a tough day. She was even fussier, and I was giving her Motrin throughout the day to keep her temp down. When it works, it works well; she resumed playing happily, babbling at her siblings and being adorable as usual.

But last night, everything changed. Last night, her breathing became labored. Her fever didn't respond as well to the Motrin. She went from being ok to being just plain sick. We ended up giving her a tepid bath at 1:30 in the morning to help her body cool down enough to get her the rest she needs. And even then, it was fitful for her and worse for me. I didn't close my eyes until around 5:00. My Darling took the Pudge downstairs with him and snuggled her on the couch. Being upright seemed to help her breathe better.

I put in a call to our doctor. My Darling, knowing that there was no way I was good for much of anything, took the day off from work, intending to go to his second job this evening.

When the doctor called back at around lunch time, I described to her what was going on with my Pudge. I told her that she has a fever, and how when she breathes hard, like when she's crying, her ribs can be seen because of the skin sucking in around them. She didn't need long to say, "You need to take her in. We don't have x-ray equipment up here, so just head to urgent care. She needs chest x-rays."

Oh, that is not what I wanted to hear. I wanted to hear, "She probably just has a cold. She'll be fine."

We headed to town with our dear one. She was so brave and good. We got to the hospital, and found ourselves donning those ridiculous masks. She would not keep hers on, and she was already miserable enough without me making her wear something over her little face. Then we sat in a room and waited. And waited. And held her through a throat swab and rectal temp, and then waited some more. Finally, we were taken to radiology for x-rays.

Her chest x-rays were torturous. The first one went ok, I thought, but then she was crying and crying...and with her breathing the way it is now, her cry is a raspy grunt barely louder than a whisper. The tech, whom I knew in high school, was kind enough to let me wear the heavy lead apron and hold my baby so that they could get the films they needed.

We waited some more, and received the good news that the x-rays look good--no pneumonia, thanks be to God. The strep culture came back clear, so no strep, either.

But they are no longer running the tests for H1N1. It's too expensive (around $300), and takes so long that by the time the results come in, the patient is either recovered or being treated in the hospital for complications. So they are now doing what they call "empirical treatment," which means that with certain symptoms, they run less expensive, faster tests, and then treat for H1N1.

My baby has the swine flu.

We're keeping a very close watch on her breathing, because if it doesn't improve, we'll have to go back in for more x-rays, and possible admission. So many people are already praying like mad for my little Pudgy Bug, and we're hopeful that it won't come to that. For the first time in recent memory, our family will not be going to Mass. I hate thinking it, I hate writing it...but it is the prudent thing to do. In a parish with lots of pregnant Mamas and elderly people, we don't want to put anyone else at risk. And My Darling did not go to his second job this evening.

The clock now reads 1:35. I'm sure I'll be up for quite a while yet, watching my baby breathe.

Quiet? Here??

2009-10-08T13:53:00.005-05:00

You must be kidding. It's not quiet here. It can't be quiet here. I have four extra children entrusted to my care, running from one end of the house to the other, chasing the dogs, testing the limits, and otherwise having a rousing good time. But believe it or not, it is actually rather quiet at this very moment.

These four children are the middle four of dear friends of ours who are currently traveling in Europe (they have the baby and the eldest with them). They were blessed to attend the ordination to the transitional deaconate for two of our diocesan seminarians in Rome on Tuesday, and, God willing, shall return home on Saturday. Other families have taken turns caring for the kids, and beginning yesterday, they are here for the last leg.

Here's what I love: I love that there is someone for everyone in my family to play with. I love that this family disciplines much the same way we do, so there is no guessing on their part--or on mine. I love that these parents have taught their children to respect adults, whether in their family or not. I love that even though there are NINE CHILDREN in this house at this very moment, three of them are sleeping, and the other six are in the basement making up plays and messing around with legos. I love that when I led the kids in the Angelus at lunchtime, everyone knew the prayers, and said them. I love that when we sat down for the Rosary last night, everyone settled in and prayed along.

I love thinking that someday down the road, when I say that there are nine children in this house, they might all be my children. :) Just sayin'.

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Since my last post, I have had yet another trip to the dentist. If I really tried, I could count them all up since July, but that will have to wait. This last trip was for the permanent crown on the lower right side. Now I have two. Two crowns ought to make me a double queen.....? Does that mean something special in a game of checkers or chess? Does it mean someone else will come in and do my laundry and mop my kitchen floor? No? Rats.

Ok. So the first trip was just a consult. The second was for a root canal. Then another root canal. Then some fillings and a temporary crown. Then more fillings and another temp. Then a permanent. Then a cleaning, and later that day Tooth Number Seven left the building. Then the current permanent. So that makes.....9 visits since July 1st. That's got to be some kind of record. It also means a whole lot of really (no, I mean it) great reflection time. And some really great nitrous oxide.

The next visit will be in December....and it will be the beginning of the end, for Pete's sake. On the next visit, which will be hours long, I will have a partial done which will cover teeth numbers six through nine, with a "dummy tooth" in place for number seven. Then they'll crown over two other front teeth to make them all nice and straight and pretty.

I've only wanted this done since I was ten years old. What's 25 years in the grand scheme?

My girls went to have their teeth cleaned this morning, and Reepicheep came back with a referral for the orthodontist. I love that our insurance will cover her braces.....I also love that when Pickle goes on Monday and brings home his referral, insurance will cover his, too.

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Here's hoping everything continues smoothly with our extra kiddos. Please keep their parents and their other traveling companions in your prayers for a safe return home to their family.

Ode to Tooth Number Seven

2009-09-30T13:56:00.004-05:00

I had an adventure at the dentist yesterday.

Ok, really, I had a tooth extracted yesterday. Only it really wasn't a tooth anymore, it was a "root tip." That's what they call the thing that remains where a tooth has broken off.

Broken. Off.

This tooth, Tooth Number Seven, was the bane of my existence for a very long time. It grew in horribly crooked some twenty-five years ago, and my parents never thought it was enough of a concern to correct. I longed for braces--not just to straighten out my tooth for aesthetic reasons, though that was certainly a huge factor in my own motivation. It also caused me no end of pain, for Pete's sake. Bump the lip? Cut the lip. And suffer the wrath of the ever-present canker sore. Seriously, if I slept wrong, I'd end up with a canker sore.

It was impossible to floss around, being so tightly wedged against its neighbors as to disallow the floss, even the really thin kind, to swipe between them. This meant that despite frequent brushing it fell into rapid decay once the cavity began. I had it filled and re-filled, but the fillings never really sat well...and eventually the thing broke off.

Broke. Off.

In a cheeseburger.

A McDonald's cheeseburger, no less. With no pickles. I don't like pickles.

You know, filling enough to stave off rabid hunger, but soft enough to cushion the head of a sleepy toddler.

In other words, nothing requiring much chewing.

This occurred at the beginning of June, and yesterday, I had the resultant "root tip" removed. Sitting in the chair, sucking like mad on the stream of nitrous oxide, I remember thinking absolutely clear, lucid thoughts. One of them was this: why is it that when that gas hits your brain, you can think clear thoughts but cannot speak clear words? Some things are a bit funnier, yes, but for Pete's sake, why can't I tell these people about the things I'm thinking? It's as if physical actions will only go in slow motion where your voice is concerned, and your lips have turned to inflated rubber raft sides flapping uncontrollably in the wind. But in my mind, I was thinking about blog entries, soup recipes, thing on my t-do list (which certainly must extend from here to the moon) and every-day, ordinary things--and all at average speed.

Despite the inability to speak while gassed, I had not a care in the physical world. Where normally I would have stiffened a bit at the jabs which delivered the numbing medication into my gums and the roof of my mouth, I just sat there and thought about how many cans of red beans I need for minestrone soup. And instead of balking at the idea of someone taking hold of something firmly implanted into my jaw, I wondered if I should make stroganoff again soon or think of something else to fit into the menu. At the end of it all, I discovered that I now display a gaping hole in the space where Tooth Number Seven used to comfortably (or not-so-comfortably) ~~protrude~~ reside. My gums and jaw are a bit tender, but my lip rejoices in its delicious freedom of movement, delighting in the soft friend it's found in the space the tooth left behind.

I must confess, I almost like going to the dentist. This is probably because the people in the office we now patronize are kind and have an excellent rapport, both among themselves, but also with their patients. It's a clean, homey place, and the radio station piped into the treatment rooms is versatile and kept at a low volume. What's not to love? Besides that, they are compassionate, never once uttering phrases which used to ramp up my anxiety--things like, "Boy, do you ever brush your teeth?" (Of course I do.) And, "Haven't you ever thought of braces?" (Daily, since I was ten.) And, "Why don't you come to the dentist more often?" (Um, because you people make me feel sad and inadequate.)

My present dentist and his assistant (who really should be called something more like Guardian Angel, for Pete's sake) are fabulous. They get on so well together, have a delightful banter with each other, and have treated me with compassion and dignity, which I so greatly appreciate. It's terribly important, because I've been spending a lot of time there since my first appointment in July. I've had two root canals (done at another office, but the complements extend to them as well), two temporary crowns, with the second permanent scheduled to be placed next Tuesday, lots of fillings, with a few more scheduled in a couple of weeks, a cleaning, and when the vacancy left by Tooth Number Seven heals, I will be having a partial done which will cover five teeth and make me have a nice, pretty, straight smile.

I have also found that the long appointments afford an excellent time for interior prayer. With your mouth open and capable hands working therein, what else can you really do? There are only so many ceiling tiles to be counted, only so many times you can look for the hidden deer in the wildlife art, and since you already know the settings on the x-ray machine, you might as well throw in a bit of prayer here and there. I've offered Rosaries, prayed to my dentist's (and his assistant's) guardian angel, prayed for those who cannot afford dental care (which really counts me, but my Mother-In-Law is an angel herself!), for those who need far more dental work than I do, and so on. It's wonderful.

When was the last time you were blessed by a trip to the dentist?

....And that one goes in the "keep" file.

2009-09-28T23:40:00.005-05:00

It's blustery. Like that cute song that Winnie-the-Pooh sings in the classic movie, "It looks like a rather blustery day to-day." Even though it's not Wednesday, it was definitely a Winds-day here.

The Frog had her first Confirmation class last night. There were about 20 kids there, all on fire in their hearts in love with Our Lord, and it was a beautiful thing to behold. The not-so-beautiful part was the onset of this front. There we were, kneeling in the darkened nave, the scent of incense hanging in the air from the morning's Mass. The silence was such a treasure--no squawking babies to be taken out into the Narthex, no shuffling of hymnals. We moms waited together for our kids to come join us, and together we prayed the Litany of the Holy Spirit.

We were deep in reverent prayer, our voices melding together praising Our Lord. It was beautiful. And then the wind came.

Oh my goodness. The church shuddered. Hail pounded against the ancient stained glass windows, as if to crash in on top of us. I was certain that we were doomed to rise directly into the heavens, for Pete's sake. (I do not like wind. At all. Ever. Not even to fly a kite. Perhaps to ruffle the curtains at my kitchen window, or sift through my baby's hair, but that's it.)

The wind carried through to today. All day, it howled outside, truly bringing down the leaves and dropping the temperature like a stone. The prelude to this front has taken the better part of a week, and has left me and the Frog with mega-headaches. She was adjusted this morning and this afternoon, and it still persists.

I shall gladly shoulder my suffering and pray for an end to hers.

This cold, blustery weather called for soup.

Ah, soup! That comfort of all foods, capable of warming a home, a body and a spirit all in one fell-swoop! I relish the preparation, I delight in the simmering, and I just plain lurve to eat the stuff.

Today's soup was potato. I've been craving it for a few days now, and have been mulling over a recipe in my mind. I checked a cookbook for the basic make-up, but then flew on my own from the bland concoction listed by Better Homes and Gardens, who insist that water, chicken stock, milk, butter, potatoes, salt and pepper make a good soup. Perhaps a good base, but to call such simplicity soup??!! I think not.

So here's what I did.

Roughly 3 quarts chicken stock
Roughly 1 cup whole milk (I would have used cream, but wouldn't have had enough for my morning coffee, which is a requirement, for Pete's sake!)
1 tbsp butter
1 tsp Blessed salt
1 tsp freshly ground sea salt
1 tsp freshly ground black pepper
6 cups red potatoes, scrubbed and diced
1/2 pound fresh breakfast sausage, cooked and drained
2 large cloves garlic, minced
3 large carrots, peeled and diced
1 large onion, diced
1 tbsp extra virgin olive oil

I combined the stock, milk, butter, salt and pepper. I let it heat to a boil while I prepared the potatoes, and then plopped them into the pot, along with the sausage. The garlic, onion and carrots were sauteed in the olive oil, until the onions were translucent and the carrots were tender. It was lovely. All the while, I kept an eye on the simmering pot. I admit, it did boil over once, but it was while I feverishly chopped carrots. And the worst I said was, "Rats!" I promise.

After they were cooked, I added the veggies to the soup and let the whole thing mingle about while the Frog made those delicious crescent rolls that are so cheating! but soooooooooo good....especially when baked on a stone and dipped into homemade soup.

This recipe goes directly into the "keep" file.

The New Element

2009-09-26T23:31:00.002-05:00

Now that I look at that title, I realize it makes this post sound very scientific: "Attention everyone, your author has discovered a new element. Prepare to modify your Periodic Tables."

No, really, I am so not science savvy. It's just a new element here on my humble WebHome.

Scroll to the bottom to see it.

All the way. To the bottom of the page.

It's cute.

The Herald

2009-09-22T15:12:00.004-05:00

The Lord saw fit to herald in the first day of Fall--according to the calendar--with a steady, gentle rain. Though the forecast called for a high of near 80, the mercury has yet to reach 60 degrees.

The smell of brownies warms the air this afternoon, and the Frog, the Pickle and the Reepicheep are settled on the living room floor with the Scrabble board. The Pudgy Bug snoozes on the couch.

I've just come from the bedroom, where the Monkey sleeps on his daddy's pillow. I couldn't help but just stare at him and reflect on the beauty of my little son.

His brow is smooth, but damp and warm with sleep. The delicate veins which cover his eyelids like lacework hint at the vibrant life flowing through them. His ears are so intricate, so perfect. I wondered to myself, could I draw this? Could I ever get it right? Would I be able to shade it, to color it properly, so that it looked even close, for Pete's sake? Of course not. Only the Lord could do something such as this.

His right hand settles around his favorite Bunny, the first two fingers barely resting against his lip. His left hand is curled gently, completely relaxed.

My heart pondered: My Lord, You were once this small. Your Mama kissed your brow, your cheeks as you slept and marveled at your beauty. Your hands were soft and clutched her skirt as she kept Your home a place of serenity, holiness, warmth.

What an inspiring way to begin a new season....

2009-09-18T23:48:00.002-05:00

I'm growing each year to appreciate the fall more and more. Driving on the country road, I pass corn, soybeans, and winter wheat. The corn has begun to wither on the stalks, fading to a sandy brown. The soybeans meld from green to gold, the mottled colors running together like a watercolor painting. The winter wheat is the only thing which does not change.

We have a huge honey locust tree in the back yard. All summer long, its leaves give shade and cover to the east side of the yard. The leaves are tiny, grouped on stems together. They are smaller than the petals of my sunflowers. In the fall, the leaves turn a brilliant yellow, and flutter to the grass, flitting on their way down. The shadows cast through my kitchen windows and onto the bamboo wood floors each morning are enchanting.

As the air cools and dries, the windows stay open all day. In the summertime, they are open only in the mornings and evenings, and closed to the humid heat through the afternoon. But today, the fresh air wafted through the house all day long, bringing the bird song in with it.

I rearranged the kitchen this afternoon. Since the washer and dryer made their way upstairs into the new laundry room, and the walls of the old were torn apart to access the plumbing, the kitchen had become something of a catch-all (as though I needed another one of those, thankyouverymuch), and was starting to make me a little nuts. Not only that, but the old laundry room is now far larger, thanks to My Darling flooring over the old basement stairs (since we now have the new basement stairs) and taking out the walls which enclosed it. It's 81 square feet, for Pete's sake. Eventually the wall separating that room and the kitchen will come down...but that's not exactly on the top of the priority list. I've been trying to figure out a way to make it a little more welcoming, since it's the first room one enters when coming in through the back door. I moved a large shelving unit from the kitchen into the Room-Formerly-Known-As-The-Laundry-Room (and now I have no idea what to call it, for Pete's sake!). It holds a gigantic plant and all of my food storage containers, canning supplies, and stock pots. My kitchen now looks humongous. I mean, it really looks like we could have a much bigger table and have five or six more kids sitting around it.

Just sayin'.

Good thing we have five more seats in the van.

Harkening

2009-09-15T00:11:00.004-05:00

A post over at Fr. Z's blog has a discussion about baptismal rites in the com box. I had to mention my Little Pudgy Bug's baptism, and remembered that I longed to share photos back then.

Perhaps it's time to try again.

The water is poured:

Receive the Light of Christ:

We all posed afterward:

And then she talked with Monsignor! (I love the expression on his face...)

My original post tells the better story.

Little Girl

2009-09-14T10:51:00.002-05:00

My friend is going through something that has broken her heart. I can't take this burden on for her, but I can give her small words of hope and encouragement as I find them. My spiritual reading lately has brought me back to Bishop Sheen. I found a wonderful book of his quotes (at a second hand store--for 99 cents!) which has become more and more worn as I page through it each night. I have been blessed to pray for my friend and the cross she finds herself carrying while I meditate on these truths.

And then there's this.

I've always found it far easier to relate to others through music, and this situation is no different....so this post is for you, H.

Crescat Poll

2009-09-05T14:59:00.001-05:00

The Crescat has a poll running. Since I don't generally post things political, I'll just direct my faithful readers over there. Go vote!!

Allergy Season

2009-09-04T12:18:00.004-05:00

The annual crop of ragweed has been spewing it's pollen into the late summer air, and my sinuses have been greedily ingesting all they can.

It's allergy season in the Midwest, big time.

Every afternoon, all year long, we have Quiet Time in this house. The Frog, the Pickle, and the Reepicheep are all expected to find something which will occupy their time until the little ones finish their snoozes. They can color, write, read, paint, knit, make collages, play with legos--whatever--as long as it does not involve conversation. I do permit the use of their MP3 players (the little $10 versions which store music, and do not do anything fancy like take pictures or show videos...), and if it's kept to a volume which cannot be heard past a closed door, I allow the Frog to listen to the local Christian radio station.

Last Thursday during Quiet Time, I really needed to snooze with the Monkey and the Bug. I'd been to the dentist in the morning and had a choir rehearsal in the evening, and I was feeling a bit under the weather. Following lunch, the big kids chose their afternoon activities (we had just hit the library, so there wasn't too much else they wanted to do besides grab one of their new books anyway), and the Bug, the Monkey and I settled into the Big Bed to snuggle and snooze.

I slept like a rock. That doesn't happen a lot. Ever since becoming a Mama, there have been fewer than a dozen times when my head has hit the pillow and I've slept so soundly that I am completely unaware of the goings on of the household. Usually, I am in a perpetual state of awakeness. If a feather floats to the floor, I know about it. If a mouse drops a crumb, I sense it. If one of my children blinks, I hear their eyelashes brush their cheeks. Thursday, though, was one of those days when I was so completely unconscious that I didn't even hear My Darling come home from work.

When I woke up from my nap, someone had already come and plucked my happily cooing Pudgy Bug from her little nest beside me. The Monkey was downstairs messing around with blocks. And my head pretty nearly burst from the pressure therein.

Good grief. Holy cats and marbles. I was so plugged up I could hear virtually nothing, and though I could breathe through my nose just fine, there was enough pressure in my sinuses to burst a fire hose. I could actually see the swelling in my face. My eyes watered enough to fill a rain barrel.

It's very interesting to sing in a choir rehearsal when you cannot hear those around you. I can feel in my voice whether or not I am in tune if I'm singing alone. To be able to blend and tune to others, though, generally requires a careful ear. Rats. The ladies on either side of me said I sounded fine. I trust their honesty, because even if I had sounded like an alley cat, I would have been entirely unaware.

Saturday morning, I peeked at the clock at a little past six. I thought, surely I can sleep in a little. I closed my eyes and drifted back into another sound sleep, only to reawaken at 10:30! Good gravy! I slogged downstairs, where My Darling took one look at me and said, "Oh for Pete's sake, you look absolutely miserable. Get back to bed." Sometimes, I have absolutely no trouble at all with obedience. ;)

My fever hovered around 101.5 all day. I tried to read a few times, but each page I managed to turn felt as though it weighed as much as a Mack truck. My eyes felt heavy and sticky. My lids pulled toward my cheeks with every word I tried to comprehend. I pretty much slept the day away.

Sunday, I was to cantor at Mass. I did, too. There are times when I stand behind the ambo and hear something come from my mouth, not knowing at all how it got there. The Holy Spirit uses my voice to proclaim the Psalms, and many times I am greatly surprised by what I hear. On Sunday, I sniffed my way through the Mass, and was so stuffed up I could barely hear myself pray through the petitions. But when I opened up to sing, there was the Holy Spirit, carrying my voice. I love that He does that. It's another reminder that I can do nothing at all without My Lord.

I am beginning to recover this week. I think. I'm less stuffed up than I was over the weekend. Now if this pesky cough would just go away...

Metaphor Monday

2009-08-24T15:30:00.004-05:00

What if we lived the way she does?

Explored each thing as though for the first time...

Peered intently into the depths of the sand...

Looked not just with eyes, but also with heart...

And felt everything as though with a baby's hand?

How much more would we see, would we love, if we opened our eyes wide like hers?

Or if once in a while we would just look down, would we love where we are in the world?

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Sometimes, I just know I'm being tapped on the shoulder. I believe that God loves me enough to talk just to me from time to time. Slow down, he says, and look at all that I have made. Soak in the beauty. Remember that I created everything, and that I proclaimed it all to be good.

Humankind was created for His pleasure and delight. But what wonders are around us that He created for our delight?

Like this

and this

and these

and this

Find your childlike faith. Look with the eyes of your heart, and see that He makes all things new.

Wrapping it up

2009-08-22T10:59:00.003-05:00

The week, that is.

Last weekend, I had two of our precious Godchildren with me here while My Darling assisted Mama Midwife and her husband and assorted others move their earthly possessions ~~to the other side of the planet~~ about 45 minutes north of here. We all ended up there for supper, and then the Frog and the Pudgy Bug and I stayed with Mama Midwife while her husband gave some of the help a ride home. I continue to wallow in my denial of the fact that I no longer have a geographical neighbor who can come over on a moment's notice for a cup of delicious tea and help me finish salvaging the day's crossword. Good thing we live in the age of technology, so we can do those things over the phone.

Still. It's just not the same. She should move back.

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Sunday was such a beautiful inspiration! Our family volunteered for our diocesan celebration for couples observing their 50th year of married life together. My Darling and I will be celebrating 12 years of marriage tomorrow, so these folks are definitely heroes to us!

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The rehearsals for this choir are trotting along at a pace. I've found that it's best to prepare myself mentally before heading in to the choir room. It's just really intense--you know those days where by bed time you feel like it's been an entire week since the day began? Yeah. Like that. Only musically. Again with that whole music nerd thing. But the totally cool thing is that our rehearsal director can give us a 7- or 8-note example of what he doesn't want, followed by what he does want, and the entire choir just does it. It's the way a choir should work, and it's absolutely mind-blowing. I lurve it.

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I discovered an awesome blog, written by some very knowledgeable fellow from Madison, WI, having to do with all things Liturgical. Great for the GIRM nerd who wants some good, relevant reading, and excellent ideas for music, general intercessions, understanding anything to do with the Church and why we do what we do liturgically. Give him a read. I hear he's a superb musician, as well.

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And now for the best part of my week.

Last night, as we settled down for our Rosary, I was feeling a bit ruffled. The evening was one full of domestic challenges, minor squabbles, small bits of disrespect, and general family life late on a Friday evening. I was at that point of just wanting the kids in bed so I could catch up on some reading or something--I was looking toward morning with the hope of things being better...or as He tells us in His Word, "His graces are new every morning." I love that promise.

BUT. (Always with the "but".)

In the book I finished reading not long ago, Death on a Friday Afternoon, by Fr. Richard Neuhaus, we are admonished, "Don't rush to the joy of Easter!" In other words, to some extent, savor the suffering. Be with Our Lord in His suffering by not rushing through our own. Find Him in the small moments of frustration just as we seek Him in greater earthly sufferings. (A decent review of this wonderful book is here; another, more in-depth can be found here.)

So I sat on the couch with my Monkey in my lap, his plastic Rosary clutched in his little fist, his head leaning back against my shoulder. The Pickle and the Reepicheep curled up with their blankets in their customary spots, and the Frog held the Pudgy Bug close.

I held my Rosary stretched between my hands, to show the Monkey how it goes. We've been encouraging the kids to each lead "their" decade. Always, we go through the children, asking them what the Mysteries are for the day: "Frog, what's the first Luminous Mystery?" "Reepicheep, what's the third Joyful Mystery?" -And so on. So this week, I've been asking them what the mystery is, and then, "Would you please lead the decade?"

My Darling holds the Pudgy Bug and leads us in the Rosary. Months ago, mind you. The Pudge is far pudgier now.

Last night, though, I was leading, because I just wanted to immerse myself in the prayers, meditating on Him, and be more interior than having to monitor the kids. Sinful, I know. But there it is. As we came to the third Sorrowful Mystery (the crowning with thorns), I said to the Monkey, "Now we pray the Our Father, because there is a bead here all by itself." He pinched the bead between his little fingers, and began, "Our Father, Who art in heaven..." (Except that in his little toothless way, he says, "Our Fazzer..."--like he's German, but without too much accent...terribly adorable...). I hadn't asked him; it was completely unprompted.

Now, just the other night, it had been next to impossible to get him to even pray out loud, much less lead anything. But here he was, leading first the Our Father, and then the entire decade of Hail Marys. We came to the fourth Sorrowful Mystery, Our Lord carries His Cross, and he did it again. He led the decade.

And then the fifth Sorrowful Mystery, the crucifixion and death of Our Lord. And he led that, too.

I was dissolved into tears. I was a pile of mushy heart. I was laid bare by a three-year-old dear boy.

You know, sometimes, if you wait just long enough, being with Him in your suffering, He shows you His mercy and love in such concrete ways that you can't not be aware of His presence.

Thanks be to God.

Wordless Wednesday: Applesauce

2009-08-19T12:28:00.003-05:00