Imaginary Friends

"Gina is my little girl."

Gina is the first and foremost among Bella's coterie of imaginary friends. She's Bella's daughter and appeared at about the time when Ben was born. Bella told stories of being in the hospital for Gina's delivery. Sometimes Gina is a dol. Other times she seems to be in invisible person only Bella can see. Bella does not insist that we talk to or interact with Gina.

Gina sometimes has a brother or a sister but they remain nameless.

Then there are names that we don't really get much information about. They just appear in her chatter about her day.

Ayrie is one that has come up again and again. At first I thought she was saying 'Ellie'-- she's not very good with R. But she corrected my corrected pronunciation and was only happy when I echoed her pronunciation: Ayrie. It's always 'My friend Ayrie," so definitely not in the 'Gina' category.

Kellin is a name that came up for the first time last week. Also a friend. I have no idea where she gets these names but I'm fascinated. She was very clear that it wasn't Karen (my first attempt to understand what she was saying) or Kevin. No, it was Kellin.

Ann is an interesting one. Bella has a strong attachment to Dom's sweet co-worker, Anna. But her imaginary friend is just plain Ann. (I don't know if it's Anne with an E or not; but I rather think not.)

I'm rather sad that we no longer play with Pooh and Piglet and the others. I miss the old gang. But they are gone back to their storybook land. Now 'Pooh' is just Sophie's generic name for any teddy bear.

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Day in Photos

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Picture Books: Library Picks

Hey, what a coincidence! I was just finishing up a post about our favorite books from the library this week, when I realized that Sarah at This Heavenly Life is hosting a What We Found at the Library meme. Perfect timing, Sarah. (By the way, doesn't she have the sweetest girls? I love reading her stories, so funny. And so much like my Bella and Sophie.)

I'm not going to follow Sarah's lead and tell you that one of these is my favorite, one is Bella's favorite , one is Sophie's favorite. We don't tend to roll that way here. Instead, these are the books that we all have enjoyed together.




Crow Call by Lois Lowry. A sweet story about a girl and her father separated by WWII. They are almost strangers, trying to reknit the severed relationship. It has poignant moments: Daddy doesn't know her favorite food is cherry pie; but he is willing to buy her two slices. They share a laugh at the waitress who thinks the narrator is a little boy. Daddy indulgently buys her a man's hunting shirt and then takes her crow hunting. She is scared by the gun, by the idea of killing. And he is very gentle with her fears, confessing he was afraid during the war but now he is the strong one who feels no fear.

In the end, daddy chooses not to shoot any crows that day. While explaining that they do need to be shot to protect the crops, he is still decide to save the hunting for another day to allow her to enjoy the wild beauty of the crows.

The story is probably a little old for Bella, though she has enjoyed reading it and has asked for it again and again. It would be perfect to accompany a unit study on World War II.

The illustrations, inspired by Wyeth, are stunning. A soft brown palette. Some of the best storytelling using facial expressions I've ever seen in a children's book. The father's and daughter's faces add so much nuance to their relationship, already so very deep in the text. I love the way for example it catches the girl's fear hen she thinks about hunting, the father's humor when he makes a giraffe face.

I heard about this one at my new favorite site Little Lamb Books.



The Napping House by Audrey Wood, illus. by Don Wood

This is a very cute book. It's in the style of The House That Jack Built where each verse builds on the one before as one by one the various characters climb into bed. (There has to be a name for that but for the life of me I can't think of what it is.) The mouse on the cat on the dog on the child on the granny. And then a wakeful flea comes and disrupts the nap. I love the simple text and the way the color palette gradually becomes a little brighter page by page starting with very muted blues as the rain falls outside the house and gradually warming until in the last page all is very vivid and colorful-- sort of the reverse of the gradual dimming of Goodnight Moon. Not exactly a winding down for sleep book. I wouldn't put it at the bottom of the stack. But not bad for the first of several books to be read at bed time. The girls are both very fond of it.


Piggies also by Audrey Wood and Don Wood.

Judging a book by it's cover, I would not think I'd like this one. The illustrations are much too bright and loud. The story gimmick doesn't really grab me. But I have to admit this is a fun book that I enjoy reading to the girls-- and it's not too long which is a plus. Imagine counting fingers, piggies, and having an actual piggy sitting on the tip of each digit. But the ending is what really gets me, when after running amok and playing with the toes, each of the piggies kisses its opposite number goodnight and then the hands folded, go to sleep. This is a good winding down book. Sophie is especially fond but Bella enjoys it too.



Finally, honorable mention goes to The Little Friar Who Flew by Patricia Lee Gauch.

I was excited to see a story about St Joseph of Copertino at our local library. Sophie loves this one and calls it the "Francis" book. I'm not even certain where she knows St Francis from; but no matter how many times I tell her the friar in this book is St Joseph of Copertino, and she repeats after me Jophas; she insists on calling it the Francis book.

It's a cute little bio story that focuses almost exclusively on the saint's levitation. I have to say that after reading it a few times I started to like it a bit less. There isn't really much about God here. In fact the only time God is mentioned is in reference to the statue "that reminded him of the mother of God." Sure, a creative reader can add to the story, explaining that Joseph's joy is from his awareness of the presence of God in creation, that he is not alone not only because of the animal friends and the flowers but also because Jesus is with him, etc. But I think one shouldn't have to add to a book about a saint to make t a good catechetical tool. It should stand on its own and in that regard this story is a bit lackluster. It's not a bad book, there is nothing wrong or untrue. But neither is it a great book.

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Sleep Management

Lately I feel that I'm spending all my waking hours dealing with sleep management, trying to coordinate both nighttime sleep and naps for the three young people in my life. Oh I know that's an exaggeration born of exhaustion and frustration. Nonetheless, I feel like I'm spending far too much time and energy on it. I know what I'm doing isn't working; but I don't know how to fix it. Still, I've decided to dive in and start tweaking here and there to see if I can't get some of the frustrations under control. Or at least reduced to more manageable levels.




The biggest problem is Sophie. Not that I really think of her as a problem. I suppose I should say she's frequently the instigator or catalyst or something that sounds more neutral and less loaded.

The thing is there are frequently times that she can't bear to be apart from me, usually when she's sleepy. And she can't be quiet when she's with me. Every time I seem to have Ben settled, she wakes him up. It wouldn't be so bad except the poor guy seems to have such a hard time getting to sleep and staying asleep. He's got reflux. And frequently gas.

I think Ben's getting to the age that he needs to have more structured naps. A morning nap, an afternoon nap, and perhaps an early evening snooze.



The morning nap is never going to be anything but erratic. I've got to run errands, and given our other schedule constraints, that has to happen in the mornings. On those days when we are out, Ben will have to deal with what he can snatch in the car seat or the sling. It's never more than about half an hour, which according to the sleep experts isn't really enough. Supposedly a nap doesn't 'count' if it's less than an hour. But it's what we can do. And maybe the experts don't know what they're talking about anyway.



crashing on Auntie Tree's lap is, sadly, not always an option when he needs to sleep

The afternoon nap would seem like a much easier proposition. I've already arranged our schedule so that I always plan to be home in the afternoons. I started doing that when Bella was my only child. Bella and Sophie both take afternoon naps. But somehow getting all three kids to sleep has become a complicated dance that takes, literally, hours.





It all starts with lunch. If they don't have a good lunch in them, the girls will not be able to nap. But it is so hard to get them to sit down and eat. Somehow no matter how early I start the lunch process I always hit the 1pm wall with Bella screaming, I'm hungray!!! as I'm trying to herd her into her pull up and toward bed.



And then there is the fact that somehow we've gotten into the pattern that I read to Sophie, put her into her bed and sing her to sleep and then have to give Bella a separate story reading and tucking in. And Ben somehow nurses down for his nap in there sometime. Maybe. If the fates are smiling on me.

Some days it takes so long to get Ben and Bella squared away that I only have five or ten minutes of quiet time to myself before Sophie wakes up from her nap. Some days I've got a sleeping Ben in my arms and have to figure out how to put him down without waking him so that I can go rescue the screaming Sophie when she's ready to get up from her nap.



And then there's bedtime. Ben would love to go to bed at 6:30-7ish. By that time he's rubbing his eyes and getting very cranky. Unfortunately for him, that's dinner time. If Mama has cooking help in the form of Auntie Tree, Mama might be able to nurse him for a bit. But even then there is generally too much chaos for him to be able to be put down for any length of time. Sometimes he gets a snooze on Daddy's knee. But most nights he just suffers along until after Mama has scarfed down enough dinner to kill the worst of the hunger pangs.


this is an old photo from back in october. ben never in the swing anymore. he's too big. so we just retired the swing to the shed

We often eat dinner much later than I'd like. I suppose that's my fault for not being more on the ball, for having tastes that won't be satisfied with pasta and sauce from a jar. In any case usually Sophie is pulling off her clothes and demanding her pajamas before dinner is over. Most evenings buy the time we get her into bed-- between 8 and 9-- she's overtired and cranky. If she hasn't got her second wind.

Recently she developed a new demand. She's been having a hard time going down and wants me to stay in her room singing to her until she falls asleep. Which would be fine with me but Ben is usually needing to be rocked to sleep at that exact same time. It's a choice between which tired child to soothe.



What's really frustrating is that even after I get him put down, Ben wakes up two or three or four times and has to be resettled each time so that I spend most of the time between the girls going to bed and my own bedtime dealing with Ben. Not very conducive to either spending quality time with Dom or getting quiet time to read, write, watch a tv show and otherwise recharge my batteries.

But last week I had a simple idea that has started at least make a few things easier. What if I moved the glider rocker from the office into the girls' room? Sure, it makes the already cluttered room quite crowded. However, I thought it would smooth bedtime considerably if, instead of saying prayers and reading stories in our room and then transferring the girls to their room, we instead do all of that in their room. Then I can nurse and rock Ben while singing Sophie to sleep.



One afternoon last weekend we did just that. Dom moved my rocker into the girls' room and at naptime I sat down and rocked Sophie and read her a story while Ben first played in the crib and then sat beside her on my lap. We read four books and I made sure the last book was Skip to My Loo and then sang and sang until Sophie was starting to nod. I kept singing as I laid her in her bed, making up my own words so that it became a tucking her in song. And then I sat and sang and nursed Ben until Sophie was snoring quietly. At that point Isabella finished in the bathroom and came in and I read her a couple of books while I finished nursing Ben. She opted to sleep in the office instead of in her room. But that was ok with me. I didn't expect everything to change all at once.

And sure enough over the course of the next week as she got used to the new routine she was first convinced to sit quietly in her bed for several days and moved into the office. I gently suggested she stay in her bed but when she insisted she wanted to move I didn't argue.

After a couple of days of that however it finally happened. I was nursing Ben and hoping he'd fall asleep so I told Bella she'd have to wait for her final story. Instead of sitting up reading she lay down. And I nodded off in the quiet while nursing Ben and when I woke up Bella was asleep. Since then I've convinced her to stay in her room after Sophie falls asleep. I play her Tumblewood Lullaby cd very quietly and she reads books and most days has fallen asleep.




We've still had a few napless days, however in general she's going to sleep earlier and waking up earlier and much less cranky. I think the nap thing for the girls at least is well on the way to being solved.



The rocking chair solution has also worked pretty well at bed time. The first night we say prayers and read stories to the girls in their room. And then tucked a sleepy Sophie into her bed and I stayed and rocked Ben and sang until Sophie fell asleep. No more having to choose between my babies! It took a long time to get Ben down and I still haven't solved the problem of how to get him to sleep for more than 45 minutes without needing to be resettled by me. Oh well, small little baby steps. We're getting there.



Some nights when Ben is more restless and has finished nursing, Dom takes him into the office and holds him until he falls asleep. And some nights he goes right out while I'm singing the girls to sleep. A couple of nights he has gone straight to sleep and slept until after I went to bed. (After which he woke every couple of hours; but at least I got my evening to myself.)

I still want to ease him into sleeping better. My dream is that he goes down at night and wakes maybe once. (He seems to have a knack of waking up right when I go to take my shower. Very annoying.) I'd also love it if he slept more solidly after I go to bed. I think there's some further insight I need to discover to get Ben's routine smoothed out. But at least with the girls doing better, especially at nap time, I'm much less frustrated overall than I was two weeks ago when I began drafting this blog post.

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Praying with Children

While rummaging about in my archives I found this piece I wrote before Bella was born about praying the rosary with children. Interesting how my attitudes have not really shifted. I think I'd have written almost the same words today as I did then.

praying with kids

Ian at Musings from a Catholic Bookstore has a great post on praying the rosary with children. And asks a tough question: does this count as prayer?

I posted a response there, but wanted to re-post it here. I've been thinking about the topic of praying with children quite a bit recently. Danielle Bean also had a good post on managing small children at mass and, of course, about to embark on the great adventure that is parenting, Dom and I have talked more than once about the vocation of parenting and about how we want to raise our children in the faith.

We’re still waiting for kid #1 to be born… any day now! But we’ve prayed family rosaries with my husband’s brother’s family (six kids) and his sister’s family (three kids all under age six) and what you describe sounds pretty familiar. While I have a hard time concentrating and don’t find those prayer times particularly helpful for meditation, I think they are in other ways even more valuable than the time I spend praying the rosary by myself or the time spent praying the liturgy of the hours. Praying with children helps me to remember that we are all called to become like children. I remember first that prayer is not primarily about me and how I feel and my state of mind… after all St Therese had years of dry prayer when she was in a dark night of the soul. It seems to me part of a parent’s vocation is to sacrifice some of that feeling of closeness to God in meditative prayer as we live out our vocation to lead our children to Christ. So we don’t get to meditate on the rosary the way we used to, we don’t get to hear the whole homily, we have to leave mass to change a diaper or take a child to the bathroom, or calm a screaming baby… but the thing is in doing all those things we are following God’s call for us to let our children come to him.

And how many times in the gospel does Jesus seek out solitude to pray only to be beseiged by his followers? They always seemed to be able to find him just when he most wanted to have a little peace. But he was always patient with them when they interrupted his personal time with the Father. He never turned them away.

So yeah, I think having the amazing saintly patience to pray with our children, especially when they seem uncontrollable, to take them to mass every week and to teach them about God… That’s what God calls us to do as parents. And that’s what I’m counting on to get me to heaven.

Indeed what I could not foresee then is the amazing fruits which praying with my children has born in my spiritual life. So often now they lead me to prayer instead of vice-versa. They show me how to become like a little child so that I may enter the Kingdom.

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Sitting Ben

Ben is getting quite good at sitting up. He can go for ten or fifteen minutes without falling over. And boy does he love it.










He might be another child, like Sophia who never really rolls or crawls. He prefers being upright to being mobile.

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"The Whippers"

Bella came rushing into the living room, breathlessly telling this story. This isn't word for word but I've tried to catch the flavor:

The whippers came into my room and they were whipping Phia. And they ran away into the yard. Then they just came back in to my bedroom. And the whippers came back into my bedroom and they threw me away. Threw me away into into the hallway and I was very upset. And I just came into the living room. I didn't like that at all it wasn't very fun when the whippers came.

So I'm going to go say a prayer to Hail Mary because I'm very upset. I'm going to say a prayer. She gets a rosary and hands one to Sophia and kneels and says, Hail Mary full of grace, please help the whippers go away. All right. Stand up. Let's put the rosaries back in the basket. All right lets go back to our bedroom. And oh the whippers are still in there.

You stay right there. [to Sophia] In case the whippers don't want you in. I'm going to go get my baby. She's crying. I'm going in. Can I go in and get my baby? Please don't hurt my baby. The baby's crying. I need to get her. No get out. I'll take care of the whippers.


And then just like that the story is over. Next she's reading If You're Happy and You Know It to Sophia. And then she is playing high school, doing her work, playing with papers. Making sure the poor people have enough money.

I have no idea where she heard about whipping. Where the whippers came from. I know it's common at Bella's age to start to imagine bears or tigers, boogeymen or dragons. To start to know the world has things in it that can hurt her and forces that are big and scary and beyond her control. I've sort of been waiting to see it happen, wondering what form it might take. Nonetheless her story was a bit unnerving to say the least. As Dom said, it sounds almost demonic.

Still, I'm reassured that she turned to prayer, said a rosary, asked for Mary's intercession as I've taught her to do. That she does know how to confront her fears and knows there's a resource she can call on in times of need. Because the scary truth is there are whippers out there who could hurt my baby girl. There are forces beyond my control. She's not the only one who as to confront these fears. And ultimately all any of us can do is pray. And that is not a little thing at all.

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Aw Wiss...

For months Sophie has been saying this... noise. It's always said in the same way "Awwww wiss" chanted over and over and over again. She said it so often Bella picked it up and started chanting it too. I couldn't figure out what it meant and neither girl could illuminate me. It's been bugging me because I was sure it didn't come out of thin air.

Today finally I put the pieces together and figured it out. Sophie was singing long strings of syllables that I couldn't make out, each time the string ended with a little pause and then the familiar aw wiss. But the rhythm sounded familiar. Really familiar. Wanna wanna wanna... aaaw wiss.

Suddenly it clicked: I sang to myself Holy Mary Mother of God... Pray for us. Yep. That was the rhythm. That's exactly what Sophie was doing, singing a Litany of Saints just like I do so often when I'm singing her to sleep.

I was positive on my identification but for added confirmation when I went around the corner I saw that she was holding the saints alphabet book. I often 'read' that book to Sophie as a Litany when the text seems like too much, skipping the saints' bios and just saying each name and "pray for us".

Such a relief to finally understand those nonsense syllables the girls had been singing. And Sophie was thrilled that I knew what she was saying.

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'What Are Your Favorite Board Books?' and Other Questions about Toddlers and Books

Recently Lucy emailed me asking several related questions about toddlers and books. They seemed like topics of general interest so I decided to share my answers with all my readers. Warning: This is one of my all-time favorite subjects I'm going to ramble. But I'll break it up with some cute pictures.



First and foremost, Lucy asked if I had any suggestions for board books for her 20 month old twins. She also wondered whether they were ready for picture books. (This was sort of an aside; but I thought it was an interesting question so I thought I'd address it.) Finally, she worried about weeding out junk books at the library with her two children going in different directions. So this is going to be a rather long response in several parts.

I'll take the second part first.



When is a child ready to move from board books to picture books?

I suspect that the rule for when a child will be ready to move from board books to picture books is rather like the rule for when he will be ready for potty training. It depends on two factors: the child's readiness and the parent's readiness.



And by readiness I mean is the child ready to handle picture books with care so that they are not destroyed. It does not depend on the child's vocabulary or reading comprehension or anything to do with the content of the books. However, I should add that sticking to board books does make things a bit easier in that you know the text will probably be short enough for a toddler's attention span. The target audience for picture books can range from toddlers to middle-schoolers and some picture books are definitely going to be too text-heavy for most toddlers and many stories will simply be beyond their interest.



I've been thinking about this topic of when children start on picture books ever since Arwen wrote about her daughter being ready to graduate from board books to picture books. I was a bit surprised that she hadn't already been reading picture books because my girls both started looking at picture books well before the 20 month mark. On further consideration I realized that had as much to do with the fact that I'd started collecting picture books since before Bella was born as with any sort of readiness on their parts. (I just love picture books for their own sake and my kids are frequently an excuse to indulge.) With piles of them around the house, it was natural we'd get around to reading them.



Also Bella was a gentle child and has a innate respect for boundaries. It wasn't too hard to keep her from ripping into the books. A few still got torn, of course; but it was always an accident, mainly due to clumsiness. That's going to happen. But she wasn't grabbing and shredding them or eating them.



So I think the personality of the child is going to be a huge factor. Some kids really are more destructive than others. I'm already finding that out with Sophie. She has much less respect for boundaries and is much more prone both to carelessness and to calculated mayhem. She has quite deliberately ripped quite a few of our books. (That's why one of her nicknames is Destructa-Phia.) The bottom line is: can your child sit and look at a book without pulling it apart?



Another factor is the readiness of the parent. Are you ready to sit closely and supervise patiently while you teach your child how to treat books with respect? Are you willing to sacrifice a few books to the project and ready to calmly reprimand before you pull out the Scotch tape? Or are you going to blow your cool? Answer honestly and don't let mommy guilt cloud your judgment. If you don't have the time or the temperament, if you've got other kids to supervise or, as in the case of reader Lucy, twins, then don't feel bad if you wait before introducing picture books. You aren't stunting your child, I promise.





These Are a Few of Our Favorite Board Books



We don't have nearly as many board books in our collection as we do picture books. Even so, we've managed to amass a couple of baskets worth. And we've done our share of checking them out at the library as well.



Two of our all-time favorites are Goodnight Moon by Margaret Wise Brown and The Snowy Day by Ezra Jack Keats. Two of the first we got with Bella and both she and Sophie still love them. And somehow I'm not completely sick of them even after three years. I can even look forward to reading them to Ben with something like composure.



We also like The Big Red Barn by Margaret Wise Brown. Not quite as good as Goodnight Moon; but fun and you can make all the animal noises.

Another beloved and much requested board book is a nursery rhyme book. I can't find it now but I think it's just called Hey Diddle Diddle. An amazon search reveals quite a few board books with this title, none of which looks familiar. But I don't think the specifics matter. Just find one or two nursery rhyme books. It's hard to go wrong with nursery rhymes.





I also heartily recommend anything by Sandra Boynton. We've especially enjoyed The Going to Bed Book, Snuggle Puppy, Pajama Time, Opposites, and A to Z.

Likewise, anything by Eric Carle. We've especially enjoyed The Very Hungry Caterpillar, The Very Quiet Cricket, and The Grouchy Ladybug.





Diving into my blog archives, I find I've written about others books we've liked.

Here is previously blogged list of some of our favorite board books. (I'd add one caveat now about If You're Happy and You Know It. On the whole, it's very cute and the girls like it; but I'm rather annoyed every time I read it that several of the verses require props to act them out: If you're happy and you know it rattle and shake, with a picture of a baby holding a rattle; If you're happy and you know it, push the blocks. It confuses the girls and means that they can't always participate with the action of the song, which really is the primary pleasure of the book. I'd have been much happier if the book had stuck to motions which could be done alone without an adult, other child or a toy.)




I'm very fond of the Mini Masters series of board books by Julie Merberg. We have: Dancing with Degas, Picnic with Monet, In the Garden with Van Gogh, and A Magical Day with Matisse. Start art appreciation early. Beautiful paintings and fun rhyming couplets. The girls do enjoy these.



Here are my reviews of some specifically Catholic board books (probably not at your local library):

Baby Come to Church and Where Is God?

The Saving Name of God the Son

And then here I also wrote about meeting author Heidi Bratton and buying some of her beautiful board books.





This is getting long, so I'll save my further thoughts about toddlers and books, including some tips for making the most of the library, for another post.

In the meantime, please tell me: What are your favorite board books?

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Weekend Snaps

Saturday was cold, cold, cold. The girls did some painting to keep themselves occupied while stuck in the house.






Christmas is long over; but Holy Mary still comes to visit with Baby Jesus. Here is the baby in a pipe cleaner manger. And Holy Mary wrapped in a very warm quilted mantle.




Sunday was much warmer so after Mass the girls went outside for a bit. I looked up from my pancakes and sausage to see Sophie attempting to pull Bella in the sled. I whooped and jumped for my camera.




Not that Bella had much better luck pulling Sophia.




I think this photo exemplifies the dynamic in their relationship quite well. Sophie just content to sit and wait. Bella runs off to do something else.




Waiting. Stoic Sophie.




Dom took advantage of the (relatively) nice weather to fetch some boxes of baby clothes out of the shed for me. I found Raggedy Ann in one of them. Last week Sophie had us tearing the house apart looking for her. And there she was. How she got there I'm not sure. But that bin has been in the shed since before Christmas.

Sophie was so very happy to see her.



Well, you'll have to trust me on that. The light in her eyes when she first saw her precious dolly was priceless. This stony face. That's just... Sophie.

Note the stick sticking out of Sophie's boot. How she managed that, I'm not sure.

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the greatest of these is love

I was up early this morning with Ben, who didn't sleep easily last night.I confess I ate collard greens and he didn't like them at all. Sitting in the dark bedroom while he nursed, I flicked on my iPod to pray Lauds. Then I turned to the Mass readings for the day.

Today has some wonderful readings. Some days I read the readings and I think Ok. Well that was an exercise that I'm sure benefited me spiritually. But I don't get it. Other days it seems every word is outlined with fire, blazing with import. I know, I know if only I had eyes, every word of scripture is a word from the mouth of God, is a manifestation of the Word; but that isn't how life really works. Much of the time we just don't see. So this is what burned for me in the pre-dawn quiet this morning while everyone else slept.

First, from the beginning of Jeremiah: The word of the LORD came to me thus: Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I dedicated you, a prophet to the nations I appointed you. Always one of my favorite verses. Motherhood has made this even more precious. Months of contemplating the personhood and divine calling of these little ones in the womb. Known by him before I even guessed they existed.

Then the psalm echoes and expands the idea:

You are my hope, Lord; my trust, GOD, from my youth.
On you I depend since birth; from my mother's womb you are my strength; my hope in you never wavers.
My mouth shall proclaim your just deeds, day after day your acts of deliverance, though I cannot number them all.
God, you have taught me from my youth; to this day I proclaim your wondrous deeds.

Then the second reading convicts me through and through, a searchlight in my soul, finding all the grimy fingerprints below the light switch, the dusty corners behind the doors, the icky bits behind the toilet. The long form, not the abbreviated version we later hear at Mass. Somehow creeping up on the "Love is patient, love is kind" this way, hearing the words leading up to them, framing them and giving them context, makes me hear them in a totally different way:

Strive eagerly for the greatest spiritual gifts. But I shall show you a still more excellent way. If I speak in human and angelic tongues but do not have love, I am a resounding gong or a clashing cymbal. And if I have the gift of prophecy and comprehend all mysteries and all knowledge; if I have all faith so as to move mountains but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give away everything I own, and if I hand my body over so that I may boast but do not have love, I gain nothing. Love is patient, love is kind. It is not jealous, (love) is not pompous, it is not inflated, it is not rude, it does not seek its own interests, it is not quick-tempered, it does not brood over injury, it does not rejoice over wrongdoing but rejoices with the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails. If there are prophecies, they will be brought to nothing; if tongues, they will cease; if knowledge, it will be brought to nothing. For we know partially and we prophesy partially, but when the perfect comes, the partial will pass away. When I was a child, I used to talk as a child, think as a child, reason as a child; when I became a man, I put aside childish things. At present we see indistinctly, as in a mirror, but then face to face. At present I know partially; then I shall know fully, as I am fully known. So faith, hope, love remain, these three; but the greatest of these is love.

I love that about the more excellent way not being the greatest gifts but simply loving. It's encouraging. I think, I can do that. Yes, it's very St Therese. I don't have to do great deeds so much as master the task of loving here, humbly in my home.

Of course then he really puts it to me. St Paul doesn't let me off the hook. Oh no. The next part, that pretty part that so often gets chosen for weddings, every word of it hits me in the gut.

Love is patient. You got me there. I fail in patience. Every. Single. Day. Usually multiple times. There is nothing like a spacey three year-old girl to try your patience. She takes. Forever. To do the simplest things. She balks. She's stubborn. Oh yes, she's my daughter. Add to that a whiny two-year old with another stubborn streak and a seven month old who, well, he has a knack of just needing to be held when I just need to do ten other things. Yes, I need to wrok on patience, Lord.

Love is kind. Oh and I can be unkind. Scathing remarks falling from my tongue. Lack of sympathy goes right along with lack of patience.

It is not jealous, (love) is not pompous, it is not inflated, it is not rude, it does not seek its own interests, it is not quick-tempered, it does not brood over injury, it does not rejoice over wrongdoing but rejoices with the truth. I won't bore you any further with my enumerations of how every one of these arrows hits the mark. Just trust me. They do. Especially that quick tempered one.

It's funny because after we returned from Mass, I clicked over to see what Faith and Family Live's User's Guide to Sunday had to say about today. And I found that I'm not the only one who reads this reading in this way: "Today’s second reading is a favorite for weddings — but, following the advice of a friend of April’s, we like to use it as an examination of conscience." It doesn't read exactly like my list. But close enough. Sometimes God does hit you over the head with a hammer. Just to make sure I don't blow off my early-morning insights, he underlines the text in bright pink highlighter.

But then, like a grace note, there's this too: Love never fails. A reminder. My love may fail daily. But God, who is Love, never fails me. He is always there, always loving. Always ready not only to forgive injuries but ready to bind up my wounds, pour over them the sweet healing oil of his boundless mercy, his death-defying love.

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Saturday Evening Sophie

Sleepy girl, cranky girl, woke up too early from her nap. Amusing herself sitting on my lap while Ben napped in my arms. I gave her my chapstick, which she loves. It sort of worked.

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Ben Makes a Splash

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The Cross Exemplifies Every Virtue

from today's Office of Readings:

Why did the Son of God have to suffer for us? There was a great need, and it can be considered in a twofold way: in the first place, as a remedy for sin, and secondly, as an example of how to act.

It is a remedy, for, in the face of all the evils which we incur on account of our sins, we have found relief through the passion of Christ. Yet, it is no less an example, for the passion of Christ completely suffices to fashion our lives. Whoever wishes to live perfectly should do nothing but disdain what Christ disdained on the cross and desire what he desired, for the cross exemplifies every virtue.

If you seek the example of love: Greater love than this no man has, than to lay down his life for his friends. Such a man was Christ on the cross. And if he gave his life for us, then it should not be difficult to bear whatever hardships arise for his sake.

If you seek patience, you will find no better example than the cross. Great patience occurs in two ways: either when one patiently suffers much, or when one suffers things which one is able to avoid and yet does not avoid. Christ endured much on the cross, and did so patiently, because when he suffered he did not threaten; he was led like a sheep to the slaughter and he did not open his mouth. Therefore Christ’s patience on the cross was great. In patience let us run for the prize set before us, looking upon Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith who, for the joy set before him, bore his cross and despised the shame.

If you seek an example of humility, look upon the crucified one, for God wished to be judged by Pontius Pilate and to die.

If you seek an example of obedience, follow him who became obedient to the Father even unto death. For just as by the disobedience of one man, namely, Adam, many were made sinners, so by the obedience of one man, many were made righteous.

If you seek an example of despising earthly things, follow him who is the King of kings and the Lord of lords, in whom are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge. Upon the cross he was stripped, mocked, spat upon, struck, crowned with thorns, and given only vinegar and gall to drink.

Do not be attached, therefore, to clothing and riches, because they divided my garments among themselves. Nor to honours, for he experienced harsh words and scourgings. Nor to greatness of rank, for weaving a crown of thorns they placed it on my head. Nor to anything delightful, for in my thirst they gave me vinegar to drink.

From a conference by Saint Thomas Aquinas, priest

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Baby Doll Prayers

I know Isabella can say the Our Father and Hail Mary. I've heard her do so any number of times. But for some reason at bedtime it's like pulling teeth to get her to pray along with us. She wants to read a book or she gets distracted by her toys or she wants to do flips or climb on Dom. Anything but pray.

The other night I had a stroke of genius as she was playing with her doll. "Bella, why don't you help Dolly say her prayers?"

Bella totally got into it. She jumped up and found just the perfect block to serve as dolly's holy water bottle (The one with the 7 on top. Maybe it looked like the flip spout?) Then she helped dolly to make the sign of the cross, to bless Daddy and Mama and Sophie and Ben, and then to fold her hands and say prayers along with us. And thus with her dolly sitting on her lap Bella said every word of the Our Father, Hail Mary, Glory Be and all the petitions we say every night.

Creative problem solving to the rescue.

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The Broken Teaglass

Early last week I received an email notification from the library that a book I'd requested had come in. I did not recognize the title and had no memory of where I'd seen the book recommended or by whom. I had no idea what it was about. But I added it to the pile and brought it home.

(Incidentally, being able to look up and reserve books from not only our local library but from all the libraries in the system has been invaluable to me as a mother of small children. I don't have time for much shelf browsing while at the library. I'm too busy riding herd on my three tykes. I love walking up to the desk and having the librarian pull out a big stack of books for me.)

What I discovered was a mystery story of sorts. The protagonist is a young man named Billy, a recent college graduate, philosophy major, who has been hired by a dictionary publisher in Western Massachusetts. I don't want to say too much about the novel for it was so delightful to just let the story unfold as it would. I liked Billy. He so much reminded me of myself at that age. Young, adrift. And for a book lover and word nerd like me the setting of the tale was perfect. The dry and dusty rooms of the publishers office with all the odd-duck lexicographers sifting through definitions.... yes it was wonderful.

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Mistress Masham's Repose

Something inspired me to get this book some time ago (was it a post at Here in the Bonny Glen? Probably. Lissa is responsible for so much of my book acquisition.) It was however shelved before I read it. And then packed up when we moved and reshelved. But then I thought of it again this week because I picked up A Child's Delight at the library and have been making my way through Noel Perrin's delightful essays about his favorite neglected children's books. But this is not my review of A Child's Delight. That will come later. This is my review of Mistress Masham's Repose.

Mistress Masham is a sort of continuation of Gulliver's Travels. A little orphan named Maria finds the descendants of a group of Lilliputians who were kidnapped by the captain who rescued Gulliver. These Lilliputians in exile have been living on an island in a lake on Maria's estate. Maria is an heiress, being watched over by a wicked guardian, a Vicar, and the governess he has engaged to terrorize her.

There is plenty of satire. A lot of adventure. A fun read.

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Picture Book: Skip to My Lou

A fun twist on the traditional children's song. A little boy is left on the farm while his parents go into town for the afternoon. Once they are gone, the farm animals take over the house. Pigs wearing dresses are in the parlor eating pancakes. Cows are in the kitchen making pancakes. Roosters are in the pantry and sheep in the bathtub. The boy wanders around from room to room picking up after the animals until he gets caught up in the fun, dancing around the house. And then he catches sight of the clock and realizes he has fifteen minutes to clean up. All the animals pitch in and they get the job done just in time. Most of the story is told in pictures. The lyrics are simple and just hint at the action; the pictures tell the full story.

This is Sophie's current favorite book. She calls it "Skip a loo loo" We've been reading it several times a day; but it's my favorite nap time book right now. I put it at the bottom of the pile and read it last. The singing lulls her toward sleep, making her much more amenable to being transferred from my lap to her bed. I make up my own verses about the pictures and drag out the song until I see her starting to nod, then we finish up the book and I continue to sing, making up a sort of going to bed song to the same tune. "Here's Sophie's blanket, skip to my lou. Here's Sophie's pillow, skip to my lou."

Did you know you can sing a litany of saints to the tune of Skip to My Lou? Perhaps it's not the most reverent litany in the world but it does the trick of sending my baby girl to sleep with a prayer when I'm afraid changing the tune I'm singing will jar her awake.

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Stop!

Recently I've found myself the referee in a sort of squabble that I find so amusing it's difficult to actually bring about a peaceable solution. Bella will be singing and Sophie will tell her to stop. Whereupon Bella bursts into tears and comes running, complaining that "Sophie won't let me sing!!!"

I try to reason with her to no avail. Why don't you just ignore her? She can't really do anything to make you stop singing. She has no authority over you? But of course reason doesn't work with a three year-old.

So once I stop laughing, I try to get Sophie to stop saying 'stop.' Which is almost as futile as reasoning with Bella.

The upshot: I'll probably be dealing with this until one or the other grows out of it.

It's still funny now-- except when Ben is sleeping or my nerves are frayed. But each iteration brings me a bit closer to the point where I'm going to start banging my head against the wall in frustration.

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Still Life, Kitchen Window

The setting sun shining through my kitchen window caught my eye this evening.

You can see the clutter it's accumulated in addition to all the stuff that's supposed to be there. One of these days I'll get around to clearing it off. This is a sort of memo to myself. And a peek at some of the nitty-gritty of real life here in Casa Bettinelli.

On the far right, children's Tylenol and baby shampoo. Put there to be out of reach of little hands. They should be moved to the bathroom cabinet.

The various glass bottles are supposed to be there. But they are all a bit dusty. Probably greasy as well. he hazards of glassware in a kitchen that actually gets used.

In the middle, next to the ivy, an open jar of bubbles that has lost its wand and lid. I confiscated it some time at the end of the summer so that Sophie could not spill it. And there it still sits.

And speaking of the ivy in a jar, please don't notice how green that water is.

Behind the statue of Mary is a little vase with the last flower Isabella picked for me this fall before everything died. It has exploded into a white puff and the water is very green. Ick!

The flower pot on the far left contained Bella's attempt to grow an apple seed. It sprouted, grew two leaves and then died.

Sitting on the saucer in front of the pot is the food coloring. Last used to dye eggs at Easter, I think.

On top of the flower pot is a box of matches. Stowed there during the Christmas season when we were lighting candles nightly. The matches kept being left on the table where Sophie could reach them.

On top of the box of matches there is a box of Culturelle, probiotics for the girls.

And thus ends the tour of my messy kitchen windowsill.

Guess what I'll be doing on Monday.

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Sisters on a Rock

Bella and Sophie enjoying the sunny weather and melting snow. This is the first time Sophie's actually gone out and wandered around in the back yard in weeks. She just can't handle wading through the snow.

They even ate most of their lunch (peanut butter and jelly tortilla wraps) on the go as they ran and played.

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7 Quick Takes Friday: Look at What My Cute Kids Did Edition

1. Flour



We're taking our baking seriously round here. This came in the mail on Tuesday. The 25 pound bag weighs almost as much as Sophie.

Sophie is thrilled when she thinks of all the bread she'll be eating.


2. Bandaids



The girls are fascinated by bandaids. They will use any sticker to cover up their imaginary wounds.




And recently have been pulling the price tags off my canned goods and sticking them on their legs.




Bella is always eager to help Sophie with the bandaid placement.


3. Blocks


a house

I've been fascinated by Bella's block structures recently.



Check out that symmetry!


4. Notices



Bella has torn apart this little notepad and is coloring on all the pages. She has informed me that they are 'notices'. No idea where she got that word.


5. Song



The other day she brought this drawing to Theresa and told her, "Auntie Tree, I drew you a song. I drew you a song, Auntie Tree."

Theresa said, "Oh what song did you draw me?"

"The one about the blackbird."

"Oh this one? Blackbird singing in the dead of night... Take these broken wings and learn to fly..." Theresa sang.

"Yes."

Some day she could make a pile of money selling these. She's already got the marketing down


6. Pig



Today's theme at library story time was barnyard animals. The art project was finger painting. Big bowls of brown paint that looked exactly like chocolate pudding were to be smeared all over these cute pink pigs to make them muddy.

Bella sat at a table with two other little girls. One girl was totally into the tactile experience, both hands deep in the paint, smearing it on until the paper was about to disintegrate. She didn't want to stop but her mother and grandmother forced her away to the bathroom to clean up. The other girl only used one hand and barely dipped the tips of her fingers into the paint. Her pig had a little smear of mud on his hindquarters but remained mostly pink. She couldn't be persuaded to do any more. Bella fell somewhere between the two extremes. She wasn't fastidious-- both hands got pretty brown-- but she did have a certain tidiness about her. Her pig was thoroughly smeared; but there was something calculated almost methodical about the way she proceeded.

It was Bella's first experience finger painting. I'm so grateful to our local librarians for providing all sorts of art experiences that I just would never get around to doing.


7. Barrettes



Today Bella has learned how to fasten barrettes.



Poor Sophie became her model.



Watch out, Daddy, she's coming for you next.



Count them, there are ten.



Visit Jennifer at Conversion Diary for more quick takes.

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Pondering Motherhood and the Vocation of Ordinary Life

[This is draft #2. I thought I'd posted draft #1 Monday night but come Tuesday evening I discovered that it was not on my blog. Gone into the ether. I ranted and raved and then began to pick up the pieces. But I don't think this version is as good.]


Have you ever noticed how sometimes it seems that suddenly you find different variations of the same theme everywhere you turn? One of them would probably would have been enough, but it's as if God really wants you to pay attention. I've been pondering some beautiful words shared by some of my favorite women the past few days. These words have touched my heart and have been an answer to some prayers. I thought I'd share them with you too.

First, Emily at Back Bay View ponders finding the extraordinary in ordinary life:

My friend made the point that while everyone longs for happiness and wholeness, for intense emotions, the Romantic believes he must escape his current condition to find them, leave behind the fetters of ordinariness, while the Christian believes they will only be found in union with God. So desiring to escape for the Christian should be a desire for freedom from his condition of selfishness, not from domesticity. The journey is more interior, and intimations of this union are found in the beauty of the ordinary things all around him.

To this Emily adds a couple of quotes that really spoke to me:

The January Magnificat editorial by Peter John Cameron, OP, addresses this:

“One of the biggest temptations of daily life is to think that our circumstances are against us. We presume that the reason why we are not happy is because we have been saddled with circumstances that make happiness impossible – circumstances that conspire against us. But then how can Saint Paul say, “I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and constraints, for the sake of Christ; for when I am weak, then I am strong” (2 Cor 12:10)?”

Fr. Cameron answers this with this quote from Father Jean-Pierre de Caussade, SJ,

“What God arranges for us to experience at each moment is the best and holiest thing that could happen to us. . . . You are seeking for secret ways of belonging to God, but there is only one: Making use of whatever he offers you. Everything leads you to this union with him.”

I know I fall victim to that thinking all the time: if only this were different or that, then I could be a better person. More organized, more patient....


Then Jennifer at Conversion Diary shares some thoughts on the virtue of fortitude in ordinary life from In Conversation With God, a book of daily meditations:

We have to [pray] to be strong, not only in difficult circumstances which are out of the ordinary, such as persecution, martyrdom, or a serious and painful illness, but also in the normal events of each day: being constant in our work, smiling when we don't feel like it, or having an affectionate, pleasing word for everyone.

We need fortitude in order not to give way when we are tired, or feel lazy, or don't want to be bothered. We need it too, to overcome our fear of fulfilling difficult duties, etc. "By nature man fears danger, discomfort, suffering," [John Paul II wrote]. "Therefore it is necessary to seek brave men not only on the battlefield, but also in hospital wards, or by the sick bed of those in pain," in the ordinary tasks of everyday life.

[snip]

Mothers frequently have to practice fortitude discreetly and normally in a pleasant, patient way. They will then be the solid rock on which the whole house rests.

Oh somehow I'd never really pondered the virtue of fortitude. Or not thought of it in terms of the daily little things. I've been focusing on patience; but I wonder if focusing on fortitude might not be more productive. I'm going to keep reading this and thinking on it.


And then at the always beautiful evlogia, I discovered a real Treasure:

My spiritual father often reminds me that mothers must learn to be creative in prayer. It's a matter of taking utter chaos and, by God's grace, using it to affect the ordering one's heart. This is the creativity of motherhood. Nursing a sick child in the middle of the night becomes an opportunity to keep vigil. The repeated interruption of a meal in order to serve a hungry child becomes an opportunity to fast. An overflowing basket of laundry becomes a reminder to pray for each member of the family as each piece of clothing is folded and put away. Little ways to capture grace in the smallest of moments.

I spent the first decade of motherhood waiting for a moment of quiet. As soon as the children are older, I can pray. As soon as the house is clean and organized, I can be at peace. As soon as we get through this trying time, then I can be the kind of wife and mother that I truly want to be.

Always missing the opportunity to engage the present moment and instead, living for an imaginary one.

The older I get, the more the present moment becomes a treasure hunt. Where is it? Where is the grace of this moment? God is here. Where is He in this moment? While I used to hunt for quiet, I now spend my time as a mother learning to listen amid the noise and have made it a practice to creatively search for any opportunity to catch a brief spiritual word of encouragement.

It's amazing how much better you can hear the quiet of God's voice when the noise of one's complaining ceases.

Oh so many quiet words to ponder, a map to a real treasure hunt that I long to embark on.


Finally, at Faith and Family Live, I find Sippy Cups for Christ:

“As surely as you did it to the least of these, my brethren, you did it to me.”

That’s how the reading ends, and as I heard the words, I grasped for just one ravishing moment the sheer scandal of the Incarnation, so wondrous and devastating in its particularity. The mystery we have just celebrated at Christmas means not one thing we do on earth will ever have the same meaning again. God walks among us, and whether the hand stretched out in need belongs to a starving beggar or a member of our own dear family, we make our response to Emmanuel Himself.

As Dorothy Day once wrote, “it is no good to say we were born two thousand years too late to give room to Christ.” He is here, now, and as in Matthew 25, He seeks to purify our human notions, even our most cherished ideals, about what it means to love God. Every moment, every action, can be given to Him, for all are freighted with stupendous significance: a chance to serve Him in the flesh.

I wrote something myself about performing the corporal works of mercy in the heart of my home, changing diapers for the Christ Child. And yet I constantly need a reminder. It is so hard to keep my eyes on the goal and not to get tripped up by every little bump and ditch on the path.

And then one last piece that was not in the original post, but another bit of the puzzle, from my dear friend the Philosopher Mom who is so often on the same page as I am:

But of course, the vocation to be at home with the children is--in God's infinite wisdom--not about me fulfilling my vision of the perfect wife and mother. Most of the time, it's about learning to hear, to see, to worship the face of God in the littlest things and most inconvenient circumstances. Finding the rhythm and peace of prayer happens not in the schedule of monastery bells, but in that total surrender to and refusal to rebel against his voice in the children's voices.

Another big help has been the discovery of Mid-Day Prayer, the continuation of "my" lost Morning Prayer. Oddly, I've never regularly prayed the daytime Psalms of the Divine Office, but Bella calms down enough in the afternoon for me to slip in a few of them before her sister gets up.

Funny thing: They tend to say the same thing. Either: "Lord, I really need you right now"; or: Lord, I screwed up, but I've looked myself over and decided to return to your ways."

Exactly what a mother needs in the middle of her day.

For some time the mid day psalms really bugged me. I'm not sure why but I found them a stumbling block. Then I found a commentary on psalm 119 (which appears almost every day) and it opened my eyes to the beauty of that office. I should find that commentary if I can and post some excerpts. But the Philosopher mom puts her finger on exactly why the daytime office is so good.

These days I alternate during nap time between the Office of Readings and the daytime psalms, depending on whether I feel like I'm about to collapse or whether I need a greater dose of wisdom from the longer readings. Either way it does make a huge difference to my days and to the flow of the week as a whole if I snatch a chance to pray even a little bit of the psalms in the middle of the day.


I know I had some grand thoughts to tie all these together and make them my own. But they are gone, fled. So here it is, a little scrapbook that I can return to when I need another reality check.

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the one

honeymoon, PEI

Dom and I both (independently) spent some time going through my blog's archives yesterday, reminiscing about our life way back when he first built my blog. Last night he pointed out a piece, long forgotten by me, that I wrote soon after we were engaged.

It was interesting to look back at my looking forward to what I expected of married life. Also to remember that first excited whirlwind of emotion that has been replaced by a different sort of whirlwind. I have to laugh about my optimism about solitude after marriage. One Bella came there has been precious little of that. But I was right too, that it would be a treasure I would seek, would cherish for its rarity.

on solitude

Lying in my bed before I fall asleep I muse on my solitude. hugging my pillow in the dark with the fan whirring above, the blankets pulled and tucked around my chin, I think: soon I won't be alone any more.
I have always been a solitary person, which is not to say lonely. Though there has been that as well. But often quite content to be on my own. There is a joy, deep peacefulness in being by oneself.
How much will I miss this quiet solitude?
Of course, I look forward with great joy to sleeping all night next to my beloved. But with every gain comes a loss. Every time you cross a threshold you leave one space and enter another.
What will I lose? What am I leaving behind?
Of course there will be solitude in married life.
There will even be loneliness. But not as often, not the same kind of gazing into the future, long years wondering if ever there will be an end. There will be a we.
Now there is a we. A wonderful we. As Dom says, we won't have to make those big decisions on our own, we won't face what can seem a big awful world by ourselves.
I can lean on him and he on me.
And both together on God.
I can never forget that both in solitude and in companionship God is always present. I do not mean to leave Him out. But how I relate to Him will change. Is changing. Prayer with Dom is new and different. Can I even use the words gain and loss? There are both gains and losses.

What joy I feel when I see his car in the church parking lot. Or hear his step and feel him settle beside me. His warm presence. Familiar smell. Not touching. Or the touch of his shoulder against mine, his arm across my back or hand on the small of my back. His fingers curled in mine. All these and so much more. When I am alone there is an empty seat next to me. A vacancy in a new and different way.

I knew but did not know that engagement is a very different state than dating. A distinctly different place to be. A new country with its own terrain. Each step a milestone. Each day a surprise. Betrothal. Mary and Joseph were betrothed when Jesus was conceived. That means something different to me now. When Joseph thinks of releasing Mary, it is a big deal. I know rather than understand that now. Promises have been made. A ring given and received. Outward sign of an inward reality. The inward reality is more real than the simple gold band and the sparkly diamond. More solid.


Things resonate now. Words, deeds. With a rightness I can't quite vocalize. The way we both answer the same crossword clue at the same moment. Or think the same thoughts. An IM exchange:
"I love u 2" he writes.
"yes a great band, cool songs"
"I was just thinking the same thing"

Most apparent when people give us advice, tell us how things are or should be. And they ring false. "the woman should be in charge of the honeymoon"
Our minds and hearts moved as one. I proposed and he saw immediately that Nova Scotia was perfect. Started off on all the reasons. Could have been the other way around.
Not that we always agree. I'm not too hot on Disney World. But there is no need for debate where there is common ground.
I'm ready for debate. I know there will be time, need for discussion, compromise. I certainly don't have blinders. But not on how the world works. Not on the big things. On the details that in the end seem trivial.
Ok maybe I'm being too rosy. Probably. But I'm ready to embrace the rough spots too. I don't know what they are, but I trust we'll figure it out when we get there.
I will miss this quiet and will have to search harder to find it. And will treasure it more when I do. So that too will be a gift.
But I won't regret.

I have spent 30 years in my solitude. Now I am about to become one with another. A death of a sorts. A new life.

"I should be glad of another death" says Eliot's wise man in "The Journey of the Magi".
Always Eliot with the right word.

An imperfect portrait, but let it stand. A draft.
I can't catch what I mean.

Strange that I can't write the joy within my heart. It is wordless. Why are the small regrets, the little sadnesses easier? Why is our language more in tune with the dying fall? Is it Babel that made our words fall thus?
Or am I passing the buck? it it merely my own inability? Maybe a superstitious dread of committing those hopes and exultations-- to paper I almost said--well, to the written word. Lest they prove mirages.
I hold them in the quiet deeps.
Let Dom and Tree rejoice, be giddy. I'll be a still, small place with hidden depths. But those who know me will understand that what I mean most I say least.
If I dwell on sorrows it's to hide my joys, to confound the devils.

or some such stuff.
I shouldn't write so late, the flights of fancy lead me off on deer tracks. here and there and everywhere. More about the sound of the words than their sense. Take it for what it is.

The tone of this piece so perfectly captures the me I remember being before marriage, before motherhood. It was such a different mental space, almost like a visit to a foreign land. And yet the writing is still so very me at the same time, the same habits of thought and the same mixture of openness and concealment of emotions.

Many people have commented about how honest and open about my life and my struggles I am here in this space. And it's true. I do bare my soul to a degree that might make some uncomfortable and that perhaps seems to many to be imprudent. And yet my life is hardly an open book. There are also huge swathes of myself hidden behind high barriers, ringed round with hedges and barbed wire and posted with No Trespassing signs.

I don't write much about my marriage. That's not a part of my life that I feel comfortable having strangers tromp through. Suffice it to say that I am no more a perfect wife than I am a perfect mother. And now we'll just shut that door that cracked open a bit. Move along, nothing more to see here, folks.

I'll just leave you with an anecdote I've remembered that I meant to include in yesterday's post about my blogiversary. I mentioned that when Dom built my blog we were dating and I was pretty sure he was the one; but we weren't engaged yet. Well, I remembered that when he set up this blog we had a discussion about what email address I wanted and he gently steered me away from melaniescott@thewinedarksea.com, pointing out that my name might not always be Scott. So I went with just plain Melanie. And eight months after my first blog entry, I indeed ceased to be Melanie Scott.

Isn't he a smart one?

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Boys and Swords

I loved this piece by Sally Thomas about raising boys:

What I think I have come to understand about boys is that a desire to commit violence is not the same thing as a desire to commit evil. It’s a mistake for parents to presume that a fascination with the idea of blowing something away is, in itself, a disgusting habit, like nose-picking, that can and should be eradicated. The problem is not that the boy’s hand itches for a sword. The problem lies in not telling him what they are for, that they are for something—the sword and the itch alike. If I had told my aggressive little son not, “Be gentle,” but, rather, “Protect your sister,” I might, I think, have had the right end of the stick.

Several years ago, two boys in our parish, faced with a school assignment to form a “good-citizenship club,” surprised their mother by deciding to start a Eucharistic-adoration society. Each month this club, which now numbers more than twenty boys, offers hours of adoration for various prayer intentions. This year, in honor of the Year of the Priest, the boys are praying for all the priests in our diocese by name, in monthly rotation.

If it seems a little unlikely, this vision of twenty teen and preteen boys choosing to spend hours of their time kneeling silently in church, let me divulge two secrets. The first is the name of the club: the Holy Crusaders. They chose, deliberately, a title that evokes knighthood, even war. No pastel, goody-two-shoes club, this.

The second is the initiation rite, devised and performed by our parish’s young priest twice a year in the church. This rite involves a series of solemn vows to be “a man of the Church,” “a man of prayer,” and so forth. It includes induction into the Order of the Brown Scapular, the bestowing of a decidedly manly red-and-black knot rosary, and the awarding of a red sash. What the boys look forward to, though, with much teasing of soon-to-be inductees about sharpened blades and close shaves and collars pulled protectively high on the neck, is the moment when a new boy kneels before Father and is whacked smartly on each shoulder with a large, impressive, and thoroughly real sword.

These Holy Crusaders are, after all, ordinary boys—sweaty and goofy and physical. For them to take the Cross—to take it seriously—requires something like a sword. For them to take the sword, knowing what it’s for, requires the Cross. Heaven forbid, we always say, that our boys should have to go to war. Still, what even a symbolic knighthood accomplishes is the recognition that a boy’s natural drive to stab and shoot and smash can be shaped, in his imagination, to the image of sacrifice, of laying down his life for his friends. In the meantime, this is the key to what brings these boys to church. It’s not their mothers’ church or their sisters’ church; it is theirs, to serve and defend.

This reminded me of the club my brother-in-law (father of four boys and two girls) started for his sons and their friends, The Knights of the Silver Shield. Also of Regina Doman's Rules for Sword-Fightin' I like the idea not of fighting against that boyishness but of harnessing it and teaching them to use it for the greater good.

I'm really looking forward to raising our little boy and experiencing all things boyish that I've read about. Of course boys aren't completely foreign territory for me, having had two brothers. But it will take much more... thoughtfulness on my part than being with my girls.

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