Too Clean, or Not too Clean?

I have been ruminating on this topic for a while: cleaning.  Just thinking about cleaning makes my adrenaline pump - I am ready to conquer whatever obstacles that are preventing my home from being a pristine, clean paradise.  My eyes become little laser beams - beaming in on any small thing that is out of place, my muscles twitch - ready to be toned by the power of the vacuum and the weight of several bottles of cleaning spray.  In short, I LOVE a clean house.  Its my secret neuroses.  When everything is put away, when my floors are free of debris and clutter, my counter tops bare, the computer desk clear of everything BUT the computer and printer, the toy room neatly organized, the bathroom sparkling, the kitchen sink shiny and empty, and the table cloth hanging evenly off all 4 sides of the table, I can relax.  I don't relax very often.  I need to change that.

At first I thought maybe I could just pray to win the lottery and then I could contract out for a cleaning service - riiiiight.  Reality check.

Next I thought maybe I could train my children to become super-cleaners.  Uh-huh.

Then I fantasized about just throwing out almost everything, giving our home a sanitized, hotel room-esque feeling.....equally unrealistic.

Then it occurred to me that perhaps what I needed to do was to create some more realistic expectations as far as what "clean" means and how to achieve an acceptable (not unrealistic) level of clean without turning into "grumpy mommy."  "Grumpy Mommy" is what my kids call me when I am harping on them to "tidy up a bit."  (An euphemism for "dramatically altar the messy state of the house.")  Apparently "Grumpy Mommy" makes too many appearances.

I decided to begin my endeavor to come to some realistic, yet  relaxation conducive, expectations with some soul searching.  Why is it so important to me to have my house resemble an operating room?  Is is truly necessary to mine or anyone else's well-being that when one walks into my home they feel like they need to scrub up first?   I mean I love it when I go visit a friend, or to my parents home (I still have younger siblings in grade school), or really any home, and it looks lived in.  Meaning, not like Mary-Poppins-on-Speed just flew in and worked her magic.  In other words not like mine would look if I was having company.  Why is it I can completely relax in someone else's house when it is NOT freakishly clean, yet, I can't do that in my own home.  Why is it that I'd prefer to be in the other person's house? Surely that's not healthy!

I think the answer lies in my secret insecurity: if my house is not perfect, maybe other people will think I am not a good mom.  Shallow, perhaps. but that is at the crux of it.  I have four children here on earth,  two I can't wait to meet in Heaven, and have therefore been pregnant 6 times.  Each pregnancy brings more and more unasked-for "advice."  Namely, "You should stop.  You have too many children, how can you possibly keep up?"  and "You're going to burn out with all those kids."  and my favorite, "the more children you have, the less likely you are to be a good mom to all of them."

After hearing these types of comments over and over again, perhaps I feel the need to prove them all wrong.  Maybe I am afraid that if someone catches me with a messy house, then I have some how failed - just as predicted by the big-mouthed, but well-meaning naysayers.  So I exhaust myself fighting a losing battle, more like June Cleaver on crack, desperately trying to "prove" I am a good mother by keeping my house as taintless and undefiled as is humanly impossible.  In doing so I actually end up more stressed out and much more of a "grumpy mommy."

Now, of course there is a rational part of me that knows better than to listen to ill-timed, and inaccurate advice.  But I suppose there is a little part of me that internalizes it, and is afraid.  This is the part of me that I need to get rid of.  Its time to be realistic, and not afraid of what others may think!

This epiphany of thought led me to thinking that perhaps I am not the only one who may feel like this.  Perhaps there are scores of other mothers out there who feel like they are constantly fighting an uphill - losing battle with their homes.  Sadly, our kids become the casualties.  Just because I am insecure because of my fear of being a failure, doesn't mean I have to make it a self fulfilling prophecy.  So I am blogging about my once secret neuroses - admitting my insecurity, and hoping that if one of you Mommies out there has similar thoughts, my soul searching might be of some assistance as you too struggle to come to terms with what is "too clean," and what is not "too clean."

In order to regain some sanity and still be able to relax in my own home, I needed to come to some internal understandings.  First, I needed to really grasp the truth that I have 4 small children underfoot.  This means that more often than not, my house is going to be in upheaval.  I don't know who said it first but its true that "trying to keep a house clean while raising small children is like trying to shovel snow in the middle of a blizzard." But I realize that this doesn't mean I can just let everything go either.  I have to somehow strike a balance between realistic, and unrealistic - too clean, and not too clean.  It also means it is my responsibility to instill in my little mess-makers a non-neurotic sense of cleanliness and orderliness.

The compromise is still in flux, but we have made good headway.  I have tried to structure the kids' days so that there are two designated "clean up times."  If they pick up their messes in a timely manner (before the 10 minute timer rings) they get a piece of fruit as a snack.  Clean up times are announced by the ringing of an alarm that has been pre-set.  This prevents "Grumpy Mommy" from rearing her ugly head.  I try to keep the timers set for the same times every day.  If we are having company we do a "big clean up."  This usually involves some sort of bribery.  I have named several different types of "clean ups."  There is the candy-clean -up, the sticker-clean-up, the stamp-clean-up, and the favorite - the whipped-cream-clean-up.  The names denote the reward associated with a successful clean up attempt.  After cleaning up each room the kids are rewarded by receiving a sticker, stamp, small piece of candy, or a squirt of whipped cream in their mouths.  I save these for times when the house has gotten completely out of hand (like after I spent 3 days in bed with the flu and poor Daddy had to hold down the fort!  or when I was away for a weekend giving a pro-life talk) or for when we are having company that has either a) never been to our house before (b) been to our house, but not for a long time (long time meaning at least 3 months) or (c) is a member of the clergy (because a priest acts in the Person of Christ, the Head, here on earth.).    The most important part of this compromise is the context in which I approach the cleaning, and how I explain it to my children.

Why do we clean up?  Instead of my neurotic "I must clean so I can prove I'm a good mother" paradigm, I have tried to embrace, and impart to my kids the idea that cleaning is a way in which we respect the things we have, and the house we have.  'Keeping the house clean is a way we can show we are thankful.  It is a way we show respect to each other and to God, to Whom we are thankful for all He has given us. If we don't "take care of" our things, we must not really care about them, and we should give them to children who would be more thankful for them.  "Taking care of our things" includes putting them where they belong when we are done with them.  If we don't put them away and leave them out or on the floor, they could get broken or lost. '  Amazingly, the more I explained this to my kids, the more I began to subscribe to it as well!  What a more balanced understanding of cleanliness!

As for guests, I explained to my intrepid cleaners hoping for whipped cream, that we want people to feel welcome when they come to visit.  If the house is super messy, they may not feel like we want them to visit us.  It may be embarrassing to them to come into our home with it really unclean.  Instead, we want guests to feel like we prepared for them - that we were willing to sacrifice a little and do a little extra cleaning because we are happy to have them come to our home.  I continued to explain that just as we get our hearts "cleaned up" for Jesus, so He feels welcome in our hearts, we get our house clean to make our neighbors feel welcome - because we should try to see Jesus in everyone's heart - and so when we welcome our neighbors, we are also welcoming Christ.  The first time I explained this I was a little skeptical.  I was still fighting my insecure, paranoid, neurosis and although I knew what I was saying was true and right, I didn't feel it, and I was afraid my kids would be indifferent.  Boy was I ecstatic when my kids immediately warmed to the idea that we should welcome each person into our home as though he or she were Christ.  Recognizing the "Jesus in everyone's heart" was something my kids took immediate liking too.  That day they did their best "clean up" ever  - and were rewarded with an extra squirt of whipped cream.  (I couldn't help myself - they were so excited to "see Jesus" in everyone and to show Him that He was welcome that I was beside myself with pride in their innocent mastery of a crucial part of being a Christian that I just heaped on the whipped cream!)

Happily for me, going through this explanation  a few times helped me to internalize it too.  It shifted my paradigm.  Cleaning my house shouldn't be for me.  My insecurity or need to prove myself is not the correct motivation for house cleaning.  Taking care of what we have, being thankful, and making others feel welcome, while seeing Christ in them - those are much healthier reasons to clean house.  And if my house doesn't look like a sterile hospital ward?  If our guests come and things aren't how I would have liked?  If the clean up alarm rings but its more important for me to pay attention to one of my kids, or meet a need that one of them has, it doesn't mean that I am not a good mother.  It doesn't mean that I failed.  It means that I did my best, but I have little children who need a non-Grumpy Mommy more than they need June Cleaver on crack.   It means that I have done what is most important for my kids - tried to give them a healthy understanding of cleanliness, and showed them that sometimes its OK not "too clean."

An Open Letter to The Abortion Industry: What Do you MEAN when you say CHOICE? (reposted from Daughters of the Heavenly King)

To Whom It May Concern in the Abortion Industry, and to the Women Who Feel They Have No Choice but to Become Their Latest Customers,

I am writing this letter not be one of those "snarky pro-lifers" you worry about.  I have a legitimate question: Just What exactly do you mean when you say choice?  I am sure that some of you in the abortion industry truly want to help women.  This is noble and good.  I applaud you for that desire.  But does counseling abortion, providing abortion, pushing abortion really help women?  Does it really give them a choice?  I have to say no.  Most women choose abortion because they have been led to believe that the baby they are carrying is 'just tissue,' 'can't feel pain,' 'isn't viable outside the womb,' and 'isn't a baby yet.'  They are not told the truth- that by 5 weeks the "fetus" has a heart that is beating, that by the time of 8 and 9 weeks (the time most abortions occur) that 'tissue' has fingers, toes, and even a tongue.  He or she can feel pain.  If women who are counseled to have an abortion do not know who exactly it is that they are killing, how is that a choice?  Why are women not shown who it is that they are choosing to kill?  After seeing an ultrasound of their baby more than 80% of women choose NOT to abort.  If they are not shown the Truth, they never really have that choice, do they? Many women (especially low-income, and African-American Women living in cities) do not know they have a choice not to abort if they find themselves unexpectedly pregnant.  How is THAT a choice at all?  Is it truly a coincidence that more abortion facilities are located in cities - most especially in or near low-income and "minority" communities - than anywhere else?  I think not.  Is it a coincidence that as far back as 1991 African-American Women made up 42% of Planned Parenthood's Customer base - even though they only comprised about 19% of the total population of the US?  Is that a choice or is that just because those women are good for business?

Is it really a choice when women who are counseled to receive abortions do not understand that they face very serious risks and life changing after effects?  Are they told that after about 5 to 10 years they will experience mental anguish, depression, even flashbacks, deep regret, and guilt?  Is it explained to them that women who have had abortions are more at risk for suicide and debilitating depression?  Would any truly informed woman choose to put herself through that?  (For more on this topic and to hear testimonies from women who regret their abortions see http://www.silentnomoreawareness.org/).

Is it really a choice when a woman has no idea how her body was made to work - when she has been told her whole life that her fertility is dangerous and that she has to control it artificially and that this will make free?  When those contraceptives fail, and she finds herself pregnant, how will this woman know she has a choice not to abort?  Not to do more to her body - that beautiful body, which she doesn't understand and has never been taught to respect?  Is that really a choice?

If a woman doesn't know any better, if she has never been told the TRUTH about the alternatives she has for herself and her pre-born baby, how is THAT a choice?

I ask you again, just what DO you mean when you say CHOICE?

I could end this letter here, but for the sake of those women who find themselves confused and pregnant, scared and vulnerable, not sure that they have a CHOICE, who may chance upon this letter, I want to tell then that they DO have true choices - and these real choices do not come at the expense of their health, or the lives of their pre-born babies.

Woman have the choice to learn about their bodies and how they are beautifully made.  Women do not need contraceptives, nor do they need abortion to be truly free.  I want to tell them that their bodies are beautiful!  They are made to amazingly - and it is possible to learn about your body, work with it, and respect it!  (for websites with this information see the footnotes to this letter).

I want women to know that abortion ALWAYS harms.  ALWAYS.  It harms the women who undergo the procedure or take the pill.  It kills a life.  This life has a heartbeat, a brain and feelings.  This life can feel pain and sense danger.  This life tries to get away from the tools of the abortionist!  This life has no voice - and this life, this child, depends upon YOU, his mother for protection.  This child is not given a choice.  If YOU had to choose between life and being murdered, what would YOU choose?  Why won't you choose the same for the life you carry?

If you cannot parent a child right now, that is OK! There are SO MANY wonderful families who cannot have children of their own who are praying for a generous heart to place a child in their care.  Do not be afraid of the "system."  Your child does not need to go through the foster care system and become a ward of the state forever!  This is largely a myth that you have been led to believe - a myth that makes you feel like adoption is an evil choice.  This is not so!  Your baby deserves a loving home, and if you are a brave and courageous women, willing to give your child a chance at LIFE there are many people who will help you and guide you - at no cost to you - as you find a loving family for your baby.  There are MANY kinds of adoption that give you as much or as little participation in your child's life as you wish.  (again see the footnotes for more resources on this).

Perhaps you do not feel well, perhaps you need support and someone who understands what you are going through.  You will NEVER find that kind of support from an agency that you have to PAY.  No matter what they say, if they ask for money - whether it is for abortion, contraception, or even counseling - they WILL NOT give you the kind of support you need.  Do not be afraid though - there are MANY other women, men and organizations who DO want to help  you.  They want to be your friend, they want to assist you, and they will NEVER ask you for money.  They want to love you!  If you need this kind of support and unconditional love simply call 1(877) 77BIRTH or check out http://www.birthmothers.org/. There are also many community based organizations and church groups who want to help!  Do not be embarrassed, do not be afraid - if you call them YOU will make their day!

Maybe you find yourself confronted with the wrenching decision of having an abortion or being kicked out of your home.  This is a terribly scary situation.  This can make you feel like you have no choice.  YOU DO.  There are people who want to help you - people who have homes for you and places for you to stay.  People who want to see you through this hard time and see you and your child succeed at life!  Many of these places are local and they are all over the country.  I will link to some of them here and even if you live outside of their area they have resources and information about similar organizations that are closer to you.  (http://goodcounselhomes.org/,  http://projectgabriel.net/,  http://www.gabrielproject.com/help.htm).

My dear reader, whether you are in the Abortion Industry or considering an abortion for yourself, you NEED to know that Choice should not simply equal Abortion.  All too often I fear that when someone says they are "pro-choice" all they really mean is "pro-abortion."  Women deserve better than that, and so do the tiny humans that are never given a choice at life.

So, I ask you again, What do you MEAN when you say CHOICE?

Sincerely,

Laura Ricketts

Additional Resources for Women who want a REAL Choice:

Learning About Your Body:

http://www.fwhc.org/birth-control/fam.htm

http://www.nfpandmore.org/

http://ccli.org/

Adoption:

http://www.adoptionnetwork.com/?GCID=S13083x802&KEYWORD=%7BAdoption%7D&gclid=CPGbo7PJy6YCFUGo4Aodmh2RHg

http://christianadopt.org/

http://www.bethany.org/

http://www.catholiccharitiesusa.org/Page.aspx?pid=1670

Of Babies and Blessings

This had been a Christmas Season of Blessings and Lessons.  Heartache and Peace.  Nothing went as planned, but why should that surprise us?  I doubt that had Mary and Joseph been able to plan they would have elected to travel by donkey to a small town while Mary was 9 months pregnant just to appease some ego-centric Roman demi-god.

"'For your thoughts are not My thoughts, neither are your ways, My ways," says the Lord"(Isaiah 55"8).

"For I know well the plans I have for you," says the Lord, "Plans to give you a future full of hope.  When you call Me, When you go to pray to me, I will listen to you.  When you look for me, you will find me.  When you seek me with all your heart, you will find me," says the Lord" (Jeremiah 29:11-14).

These words revealed to the prophets ages ago are still so relevant to us today.  God is so hard to understand sometimes, and yet, He blesses us.  He takes care of us.  He comforts us.  He gives us Joy.   Sometimes that Joy comes wrapped up in a bundle of blankets with a button nose and tiny little mouth and eyes.  Sometimes that Joy comes from surrendering to God and giving Him a new soul for Heaven.

This Christmas has given me so much to ponder.  The Advent Season began with my husband and I worried that Santa wouldn't be able to afford Christmas.  Yet, we had Faith and prayed that God would provide us what we would need to let our children have a happy Christmas.  We got so much more than that.  God continues to outdo Himself in generosity and this year He used so many people in our lives to touch us with His love and His Goodness.  So many people have blessed us with their generosity this Christmas - from a dear friend and "anonymous benefactor" who sent us Christmas gifts, beautifully wrapped for Christmas Day - all without us knowing about it! - to family members who unexpectedly sent Christmas money - to neighbors who gave away toys that looked like new - we had more than we ever dreamed of for the kids on Christmas Day.

We felt so incredibly humbled.  So undeserving.  What had we done?   Yet, isn't that the crux of Christmas?   We didn't DO anything to make God send us our Savior.  In fact the only thing we had done is sin. Turn away from Him, and yet He sent His only Son - His Gift to us - so that we might share Eternal Life with Him.  What a gift!  What Love!

This Christmas message was brought home to me in such a real way this year.  Just before Christmas my husband and I found ourselves overjoyed at the reality of a new little life.  I was pregnant!  We knew the kids would be so excited and waited until Christmas to tell them.  Seeing the pure Joy on their faces taught me more than anything what is truly important.  The things we so often value - the presents and "stuff" we accrue for ourselves on Christmas pale in comparison to the truly miraculous gift of a new life - a new soul destined to live for Eternity.   I pondered this for some time on Christmas and the days after.  I felt so blessed to have this new paradigm in which to see my pregnancy.  For the first time I wasn't afraid of what others might think of the fact that I was pregnant again.  I wasn't looking forward to the morning sickness or labor, but I could not shake the conviction that despite what society, or even well-intentioned but confused passersby might think about my largish family, I was blessed.  Babies are pure blessing.  They aren't a spread sheet - measuring the pros and cons, costs and benefits. They are a gift, pure and simple.

Imagine the sadness that came to our family on New Years Day when I, after a long day at the Emergency Room, learned that we were never to hold this little life.  Never to meet him.   He had gone Home to be with the One who created him.  The sadness came crashing in on me as I went to the Grave of our stillborn daughter, Claire, who has been buried there since the end of August.  I sat there in the cold and cried.  I cried for her and I cried for my son who was with us for such a short time.  I cried for my children at home, who I felt were deprived of another sibling to love.  I cried for myself, my arms longing to hold a little squirmy bundle of Joy.  Then my heart quieted.  Peace entered.  I dried my tears and asked my Heavenly Saints - my children - to pray for me.  I told them I loved them.  I asked God to help me understand.  Then I heard it.  Not a voice, but a whisper, spoken to my heart.  "Thank you."

As I drove home I pondered over this "thank you."  For what?  I kept asking myself.   When I got home I pushed it aside as my husband and I had to break the news to our children.  I hardly heard myself as I told them that "Baby Bubbles" went to be with Claire.  I told them that we named him Francis Talbot, because of a dream I had.  Their sad faces nearly broke my heart again.  My daughter, who is my oldest child at home, cried and told me how sad she was.  Then she stopped crying and said, "Well, now Claire has somebody to play with.  That is special."  She proceeded to talk to Baby Francis and tell him that she loved him.  How silly I felt thinking that they were deprived of siblings to love.  They love their heavenly sister and brother! Then my daughter looked at me and said, "Well, now I know what I am asking for on my birthday!  A new baby!"  I smiled at her innocence, at her beautiful understanding of life and death.

It wasn't until I received an email from a dear friend that I really thought about what my daughter had said.  My friend said to me that I had given Claire a sibling to be with her.  They would be together glorifying God, watching over our family, and waiting for us to meet them in Heaven.  Then it hit me.  The "thank you" whispered to my heart, what I had told my children, what my daughter said to me, echoed in the email from my friend.

God had indeed given me a very special gift this Christmas.  He truly taught me to Love as He Loves,  He gave me the gift of a life, and asked for that gift back.  This Christmas God allowed me to give a gift to Heaven.  What a blessed peace this realization gave me.  What a gift.  

I still miss my little Francis, just as I miss my baby Claire.  Yet I have such a sense of peace, that I  know I am blessed.  Many people would look at my little family this Christmas and shake their heads in pity - in the span of 2 weeks our only car broke down and died, the flu went through our family, all our Christmas plans were thwarted, we nearly hit the red in the bank account, still are without a car, and then we lost baby Francis.   Yet all I feel is blessed.  All I feel is Peace.

Little Francis Talbot came to us, and brought with him Peace.  In his short time with us, and through his death he taught us a lesson about Christmas, about God's love, and about Life that is more important than   the little worries and inconveniences that we face.  It may sound absurd to those without Faith, but despite the trials and sadness that have confronted us this Christmas, I am thankful.  I am thankful for the unexpected, and thankful for the beautiful gift of Francis Talbot's life.  I am thankful, and I am blessed.  

Advent Lessons from Small Children

"Its the most wonderful time of the year" as the song goes.  The tree is trimmed, the lights are hung, the Manger scene is set up, the candles on the Advent wreath are getting low, and the Jesse tree is getting full.  And then there are the questions, "How many more days?"  "Is it almost Jesus' Birthday?"  "Do you think Santa saw me be kind to my brother?"  "Do you think Santa saw me being mean?"  "How much longer is Advent?"  Ah. Waiting.  That's what this time is about. Waiting and Preparing.  Most of us go overboard with the preparing  (I baked 8 dozen cookies in one afternoon alone! ) and still don't find the time in our harried sprint to Christmas to prepare our hearts.  This is where we can learn from our children.

In our house Advent and the Christmas Season are fodder for a lot of funny stories.  The kids' interpretations on Christmas Carols alone are hilarious!  ("Feliz Mommy Nut" and "Oh Come all he Faith - Lull, Joy for the Tried Elephant" being among this year's favorites)  The children are so excited!  They know Santa is coming, and if you have taught them, they know that Some One else is coming too - Jesus.   Around here the days have been filled with "Advent Adventures" (a video series provided for free by a Homeschooling Family - my kids love it!) and with daily Jesse Tree readings, the O! Antiphons, and preparations for "Baby Jesus' Birthday."   Its taken me until now to really put into perspective the "Christmas Crazies" as I used to call them.  That's because of my children.

Sure, Baby Jesus has taken a few rides on the Polar Express around the tree, and I've had to superglue on the Angel's wings a few times, and repair St. Joseph's hands and the Shepherd's foot, and Mary and Joseph were MIA for 4 days until we found them embedded in the Christmas Tree, and again in the doll house (apparently the stable was too cold), but that is par for the course at this time of year with small ones running around excitedly.  "Why do you think we decorate for Christmas?" I asked my 5 and 6 year old one day.  To my surprise, my 3 year old answered, "Because we're going to have a party!"  "A party?  What party?"  I asked.   "Baby Jesus' Birthday party!"  the 5 year old answered.   Then it really clicked for me.  Perhaps all the decorations and lights and tinsel could be used to help us prepare for Christ's Birth.  Perhaps it didn't just have to be secular trappings of an overly commercialized season.  I nodded slowly.  "When we look at Christmas decorations what do you think we should be reminded about?"  My daughter, who is 6, answered, "We can remember to get ready for Jesus!"  "Right!"  I exclaimed, "the decorations can remind us to get our hearts ready, just like we get our house ready!"  My kids thought this was a great idea, and just like that all the decorations had a brand new context, all the madness and the "getting ready" had a new light shone on them and I could see Advent in a new Paradigm - one in which everything points us to Christ's coming.

As I mused about this I realized that this is so appropriate to the season.  Even the happy snowmen decorating my counter top have now become a means by which we are reminded to prepare our hearts for Emmanuel, the Christ Child.   The Snowmen have been sanctified.   The Santa Claus statues and dolls on the shelf silently remind us to get ready for the upcoming birth of the Savior.  They are St. Nicholas, pointing the way to Christ, not to the toy shop.  How appropriate that even the non-religious decorations of the season have now been "redeemed" - how appropriate and allegorical that is.  Just as God used a Star, a star - one of many stars that no one ever really paid attention to, to guide the Wise Men and silently announce the Birth of the Savior of the World, our Christmas decorations can point us towards His birth too.

Now don't get me wrong, my kids are expecting Santa to come, and have been working hard to that end, but they know Santa comes to bring us presents for Jesus' Birthday to help us celebrate.   They know that Santa only gives you gifts if you have gotten your heart ready for Jesus, and they know that you get your heart ready by making sacrifices and being extra kind to everyone you meet, and everyone in your family.  In this way, Santa remains very much St. Nicholas, again pointing us towards the birth of Christ.

This time of year can seem so harried, so rushed and manic.  I have found myself needing to take a step back and remember that its not supposed to be a mad dash or a sprint until December 25th when we all collapse from exhaustion.  I am thankful that the excitement and innocence of my children brings me back to reality and refocuses me on what is truly important about the season.

When they gaze with wonder at twinkling lights, when they turn off all the house lights so they can see the Advent Wreath and Christmas tree glow, when they look expectantly at their empty stockings...these moments fill me with the joy and true Wonder of the Season.  As we made Christmas cookies this year my children were sure to make the best and biggest ones each for Santa and for Baby Jesus.  Poor Santa is going to have a sugar coma after he ingests the icing and sprinkle-covered masterpieces that are going to be left for him!   The kids decided that Baby Jesus will be too little to eat a cookie but they will leave Him one to see and then they will eat it.  They are also leaving Him special "Gift Papers" with all of their sacrifices and good deeds written on it.  Those get left under the tree for Jesus.  These little touches can be so easily get overlooked, but they teach in a tangible way the reason for Christmas and Who, not What Christmas is about.

Then of course we come back to the waiting.  Anyone who has or has raised small children knows that its really hard to wait when you are in single digits, age-wise.   The impatience of our children and their noisy complaints, willing the days to go faster can give us a glimpse into what Advent is about too - waiting for what C.S. Lewis called the "Grand Miracle."  How impatient the Israelites must have been - waiting for their Savior - and they didn't have nifty Advent calendars or Jesse Trees to help them count down the days!  How impatient Mary must have felt, knowing she was carrying the One Who would save us.  Was she anxious on the road to Bethlehem?  Was she impatient to get there?  How impatient the Wise Men must have felt, following a star and not knowing when it would eventually lead them to the King of Kings.  Did they ever doubt its meaning?  Advent is all about waiting.  Our children's impatience can be a great reminder of the impatience of those who waited long ago - during the first very long "Advent."   How fortunate are we to know that our days of waiting are numbered by 4 candles in the Advent wreath.  How incredible it is that we know the end of the amazing story - the Story of our salvation, a salvation that was given flesh in the Incarnation of Christmas.   When we think of our 4 weeks of waiting compared to the centuries that God's Chosen People had to wait ever since Adam and Eve ate the apple, it doesn't seem like such a long time!   When we think of the tests and tribulations that the Israelites had to endure as God prepared them for their Savior, listening to a few impatient children doesn't seem so terrible.  When we think of the wonder of that Holy Night, and realize that today it is no less Glorious, no less incredible, no less Miraculous than it was more than 2000 years ago, we realize we are blessed indeed.

Baking Cookies

Christmas Crazies!  

It is my Advent wish for you, dear reader, that your children will be a source of joy and give you many moments to reflect on the wonder and awe, the anticipation and excitement of the Birth of the God-Made Man.  Emmanuel, our Savior and King.

Heroic Virtue?

Motherhood requires heroic virtue.  I've heard more than one well respected Catholic thinker/speaker/writer types repeat this mantra.  It usually makes me shudder.  Heroic virtue?  Seriously?  Couldn't God have made things a little easier on us poor schlubs out here?  Not that I am a schlub.  I am really an incredibly attractive mother of 5 who looks the same as I did when I graduated High School - skinny and toned, with hair that would make Jennifer Aniston jealous, immaculately groomed eye brows, eyes that sparkle with a well-rested glow, a wardrobe to put Miss America to shame and an overall demeanor that purrs with peacefulness, calm, control, and quiet intelligence.  Then I wake up.  An I realize that I'm probably closer to schlub material.  Especially on days when I am sleep deprived (which is distressingly often), sick, or my kids are sick, or both.

So heroic virtue, huh?  See, when I think of this phrase I immediately picture the young Virgin Martyrs - St. Maria Goretti, St. Philomena, St. Lucy - staring piously and angelically up to Heaven while meeting their mortal demise.  Or I think of St. Francis jumping into a thorn bush to beat back his own concupiscence.  Or John de Brebeuf, Isaac Jogues and the other North American Missionary Martyrs who met horrible tortured deaths - and some with great humor!  To me these are the men and women of Heroic Virtue, not little ol' schlubby me who can barely make it through some days without wishing I could have a toddler-style meltdown of my own.  And yet, I am called to heroic virtue.  We are called to heroic virtue.

So what is it exactly?  And how do I get it?  Can I just order up some 'heroic virtue' during prayer time and hope for the best?  Unfortunately it has been my experience that you just don't "get it" (unless you are one of the rare and blessed people to have a blinding"Saul-to-Paul" moment of extreme Grace).  Nope, for most of us schlubs out here in Mommyland Heroic Virtue is cultivated and practiced.  That means when your first little blessing is born you get extra Mommy Grace, and then well, you grow and tone your virtue muscles much like you tone those never-been-used-before-muscles that hold up the baby's head while he or she rests in your arms for hours because you're afraid to put him or her down.  Virtue is a "good spiritual habit" and just like other good habits its learned.  This is good news for those of us who shudder at the sound of it - we can achieve Heroic Virtue!  The not so good news is that its not exactly going to be a piece of cake.  Then again, nothing heroic ever is.

Maybe, though, this can give us a different perspective during those hard to handle Mommy times.  Chances are you more heroic than you think!  What else but heroic is calmly walking and bouncing a colicky newborn for 3 or 4 hours?  What else but heroic is staying up all night with a feverish child, and then handling the next day like you aren't completely sleep deprived?  What else but heroic is getting very little sleep for months on end, and not drinking caffeine because your need-to-eat-every-2-hours baby can't handle it?  What else but heroic is driving all over town bringing your kids to practices and rehearsals, lessons, and classes, and still having a hot meal for them at dinner time?  What else but heroic is welcoming a new life into your family, even though the world tells you to stop at 2 kids?  What else but heroic is listening to the entire  Disney Princess Sing Along CD for the 7th time in a row instead of the news in the car?  What else but heroic is the task of making sure Santa Claus makes it your house this year, and the Easter Bunny doesn't miss your door?  What else but heroic is coming home from date night 2 hours early because little "Johnny" had a nightmare and needs a Mommy hug?  What else but heroic is watching PG movies and TV shows (pretty hard to do these days) even after the kids go to bed because you know that your kids will try to listen or get a peak at the screen?  What else but heroic is reading that same book at bedtime for 4 months in a row, with the same amount of enthusiasm as the first time you read it?  What else but heroic is tackling piles of laundry daily, so your kids have clean clothes to wear?  What else but truly heroic is forming your children's consciences, helping them to become the men and women God created them to be?

You maybe thinking, but this is just what us moms do.  Well, yes, it is, but doing those things (and really I just scratched the surface) with love in your heart, a smile on your face, and without bitterness or resentment - that, dear friend, is heroic.

For years the Church recognized very few married men and women as Saints, but during the Pontificate of Pope John Paul II, more lay Saints were canonized than in much of recent Church history.  Pope John Paul II wanted to give us Saintly examples of men and women just like us who exercised "Heroic Virtue" in every day life.  (For a list of all those who were Canonized under John Paul II, and their biographies, see http://www.vatican.va/news_services/liturgy/saints/index_saints_en.html )

Dear friend, you are a mother, and that means you are called to be a hero.  You have been given the tremendous task of raising up Children of the Light.  You have been given the Grace from the Father of of All to exercise Heroic Virtue in your every day family life.  It is my prayer that you will draw strength from the knowledge that you can and do have this saintly calling.  Your children and the world need your strength, patience, courage, modesty, perseverance, temperance, prudence, justice, faith, hope, and love.  This Advent may you grow in God's love and Grace so that you may truly embrace your heroic calling.  God Bless you, Mom!

**I would like to dedicate this post to all the beautiful, heroic women whom I have been blessed to have encountered in my life.  Most notably my own mother, my mother-in-law, my dear friends, and the women of the Confraternity of Christian Mothers and Holy Family Home Schoolers of Sacred Heart, Winchester.  Your examples touch the lives of more than just your children, and I am privileged to know you.  

Bedtime/Jail Time

You'd think that bedtime would invoke peaceful thoughts of night time slumber.  Not in this house.  In this house telling the kids it is time for bed is akin to telling them that its time for them to get locked up in the slammer.  I LOVE it when the kids are in bed and my husband and I get some much needed "adult time."  I HATE actually getting them there.  Its like my own personal purgatory time every night at 7:30.  It starts with the warnings about the warnings, "Five minutes until I'm going to tell you its time to get ready for bed." Somewhere in some parents magazine I read that giving children warnings helps them to transition from one activity to another.  I think perhaps the authors of the article need to meet my kids.  As soon as the aforementioned warning is given the complaints start, "I NEED to finish my picture!"  "I'm NOT tired!"  "I still have to finish cleaning."  ( I should mention this is the ONLY time they will willingly mention cleaning anything.)  "My dolls are not ready for me to be done playing with them."  And from the one year old, "Uh uh." (shaking his head and running into the corner to "hide.")

After the dreaded five minutes (sometimes, I will admit, its more like 3...or 2)  I tell my reluctant slumberers "OK, its time to get ready for bed now."  In a way its almost like the stages of grief, playing out every night at my place at bedtime: shock and denial, bargaining and anger, depression and guilt... my oldest son has the whole denial thing down pat.  He will just sit there coloring away completely ignoring the fact that its time to put on his PJs while his other siblings are experiencing the more vocal forms of bargaining and anger.  "But I was going to draw a picture for you, Mom.  Because I love you so much."  And there we have the guilt.  Only its mine.

Eventually they're all in Pajamas and their teeth are cleaned.  My three year old likes to "blind me" with his sparkly white teeth and grins a ridiculously huge grin at me as he emerges from the bathroom.  I of course am "temporarily blinded" by the flash of dentally clean brilliance in front of me - which it turns out gives just enough time for the 3 year old to run into the toy room and attempt to bury himself in the toybox.   Hmmm.  Maybe I'll have to tone down the blindness  in the future.

After extricating the 3 year old and throwing the toys half heartedly back into the toybox, we settle down enough for prayers.  This is where I feel like I sometimes get a glimpse of my kids' budding spiritualities.  The oldest, my daughter, kneels (or sometimes sits) very reverently.  She piously folds her hands into perfect little points "So the prayers go straight up to God."   She bows her head, closes her eyes and concentrates - a true Carmelite in the making.  My oldest son settles comfortably in, hands folded, and recites his prayers very meticulously.  He then implores God in his own words to help him be holy and get a train of his own someday.  He asks God to bless his mommy and daddy and his siblings.  Then he asks for help to do his homeschool work better.  Ah, my little Benedictine.  The 3 year old exuberantly jumps around saying his prayers.  More often than not he shouts his prayers very happily while waving his hands up at God.  I sense the charismatic renewal may be a part of his life later on.   He then proceeds to decide that his clothes are an encumbrance to proper prayer so he removes them and joyously finishes his prayers by declaring, "I love, God, YOU ARE MY FATHER!"  Yup, Franciscan all the way.   The 1 and 1/2 year old is the wild card - he finally learned to fold his hands and keep them that way for the entirety of a prayer.  He loves to shout, "Amen." He also loves to kiss every single picture or statue of the Blessed Mother he sees - so perhaps I have a future Mariologist on my hands.

After prayer time its actually bedtime (all the preliminary fanfare completed) and the battle begins.  Actually its more like a war - on two fronts.  The older ones are in their room - and after negotiating how many toys they can have in their beds and how many books they can read I get them their respective cups of water and kiss them good night.  The second front is the room occupied by the younger two boys.  The 3 year old wants the door wide open, the 1 and 1/2 year is gearing up for a night of crib climbing.  After saying for the umpteenth time that the door will NOT be opened all the way, and putting the required amount of ice in the water cup the 3 year old seems ready for bed...after he reads some books that is.   The 1 and 1/2 year old is a different story.  Yes, this is Noah - the star of the earlier post On the Trail of an 18-Month-Old.  He has perfected the art of crib climbing.  He kisses me very nicely and gives me a mischievous little grin as I place him in his crib.  I know I'm in for it.  The night is far from over.

After several more trips into the older kid's room asking them to be a little quieter, getting more water, assisting in a bathroom trip after the consumption of said water, and fixing blankets, the oldest of my progeny are ready for slumber.   The three year old reads a book or two, asks for more ice and falls asleep without even touching it.  Noah - well he is at the top of his game.

I hear little feet running into the living room.  "Noah," I say, "Its time for bed."  "Poop,"  he says very seriously, grabbing his diaper.   I sigh.  This is his own version of crying wolf.  Every night he climbs out of his bed and insists that he has soiled himself.  Almost every night it is a cleverly constructed ruse to stall the inevitable.  Every once in a while, its actually true.  One time I was so tired of the his "Crying Poop" that I refused to change him and just kept plopping him back in his bed.  Unfortunately some time during the course of that night he actually did do what he said he did and ended up with a raging rash the next day.  The guilt from that incident alone compels me to check his diaper now every time - just in case - and even if I just changed him.

He tried this tactic 4 or 5 more times.  Then as if he can sense that I am wearying of this battle tactic, he changes his approach.  He climbs out of bed and peeks out of his room.  He laughs.  I look.  He smiles his biggest, cutest smile, and runs back into his room.  I obligingly go into his room and locate him.  In the dim light I can see that he is standing in the corner with his face pressed into the corner - so I can't "see" him.  I walk closer.  He hears my footsteps and starts fidgeting.  I get closer and he can't take the anticipation anymore.  He shrieks and laughs and throws himself into my arms.    "Noah," I insist, "Its time for bed!"  He laughs again and I realize that he has got a lot more antics up his little sleeves.  I place him in his crib and exit.  As I am closing the door I hear him begin to climb out.  I swiftly open the door and hiss, "Get back in bed!"  He flops onto his mattress and lays there.  I close the door.   We repeat this scenario about ten more times before I go into his room, lay him down and cover him with his beloved blanket.  He sticks his fingers in his mouth and I think I may have finally succeeded!  I quietly close the door and tip toe out to the living room.

As I sit on the couch, careful not to make any discernible noise, I muse about how I feel like a jail keeper.  Then I realize that that might actually be easier. Jail cells have shackles.  They have locks.  They have bathrooms.  They are devoid of anything on which an inmate could harm himself... The fact that I am actually thinking about this makes me laugh, since I would never ever actually shackle my kids to their beds or lock them in their rooms.  I realize that a combination of lack of sleep and lack of relaxation are taking its toll on me.  Especially when I picture myself wearing a sheriff's badge and my fuzzy slippers, wielding a big round key chain.  I pull myself together just as the little Houdini escapes once more from his bed.  He runs to me, arms outstretched, "hug hug."  He insists, as if that was the sole reason he left his cozy bed.  I scoop him up as he circles my neck with his arms and buries his face into my neck - giggling.  I take him back into his room and tuck him back in.  Satisfied with his latest accomplishment he removes himself once more insisting this time "Kiss kiss."  I pick him up as he lavishes kisses all over my face.   As frustrated as I am, I can't help but smile.  The little bugger is just too darn cute!  I once again get him settled down and wearily trudge back to the couch.

I woefully glance at the clock.   Its way too late already.  As I start to feel sorry for myself two things happen.  Noah runs out again, lips puckered, making kissing noises, and my husband walks in the door - finally home from a late night.  Dear hubby looks at fish-faced Noah, who now has a 'deer in the headlights' look about him as well, and then he looks at me.  Once glance is apparently all he needs to know that I'm done.  He scoops up Noah, allows him to give me a few kisses, and then takes him to his room, talking softly.  As I watch them go through the doorway I see Noah circle my husband's neck with his arms and give him a big kiss.  I smile.

As it turns out, dear hubby had the magic touch tonight.  Noah stayed in his bed and eventually drifted off to dreamland.  I got some relaxing "grown up time" after all.  As I check on the kids before crawling into my own bed, I take a minute to look at each of them.  They all look so angelic.  So peaceful.  So incapable of the bed time mayhem they so routinely create.  In those moments though, after I've had a few minutes of not having to be "Mommy" - on call every second - I feel like I see my kids in a refreshed way.  I kiss them lightly on their foreheads and adjust the covers.  I pray over each of them silently and ask God to help me be a better mommy.

As I climb into my own bed, my mind fresh with the sleeping faces of my children, I completely forget about the bedtime craziness.  I am oblivious to the fact that the craziness will likely repeat itself the next day, and I am thankful.  Thankful for my children, thankful for my husband, who so often swoops in and saves the day, and thankful that I'm not really a jailer after all.

All Hallows Eve

Its that time of year that leaves kids all a little loopy from a cocktail of excitement and coma-inducing proportions of sugar.  Its also the time of year that leaves many Christians uneasy about the "proper" way to celebrate this "holiday" that has been co-opted both by neo-pagans, and wiccans,  Walt Disney, and Mattel.  It can be intimidating to try to navigate the costumes and altar-egos that dominate the day - why is it all of a sudden OK to totally sluttify your child???  And since when did witches wear mini-skirts?  Is it a bad thing to give in and let my kid dress up like the devil???  Its a quandary that would put any good mom ill at ease.


Before my daughter was born I swore that I would never do Halloween.  I'd do All Saints Day.  My kids could dress up like saints or biblical personalities every year and we'd boycott the day of evil and filth.  This lasted until my daughter was 3 and didn't want to be Mother Teresa...again.   She wanted to be a princess.  Every little girl wants to be a princess, and to have a day that gives you an excuse to dress up like one and go out in public, well that's almost every little girl's dream!  I saw my Halloween boycott going down the drain.  What was I to do?


My daughter and I reached a compromise that year - she dressed up as Queen Esther - in all her regal glory (never mind that her outfit resembled that of a medieval queen, rather than a Bible-times Jewish wife of King Ahasuerus!  I still felt as though I had achieved a small victory. ) The next year though, my Queen Esther rebelled, and my St. Francis wanted to be "St. Francis before he got holy."  By then I had a pint sized Padre Pio who didn't know any better and thought his fake stigmata was pretty cool.  So, I gave in.  Again.  Queen Ester didn't want to be St. Margaret of Scotland either so we settled for Snow White.  I told my 'bad-boy St. Francis' he could pick a costume that he wanted as long as it wasn' t evil.  He was very happy with being an astronaut.  (I think he liked the jumpsuit.)  My pint-sized Padre didn't want to give up his stigmata, so that's how we hit the town that Halloween.  It made me do some soul-searching and thinking.


I realized that Halloween in our family seemed to be more about my hang ups than anything.  My kids were innocent - they just wanted to dress up like something fun and get candy.  How could I allow them to do that without "giving in" to the evil undertones that seem to creep into the day?


I did some research and discovered that Halloween actually comes to us from...drum roll please......the Catholic Church!  No, I am not making this up!  There is a lot of Halloween lore out there, but the name Halloween comes from the ancient Celts  - "Hallow E'en" as it would have been called in Ireland meant "All Hallows Eve" - hallow meaning "to sanctify."   It was the eve of one of the greatest Feasts in the Liturgical Year - All Saints Day.   In ancient times - before Christianity - this day was called Samhain  (sow-en), the Celtic New Year and the end of the harvest season and the beginning of winter.  The druids celebrated a fire festival.  Contrary to modern belief, it was not a festival of the dead or evil.  It was believed that on this night spirits would come back and try to visit, control or inhabit the Celtic people.  So the ancient Celts dressed up in costumes to scare away the spirits.  Then they would extinguish the fires in their dwellings so that they could light them anew from the Druidic fire that always burned as a symbol of the start of the new year.  When Christianity came to the Celtic lands, the traditions of preparing for Samhain, morphed with the Feast of All Saints, and so it became the practice to dress up to scare away the evil spirits in order to prepare for the Feast of All Saints.   It is only since the advent of the neo-pagans and the beginning of what we know as Wicca that Halloween became a "sacred" day for witches and the like.  It has also become a big festival for those who worship Satan and who believe they practice "Dark or Black Magic."  (Magik).  In a way this makes sense.  All Saints Day was, for centuries, a Great Feast in the Church.  Why wouldn't Satan try to co-opt the day for his own evil purposes?   


Learning all this gave me some great food for thought and I decided that instead of boycotting and decrying all things Halloween, I'd take a page out of history!  The next year (when we had added a little pumpkin to the brood) I took a few days to teach my kids the history of Halloween.  I taught them how Catholics many years ago dressed up to "scare the devil away" to prepare for the Great Feast the next day.  Then we discussed what really scares the devil away; namely prayer, Jesus' Holy Name, holiness and all things good and beautiful.   I then asked my kids what we should do on Halloween.  They decided that their costumes should never be something the devil would like - that they should choose good things to dress up as.  Then we decided that we would hand out prayer cards with the candy!  


I thought this was a purely inspired idea!  This year, we took it one step further and handed out cards to those whose houses the kids trick-or-treated at.  Why not?  If I've learned anything from the history of the Church its that Catholics don't just slide over and let the devil move in - oh no - we go in and redeem - In Christ's Holy Name!  What better way to reclaim this Eve of All Saints?  When else do you get such a great opportunity to evangelize your neighbors?  What other day of the year do complete stranger open their doors and smile at you as your cute children say "Trick" (and hand them a prayer card) "or Treat" (and hold out their smiling pumpkin buckets)?   I've yet to encounter a person who has balked at or turned down the prayer card.  Most people smile and seem delighted that these kids are giving something to them before sweetly demanding candy.  


The rationale is simple.  Its a great opportunity to spread the Love of God to our neighbors - door to door evangelization - the Jehovah's Witnesses don't have to have a corner on that market - us Catholics can just do it undercover!  We can move in and sanctify just like the actual translation of the word Halloween suggests!  


This year my evangelists in disguise hit the streets dressed as a princess (because, as my daughter said, the devil hates beauty), a train engineer (a holy one, I was told by my train-loving son), a dinosaur (because in 3 year old logic, nothing will scare the devil away like big teeth saying Jesus' Name), and a 1 year old happy pumpkin (because he looks so darn cute and chubby).   They are armed with their smiling pumpkin buckets and a supply of Padre Pio prayer cards.  They also have a good understanding that this night doesn't have to be about evil and ghosts and scary things.  In their own words, "that's just the devil's way to distract us from God and the Saints."  They now ignore that part of Halloween and dismiss it as distasteful.  Instead, they focus on the fun, the innocent, and the Holy.  


They enjoy this Eve of All Saints, without the creepy or the scary.  My kids enjoy having a truly Happy Halloween.  In our family at least, we have redeemed and sanctified this night, and that makes Mommy pretty darn happy too!  

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If you want to be an All Hallows Eve Evangelist, here are some of my favorite prayer cards to hand out, and a few ideas to help you Sanctify the Night: 


~Try to hand out cards that are colorful or cool to look at - this gets people's attention 
~Try to find ones that have short prayers, this will make a non-Christian, or someone who           doesn't like to pray more likely to try it out.
~if you live in a largely non or anti-Catholic area and don't want to come on too strong, hand out "Our Father" prayer cards - almost everyone recognizes that prayer


Other Cards I like to hand out specifically on Halloween are:

~St. Michael - especially if it has a picture of him spearing Satan. 
~Padre Pio- a man who literally fought with demons
~St. John Vianney (the Curé d'Ars) - he fist-fought with the devil
~A little card with 5 things about the Catholic Church (says stuff like, Catholics don't worship Mary, Confession is Biblical, etc.)  Its great if you live in a largely Protestant area
~Anything with a "standard" Blessing on it - folks will be more likely to hold onto something that seems "harmless" and "nice"


For a few years we handed out Bl. Gianna Molla  (she was Blessed at the time) cards.  I had acquired about 500 of them for free.  I figured that the card - which pictured a modern looking Gianna on the front - might make people curious enough to Google "Gianna Beretta Molla" which is what was printed on the front.  It was my hope that her courageous and amazing story might inspire and touch some of the people we handed the card to.  


I have gone back and forth over the years over whether or not to hand out blessed cards. (cards that have been blessed by a priest) I will leave that up to your judgement.  My concern is that if I hand out cards that have been blessed they may end up in the garbage or desecrated in some other way.  For this reason I do not have the cards blessed.  On the other hand, a blessed prayer card is a sacramental that carries with it a special blessing for the bearer of the card.....so you see my dilemma.  I leave it to your judgement.  


Make sure to celebrate the Feast of All Saints the next day (it is a Holy Day of Obligation, although when the Feast falls on a Monday you are usually excused from Mass - check with your parish priest to be sure).  Have a Saint Party or do something special.  After all, All Hallows Eve is the preparation for All Saint's Day!  


Have a safe and Blessed All Hallows Eve!