SpamBot Saturday

If you missed it the first time around, it's new to you.   On Saturdays, I inflict a re-run on you good people, culled from the 2000+ stories I've either posted or cross referenced here.  I've decided to try and post daily, including the Sunday, Tuesday and Friday humor, with Spambot Saturday, Tuesday's verse, and Thursday, as always, SST.

Here's a vinetage piece from March 17, 2011

Cheetos Never Prosper

Yesterday, I had to take 7 of my children out into the world for a mandatory meeting at my oldest daughter's high school.  The front foyer had vending machines.  One of my older ones suddenly remembered he had homework he hadn't finished and could he go back out to the car to get his books.  I agreed, hoping it would keep him occupied while I attended to the matters at hand.   He came back with his books and then asked if he could finish his studies in the area with said machines.  It was like an open stair basement area with tables. 

Given that my other children were sitting in a circle playing with a wind up chicken and giggling madly or taking turns running up and down the front steps to the entrance, I agreed this would be an infinitely quieter place for him to work but a little red flag went up in my brain.  Five minutes later, when I'd calmed the sillies and settled the baby, I checked on my studious one.  He was standing in front of the vending machines.  I couldn't quite see what he was doing but I had a pretty good guess.  "Don't buy anything." I told him.  I didn't want a mutiny of children demanding their own snacks and they'd already had a snack after school before we started this errand.

"I'm not. I'm just looking."  He answered and went back to his books.

Now normally, I know that just looking probably means he already put in his money and the item on E-14 got stuck and he is now trying to shake said machine into dropping its junkie goodness into the hatch for his enjoyment, but I was distracted.  My almost nine year old daughter had taken the SLEEPING baby out of her car seat and now was sitting next to several shiny sports trophies tastefully displayed out in the open.  She had one hand holding the baby and the other hand hovering around the beautiful satin red mast like area of a gymnastics trophy.  "Don't touch those!" I barked.  She jumped and my heart did a somersault as the gilded gymnast teetered for a few seconds but then nailed her landing and remained stationary.  I put my hand out like my daughter's.  "You weren't going to touch the trophy.  You were just going to rest your hand an inch from the trophy to pick up its trophy vibes?"  I asked while taking the baby from her to put back in the car seat.

It was time to go to the meeting.  I summoned everyone, but my son lagged behind.  I thought it was that he needed to gather his things, but he was walking with his books positioned in an awkward way.  Half way to the classroom, I spied one of my daughters playing with the custodian's three foot wide push broom. Startled, I barked, "Stop playing with that broom." "I'm not playing, I'm sweeping." she explained and continued to play. "Put that back away." I ordered.  "I'm helping the janitor." she explained.  "Did he ask you to help?"  "No."  "Then put it back where you found it."  When we got to the room for the briefing from the coach, I seated everyone in the back.  It was then that I saw it.

On the desk next to my son was a large bag of Cheetos.  "Did you buy that?" I asked.
"No Mom, I traded for it at school."

Now I make this kid's lunch.  I know I fixed him a fruit cup, chicken sandwich and a cheese stick.  No child on planet Earth would trade a large bag of chips for a fruit cup, chicken sandwich or a cheese stick.

For that matter, no child would trade a bag of junk food for a fruit cup, chicken sandwich AND a cheese stick even if being filmed for a healthy eating type commercial.  "Come on Buddy, you bought that.  You went out to the car, got your money and bought that downstairs."

"I didn't.  I don't even like Cheetos really."  His eyes betrayed his own cheesy crunchy lust but he was still stuck in kid logic which is, if I deny it and Mom doesn't prove it, it's still technically reality even if it isn't actually true.  So I fixed my eyes on his.   "So you traded your lunch for a bag of chips you don't like?"

He looked at the floor and hoped I would find it just as compelling.   "I'll share it with the toddlers.  It will keep them calm."  he bargained.  They immediately swarmed to his position.

"Last chance."  I flared and he gave me the tiniest of nods before immediately opening the bag and sharing it with all of his siblings.  "How did you know?" he asked.

"I just do." I explained, leaving him to wonder what else I know that he doesn't think I know.

I've got to think God has a lot of laughs like this when we fall off track and try to explain our reasoning to exonerate ourselves from our own choices.  Me: "I'm sure it's okay even though... I'll just have my hand hovering over this apple, but I'm not going to really taste it.....I was just helping....myself....I don't even like apples!"

God: "You do know I'm All Knowing. Right?"

Over at the National Catholic Register Today

I have a piece over at the Register, discussing my lack of the art of the deal, and proof that LOVE trumps all.   Go, enjoy.  I promise, you'll laugh, you'll enjoy, and you'll probably call me to offer me a chance at timeshares or buying the Brooklyn Bridge.  

You Know You're Catholic When..

10) The loss of your monthly Magnificat at the start of the month is a near occasion of sin. 

9) You have eaten a Filet-o-Fish. 

8) You scream at the radio whenever they play "Mary did you know?" Yes! For Crying Out Loud! An angel Gabriel...
7) After years of uniforms, wearing plaid is oddly comforting.

6) Someone is asking what you think of the newest doctor and you say, "I haven't yet read Saint Gregory of Narek's 'Speaking with God from the Depths of the Heart," but I plan to..."

5) You struggle when the lines for the confessional are long.

4) You know Transubstantiation counts for at least 20 words in Scrabble, before the bonus points.

3) Rooting for the Irish can be argued as a form of penance. At the very least, it teaches humility.

2) You know that gator, snake, and capybara don't count as meat, even if you've never ventured to try that last one.

1) Your kids have calculated out Lent to be 45 days until Easter, and spent time online figuring out the feast days to bring that tally back down to 40.

Hang in there, Lent is long but we're coming to the end of this high fast season.   Thought everyone could use a chuckle to start the week, and soldier up for the remaining two weeks of fasting, alms-giving, prayer and penance.   

Two-fer Thursday

We always do Small Success over at Catholicmom.com!  Today, we're talking about how to take a God break when life is overwhelming.

But, I never did get to link up to Creative Minority Report, Matt was kind enough to host my Satirical self and I did a rip on the very obnoxious sitcom called the Real O'Neals.  So if you want milk chocolate today, go to Catholicmom.com.  If you're in favor of a bit more dark mixed with fruits and nuts, go to Creative Minority Report...and if you're like me and didn't give up Chocolate for Lent, you have both.  

Have a great day! 

For Larry D

Larry D runs a blog, Acts of the Apostasy.  He wrote about how he despised Patheos at one point, and now he's writing for them.

Now me, I've loved Patheos ever since I discovered it and now...I'm still here.

But I'm not envious or anything like that, no.  I'm grateful and filled with Catholic joy for my fellow Catholic blogger and his success at becoming part of the big league of Catholic bloggers over there hanging out with The Anchoress, Mark Shea and Simcha Fisher. 

While I'd love to be part of the cool kids who all seem to fit in, I'm here in blogville double A farm team. So in honor of all those who warm the bench of the Catholic blogosphere, I offer this tribute to Larry D.  

  

Want to be a Patheos Catholic blogger,

want to send links to my sister and my brothers...

want to have my smiling face...

in the listings at Catholic Patheos......

as a blogger for Catholic Patheos.......

but again, not jealous. I promise.  

Heaven is Real Discussion

My husband and I try to pray Saint Louis Marie de Montfort's Total Consecration to Jesus through Mary.  Some years we do better than others.  

But the language often trips us up, and nearly always sparks a discussion, most often around the absolute certainty of our being able to never do anything good save via God's grace.  It would seem then, the only free acts we have, are to sin, i.e. not cooperate, or to cooperate, and that no virtue should be attributed to the individual for cooperating, since that was the result of God's grace proposing God's will first, and our response to it.  It leads to statements like "we are nothing but worms..." and other such phrases that don't sit well. 

Shouldn't we if we do not merit Heaven by either words or deeds, then be shooting to mold our wills to God's so as to qualify for Purgatory?  the discussion went.  

Should we be worried so much about merit? was another part of the discussion. 

Multiple saints engage in this constant re-joiner of being worthless and useless absent God's will and abundant grace.  Blessed Mother Teresa called herself God's pencil, making herself the passive tool by which God's word could be written, but which could generate nothing on her own. 

But asking to be God's pencil, wasn't that a sign of merit so to speak, of being willing, just as the Blessed Mother said, "Behold I am the handmaid of the Lord."  And so the discussion became, can one claim any part of merit in being good?  

I said no, we do, but no. 
My husband said yes, and that to do otherwise is false humility, we are weighed, measured, our words and our deeds, and given the dose of mercy and justice plus a surplus of love that we dolloped out.  I didn't disagree, but we did still work around those words.  Do we really have to be comfortable saying we're worth less than worthless?  We could cite scripture pro and con, remember thou art dust, and made in God's image.  Both and, a contradiction. 

Then I read the former mayor Bloomberg's article in the New York Times.. 

Mr. Bloomberg was introspective as he spoke, and seemed both restless and wistful. When he sat down for the interview, it was a few days before his 50th college reunion. His mortality has started dawning on him, at 72. And he admitted he was a bit taken aback by how many of his former classmates had been appearing in the “in memoriam” pages of his school newsletter.

But if he senses that he may not have as much time left as he would like, he has little doubt about what would await him at a Judgment Day. Pointing to his work on gun safety, obesity and smoking cessation, he said with a grin: “I am telling you if there is a God, when I get to heaven I’m not stopping to be interviewed. I am heading straight in. I have earned my place in heaven. It’s not even close.”

I called my husband and read him the pull quote.  I am now going to have to work to merit purgatory for gloating online, and for envisioning with no small amount of mischief in my heart, Mayor Bloomberg in Heaven waiting for someone, anyone to interview him. 

Adventures in Advent

Advent started this past Sunday.  I have been to three  places searching for the prerequisite purple and pink candles.   Alas, I have come up empty.   The church I attend, plus the two local parishes that serve as emergency back up in the event we can't make it to the mass at our home parish, sell ornaments and grocery certificates, items from the Holy land and donuts after mass.  There are Christmas ornaments and Christmas cards, Christmas trees and coffee, Cd's, books and sometimes hot dogs.  

There are no Advent candles.  

CVS, Giant, Safeway, the floral shops and specialty boutiques have ornaments and lights, tinsel and Christmas music, gifts, inflatable Santas and jingle bell singing fish, figgy pudding in a can for crying out loud, but no Advent candles.  

But since Advent is about lighting a candle rather than cursing the darkness, my Advent wreath this year shall still be lit.  So I bought beeswax candles.  They don't fit in the wreath.  I went back to get different candles. There has been a run on tapered candles, there are lots of stubby things and tea lights, candles in glass and candles that are supposed to light internally but not burn the outside (they never work).  Scrounging in what felt like the underbelly of the store, I managed to find four unbroken.  

It took some work for the cashier to discern their prices.  

So we will have Advent.  We will light the wreath.

It's just the candles shall be chartreuse,  2 burgundy and ocher.  I could argue, the green is evergreen, the burgundy like the blood of Christ, red, and technically in the family of purple, and ocher, well, let's just say it's gold reminding us of Christ's Kingship and the gifts of the Magi.  

"Mom. You're just justifying the colors you have."
"You bet."
"Can you do it again?"
"Give me a challenge.  Give me the colors."

She considered the spectrum of options.  "Fuchsia, yellow and brown."
"Easy.  Fuchsia for the joy (it's a pink), yellow for the star and brown for the stable."
"Not bad." my daughter mused.  "Could you justify black, blue and orange?"

"Let's see, black for the world prior to the Incarnation, blue for Mary, the Virgin Mother, and orange for orange you glad I didn't have to do this?"

She decided it was time to get back to homework, with Mom making stupid puns.

My mom is sending me some correct candles, I'm thinking of ordering next year's on the Feast of the Epiphany so as to store them with the wreath when I put it away. Otherwise, I'll have to discern the spiritual significance of gray, tan and lilac.  

You Might Be a Catholic if...

Everyone knows You Might Be a Redneck from Jeff Foxworthy, today, we'll do a variant, "You Might Be a Catholic..if"  Leave your own at the end. 

25.  If you say "And with your spirit." without having to remember now.
24.  Yesterday you were humming Copa Cabanana.
23.  You've been accused in com boxes regarding political issues of being both a conservative and a liberal, often on the same site. 
22.  There is always something scheduled on Sunday.
21.  You don't think the Rosary is too long. 
20.  Your children have names that are not directions or places, feelings or food.
19.  There are more than 6 stick figure smiley figures on the back of your car, and there are more people than pets. 
18.  You view all sacraments as Sacraments, not Church flavored variants of State licences.
17.   Lumen Fidei...is on your Kindle.
16.  Your understanding of God doesn't always allow you to agree with your political party.   
15.  The Day after Thanksgiving, you start hunting the stores for three purple and one pink candle.
14.  Your DVD collection includes Rudy, LOTR series, Babette's Feast, The Song of Bernadette, A Lion in Winter, Miracles and The Way.
13.  You didn't know there were other colleges than Notre Dame until you started looking at colleges. 
12.  Have radio dial set to EWTN and know the cable channel.
11.  Before kids come asking you to help find their shoes, they state, "Yes, I prayed to Saint Anthony."
10.  There is a Pro-Life Bumper sticker on the car. 
9.  There are at least two prayer cards and a rosary inside your purse.
8. Your kids know the mass times. 
7.  Have eaten a Filet-o-Fish.
6.  There has been at least one heated discussion amongst siblings about taking all the good saints names when the subject of confirmation comes up.
5. The woman in charge of altar serving always puts your kids on the holiday rotation at the early mass. 
4.  You knew it was NFP awareness week before it was NFP awareness week.
3.  Have a favorite title for the Blessed Mother, mine is Undoer of knots. 
2.  You don't aspire to be good, you aspire to be a saint.
1. You know you're a sinner, and there's a sacrament for that. 

How Rabbits Deal With Temptation

During this time of Lent, we all struggle to grow in holiness.  The trouble is, Satan is quite aware of our failings, flaws and weaknesses.  How do properly fight against the powers and principalities that are against us?  Prayer and fasting yes.   Scriptural readings and frequent sacraments, yes.  

And then, there's this approach.

I don't know about you, but I'd watch sitting under any tree near where this rabbit has been.  

Knowing the Signs*

It begins in the morning, sometimes before one even gets out of bed. Where others are reaching for their I-pad or kindle or in Luddite cases, turning on the television or radio, this person is different.  This person is addicted. This person needs help. This person starts praying (that's right) praying before feet hit the floor. 

Sure you're thinking, it's just a ritual. It's just route stuff.  And that admittedly is how it starts.  A Hail Mary here.  A prayer card there. But it escalates. Each prayer pushes the person towards more prayer such that variety becomes a necessity.  The addicted person now has a player's deck worth of special novenas, prayers for intentions and a whole host of saints.  They've got a rosary stashed in the car and a prayer table and start arranging the schedule to go to adoration or even a second mass during the week.  Their addiction is now interrupting the day.  It has become routine. Sure they're multi-tasking, saying a decade while folding laundry, reading the scripture while on the treadmill or listening to a Catholic radio host while running errands, but it's 24-7. 

But the effects of constantly talking to God and the saints don't end with simply keeping the mind and heart occupied, it starts to interfere with other things like watching sit-coms, listening to politics or surfing the net.  Even Facebook status is affected.  Soon, the poor soul is so obsessed, they lapse into the Divine Mercy Chaplet automatically at 3 o'clock and they don't even need a brochure.   They integrate God into every facet of their lives such that it is inescapable.

But you can intervene.  You can help.  You can talk politics with them or food or sports. Anything but feeding their obsession with God.  It might work.  And if it doesn't and you've tried every worldly thing you could think of, you could always...just say a prayer for them. 

*Inspired by The Crescat, a fellow Catholic blogger who specializes in hifreakin' hilarity and satire, but who is taking a break from blogging. Enjoy your sabbatical. We'll keep the internet warm for you.

Poster Children for NFP*

(Originally Run on  7/26/09...in honor of NFP week).

Showing up for mass on time and worried that I didn't look at the schedule to see if three of the oldest kids need to serve, we huddled guiltily in the back of the church. Some of the ushers know that this is our habit, to send the oldest five upstairs to watch the mass and for my husband and me to wrestle with the "non sentient" crowd unobserved by the majority of the parishioners.

Occasionally we get a pushy mass attendant who will repeatedly try to insist that we take the two, three, five year old and 9 month old to sit at the front of the church. Usually, the two, three year or nine month old will dissuade said usher with a few well placed random happy screams.

At the back of the church there are folding chairs for the stragglers and for us, and a table where one can pick up handy literature on the needs of the food pantry, materials concerning pending legislation that will affect Catholic schools or the Church, teachings on Abortion, flyers for CYO and for retreats, and now, a giant poster covered with sunflowers advertising Natural Family Planning. Sitting with nine children in the back, it was hard not to giggle with the backdrop.

Still, upon reflection, I came to understand that we are NFP poster children. Only if the goal is to have no children, are we not. The fact that we have nine is more a tribute to my stellar book keeping skills and our great love, than the efficiency or effectiveness of NFP. If you succeed in keeping your family small using this method, it is because you have practiced the virtues of obedience and patience and sacrifice --all beautiful virtues which God loves. You have followed God's plan. If you sometimes ignore, forget, or willfully chose to ignore the times when one must abstain to avoid conception, you have abandoned yourself to life, to love, to a future of hope, and allowed yourself to be used in the great first gift of creation, also virtues that God loves. Either way, NFP places you firmly on the path to God.

And the bonus of all this, a man with his young daughter came by and walked in our midst to the table. He took up a flyer for the next session teaching NFP. Whether he did it out of desire for the massive number of sunflowers we had surrounding us or not, it didn't matter.

The usher came by right after that moment, and gave me a wink.

P.S. It wasn't our week to serve, or at least, it wasn't our week to have kids on the altar up front.

Silent Night with Blinking Lights*

Before I was married, I was unaware of the theological differences between my husband and me on the acceptability of blinking versus steady Christmas lights.  I'd grown up with referring to such things as nervous lights, lights that couldn't commit, and liked color but wanted steadiness, taseful color that would show a touch of professionalism that my life otherwise lacked.

He loved lots of lights and blinking displays. He wanted it fun for the kids.    Renting a place in our early marriage delayed my discovery of this seasonal difference of opinion. So when we bought our first home a few years later and icicle lights were all the rage, I happily imagined our home in the soft glow of white dripping lights for the holidays.

"Let's decorate! You do the inside, we'll do the out." he proposed.  And we were off to the races. Half an hour later, he came in for the keys.  "We need more." he explained. 

I suggested that I’d make cookies and hot chocolate for everyone. They were a happy and willing army to “deck the halls.” Equally blissful, I put on my red Christmas apron and cut some slice in bake sugar cookies and made cocoa. I sighed in happiness at the prospect of this Christmas memory in the making.

Then, I looked outside.

There was a string of blue connected to a fluttering string of red and gold that meandered through the lower part of a tree and then wrapped a trunk and draped in artful bows, green, yellow and orange. A second tree was wrapped in white with a red, white and blue trailer that rippled on and off. Lit candy canes were propped in the ground, some at a 30 or 75 degree angles, some two feet apart, others, two inches.

“Isn’t this great?” My oldest son beamed. “I got to use the ladder.”
Sublimation is good for the soul. Seeing the real light of Christmas in the flashing lights in my children’s eyes, I surrendered my vanity to the blinking chaos that engulfed my yard. I figured, “They’re only young once.” I can get my pretty picture some other time.

The next year, I still wanted my vision of a white light Christmas. So I started putting out the lights myself, making a sacrifice and enduring icy cold but not snow inducing weather. Having covered all of the leafless bushes with nets of white, I left them on to surprise my husband. “Good honey, you started the lights.” He said when he came home.

“Is it time to decorate the house Dad?” my oldest daughter asked while the other ones went scrambling for mittens and coats. Within the hour, the house was festooned with hanging globes and stars, a rope of lights that bridged two trees and a separate tree with lights draped around the outer branches that blinked in three separate patterns. I served the Christmas cookies and thought, “Maybe next year.”

The third year, our neighbor across the street upped the ante by placing large lit trees and moving deer on his yard the day after Thanksgiving. He wrapped his trees and lined his driveway in a dazzlingly colorful if inelegant display. Now thoroughly indoctrinated with the idea that this was how to celebrate Christmas, my kids tripped the entire yard with lights. The candy canes were back. A blinking rope snaked around the mail box. The 30 foot pine was no obstacle. The kids tied the end of a strand of lights to a stick and their 6’2’’ hero dad climbed up the 18 foot ladder and heaved the stick over the top repeatedly. For the next four weeks, the two houses engaged in a silent happy Christmas war, adding additional blinking somethings to top whatever the other family had done until December 24th. Having lost once again, I handed out the cookies and fretted. This was becoming a tradition.

Then we moved.

Our new home had an HOA policy, where all the “holiday” displays must be tasteful. Every house had the soft glow of unobtrusive lights I’d wanted. The kids dutifully put out the sweet white lights. Their dad took the colored ones and artfully draped three trees in the back. We handed out cookies and looked at all the quiet but lovely decorations. It was pretty. But the lights in their eyes weren’t quite right.

I put out the uneven blinking candy canes around the white Christmas lighted tree, and whoops of joy shattered the silent night. I’d been converted. Now it was Christmas.

*Originally run in Island Park News in December of 2008

Rejected Marketing Slogans for the New Translation

Any Catholic paying half attention knows that the new translation for the mass starts tonight with the first Sunday vigil of Advent.  A lot of careful thought and training and teaching has gone into preparing the laity for these changes in the language of the mass, which is good because many times, people still don't know when to stand or sit if some wayward soul goes on autopilot and stands when there is a reason not to stand yet.   We need the prep work.  We need the guidance to make these adjustments.

What people don't know, is a large publicity campaign was created to help sell the new responses and words to the general public, but it was scrapped at the last minute when saner heads prevailed and said we'd get it and just to give us time.   Here, due to some fictitious and near legendary undercover investigating, done mostly under the spell and stupor of cranberries, stuffing and gravy based sandwiches, this blog has uncovered the top ten rejected marketing plans for the changes coming to a liturgy near you.

10) Because Hank Williams is currently looking for a gig and we might be able to get him on the cheap:  "Are you ready for some Latin?  Some Sunday Mass Liturgy!"  

Vatican response: Pass. Punt.

9)  After 40 years, the true translation can be revealed....

Vatican: Sigh.  We just got rid of those nut jobs who read Dan Brown.  They don't need encouragement.  Next! 

8) The Translation! It's New and Improved!

Vatican: Actually, it's ancient, it's accurate, and it's simply more correct.

7) There will be a test!

Vatican: Do you even know what we're talking about?

6) Over 1.8 billion Currently Being Saved.

Vatican: Facepalm.

5) Picture this:  Home Depot presents: Mass Makeover!

Vatican: I should have saved the facepalm for this one.

4) Cha-cha-cha-changes...turn and face the

Vatican: Stop! Save the David Bowie for the CYO dances. 

3) From the Institution constantly criticized as never changing, something completely different.

Vatican: Big Monty Python fan but no.

2) Sorry about the mix up, it's all Greek to me!

Vatican: I don't think so.

1)  Facebook Page: Liturgy: Current Status: New!

Vatican: I may have to tweet that one.

 For those who feel I may have stepped over the line, through my fault, my fault, my own grievous fault, I apologize.

Of All the Holidays I'm Missing, I'll rue skipping Nov. 20th the most

Why? Because 11/20 is National Absurdity day and I think my life could be a poster child for such an event.  But I know me, I'll get to that  Sunday and the focus will be the birthday coming up. Thanksgiving overwhelms me and so nothing absurd will be done to recognize or celebrate this occasion. 

I will have missed my opportunity. 

Now while personally, I suspect this holiday is celebrated on an hourly basis 365 days a year, I had to wonder, what other important Festivus type feasts am I missing? What other celebratory moments have I failed to honor?

Here's a mere triffling of them.

January 3 is …Festival of Sleep Day (I'm definitely penciling this one in for 2012).
January 7 is …Old Rock Day  (What does this even mean?) Are we celebrating the Rolling Stones or fossils?
January 31 is … Child Labor Day (Is it the day we make our kids labor? If so, I'm saving the basement for the last day of the first month of the year, oh yeah!)

February 3 is … Cordova Ice Worm Day  (The Lobbyists for spanish frozen invertebrate life forms must be fierce!).
February 20 is … Hoodie Hoo Day (Now they're just messing with us).
February 29 is … National Surf and Turf Day --This holiday ought to come more than once every four years for crying out loud!

Two months in and I'm sensing a lack of focus.

March 3 is … I Want You To Be Happy Day
March 5 is … Multiple Personalities Day
March 8 is … Be Nasty Day
March 9 is … Panic Day
March 22 is … National Goof-off Day
March 23 is … National Organize Your Home Office Day 
March 30 is … I Am In Control Day

(Perhaps Multiple Personalities day should come at the end of the month given the rest of these options; it would explain a lot).

April 7 is … No Housework Day --Now we're talking!
April 13 is … Blame Somebody Else Day --the reason the house is a mess is because of April 7th, I promise!
April 30 is … National Honesty Day Nuts...I have to come clean about the cleaning....

May 3 is … Lumpy Rug Day --Okay, I'm racking my brain on this one and all I can say is "WHY?"
May 9 is … Lost Sock Memorial Day --ditto.
May 26 is … Grey Day --Who authorizes this stuff? 
May 29 is … End Of The Middle Ages Day --do we have a End of the Holy Roman Empire day?  No. Do we have an, End of the Industrial Revolution day? No.  What about a End of the Enlightenment? No.  So why are we commemorating the end of an age that no one misses or mourns except in a highly romaticized and innacurate version at Renaissance Festivals?
 
June 5 is … Festival Of Popular Delusions Day (Like what?)
June 8 is … Name Your Poison Day  --Shouldn't this celebration take place after June 18th?
June 18 is … International Panic Day  This may be a continuation of June 5th. 
June 22 is … National Chocolate Eclair Day --they're not all bad I guess.

July 13 is … Fool's Paradise Day --These two were in odd conjunction to each other.
July 14 is … National Nude Day
July 15 is … National Tapioca Pudding Day and Respect Canada Day (Make up your own joke here).
July 27 is … Take Your Pants For A Walk Day (Not to be confused with July 14th).
July 29 is … Cheese Sacrifice Purchase Day (What is a Cheese Sacrifice?)

Midway through the year, I sense they are running out of inspiration....
August 6 is … Wiggle Your Toes Day (okay.....)
August 8 is … Sneak Some Zucchini Onto Your Neighbor's Porch Night (Forewarned...I'm armed).
August 9 is … National Polka Festival

I'm deliberately leaving out August 13th when it's Blame Someone Else Day, because we already had one back in April. I'm guessing we really didn't have to do two of these. 

August 18 is … Bad Poetry Day (Does this really need acknowledgement? Isn't its existence enough?)
August 24 is … Knife Day (How does one celebrate this in actuality?  For one thing, I guarantee, whatever you do, you aren't going on a flight that day).

September 2 is … National Beheading Day (Because Knife day wasn't satisfying enough).
September 20 is … National Punch Day (Either there's a lot of repressed anger over at the powers that be that denote celebrations wherever that is in our ever thoughtful government or we're partying over the fact that we can mix ginger ale with pineapple juice, ice and frozen concentrated o.j.  If it's the later, perhaps a few blows to the head might explain this). 
September 28 is … Ask A Stupid Question Day (Like why we have days like this?).
September 29 is … Poisoned Blackberries Day (Yikes! I'm not touching any food this day, these folks are mad).

October 3 is … Virus Appreciation Day (single not quite celled infections deserve our admiration...)
October 12 is … International Moment Of Frustration Scream Day (This has merit).
October 19 is … Evaluate Your Life Day (But then so does this).
October 28 is … National Chocolate Day  --I MISSED IT!  May have to celebrate posthumously or also consider celebrating October 19th if I don't.

November 1 is … Plan Your Epitaph Day --Done that, for my tombstone: "She Tried Hard..."
November 9 is … Chaos Never Dies Day --It doesn't even fade.
November 28 is … Make Your Own Head Day --I'm hoping there's a word missing here, like cheese, but if there isn't, it may be because of that Beheading fiasco on September 2nd. I think I'll pass on that one.

December 10 is … Festival For The Souls Of Dead Whales (Whales don't have souls. Just sayin).
December 18 is … National Roast Suckling Pig Day (Not that pigs have them, but why are their souls also not being mourned? Answer: Because they're really really yummy).
December 26 is … National Whiners Day (This sort of behavior, like beheading, probably doesn't need encouraging).
December 27 is … National Fruitcake Day (Again, this sort of thing shouldn't be encouraged).

Just so you know, I didn't even give you half of the offerings.  Having looked at them, first I promise not to pull a Julie/Julia type project where we try to call to mind each one each day.  If we did, we'd be exhausted. The whole calendar reads like a wierd hybrid of a kindergartener's inspirations and a passive agressive marketer for various frozen and ethnic foods.   We need ordinary time and non celebrated vegetables to be able to appreciate the brighter moments in life.   We need quiet and rest and everydayness that having a celebration every day can't bring.  Nevertheless, I can't wait until January 3rd.  Look it up!

Leftover Humor

I had an assignment to write a piece about "How to Get to Mass On Time."  and honestly, the topic was so rich, there was too much to include in a mere column.  So here are the one liners that got left on the cutting room floor so to speak. 

Why you should get to Mass on Time:

10) That sweet parking place, the one that isn't squished between the trash bin and a large SUV?  The one near the church such that walking your kids through the parking lot isn't an adventure in courage, trust in the driving skills of your fellow man and/or require a death grip on your toddler?  It's yours for the taking baby if you arrive just five minutes before mass time.  All yours.

9) If you go early to mass, you can read all the bulletin and be up to speed on all the things going on in the Parish before it starts and thus give full attention to the homily.

8) Bathroom breaks can be enforced before the opening song, eliminating most disruptions during the liturgy.

7) Prepay on the donuts beforehand, reserve your Boston Creams. 

6) If you come early, you can:
          1) write the check
          2) record it in the register
          3) put it in the envelope and
          4) have it ready before the offertory without having the stress of the mad scramble once they start singing "We are Many Parts..."

5) Going early means you get to pick your pew.  Otherwise, your fate is in the hands of the ushers.

4) Arriving on time to mass means you arrive in the actual mind set to be at mass, instead of the, "Ohmygoshwe'relateandeveryone's stressedandwe'regoingtohave toscramble tomakeitbeforethe readings.."mindset, which whatever else it is, is not peaceful or prayerful.

3) Catapult launching toddlers out of their car seats up the front steps of the Church to offload and expedite exodus into the mass can end badly.  Not that I speak from experience.

2) Arriving early allows your teens to decide to sit with their friends at the mass, which in my book, is an acceptable form of rebellion.  Rebelling inside the Church...very Catholic, outside...not so much. 

1) Extra grace that comes not just from showing up, but showing up as invited, for the feast, prepared to be part of the grand event. 

P.S. I told the usher about the assignment.  After he finished laughing, I mentioned that the Holy Spirit enjoys messing with me, but we're getting quite serious about improving our stats on punctuality at mass.  So I'm guessing that's the Holy Spirit's goal, God wins.

Why We Go to 8:30

It's five o'clock.  You've opted for going to the evening mass so everyone can be there so it must be time for every one's favorite pew time pastime, "Who's got Mom?" 

In a twist for our contestants, Mom drove, ergo the original strategies of several key players has been scrapped.  They'll be stuck in whatever alignment Dad puts them in the pew and have to wait for the chance to strike.  It requires a rethinking of strategies as normally, the kindergartner opts for Virtue child, having Mom hold the misselette so she can follow along; muscling out the four year old who thinks the best method is to declare "huggie time."

Mom arrives before the first reading.  Each smaller child is flanked by an older one, leaving Mom on the side with only one method to approach.  The seven year old stands and makes his move.  "Mom!" he urgently doesn't quite whisper.  "I have to go to the bathroom." He may, but he's hoping to go and return to flank Mom on the outside, giving him unrestricted access.

Mom gives the glare and hisses, "Wait until the offertory."  The boy is stuck for what will seem like an unbearable amount of time between his sister who has decided she hates her hair cut and now is the time to let Mom know, and a brother who is trying to both be a bossy bigger brother and seemingly more pious than anyone else in the row.   The rejection has sparked the interest of the older brother who is now trying to correct his younger brother's every move so that it is more correct than the altar servers.

That later kid's a crafty one, as he's placed himself strategically as far away from actual parents as possible, allowing for maximum leeway provided he plays within certain restraints.   Unfortunately, he tends to skate beyond those restrictions which often means there are much more severe consequences if he gets caught. And he's corrected one time too many, resulting in a verbal outrage from the seven year old.  They're both busted. Yes folks, pew kid tetris has begun, as the children are shuffled to try and create the proper alignment to ensure minimum distraction from the mass.

It's rather like one of those analytic problems from the S.A.T.   Kid A can only sit by kid C, F or G.  Kid B sits on the end.  Kid C can sit by anyone but must be in the middle.   Kid D and Kid E must be by one of the two parents.  Kid H and Kid J cannot sit next to each other, but can sit with any one else.   I admit, I've toyed with sitting one child in each pew, at the end, and seeing how that works out, but decided I'll be spending enough time in purgatory as it is. 

Mass includes a visiting missionary with a slide show.  It's good but the children immediately despair.  Commence bathroom breaks.  Shift one, the boys.  Shift two, the younger girls.  Shift three, the older middle children who were trying to show off by not going. 

Back to the action.  Mom had the two toddlers after the potty wars on her lap.  One overly helpful sister was trying to take a child but that child did not want to go.  She announced her desires.  Loudly.  The other child on the lap decided now was as good a time as it was gonna get to give Mom a backwards headbutt.  Mom clears the lap, retreating in pain.  Lap children are now buckled in pew by older teen siblings who relish the idea of 1) acting as parent 2) controlling their siblings 3) appearing virtuous in the process.  Seeing that Mom's arms are free, a new player announces her presence. 

The baby decides she will declare herself the winner.  Bouncing in my arms, she nuzzles up to my neck.  I swear she was giving the rest of them the evil eye and a gloating, "I Win!" victory lap smile when we came back from communion. 

Tune in next week to join us for "Who's not singing?"

Patron Saint of...

Larry D tagged me in a fun meme contest. 

This idea evolved from a blog about a blog about a blog. 

Jeff Miller, blogger extraordinaire more famously known as The Curt Jester, published a clever post earlier today called "Saintly Planning" - advice on the things you need to do to become a saint. Here's an excerpt:

Plus I think you really want to figure out what you are going to be the patron saint of ahead of time. Otherwise you might get one of those ironic patronages the Church seems to love so much. Pick wisely because you will be doing it for eternity or else you might get put in charge of the lost and found like St. Anthony.


This passage inspired another blogger, Puff at Puff's Blog About Stuff, to start a meme:


What would your patronage be?

And then, I got tagged.
Here are the rules:

For this meme, you must name your patronage.
and then tag 5 other people who would like to play along.

Linking your answer to your nominator's post would make it easier to get your answers.

Since I'm a known rule-bender (non-doctrinal ones, at least), I'm changing the meme slightly. I'm asking you, faithful and friendly reader, to choose my patronage that will be assigned to me, upon the moment of my achieving sainthood. I'm much too humble to even consider what my own patronage would be, even more so regarding my impending certain sainthood... Notice I said "friendly."

Now I've frequented Acts of Apostasy for a while so I considered his possible saintly qualities: snarky humor, doctrinal clarity, loathing of liturgical dancing.  Then I considered what job he might enjoy using as a means of dispensing grace to those still struggling to make it into Heaven. 

Now humor as a gift is precious because it can be used to heal.  When it is pure snark, it is simply cruel.  When it is satire, it is used to instruct. When it lacks substance, it is simply silly.  On his blog, Larry D skates upon that point, between satire, snark and silly depending upon his mood. 

But, perfected, Larry would be able to intercede for all those of the blogosphere who seek to amuse, instruct and delight while still evoking smiles and laughter.  He would be the patron saint of blogger's block, combining his love of the modern means of communication with the capacity to spread the faith through a goodly dash of chuckles; a saint who smiles easily.

Oh - by the way - the following future saints have been tagged:

Now, to invite others into the game: 
Danny of http://adanslife.blogspot.com/
Sarah of My Wonderful Life
The Ironic Catholic
Jill at Pundit and Pundette
and brother bloggers, Matt and Patrick at Creative Minority Report.

 Also, to everyone not tagged, feel free to leave your suggestions in the combox if you want to play along.
Oh, ...and I'm the patron saint of the disorganized, procrastinating and heavily caffinated. 

Part of the Crowd

Whenever we can't rouse everyone to get out the door for the 8:30, the 5:00 becomes our fallback position for meeting our weekly obligation to attend Sunday mass. Why it's harder to get to the ten than to wait the whole day to load them into the van just before the witching hour when they'll be 1) fully awake 2) annoyed because I broke up something they were doing and 3) within minutes of feeling like they haven't eaten and 4) unable to be bribed with donuts, I don't know. 

But when we sleep in past 8, I set the alarm for 4 o'clock.  At 3:59 pm I begin inspecting my offspring, sending some to go laundry diving to find suitable attire, asking others to state "when they last showered." and if the answer is not immediately forthcoming, to remedy that problem.  Today, I looked at my youngest son and in a fit of parental vanity, I gave him a haircut at 4:15.  I managed not to make him look like either a girl or Moe of the three stooges.  It was a victory.

It was getting near crunch time.  Two children could not find their shoes, a third was looking for her long pants and a forth wearing a turtleneck and sport shorts.  Three of these problems were solved, but for the life of me, I could not locate my second grader son's shoes.  His flip flops had bit the dust two weeks ago and so he only had one working set of footware. 

We prayed to Saint Anthony and I begin looking in earnest while the oldest begins loading the car.

I searched the upstairs and found six shoes, five sippy cups and a load of laundry. After searching the downstairs and finding three more shoes, a sippy cup, three paper plates and three abandoned soda bottles and two loads of laundry, I've lost my sense of humor.  I could now shoe everyone in my family except the son in question.

Digging through all the unfolded laundry, I strove and failed to keep my temper as I counted approximately 5.5 tons of unsorted washed and dryed clothing that everyone including me had ignored for the better part of a week. The clutter, disorganization and chaos of not being able to get out the door after almost an hour of trying had gotten to me.  

My son is very sweet so he was undeterred by my grousing about how everyone else was in the car.  "When was the last time you KNOW you wore shoes?" I asked.  While he stopped to think, I finally railed at heaven in a half nag, all rant type prayer, "God, I want to get my family to mass.  I want to get them there on time! We started at 4.  It's ten minutes to 5! Please help us find them so we can go! I WANT TO GO! I NEED to go!"  About this time, two of my children return to the house for pre-church bathroom pit stops and I'm trying desperately to reign it back in because the temptation is to say, "NO! GET BACK IN THE CAR!" but those sorts of outbursts will lead to further disasters so I can almost hear God telling me to cool my heels and not worry, we'll get there.  It's hard to accept.  "I just want the shoes found God." I plead in my head.

My son is a chatty boy.  He talks when he thinks about things, "...not when I was out on my scooter, not when we were using the slip-n-slide, not when we shot Peter's airplane and it broke, not when we ate ice cream outside..." His face flashed in recognition but I was deep in Mom irritation because his catalog of events indicated these shoes were going on at least four days lost.  I did not see his joyful knowing eyes until he brough back his backpack from Tuesday when we went to the city pool for the day.   "Remember Mom?" he asked as he unzipped, "You said just to put them in here when we were leaving because my feet were wet." 

I'm feeling three things: 1) Mentally, I'm all wet and 2) If you can go six days without noticing you've lost your sneakers, you're having a heck of a summer and 3) God laughs a lot at my expense and I deserve all of it.

We made it by the skin of our teeth and I was feeling exhausted and overwhelmed by just getting there and then I saw her, a girl of seven years of age in the open foyer area at the back of the church, turning cartwheels...one....two....three.   I know the mom was dying inside as she saw her darling girl practicing gymnastics but honestly, I needed that absurd moment as I sat and hugged my once shoeless son close to me.  The Gospel is about the feeding of the 5,000.  Jesus looked out at the crowd and was moved with pity for them.  I have to think in that crowd, He saw mothers who got mad at their seven year old sons for losing their shoes and girls who turned cartwheels during his parables.  And he fed them all.  Here we were, all of us, part of the messy crowd that didn't give Christ room, didn't give Jesus time to grieve because we are so very needy and He was moved to work a miracle, to feed everyone.

Thank God.

Things I've Heard and Learned This Summer

10) No matter what you call them...lime...kiwi...honeydew...no one wants the green popcicles.

9) If they haven't had a sunburn at least once, they haven't been outside enough.

8) It is always meal time...unless you are serving green popcicles.

7) Four year old daughter turned to me in all seriousness after I finished fixing her ponytail on top, "Mom....Always Remember....Never poop in  your pants." 

6) Inhaling does not make the car get slimmer when your son is driving too close to a mailbox. Imaginary breaks don't work either.

5) Whenever you stop at a fresh produce stand, put half of what you want to buy back...you will be full before you can get to it.

4) Whenever you go to the library, put half of the books back, so you'll lose fewer.

3) Dinner on Pool day is funnel cake.  Anyone who objects can help themselves to the green popcicles.

2) You only get a bath on pool day if you ate a green popcicle.

1) Bringing Mom her laptop, a diet coke and a dish of ice cream is an effective bribe against me ever bringing up Summer Math books.  But in reality, you could just bring me a bottle of water and a lime popcicle, I've come to appreciate them...if only from repeated exposure.  As for the math books, it doesn't take much...(I don't like them either).

Destruction in Their Pathway

Look at any baby store, any parent magazine and you will discover that the home we live in 24-7 is unsafe for children and requires at least two thousand dollars worth of specialized equipment to help them reach the tender age of four. But for all the talk of how one has to make a house safe for an infant, the reality is steeper than a newbie parent can possibly bear.

Alas, those veterans out there know it well; a baby needs no protection from the house. The house needs protection from the baby. As my Grandfather and Grandmother would say (and they raised nine), "Destruction in their pathway! Destruction in their pathway!"

The following policies have been devised over years of extensive research (born of hard knocks), to prevent maximum property devaluation from occurring before said toddler reaches the age of reason or the domicile is condemned.

Rules for Toddler Proofing a Home.

Rule #1. Ban writing equipment. As of this moment, all pens, markers, crayons, pencils, paint brushes, nail polish applicators, lip sticks, high lighters, sharpies, white out, paint, India ink, mascara and glue are officially illegal. They may not be purchased. They may not be borrowed. They may not be accidentally brought home in one’s purse or briefcase or backpack. Older children in school will have to complete their assignments either before coming home or on the computer. Those needing to use actual writing utensils will be taken to a separate location, like a library, neighbor’s house, or large rural vacant field and allowed to return only after the assignment has been completed and a thorough body search has revealed no contraband crayons, pens, pencils or markers are entering the vicinity.

Please understand that these precautions may not protect your walls from toddler creativity entirely. Once, I found my daughter drawing on the window with a banana; inspiring rule #2.

Rule #2. Hide Consumables. All food shall be placed at a height of 60, no… they can use chairs and a broom, 70, no… they can climb, 84 inches or higher to prevent scavenging. This includes traditional foods thought to be the preferred choices of toddlers, like multi-colored gold fish, Oreo cookies, apples and juice boxes, and some items that most adults would consider at the very least, unusual; examples of this alternative eating include free basing Maple Syrup, chomping a stick of butter like a candy bar and grabbing whole fists of ground beef before it’s cooked.

Rule #3. No Car For You! Like your vehicle? Hide your keys. Why? Car keys are fun. They make excellent experimental objects for scratching things like dishwashers, wall paper and actual cars. Keep keys in a box on the top shelf of the cabinet to guarantee maximum safety or be willing to suffer the damages plus the embarrassment of being awakened on a Sunday by the annoying car alarm going off that turns out to be yours.

Rule # 4. Constant Vigilance! Consider installing a close circuit TV and an ankle bracelet. Why? Because toddlers do 16 things in the time it takes an average adult to pour a cup of coffee. In the time you’ve spent reading these tips, your anniversary watch just went into the pewter pitcher in the lower cabinet. Because that particular pitcher is the one you use for special occasions, you’ll find your watch next Mother’s Day preferably before you go to pour in some orange juice.

Upside: You’ll find out all your kid does.
Downside: Humanity cannot always bear that much reality.

Rule #5.  Fairness and Order. Explain to older children it is unjust to use the fact that they are living with an essentially non civilized entity with opposable thumbs to their own advantage. The two year old did not mess up your room or strip the bed or leave the toilet scrubber in the middle of the room. Okay, maybe that last part, but own your own mess. Even SHE can’t have done all of this.
Veteran Tip: If you implement rule 4, you can even produce evidence, though in some cases, you might opt to destroy the tapes.

Rule # 6. Contain Yourself. All liquids stored in the house, be they ketchup or water, Windex or shampoo, will be triple sealed to prevent a "help yourself" mentality that has lead to more than a few moments of hyperventilating on the part of Mom. They will also be stored out in the garage. Yes it’s a pain but keep reminding yourself of how long it took to clean up the olive oil from the carpet and you will see the wisdom of this system.

Drinks served at meal time will be in sippy cups for all family members. No exceptions. This will prevent any unfortunate run-ins with electronic equipment that does not like liquid. Cabernet with a touch of ice does surprisingly well in a plastic container.

Special Veteran Note: Do not mix up sippy cups!

ONE FINAL NOTE:
Take lots of pictures of her when she draws her arm entirely purple with the one marker left in the house, or when she stomps on grapes in the kitchen. This impossible stage fortunately is blessedly short, and you’ll want proof for when she has two year olds herself one day of why you can just listen and laugh.

Editor’s Note: These six rules were compiled from the antics of nine different children going through the stage of being two. Cupie Doll, a.k.a. Miss Chief, it wasn’t all you.