Small Success Thursday

I started last week, I'm sticking with it.   Welcome back to another edition of Small Success Thursday. 

This week held within it, lovely moments like my daughter's acapello concert.   Here's the video.  (I'm boasting because well, I'm proud). 

It also held a quiet moment when I could only gasp.  On Tuesday, I'd misplaced my rosary. This rosary was given to me by my eldest daughter from her trip to Italy. It came from Padua, from the Shrine of Saint Anthony. It's beautiful. It's precious to me, and I tore apart my room looking.  I also looked in the car, turned my purse and my satchel inside out several times, and begged Saint Anthony to help me find it.  Frustrated and defeated, I took myself to adoration and prayed with a plastic rosary, and made my peace with the loss.   I found one rosary of mine (a purple crystal one), in the back of my car.  I found a silver and white one of mine, in a drawer.  I laughed, they were rosaries, just not that one. 

The next day, half way through work, I reached into my purse to fish out a dollar for a diet coke, and found the red velvet bag with the rosary inside of it, in my zippered pocket.  I'd turned the whole purse inside out. I'd gone through every pocket.  Saint Anthony, I owe you one.  I sat there shaking my head...because the thing was...to get me to pray the rosary, rather than worry about the nature of the beads. Yes, I still felt very happy to find it. 

The next small success came with my youngest daughter making a list of careers for herself including pet watcher, park ranger, artist, boss, taste tester for Tasty Cakes or Entenmann's, contestant on a game show, art teacher, movie maker and nun.   I'm saving the list. 

In the car, on the ride to school, we've worked on practicing gratitude.  We played a game of listing twelve blessings a person.  You couldn't repeat someone else's blessings.   It helped. 

Those are my big moments from the past week.   Hope you had a great week filled with small successes.   

7 Quick Takes

1. This morning, the wheels came off the bus, and not one of my children made it anywhere on time.  But the day and the mood was saved, by the premature advent (forgive the pun) of 24-7 Christmas carols on the radio,which soothed the psyches of 7 of the 8 people bothered by the passage of time.   "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year..."  They sang it and meant it and you know what, so did I.

2. There is something about two year olds that can only be explained thusly: she has a lollipop in each hand. Neither is unwrapped.  She is dancing on her tippy-toes. "They're mine. They're mine! They're Mine!" she sings.   All is right with the world.  

3. My kids know Saint Anthony and I have a connection. Part of what made us late this morning was the inability of one child to find her folder.  She was fast becoming unglued by this reality despite my reassurances the teacher would understand.  She said a prayer aloud asking my favorite go to saint for help. I added my own and I promise you the instant we finished, we found the folder.  We'd searched all the rooms more than once but here it was.  She gave a big smile and thank you to the Saint, and I sat there feeling like sometimes, these little trials are to teach the bigger people (like me) not to be such a snob with prayer, not to save it only for special occasions or big stuff.  This was big stuff to her, and thus to me, but the prayers were for little things.  

4.  30 Day Novel Writing

I'm in an online course learning all the mistakes I made as part of the writing process of The Book of Helen, hoping not to make them with The Book of Penelope.  Thus far, I've sold 35 books on Amazon that I know of, (installed the counter a week late).  I don't know how she did on Barnes and Noble or Apple or Museitup.  I do know, I'm applying to be a speaker at the Gaithersburg Book Festival and trying to hold onto that "You wrote a book" feeling, which so many authors talk about fading fast when the sales aren't reaffirming of the reality.  Writing a story isn't so much an ego trip as it is an ego offering, and it's hard to not feel it personally when a review reveals all the flaws, because human nature is we want the equivalent of an "A" in this experience.

5.  Day 9 No Laptop.

You have to worry when it takes Geek Squad more than a week to assess.  I miss my computer.

6.    Favorite moment this week so far...there are three.

1) My two year old and 5 year old sitting on my lap for story time and announcing it as such.
2) My teen saying "I love you." through a closed door when I went upstairs to turn off lights.
3) My daughter coming to announce, she's finished her college application common ap.  

7) Twenty years into parenting, I finally have come to know, that the only thing that separates this vocation from being a thankless joyless job, is love.  Parenting, being in a family is much more a willful act than I ever knew.  Getting down on the floor to play instead of turning on the tv? A willful act.  Giving a bath rather than just trussing them up for bed? A willful act.  Preparing a meal rather than ordering pizza?  A willful act.  None of the opposites I listed are innately evil, but they can become a reflexive response rather than a treat that isn't an escape from the tasks we've been called by God to do, namely to love these people unconditionally, and teach them the means by which they can do the same to others, all while giving instruction on how to survive the needs and cares of this world and make it less sharp around the edges.   As such, I now wish all of you a good weekend, I have to go fix lunch.  

The Real Happy Face of a Miracle

Saint Anthony and I have always had a great relationship.  I'm fairly certain he has a file marked "Sherry" just for me, and on it in permanent sharpie marker are keys, bracelet, purse, and matching socks, not to mention, the penciled in requests to help me find the time, opportunities for sleep and my muse.  I owe him big time.  I'm not kidding. 

So this morning was a bad start.  People were moving slowly.  Lunch was cobbled together with the obligatory, "I don't like that." and my response, "You get what you get." It's not that I wanted to serve my children chips they didn't like, it's that I didn't like kids complaining about chips for crying out loud.  They had grapes, pineapple cups, sandwiches and chips.  I basically was in my, "It's morning, I'm making lunches, deal with it." mode.

But the day slogged on and getting into the car was a challenge.  As I'm changing the baby, I spy four children outside the car drawing pictures in the dew on the windows.  "GET IN THE CAR!" and "YOU, Come load her!" as I scrambled for the next child.  I could not find shoes for my son.  I found two left shoes and some red boots.  I opted for the red boots. 

My son did not like the boots. I locked him down in his car seat.  He flipped them off, they hit my eye.  Bad mood growing.  

There is no diet coke for me.  Bad mood getting worse. 

Two children go back inside...for no reason in particular.  I bark them back out and finish making a bottle for the baby.  I'm tired, I've made 12 lunches, 7 breakfasts, without making one for me and we're going to be late. 

Shredded self is done with civility.  She gets in the car and procedes to rant all the way to school about self pitying things.  "I'm the only one who gets up...the only one who can find the clothes, the backpacks, the lunch bags, who makes lunch...blah blah blah blah. Me. Me. Me. Me. Poor Me. Mad at you. Bleah. Bleah. Bleah."

My rant prevented morning prayers except for one, mine, which is the Act of Contrition.  And I stopped. My children would have this memory of me having a pity party. Ugh. Boo. Not fun.  I rattle off the prayer, I tell them I love them and they disembark.   The whole ride home is horrid as I sit there thinking about how petty I'd just been. I drive home to look for Paul's shoes.

Going inside, I've already searched before so I decide to enlist Saint Anthony.  God is sitting there waiting for that one, "Ha!" "Saint Anthony, help me find Paul's shoes." I'm still in a bad mood.  "And my sense of humor....and while you're at it, my patience.  Saint Anthony, help me to serve these children better.  Help me find a way to be a good mom." My rant/demand of one of my favorite saints has turned into a real prayer.  The moment I realize this, I walk into the computer room.  And there, on the floor, are the two right shoes.   And the peace of laughter, which is a gift of the Holy Spirit I hold dear, breaks over everything that was. 

So I called my mom this afternoon.  "I don't remember you ever yelling at me like that." I start.
"Oh Honey,  Thank you!" she said.  And there is that laughter again, over what gets kept, what deliberately gets lost, and what our souls remember forever, not pain, not anger, not sin, but love. 

So I start to feel even better; that twenty, thirty, fourty years from now, when they're adults and in the midst of things, they won't recall mom popping off on the drive to school, hopefully, they'll remember that she had a merry laugh, a good relationship with Saint Anthony and could find things like shoes, very quickly. 

On Hold

I have been paging Saint Anthony since Friday for the return of two right foot tennis shoes for my two year old son Paul.  Now St. Tony and I go way back. I visited Padua on my 22nd birthday.  We've got an understanding.  On numerous occasions with multiple witnesses, I have solicited his assistance in locating items only to have them quite literally appear in the next second before I can draw breath. 

Lest you think I'm bluffing, the most recent came on Friday when I'd loaded up the car and found that the van would not shift out of park. With the baby beginning to get agitated and no supplies as we'd been out a while and used them up, I could not afford to be stranded.

So, after multiple attempts of turning the wheel, turning the key, turning the key, turning the wheel, and getting no where except more frustrated, I muttered aloud, "Saint Anthony help me find a way to get this car moving."  The car gear immediately released in my hand.  The second after that, my 13 year old found an earring I'd been searching for and given up for lost eight weeks ago.  The kids saw it and commented. "Wow! Go Saint Anthony!" and I seconded it.  I've always tried to point out that you do have to be looking. trying, in there pitching, but I can't deny that this saint in my life has a strong batting average. 

In searching for Paul's shoes, I began a systemic search today and as a result acquired 15 sharpened pencils, two previously thought gone forever DVD's, a USB of my daughter's behind a cabinet, four sippy cups (that had been full of water and now were simply empty and lost), two library books, six cute socks that have clean cute mates sitting in the sock bin, and a shirt I'd been missing.  This isn't a case of providing exaggeration to create comic effect.  The piles of treasures found made me feel as if Saint Anthony was today clearing out his old files or defragging his computer, there were so many "Oh yeah I wondered where that went" type moments.  He'd answered all past pending prayers in one afternoon.
However the shoes remain MIA.  I may have left the poor saint exhausted with my constant pleas.  I could hear St. Anthony's humor back at me, "Your call is very important to us and will be handled in the order it was received."


Still, he's never failed me yet so I guess I'm just on hold. I'll have to lose a few more things to create a queue.

But I've told him I'm easy, I'll gladly trade having two left feet shoes for having one of each even if they don't match. 

P.S.  This morning, walking down to wake up my daughters, I spied the toy train bin.  A mental note, "You should play Thomas the Tank Engine with Paul today." popped into my head.  I pulled the bin out further to remind me later.  There, on top of the bin, a bin I'd gone through at least three times the other day with no luck, was Paul's shoe.    So I will be playing trains this morning.  Thank you Saint Anthony. 

Saint Anthony of Padua Speaks

I recently linked the Ironic Catholic and I love her blog. She wrote a piece that inspired me and so I'm linking it in the title so you can read the whole thing.

Thanks I.C.

Fighting without a Prayer Never Works

Whenever my kids can't find their (pick one), shoes, lunch box, money they swear they've held onto for sentimental reasons since their baptism, the ugly accusation gets flung.

Someone took it.

Now when something's missing, if I'm on my game, I mention asking Saint Anthony. The kids know this, they often wave me off about it too. But when I couldn't find my daughter's tap shoes last Saturday (and she always always misplaces them), I was irritated. I ranted as I searched for her shoes. We were doing so well on time before that snag too.

"Somebody took it." she explained.

I'm was ready with the comeback, "Who? We all live here. No one else fits your shoes. No one else needs your ballet slippers."

It went over her head but as I said, I was irritated.
"Did you check under the bed?"

Kids are scurrying, checking under beds because the worst of all possible alternatives has happened on a Saturday, Mom is mad.

"Did you check under the couch?"
Kids are again running about, pulling all matter of footwear and no small number of socks out from under the various couches in the home.

Mom is still ranting.
"I want all your shoes...all the time...in the closet...where they belong....every time...everyone of you! How hard is this? Why do we have to go through this?" I am hitting my mom stride.

Kids are still looking. I've spotted one of them praying, muttering purposely in my direction, and I see the words, "Saint Anthony." But I'm still mad as I'm going through the cubbies, searching for two black tap shoes and two ballet shoes and the time is indicating we have 20 minutes or we're late. "No praying, just looking." I snap.

Still looking. 15 minutes or we're late. Rant resumes as I catch a few kids abandoning the search for shoes.

"I want your shoes up here...in the shoe tree...up high..." and I point for effect.

And there they are.

In the closet.

In the shoe tree.

Up high.

"Okay." The kids are all there. They all see the shoes.
They've seen me rant in all my ugliness.

"Kids," as I'm realizing, Saint Anthony took the shoes so that Mom would find her daily dose of humility, "I'm sorry I got so messed up over slippers." There are hugs. The apology is accepted en masse.

And then, while the children slipped back to playing Wii and watching television, as I began to start to scurry a bit to get the girls to their dance class, I asked Saint Anthony, "Could you help me find a way to get them to class on time too?"

And we didn't hit a single red light en route, not one.