Keep Running

Psst.  Hey!  How's Lent working out for you? 

So far, I've managed to determine that my capacity to deny myself is woefully lacking.  I've gained four pounds.  Fridays have been particularlly hungry days when I haven't exactly put on the joyful mask for fasting or even abstaining. The rosary I planned to say daily, well I'm about a week or two behind, let's say three days to four out of the week it gets said on the fly while I'm driving or taking out the garbage or making the beds and adoration only made it onto the schedule because it was prescribed as penance.   Three pages of the spiritual book I'd chosen as a guide for the 40 days have been skimmed but I cannot recall a word. (I fell asleep).  Flailing like crazy does not sound like the way one should be when seeking to go out in the desert of one's spiritual life, but it aptly describes my Lenten journey thus far. 

The other day, getting everyone dressed was a major ordeal.  Someone couldn't find their shoes, another couldn't find socks, a third needed a different shirt and the fourth was running low on skirts she liked wearing. 

The next day fixing breakfast was hard. We'd ordered groceries to be delivered for that evening, but had to limp through breakfast.  Some had leftover flan. Some had oatmeal.  With such limited options, I still had one daughter who will not eat oatmeal or flan. I offered to make eggs.  Four eggs were frozen and two were cracked and frozen to the carton, but we limped through.  Naturally, two others at home wanted eggs too.  While I was fixing eggs, my five year old daughter tried to be helpful. She took the last of the cereal and poured it in a paper bowl for her brother who was sitting in his high chair awaiting his meal.  Within seconds of her good deed, the bowl and it's contents were scattered across the kitchen.  He dumped his sippy cup of soy milk for good measure. 

As I frantically tried to clean up, he rubbed the remainders of his drink and food in his hair.  Now the night before, a tomato pot fell into my bathtub killing the seedling and making my bathroom a dirty mess.  I forgotten about that until this morning when I went to give my son a quick bath to get him ready for a 10 o'clock speech appointment.  Instant mud.  Scrambling to get them all dressed and wiped down, the floor clean and table at least not sticky before she arrived, I can't say I offered it up.  I can't say I prayed through it.   I can say, it got done.

 Loading the car today was hard. We needed gas, we were running late and for the third time, I'd stowed all the winter coats only to get socked again with a 40-60 degree pouring down nasty rainy day. Today God, everything stunk even though I could see that everything did not in fact stink, that it was me having a hard time because I just wasn't feeling particularly dutiful.  Today everything I didn't want to do needed immediate one on one careful attention or it would implode.  And eventually, that everything included me.We know that suffering can bring us to Christ; and I know I suffer the least, mine is an easy burden to care for a lot of people that love me; but for all that, all this mess and minutia can bring me to my knees. 

As a kid, I ran long distance.  The final lap was always the point at which I wanted to quit, my body ached, I wondered why I was doing this, I wondered if anyone would notice if I just walked off the track.  Most of the time, the rule when those sorts of thoughts entered my head was run faster; but thankfully, on the times when I didn't have the extra go, others cheered and said keep going.  It seemed to me I needed that "Keep going." crowd now.  And before I could even ask, the keep going crowd made its presence known.  These past two weeks, people have been preparing meals for my family.  I do not know who they are but I am grateful.

This weekend is Palm Sunday and I know, I am not ready.  Next weekend is Easter and I know I know I know I am not ready for that but man the one thing I do know is how do I need it.   How I need Easter.  And that moment of knowing, of thinking how I needed Easter, brought the peace that doing everything properly could not have (for I would have been proud of making a good Lenten sacrifice), and the joy of knowing that screwing up was why we needed Easter in the first place.   

 Have to go finish making the beds, take away the laundry baskets from my daughters that are using them as bumper cars, feed the baby and read Paul a book.  Thank you to my unknown support team and happy final lap of Lent everyone.  Keep running.

Mental Tapas Served

With eight children and version 9.0 on the way in September, there are always opportunities for articles, some more coherent than others. I keep a notepad for jotting down potential ideas. The following were all created by my loving offspring, for you, before 9 am Friday. While none of them flowered into a full fledged piece without seeming trite, overwritten or tired, I feel an obligation to keep trying so these are the mental tapas under consideration.

Witnessing the Lawn Mower man on his new tractor...Boo (newly four year old son)expressed his concern rather eloquently. "That man is scary, he freaked out my toes."

Cupie Doll (age 2 and impossibly cute), thinks pull ups make the perfect head accessory. We have even let her wear one into the car, on the theory we could pull it off when we arrived at our destination. So far, I haven't forgotten.

Taxes. Free Starbucks. Coincidence? I think not. Both normally cost a lot. Both take an inordinate amount of time, both will leave you shaking for hours in the aftermath.

Toilets: It's a bad day when the plunger makes an appearance before breakfast.
Bugs and Bathrooms: It's a really bad day when your daughter takes a shower and finds millipedes. Explaining it could be worse --mice, snakes, bees...doesn't help.

Sins of Omission: When a child alters his gate to step over a paper plate that has somehow made it to the floor, it is time to assign chores.

It's a really rough day...when the broom breaks in half in my hands, the washing machine starts smelling like burnt rubber and the vacuum quits on the same day, it is time to call the maids and order out.

Finally: When my infant daughter's sucking on her empty bottle at 4 a.m. translates to me as a metaphor for how writing works --the shell of an idea encasing something great which may or may not be empty...it's clear 1)I need more sleep 2)my world is a little bit tiny and 3)I should really get up and get her a new bottle.

MEMO to Mom and any public officials from child protective services reading this, I did.