We didn't get to Small Success Thursday because we had a play and basketball practice and HSPT and field trips and a birthday to prepare for on Saturday.
As such, I'm using my daughter's religion project as a writing prompt for today's belated post.
100 things I'm grateful for, both in and out of order.
1. My faith.
2. My husband.
3. Will.
4. Bonn.
5. Marta.
6. Peter
7. Faith.
8. John.
9. Rita.
10. Regina.
11. Paul.
12. Anna-Maria
13. My mom.
14. My in-laws.
15. My brother and his wife and children that live near us.
16. My brother and his wife and their children in Texas.
17. My sister and her husband and their children in Texas.
18. My brother-in-law and his wife and their children.
19. My cousin and her family in Chicago.
20. My extended family (aunts, uncles, cousins all over the place).
21. My friends, past and present.
22. My teachers, past and present.
23. My students, past and present.
24. My education, past and present.
25. breathing. (Not something I do well).
26. Our home.
27. Our jobs.
28. The freedoms of this country.
29. my health.
30. the medicines/our insurance that manage what we cannot.
31. good books.
32. writing career.
33. sense of humor.
34. gift of dancing.
35. My husband's gift for romance.
36. this community I belong to.
37. My online friends.
38. all the answered prayers.
39. all the prayers answered with something other than what I asked.
40. snow.
41. the Gulf of Mexico
42. the love of fishing.
43. Chocolate.
44. The world.
45. Great music.
46. Art.
47. Sunsets.
48. Sun rises.
49. Mass
50. When any of my children smile.
51. When any of my children sing.
52. When any of my children laugh.
53. playing games with my kids.
54. Sunday Dinner.
55. Date Night.
56. Unexpected flowers.
57. Fresh fruit.
58. Live theatre.
59. A good joke.
60. Waking up before everyone else, rested, when the house is quiet.
61. the stars on a moonless night.
62. when a song comes on the radio I forgot I loved.
63. Catching my children playing without them noticing.
64. Meeting someone who laughs when I say I have ten children, because they have eleven.
65. when a student discovers they love something they're reading.
66. when I guess right.
67. Seeing friends at adoration.
68. Swimming, floating in the pool.
69. Cooking something well that everyone likes.
70. Fresh sheets.
71. a blank page
72. 500 words written on that page.
73. When I think of the ending of a piece.
74. the feeling after one exercises.
75. I am grateful for all the unexpected gifts I never asked for, but take for granted.
76. For all the saints.
77. For my dad.
78. For all the people who put up with me.
79. For the books that published my work.
80. For the newspapers that published my work.
81. For our Pope. I've had the honor of meeting/attending a mass with the past three, I love them all.
82. For the little moments...like when we watch a movie and it draws in others.
83. For the big moments like my daughter's getting three college acceptances.
84. For seeing old friends at mass.
85. My son reminding us to pray grace, refusing to eat otherwise.
86. everyday texts from my kids
87. the fruits of every season
88. when I get how to play something on the piano or drums.
89. listening to my kids get silly about something in the kitchen as they prepare a snack
90. Early Christmas decorations by my teens.
91. all these people praying for our family.
92. Diet Coke since I don't like coffee.
93. Having a family full of people who don't get Black Friday.
94. Playing cards/games all Saturday
95. Watching my kids play sports, seeing them run.
96. kind words
97. the opportunity to give
98. today.
99. all the yesterdays.
100. the hope of all our tomorrows.
Showing posts with label gratitude. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gratitude. Show all posts
Monday, November 25, 2019
Saturday, November 24, 2018
Overstuffed...
Today, there are three boxes of ornaments on the couch, the game is on, five kids played cards while two are on the computer, one went to the movies with friends and two are napping. Everyone rotates through the kitchen scrounging for a steady stream of turkey sandwiches, stuffing, apple date cake and blueberry pie. There is a stack of recycling, three milk cartons, two OJ, three diet cokes, two root beers, five waters and a sprite, not to mention Saturday's paper, five cardboard boxes from packages and a three inch thick stack of Christmas catalogs from Friday which needs to be taken out. A barbie and fifteen teddy bears grace the couch and giant Jenga blocks in a Stonehenge formation adorned with dinosaurs create a walking hazard in the dining room.
I've not ventured up or downstairs, for fear of finding out more. I have two loads of laundry to fold and sixteen shoes I see which need to be put away so I retreat to my bedroom to the computer. No one is seeing anything. Everyone is content and full. Real life will start up again soon, but for now, the Christmas carol station competes with Spotify disco, and books, games, movies and balloon dances trump homework, housework and schedules.
I am overstuffed with joy, all of them are home. There have been dances and paper books created, jokes and pranks, impromptu song fests and dancing, balloon cheerleaders and emergency runs for milk, bread, pie crusts and apples. Someone is making homemade mac and cheese. Another kid is experimenting with hot chocolate. They're also going for track practice runs, signing cards and decorating for Christmas.
It is a necessary rest in between the ordinary and the more that is to come, what with Christmas, exams and other things. Every minute feels both wonderfully endless and fragile. I polled the kids about going to evening mass and they opted for Sunday at nine, to let today continue to spool out uninterrupted by going out. The weather echoed the idea, with huge soaking cold rain from four o'clock on. So we played more cards, moved along a wash and emptied a laundry basket, looked for dresses online and started new games. My daughter set up the Nativity set for Christmas, and we watched the football and quizzed me on baby animal names. I learned a baby oyster is called a spat, and a baby platypus is called a puggle. I read a book.
Such a day...overstuffed with peace. It's a great day to be here, to enjoy all of it, to be present, and to allow time to spill out like water. It is a grace and a gift.
I've not ventured up or downstairs, for fear of finding out more. I have two loads of laundry to fold and sixteen shoes I see which need to be put away so I retreat to my bedroom to the computer. No one is seeing anything. Everyone is content and full. Real life will start up again soon, but for now, the Christmas carol station competes with Spotify disco, and books, games, movies and balloon dances trump homework, housework and schedules.
I am overstuffed with joy, all of them are home. There have been dances and paper books created, jokes and pranks, impromptu song fests and dancing, balloon cheerleaders and emergency runs for milk, bread, pie crusts and apples. Someone is making homemade mac and cheese. Another kid is experimenting with hot chocolate. They're also going for track practice runs, signing cards and decorating for Christmas.
It is a necessary rest in between the ordinary and the more that is to come, what with Christmas, exams and other things. Every minute feels both wonderfully endless and fragile. I polled the kids about going to evening mass and they opted for Sunday at nine, to let today continue to spool out uninterrupted by going out. The weather echoed the idea, with huge soaking cold rain from four o'clock on. So we played more cards, moved along a wash and emptied a laundry basket, looked for dresses online and started new games. My daughter set up the Nativity set for Christmas, and we watched the football and quizzed me on baby animal names. I learned a baby oyster is called a spat, and a baby platypus is called a puggle. I read a book.
Such a day...overstuffed with peace. It's a great day to be here, to enjoy all of it, to be present, and to allow time to spill out like water. It is a grace and a gift.
Thursday, November 22, 2018
We Are Beyond Blessed
I have a new piece over at the National Catholic Register, I hope you enjoy it as you begin the preparations for the day.
Happy Thanksgiving, We Are Beyond Blessed.
Happy Thanksgiving, We Are Beyond Blessed.
Sunday, November 29, 2015
Magic Words
Last week, two of my tweens had the day off on a day my teenagers didn't. We stayed up late playing a card game and my sixteen year old took umbrage at our late night laughter. He slammed the door and shouted down at us several times. We started whispering. He stomped in his room to let us know, even this was unacceptable. We'd just finished so we said good night and shut down the room.
The next morning, as I climbed the stairs to wake him, I wondered, how to address his anger, to help him learn a better way than to yell "Shut up." at his family. Rubbing his feet to wake him, his first words were, "I'm sorry." He sank into the foot rub and smiled.
"Maybe, instead of "Shut up!" which doesn't get you what you want most times it's used, you could yell "Foot RUB!"
"FOOT RUB!" he shouted.
I rubbed his feet. He grinned. "See, it worked much better."
I got up to leave.
"FOOT RUB!"
I came back and crunched his toes. "I need to make the lunches." He smiled and stretched.
"Foot rub?"
One more time.
"You should apologize to your brother and sister."
"I will."
We'll see what happens the next time we're up late playing cards and he wants to sleep.
The next morning, as I climbed the stairs to wake him, I wondered, how to address his anger, to help him learn a better way than to yell "Shut up." at his family. Rubbing his feet to wake him, his first words were, "I'm sorry." He sank into the foot rub and smiled.
"Maybe, instead of "Shut up!" which doesn't get you what you want most times it's used, you could yell "Foot RUB!"
"FOOT RUB!" he shouted.
I rubbed his feet. He grinned. "See, it worked much better."
I got up to leave.
"FOOT RUB!"
I came back and crunched his toes. "I need to make the lunches." He smiled and stretched.
"Foot rub?"
One more time.
"You should apologize to your brother and sister."
"I will."
We'll see what happens the next time we're up late playing cards and he wants to sleep.
Thursday, September 24, 2015
Small Success Thursday
It's Thursday so come join me over at Catholicmom.com!
Here's the start...
Why do we do this each week? What does all this recounting of rosaries and bedtimes, cleaned closets and date nights add up to? It adds up to witnessing. One of the big problems with Catholicism lived is it does not make the news. A woman feeding their children, caring for their home, romancing their husband, this is what we hope should be the norm. It does not impress to do these things because it should be the baseline. To do what is holy is to become it, and as St. Teresa of Avila said, “God is in the pots and pans.” He must want to spend a lot of time with me, because there are always dishes.
However, given the nature of our nature (fallen), what we aspire to do as ordinary, is in fact, extraordinary. It is holy.
There's more, so go and read and participate, even if it's just in the comment section. :)
Wednesday, February 11, 2015
74-50 (also known as me and my big mouth)...
74. The gift of creativity. I'm grateful because I'll need it to see the totality of this list and have no repeats. But I've always been able to draw and writing came later, but I've always loved trying to write stories. The first day I took creative writing in 4th grade with Mrs. Bolic, I thought I'd died and gone to heaven. Who wouldn't love doing creative writing? That's what I thought.
73. The eventual gift of insight. You'd think with that sort of revelation, I'd have known sooner than I found out, but eventually, I figured it out --it took a sledge hammer of a hint. (Graduate professor saying she expects to see me in print didn't do it, writing stories for family didn't do it, having someone say you should send this to the Catholic Standard --that's what started it). Curiously, it happened during Catholic Schools week, and right before Lent.
72. Lent! I love Lent. It has always helped orient me if I've allowed it. I found one of my vocations because of a Lenten resolution --working with the handicapped, deepened a friendship with my sister, and read things I otherwise would have stoutly ignored and thus not discovered I loved. So Lent is a blessing to me.
71. My son John is a gentleman but he's also silly. He's one of those kids you savor spending time with because he takes such delight in spending it with you. These days, he's my baker and every day he loves to come home and prepare a baked snack for the whole family. My diet doesn't appreciate it, but I do.
70. I've come back to Peter because he does another thing I wish to be grateful for, he demands introspection about all things and has a fierce love of justice and fairness. As a result, he prevents his mother from going on auto-pilot parenting wise, and for this, I'm grateful because I'd miss much if he didn't.
69. The Magnifcat. It's a monthly magazine I receive and frequently lose mid month, but which I try to read every day I can find it. Twelve years ago my mother introduced me to this collection of the daily prayers, saint of the day, and meditation. She said then, "A mother of five doesn't have much time to pray." and it was true, my whole life was homework, errands and diapers, or felt that way. But having the Magnificat tucked in the mini-van let me spend a bit of contemplative Mary time in my then Martha life and still does.
68. My friend Shelley is a treasure. It doesn't matter that we haven't seen each other since she and her family moved to Dallas, we talk on the phone and the years and mileage slip away. No one can make me laugh as much as she does, and no one (I've told her this), has a more Catholic Marian heart than her who isn't Catholic. She is someone who I talk and the time slips away. It's just fun and joyous even the struggles of everyday life.
67. Organization and discipline. Two things I struggle with daily, but discover every time I use them rather than avoid, make my life easier or at least more manageable. You'd think I'd come to terms with simply embracing these two things as if they were salt and pepper of the day, but no, every day I have to will myself to look at the calendar, write down the list of things to do, and then begin the arduous process of doing them.
66. Did I already say books? I know I said music. I'm a lazy reader. That's a shameful thing for a writer to admit, but it's true. I don't read music very well either, I play by ear which explains why my repertoire of pieces remains so very small. But I love trying and when I finish a book, it feels like I hunted a giant boar or deer and now brought home the kill, I did it. It's a silly feeling, but I keep trying to force myself to read more, knowing it is good for me, even as the slothful part of my brain says...later....wouldn't you rather sleep or write --writing is good, but I know I need to read the same way I need to listen. I know I like to talk, but if I'm doing all the talking, I am missing out on other people, and if I'm doing all the writing, I am losing so much more than anything I have to say. So I love books and keep trying to become more well read.
65. The gift of time. Not many people can say they stayed home with their children these days, not for 22 years anyway. It is a gift from my husband, it is a generous gift, I'm grateful for each minute, God forgive me for any and all of the time I've wasted.
64. It's Rita's turn. She makes me sing. She makes me dance. She hugs tighter than anyone else I know. At mass, sometimes I'm in awe at her reverence. She has a big kind heart and is passionate about everything she does.
63. Running out of things in my brain and I still have 37 to go....okay....New York City. I'm grateful to have lived there before I had children, it was a fun romantic place to spend the first year of marriage. We had a blast and thus I have a soft spot for the big apple.
62. My writing community! They're intelligent talented people who push me to work harder and write better than I otherwise would.
61. Patience....something I only discover I'm missing when I need the gift most. But I'm grateful for when I do have it, and when I have the wits to ask for it.
60. The songs my daughter sings. Anna frequently sings to herself about herself in third person. It's rather delightful. "Oh yeah, her foot's better. It doesn't sting. She's all better." (the bandage fell off). or "She did it. (Pottying), Only Anna, she did it. Only Anna. Yeah Yeah Yeah!"
59. Answered prayers. I can't tell you how many times though if I could, it would make the list a lot easier, I've asked and BOOM, received. It's scary. It's also amazing and wonderful. Miracles every day, miracles constantly. The people of Israel received 40 years of mana and quail, following a column of fire or a column of wind, miracles every day they could see. I've had those in my life, from praying I'd meet someone who would love me for me (the summer of 84 at the beach) and meeting the man I would marry the third day of school, to silly things like "Saint Anthony we've lost a shoe again" and boom...I know I checked that closet six times but the seventh, there it is. I prayed for Dad not to be alone when he died, and for Mom to be present, to not be robbed of those last moments. It was answered to the letter, on Ash Wednesday, two days after I made that prayer.
58. God's sense of humor. I make plans. God laughs. God reveals his plans for me gradually, and I laugh.
57. Notre Dame and Saint Mary's College are part of my history, part of my family's life for generations past, and places I love, even as all the faculty I loved retired or has passed away. The places themselves hold stories and beauty and I hope one day, each institution gets at least one of my children to carry on the legacy.
56. The current and past two popes. I've had the honor of visiting one (as one of 1000 or so in the room) though I snuck to the front and got a good picture of him, attending mass celebrated in DC with another, and am enjoying reading and watching our current pontif. I'm grateful for all three, all of whom represent a different component of the faith, because none of them could encompass all of it, they are part of the body of Christ, not the sum. But I feel as if I know each of them, and there is a beauty in each of these men dedicated to God and his Church.
55. Facebook and emails and the internet. Why would I be grateful for these three things that do eat a lot of time if left unchecked? Because I've reconnected with people I would not have, met people I would not have, and learned things I would not have as a result of these tools. As long as they remain tools and not a lifestyle or substitute for life, they're good things, things which allow for beauty and knowledge, wisdom and community, friendship and memories to be preserved.
54. A husband that knows how to play and deliberately crafts weekends around play. He organizes football games, hikes, trips to museums and magic tournaments. He orders baseball tickets and sojourns to mountains and civil war battle grounds.
53. Boston College. I went there for graduate school and it was a very important part of my life, living on my own,
52. Cooking shows. It's a stupid thing to love but back when I first became a stay at home mom, cooking shows became a passion of mine, They gave me adult thinking during the day when most of it was breast-feeding and napping. I still love them.
51. My daughter Regina gives me huggies. She is quiet and reflective but also feels all things deeply. She's clever and kind. When she smiles, it's like the sun peaking through the clouds.
50. EWTN radio. (1160 AM). I listen every day. Having the mass on while I clean helps keep me from getting irritated with children who leave apple cores on a table or piles of laundry they should have brought down.
I'll get to the last 25 tomorrow...I hope I don't leave anyone or anything out, but I will, because even though it is hard to come up with 100 blessings, I know, there are always more if I bothered to look.
73. The eventual gift of insight. You'd think with that sort of revelation, I'd have known sooner than I found out, but eventually, I figured it out --it took a sledge hammer of a hint. (Graduate professor saying she expects to see me in print didn't do it, writing stories for family didn't do it, having someone say you should send this to the Catholic Standard --that's what started it). Curiously, it happened during Catholic Schools week, and right before Lent.
72. Lent! I love Lent. It has always helped orient me if I've allowed it. I found one of my vocations because of a Lenten resolution --working with the handicapped, deepened a friendship with my sister, and read things I otherwise would have stoutly ignored and thus not discovered I loved. So Lent is a blessing to me.
71. My son John is a gentleman but he's also silly. He's one of those kids you savor spending time with because he takes such delight in spending it with you. These days, he's my baker and every day he loves to come home and prepare a baked snack for the whole family. My diet doesn't appreciate it, but I do.
70. I've come back to Peter because he does another thing I wish to be grateful for, he demands introspection about all things and has a fierce love of justice and fairness. As a result, he prevents his mother from going on auto-pilot parenting wise, and for this, I'm grateful because I'd miss much if he didn't.
69. The Magnifcat. It's a monthly magazine I receive and frequently lose mid month, but which I try to read every day I can find it. Twelve years ago my mother introduced me to this collection of the daily prayers, saint of the day, and meditation. She said then, "A mother of five doesn't have much time to pray." and it was true, my whole life was homework, errands and diapers, or felt that way. But having the Magnificat tucked in the mini-van let me spend a bit of contemplative Mary time in my then Martha life and still does.
68. My friend Shelley is a treasure. It doesn't matter that we haven't seen each other since she and her family moved to Dallas, we talk on the phone and the years and mileage slip away. No one can make me laugh as much as she does, and no one (I've told her this), has a more Catholic Marian heart than her who isn't Catholic. She is someone who I talk and the time slips away. It's just fun and joyous even the struggles of everyday life.
67. Organization and discipline. Two things I struggle with daily, but discover every time I use them rather than avoid, make my life easier or at least more manageable. You'd think I'd come to terms with simply embracing these two things as if they were salt and pepper of the day, but no, every day I have to will myself to look at the calendar, write down the list of things to do, and then begin the arduous process of doing them.
66. Did I already say books? I know I said music. I'm a lazy reader. That's a shameful thing for a writer to admit, but it's true. I don't read music very well either, I play by ear which explains why my repertoire of pieces remains so very small. But I love trying and when I finish a book, it feels like I hunted a giant boar or deer and now brought home the kill, I did it. It's a silly feeling, but I keep trying to force myself to read more, knowing it is good for me, even as the slothful part of my brain says...later....wouldn't you rather sleep or write --writing is good, but I know I need to read the same way I need to listen. I know I like to talk, but if I'm doing all the talking, I am missing out on other people, and if I'm doing all the writing, I am losing so much more than anything I have to say. So I love books and keep trying to become more well read.
65. The gift of time. Not many people can say they stayed home with their children these days, not for 22 years anyway. It is a gift from my husband, it is a generous gift, I'm grateful for each minute, God forgive me for any and all of the time I've wasted.
64. It's Rita's turn. She makes me sing. She makes me dance. She hugs tighter than anyone else I know. At mass, sometimes I'm in awe at her reverence. She has a big kind heart and is passionate about everything she does.
63. Running out of things in my brain and I still have 37 to go....okay....New York City. I'm grateful to have lived there before I had children, it was a fun romantic place to spend the first year of marriage. We had a blast and thus I have a soft spot for the big apple.
62. My writing community! They're intelligent talented people who push me to work harder and write better than I otherwise would.
61. Patience....something I only discover I'm missing when I need the gift most. But I'm grateful for when I do have it, and when I have the wits to ask for it.
60. The songs my daughter sings. Anna frequently sings to herself about herself in third person. It's rather delightful. "Oh yeah, her foot's better. It doesn't sting. She's all better." (the bandage fell off). or "She did it. (Pottying), Only Anna, she did it. Only Anna. Yeah Yeah Yeah!"
59. Answered prayers. I can't tell you how many times though if I could, it would make the list a lot easier, I've asked and BOOM, received. It's scary. It's also amazing and wonderful. Miracles every day, miracles constantly. The people of Israel received 40 years of mana and quail, following a column of fire or a column of wind, miracles every day they could see. I've had those in my life, from praying I'd meet someone who would love me for me (the summer of 84 at the beach) and meeting the man I would marry the third day of school, to silly things like "Saint Anthony we've lost a shoe again" and boom...I know I checked that closet six times but the seventh, there it is. I prayed for Dad not to be alone when he died, and for Mom to be present, to not be robbed of those last moments. It was answered to the letter, on Ash Wednesday, two days after I made that prayer.
58. God's sense of humor. I make plans. God laughs. God reveals his plans for me gradually, and I laugh.
57. Notre Dame and Saint Mary's College are part of my history, part of my family's life for generations past, and places I love, even as all the faculty I loved retired or has passed away. The places themselves hold stories and beauty and I hope one day, each institution gets at least one of my children to carry on the legacy.
56. The current and past two popes. I've had the honor of visiting one (as one of 1000 or so in the room) though I snuck to the front and got a good picture of him, attending mass celebrated in DC with another, and am enjoying reading and watching our current pontif. I'm grateful for all three, all of whom represent a different component of the faith, because none of them could encompass all of it, they are part of the body of Christ, not the sum. But I feel as if I know each of them, and there is a beauty in each of these men dedicated to God and his Church.
55. Facebook and emails and the internet. Why would I be grateful for these three things that do eat a lot of time if left unchecked? Because I've reconnected with people I would not have, met people I would not have, and learned things I would not have as a result of these tools. As long as they remain tools and not a lifestyle or substitute for life, they're good things, things which allow for beauty and knowledge, wisdom and community, friendship and memories to be preserved.
54. A husband that knows how to play and deliberately crafts weekends around play. He organizes football games, hikes, trips to museums and magic tournaments. He orders baseball tickets and sojourns to mountains and civil war battle grounds.
53. Boston College. I went there for graduate school and it was a very important part of my life, living on my own,
52. Cooking shows. It's a stupid thing to love but back when I first became a stay at home mom, cooking shows became a passion of mine, They gave me adult thinking during the day when most of it was breast-feeding and napping. I still love them.
51. My daughter Regina gives me huggies. She is quiet and reflective but also feels all things deeply. She's clever and kind. When she smiles, it's like the sun peaking through the clouds.
50. EWTN radio. (1160 AM). I listen every day. Having the mass on while I clean helps keep me from getting irritated with children who leave apple cores on a table or piles of laundry they should have brought down.
I'll get to the last 25 tomorrow...I hope I don't leave anyone or anything out, but I will, because even though it is hard to come up with 100 blessings, I know, there are always more if I bothered to look.
Sunday, September 8, 2013
What We Do Not Dare Pray
For the past few years, my father has suffered from Alzheimer's. On Thursday, he had seizures and took a turn for the worse. My mother watched and waited as he mostly slept. My husband researched flight schedules and we talked about the impossibleness of it all.
"I want stupid things." I said. "I pray stupid things." I said. "I feel stupid." I asked for Dad to be healed. And the grace to deal with the prospect of his death. I asked for somehow all of us to go to the funeral when it happened whenever that would be. I asked for 1000 different things during my rosary and subsequent lapses into grief driven prayer that were preemptive grieving for my dad's continuing to die slowly. I cried. I ate. I cried. I walked around. I cried. I prayed. I complained we didn't have enough chocolate in the house. I cried and cried and felt mad that I was crying. My dad's not dead. He's dying. My dad's not gone. He's sleeping a lot. I felt it keenly. He'd been two days without eating, without really waking up to eat.
My grandmother went ten. We're stupid hardy that way. The whole day felt like drifting, waiting for news, hoping for no news, not knowing what to pray, praying anyway.
This morning, I still felt as if my gut had been kicked in, but we got up and went to mass. Afterwards, we stopped for bagels, I got an eclair and ate it all. We got a text message from my mom.
He woke up. He talked. He ate a yogurt, 1/2 a banana and drank a whole glass of milk.
I didn't know how heavy the truck was until it was lifted. None of my prayers were answered, a better one was.
I still know he is dying, but I'm so glad he is alive today. It was a reminder to me, to pray for what we really want, and to be willing to dig deep enough to know what that is, and to ask. Never cease daring to ask. Ours is a God of Infinite Love and capacity.
"I want stupid things." I said. "I pray stupid things." I said. "I feel stupid." I asked for Dad to be healed. And the grace to deal with the prospect of his death. I asked for somehow all of us to go to the funeral when it happened whenever that would be. I asked for 1000 different things during my rosary and subsequent lapses into grief driven prayer that were preemptive grieving for my dad's continuing to die slowly. I cried. I ate. I cried. I walked around. I cried. I prayed. I complained we didn't have enough chocolate in the house. I cried and cried and felt mad that I was crying. My dad's not dead. He's dying. My dad's not gone. He's sleeping a lot. I felt it keenly. He'd been two days without eating, without really waking up to eat.
My grandmother went ten. We're stupid hardy that way. The whole day felt like drifting, waiting for news, hoping for no news, not knowing what to pray, praying anyway.
This morning, I still felt as if my gut had been kicked in, but we got up and went to mass. Afterwards, we stopped for bagels, I got an eclair and ate it all. We got a text message from my mom.
He woke up. He talked. He ate a yogurt, 1/2 a banana and drank a whole glass of milk.
I didn't know how heavy the truck was until it was lifted. None of my prayers were answered, a better one was.
I still know he is dying, but I'm so glad he is alive today. It was a reminder to me, to pray for what we really want, and to be willing to dig deep enough to know what that is, and to ask. Never cease daring to ask. Ours is a God of Infinite Love and capacity.
Friday, July 5, 2013
7 Quick Takes
2. Prayers for a friend's child who isn't a child, but who suffered a horrible accident this week and today, will lose his leg as a result. This is a hard thing for anyone to face, so I ask for all of you to pray for this young man, his sister, his parents, his friends, as they help him through this trial that will affect the rest of his life. The family has the gift of faith, and they need their friends, both known and unknown, to pray for his healing.
3. Today, I heard a young man playing a Cello as we walked from the bookstore, it is like the difference between a loaf of French bread you buy in a supermarket, and a loaf you find waiting for you at a bakery. We forget in this age of saturated stimulation, the beauty of clean clear notes that are simply themselves. May have to go plink on the piano a bit. Then I will be reminded that all art is hard until it is easy.
4. My daughter came in from a walk, she'd caught a boxer turtle. Thus I spent the morning explaining why we were not going to own a reptile. My son caught some fireflies. We could not keep them either. I may have to stop encouraging them to go outside.
5. She can't read, but she knows the important things. I had fallen asleep reading on the couch that always makes anyone who lies down on it fall asleep. She woke me by placing a can of cake frosting on my chest and saying, "Mommy? I like chocolate." I have only myself to blame.
6. Yesterday, to celebrate the 4th of July, I put on some Kate Smith. Didn't know God Bless America was arranged by George Gershwin. My younger children gathered around just to listen, they got that this was something special.
7. Then I hit them with John Phillips Sousa, and I had a pantomime band going for an hour while we fixed dinner, listening to She's a Grand Old Flag, Stars and Stripes and the Washington Post.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Happy Mother's Day Week!
To a young daughter, Mom is endlessly glamorous. To a teen daughter, I know I'm something of an albatross, but to a daughter who is a mother, Mom is a safe phone a friend life line when you don't know the answer to the question. And man am I glad I don't have to adhere to Regis' limits.
Everything I learned about being a mom, came from being a daughter.
On Sunday when my nine year old brought me a picture she'd drawn of a life size barbie in a red sequined dress, I flashed back to my own six year old self and the brunette Barbie with a sparkly gray dress I'd received for a present. I thought she looked beautiful. I thought she looked like Mom. I knew my daughter was saying the same thing even if I'm not blond.
My favorite dress in fourth grade was a red pokadot ensemble that I thought matched my mother's dress. I felt important wearing it when I did, because I looked like her. Dad may have showered us with theological and literary treasures like C.S. Lewis and Dickens and Chesterton and Tolkein; Mom made us sit down and actually read.
Mom couldn't cure or kiss away all the pains of growing up, but she was with me as I stumbled through them. She couldn't explain why someone had written cruel words the day we got out for Christmas, but she could cheer me with music and going out to get a few decorations for the tree and a bit of ice cream. She taught that while words hurt, they didn't need to be relived and relived and relived. Mom always put a brave face on things and I learned to do the same.
When the house flooded, she didn't panic. The repairs from that disaster meant six months of bare floors and casseroles. When we finally sat down to a family dinner in the dining room, the table collapsed just after grace. Mom may have cried but I remember her laughter. It was an insane turn of events. And when our house flooded the second time, I still don't remember her despairing even as all that hard work was washed away yet again. The house may have been sinkable, and the land of Beaumont below sea level, but to me, Mom's optimism seemed boundlessly buoyant.
She also has been endlessly hospitable. Whenever her family or Dad's needed help, she opened our house. So we grew up with uncles and cousins and grandmother. When people needed help, my observations were, she always said "yes." To me, her whole life was like grace before meals, blessed are we who are about to receive. It could be food, it could be relatives, but we were always about to receive something and no matter what it was, "Blessed were we."
Mom has a memory that reveals she took everything in, to this day, she never forgets a name or a story about a family and always seems to know everyone. At weddings, funerals or family vacations, having Mom at your side was the equivalent of having a CIA operative briefing on every guest, complete with back story. She simply remembered each person in detail as if they were the only person. She still does. Alas, I did not receive her gift in my DNA mix, as I still play "Name that person" with people who I know, have known me for years, and some of those folks are my children.
Mom still keeps me on my toes, reminding me to schedule that appointment with the dentist, to spend a bit of money on myself every once in a while, to watch what I eat and make sure the kids do some of the things that when you have a big family, you sometimes get jaded about doing and forget. She also calls when she spots a typo or a spelling error, so she's my defacto editor. She's also the one that taught me my default answer for everything, "Did you pray about it?" because that's what she'd say and that's what she does and it always works. Ultimately, flowers and a card and a day aren't enough, I'd need at least a lifetime to say thank you and that's just for putting up with me as a mopey sad teenager who sat in her room and listened to mopey sad songs.
So Happy Mother's Day Week! Enjoy an extra six days on me. Now I have to go and call my mom.
Everything I learned about being a mom, came from being a daughter.
On Sunday when my nine year old brought me a picture she'd drawn of a life size barbie in a red sequined dress, I flashed back to my own six year old self and the brunette Barbie with a sparkly gray dress I'd received for a present. I thought she looked beautiful. I thought she looked like Mom. I knew my daughter was saying the same thing even if I'm not blond.
My favorite dress in fourth grade was a red pokadot ensemble that I thought matched my mother's dress. I felt important wearing it when I did, because I looked like her. Dad may have showered us with theological and literary treasures like C.S. Lewis and Dickens and Chesterton and Tolkein; Mom made us sit down and actually read.
Mom couldn't cure or kiss away all the pains of growing up, but she was with me as I stumbled through them. She couldn't explain why someone had written cruel words the day we got out for Christmas, but she could cheer me with music and going out to get a few decorations for the tree and a bit of ice cream. She taught that while words hurt, they didn't need to be relived and relived and relived. Mom always put a brave face on things and I learned to do the same.
When the house flooded, she didn't panic. The repairs from that disaster meant six months of bare floors and casseroles. When we finally sat down to a family dinner in the dining room, the table collapsed just after grace. Mom may have cried but I remember her laughter. It was an insane turn of events. And when our house flooded the second time, I still don't remember her despairing even as all that hard work was washed away yet again. The house may have been sinkable, and the land of Beaumont below sea level, but to me, Mom's optimism seemed boundlessly buoyant.
She also has been endlessly hospitable. Whenever her family or Dad's needed help, she opened our house. So we grew up with uncles and cousins and grandmother. When people needed help, my observations were, she always said "yes." To me, her whole life was like grace before meals, blessed are we who are about to receive. It could be food, it could be relatives, but we were always about to receive something and no matter what it was, "Blessed were we."
Mom has a memory that reveals she took everything in, to this day, she never forgets a name or a story about a family and always seems to know everyone. At weddings, funerals or family vacations, having Mom at your side was the equivalent of having a CIA operative briefing on every guest, complete with back story. She simply remembered each person in detail as if they were the only person. She still does. Alas, I did not receive her gift in my DNA mix, as I still play "Name that person" with people who I know, have known me for years, and some of those folks are my children.
Mom still keeps me on my toes, reminding me to schedule that appointment with the dentist, to spend a bit of money on myself every once in a while, to watch what I eat and make sure the kids do some of the things that when you have a big family, you sometimes get jaded about doing and forget. She also calls when she spots a typo or a spelling error, so she's my defacto editor. She's also the one that taught me my default answer for everything, "Did you pray about it?" because that's what she'd say and that's what she does and it always works. Ultimately, flowers and a card and a day aren't enough, I'd need at least a lifetime to say thank you and that's just for putting up with me as a mopey sad teenager who sat in her room and listened to mopey sad songs.
So Happy Mother's Day Week! Enjoy an extra six days on me. Now I have to go and call my mom.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
7 Takes Friday
Okay, so it isn't Friday and I'm late on this but I'm still trying to commit to adding this to my regular blogging schedule.
1. We're on day 36 and counting of Lent. What's lovely is to notice little moments when the temptation to fall into old habits, the ones we fight against, get resisted. What is discouraging is the five minutes later when we sometimes succumb.
2. This weekend, we're going on a date; out to dinner. Why? Our son has a date. We figure, his social life shouldn't be better than ours.
3. Watching the Olympics, it's hard not to feel like somehow, one's life at 43 is unremarkable. I haven't scaled a mountain or opened a school or saved the whales or seen a whale or honed my body to battle the elements and win. So today, in a triumph of woman over nature, I went down the sled run we made in the front yard three times and did ten push ups. Look for me in London in 2014. (Note, I didn't say anything about the Olympics, but I hope to get there before then...on my book tour). As long as we're dreaming, why not?
4. Wrote a few pieces and submitted. Right now, the rejection fairy has been beating my articles with a stick but writing is the triumph of hope over experience so two articles went out to seek their fortune this weekend.
5. Wishing my parents a happy anniversary. Their model of marriage in good times and bad, rich and poor, for better and worse, in health and in sickness is exactly what real love and devotion means; it inspires, it deepens with time and it is beautiful.
6. Taught my seven year old a bit of piano and recognized of all my children, she has the fierce heart to put everything into anything she does. Nothing comes easy to her, but nothing stops her either. She practices beyond what people ask and she cares deeply about whatever it is she chooses to do.
7. With nine children, every day you look back and wonder what you could have done better, who you could have done more with, what you should have said or not said, and you worry that you haven't done enough or said enough or been there enough because there are so many. But when you get a call from the high school telling you that your daughter's essay was beautiful; and what's more, it was about you, it's hard to do anything but sigh, melt and thank God you didn't screw up too much so far.
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