Happy Bday BooBoo!

Today is my son's birthday!
My Booboo is 18!
Oh. My. Goodness.

I know, I know...this is when I (and many other moms) will blather on about how fast time flies and how we can't believe it.  But, you know what? Wow, time flies and I can't believe it!!!

My little goofy boy with the solemn face and big brown eyes is officially all grown up.  I could get all misty just typing this.  And yet...and yet....I so very much like the young man he has grown into.  Even without the motherly bias...he is a great young man.  I totally enjoy his company and he is good.  He is kind.  He has a good heart to go with his big brain and big sense of adventure and  humor.  He has very big adventure's ahead, I know it.

My Booboo, you are heading off to many adventures: college, jobs, traveling the world, falling in love.
But you are and will always be, to me, first, my boy.
The one with the big brown eyes.
And duckling hair that wouldn't stay down.
And solemn face, hiding the big grin and twinkling eyes.
You are funny, witty and clever and can make me laugh so hard that I cry.
You can also make me fume and have steam coming out of my ears.
And while you currently 'know everything,' that is all too soon to change.
I will miss that, a little bit.

Your quirks make me smile; you are an old soul.
You were an 'old man' the day  you were born.
You love cardigans, 'old man'.
You love a hot tea and soft slippers, old man.
You love a long nap on the sofa, old man.
You carry problems,  yours and others, heavily, 'old man."
 You have helped to carry mine.
And you are one of my heroes.

Your world view is bigger than most.
Your judgement is usually good (except the occasional right hand turn, ahem) and your integrity is impeccable.
You even managed to find your girlfriend in one of your best friends, and are handling the relationship with respect and trust.
And even with this, you show us your sound judgement and good taste, both, as she is both beautiful and kind.

You are also still full of small boy mischief and crave adventure.
You want to jump out of airplane and dive into the sea.
You want to start record companies and jam late into the night.
You want to polar bear dive into the cold winter waters.
And snowboard down the fastest slopes.
{And live with the injuries that those sports and adventures bring.}

You love magic and practical jokes,
You love to laugh and make others laugh.
And you're good at it.
You're cool enough to happily be silly.

You love a bargain and are my frugal child, and yet still the mogul in the family.
You love babies, but not so much children.
You love music and are getting to be so talented.
I love your acoustic guitar playing, but not so much the loud techno.
You love turtles.
Maybe because you hide your big soft heart behind a turtle shell of stoic and tough.
But I know better.

Because Booboo, you are my boy, now a  young man.
And we have always been so close.
And I hope, we always will be.

We are so proud of you, every day.

We love you so much.

Happy Happy Birthday Booboo!

Almost Wordless Wednesday

Baby, it's cold outside!

Feast of the Immaculate Conception.

Saint Anne conceiving the Virgin Mary
Douai, Musée de la Chartreuse

Oh, it's a big feast today!  It's one of those feasts: an uber Catholic one.
It's the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, a holy day of obligation.

One of the big Marian feasts, and one that often gives many folks some consternation (from a scratch on the head to fits).  For a good explanation of it all, go here (and scroll down for all those, "What's up with that" "How can that be?" kind of responses).  I can't give you a great theological treatise on it.  It took brilliant theologians from the east and west to determine this one over the centuries, but they did because we are human. And our inquiring minds want to know, and puzzle and ponder.  So those who have gone before us prayed and debated and concluded.  I can say that it only makes sense to my puny brain.

For a long time, I thought that the "immaculate conception" referred to Mary's conception of Jesus, you know, with the descent of the Holy Spirit and Gabriel and all...clean, tidy, right?  But no, it's actually about Mary and her being preserved from the stain of original sin.  Confusing, a little, huh?  Well, this is how it parses out in my old mom brain: God himself is all love and of course, without sin.  God came to us in his son, Christ, who was also without sin (being God and all).  Since all purity and all love cannot coexist with the stain of sin, how could Christ come to us as a man, without first having a pure 'vessel', if you will?  Well, he couldn't, that would not correspond with the natural/divine order.  Growing in utero is, utterly, coexisting.  So, if God cannot coexist with sin, then a human mom to be would have to be found, sinless.  And thus, since God is beyond time, he prepared Mary, {from her conception of course}, to be without sin.  Because God knew, outside of time, that Mary would be the perfect (literally and figuratively) mom for Jesus.

Now, I think that's cool!  It makes perfect sense to me and really is one of those 'clap your hands, I get it" kind of moments.  Yeah, it's uber Catholic.  But hey, I love being Catholic because (well, so many reasons) its cool and rich and takes my breath away.  And of course,  I love feasts....so it's a good day!

Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us!

Feast of St. Ambrose

It's the Feast of St. Ambrose!

And not only does he have a fun cool name, he was an outstanding teacher and Bishop of the Church in the early years; elected Bishop of Milan in 340.  A wealthy politician, he ended up giving away all his material goods to the poor. 

I like him because though many thought he'd be "a player," politically speaking, as a Bishop, he wasn't.  At least not in the sense that was perhaps hoped for by the players of the time.  He perhaps used his political savvy, but for good.  And that is just the sort of saint we need in this duplicitous day and age of politics and media..... 

So, happy feast day, and St. Ambrose, pray for us!

Make way for ducklings: Reality Check

I might have mentioned once or twice that I have a large family -  a fair number of kidletts.  People will ask me, "How do you do it all?"  They see my brood and the hustle and bustle and are often incredulous, and maybe a little freaked out (And probably thinking, "Whew, not me!).  Sometimes I smile and say, "The big kids help, it's not so much."  And that's true.  More often I might say, "I don't! I have help. It's one of the secrets to a big family: built in helpers."  Even more often, I say, "Well, I fail.  Every day."  And that's probably the most accurate of all.

Reality Check:  Sometimes, you have tough weeks.  Not even extra-ordinary weeks with some disaster that defines the days.  But rather, you have ordinary days, a week filled with laundry and school and  homework and juggling schedules.  But for some reason, that week is tough.  Sometimes, thankfully not so often, but sometimes....despite the standard mundane moments, it seems like every single person needs just a bit, or quite a lot, MORE, somehow.

On those days, that usual sense of paddling as fast as you can, maybe dropping a few balls here and there....kind of shifts.  
And then, you realize that you feel, for the moment, (to borrow an old phrase) like you are being pecked to death by baby ducks.

So, for those of you who wonder how any of us "do it all,"  I'd like to honestly say that some days you (ok, me)  just feel a little overrun, and maybe you (ok, me) fantasize for a moment or two about flights to faraway tropical islands - one way. So, that's part of the package.  Not all that rare I suspect.  But yeah, it's been one of those weeks.

Break Out

I've been stewing about some things lately. You know what that means: a jumbly rambling possibly ranting post. Fair warning.

It's just that I'm getting tired. Not physically tired, psychically tired.  Emotionally and intellectually tired.   I'm just dipping my toes into a new pool of sorts. And while we've lived with some of this for, oh, seven years or so....the more formal social and educational aspect of this is hitting closer to home now.

Now that I've thoroughly confused you, I want to say it out loud. But this term, this subject, is loaded. It is rife with taboos and thorns and unwritten rules, as well as rules written at length and all but incomprehensible. And even more, all too often, with ignorance from folks on the outside looking in (And hey, I'll admit, that used to be me).  Yes, I'm talking about "special needs."

Special Needs.

Yeah, such a simple little set of words.
But OH MY GOODNESS, so very loaded.
Now, I could do a post and be like the "Church Lady" and point out what we all already know:

Dana Carvey, the Church Lady

Each and every one of us is "special needs" in the sense that we are all SPECIAL, and have our own quirks and strengths and so on.
And I do believe that.

But this post is about another aspect of "special needs."
And it's that I am tired of the taboos.
I am tired of not being able to say things out loud, for fear of stigma.
I am tired of when I do say it, somehow voices drop to a whisper, or I get an "Oh....ahh" and a quick look away kind of response.
Or worse, a well meaning defense of my kid saying "No way, that can't be right."

This is all making me want to strap on my mom armor and go to battle.
I have two, possibly three, kids who have special needs. Yeah, I could say, "different needs" or something like that. But I am tired and too old to be tiptoeing through the ever shifting sands of pc (or, more accurately: 'sc', socially correct) verbage.  I mean they have needs that are, big or small, outside the standard box.

Disclaimer ahead: So, to be clear, in this post, I am talking about kids who don't fit the mold of standard track education or behaviors or medical issues. Special needs comes in all different forms and levels and severity, so I cannot speak to those needs that are not ours and would not try to. I can speak to what we are working with, in our home, with my kids. Disclaimer over.

What I want to throw out there (And maybe it's naive, and I hope the special ed/needs community doesn't flame me): Why the taboo?
Why do we have to whisper about this stuff?
Why is there such stigma?
Why does it have to be?
Why do well meaning folks instantly say, "No, that can't be right?" as if, if it IS accurate, then somehow that child is less than they were perceived prior to the new knowledge?
Nothing changes with this knowledge.
The child, my child, is not a different person if we know more about them and how their mind works.


Their "worth" is in no way based on how they learn or if they have glitches or if they cannot.

It's fine tuning.

Special needs information is not an appraisal of value or rank, it's information gathering; it is problem solving. It's fine tuning; academic approaches, behavioral needs, medical stuff....it's figuring out what works best for them and why.  Period.

And I want to start talking out loud about some of the issues we are working through.
And I fear I cannot online due to the possibility of hurting my child somehow, somewhere, someday.
I want to try to open up to other families who might be dealing with some of these issues to share tips and ideas.
Even here, even now, I have to hedge a bit, worry about protecting them.
But the beauty of this blog world is the connection. I have been repeatedly amazed and grateful for the prayers and the help and the advice and the simple feeling of not being alone...due to this blog community. And I suspect there might be other families that have children who have medical, educational, behavior issues that are out there.

Heck there is an alphabet jungle out there of issues, we have a small forest of them in my house. Is it wrong to want to use resources, to connect to help my kids? To help me? I don't think so.

I hope that maybe other moms might be tired of not being able to talk about this part of their family life. I hope that other moms might be tired of their kids being slotted into a stereotype due to a possible "label" or some small bit of information. That small bit of information, that acronym, or term, is a tiny (or, sometimes, large) facet of who they really are - the wholeness of their person.

Are there any moms out there who are tired of pushing against the tide of perception?
I am.

I want to break out.
I want to talk about my kids.
I want to talk about all my kids.
I want to have conversations about special needs - without the stigma.
I want to shout: having a different approach or way of learning or brain wiring doesn't make you less.
It's different. Less common maybe.
It takes some brainstorming, a lot sometimes.
Don't slot my kid, don't presume.
They may really have that issue, and it's a little scary.
They may not, but then they probably have another one to work on.
But that very thing (the one that's not 'pc' to talk about outright), might just be one of their strengths as well, depending on how you look at it.

But, let's break the taboo.
Let's start saying these things out loud.

If you can't speak of it, name it, it has so much more power, but the wrong kind.
And that breaks my heart.
But it also makes me angry because it's wrong.
We have to advocate and be strong for these kids especially.
So I guess I'm talking. Armor on.
Because they deserve it.
Because they are beautiful.
And I'm their mom.

The waiting begins. Advent.

Waiting.
This blog is about nothing if not waiting.
Waiting is one of the very worst skills of mine; by which I mean, I stink at waiting.
I am wretched at waiting because I have no patience.
So, of course I have had to wait many times, and surely will continue to.
And it is surely the reason I have eight children.
I have waited for many things and people over the years.
Sometimes I fall into the huge trap of "wishing away my life" (as they say here in the south) by the way I wait.
It's true.
I have done that far too much, far too often.
I suspect I've lost years.

I have waited impatiently, filled with busyness, to finish college.
To get into grad school and out again.
Waited for Coffeedoc to finish med school. Then internship. Then residency.
Waited to stop being broke.
Waited to get married (seven years dating, so, I'm not kidding).
Waited to get pregnant (but only the third time...and that wait was particularly long and particularly difficult on all levels).
Waited to adopt. To be selected by a birthmom. To hold that baby.
Waited to adopt from Ethiopia. To jump through the paperwork hoops. To be matched with a referral. To pass court. To travel.
Waited for the CDC to clear my daughter to come home. To be allowed to travel.

Heck, I can turn waiting for Coffeedoc to get home for dinner into a sporting event.
So, yeah, I wait...all too often. And I do it all wrong.
Patience is NOT one of my virtues. Thus, I suffer a bit, or a lot, waiting.

The reason to drone on about all this waiting is that today is a special day.
Today is the day to try, once again, to approach waiting in the right spirit.
Today is the day to reframe the waiting into a better approach: preparation.
Today is the day to recognize the beauty of the wait: the anticipation, the slow glow of expectation.
Today is the first Sunday of Advent.

I love Advent.

When done right Advent is a season (four Sundays) of rich tradition, prayerful contemplative expectation, a settling into the deep; it is combined with an overlaid gauze of building excitement.
It is a preparation -not for a Christmas morning frenzy of torn wrapping paper and too many gifts.
But rather, a mindful preparation for the advent, literally the 'coming,' of the most important gift of all.

I almost always fail Advent.
I stay mired in the cycling hubub of my house, the must do's, the should's, the pressures and strains. I get lost in the jumble of calendar commitments and then resent the time they snatch away.
It's the curse of the goal oriented...this sense of 'eye on the prize.' Get to Christmas, make it happen.
But the trap is that then you miss the process, the very beauty of the anticipation.
You miss one of the most beautiful seasons of the year.
I wish away this gorgeous season.

This year, once again, I hope to be more mindful.
To prepare the gifts early enough to stop the last minute frantic fretting and gathering.
To dig in and slow way down.
I hope and pray to see and stop and savor the small moments - the ones I might miss as I move so fast through the days.

This is Advent. It's a beautiful time of preparation, inside and out.
It's almost Christmas! He is coming.
The waiting begins again.

"Know that the Lord is coming and with him all his saints;
that day will dawn with a wonderful light, alleluia."

From the Divine Office: First Sunday of Advent.

Ah, Thanksgiving

I could go on for days, and should go on for my lifetime, listing the things I am thankful for. So many, too many to list or count, more than I deserve. So, for today, I will say that I am unspeakably grateful for my friends (blog and in person), family, and abundant life, for the gift of faith and the Catholic church, for the guests and the jokes, the turmoil and the fears and the cheers. All of it. For my crazy loud hectic chaotic wonderful life. Every blessed moment.

And with that, this is the best way for me to show what I'm thankful for, the most important parts:

I am so very deeply thankful.
For all of it.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Ah, shucks

So. Laura and Christine have "awarded" me this tag....and while I usually ignore all these, I feel a bit scroogelike and ungrateful to not acknowledge them being so nice to link to me and my goofy blog. Actually, I feel a tad like Sally Field being glad someone likes her. Both of these gals have lovely blogs and the ones they tagged are all worth a closer look as well! The best reason for me to put this up is that I now get to list/link to seven blogs that I like very much. Ooohhhh, the choices......like a kid in a candy shop....

Anyhow, first, officially, I get to post the blog award "rules."
1. Thank the person who awarded me the award, and link that person's blog on my blog.
2. Identify seven things about myself.
3. Award seven bloggers with the "Kreativ Blogger Award," post links to their blogs, and leave a comment on each of their blogs, to let them know of the honor. I don't really know what a "Kreativ blogger" is, so you can just give it to whoever you like!

So without further ado, seven things about myself (Again? in my aging brain fog...I fear I might be being redundant...):
1. I grew up riding horses in the desert of Arizona. I still miss the desert and those long views and that particular beauty.
2. I misplace my glasses ALL the time. I am mercilessly reminded by my children that I have misplaced my sunglasses in the fridge.
3. I thought I'd grow up to be just like Mary Tyler Moore....throwing my beret up in glee in the big city, a cool working gal.
4. I've always been easy to tease; it made me suffer somewhat as a child in a big family. Now it makes me laugh.
5. My Grandpa, the only one I ever knew, used to call me "Movie Star." And it totally embarrassed me but I also kind of loved it.
6. Yes, I have always been rather dull, WAKE UP...the GOOD blog links are coming right up.
7. I never dreamed I'd have eight kids, or live the life I do - much less be happy with it. And that's the most wonderful hysterical surprise treasure of all.
DONE

Ok, and now, in no particular order (Hey, I've learned a thing or two over the years....), are seven blog links to blogs that I always check in on....because they make me think, smile, ponder....at any rate, they are worth a click. Check 'em out.

1. Jen at Conversion Diary: Yeah, its a Catholic blog, but its also a mom blog and she is a deep thinker but also blunt and honest and real. I love reading her blog and also with this one you get a two for one deal: she has another blog that is just perfect for those bored procrastinating moments (admit it, we all do it), called appropriately enough: Jennifer's Favorite Links.

2. Becca, at Albertson Debrief. I love her because she wears her heart on her sleeve and loves fiercely, no matter what. She stands up for what she believes whether or not its considered "pc" and for that, she inspires me.

3. Courtney Rose, at Dandies in the Sunshine. She is another thinker and a feeler and I love to read her writing and her blog, because again it's real and funny and honest. She's full of passion and it comes right through the screen.

4. Lori, at The Road to Our Own, because, well, her family is beautiful, their hearts are beautiful. They live this bountiful life and actually seem to be aware of it along the way. That's rare air. Plus Abe is adorable and she is a special gal.

5. Jen, at Leap of Faith, because she has an awesome family, is very sharp and has a heart that runs deep. She is also witty and savvy; her blog follows the addition of their beautiful Bella (yeah, I know, but that is the good kind of redundant) and just following a functional happy family gives hope in this darkish world.

6. Thankful Mom at A Bushel and A Peck, this blog is one that I track closely because she 'gets it.' She has an ongoing series called "My learning curve" that always has great tips and thoughts that are applied to kids who are working through some issues perhaps: attachment and such. But the secret is that these tips and ideas can be applied to any and all kids, each family. I always come away with more to think about or an "aha" moment from her.

7. Zoe, at Chasing Saints. I like to visit Zoe's blog because, first off, she has the coolest banner going. Go. See. But secondly, she is a mere youngster (ok, to me) but she 'gets it." She's very sharp, she's on the adoption journey, and she's a thought-full Catholic who knows her stuff.

Anyhow. I'm honored. I feel a little doofy, but it's worth it if you go read those blogs. They are worth your time! Happy Thanksgiving!

Warp speed, Scotty!

And so it begins...the Thanksgiving rush.
Today and tomorrow, especially, this is where I am:

"Mr. Scott! I need warp speed, now!"

(And yes I realize I have, once again, revealed my age by the reference....but there you have it, this was my era).
I love love love this holiday, but it's a major undertaking too. Much yummy cooking and much hostessing of far flung family (and I'm not the natural that Lori is, ahem). It all usually comes together, somehow, but it's something of a race. Thus, blogging may be light.

Now if I just had a transporter....I'd be good to go! See you on the far side....

Turn-keys: touch

I've written a bit about what I have found, for us at least, to be "turn-keys" in the process of adoption and adjustment. Lately, I've been thinking a lot about another key (again, disclaimer: These are just my humble bossy opinions, not any expert or professional claim to knowledge). This key is one of the oldest and most important, for all parenting, but ever more so - if possible - for the process of adjustment in adoption. Yup, it's "touch."

I know, doh.
Touch.
A no-brainer, right?

Well, maybe not so much. Maybe it's a no brainer if you are a naturally 'touchy-feely' person (And really, I think most would say I am, but still...). Maybe its a no-brainer if you are talking about giving birth to a child, or even adopting a tiny infant. With babies, bio or otherwise, our species is biologically programmed to respond to the cries of an infant, to hold to soothe to touch it to comfort. It's a natural, right?

But with any child, and I mean ANY child, regardless of their mode of arrival into your family.....there are times when, you know, you just don't really feel like touching them so much.

Shocked, are you?
Have I revealed too much of my cold stony selfish heart?
Hmmm, c'mon, admit it, who hasn't been grossed out by the quantity and quality of projectile vomit that a smallish baby or child can, um, expel?
Who hasn't been gagging when their baby smears the contents of their diaper all around the crib? (Hey, 8 kids, yes, they've done that. Don't judge me.)
Call me crazy, but I'm not so into the cuddly canoodling at those times. I am more than happy for a little personal space....
And really, who hasn't thought "Fine then" when the attitude riven teen throws a snit and stomps out of the room? Who hasn't been grateful, even ONCE, to have them sleep in, just a little while for that peaceful solo quiet time in the morning?
Not you? Well, then, stop reading, this post is not for you.

But for the rest of us, for ME, this is a huge deal.
Touch.
For your standard issue kid, its a huge deal when they are tots and need all that imprinting bonding caring loving. It's at least as big or a bigger deal as they move through their stages of wild little kid, to the scary times as the world opens up to them in school and beyond, to the awkward times of preteen and the touchy times of full blown "I know everything" teenagerhood. This is when you have to remember: touch them.
Hug them, they need it so much.
They might only lean against you as a hug back. They might not even seem to register that pat on the arm, but it makes a difference. A huge huge difference. Prickly or not, possibly even more then, those little touches during a day can bridge a lot of troubled water.

This brings me to the turn-key. If touch can make such a huge, ongoing, difference in the relationship and life of a child in your home from infancy, imagine the importance of touch with a child who is new to your home. And if you are talking about an older child (And, of course, I am now), and if that child is a hurt child (Which most older children who are adopted are, of course), and if that child doesn't have your language....well, this turn-key is made of gold.

So it seems, again, simple, a no brainer, right?
Touch the kid.
Let them touch you.
Hug them.
And yet, it's not nearly so simple after all. Because what you don't read so much in all those stacks of adoption books is that it can be hard, touch-wise, with an older child. Cuddling a baby or toddler is automatic, almost, we are primed and programmed and enchanted to do it. An older child is, forgive me as this is not so "politically correct," not necessarily always so enchanting and we are not primed and programmed to touch them. We are strangers. We have not crossed those boundaries yet. Formally, on paper, yes. But in actual practice, no.

The initial meet and hugs and kisses are kind of driven along by adrenaline on both sides. But then comes the moment when you all kind of look at each other and wonder. It's much like an arranged marriage, without the extended courtship and chaperones.

Many older adopted children are also simply starved for physical affection. Starved. Hungry. Hungry to touch and be touched. And so you do, they do, you must. They are starved for safe comforting embracing touch - touch that doesn't hurt in any way. So, we had, and so many have, an intense instant need on Marta's part for touch, kiss, hugs, holds, just skin on skin. And it's weird. In a way, it's strange to immediately jump boundaries that our modern American ways have fixed into place over decades.

But this is a key, one of THE keys. You touch.
You do it.
And its by the doing, the touching that you start to step over those walls, you stop being strangers, you start being family. The more I touch her, in the caring mode of mom, the closer I get - literally and figuratively. The more I sit nestled next to her, with her feet draped over my shins, the more time our skin is next to skin, the more we blend together.

It sounds so simple, but in practice, it can be an act of will. Wash her back, paint her nails, do her hair, put lotion on face, hold her when she's sobbing, hold her when she's sick.

And oddly enough this touching is a sort of claiming.
At first it's a formal dance of sorts, an acting out of the proper roles.
Eventually, it starts to become real. It's an intimacy of family. Only family brings the sick kid into mom and dad's bed, clammy, with her holding your hand to her sore throat, not letting go.
Babies claim you as they sleep snuggle and cling to you for their every need.
Toddlers and little kids claim you in passing fierce hugs and climbing on you when needy.
Older kids, they claim you by leaning on you, by sitting next to you or draped across you, asking you to do their hair, fix their clothes, feel their forehead.
I know, this is all obvious.
But the part of the key that is important, for me, is the part that "fits in my hand". See the keys up top? See the scrolled beautiful head of the key? This is the part I, or you, hold. And this is MY part. Because now I see that by touching this child, caring for her, letting her claim me by touch and touching her back as mine, giving her a sponge bath for a fever, checking her eyes for stray lashes, her braces for sprung wire...I claim her too. And I think, or am learning, that if I hold back from those touches, no matter how strange at first, then I lose.

It's the touch itself that seals the claim, builds it, and turns it into family.

For Buddybug and Vampires

This tidbit is just too fun to resist, so I'm copying most of it here. It made me smile on a rocky day. (h/t to Anchoress)

Pier Giorgio Frassati; Vampire Slayer?

In pop culture, Vampires are currently (again) all the rage, and Fr. Z makes the amusing and not so off-base observation that this icon of our dear friend, Bl. Pier Giorgio Frassati, looks a bit like a vampire slayer.

The Dominican Tertiary from Italy is actually shown holding his rosary and his beloved skis, but I thought it was amusing, just the same. And since we know (in fact we have the pictures to prove it) that Pier Giorgio had a wonderful sense of humor, I bet he’d find it amusing, as well.

“The end for which we are created invites us to walk a road that is surely sown with a lot of thorns, but it is not sad; through even the sorrow, it is illuminated by joy.”
— Pier Giorgio Frassati

It has been shamelessly lifted from both the Anchoress, and from Father Z, but I hope they won't mind....I'm a tiny fish in the humongous 'net pond,' and they are big time. But with the frenzy over THE premiere of that vampire series (you know the one I"m talking about, unless you live in a cave in the desert and have no access to teen girls or tabloids in the supermarket), and the current vogue over all things vampire...this made me smile, and think of my boy. All good.

Buddybug has a great devotion and affection for Blessed Pier Giorgio. And really, what's not to like? He was fun, kind, devout, athletic, outgoing, handsome, charming young guy...plus he was Italian! All good, and his pure heart and soul made him shine - and does still, even now.

Almost Wordless Wednesday

And somehow, the cat only lets Gabey pick her up.

Go figure.

Feast Day of St. Elizabeth of Hungary

Its the feast of St. Elizabeth of Hungary.

She is a special saint and an amazing woman. There are "Mother Teresa's" in every generation -- usually many at any given time. St. Elizabeth was one of those in her time (1207 - 1231). We've given our daughter SBird, St. Elizabeth as a patron and pray for her prayers and intercession for her. Today we celebrate her feast and the best way I know how is to lift from the readings of the day from the Liturgy of the Hours (with a h/t to Coffeedoc for this).

She was a daughter of the King of Hungary. She was given in marriage to Ludwig, the Landgrave of Thuringia, by whom she had three children. She frequently meditated on heavenly things and when her husband died she embraced poverty and built a hospice in which she cared for the sick herself.

Oil painting on copper by Adam Elsheimer (1578-1610)

From a letter of Conrad of Marburg, Saint Elizabeth's spiritual director
"
Elizabeth recognised and loved Christ in the poor

From this time onward Elizabeth’s goodness greatly increased. She was a lifelong friend of the poor and gave herself entirely to relieving the hungry. She ordered that one of her castles should be converted into a hospital in which she gathered many of the weak and feeble. She generously gave alms to all who were in need, not only in that place but in all the territories of her husband’s empire. She spent all her own revenue from her husband’s four principalities, and finally she sold her luxurious’ possessions and rich clothes for the sake of the poor.
Twice a day, in the morning and in the evening, Elizabeth went to visit the sick. She personally cared for those who were particularly repulsive; to some she gave food, to others clothing; some she carried on her own shoulders, and performed many other kindly services. Her husband, of happy memory, gladly approved of these charitable works. Finally, when her husband died, she sought the highest perfection; filled with tears, she implored me to let her beg for alms from door to door.
On Good Friday of that year, when the altars had been stripped, she laid her hands on the altar in a chapel in her own town, where she had established the Friars Minor, and before witnesses she voluntarily renounced all worldly display and everything that our Saviour in the gospel advises us to abandon. Even then she saw that she could still be distracted by the cares and worldly glory which had surrounded her while her husband was alive. Against my will she followed me to Marburg. Here in the town she built a hospice where she gathered together the weak and the feeble. There she attended the most wretched and contemptible at her own table.
Apart from those active good works, I declare before God that I have seldom seen a more contemplative woman. When she was coming from private prayer, some religious men and women often saw her face shining marvellously and light coming from her eyes like the rays of the sun.
Before her death I heard her confession. When I asked what should be done about her goods and possessions, she replied that anything which seemed to be hers belonged to the poor. She asked me to distribute everything except one worn out dress in which she wished to be buried. When all this had been decided, she received the body of our Lord. Afterward, until vespers, she spoke often of the holiest things she had heard in sermons. Then, she devoutly commended to God all who were sitting near her, and as if falling into a gentle sleep, she died."

Happy feast day, Sbird!

St. Elizabeth of Hungary, pray for us!

Big Brother is watching you....

And so he will video you rather than put you to nap.
Those are my boys!

Patron of immigrants: Feast of St. Francis Xavier Cabrini

Today is the feast of St. Francis Xavier Cabrini.
She is also known as Mother Cabrini; and a saint that is known as "Mother" is usually a very special saint indeed. Its the mom factor, they don't throw that word around lightly, you know? Nor should they! Anyhow, Mother Cabrini is a special saint, though not as well known as many.

She is known for starting hospitals, schools and orphanages in her native Italy and then right here in America. She was sent to America by Pope Leo the 13th. And as she was born in Italy but came to live out her days in American, she is also, importantly, an immigrant. She is the first American citizen, and an immigrant to boot, to be canonized.
So, lets make a list: uber organized, holy, immigrant, strong woman in a man's world, courageous, started orphanages, hospitals, and schools. And, last but not least, she came from a large family too. Bigger than ours even! So, how many links does that give us (by which I mean, me and my family)? I'm losing count. So, I figure she's a sort of patron of our family and the causes that pull at our hearts....the same ones that pull at many of yours. And if that is the case for you, then have a chat with Mother Cabrini, ask her for prayers. Surely, I know, she will pray faithfully for your intentions and concerns....because she has a mom's heart.

St. Francis Xavier Cabrini, pray for us!
Happy feast day.

Post Bday Post

Yeah, it's the post birthday picture report.
Because this birthday yesterday was kind of extra special...I'm can't help it. I gotta post some pics. You know I have to! If only for the far flung family types......

And I have to say that this day was kind of loaded, on different levels. We weren't sure if it was going to be a boffo day or a bust. And so we made sure to have it follow, as precisely as possible, the standard traditions of our family bdays. Marta has seen several now and so it was important to have it play out the same way, but with it being her turn. And so it did.

There was a lot of "Oh my goodness!" and many bounces up from the chair to hug and kiss, or a "come here" demand for a hug and kiss. Every single card and present got oohed and aahed over. Every card needed a kiss/hug. We had to say "Open it!" because Marta would just stare at the shiny wrapping with a grin...relishing even that. Every gift had a minimum of three springs out of her chair to hug/kiss.

There was much giggling, the usual small boy grabbing and tugging, the usual chaos and noise and mess. There was her favorite penne with a simple but super tomato/pancetta sauce, salad and strawberry pink ice cream cake, candles, singing and clapping.

A big, very good, momentarily overwhelming here and there, terrific sparkly day. And I'm just so glad.

Even the big kids were grinning real grins, it was just a happy thing to see.

And that makes me ridiculously happy, for her, for us, for the family.
A little tired maybe, but very happy.
And she is still floating and giggling.
And listening to Michael Jackson cd's.
A first and thirteenth birthday can be a very good thing indeed.

Happy Birthday Marta!

Today is our Marta's birthday!!!
She is thirteen today!

This is, in a way, her first birthday as well. Let me explain: As many of you know, they do not track or record birth days in Ethiopia. Meaning, a specific day or date of birth is typically an educated guess, at best. As a child gets older, and if that child has lost their parents and known relatives, this day fades - if it was ever marked at all. This sounds sad, but over there it is not. Its not a part of their culture, this tradition. But as we all know, its a very big part of ours.

And so, after much speculation, discussion, a little investigation, a bunch of translation....we have come to a day, agreed upon by all: Marta's birthday. Today. November 11. She is 13 today.

This is a big day for all of us. Our girl's first birthday. And yes, there will be streamers and candles and songs and cake and ice cream (Ok, ice cream cake). There will be her favorite foods: pasta and salad...and ice cream. There will be great swaths of pink, on the table, the cake, the streamers, the wrapping.....as many surfaces and items we can find, we will all don pink hats and shirts, even the dog....ok, maybe not. But you get the idea. It will be festive.

We will sing and we will take pictures. And give many many birthday hugs. But we will also keep it low key in a way too. Because just like a literal first year birthday, sometimes it can be overwhelming. So we will sit at the table for dinner in our usual spots. Eat her favorite meal, made the same way by mom. And we will still have ESL tutoring and get the laundry done. Because even though the mundane bits of life go on, that underlying crackle of pink specialness can still glow through the day. Because that is the beauty of a birthday....that quiet special sense that you are special and you have those who think so too. It is a day to mark with that sure knowledge. And so we will try.

Our Marta Therese on her first and thirteenth birthday:

You are a joyful spirit.
A simple happy complicated girl.
You love to sing and laugh at mom sing.
You love to laugh at everyone else dancing.
One day we will get you to dance too.
You are a beauty.
Someday you too will know you are a beauty too.
A good chunk of your beauty shines from inside.
This is the truest kind of beauty.
You truly deeply love the your faith, God, and the Mass.
And that inspires.
You love to laugh.
You love to play.
You can be silly as a small child.
You can be as demanding as a small child.
And as moody as any teen, ever.
You are impatient and stubborn.
You are helpful and compassionate.
You hate math.
You love pink.
You are working so hard on learning english.
But you really hate math.
Almost as much as you hate learning to tell American time.
You love to write cards to your Grandma.
And to sew quilts of your own design.
And you do not want any help, unless the machine busts.
You love pink, in anything and everything.
You love pink ice cream, yogurt, pjs, sweaters, socks, pens.
Pink.
And a dash of cheetah print might be nice too.
You love football.
It could only be better if they players wore pink, maybe.
You are my only kid who is excited for braces.
And yes, they are pink!

You have been home almost four months.
It feels like you just got here.
It feels like so much longer.
We are all slowly growing toward and in each other.
It's a long process.
But it can't be rushed.
It's kind of like this birthday:
It's marked by a 13, but its new and old at the same time.
Everything about us, each other, is new to each other.
But so many things too, are old in their way.
Mom dad daughter sister family.
It's age old.
And brand new.
Just like a birthday really should be.

Happy Happy Birthday Marta.
We love you and are so proud of you.
We hope all your wishes come true!

Adjustment: Marking the good. redux

I don't have a picture. Not the right picture anyhow. I have this picture, far below, which will have to suffice.

I had a "mark the good" moment today. And because I have written before about how I think its important to MARK the good when you recognize it, I want to write this down...for the record, and so it doesn't slip away from my foggy mind. In older child adoption, there is so much that is strange and awkward, especially at first. And only time can help ease into some things. One of those is worth a whole 'nother post (Fair warning...). But it is this very thing that had one of those moments today, the kind that stills and shimmers for a minute, you realize you kind of are holding your breath so you don't blink and lose it. Then you do blink because you have to, suddenly, there is a pending spill. And if you're lucky you recognize, that this is one to mark. A step forward. A settling in. A deeper twinge resonating.

Ack. Let me explain. Tomorrow is Marti's birthday. She is a bit giddy in anticipation. Just a little shivery giddy. But I didn't really see it until Mass.

Every day we go to Mass after we drop off the school kids (parochial school, one of the perks). Every day we sit in our pew, third from the back, left. Some mornings Coffeedoc gets to join us before clinic. Today was one of those.

Marta was in between us, she kept pulling Coffeedoc closer in, and squooshing closer to me. We were all mooshed up together in that pew, tho the pew was empty otherwise. If you didn't know it, it looked like it was below freezing and we were huddling for warmth. Then, in one of the quiet moments of the Mass, we sat again, taking our huddle. She grinned and she pulled him closer in, put his hand on her lap and grabbed mine, pulling it to his, placing our two old hands together. We smiled a small laugh at each other. Then she grinned wider.

She wrapped her little arms around our big ones on either side, grabbed hands in the middle and squeezed. "My dad. My mom," she whispered to us with a huge smile.

It was very much like a small small child, claiming again, for the hundredth time, their parents. But this was our teen. Not a toddler. But the declaration was the same. And we looked across her head and smiled that deep smile. And then, surprising myself...I blinked.

I don't have a picture to show you. I wish I did. But I have stored this one away safely anyhow, marking it for good.

The Deep

Sometimes you forget. Sometimes you forget the depth of what this is. This adoption stuff.

I guess you have to, because if you set it always in the forefront of your mind you will be frozen. It's so big. It's so much. Just what these kids have done, come from their first family to be woven into yours...it's so much. And so, when they have carved out that spot in your heart of hearts, that fierce love for them has gripped you...you forget. You forget sometimes, what they call that "primal wound." They might forget, for a while, too. Or not really realize or understand it if they are so young. Not yet. But its there.

The other night, Gabey had crawled into my bed. We all were sleeping but he started fussing in a dream. He whimpered. Turned over. Then, sleep-shouted clearly and loudly, "Don't leave me!"

Oh!
Instantly wide awake, my breath taken.

He has never, ever, said that. Not awake, not asleep. He does say "I want to go with you!" And with ferocious toddler power, "That's MY mommy!" But he has not said this. And he has not said this with that angry hurt sad deep cry.

And I wondered, was he just dreaming of the comings and goings in our busy house? I don't think so. This had a different quality. Not only because it was 2 a.m. But it was more.
I know it, I heard it, I felt it.
This was his hurt.
My boy's hurt.
His mom died. He was taken to the orphanage at eleven months. He was left.
It is primal.

And so I snuggled in close to him. I whispered, "I'm here." And then, "I'll never leave you." He relaxed back into sleep. And I lay awake, picking up the shattered bits of my heart.

Real kids. On their own.

Teenagers.

What happens to them?
I mean, what happens to them if they don't have a family?
If they don't have a home?
A bedroom?
A safe place to be?
Enough food, enough care?
Someone to watch over them, to give them grief, to tell them "good job", or "nice try", or "hey, no attitude!"?
What if no one is there to say "It's gonna be ok", and really mean it.
What if they are cold or hungry or sick or scared.
What if they are alone?
Alone.

Grim huh?
Well, its real.
Its real here in the states.
Its even more real, to an unfathomable level, around the world.
Real kids.
The "lucky" ones are in an orphanage or foster care.
But they are not really lucky at all.
Because they don't have a family, or a home, or anyone who really cares about them, every day.
And that temporary haven, of sorts, that orphanage or foster home, it's gonna end.
The time there is limited.
And then these kids, and even as older teens, they are still kids, with the same needs and wants of any teen kids....they are sent out.
They are sent out.
To a bleak future.
Tough to get a job when jobs aren't available, you have no connections, no transportation, no proper clothes, not enough food, and not enough or any school.
Tough to find a place to stay when you have a tiny pocket of money to "get you started."
That money can't even rent a place to stay for a few months, if you could find one.
That money can't get you in school, or help you find a job.
That money runs out.
Then the future becomes Grim.
It is all too easy to have that future include drugs, assault, living on the streets, prostitution, begging, illness, hunger, desperation.

And these are kids.
And these are our kids.
This was MY kid.

So this topic is close to home for me.
Too close.
It hurts to know that so many of these kids have such a bleak future.
That is not an overstatement.
Bleak. Grim. Future.
They have little to no future, in fact.
This could have been my girl.
She did get lucky.
We got lucky.
I'm not posting this to say that everyone should adopt older kids.
It's very hard.
It's very different from adopting a small one.
Oh, its worth it.
But there are other ways to reach out as well.

I want everyone to SEE these kids.
I want everyone to know that these are real kids, who like jokes, ice cream, hugs, a warm shower and bed.
These kids deserve a chance, any chance.
All of these kids can use a hand.
This new initiative by Gladney, "On Their Own," is for these kids.
For our kids, these forgotten ones.
As they age out, we can help them have a bit of hope.
We can help provide some of the tools they can use to get started, safely.
To find their footing, to know that even now, someone cares.
On their own.
Donate what you can, if you can.
Buy the bracelet above, the proceeds donate, the exposure helps.
You can help them step out on their own and step past the grim, maybe.
You can help them step over into hope.
You can change a life, just by caring a little.
You can change your life, just by caring a little, for these real kids - about to be on their own.

Almost Wordless Wednesday

Obligitory Halloween Pictorial...

The other kiddos were either sick and moody or attending a better party. Hmph.
Even so, a good time was had by all!

All Souls Day

Aladar Korosfoi-Kriesch

All Souls' Day --1910 Oil on canvas,

Its the Feast of All Souls Today.
And this day is cool because its not just the Saints that we are remembering, the big leagues, but all of the little guys, the regular folks who have died - the Joe Schmoes of the world who are just the regular guy in the trenches or mom in the laundry room. But even so, these folks, so many of them, have died, gone to heaven and deserve a remembrance. It's our nature to do so.

All Souls Day in Slovakia

Sometimes folks wonder why we even bother to think of a day to remember and pray for the dead. I mean, they have passed on, no use now right? Well, no. I think, and our faith teaches us, that in fact there is great use. Our souls are immortal. They are us, the realest us. They do not die. This is an article of faith and I know many who disagree. But I believe it. To my mortal bones, I believe we have souls that are immortal.

Painting by Rubens

Therefore, when I die, I hope and pray that my loved ones, heck, ANYONE, remembers to pray for me. Because I'm gonna need it.
I need it now, I will need it more so then, because my time on earth to actively turn my heart away from my measly selfish self and around to the face of God will be done. And so while I hope and pray I am going to heaven, I suspect...if I get to heaven I will be in the foyer of heaven: purgatory.

Yup.
I said it: 'Purgatory."

One of those words! One of those polarizing kind of words.
And I wish it wasn't.
Purgatory is a beautiful, sensible concept and gives me such comfort and hope.

As I am not a theologian, nor particularly smart or insightful...but am quite opinionated, I get to give you my take on purgatory and why I think its so cool. Keep in mind, I have simplified and condensed a rich complex theological concept into terms my little old middle age wandering mind can digest. So don't get all tied up in knots over this, go read someone knows.

But, for me, this is the deal with purgatory - a "mom" take on it.
In my rambling rabbit warren of a house, we are lucky enough to have a mud room. This is the main entrance to our house by all friends and family. And you know, even when its my son coming home from college and I can't wait to see him, we stop him for a moment in the mudroom...we say "Ack! Quick scrape those boots or take 'em off, they are covered in mud!" So he does and then we hug him and pull him into the kitchen to feed him pie and have the little's jump him with glee.


This is purgatory. Or just like it, to me.

Even if we have turned our hearts to God and want only to do the best we can...we screw up, we still are impatient and ill tempered and selfish (ok, me). And when we die, we don't just all of a sudden have those hurtful acts disappear; those sins still ripple out to those we left behind. We are still 'smudgy' with that selfishness. And while we may be deeply contrite and now, after our passing, fully understand how hurtful even some of our small 'unimportant' acts or "white lies" really are.....we are not ready yet to stand in the presence of Love and Truth. Because you can't. You can't if you still have some smudges. God's Divine self/presence cannot coexist with anything less than truly pure. Because God is pure. And so, we too become so - in purgatory. Purgatory is where we take off our muddy boots. We put on some clean soft slippers or go barefoot in to the pure white of the kitchen. And then, we are hugged, hooted over, loved and we all grin and eat pie.

So today we remember and celebrate those souls who have gone before us with their hearts turned toward God: All Souls Day.

Happy Feast of All Souls!
Perhaps even in heaven, or especially in heaven, it's all about the pie!

All the Saints

The challenge of sainthood

is to go where love takes me.

Today is All Saints Day!

Another name is All Hallows Day. It follows, of course, All Hallows Eve...or, obviously, Halloween. I love that we don't just celebrate Halloween and its not just a creepy horror fest or excuse to dress up and scarf down way too much sugar (Baby Ruth's, Reeses, pie, oh my!) But that in actuality these are three days of remembrance.

Remembrance of what?
No, not only that you need to stay on your blood sugar meds or that there's always tomorrow for a new diet.
Rather, its remembrance of the dead.

Its why I think the Dia de los Muertos is cool too, not creepy. Plus of course there is usually lots of food involved, especially Pan de los Muertos (Special bread), and whats not to like about that?

Its why those Dutch Veritas paintings were all the rage way back when (Ok, ok, 16 & 17 C). They were a way of reminding us that "all is vanity" in life (You know, Eccliastes and all); this life here is but a blink.

It's remembering our dear ones who went before us, and also those who were not so dear personally perhaps, but now can be so very dear as they listen to our prayers and pray on our behalf.

Yup, I'm talking about the Saints!
We love them!

And for those who have concerns with praying to saints, I understand. But, well, here is a bit on the concept of communion of the saints. But for me, I think its one of the most cool and natural concepts of the faith and well, life in general. Because this tells us that we are connected. You all know how much I rely on those connections!

And to be connected to those who have gone before us, and who, since they no longer are bound by their human tendencies toward sin, are pure of heart and intent...to be connected to these special souls and be able to hit them up for prayers? Well, that is just too cool and a huge comfort for me.

Its a lot like asking your best girlfriend or Aunt Midge to pray for you, but knowing that the prayers will be less distracted and without any overlying layers of selfishness. For instance, "Please let Coffeemom figure this out so she will stop droning on about this, it's making me nuts." See, thats one kind of prayer that any earthly person might (ok, surely does) pray if I ask them to pray for me.

But we know that the saints will pray for God's will for us, more along the lines of "O God, come to her assistance, send the graces she needs to understand your will and thus also take pity and have mercy on her best friend." See? Much better, don't ya think? Me too.

So, today is the day that we try to recover from All Hallows eve and the food feasting and instead feast on the deep contentment and uber coolness of knowing that the saints, both the "rock star" saints and the little known ones, will pray for us and care about our little human lives.

They've been there, done that, know the traps and are cheering us on our way. What's not to like? Or celebrate? I'll take every bit of help I can get. And, blessedly, this is real help, right now....and forever. Ah....

Photo by Richard Flynn. Saints in the cathedral of Our Lady of the Angels, Los Angeles: Cecilia, Stephen, Casimir, Ignatius of Loyola, Frances of Rome, Bernardine of Siena, Thomas Aquinas, Katharine Drexel, John of God, Maximilian Kolbe, John Baptist de la Salle, Paul Chong Hasang, Moses the Ethiopian, Kateri Tekakwitha, Thomas More, Nicholas, Dominic, Mary Magdalen, Ann, and Joseph.

Happy All Saints Day!
I'm gonna go have another piece of pie!

Happy Halloween! All Hallows Eve!

Preparations are under way.
Pumpkins have been carved, and tested in the dark.
Oohs and ahs, gasped, hands clapped.
Costumes tweaked and twirled and swashbuckled about.
Pillowcases found and tested for candy collection.
Candy tested, twice even.
Or more.
Snickers are frozen (Um, to test...yeah, that's it!).
Reeses and Baby Ruths picked from the bags (Best Halloween candy. Ever)
Trick or Treating timetable set.
Weather checked and fretted over.
Kids amped up.
Parents eyeing wine and margaritas.
Dusk soon, right?
Oh.
Ok, waiting a bit.
For my sister:
Brisket is cooking for chili.
Pumpkin Pies are baking.
Corn bread and little mini hot dogs in process.
(FYI: They are rightly, traditionally, called "Little mini hot dogs" - whether or not they are mini dogs or little smokies and it is not redundant to use "little" and "mini" on such a festive occasion. It's tradition for you newbies out there. Ask my sister. She's a lawyer and the oldest. She says.).

It's All Hallows Eve.
It's Halloween!
Its tradition: exhausting, wild, ruinous for teeth and figures, and big fun.

Happy Halloween to all!

If you give a boy a straw.....

He will drink soup!

Which is a big improvement over wearing it!

Good thing our Sally O' is clever! Thanx honey!

Happy Bday Bananas!

Happy Happy Birthday to my girl, my Bananas.

I know I say this all the time, but I can't believe you are this old.
Fourteen already!

14!
Oh my goodness. And when you pointed out that next year you get a drivers permit, well, ok, I am just NOT ready for that.
But I will say, perhaps you will be, because you are growing into a lovely young woman.

Finishing up grade school and preparing for high school.
You want to go to your brother's high school so much, but recognizing the difficulty of decisions and being willing to discuss and understand the different choices.
You have grown up so much in the past year or so, physically but also in maturity.
You were our baby that we "worked so hard" to get.
Shots for months, tests, procedures, heartbreak and dreams.
Finally you arrived, with the heavens clapping for you, and carved your place in the family, by your sweet smiles but first by your colic!
We knew, the boys knew, life would never be the same and you would make way for yourself!

Happily you have a big huge heart, filled with compassion.
And you love to laugh and are willing to laugh at yourself.
You are filled to overflowing with music, it bubbles through even when you're supposed to be quiet.
But we are really enjoying your new and growing talent on the piano.
And I would love to hear you keep singing and sing more, you have a beautiful voice.
You are creative and kind.
You are moody and dramatic.
You are smarter than you realize.
You are energetic, as long as you have fully woken up.
You are another night owl in the family.
You are a social butterfly.
But have your head on straight and so know how to do that social thing with integrity and kindness.
You are full of faith, a rare thing in a child your age.
Did I mention, it was FOURTEEN?

You are goofy and fun and love to laugh.
You share a bday, almost, with your best friend, who is like part of the family.
You are beautiful.
Your smile can light up a room.
Your room is still a disaster.
You love to travel and have a bit of wanderlust.
You are torn between big city life and that country girl in you.
They say you look just like me and remind my family of me.
I'm sorry.
I think however that they are wrong.
You are beautiful and better than me, in so many ways.

You are sharing your most private space, bedroom and bath, with a brand new sis.
You are a hero for that in my eyes.
And your dads.
And your brothers.
We love you so much and am so proud of you.
I hope all your birthday wishes come true........
except for that car thing.

Happy Happy Bday Bananas!

Firsts

No adoption blog really is complete without posting that ongoing, ever growing, list of firsts. The list ranges from the mundane to the sublime, but they all have impact and are a privilege for us to witness. Fun and nervewracking, scary sometimes, sometimes hard, but really...it's always cool to expand a world, bit by bit. To find out much is out there.

So, without further ado, here it is. First post of firsts.

Obviously, first Halloween.
First supermarket.
First escalator.
First ice cream.
First airplane.
First elevator.
First dentist visit.
First extraction, ouch.
First family dinner.
First ride on a boat.
First ocean.
First beach.
First Grandma.
First Grandpa.
First trampoline.
First cousins.
First Uncles.
First Aunts.
Frst pumpkins, first jack o'lanterns.
First Disney.
First roller coaster.
First frappucino.
First football game.
First swim.
First walk on beach.
First seashells.
First dolphins.
First movie.
First computers.
First piano.
First vaccinations.
First family party.
First sentences in english.
First trouble with american mom and dad.
First forgiving.
First big family.
First brothers.
First sisters.
First autumn.
First lazy naps on the deck in the sun.....
The best thing about most of these firsts is they are just that: firsts. Most of them have many more, countless, times to experience them again. Which might not be so thrilling on the no fun ones...but some of them, ah, its just so good.

Turn-keys

So many of the things that are involved with adjusting to an adoption keep crowding into my head. So, I'm processing stuff. Which means I have to post, you know it...its how I process. Bear with me. I wish someone had talked about this stuff when I was researching wondering dreaming about it all. I know, heaps o' books out there, but for my meager mind, I need things categorized a mite differently. Maybe. All those books are so helpful and even now crowding my bookshelves and stacked on my night table. I am still using them and will be for a good long while, maybe ever.

But even so, this is how my mind parses things out:
Turn-keys.
You know how you hear about "Turn key" businesses? Where you can just step in and the biz runs properly, right out of the box?
Well adoption is the exact opposite of that.

But even so, I have decided that there ARE "turn-keys" in the adoption process, the adjustment process. And I think they really are critical to the fine tuning of an adoption, at least for us, me, our family. These are the keys that literally turn and open or close the process of adjustment (at least in my opinion, I'm just a mom, not an expert, so take this for what it is).

Sadly, there is NO ONE key to the whole process; though wouldn't that be fantastic!? But I think these are a number of keys: time, touch, trouble, trust, truth, talk, terror even. I've written about the terror often enough. And time, downtime, that is. And recently about the trouble. But one of the most important keys, a true "turn key," is one of the hardest (of course!).

Trust.
Oh my.
I think this is one of the biggest.
In some ways, it's everything.
Think about it: TRUST.
There has to be so much of that.
But how hard it is to find, to grab, to hold, to create, to hang onto?
If you have it, it seems solid..and you are more fortunate than you may realize.
If you do not, or cannot, then it can be so ephemeral, so heartbreakingly out of reach.

I think it is what we are all searching for, as much or more than happiness, or possibly, love.
Because you cannot trust without love.
Because you cannot be happy without trust.
They flow and feed each other.
So, yeah, its big.
When you have brought an older, hurt, child into your family is it gigantic.
It is everything.

Gee whiz, trust. Sounds like a basic. I have realized I really took it for granted, that foundational unquestioning trust. I trust my kids, beyond those moments of obvious lying or um, borrowing, and run of the mill kid stuff that most kids have to test out. They trust me. Even if they hate me for holding them to curfew or being strict, they still, if push came to shove, would admit that (even if I am "so wrong and clueless") I have the best intentions on their behalf. I trust my husband, I trust how things work. I trust God. Right?

Well, this adoption has taught me that actually, I have MASSIVE trust issues! (It's the curse of the control freak, always) God, husband, kids, new kid, the whole shebang. Not too fun finding that one out! But, really, helpful, because with the entrance of a new, older, child into a home....everyone's level of trust is laid on the line. And you know what? You have to deal with it.

As mom, you have to deal with it yourself and for the others too. I'd love to say that foundational trust is unshakable. And it might just be for Coffeedoc and Buddybug. And thank goodness for that! But for the rest of us? Well, it was shaken some. You can see that shake in the jealousy, the attention seeking of new and old kids, the acting out, the frazzled tempers and moods (yeah, mine too, once or twice. Ahem.). Really, so much of that turmoil stemming from questions of trust, different levels, but still the same bottom line. And for our new sweet girl? Well, its still not there for her either. How can it be?

So, how do you build trust? How do you parent a child who just plumb does not, cannot truly deeply TRUST you? Its much harder than it seems and I think its one of the huge reasons that it can be harder to adjust to older child adoption. When you've raised a child from baby or toddler that trust has a million times over to be proven built tested and reinforced.

A new child, older, coming from a completely different world and ways? Do they have that tested track record with you? No. Do you trust them immediately in the same way as your children already at home? Honestly? You can't. You don't know them well enough yet to know their expressions moods triggers. You don't know when the honeymoon will switch to a meltdown or if it will even. So that takes time to trust and anticipate their actions and reactions. And so, until you build that foundation of trust.... Well, you're flying, um parenting, without a net.
And for the new child? Well, that trust is gonna be a long time coming, deep down. They might well trust that you will feed house and clothe them. But the deep trust, the kind that withstands the misunderstandings, the corrections, the grief the anger the complete discombobulation....that isn't there, not really. And so when they feel like they are drowning in all the change how do they trust you will save them, pull them up and not let go? Well, maybe they don't. Or maybe they are trying, but you have to do your part. Which is: be there, hang on, get over yourself (Now don't get all worked up and think I'm judging, I am totally typing about ME here), and don't let go.

Sounds easy. It's not.

But as you do it, you both are reaching a bit toward each other. Even the silly kinds of trust make such a huge difference. That you can tease and just be a little silly, for fun not hurt. And that really ice cream seems weird but is wonderful, try it. And that if mom says she will come in and kiss you goodnight when she gets home, she will. Heck, even that, just like a small child needs to learn, I always come back.

And just that effort, that repeated reaching, I think {and continue to hope and pray}, brings you (ok, me) all a bit closer, laces your heart to the other....a tiny bit at a time. It may not feel like it at all. And trust is really something that doesn't feel like much except a sort of sureness, an absence of fear. But it is the grounding for the feelings that feel like everything: happiness, love, joy.

So, really, I would love someone to hand me a shiny big ol' turn key to all this, to precisely fit this one critical lock. And then to open the door to a deep firm trust, for all of us. Trust in each other, trust in love, trust in the time and effort, trust in the good, trust without hurt, trust without doubt or question or fret. But I guess this particular turn-key is crafted from the clay of our (OK, my measly) hearts, bodies, and just plain old presence, again and again and again - for the whole family, old and new. But this key, once its made, will be one to treasure tight.

Almost Wordless Wednesday

The kids had a big time at the pumpkin farm Sunday.
The younger ones did some swinging
(the older ones thought they were too cool).
You can see them all below....

Look closely.....who's hitched a hideaway ride?

Autumn. Love it.

Bucket O Beach

It was beyond great to be at the beach last week; to spend time with my family, have Marta meet my family, to breath deeply that salty ocean air. It is one of the few places in the world I really relax. But again... you've "done your time." I'm not gonna blather on here.
This post is for the pics:

Uncle David, my big bro.

With Uncle John, my baby brother.

Counter Intuitive Adjustment

There is an odd part of the adoption adjustment process that I want to talk about, to kind of sort it out in my head. I've only really actually been able to see it clearly this time around. I suspect it plays out much more with the adjustment of an older child into the family. I'm talking about that boundary...the one that is so hard to cross the first few times.

I'm talking about trouble. I mean Trouble with a capital "T" (to borrow from "The Music Man"). And I guess I should throw out the caveat that I'm only talking about OUR house and family and experience here. So don't flame me, I know well enough that every single adoption - young or old - is unique and different from every other. However, that said, I have noticed something lately, and it feels important, at least to me/us. Its a whole counter intuitive experience.

Trouble. You all know it. There are different kinds of course. But I'm talking about routine 'trouble,' the kind found in oh, every single family in the world. The usual stuff of squabbling and testing boundaries and annoying behaviors and flat out breaking the rules to see how it plays sort of thing. The sulks, the tantrums, the rudeness, the ignoring.....life with kids. Not all kids, not all the time...but really, most every kid, some of the time.

With the adoption of an older child, ok, this older child, there are phases. You can read about them in the books. The honeymoon phase is the most fun, supposedly, the giddiness of meeting and all the excitement of the new.

All new, all the time.
Frankly, its wonderful and exhausting.

Part of that exhaustion comes from that very newness. Every single thing is new, needs to be explained, or pointed out, or giggled over. Everything is heightened. And it takes a little while, but then you realize that everyone is kind of walking through the day on eggshells. Don't make a false step or the eggs will crack and the mess might spill out. Everyone is on their best behavior because no one is quite sure how it will play when they are not.

But you know, that can't last.

It doesn't. And while it is a whole 'nother kind of exhausting to leave that golden honeymoon phase, it is a relief in it's own way. Because now, it becomes real. Things get rocky, possibly very very fast. It can be ugly. It hurts, there can be tears all around - anger, fury even, snits, snot, names, accusations, hopefully not hits pinches and shoves between the kids (but you know, it's possible).

And, as mom, you know what you have to do. You do it before you've analyzed it and set out a plan. You deal. Ideally, calm cool and collected. But, sometimes you (ok, ok: me) react instead of plan. Because while some moms might be able to only discipline in calm cool collection, according to their calmly evaluated plotline...THIS mom tends to react and maybe even has been known to um, yell, once or twice. (I am not admitting this, I am just saying that there is a possibility that there has been a slip or two over the years.)

What I am saying is: the kid(s) are in Trouble. Capital T.

Now. We are in this new phase now. Our new daughter has been in Trouble. Capital T. And it happened before I knew it. It has now happened a number of times. And, really, I now think it is such a good thing. Let me be clear, the trouble itself is not good. No one digs it. But the ability to be in trouble....priceless.
Let me give you a for instance. On this trip, we went to a swishy restaurant with all the kids - because we are maniacs. (But that is a topic for another post.) I won't bore you with the details, but suffice it to say that not long into the dinner, about halfway through, I got up and took Miss Marti outside.
Yes.
Outside.
In mom code, that's big stuff. Capital T stuff.
And I took her off to the side of the restaurant and told her in no uncertain terms that she was behaving poorly and in Trouble and it was all not ok. She is a stubborn little gal and so this included some back and forth between us, heads shaking, arms crossed, tears...the works. Shortly, we came to terms. More tears. Now hugs. And a long one. Done.

But then, for the second or third time since she's been home Marti looked at me and laughed a small laugh as she said her (Ethiopian) Mom's name. And then pretty much re-enacted our 'discussion." Then she pointed to me and said my name: "Mom."

I smiled and said, "Yeah. She would have said the same thing. Because we are both moms. Your moms. And we love you. So listen!" And then I got a REAL hug and a REAL smile and we walked inside to continue dinner (Waving at the bar patrons whom I had unwittingly provided the evening entertainment. doh!).

And you know, when she went inside she was happy again. Not sulky.
And it felt like things clicked one more notch down toward settled (still a ways to go, but every notch is something).
Because all that - that discipline, anger, apologize, forgive, move on thing?
That's NORMAL.
Normal.
And the other kids feel more normal if they know I will take her out (of the restaurant...c'mon on!) and she can get in the same kind of trouble they can.

It's a comfort, in a totally counter intuitive sort of way.
And it's one notch closer to "Normal."
For all of us.

Feast of St. Teresa of Avila

Painting by Janet McKenzie

It's the feast of St. Teresa of Avila!
I love her. I feel she is one of my patrons due to our shared tendency toward massive headaches and migraines. Only one who has them all the time can really understand how they scramble you...and she did. So, she's my gal!

Painting by Francois Gerard, c. 17C

But more importantly, St. Teresa of Avila is just one heck of a great saint. She is one of the three women Doctors of the Church (noting that her spiritual writings are both sound and very important, influential). For a woman of medieval times, that is no small accomplishment, not to mention: staying power! Her books such as Interior Castle and The Way of Perfection are just amazing reads. Not fast page turners, but mind blowers. You have to stop every few pages and just sort of...digest it all. And then soak it in, let it sink in....it's great great stuff and will change your prayer life. She founded the Discalced Carmelites (Meaning "shoeless," again, what's not to like?) and had an ongoing friendship and correspondence with the mystic and poetically powerful St. John of the Cross {And if you want a really phenomenal book, tough, dense, but OH so worth it: read the compilation/commentary on these two together: Fire Within, by Dubay}.

But on another level, not the "resume" angle...St. Teresa of Avila appeals to me because she was first of all a real living, breathing woman. I know, they all are, doh. But what I mean is that she was a woman of opinions and ideas and kind of stubborn and pushy, even when that wasn't always overtly sanctioned in the culture of her time. She was extremely social and loved to sit and chat and flirt even...she was quiet beautiful and knew how to use it too. She had to struggle against the urge to chat and flirt and spend too much time doing it, because she could lose afternoons to it. Sound familiar to any of you, especially you gals? Um, yeah. That stuff IS fun. Sounds pretty modern to me.

St. Teresa's monastic cell at the Convento de la Encarnación, Ávila

And yet, even so, St. Teresa could hear in her inmost self the whisper of God who loved her as she was, more than anyone else could. And she responded, bravely, to that irresistible call. And it brought her the ecstasy of union with God in prayer. And that amazes me and intrigues me as I know firsthand how hard it is to push all those opinions and flippy chitchatty conversations out of my head to pay attention to God himself. Distraction? I'm the poster girl for it. But St. Teresa gives me hope and I have hope that she prays for me...for my attention to what is important, for responding to that call, that whisper, for my headaches, for being brave enough to listen through the din of my modern mundane life.

Sculpture by Bernini, "St. Teresa in Ecstasy"

So, happy feast day!

St. Teresa of Avila, pray for us!

Three months. Adjustment

So, today is three months.
Three months since Miss Marta T landed in America. Stepped foot on US soil and became a citizen (IR3 visa, don't get all worked up, Gabey came on IR4, it's just different).

Three months of adjusting to a tsunami of change: only child to big family, no parents to two parents and even more: us, new food, new smells, new sights, new language, new ways, new everything single thing you can think of to name.

So, how are we doing? How is Marta doing?

I hope we are doing pretty well. That's the funny thing, it's kind of impossible to know in a way.

With older child adoption its a different kind of road. It doesn't come with the same maps as infant or toddler adoptions. There are almost no standards or norms, it seems. Because every child comes with so much history that their trajectory and ways are their own. Unique. Meaning, their paths, their ways, the adjustments, their quirks, their traumas, their charms are all unique to their very own self. And you can compare if you like (and its OH so tempting to do it), but it's not at all the same as comparing when your kid walked or talked or got their teeth. Those markers are not nearly so clear in this arena.

So, instead of judging this soon, I'm gonna throw out what's up at three months; what we know and what we are learning. About our new daughter: Marta Therese.

The beach is beautiful.
California is nice.
Swimming is so much fun.
It is very hard to learn to swim but its a ball anyhow.
Mom and Dad think this means there are big hazards around water.
Especially the ocean because its so easy to tip over and fall, even just standing there.
Because if you look down, it's disorienting.

Music is just the best.
Singing is good too.
Mom is very funny when she tries to sing and dance.
Shopping is one of the best of things.
Especially with an older sister.
Pink is maybe the best color ever.
And maybe yellow too.

Quilting and sewing is just fascinating.
Its new, but feels pretty good to be able to learn it.
Its great to be able to do it on your own, all by yourself.
Those seams will get straighter with practice.
That sewing machine makes ya feel powerful!
Those quilts are crazy colorful charm.

American food is great.
Pasta and pizza are always great.
Salad and ice cream are best of all.
Sweet potatoes are disgusting.
Carrots aren't much better.
But so many choices are just a thrill.
The rules of restaurants are a little hard to figure out though.
Ordering, why can't you change your mind?

Dentists are very nice, but not much fun to visit.
Braces are very exciting to think about though.
Pink is the color already picked out for the bands.

America is fun.
Movies are amazing!
Roller coasters can be very fun.
But they can also be very scary.
Boats are very fun.
School is fun, still.
Except for math and learning to tell time.
The english teacher is just so nice!
English is a very hard language to learn.

A big family is a good thing.
Except when the smaller ones make you crazy being pests.
But big brothers and sisters are wonderful.
Except when the big sister keeps you up at night studying with both music and lights on.
And except for when you have to figure out shower schedules.
And where to sit in the car or at the table.
And family rules are not always fun either.
You'll get in trouble if you cut your own hair.
Or ignore mom or dad or are rude.
Mom holds to those rules and will yell and scold.
But then its ok again after it all.
Buddybug is very much missed.
But its exciting to think he'll be home in less than a week for a bit.

Maybe the best part of a big family is that means BIG family.
And aunts and uncles and cousins.
Maybe the very best thing of all is to have grandparents.
And a Grandma who understands somehow.
Best of all are hugs from her, and mom and dad.

Three months is just the beginning.
The whole family is still adjusting.
Adjustments are both big and small ways.
Things can be hard.
Things can be so frustrating.
Feeling sad can make your whole body hurt.
Or parts of it.
It can feel lonely sometimes.
It can be so confusing too.
Its easy to get out of sorts and not really know why.
Things are very strange here.
But are starting to feel more normal, a little.
We all hope it gets easier.
Some days it is.
Some days it's not.

Some days you get a glimmer of feeling that depth, just under there, and its a shiver of good.
And you know, it's worth it to keep on trying.

Cultural Confusion

We got it. Cultural confusion, I mean.
And yeah, of course, we've got it going on on many levels, big and small.
But really, the one on my mind this trip, is the bizarro factor of trying to explain both the whole Disney deal to Marta AND how to explain Halloween.

I knew I was going to have to figure out the whole Halloween explanation to her, by the end of the month at the latest right? But, oh dopey me, I hadn't remembered that Disney does a whole Halloween extravaganza for the holiday...milking every last shiver and shriek they can out of it. And I know they have a holiday of sorts in Ethiopia where kids go door to door asking for candy, but really, that's where the similarity to our holiday ends. No costumes or horror or pumpkins even, that's American.

So I had a double whammy of explaining to do. I think I failed miserably. I tried, really I did. But I saw it all with new eyes: foreign no language eyes, to be exact. And frankly, really, its awfully weird. Both the Disney and the Halloween...but combined: bizarro world. I'm just saying, what else can it look like but bizarro world?

Think about it: you go on rides where you are scared out of your wits thinking you're going to fall out or be crashed into walls or fly right out of your seat...and then everyone gets off jabbering and laughing and hooting with silly grins on their faces. I know, some of that adrenaline rush doesn't need language. But some does: the "Are we having fun yet?" factor. Add to that the visual of every bit of the park is decorated, as only Disney can do, for the ghoul factor of Halloween (thankfully however, minus the more modern fascination w/ gore). But you've got skulls and cobwebs and big spiders hanging from every nook and cranny; skeletons and ghosts and spooky music and witches. Scary stuff, if you don't know the holiday behind it. And if not scary, well, really really weird.

Then you have the lack of cultural immersion is Disney-ana. I am not sure at all about how much Marta realized was real and not real. We stupidly forgot our dictionary, so it was hard to say, "those hippos and crocodiles on the Jungle Cruise are fake, dont' worry. Those pirates aren't shooting at you, it's not real, don't worry." No wonder Pirates of the Caribbean ride was NOT a hit. Aw.

Anyhow, so that's some of the cultural confusion we've been surfing through (in honor of our beach locale) this week.
Almost unexplainable weirdness.
Hopefully, someday soon she'll understand that we don't make a habit of decorating with skulls and cobwebs and skeletons here in America.....but that we just like a bit of goofy silly fun.

Heigh Ho, Heigh Ho, it's off to Disney we go..

Ok, so yeah, we lost our minds (Ok, Coffeedoc did) and decided we should "do Disney." After falling out of my chair with sticker shock upon researching the cost (even w/ current specials) for Disney World...I realized we could go see my family, the beach,and college if we went to DisneyLand versus the Florida world - for about a third of the cost. Plus, and here is a "Big Family Tip," since we are SO big now, we finally could get a group rate: buy 10 tickets as a group, get one free and group rate is about a 40% discount. Score! Decision: made.

Let me preface this post by saying I am a bit conflicted on the whole Disney thing. It's a love/hate thing for sure for me. Part of me totally loves the whole deal, I like the scary but not terrifying rides, the whole vibe, the make-believe kiddie fun. But part of me resents it in the sense of the sticker shock and, well, the after effects. You moms know what I'm talking about: its the "donkey effect." Yup. You know, I took Little Man, Marta, Sbird, and Miss M on Pinocchio's Wild Ride (or something like that) and it's all about Pinocchio's visit to Pleasure Island - where he and the other spoiled boys run amok and turn into donkeys. It occurred to me that this ride should really be placed at the very entrance to the park and be a mandatory ride for all families with children under fourteen. Because, the kids, they all start to bray by the end of the day.

But I digress.

Anyhow, so we went to Disney, myself, Coffeedad, and eight kidletts (one of them being a buddy of Booboo) on Day one and nine (nephew joined us) on Day two. Whew. And let me remind you that one of them doesn't speak any english and also doesn't have that built in cultural soak in Disney. And let me remind you that one of them is two. Double whew. Makes you tired just reading that, doesn't it? Go ahead, read it again, imagine it......yeah, has that effect on me too and they are my kids!

And yes, count those kids. Thats missing a few too.
And yes, I look like a dork but it got hot so I put on a skirt and I have bad feet.
Sue me. I don't care.

But I digress.

So. We went to Disney. Overall, really, it went better than expected...for a while anyhow. A visit to Disney goes through the same rough stages: giddy anticipation, arrival and shock at the crowds the lines but the giddy anticipation carries you through, giddy fun while seeing the cool pretty park and the wandering characters, giddy anticipation of the first rides.... The whole "giddy fun" factor holds over for awhile, until it's past lunchtime and then the slow crash begins.

Maybe you go on a ride that was a bad choice. Looked like fun but caused the newest teen to freak out. Was it the height? Was it the swinging? We'll never know, not for a long time anyhow. But you console, and move on. Get some food into you, move into the next phase of "who rides what and when?" Strategizing. The giddy anticipation stage is over and it's all strategy from here. It's logistics times 8. You strategize potties, lines, rides, fast passes, snacks, and shows.

Finally, the teen boys return, the family comes together again. One last ride before you try to find a spot for the fireworks. Lunch was so late you only need more snacks and as you park and sit on the ground, all the kids are starting to crash whine. You jolly along, wondering if it's worth it to wait. Finally the fireworks start, and they are amazing. Lots of oohing and aahing. All the teens agree that it was great, the smalls are too sleepy to say much and the two year old is asleep in his stroller. You walk back to the hotel, with the masses exiting the park, amidst the wails and whining of all the other small overstimulated children. Ah, the sounds of Disney at night.

And that is the plot line of the first day. Our first day. But really, I think the stages are roughly on target: giddy anticipation of the park, shock at the lines and crowds, giddy anticipation of the rides, giddy glee over the rides and fun, a few frowns and tears at a bad ride, hunger crashes and rallies, complicated logistical strategizing, and then the final surge of wow and the tired exit. Typical I'd say.

It really was fun, for the most part.
Watching Gabey see Mickey Mouse with his eyes huge and a little gasp: priceless.
Watching Little Man race to the rides and come off grinning: priceless.
Sitting next to him and Marta and Sbird with them all shrieking and burying their head against me, then grinning: hysterical.
Watching my Prima Diva go on her first real rollercoasters and come off with her face flushed, giddy and jabbering: priceless.

So, yeah, we had fun.
But OH so many more things to talk about.
But that will need to be another post. I've gotta take the kids out to the beach!

Forays and Firsts

So, we have taken fall break to make some foray's back toward normal. We decided to make a sort of slamming busy trip to California to have Marta meet the California side of the family (my side) and to "do the Disney" thing - by which I mean Disneyland, babeee, Disneyland! (Which I know is not normal, but in an odd way, is so normal for my family in that it is a kind of crazy intense undertaking, so yeah, kind of standard in its own wacky way). Plus, since we were already all the way out here, we figured we'd let Booboo go and check out a college he's dreaming about. So, this trip is sort of a foray into the future, the new here and now future, for our family. Maybe that doesn't all make sense to you, but somehow, to us, it does.

There will be more posts on this trip, as SO many things are cropping up. But I want to start with the best. These two moments, no matter what happens the rest of this trip, made this trip worth it. Period.

Marta met her grandparents, my folks. That picture above? In the airport, meeting my mom, her new grandma, for the very first time. I wasn't sure how it was going to play out, but I ran and hugged my mom and Marta was right behind me. And my mom? She just enveloped Marta in this huge welcome hug. I almost cried. Marta just closed her eyes and hung on tight. And Mom/Grandma just keep hugging and holding her, telling Marta it was so good that she was finally here. It was just so great, really great, to see my mom, who knows the hard parts of this adjustment, just wrap this girl up because she needs to be loved...like a Grandma can love and hug. And for Marta, this was huge, HUGE. And my dad, who is a very reserved kind of guy, physically and otherwise, he just hugged her big and Marta just hugged him big with her eyes squinched so tight that her forehead wrinkled. And I could'a cried right there on the curb. Marta did tear up on the drive to their house, and once there just stayed in the circle of grandma's arm, right next to her. I just love my mom.

And I was grateful for it all.

A little while later, we drove over to the beach. As we got to my folk's old condo, my favorite place in the world, I was getting settled in and Marta and Bananas ran out to the beach. I went onto the balcony to watch - this was Marta's first time on the beach, seeing the ocean, hearing smelling touching it all. And I was given a small gift, to watch this.

Marta ran down to the surf line, tiptoed to the water and touched a toe in. Then she stepped back, lifted her head back and sort of swirled in a circle lifting her arms, taking it all in.

All I can say is that it was very much a Sound of Music moment. She was Julie Andrews on the mountaintop, swirling in joy. I'm not kidding, it was kind of beautiful. Then she looked back up at me, and grinned.
And I was grateful for it all.

Feast of Our Lady of the Rosary

It's the feast of Our Lady of the Rosary!

Now, you all know I love the rosary. I go in seasons of saying it faithfully and then slacking off and letting my hectic life get in the way. I think that is a common thing. However, let me say this: The day is better if I say a rosary. Even if I am distracted and rushed, it's better if I say a rosary. I think it is the meditative aspect of it, it is a calming, deeply soothing thing. The rosary is a meditative prayer. Too often folks who don't pray it or know how to pray it say it's only a repetitive prayer. Well, um, yes it is repetitive. But that very repetition allows the meditation on the life of Christ and deepens it. It is a powerful prayer.

Lorenzo Lotto, "Our Lady of the Rosary"

In this prayer of the rosary we meditate deeply on the life of Christ, and ask his mother for prayers for us and our intentions, in addition to praying Christ's prayer as well, the "Our Father." It is a gift, this prayer. It is prayed worldwide and it is a comfort, and it teaches us to pray and meditate in order to deepen our joy. So today we celebrate the woman of this prayer, our Blessed Mother.

From the Liturgy of the Hours for today:

"Holy Mary...may all who celebrate your feastday know the help of your prayers."

Feast of Saint Francis of Assisi

It's the Feast of St. Francis of Assisi!

Now St. Francis is, arguably, one of the most popular saints (no matter your denomination or even if you have any belief system at all) of all time. Period. He is, if you will, a rock star of saints. Which, yes I know, is oppositional to all that sainthood is about, but there you have it. He is. He is known and loved around the world.

But you know, my issue, and one that kind of has kept me from getting too close to St. Francis, is that he is too often sentimentalized into a sort of "saint-lite." It seems like only the fluttery bird loving Francis is ever depicted. Churchs all over love to do the blessing of the animals in honor of St. Francis. Well, ok. I like animals too and we all know he loved them and talked to them and that's very cool.

But really, St. Francis was a radical! He came from a very wealthy family and after living the wild life for years, to the despair of his folks, he had a radical conversion and threw it all away, literally (stripping to the skin in the public square and renouncing his inheritance...not the way I'd encourage youth to model today, but still....). He then went to devote himself to poverty and prayer and building up the Church, literally and figuratively, in joy. Even by the standards of the day, way back when, he was a holy radical. That's the St. Francis that I like to think about, the one that draws me in and wonder, but is too often unrecognized.

Painting by Murillo, "St. Francis at Prayer"

My favorite thing about St. Francis, really, are these guys!! Also radicals for Joy, totally countercultural...... They are awesome and just light up a room when they are around. I tend to want to follow them around like a puppy. They are magnetic in their joy and just pull you to them!

Fransiscan Friars of the Renewal on tour of Ireland.

So, happy feast day!
St. Francis of Assisi, pray for us!

Saturday Something for Booboo

So last week was full of fete!

It was homecoming week and Booboo's girlfriend was on the homecoming court and queen nominee....so that meant Booboo got to go along for the ride as her escort.

And just because it was a fun weekend for them all, and we don't always see such happy pics of the teens at this age....I figured I'd throw them up for posterity!

The homecoming game was a win (of course, they are planned that way) and a good time was had by all, Marta was thrilled with seeing her brother and her favorite teen gal on the field.

Then the next night was homecoming dance and well, looks like a big time was had by all!


Look closely, just below, see that huge grin on my boy, smack in the center? (w/ his arm around a buddie's neck?) ...I"m just saying, we don't see that grin around the house so much....hmmmmm. This is one of those pics that makes me laugh because in twenty years it will make them all laugh and groan at how young and goofy and wonderful they all are. Slice of high school life, classic.

Booboo doesn't make the blog as much, trying to respect his request for privacy and all...but, Booboo, this one is for you!

Feast of Guardian Angels

Painting by Denice Taylor Rinks, "Guardian Angel"

Today is the Feast of the Guardian Angels.

Now some nowadays might well dismiss this as just a sentimental notion, wishful thinking, or peter pan-never grow up syndrome. Me, I just find it a comfort. I love the teaching that we each have a Guardian Angel to watch over us, I need all the help I can get and to know that my children have them as well is even more of a comfort. And yes, I believe it. I like being able to ask them for prayers and protection, I like being able to tell my kids to do so as well if they waken from a bad dream or are worried. It's a divine comfort. Really, a Divine comfort. And such a gift.

Now angels are pure spirit so we cannot begin to know what they look like. Which I think is cool as we can imagine them in different ways. As a child we might imagine them in the more traditional or storybook images. As we age we might have very different ideas, or not. But no matter, I think the imagery and the concept and the actuality of Guardian Angels is very powerful and strikes a chord deep within us. At least, I know it does for me. We are taught as a small child in our church this simple prayer:

"Angel of God, my guardian dear
To whom God's love commits me here
Ever this day, be at my side,
To light, to guard
to rule and guide."

Now, I'm 47. But that can still provide some comfort on those frightening dark midnights or those worried days - to know that I am not all alone, utterly. I have a helper who is far smarter than myself. I'll take it.


So I give you this, from the Office of Readings:

"The Lord will send his angel to accompany you and to guide you safely on your way."

Happy Feast Day!
Guardian Angels, pray for us!

Feast of St. Therese of Lisieux

It's the feast of St. Therese of Lisieux!

You all know I just love her! You all know she has heard more than one novena from me this past year (and so have you!). But you might not know that she is also a patron, we feel, of our Marta. They both have suffered from TB and from being "little and unseen." And so we are grateful for St. Therese for her example of joy and hope in even those difficulties. We have given Marta, with her permission and understanding, the middle name of "Therese," after this dear saint.

And just to clarify...for years I had a hard time approaching St. Therese. Her autobiography was written in the Victorian era and just TOO florid for my taste and I simply couldn't get through it. It made me nuts and impatient and I put it down. I started wondering "Whats the fuss? Why, exactly, is she a Doctor of the Church?" Finally I read a biography of her instead, by Guy Gaucher, and that was so much better. Then I read commentaries on her life and writings and I braced myself to get break through the stylistic barrier and really read her life and words. And now I know. I know why her "little way" is so powerful; so full of hope and encouragement for each of us, for me.

And I just say this to encourage any of you who find yourself in that spot, to give her writings or the writings about her a try. The tone deafness, if you will, of our modern ear and eye, its narrow scope when judging what is and is not worthwhile....is a false constriction that forces a loss of much richness and beauty, without even realizing it. So, if she pulls at you at all...give it a try.

It's hard to feel like you're doing much, or even enough nowadays. Even if you are doing all you can and then some. But by refocusing, with St. Therese's comforting encouragement and true conception of "the little way," we (ok, me) can find value even in what seems like the most mundane of days. And man, that just gives me hope and helps me keep stepping forward.

Mother Theresa even chose St. Therese as her patron. Right there, that tells you something, eh? No surprise, a dominican puts it well:

"Her mission was in fact, just that: her testimony to hope, to the joy of faith, amidst the darkness and unbelief of the 20th century. Her little way was the tightrope of faith she walked on, through illness and obscurity, over the abyss of meaninglessness, and into the heart of God, and she did that with joy." Father Bill Garrott, OP

Happy Feast Day Marta Therese!
St. Therese of Lisieux, pray for us!

Feast of St. Jerome

Painting by El Greco, “St. Jerome, cardinal”, c. 1587-1597

Today is the feast of St. Jerome!

He is a the famous curmudgeon of the bible - by which I mean, he is a Doctor of the Church, and famous for his translation of the bible from the original Greek into the vernacular of the day: latin. He was a noted scholar with a keen mind and a sharp tongue as well as gifted in languages.

'Saint Jerome and the Angel' by Simon Vouet, 1625

If he was alive today he, who knows how he might have put all our instant mass media to use....he was well known for his scathing letters and commentary on all sorts of goings on in the culture and even the church at the time. He was not a mushy feel good sort of guy, he was grouchy and reportedly ill tempered and critical, with ascetic leanings. Sort of like an old, holy version of a modern day James Carville maybe, but OH so so much better.

Painting by Joos Van Cleve, "St. Jerome" c. early 16C

And that's the thing that I tend to take away from St. Jerome. Not only is he the patron saint of librarians, students, school-kids, translators (and hey, I should be hitting him up for prayers daily, what have I been thinking?), archivists and so on. I think he just might be the ticket, the patron and go to prayer guy for grouchy critical folks like me! He shows us (ok, me) that even us grumps can get to heaven and God can work even through the grouchiness and beyond. It gives me hope, I tell ya!

Painting by La Tour, "St. Jerome"

Happy Feast Day!
St. Jerome, Pray for us!

Happy Bday BuddyBug! TWO decades!!?!

This is pic from his 13th bday.
The last time I could hug him, head to head.
He now towers over me.

Happy Happy Birthday to my first baby, now TWENTY years old.
I cannot believe it.

You all know BuddyBug, sort of, virtually at any rate, if not in person.
What can I say? I'm his mom, he was my first child, I gave birth to him two weeks early in a scheduled c-section because he was upside down and wouldn't turn around. I had no idea, a hint maybe, but really, NO clue he would forever turn my universe upside down. I had NO idea then how deeply you could really love a person; how being a mom completely transforms who you are at the very core.
But, enough about me.
Today is about him.
He is almost officially an adult.
But he has changed so much in the past few years that I see much more the adult in him than the little boy that once was.
But now and then I still get a glimpse of that shy observant happy kid.

His music bridges his whole life, from his toy piano in our front alcove way back in the Palisades...to the living room (called the "piano room") that is filled with music of all stripes: piano, multiple guitars, stands, old second hand violin, cords, picks, sheet music. A strewed reminder of my boy.
He is steady. His demeanor and personality even as a small boy was to be calm and observant, thought-full. Maybe too much so, overthinking simple things, commonly struggling with decisions (ahem...Buddybug!).

A rabid sports fan, favorite channel ESPN, period. Ever.
Sports, music, liturgy, graham cracker cream pie...these are his top loves, in no particular order.
Faithful. In all ways. Loyal to his friends "to a fault" as they say.
Tardy, terrible time manager.
Distractable and optimistically procrastinating, always, perhaps forever.

Ah. This is my son.
My twenty year old son.

All the cliches ring true:
"How did this happen so fast?"
"Time flies!"
"He was just my baby a few days ago, wasn't he?"
"He's still my baby boy."
"He's a fine young man."
"I'm not quite ready for this."
"I SO like who he has grown into."
"We are so very very proud."

Happy Happy Birthday BuddyBug!
I so wish I could give you a birthday hug in person.
But you have all my thoughts prayers and wishes today.
We all love you, so much, all twenty years of you!

It's all about the hair. Always.

I now have four, count them, FOUR girls living in my house.
Four daughters. Four girls who's hormones are in full kick...even the younger ones.

Think about it. Really. Think what this means: four teenage girls under one roof at the same time. I can feel more gray hairs sprouting even as I type.


And that is how it goes, because really, it's all about the hair. All the time. It's the hair.

This concept baffles Coffeedoc. But it's true. For girls, it's all hair, all the time.

An inordinate amount of time attention and expense is put to hair. Discussion, comparison, griping, squabbling over products and tools, dreaming of styles, pondering changes or not....it's all hair. Consuming. The mere mention some days can bring on grins or tears....again baffling Coffeedad.
But there you have it. This can be considered a public service announcement.
For a teen, or preteen girl...when in doubt or confusion about what's going on - it's the hair.
You're welcome.

Almost Wordless Wednesday

Yesterday was Super Hero Day at Boo Boo's school.
Super Mario, that is!
(His best pal was Luigi. Fun silly boys.)

Feast of St. Matthew

Painting by Caravaggio, 1602

It's the feast of St. Matthew today!

We all know of course that St. Matthew is one of the authors, divinely inspired, of the four gospels. So, a biggie, a bona fide, called by Christ, apostle. He was one of the shocking picks of the day, a hated tax collector for the hated Romans, and yet, Christ saw his interior heart.


But, beyond even that, Matthew is a great saint to remember, oh always, as he shows us how to set aside ourselves and, in the modern ad lingo of the day, "just do it."

Who knew, he was the first Nike athlete? Just a spiritual one! But do it, he did. When Christ called him, he didn't dither or hedge or ask for the fine print...as you might expect from a villified tax collector. Nope, he just said, "Ok, I'm coming with you," and he got up and went. Done.

Painting by Rembrandt, St. Matthew and the angel, 1655

St. Matthew is of course the patron of bookkeepers and accountants and tax guys, but really, maybe he should be hit up as a patron of those of us who have a hard time making decisions, or those folks who's bumper stickers read "He who dies with the most toys, wins." Because St. Matthew walked away from all of that, without looking back. He gives me hope because it helps me know that even those of us who get mired in the worldly cares of the day, the trap of fretting over or wishing for money/lifestyle, those who are unpopular and even scorned (rightly or wrongly)....there is hope for us all. Whew!

Etching by Jacques Callot, c 15 century

And on a personal note, I love St. Matthew for two reasons in particular. On a tiny "small world" note: he is thought to have possibly worked and lived in Ethiopia for a time (so hey, gotta love that...). And he is the patron to my dear nephew Matthew, now a big old sophomore in college out east, who doesn't come see his aunt often enough (hint, hint Matti). But I count on him to watch over my nephew, especially as he sets forth into the world. He's a terrific patron, and I'm glad he's praying for my Matti.

So, happy feast day!

St. Matthew, pray for us and for our Matti-mo!

Painting by El Greco, c 1610-1614

A WIN! Changing Lives, Families!

For all you families waiting to travel and about to travel to go get your kids from Ethiopia, there is great news! The kids are coming home! If they are 10 or under, they can come home. No more waiting for cultures, now they can come home. Wahoo! Read below for the particulars.

As you all know, this is an issue close to our hearts. Our daughter Marta was stuck in Addis and not allowed to come home for eleven weeks, waiting on a TB culture. We fought, screamed, pushed, shoved, and prayed. And still we waited. Many others have done the same, causing much anguish and many problems. However, times are changing!

Many people have been working very hard to get the Technical Instructions changed and get our kids home. It has taken much work and pushing and researching and talking and meeting by many amazing dedicated people: lawyers, adoption professionals, doctors, families, all sorts of folks. And now, change has happened, for good! This is a big darn deal and while it would not have helped us in our situation, it will help the vast majority of most of the families who might otherwise be stuck. It is a huge step forward and worth a big cheer and shout of joy, even clapping for the CDC, who agreed to make the changes. So, without further ado:

2007 Technical Instructions for Tuberculosis Screening and Treatment Addendum: Instructions for Applicants 10 Years of Age or Younger

September 18, 2009

CDC has developed the following addendum instructions for travel clearances for 10 years of age or younger. The criteria described in these addendum Technical Instructions are based on physiologic
aspects of childhood tuberculosis disease and children’s ability to transmit tuberculosis disease.
These criteria do not apply to adults or children with tuberculosis disease associated with higher
levels of transmissibility.

Applicants 10 years of age or younger who require sputum cultures, regardless of HIV infection
status, may travel to the United States immediately after sputum smear analysis (while culture results
are pending) if none of the following conditions exist:
 Sputum smears are positive for acid-fast bacilli (AFB). If the applicant could not provide
sputum specimens and gastric aspirates were obtained, positive gastric aspirates for AFB do
not prevent travel while culture results are pending.
 Chest radiograph findings include―
o One or more cavities
o Extensive disease (e.g., particularly if involving both upper lobes)
 Respiratory symptoms include forceful and productive cough
 Known contact with a person with multidrug-resistant tuberculosis (MDR TB) who was
infectious at the time of contact

For applicants 10 years of age or younger who travel to the United States while results of cultures
are pending, panel physicians should―
 Give the applicant a Class B1 TB, Pulmonary classification
 Document that culture results are pending on the Chest X-Ray Worksheet (DS 3024 [until
September 30, 2009] or DS 3030 [beginning October 1, 2009]
 Forward culture results to DGMQ “Quality Assessment Program” via fax at 404-639-4441
so that DGMQ can forward the culture results to the receiving health departments

Panel physicians should provide the DS Forms based on the date of intended travel. If an applicant
10 years of age or younger will not travel until after culture results are to be reported (assuming they
are negative), the panel physicians should wait until that time before completing the DS Forms. If
the applicant 10 years of age or younger will travel while results of cultures are pending, the panel
physician should provide DS Forms while cultures are pending.

Panel physicians should not delay treatment on applicants 10 years of age or younger for whom
there is high suspicion of tuberculosis disease and who would benefit from therapy being started
prior to departure to the United States. Consistent with other applicants started on tuberculosis
treatment prior to travel, if therapy is started for an applicant 10 years of age or younger, the
applicant is Class A for tuberculosis. A Class A Waiver petition can be filed so that the waiver
petition could be reviewed and the applicant can travel to the United States before completion of therapy. CDC supports the filing of waiver requests for young children with tuberculosis disease so that the waiver application may be reviewed and adjudicated in a timely manner.

For a Friday

Pope Benedict XVI, photo from the Times Online.

This is shamelessy cribbed from Deacon's Bench. But it is OH so worth reading, and yes, taping to our bathroom mirrors, or oh, tattooing on us somewhere if you're so inclined. And it's from Il Papa: Pope Benedict.

"We all stand in a great arena of history and are dependent on each other. A man ought not, therefore, just figure out what he would like, but to ask what he can do and how he can help.

Then he will see that fulfillment does not lie in comfort, ease, and following one's inclinations, but precisely in allowing demands to be made upon you, in taking the harder path.

Everything else turns out somehow boring, anyway. Only the man who "risks the fire," who recognizes a calling within himself, a vocation, an ideal he must satisfy, who takes on real responsibility, will find fulfillment. As we have said, it is not in taking, not on the path of comfort, that we become rich, but only in giving."

And, while Pope Benedict was speaking of vocations to religious life here. I believe this applies to us all. Especially moms, families, marriage....heck, life in general, heck: ME. It's just so hard to remember and harder to actually do, isn't it? Ah, don't I know it. Sigh. I'm taping this to my mirror, so I can see it each day....and try again...

Downtime

I am a "Type A" person. I know, this comes as a huge surprise to you all, a shock no doubt.
But, its true. I am fairly high energy, intense, and feel guilty if I am not doing something productive, or at least something that I can indulge in and justify. I have a constant "to do" list scrolling through my head...like a bizarre gerbil mill on speed: spinning spinning spinning. Fun, no? Not always.....

Why, you ask, am I indulging in this tedious reflection? Well, it is hitting me smack in my forehead that this very trait is a huge link, or broken link, in the process of adjusting. I know, I hear you: "Doh!" But there you have it.

Every time I allow myself, ok, force myself, to sloooowwwwww down and just, um, BE, with the kids (particularly the one newly home, now, years ago, whenever, tho this is just key with teens too) it is better. It can be just hanging with them, spending time next to them. But really, too often I tend to kind of slot that into MY agenda of work and errands and so on and consider that, that "downtime", checked off my list. Yup, done. Well, kind of. But the beauty and value of downtime unfolds when the downtime is really, um, down. By "down" I mean, of course, chilling out. Hanging with them, talking easy and slow. With, and this is key for us Type A's, NO AGENDA.

Whoa.
I know.

Sounds so easy and yet, so not. But when I can smack myself and allow myself to do this, to just let it be them directing the conversation, talking slowly, thinking, listening....it is so rewarding. And I like to think its rewarding for us both. If its with a baby or toddler or little one, you know its a great thing because they practically giggle or purr with contentment. But with an older child, ok, our new older daughter...it is just so important I think. I have been able to find and carve out a couple of these times in the past few days. They have been much needed; issues are arising of late. But those times, sitting on the deck in the late afternoon being lazy and answering any question that Marta lobs....sitting together in the art room, sorting pins (of all things, sounds weird, a spill), and then just yakking in two languages as lazily as possible.....those times feel so much better. They are building connections I believe. For both of us. And for that, that downtime is worth gold. Even my type A gerbil mill mind can be shushed and relish that.


We goal oriented moms (ok, sigh, me) tend to want to build the family, piece by piece, dinner by dinner, laundry load by car load. But what it is too easy for me to forget, is that the goal is not just the shell of the family to be in place, but the heart of it.
And that takes the downtime. That takes the willingness to just be there: lazy, accepting, quiet. It's a tough thing to do, too often. But now and then, we luck out, I remember, we grab that time.
We've begun.

Almost Wordless Wednesday

A new haircut.
Loving it, she still likes it pulled back best....but I think its beautiful down!

Our Lady of Sorrows

Today is the day we remember Our Lady of Sorrows.

Let me say just this: As a mom, this tears me up. No matter the denomination...moms will understand this concept of the sorrowful mother. She is every mother....

Drawing by Kate Kollwitz, Woman with dead child, 1903

So, as I cannot begin to sufficiently address this day and all that could be said,
I will let this most famous hymn do it instead.

Stabat Mater:

At the cross her station keeping,
Mary stood in sorrow weeping
When her Son was crucified.

While she waited in her anguish,
Seeing Christ in torment languish,
Bitter sorrow pierced her heart.

With what pain and desolation,
With what noble resignation,
Mary watched her dying Son.

Ever-patient in her yearning
Though her tear-filled eyes were burning,
Mary gazed upon her Son.

Who, that sorrow contemplating,
On that passion meditating,
Would not share the Virgin's grief?

Christ she saw, for our salvation,
Scourged with cruel acclamation,
Bruised and beaten by the rod.

Christ she saw with life-blood failing,
All her anguish unavailing,
Saw him breathe his very last.

Mary, fount of love's devotion,
Let me share with true emotion
All the sorrow you endured.

Virgin, ever interceding,
Hear me in my fervent pleading:
Fire me with your love of Christ.

Mother, may this prayer be granted:
That Christ's love may be implanted
In the depths of my poor soul.

At the cross, your sorrow sharing,
All your grief and torment bearing,
Let me stand and mourn with you.

Fairest maid of all creation,
Queen of hope and consolation,
Let me feel your grief sublime.

Virgin, in your love befriend me,
At the Judgment Day defend me.
Help me by your constant prayer.

Savior, when my life shall leave me,
Through your mother's prayers
receive me
With the fruits of victory.

Virgin of all virgins blest!
Listen to my fond request:
Let me share your grief divine

Let me, to my latest breath,
In my body bear the death
Of your dying Son divine.

Wounded with His every wound,
Steep my soul till it has swooned
In His very Blood away.

Be to me, O Virgin, nigh,
Lest in flames I burn and die,
In His awe-full judgment day.

Savior, when my life shall leave me,
Through your mother's prayers
receive me
With the fruits of victory.

While my body here decays
May my soul your goodness praise,
Safe in heaven eternally. Amen Alleluia

Our Lady of Sorrows, pray for us.

Exalted

Piece of the titular of the Cross, found by St. Helena,
photo by Coffeedoc, Santa Croce, Rome.

Its the Feast of the Triumph of the Cross.
This seems to many like a weird feast, a remembrance of unspeakable suffering...why would anyone do that? However, it is through the Cross that we find our truest selves. Obviously, in faith we know that without the Cross all would be lost. We would be lost. Without the the Cross and Christ's saving action, the world as we know it would not be as we know it. That's Christianity, 101. But too often that part of it all is forgotten in the felt banner, Hallmark card version of pop culture Christianity that is so pervasive. Who wants to be a downer, anyhow? Right? But...is it, really? Not so much. I, myself, don't think I could get out of bed most days if not for this and my faith in it. Period. So, today I celebrate the Cross, with gratitude.

Painting of St. Helena, mother of Constantine, who found pieces of the true Cross, 326.

"We adore you O Christ and we praise you.
Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world."
From the Liturgy of the Hours

Adjustment: Marking the Good

So, you all know we are at two months now. And I've written some, or a lot, about the difficulties and unexpected strangeness of it all: this process of weaving in a new, older child into the family.
I want to be honest about it all, because it helps me to process it and because I want others to know the real stuff: the good, the bad, the tough, the surprising.

But its too easy to focus on the surprising and the tough stuff and too easy to let the good slip. And so, to that end, I want to take a page from Mary's blog, one of my heroes, and make sure to mark the good. Publicly. So I don't forget and so you can be sure to see that there are good moments too. Little victories, in a way, no matter how small. Because in this process, even small things matter....sometimes much more than you might imagine.

Mary did this about a year ago: making posts to mark the good things of the week, so she would record them. And if I've got my memory and timing on track, I believe she too was adjusting to bringing older children to the family. I too, need to remember to do this. So, I will shamelessly steal her idea, with a hat tip to her for leading the way. And I will throw up one or two good things, when I can steal the time to load the picture and post it (not on a schedule or set number, I'm just not that organized, folks...I know my limits!).

So, here goes - with the caveat for you readers that these will all seem like minute dreary nothings to you perhaps. But in the world of weaving a family, they are milestones: happy important markers. And I want to remember ours.

While we had a very rocky end of the week with that whole "honeymoon" concept being clearly swept away....we finally ended the week on a note of laughter. And I am grateful. I think it was a relief to us all. Last night was a casual chips and sandwiches Friday night. Everyone was a little punchy after a long week, friends were over and it was a little wild and crazy overall. Somehow they starting making faces and rolling tongues and vying for who could make the "better" face, giggling and challenging each other. I thought Marta might be baffled by it, but then she joined in with her own, laughing, wanting a picture. The faces got goofier, wilder, the silly factor skyrocketed. And for a few minutes, it felt like a normal doofy family on a tired wild messy Friday night. Fun. I'll take it. Savor it. This face, this laugh. I will mark it.

Adjustment: two months.

Relativity, by MC Escher

So. We are at two months now of being a family. And really, I think this drawing sums it up best.

That's right. Look closely. A little topsy turvy maybe? Yeah. That's our household. Seems like just when one of us thinks we have our feet under us and know where we stand, well then it seems to go a little wonky again. Someone else skews the mood or drops something down the stairs or starts climbing the walls. You know the feeling...just a little still, um, shifty.

So, really, everyone is still kind of finding their places, so to speak. Especially in the new relations to each other, its a shifting thing for awhile; an up-down, push-pull kind of thing. I am working on keeping balance with all the family, the kids in particular. I'm finding my sea legs, so to speak, but man, its a workout!

I know this all reads so vague. But, its because I guess there is still so much guessing going on. We still don't have much language floating around the house, not one that everyone can understand. So we do a lot of guessing, which of course leads surely to a fair lot of misconceptions flying about.

But even so, sometimes we make steps forward, on solid ground. We have negotiated bathroom times (still ongoing...girls, showers, 'nuff said), and are laying down the food rules (e.g. first real food, then sometimes ice cream). We have sorted through mundane teeny but oh so important practical issues of who sits where in the car and how mom can figure out whose clothes are whose in the laundry (Three girls who are much the same size = mom is confused, girls are mad. Can you say: "initials in all clothes?" I can!), and who does which chores and when. Whew. Boring stuff? Mundane stuff? Maybe, yeah. But not SO much when the smooth functioning of the house is at stake. And no, saying that, the house is not functioning smoothly, not yet.

But every now and then, that topsy turvy picture, above, morphs for a few minutes, into a regular old home, with our regular old life in a slightly newer version. Two months. We are at two months and counting.....and hoping and living.....together.

Happy Birthday to Mary

It's the feast of the Nativity of Mary! Which means, of course, that it's her birthday! And, as you have probably guessed by now...I love a birthday. They are full of happiness, just knowing that's the day they were brought into the world. What's not to celebrate about that, ever? This feast of the Nativity of Mary "is a commemoration of that happy and joyful day on which the ever-blessed virgin Mother of God first saw the light of day."
This feast is one of the few that celebrate the birth of a holy person. Most feasts celebrate the death of the holy person...which sounds really weird, but the idea is that the day of death is the day they enter heaven, which is something worth celebrating on their behalf. But this is one of the three days on the church calendar that celebrates a birth-day; only John the Baptist and Jesus himself get this privilege. So this is an extra special honor, signifying her special role in our lives and her relation to Christ.
All of us are born and have many chances to turn to God or away, and really, you can't ever know for sure until you get there (by which I mean, you die). So, for most of us regular Joes, we hope to keep turning toward God all along the way and we only mark and celebrate the death of the holiest, mostly saintly folks....and not their births; because they stayed the course, or turned to it for good. But for Mary, we get to celebrate her birth because God himself made her for himself, to be his entrance as a man to this world. Now that's cool.
"We pray Thee, O Lord, grant to Thy servants the gift of heavenly grace: as the childbearing of the blessed Virgin was the beginning of our salvation, so may the devout celebration of her Nativity accord us an increase of peace."

Happy Labor Day.

Marta's new passion....Thought it was worth a post: apropos of the holiday.

A dear feast: Mother Teresa!

Today is the feast of Mother Teresa!
Oh, how I love her!!!

As it is for so many around the world, her story and life is just SO compelling to me. But Mother Teresa was no fluffy saint, of course. She did the hard work, the gritty work that most could never even imagine to try.
Whod'a thunk that even Mother Teresa could be controversial? Someone who literally changed the world for good. But even so, she is. Partly because she could be a bit difficult and would stubbornly move ahead with a project, despite all practical facets not being evident. Some have called her work and faith into question after her "dark night" was revealed. This is when she spent many years without the consolations in her prayer life that we all crave. It was a time of hanging in with her faith and prayers and work, despite the lack of sure comfort that is so often found in prayer (the consolation). Rather, she had those hard dark times of prayer where its like shouting into the dark. And even so, she kept going and held on to her faith, not letting go. This, to me, is all the more reason to marvel.....those times are when it's so hard to hang on and not go seeking something, anything, else to provide that comfort once again.
But for me, look what this woman did. She loved, in action and emotion, the poorest of the poor. That's a pat phrase, but in reality, it is a very tough thing to do, particularly if you are coming from a life of relative comfort and ease (and she was coming from a convent that she loved). And it was hard. She didn't have any supernatural grace to not be repulsed by the sickness and the smells and the discomforts and difficulties. But she did them anyway. Because she was able to see Christ in them. And that perhaps, IS her grace. But that is ours for the asking as well....its just an awfully tough question to ask, eh?
All that said, she is one of my very very favorite saints (or, officially right now "Blessed"s). She has one of the faces that is just radiant with beauty. One of that that makes me exclaim "Oh, such a face!" And I love her. And I ask for her prayers, every day. And I am not graced with being able to SEE as well as she does, but some days, blessed days, I might catch a faint glimmer of what she saw.

Happy Feast Day.
Blessed Mother Teresa, pray for us!

Go Irish!

And so it begins....College football, I mean. And I was never a fan or followed it, not really. But now, my Buddybug is at college, and its a LOT more fun. In fact these pics were shamelessly snagged from his post on the football season. Go read it, he is much better with sports than I am and oh he loves his teams.

Anyhow, today is the first game, a home game against Nevada. We are supposed to win! And we, here at home are going to be watching and shouting, rooting for the Irish and also scanning the crowd shots for the one in 80,000 (Yeah, you read that right, big stadium!) chance of seeing my boy {Don't judge me, it may sound pathetic, but I miss him. It's a mom thing and I can't help it}.

I love watching Notre Dame football now and am hoping for a great fun winning season. 'Cause yeah, I like to win. It's the BIG event of the weekend up there, for sure. And down here in our little house its the big event as well! Got my ND t-shirt on...we are so excited!

GO IRISH!

Last year at the ND v. Stanford game, big fun (and Bananas begging to go again).

Feast of Pope St. Gregory the Great

It's the feast day of Pope St. Gregory the Great.

This saint is my Buddybug's confirmation patron, so we are keen on him around here; and ask him daily for prayers on behalf on my son. I don't remember all of Buddybug's reasons for choosing St. Gregory the Great as his patron. But I suspect that his love of music was one of the links. St. Gregory promoted sacred music, now known to us as, duh: "Gregorian Chant." And Buddybug (and his mom and dad) love Gregorian Chant. So, no surprise there.

Drawing by Matthew Alderman,
(fellow domer alum of my son), 2006

St. Gregory is one of the few who have "the Great" attached to their name, and is also a doctor of the Church (meaning a great teacher). He sent missionaries into England and Ireland, and then Germany - spreading the hope and faith throughout Europe. He was highly educated and founded seven monasteries. Eventually he even was elected Pope. As Pope, he tirelessly worked in service for the Church and indeed, promoted his favorite (and ours) title for the Pope: "Servant of the servants of God."
I always just mostly think of my son when I think of St. Gregory the Great. And another little but extra pleasing link for me: St. Gregory's mother was St. Silvia. My mother's first name is Sylvia (hence, Buddybug's grandma is Silvia). I know, teensy nothings, but yet, they make me smile. And since this saint and my boy are connected in my daily prayers, they are kind of supernaturally and eternally connected I think (and certainly are in my head).

So, I thank St. Gregory for his prayers for my boy.

And I wish him and my Buddybug:Happy Feast Day!

Pope St. Gregory the Great, pray for us!

Almost Wordless Wednesday

For the Record: Half the grandkids
(yeah, we make up half, how 'bout that?)
on Grandma's 75th bday last week.
Even with Little Man goofing for the camera,
one of the few of them all together, so...worth it!

The adoption process: what they don't tell you about coming to America

Well, there are SO many things that you cannot know before you move to America.
However, what they forget to tell you, or us new parents (tho, really, we should know better), is that there is a steep learning curve. NO, you hear and read and learn about the cultural learning curve and the language and family customs...and all those will be topics of posts to come, I am sure.

But "those experts" don't lay out the VIRAL LEARNING CURVE.

It's the same formula as starting school -its a new math:
New people + new food + new place = EVERY virus hits!

Every single virus and contagion that comes down the pike is gonna hit the new kid, flat.
It's like starting a new school in a new state.
It's like being a pediatric resident the first few years.
It's like visiting relatives who live across the country.
It takes a bit of time to inoculate your immune system against all the garden variety American bugs and viruses. So, since we have a "gulfa" in the house....so does Marta. Gabey did this too.
I guess I just forgot.
So, America doesn't only come with birthdays and ice cream...it comes with head colds.
{Consider this a public service announcement, from one adoptive mom to another. You're welcome.}

Popularity

Or, more precisely, how to be UNpopular.

Just in case you were wondering how to achieve this famed state, I offer the following, with guaranteed results:

Tell boys they may not whack the heck out of each other with the sticks in the yard {playing, not fighting, but still...}.
Tell the wild man that he cannot skateboard off the brick stairs at any speed, especially not high speed.
Remind them to take their medicine even if its yucky.
Make soup for dinner.
Tell them no ice cream for breakfast.
Or lunch.
Tell them to turn off the tv.
Tell them to go outside and play.
Or do their homework.
Or that you quite ready and happy to go in and clean their rooms, without their help.Tell them that they cannot wear flipflops to Mass.
Make them salad with dinner, again.
Enforce the chore schedules.
Ask the daughter if she has cut her hair, again.
Tell the teen that she cannot wear makeup to the football game.
Then tell her she cannot wear makeup um, anytime, she's too young.
Then tell her that her nose is only a little bit broken and it is still cute (just a little crooked).
Go on a date with your husband, only.
Ask them to water the flowers and garden.
Consider, out loud, getting a giant Sprinter van.

Now these are only a random selection from the past two days. But, the list, it keeps on growing and growing...and I am an expert on this one!

Supernatural Smile for A Sunday

Now, this is an odd one and maybe you've seen it. But seems somehow fitting for a Sunday.
This monk smiled, AFTER he died, after he was prepared for burial. Not a single muscle contraction, but a full face smile.
Go, read and see for yourself. Ya gotta wonder.....It makes me smile too.
h/t: the Anchoress.

Martrydom of St. John the Baptist

Carvaggio, 1608

Ok, that title is a more polite way of describing this event. In my house full of rough and tumble boys, they tend to use the other, more graphic title: The Beheading of John the Baptist.

Sigh.
I guess in our modern era of shock tv and horror movies, even this grisly story seems tame.
What a shame. Maybe it should shock and make our stomach's flop and faces wince.
It does mine.
I used to (still do, really...sometimes) wonder why we had to have these gruesome stories in the bible, and even commemorate them. I mean, really? As they say, "Why can't we all just get along?" Why can't it be "nice?" Let's just look at the pretty stuff.....yes, Pollyanna....

But as we all know all too well, REAL life isn't always pretty. Real life has real hurt, real gore, real unexplainable happenings, that can't be explained away....except perhaps by the real existence of evil and our all too human nature to be seduced by it.
And this true story, that we remember especially today, is about evil, to be sure.
I mean, Salome asked for the head of John the Baptist on a platter...because her mother told her to ask as she danced. Her mother was so torqued at John for calling out Herod on his adultery (with her), that she pressed her daughter to ask for his death, and decapitation at that.
Talk about a vengeful woman...

Anyhow, this story is not only about that evil impulse and gory act. It's about John the Baptist being both a harbinger of Christ and His sacrifice to come, but also a man who stood up for Truth - no matter what.

Massimo Stanzione c. 1634.

Now, even in our modern days, holding onto truth can sure get hard. Especially when so much of the idea of truth has become a dull gray slide rule......there is not much black and white anymore; absolute truths or rights or wrongs. Or, so it seems in our popular modern culture. And yet, of course, there still is real truth, but it's not always popular or 'pc' or whatever. And while I haven't heard to too many folks getting beheaded for being 'non-pc' lately, there is still a pressure out there to just...not. Not get involved. Not care. Not worry about anyone else. Not call it like it is. Not get into anybody's business.

But really, it IS a fine line. I myself have more opinions than most, but I find the words "Judge not" ring in my ears. So, how to jive that all up? I don't know. I tend to do the best I can on the fly. Which is probably pretty poorly, most of the time. I'll either get too timid to speak up, or too tired, or I will speak up and stick my foot in it. Typically I just throw my opinions out there anyhow.

So, I can let my boys play with swords and be good guys and bad guys; acting out the scary hard ideas of good and evil, right and wrong. And this story can have a place in that sort of teaching, eventually. St. John the Baptist teaches us that we should not be afraid. That speaking the Truth is hard, possibly even dangerous. There is real danger in life, and sometimes it cannot be escaped. But, it is worth it.

And the caveat is: the Truth is Love. Love is Truth. And so....if you (ok, me) can try speak of Truth/Love, with courage....then you or I will live it as well.

Icon written by Constantine Youssis

Feast of St. Augustine!

Its the feast day of St. Augustine!
Ok, now this saint, from north Africa, is one of the biggies: a doctor of the church of course and one of the great writers throughout Church history. I like him for so many reasons, not the least of which is his connection with his mom and her devoted prayers for her son. You know, I will always have a soft spot for a mom and son....

His teachings are noted throughout Christendom for their lasting influence and, simply put, their beauty. Perhaps it was his years of living a life that was wild, utterly hedonistic, and dipped into all sorts of heresy and convoluted ideas of god.....but when he returned to the Faith, he did so in a big way, using his brilliant mind to convey the beauty of Truth to generations to come.
"Late have I loved you..." Indeed. And perhaps, that is part of his appeal to so many, so many of us (ok, me), have really felt that, lived that. Late, have I loved You. I missed so much, for so long. The "band width" of my life was so slim, and I didn't even know it. But I was fooled by the hedonistic life I lived into thinking it was so wide. I was arrogant enough to think I knew it all. Only, later, later when I finally "let go" of my grip on that did I finally come to realize how small it all was.
And then St. Augustine, once more, came through for me with one of his most famous prayers: "You have made us for yourself, oh God. And our hearts are restless, until they rest in you." Ah. I know, I'm paraphrasing that quote, but that's how it sticks in my head and heart. And that about sums it all up: St. Augustine, life in general, me in particular.

Happy feast day!
St. Augustine, pray for us!

Feast of St. Monica

Painting of St. Monica, by John Nava

Today is the feast of St. Monica!
Here is one of the premier examples of patience, especially for us moms.
Really, I should unofficially consider her a patron, because here is a mom who showed such patience and perseverance in prayer...and these are some of the traits (especially that whole patience thing) that I severely lack.

Painting of St. Monica, by Janet McKenzie

St. Monica, a saint from north Africa, prayed for the conversion (successfully) of her husband and his mother. But, most famously, she prayed and prayed faithfully for the conversion of her wild, wayward son, Augustine. Augustine was a son that would give any mom many sleepless nights and teary phone calls with girlfriends. And while Monica wasn't of the phone call era, I suspect she had many a night awake fretting over her boy. He was wild and ignored her pleas, getting into all sorts of revelry (can read more about him tomorrow on his feast day!).

But Monica persevered, because this was her son, she knew the truth and she had the faith that her prayers would be answered according to God's will....sooner or later. Well, it was something like 17 years later, but it happened. Not only did Augustine turn his life around and step back onto more solid ground, but he converted to the faith and was ordained by St. Ambrose himself.

I like to think it is in no small part due to the faithful lasting sure prayers of his mom, as well as her prayerful example and steadfast love, no matter what. She didn't shun him. She might well have corrected him, being his mom and all (whether or not he listened)..... {I know this is an old holy card image, but it makes me laugh.
It's St. Monica praying for St. Augustine,
but that's the same look my boys have when I'm giving them advice...
which is surely also a scene from the life of these two!}

....but she never stopped loving him. And that is what will turn even the hardest furthest of hearts back to the truth of Real Love. So I love St Monica, and she reminds me to never give up. Ever.

Happy feast day.
St. Monica, pray for us!

Happy Birthday Mom!

It's my mom's 75th birthday today!
Now, she may not be thrilled with that number, but I am!
I think it's a fantastic thing, 3/4 of a century, and she is still going strong...
healthy and busy and happy.
I wish so much I could be with her today and give her birthday hugs and wishes in person.

And while not everything has always been simple with mom, we clash on opinions and ideas sometimes, when it comes right down to it, it's the simplest thing in the world.
She's my mom.
I love her.

As you can see, I have her hair!
I have her hands.
I wish I had her skill with sewing and the patience that goes with it.
She is artistic and creative, always has been.
A terrific, dedicated tennis player (I wish I had that skill too!).
She taught me how to cook.
She taught me how to juggle lots of kids.
She probably passed on her love of reading to me too, as well as her love of crosswords and puzzles.
She loves to do water aerobics nowadays and always been a fiercely good loyal friend.
Even as a kid, brought home stray puppies and still loves nature, from bugs to ocean waves.
A grade school teacher before she was a mom, still a great teacher and nature lover.
She is so smart, but never really gave herself credit for it.

Over the years I have fussed at her and about her, for different things, big and small.
I was young and foolish, mostly, but didn't even know it.
As I too, age up a bit, I notice more and more that things I didn't understand before, now make more sense and I have more insight into the why's of them.
And they don't make me fuss anymore, they make me understand and accept.
I can only hope that my children will follow that same path, eventually.

And I hope that as I grow older I make it to my 75th, as healthy as she has.
And that while I have her hands, her hair and her feet, I hope I also have her capacity to love.
Because no matter what, when it comes down to it, if I or any of her kids really need her, she is there: caring, helping, biting her tongue if she needs to maybe {or not, ha! we gals in this family are nothing if not opinionated}, but loving all the same.

Happy 75th Birthday Mom!
I love you.

Tiptoes

So, we are tiptoeing around here. Ok, I am. And by that I mean that we are gingerly tiptoeing our way through the adjustment process, blundering here and there but making tiny steps forward.

Yes, I am mostly talking about me {duh, of course}, but really it does all apply to the whole family. Because make NO mistake, anytime you add a child the entire family has to morph and stretch and pull and squish over to make room. And I know, they tell you this in the books and so on. But really, it's just so much different living it and then again, living it adjusting to the push/pull, embrace/release, with an older child. {And I know that I've whinged on about this weird twilight zone time of transition already...and it's so different from last year's transition with Gabey as a toddler...but since we are still in the throes of it, well, you are too! Because that's what this blog is babeee...if it's on my mind, it's on blog. }

This transition time is something that can't be totally described with precise instructions and or diagrams...but wouldn't that be great if it could?!
Imagine: "Instructions: 7. Try to understand when new child retreats behind headphones or to bed early. It's probably just a small bout of overwhelmed and needing space."
Or, "12. When two teens try to share a bathroom, particularly if both are female, adjustments in timing will need to be made on all sides. This might take some preplanning and/or extra clocks, strategically placed. Consider investing in extra hair products and towels."

So, without said instructions, we are trying not to bruise too many shins or hearts or heads along the way, even as we clumsily tiptoe toward a new normal for our family.

Buddybug left for college again, which was a sad day and a sad weekend, especially for Marta and I (ok, a bunch of us). But it seems that just-about-daily phone calls help, especially if that call can be via Skype. And even though Marta is still not speaking much English at all, it is getting slightly less strange overall. I can ask for help in setting the table or taking this plate over to the baby and M understands and so somehow, it feels like we are communicating. School is the main event of the day for us all; for the kids who go out of the house to school and for the kids at home. This is allowing me to really work intensively with both Sbird and Marta and I think it's showing a benefit in both of them, at the very minimum they seem to do well with the extra mom time.

And I guess, really, that's the biggest change. Ssshhhhhh. I don't want to say it too loud. But then again, we Catholics don't believe in superstition, so that whole "jinx" it concept shouldn't apply.

But, I'll say it out loud (not shouting yet tho) I am moving into a new mom spot. One that is not having to scooch over so much for a "new kid" but is instead moving more into the reflex of "one of the kids." Soon?...I pray, for the fierce deep feeling (I know, it's not about the feelings, but I crave them)....."My girl." I am not totally there yet, we need oodles and oodles of time. But the one on one during the day is helping ease off some of the stiffness and strangeness for each of us. And for me, that is huge! Call me stiff, call me cold, you could and you'd be right. Mea culpa. And I hate learning that about myself (tho some might not be surprised, Nancy, I know).

Perhaps the biggest surprise and disappointment to me this go-round is that this is all taking unexpected time for me to feel normal and for the family to feel normal {Right, patience is obviously not one of my virtues}. Because we are not, not "normal" {Read: the old normal}, anymore. We need the time to make it through to the new normal.

And we are NOT there yet, but in a way, if I stretch my neck I think I might be able to see it on the horizon. And even being able to know it can maybe get there, helps my steps be more sure. And as my steps stop faltering, become more sure...as I smile and tease and trim hair and high five, then everyone else's steps also stop shuffling and stalling. I don't have to tiptoe around the pitfalls of presumptions and gaps and fear and otherness quite as much. And that makes everything better, for us all. I've never been one for toe shoes...too clumsy. So, I hope I'm done tiptoeing and can now just keep trying to walk forward, with the whole family, to a new normal that feels just right.

Perks

There are perks to having a teen son.
Yes, sometimes you have to put up with the "stone face," above.
But other times you get to take advantage of some of the perks...by which I mean, the friends.
Nice friends drop in, visit this teen boy, and hang around the house with him.

In this instance, I am specifically referring to a certain cute sweet girl, great friends with my Booboo. She has a kind and generous heart and has moved right to the top of my "You're awesome" list.
See, on Friday night, Booboo was persuaded to take his new sister Marta to the school's first official football game of the season. Coffeedoc was going too, but as team doc he had to be on the field. The Prima Diva, also known as Bananas, was all too busy being a social butterfly to watch the game.

So I knew we needed to pull in the big guns: the big brother. He agreed to take her to the game and sit with her and keep her company - Marta loves football {so far}.
What I didn't expect was that his girlfriend would gladly sit and visit with Marta, look at pictures on her Ipod, and help her find the way through the big school to the restroom even. When I thanked her today (as she visited the house), she said easily "It was my pleasure." Aw, gracious too.

Marta came home grinning from ear to ear, and talking in a rapid mix of Amharic and English about her "great brother" and his "konjo beautiful good nice friend, oh mom, she's good nice beautiful, happy happy, good night." So, now Marta thinks this girl hung the moon.
So do I.

That's one of the delightful unexpected bonuses of having teens in the house: the remarkable nice friends. {You're right Booboo: totally blogable.}

I'd say pretty, inside and out.

The Queen

Detail of painting by Van Eyck

Today we celebrate the Queenship of Mary.
This is a devotion that helps us remember Mary's special place in our hearts and the heart of her Son. Indeed, many might object: considering a mere girl a Queen, of all things! And Queen of Heaven, even! The idea of it! Hmmmm.....

But really, it is the idea of it that is so cool, and the reality of it is mindblowing. Here is a mere girl, ok, eventually an old woman (most all of us get there, even Mary) and she lived her life so tuned into God's call that she is an example for us all.

Even considered as Queen of Heaven, Mary still, always and eternally, points to her Son. "Do whatever He tells you." {John 2:4-6) It's not about her and her power trip, like a bad movie (like it would be for me, think of the control issues, ah!). It always, always, is about her son, Christ.

When we ask Mary to pray for us, turn to her for consolation and support, she understands and loves us enough to pray to her son on our behalf. Her love, as a perfect mom with perfect love, is unfailing for us as well. I can use a big dose of that...most every day! So, yeah, I dig this concept and I do think of her as Queen of Heaven in that her prayers are heard and we can ask for them. And what perfect Son doesn't listen to his mother?

Another way that I think of it is this: I am "queen" of my home. I am. But that means that I am the one who cares for, tends, serves, pays attention to, and helps all the members of my family...down to the smallest details. Or, well, I try to, on a good day. Mary is that for us, for me, too. That's the sort of "queen" that is real, instead of a mere poster queen or politically twisted definition.

And, especially now as I am learning to love and be mom to a whole new, older and different child in my home and family, I am leaning hard on my spiritual Queen, my Blessed Mother, to be an example to me on how to love better, harder, further...both in the big picture and the small details. And to pray for me and not quit, while I stumble through this awkward time. I believe she is.

Every night when I tuck Little Man into bed, we sing "Salve Regina" together (in english, not the latin). It's a favorite hymn. And every night he says, "Our voices sound just the same. We sound good." And I don't know if that is actually true, but it sure sounds true enough right then. And I like to think that the sweetness of that sung prayer is heard and understood by our Blessed Mother, and her Son, with a smile. Agnolo Gaddi, "Coronation of the Virgin," 1380

"Hail, holy Queen, Mother of Mercy!
Our life, our sweetness, and our hope!
To thee do we cry, poor banished
children of Eve, to thee do we send
up our sighs, mourning and weeping
in this valley, of tears.
Turn, then, most gracious advocate,
thine eyes of mercy toward us; and
after this our exile show unto us the
blessed fruit of thy womb Jesus;
O clement, O loving, O sweet virgin Mary.

Pray for us, O holy Mother of God

That we may be made worthy of the
promises of Christ.

Amen

Little letters, big progress

So, this is just a short notice on short words.
We have made a baby step of progress this week, our first real week of school for all the elementary students.
For this particular student, happily smiling above.....we have made little letters of progress.

But OH what big steps they are!
This sweet girl is starting to read!
our Marta can recognize most of her letters, and usually gets them right (tho occasionally needing to sing them to remember).
And she has read these words:
Fox
Box
Cat
Hat
Sun
Egg
Dog
woman
man
mom
dad
fish
sat
mat
sam
and
go
duck

Now, that may not mean much to most of you.
But around here it was cause for whooping and high fives....because this is beginning steps to decoding, in my book.
Cool!

And those are the words that she read and also can understand (tho, she forgets now and then) what they stand for, connecting the word with the actual meaning or object.
Even so, we have a long way to go...she will forget the letter names then remember them again...but it's a tough language.
Even so, I'm happy for any of these small steps.
Now "my book" isn't anything official, its just me and my opinions...one mom's ideas.
But this mom thinks that this can be the beginning of unlocking a strange new difficult code, aka: english!

So, yeah, it was a pretty exciting week.
I think those first words are exciting, no matter when they click!
And to see those eyes light up with pride and glee, it's always great, no matter what.

Happy Birthday Coffeedoc!

Happy Birthday to my sweet husband!
Yup, 48 years old today!
{Once again, older than me, dear.}

I wish you the best of birthdays and for all your birthday wishes to come true!
Your requested dinner of homemade tamales and german chocolate cake is in the works...and should be yummy for all.
Your present is a big secret for now, but we are pretty excited about it....especially one of your sons.

We are all so grateful for your birthday and all that it brings us: you.
Lover of music.
Extra great dad.
Terrific husband, rock for your wife.
Faithful; sincerely loving your faith and church.
Good eater, loves my cooking.
Patient, with a long fuse and a steady stance to withstand the many moods in this family.Kind of Crazy driver.
Fix-it guy - there is nothing that a cool tool or spreadsheet can't make better - somehow.
Always a little late, but trying, perpetually and earnestly, to change.
The smartest man I know.
Pack rat, never know when you might need that.
Tireless warrior, going up against all odds to advocate for our kids, no matter what.Night owl, striving to be an early bird against all odds.
Make me cry with your guitar and singing of Fire and Rain, Sweet Baby Jane.
Growing old gracefully, unlike your wife.
Plotter, always cooking up something new.
Intense, but calm.
A contradiction in many ways.
The blueprint for so much of the character and traits in my kids.Steady best friend, no matter what.
Picks me up when I am at rock bottom, gently.
Committed, come what may, to this family and each person in it.
Outstanding surgeon and doc.
Apologetics, church history walking encyclopedia.
Boat lover.
Cat tolerator for the kid's sake.
Dreamer, schemer.
Inveterate traveler, no such thing as ever too much travel, there's a whole world out there!Adventurer, in your heart even when you cannot be one in real life due to the world of responsibilities on your shoulders...that you carry without complaint.

You are greatly loved by many.
And we celebrate your birthday today with grins and cheers.

Happy Happy Bday honey, we love you!

Almost Wordless Wednesday

Everybody loves Dr. Seuss,

great for learning words, great for learning english.

Feast day of St. Jane Francis de Chantal

Today is the memorial of St. Jane Francis de Chantal.
Now, she is a fascinating saint to me because, for one thing, she was mother to seven children.
That's right!
Mom to seven kids, and STILL she made it to sainthood.

I'm tellin' ya, it gives me hope, it does.
If nothing else, here is a gal that I figure can understand me to a fair degree and I can hit up for prayers on my behalf.
We moms of big families stick together!

She was french, born into a noble family. She also married a nobleman. Which is cool in it's own way because, once again, we see that saints can come from any circumstances; it's the disposition of our hearts and the choices we make, not the situations we are born to that determine the outcome. I think that's fairly encouraging! St. Jane was widowed due to a hunting accident - her husband was shot. She struggled for many years to forgive the man who killed her husband; eventually she succeeded after much prayer and counsel.

Her closest counselor, friend, confident was none other than St. Francis de Sales (another top notch fav saint, and the author of this amazing book). So, here we have St. Jane showing us the importance of true friendship and how a holy friendship can lead to amazing things. Another reason I am keen on her. Her long friendship with St. Francis led her to eventually found the order Visitation nuns. Eventually she founded eighty-five convents.A woman who can be a mom to a bunch of kids, manage her household in a holy manner, forgive the hardest things and be a long and true friend, and still then manage to found an organization that does eternal good in the world.....now there is an example!
I have much to learn from a woman like St. Jane.
She is not of this era, but I daresay that Oprah and the modern reality tv micro-celebs could take a lesson from her too!

St. Jane de Chantal, pray for us!