Foibles to Keep Me on My Toes

If you know me at all you know that I am always planning disaster in order to feel prepared/in control. I even try to plan when I won't be in control, so I can at least be in control of my loss of control. I think this started when I was 6 or 7 and I would stay up waiting for my Mom to come home from a night out. I would watch all the cars coming down the street and plan out the ways she could die. That way she wouldn't die, because what are the chances I would think of the way she would die on the very night it happened, right?


One of my new favorite songs has these lyrics: " I am a woman who worries about closet space, and someday I'll be dead. I have a strong imagination. I let it wander where it will."


So last week I was faced with a situation.


Thaddeus.





He had somehow managed to get his legs into the sleeves of his upside down, backwards, winter jacket. One leg was through his seat belt, and the seat belt went partway down the sleeve. He could neither straighten his legs, stand up, nor pull the sleeves off his legs. It was not a pretty sight.



Objectively this is not too big a deal.

My brain perceived the scene this way; EMERGENCY. TRAPPED. CAR.. DEATH SOON. GET HIM OUT.



In my raving panic I grabbed a ballpoint pen and started to hack my way through his coat. You have no idea the power of a scared mother. You have no idea the incredulous looks from sane children as their mother works on saving the life of someone in no danger at all.


HACK HACK TEAR RIP.


I couldn't do it. The zipper was too much. Also, a small voice in my head was starting to question the necessity of my extreme action. I left him there. I failed. If we had been falling into a lake I would not have saved him. Since we were only stopping at the construction site, it wasn't too bad. But in my reptilian brain I had definitely failed.


While we were inside, Thaddeus walked in. No jacket.


"Mom. You wrecked my coat."


uh. yeah. but I was trying to save you life. Forget it. I'm sorry. I'll fix the coat.


One of my morning prayers says to Jesus "I know you are with me in every emergency of my life, especially in the emergency of my death."


At this point I don't think I'll perceive my death as an emergency. Blessed rest and utter surrender. Until then I'll continue planning and preparing and saving the lives of hapless Eddyblouins everywhere!
And someday I'll be dead.

I know there is a connection!

First--Happy Feast of Our Lady of Fatima!! If you haven't read about the apparitions at Fatima Portugal you need to. A beautiful example of the simple faith of children, and the wonderful powers of God. I have a tradition of reading Sister Lucia's own account of her first communion to my children before they themselves receive. Wonderful!

The connection I'm looking for is between the feast day, and my successful, and totally exhausting day. It's been sunny, lessons have been done well, laundry washed, folded, and even put away! Healthy lunch and even snacks. Cheese dripping. Phyllo thawing for dinner. Children playing happily outside. Can it get better than this?

I have worked hard, and prayed hard--for my children, for a family who lost their adult daughter, for my husband who is working late into the night--and I feel it in every bone. A good, full bodied tired. A tired that lets me know I am living my vocation to the fullest.

Maybe that is the connection. The children of Fatima, two of whom died young, and one lived her life as a holy nun, lived their vocations to the fullest with the encouragement of Our Lady. It is when I am on my knees (prayer, or physical collapse--doesn't matter) that I can most profoundly feel God's presence, and that of His gentle Mother. In these moments of Homemaking and Mothering fatigue I can look most assuredly to Our Lady for her loving support as I continue on the road to Jesus through this vocation of love, laundry, and laughter.

My Little sad story

When we told the children about our little baby having passed, it was interesting to see the different reactions they had. As I expected, the girls were immediately sad and grievous. John Henry spent most of our conversation saying things like "Maybe it was triplets and only one died. Maybe we are still having twins!" Only long after our prayers were said, and everyone in bed, did I notice John Henry quietly weeping into his pillow. Thaddeus, after a good 10 minutes of almost his whole family, and a few friends, crying began to sob. When I asked why he was crying he said "I don't know, but everyone else is!"

Last night Thaddeus was up late. We were having some quite time together when he asked "When is a Shannon coming out of your body." My friend Jessica is mother to Thaddeus' close friend Connor, and 3 month old Shannon. I also have an adult friend Shannon, so I really didn't understand what Thaddeus was asking, thinking of adult Shannon.

"There's no Shannon coming out of my body!"
"Oh, Did the baby die?"
Now it all clicked.
"Yes, the baby died."
"But we'll see the baby in heaven" (Smiling)
"Yes, we'll see the baby in heaven. And we are praying for another baby to come soon."
"When"
"Maybe a baby will be in my body in the next month or two."
"Are their dinosaurs in heaven? How does God make Dinosaurs?" Back to 4 year old land.

And so the process of letting go continues.
Today I looked at my school calendar. I didn't understand some of the numbers on every week. AH! They were my gestational weeks. I would have already been 12 weeks along.

Those are in pen, so I can't erase, but I did adjust the school schedule for next year.
Planning is necessary, but we really have only this moment.
God is Good, all the time.

Contentment and Desire

This is the face of a happy 9 year old. Content. And yet, her deep desire for a little sister is JUST below the surface. Thalia has been praying for "Agnes-on-the-way" for going on 6 years now. Thankfully God sent Temple and Iska, so there's an extra baby girl to go around whenever we visit. They wear a lot of pink, since they were preceded by 2 boys.

We certainly do want more babies--but one never knows--and of course we can't promise a girl. . .and sometimes even I get frustrated at Thalia's seemingly relentless "When will we have another baby?!" Not the thing to ask when Mommy is tired out from a busy day with her existing children.

But during my calm moments I am right there with her. I love all my babies, and will love having as many more as we end up having. I used to answer the "Are you done yet?" or "when will you be done?" queries with the old "Weeellll, there's this thing called menopause. . . ". But now I realize that there are recorded miracles in scripture of post menopausal women having a baby--so my new answer is "Sarah and Elizabeth were sent babies in their old age--I can only hope. . ."

Then again--I'm an optimist. A friend is caring, long term, for her infant grandson. She's tired. Maybe menopause is a good idea for most of us.

But until then Thalia and I will keep praying for Agnes (or Notkur) on the way.

Good Question

I'm not sure what sparked it, but while listening to the news Thalia asked "Why do they take care of adults, when they kill babies?"

"Good Question." Was my quick response. My mind spun off into thoughts of able bodies adults getting government aid while babies are aborted because their mothers don't have the resources to care for them. . .

Then Thalia said, "I mean, why take care of an adult, when they could have been killed in an abortion when they were a baby?"

Pithy--the sanctity of life. The baby is as valuable and deserving of respect as the adult. If we value the adult, why don't we value the baby? Murder is illegal right?