I have always loved watching wildlife from my windows. Along with all the cows, I've watched Bald Eagles and Wild Turkeys, squirrels and rabbits, and even the occasional wolf or bear. I've loved it all, but there is one animal who's visits have been particularly enjoyed. Deer.
They are so quiet and beautiful. A big buck showing off his spectacular headgear, small herds swiftly leaping over shrubbery while waving white tails in the air, pretty, young does walking slowly with their tiny, speckled fawns in tow - sometimes so well camouflaged I felt privileged to have spotted them at all.
Funny just how quickly things can change. Yesterday had me day-dreaming about shotguns, tree stands, and venison.
After moving from our tiny house in the woods to our little farm, I have come to see deer as the Jekyll and Hyde of the animal world. Deep in the woods they roam around happily, doing their deer thing, not bugging anyone. Out in the open fields, however, they undergo a drastic personality change, becoming needy, greedy, and even depressed. Yes. I said it. Our deer are depressed. Seeing no hope for life outside the forest, many of them become suicidal. (They also develop a hatred for motorized conveyances. This is a bad combination.) Loitering by the side of the road these bummed-out hoodlum deer wait for a vehicle to jump out in front of. (One of our friends claims this as the reason she has lost every car she has ever owned - except one; that was when she hit a cow.)
Some of the deer do resist such an over-dramatic response to being "wood-less." They successfully head off the more severe depression by binge eating. They become furry, four-legged locusts clearing everything in their paths. Our neighbor lost a fair bit of his corn crop last year to deer with the munchies. I felt bad for him. I really did, but since I wasn't the one who's fields were being eaten, I held on to my affection for the creatures. That has come to an end.
Last fall we planted four young apple trees. They were the first things we planted after moving in, and I felt they were special outdoor signs announcing to our new neighbors we were here to stay. I envisioned them years from now, gracefully spreading their fruit-laden branches over our driveway and picnic table. Now I realize we will have to fight to see this dream come true. The deer have found our trees. And they found them delicious. Did you know deer will eat the bark and tender young branches right off a baby tree? Even if said baby tree is...mine?
This is a problem. Not only do we wish to protect the trees we have already planted, we are also planning on beginning our apple orchard this year. They will all be at risk until they are larger. It will be like a candy store for deer!
I went straight to the Internet. Deer are a tricky pest, and other than fencing in our entire property with a VERY tall fence (How high can a deer jump? Make a guess - then double it.) complete with razor wire across the top, it seems nothing is entirely deer-proof. I have neither the money nor desire to make our farm look like a maximum security prison, so I believe some experimentation is in order.
The first solution suggested was urine.
"You want me to take the boys outside to pee on the trees," my husband asked. Oh our neighbors would love that.
"Actually, My Love, I believe the suggestion was to buy bottled coyote urine."
"How do the coyotes know to pee in the bottles?" He was laughing at me.
"Another idea is to scatter human hair around the trees," I read on.
"Well, I need a haircut now anyway, but once the orchard's in we'll have to shave the kids' heads, too. It's a good thing we have so many!"
I made a face at him. "So, what do you think we should do?"
"No problem. I'll shoot 'em. I'll stay up all night, every night lying in wait for them, then... BLAM-O! Venison burgers."
There were other suggestions: blood meal, mothballs, even stinky buckets of waste obtained from a local sewage treatment plant. Eeeeewwwwww!!!!! (I'll think about it.)
It seems I have a bit more research to do. If you have any ideas, feel free to throw them our way. In the meantime, keep an eye out for deer. Now you know the truth. And so do I.
February 21, 2012
February 17, 2012
Only Mostly Dead
First the "check engine" light came on. So, I checked. Yes, the engine was still there. A moment later a "hold" light lit up on the dash.
"Wow, Little Car! I didn't even know you had a light for that!"
The hold light began to flash - "hold, Hold, HOLD!"
Demanding little thing. I guess the car really meant it. I tried to sympathize.
"I know how you feel. Sometimes I need to be held, too."
My kind words were ignored. Little Car's demands became increasingly dramatic. Such a drama queen! She shuddered and slowed. My sympathies dissipated as she continued her display of ill temper. And that's when it happened. Everything stopped. Through the shock, a realization dawned upon me that Little Car was... dead.
Oh no. What do I do? Were Last Rites out of the question?
Matt came to take a look. He lifted the hood and asked me to turn the key. Little Car made a noise. A glimmer of hope! She wasn't dead dead. She was more what Miracle Max would call "mostly dead". That was good, 'cause mostly dead was slightly alive. There was still hope. If she had been all dead the best we could do is go through her seat cushions looking for loose change.
If only Miracle Max lived nearby. Oh, well. We have the next best thing. It's called Mechanic Steve. And Steves can be just as effective, with the added benefit of being less obnoxious.
"Wow, Little Car! I didn't even know you had a light for that!"
The hold light began to flash - "hold, Hold, HOLD!"
Demanding little thing. I guess the car really meant it. I tried to sympathize.
"I know how you feel. Sometimes I need to be held, too."
My kind words were ignored. Little Car's demands became increasingly dramatic. Such a drama queen! She shuddered and slowed. My sympathies dissipated as she continued her display of ill temper. And that's when it happened. Everything stopped. Through the shock, a realization dawned upon me that Little Car was... dead.
Oh no. What do I do? Were Last Rites out of the question?
Matt came to take a look. He lifted the hood and asked me to turn the key. Little Car made a noise. A glimmer of hope! She wasn't dead dead. She was more what Miracle Max would call "mostly dead". That was good, 'cause mostly dead was slightly alive. There was still hope. If she had been all dead the best we could do is go through her seat cushions looking for loose change.
February 14, 2012
February 11, 2012
And Now For Something Completely Different
No. Not Monty Python. (Extra points if you got that reference.) This is another animal altogether. So different, in fact, I feel a warning coming on.
The Catholic Church, with all of her hospitals, schools, universities, charitable organizations, etc. said, "Not gonna happen. Obeying would go against centuries of teaching, violate our consciences, and take away our religious liberty by preventing us from freely practicing what we believe." HHS responded, "You have one year to get used to the idea." To which the catholic bishops replied, "We think you need your hearing checked."
Along with calls, emails, petitions, etc., I have engaged in discussions with family, friends, and even complete strangers (some stranger than others) who have commented online regarding this news. While some agree this is, in fact, an attack on religious liberty in this country, most of their energy is expended in taking the Church to task for her stand on birth control. Apparently, any opportunity for Catholic-bashing is not to be wasted.
I could be annoyed the conversation is getting sidetracked, but filtering out the most obnoxious and ignorant comments, I see real questions and opinions that beg to be addressed. And opportunities for this kind of conversation are not to be wasted either.
Disclaimer: If you insist the issue is not about religious freedom, I'll wrestle you to the ground, sit on you, and rub your head with my knuckles until you cry "mercy."
Also, Catholics are not the only ones speaking out against the mandate, but since I am Catholic that is the perspective I'll be writing from. No, I am not a theologian. I am a mom. I am, and always will be, learning. VOLUMES can and have been written on these subjects. I have not read every scrap of print that has been written on this subject, because... my days are almost completely filled with math lessons, doing dishes, and changing diapers. When I'm not doing those things I like to sleep.
For, well, just for-ever, the Church has maintained that contraception is morally wrong and causes injury, and harm to husbands, wives, and society at large. I'll not spend time here cataloging the physical harm certain forms of contraception can cause. (The harmfulness of artificial contraceptives like the pill or IUD have been thoroughly documented. The more these products are studied, the more health hazards are revealed. Don't believe me? Read the package inserts - like this one, or this one.)
"So God created mankind in his own image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them. God blessed them and said to them, “Be fruitful and increase in number; fill the earth and subdue it... God saw all that he had made, and it was very good." (Genesis 1:27-28,31)
Husband and wife are called to that same unitive, sacrificial love. The physical human love expressed in marriage reflects an amazing truth about the way God loves us. In a very real way, during sex husband and wife become one flesh, one heart, one soul. They become part of each other. The husband, by virtue of his masculinity, shows the generative, life-giving power of God. The wife, by her very femininity, receives, then grows and brings forth that same life into the world.
Everyone knows what body language is. When someone smiles, shrugs their shoulders, or makes rude gestures with their hands, others understand the message conveyed.
Our bodies speak during sex, too. We are speaking love and acceptance of the other. We speak a communion of total self-giving and trust. It is a language freely expressed and powerful in it's beauty. At least that is how it's supposed to be.
When we contracept we are speaking a message, too. Whether we realize it or not, we are saying "My love only goes so far. I give you a piece of myself, but not all of me", or "I love all of you - except that undesirable part." Contraception changes the language of sex. When purposely destroying or blocking that life giving power, we say to God, "I reject part of who you made me to be. I withhold it from you. I refuse to image the sign of Your love for the world." We can do that. God does not force us. The choice is ours.
"If that's really what the Church teaches, than why do so many Catholics use birth control?"
That's what I'd like to know. Really. Is it ignorance? There are many who just don't know what their Church teaches. Some may have never been told, some were clearly asleep, the rest probably had their fingers in their ears. Without clear guidance they follow the culture around them. We need to fix that.
Could it be arrogance? "I know more about right and wrong than any old Church that's only been around for thousands of years." There are an abundance of so-called "cafeteria Catholics", who pick and choose what they want to believe. They form a religion of their own making while continuing to call themselves members of the Church. Their actions ask the question, "Can I not be Catholic and still be Catholic?"
Again, they have a choice. We all do. The Church is not forcing anyone to be Catholic. More like a loving parent, the Church teaches, she admonishes and explains, she implores us to follow the safe path, so that we will live life abundantly and avoid that which leads to harm. The Church says, "Don't run into the street or a big ol' truck will come along and turn you into a greasy smear on the asphalt. I don't want that to happen to you!" But, like any child, we can choose to go our own way and ignore the advice of our parents. We can run out of the safely-fenced backyard yelling, "I'll play where I choose. I want my freedooooom!" Oh, yeah. It's all fun and games until someone goes "Splat!"
"If any Catholics object to contraceptives, they don't have to use them; but it's not fair to deny them to non-Catholics who merely work in Catholic institutions. Not everyone believes as you do. And what about the poor all around the world?"
There is no denying there are situations where prudence tells us pregnancy should be postponed, even indefinitely in severe cases. If the situation happens to be particularly desperate, how much better to empower husbands and wives with the knowledge and support they need, with a method of avoiding pregnancy that does not rely on money, does not expire, and will not make things more difficult by adversely effecting their marriage or health. So much better than throwing pills or condoms at the problem! It works. Mother Teresa's Sisters of Charity teach Natural Family Planning to the poorest of the poor. Missionaries around the globe have found success in teaching NFP in conjunction with other health care. You can read about a parish in Kenya who has just begun this important work. It's really good stuff!
Did you really read all this to the end? Wow. I'm impressed. I'm exhausted. I've never written a post this long. My head hurts. My fingers hurt. Can I ask a favor? I need your help. I need you to pretend I came up with a fantastic way to end this post, tying up all the loose ends and writing a smooth conclusion. Got it? We good? Okay. Time for bed. Good night!
Well, darn! That counts me out. Kind of awkward since I'm the one writing it. I know I usually write about kids, cows, and laundry but the topic today is the Church, contraception, and s-e-x. *gasp!* I know! I'll just have to avert my eyes as I write. That warning up there? I mean it. Last chance.
Still with me? Wow, you're brave.
Recently the Department of Health and Human Services (HHS) made an announcement that, like it or not, all employers with more than 50 employees must provide health coverage for contraception and sterilization - or else!
Along with calls, emails, petitions, etc., I have engaged in discussions with family, friends, and even complete strangers (some stranger than others) who have commented online regarding this news. While some agree this is, in fact, an attack on religious liberty in this country, most of their energy is expended in taking the Church to task for her stand on birth control. Apparently, any opportunity for Catholic-bashing is not to be wasted.
 |
"Government shouldn't tell any religion what to believe or how to practice their faith, BUT..." |
Disclaimer: If you insist the issue is not about religious freedom, I'll wrestle you to the ground, sit on you, and rub your head with my knuckles until you cry "mercy."
Also, Catholics are not the only ones speaking out against the mandate, but since I am Catholic that is the perspective I'll be writing from. No, I am not a theologian. I am a mom. I am, and always will be, learning. VOLUMES can and have been written on these subjects. I have not read every scrap of print that has been written on this subject, because... my days are almost completely filled with math lessons, doing dishes, and changing diapers. When I'm not doing those things I like to sleep.
Most comments fall into one of three categories:
- "Why all the fuss? Why is the Church is taking such a stand? It's not like contraceptives are evil or anything. In fact, most Catholics use contraception, too."
- "Natural Family Planning (NFP) is just Catholic birth control."
- "Why does the Catholic Church think she can tell people what to do with their own bodies? What about the very poor around the world, women and families in desperate situations? The Church should not force them to keep having children they cannot provide for!"
Okay. Deep breath. Here we go:
"The Church doesn't say contraceptives are evil does she? Well, does she?"
Oh, man. Really? Do we have to go there?
Fine. I'll say it. I'll be the big meanie.
Yes. Yes she does. In the catechism, even.
Whew! There. Done. Short and sweet. So glad I used my Easy Button.
I'd love to leave it there. I really would. But I can't. There is just too much behind a statement like that to let it stand all alone. Perhaps evil seems too strong a word. Evil is just soooo...EVIL. (Cue creepy music.) Why would the Church use a word like that?
e·vil(
adj. e·vil·er, e·vil·est
1. Morally bad or wrong; wicked: an evil tyrant.
2. Causing ruin, injury, or pain; harmful: the evil effects of a poor diet.
3. Characterized by or indicating future misfortune; ominous.
4. Bad or blameworthy by report; infamous: an evil reputation.
5. Characterized by anger or spite; malicious: an evil temper.
|
For, well, just for-ever, the Church has maintained that contraception is morally wrong and causes injury, and harm to husbands, wives, and society at large. I'll not spend time here cataloging the physical harm certain forms of contraception can cause. (The harmfulness of artificial contraceptives like the pill or IUD have been thoroughly documented. The more these products are studied, the more health hazards are revealed. Don't believe me? Read the package inserts - like this one, or this one.)
I'd like instead to focus on the harmful effects of the contracepting mentality so prevalent today. In order to do that we should take a look at how the Catholic Church views sex.
Many people think Catholics have all sorts of hang-ups about sex; that we are taught the Church wants us to have as many babies as humanly possible all the while feeling horribly guilty because "sex is bad, dirty, and sinful." After all, everyone knows Church teachings about sex are made up by a bunch of fuddy-duddy old men who don't have sex anyway. It's all about control, and the world wanting none of it cries, "Stay out of our bedrooms!"
What a bunch of hogwash. That sort of Puritanistic view has always been rejected by the Church.
"So, sex is good?"
Nah. It's better than that.
"Sex is great?"
Getting closer.
"Sex is amazing!"
It can be pretty amazing, but no.
Try this one on for size. Sex is holy.
Well that just sucked all the air out of the room, didn't it? Most of us, myself included, have a hard time thinking about sex in that way. We think of holiness as belonging solely to the spirit, and the body with it's senses, with it's messiness and frailties as somehow beneath any expression of holiness. We breeze past the part of scripture that tells us God looked at his creation and declared it good. Really good.
"So God created mankind in his own image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them. God blessed them and said to them, “Be fruitful and increase in number; fill the earth and subdue it... God saw all that he had made, and it was very good." (Genesis 1:27-28,31)
See that? Our bodies are good - and not only good - as images of our Creator they are sacred. Our bodies, masculine and feminine, have a worth that is transcendent. They share in Divine goodness as signs created for and expressive of God's love for us. If we have trouble with that reading from Genesis, what then do we make of the poetic images of love, physical love, found in the Song of Solomon?
"How beautiful you are and how pleasing, my love, with your delights! Your stature is like that of the palm, and your breasts like clusters of fruit. I said, 'I will climb the palm tree; I will take hold of its fruit.' May your breasts be like clusters of grapes on the vine, the fragrance of your breath like apples, and your mouth like the best wine. May the wine go straight to my beloved, flowing gently over lips and teeth. I belong to my beloved, and his desire is for me." (Song of Solomon 7:6-10)
 |
| It's in the Bible, people. Look it up. |
"Okay, so physical bodies and lovemaking are good, but how do you get from that to holy?"
Right here:
"Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ also loved the church, and gave himself for it... So ought men to love their wives as their own bodies. He that loves his wife loves himself. For no man hates his own flesh; but nourishes and cherishes it, even as the Lord the church: For we are members of his body, of his flesh, and of his bones. For this cause shall a man leave his father and mother, and shall be joined unto his wife, and they two shall be one flesh.This is a profound mystery—but I am talking about Christ and the church. " (Ephesians 5: 25, 28-32)
The union of Christ and His Church is imaged in the union of man and wife as one flesh. Christ gave totally of Himself to His Bride, the Church, holding nothing back, even His very life. He poured himself out completely, without reserve. His Bride joyfully receives that life, germinates, then brings to fruition what has been given to her. She brings Christ's presence to the world, united with Him as His body.
Husband and wife are called to that same unitive, sacrificial love. The physical human love expressed in marriage reflects an amazing truth about the way God loves us. In a very real way, during sex husband and wife become one flesh, one heart, one soul. They become part of each other. The husband, by virtue of his masculinity, shows the generative, life-giving power of God. The wife, by her very femininity, receives, then grows and brings forth that same life into the world.
In loving each other, they acknowledge the essential goodness of each other's bodies, male and female. They affirm the essential goodness of their own bodies as they love the other without reserve. They love each other intimately and completely, not rejecting any part of their beloved.
Sex bonds spouses to each other and opens the door for new life. Babies and bonding. Bonding and babies. Two sides of the same coin. When we try to separate the two what do we have? If sex is only for babies the beauty of the act itself is stripped away and our bodies are degraded from images of God to machines in a factory producing a product. The baby, rather than an expression of her parent's love, becomes an object, a possession to be owned.
If sex is only for bonding than how do we understand the necessity of egg and sperm in the creation of new life? The design of our bodies cannot simply be explained away, because we have no good use for it. Ask women (if you're particularly bold) why desire for sex is strongest when they're ovulating. Ask men (if you don't mind the strange looks they'll give you) why a woman is more attractive to them during that time. Sex is pleasurable by design. The arousal and desire are the motivation. The next generation is the purpose.
Everyone knows what body language is. When someone smiles, shrugs their shoulders, or makes rude gestures with their hands, others understand the message conveyed.
Our bodies speak during sex, too. We are speaking love and acceptance of the other. We speak a communion of total self-giving and trust. It is a language freely expressed and powerful in it's beauty. At least that is how it's supposed to be.
When we contracept we are speaking a message, too. Whether we realize it or not, we are saying "My love only goes so far. I give you a piece of myself, but not all of me", or "I love all of you - except that undesirable part." Contraception changes the language of sex. When purposely destroying or blocking that life giving power, we say to God, "I reject part of who you made me to be. I withhold it from you. I refuse to image the sign of Your love for the world." We can do that. God does not force us. The choice is ours.
In 1968 Pope Paul VI wrote a little thing called Humanae Vitae. In it he warned of effects contraception would have on our society should they become readily available.
- Moral standards lowered across the board
- More adultery, more unwed mothers
- Women reduced to sexual objects
- Government coercion in reproductive matters
Sound familiar?
"If that's really what the Church teaches, than why do so many Catholics use birth control?"
That's what I'd like to know. Really. Is it ignorance? There are many who just don't know what their Church teaches. Some may have never been told, some were clearly asleep, the rest probably had their fingers in their ears. Without clear guidance they follow the culture around them. We need to fix that.
Could it be arrogance? "I know more about right and wrong than any old Church that's only been around for thousands of years." There are an abundance of so-called "cafeteria Catholics", who pick and choose what they want to believe. They form a religion of their own making while continuing to call themselves members of the Church. Their actions ask the question, "Can I not be Catholic and still be Catholic?"
Again, they have a choice. We all do. The Church is not forcing anyone to be Catholic. More like a loving parent, the Church teaches, she admonishes and explains, she implores us to follow the safe path, so that we will live life abundantly and avoid that which leads to harm. The Church says, "Don't run into the street or a big ol' truck will come along and turn you into a greasy smear on the asphalt. I don't want that to happen to you!" But, like any child, we can choose to go our own way and ignore the advice of our parents. We can run out of the safely-fenced backyard yelling, "I'll play where I choose. I want my freedooooom!" Oh, yeah. It's all fun and games until someone goes "Splat!"
"What if you can't feed your 72 kids, and you're homeless, and you have no money what-so-ever, and another pregnancy will cause sudden, instant, and even immediate death?"
Don't laugh. I have actually been asked questions only slightly less hysterical. According to some of the folks I have engaged online, this ubiquitous problem presents only two options -
Birth Control or Death.
That's it.
So, are there ever reasons for avoiding pregnancy? Yes. That's where Natural Family Planning (NFP) can be helpful. A couple can learn to recognize signs of fertility and prayerfully decide to delay pregnancy for a time. In our 20+ years of marriage, Matt and I have followed NFP methods to space births during particularly difficult financial times and episodes of poor health. I still remember the dire warnings a doctor gave me regarding a medication I took that could be fatal to an unborn baby, and until that medicine was out of my system we chose to avoid pregnancy. Is it easy to do? Sometimes, other times not so much. The cool thing is that it's free to use. It requires no fancy gadgets. And, unlike the pill, there are no negative side-effects!
"Natural Family Planning is just birth control for Catholics. What a double standard!"
Natural Family Planning (NFP) is like birth control in the same way carrot sticks are like Cheetos.
"Well, I don't get what the difference is. A person using NFP or something as simple as a condom gets the same result. The intention is the same."
Fair enough. Let's look at it in another way. Say we're talking about losing weight. Obesity is a real problem. It severely affects the health and well-being of the people in question. It also affects their families on so many levels - physically (They are likely to become obese too.), mentally (unhealthy attitudes towards food and exercise), emotionally (They worry about the health of their obese family member.) , even financially (Health problems are costly!) There are also consequences to society at large. Something must be done!
The medical establishment says there are healthy ways of losing weight, but those require hard work, time and dedication. Not everyone is going to want to go through all of that.
There are other ways of losing weight. They might not be as safe and healthy, but they will achieve the same end. Diet pills come with side effects, but they are so easy. Fad diets may not be nutritionally balanced or have lasting results, but they are fast. And then there is always bulimia... Gross, but weight loss will be the result. It is the same result no matter which method one chooses, and that is the important thing, right? Now the Medical Profession urges people to work with the natural processes of the body and these other methods work against the natural function of the human body, but they both have the same intention, don't they? That Medical Establishment is really mean to tell people that one of those choices is better for them than the others. (Catch the sarcasm?)
With NFP a couple's combined fertility is not treated like a disease that must be medically relieved. Rather their fertility is an intricate, sophisticated, awe-inspiring, inseparable part of the amazing created beings they are. I love that the times we used it I never felt taken for granted. Indeed, in order for NFP to work Matt has to love my whole self and respect the natural timing of the way my body works. We appreciate knowing when it's possible to conceive. If we have a serious reason to delay another pregnancy or limit our family size we have the means to do so while respecting that same natural timing. It does require periodic abstinence which I'll admit can be frustrating, but there is a payoff. Imagine desiring your spouse and knowing that you have both decided to wait until the infertile times of the month. Together you both begin looking forward to the time being right, and then it is! Instead of looking at those times of abstinence as a burden, see them as a courtship that builds up to a lovely honeymoon!
"Other than the fact that it's "natural", how is NFP different from other methods of contraception?"
It's true NFP can be used with a contracepting mentality, but using Natural Family Planning to avoid pregnancy - month in, month out, year after year - is not the desired norm for couples. There is some truth to the joke, "What do you call a couple who uses Natural Family Planning? Parents." Not because it is not effective (Studies show 98.8% effectiveness.), but because those who use it tend to be more open to having children. Matt and I have found our mutual desire does give us pause when we are discerning a need to wait. "Is our reason serious enough to keep our hands off each other?" And really, NFP is about more than avoiding pregnancy. It's about knowing the way our bodies work and respecting our dignity as a children of God. It's about letting God be God, and being open to new life. It's about receiving each child when they do come as a gift. Many couples use NFP to achieve pregnancy, too!
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| What's not to love? |
"If any Catholics object to contraceptives, they don't have to use them; but it's not fair to deny them to non-Catholics who merely work in Catholic institutions. Not everyone believes as you do. And what about the poor all around the world?"
So, we don't have to use them, we just have to pay for something we believe is completely immoral? Our words need to be backed up by action. If we really believe something, we should act as though we really believe it. Contraceptives are available elsewhere - often free of cost. We are not keeping women from obtaining contraception, but no one needs to get them from us. To supply or be forced to pay for anything that we truly believe harmful would make us liars. How then can we be people of Truth?
There is no denying there are situations where prudence tells us pregnancy should be postponed, even indefinitely in severe cases. If the situation happens to be particularly desperate, how much better to empower husbands and wives with the knowledge and support they need, with a method of avoiding pregnancy that does not rely on money, does not expire, and will not make things more difficult by adversely effecting their marriage or health. So much better than throwing pills or condoms at the problem! It works. Mother Teresa's Sisters of Charity teach Natural Family Planning to the poorest of the poor. Missionaries around the globe have found success in teaching NFP in conjunction with other health care. You can read about a parish in Kenya who has just begun this important work. It's really good stuff!
Did you really read all this to the end? Wow. I'm impressed. I'm exhausted. I've never written a post this long. My head hurts. My fingers hurt. Can I ask a favor? I need your help. I need you to pretend I came up with a fantastic way to end this post, tying up all the loose ends and writing a smooth conclusion. Got it? We good? Okay. Time for bed. Good night!
February 7, 2012
Not Just A River In Egypt
Denial.
Such weird weather. Where did all our snow go?
Hopefully we get more snow before the kids try to sled on the grass.
Such weird weather. Where did all our snow go?
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| Found some! There's still enough to play in! |
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| Enough for a teeny tiny snowman. |
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| Just enough for a snow-loving doggy. |
Hopefully we get more snow before the kids try to sled on the grass.
February 5, 2012
January 31, 2012
Frozen Pipes and Beef Jerky
Ugh. The pipe that supplies the washing machine is frozen - again.
I suppose I could use that as a legitimate excuse for not doing laundry, but being that I haven't caught up on all the laundry that accumulated while we were sick - burying the laundry room, covering bathroom floors, kicked under children's beds... Well, let's just say I'm not sure we could go more than a day without washing at least a load or two, lest my children go naked.
Okay. That's an exaggeration. They wouldn't necessarily be naked. I'm sure they could find something to wear, although, taking the kids grocery shopping draped in tablecloths, or better yet, random items from the box of dress-up, might raise a few eyebrows.
So, I'll warm the pipe, thaw it out, try once again to better insulate it, and get that washer going.
Thank God it has been a milder winter. It's given us the chance to find and fix the trouble spots in our farmhouse before we have to face the kind of winter old-timers gleefully describe to newbies just to watch their jaws drop.
(This should be read with a slightly wavering, high pitched, old person voice.) "Why, I remember a winter so cold we had to bring the cows into the house to thaw them out before we could milk them. Of course all they gave that winter was ice cream..."
There is another reason to be thankful for milder weather. We are still learning the ins and outs of keeping our house heated with one of these:
We encountered them only after moving here. The first time I saw smoke billowing out of one I thought someone's shed was on fire. After driving past several other houses with these smoking sheds and a complete absence of firetrucks, or at the very least alarmed people running around with garden hoses and water buckets, we realized they were smoking on purpose.
Our next theory? Everyone around here owned their own smokehouse. You know, for smoking meats? "Maybe folks around here just can't get enough beef jerky." An excusable theory to be sure because, and I say this with all love, you know how some people are... in Wisconsin.
Well, it turned out they were not smokehouses after all, but outdoor wood furnaces. Holy smokes, Batman!
See. Wood goes in here and gets all burned up.
This heats up water that surrounds the firebox. The hot water hurries through an underground pipe to our basement where it runs into a heat exchanger thingy. Then a giant fan pushes all that lovely heat through vents all over our house making us nice and toasty. I know!
If my overly technical explanation has gone over your head, and you are still a little fuzzy on the whole thing, you can follow this little link here to the website of one company that makes these wood furnaces. They have pictures, too.
How do we like it so far? Being that I personally don't go out very often to chop wood, nor venture out to load the furnace with said wood in the morning and again just before bed, well, I love it! Most of the time the job falls to Matt and Annie. Neither of them complain about it, and Annie loves to tell me how much more wood she can lift now compared with when we first bought the thing. All in all, we are pleased.
Our one true disappointment? You can't make beef jerky in it. Not to worry. Just this evening I caught Matt drawing out plans to build his very own smokehouse.
Keep warm, my friends!
I suppose I could use that as a legitimate excuse for not doing laundry, but being that I haven't caught up on all the laundry that accumulated while we were sick - burying the laundry room, covering bathroom floors, kicked under children's beds... Well, let's just say I'm not sure we could go more than a day without washing at least a load or two, lest my children go naked.
 |
| Naked? Oh, could we, please? |
Okay. That's an exaggeration. They wouldn't necessarily be naked. I'm sure they could find something to wear, although, taking the kids grocery shopping draped in tablecloths, or better yet, random items from the box of dress-up, might raise a few eyebrows.
 |
| We're ready to go, Mom. |
Thank God it has been a milder winter. It's given us the chance to find and fix the trouble spots in our farmhouse before we have to face the kind of winter old-timers gleefully describe to newbies just to watch their jaws drop.
(This should be read with a slightly wavering, high pitched, old person voice.) "Why, I remember a winter so cold we had to bring the cows into the house to thaw them out before we could milk them. Of course all they gave that winter was ice cream..."
There is another reason to be thankful for milder weather. We are still learning the ins and outs of keeping our house heated with one of these:
 |
| Isn't it beautiful?. |
We encountered them only after moving here. The first time I saw smoke billowing out of one I thought someone's shed was on fire. After driving past several other houses with these smoking sheds and a complete absence of firetrucks, or at the very least alarmed people running around with garden hoses and water buckets, we realized they were smoking on purpose.
Our next theory? Everyone around here owned their own smokehouse. You know, for smoking meats? "Maybe folks around here just can't get enough beef jerky." An excusable theory to be sure because, and I say this with all love, you know how some people are... in Wisconsin.
Well, it turned out they were not smokehouses after all, but outdoor wood furnaces. Holy smokes, Batman!
See. Wood goes in here and gets all burned up.
 |
| If only we had marshmallows. |
This heats up water that surrounds the firebox. The hot water hurries through an underground pipe to our basement where it runs into a heat exchanger thingy. Then a giant fan pushes all that lovely heat through vents all over our house making us nice and toasty. I know!
If my overly technical explanation has gone over your head, and you are still a little fuzzy on the whole thing, you can follow this little link here to the website of one company that makes these wood furnaces. They have pictures, too.
How do we like it so far? Being that I personally don't go out very often to chop wood, nor venture out to load the furnace with said wood in the morning and again just before bed, well, I love it! Most of the time the job falls to Matt and Annie. Neither of them complain about it, and Annie loves to tell me how much more wood she can lift now compared with when we first bought the thing. All in all, we are pleased.
Our one true disappointment? You can't make beef jerky in it. Not to worry. Just this evening I caught Matt drawing out plans to build his very own smokehouse.
+of+178.JPG) |
| Don't let Frank hear you! |
Keep warm, my friends!
January 27, 2012
Country Characters
Characters. Small towns are full of them and our small town is tiny enough to have characters in abundance.
I just happened to glance out the window as I passed by. What I beheld outside stopped me in my tracks. Frank (His name has been changed to protect his identity. I don't know if he reads my blog!) was standing in the middle of the road staring at the car stopped before him. I wondered briefly if he had been drinking. I could tell he wanted to walk past the vehicle, but every time he tried, the car moved to block him. Frank moved left, the car moved left. Frank moved to the right, and the car did the same. He backed up, the car inched it's way toward him.
"What in the world?" I exclaimed. Hearing me, the children gathered at the window, voicing their questions and concerns, everyone speaking at once.
"Mom, what is Frank doing in the road?"
"Is that car trying to run him over?"
"Nah! Frank's too big. The car would be totaled."
"Frank's making his move! He's going for the fence!"
"I didn't know Frank could jump, did you?"
"He can't do it. The fence is too high."
"I can't look."
"He did it! He's over!"
"No, wait! He's down! Frank fell."
"He can't get up. Is his leg broken?"
"Oh no! Poor Frank."
"This is awful!"
Frank was indeed down. He'd landed hard on his side, legs flailing in the air - all four of them. Did I forget to mention that Frank is a steer? Well he is. Was. Is. I think... I haven't seen him today. Anyway...
With great relief, we watched Frank heave himself up and to his feet, uh, hooves. He took a few hesitant steps then stopped to shoot an indignant look at the farmer who was just getting out of his car. How had he escaped this time? The farmer seemed to be thinking the same thing and began to walk the fence line, looking for a break. Frank stood his ground, continuing to give the farmer dirty looks.
Tired of all the attitude, the farmer waved his arms and shouted at the naughty steer. Frank took off, prancing up the field, nose in the air, apparently mocking the poor farmer.
"You didn't foil my escape plans. I wanted to come back. So there!"
The fence was fixed and a few minutes later we watched the rest of the herd enter the field from the gate closest to the barn. Seeing Frank they rushed toward him, but as they drew near lost courage and began to thin out, reaching him not as a group, but rather in a single file line. Frank's nose was still in the air.
Not sure if Frank was in a talking mood, the beast nearest him began by clearing his throat.
"Ahem. Umm... Hey, Frank. Soooo, how's it goin'? Ummm... I see you're still here. Me and the boys were just wondering if you were planning to head out again... later."
Frank didn't so much as twitch his tail. Uncertain how to continue, the steer standing nearest turned to the others behind him.
"He's not talkin'. Now what?"
Frank had had enough of such foolishness. Attempting to preserve what was left of his dignity, he lowered his head and charged the steer who had the nerve to speak to him. The entire herd (sans Frank) ran back to the gate as quickly as they could, begging the farmer to let them back into the barn. Frank, with the field all to himself again, turned his back on them. What was going through his mind after that we may never know. He remained silent for the rest of the afternoon.
Of course, I am of the opinion he used that time to plot his next escape.
Only time will tell...
I just happened to glance out the window as I passed by. What I beheld outside stopped me in my tracks. Frank (His name has been changed to protect his identity. I don't know if he reads my blog!) was standing in the middle of the road staring at the car stopped before him. I wondered briefly if he had been drinking. I could tell he wanted to walk past the vehicle, but every time he tried, the car moved to block him. Frank moved left, the car moved left. Frank moved to the right, and the car did the same. He backed up, the car inched it's way toward him.
"What in the world?" I exclaimed. Hearing me, the children gathered at the window, voicing their questions and concerns, everyone speaking at once.
"Mom, what is Frank doing in the road?"
"Is that car trying to run him over?"
"Nah! Frank's too big. The car would be totaled."
"Frank's making his move! He's going for the fence!"
"I didn't know Frank could jump, did you?"
"He can't do it. The fence is too high."
"I can't look."
"He did it! He's over!"
"No, wait! He's down! Frank fell."
"He can't get up. Is his leg broken?"
"Oh no! Poor Frank."
"This is awful!"
Frank was indeed down. He'd landed hard on his side, legs flailing in the air - all four of them. Did I forget to mention that Frank is a steer? Well he is. Was. Is. I think... I haven't seen him today. Anyway...
With great relief, we watched Frank heave himself up and to his feet, uh, hooves. He took a few hesitant steps then stopped to shoot an indignant look at the farmer who was just getting out of his car. How had he escaped this time? The farmer seemed to be thinking the same thing and began to walk the fence line, looking for a break. Frank stood his ground, continuing to give the farmer dirty looks.
Tired of all the attitude, the farmer waved his arms and shouted at the naughty steer. Frank took off, prancing up the field, nose in the air, apparently mocking the poor farmer.
"You didn't foil my escape plans. I wanted to come back. So there!"
The fence was fixed and a few minutes later we watched the rest of the herd enter the field from the gate closest to the barn. Seeing Frank they rushed toward him, but as they drew near lost courage and began to thin out, reaching him not as a group, but rather in a single file line. Frank's nose was still in the air.
Not sure if Frank was in a talking mood, the beast nearest him began by clearing his throat.
"Ahem. Umm... Hey, Frank. Soooo, how's it goin'? Ummm... I see you're still here. Me and the boys were just wondering if you were planning to head out again... later."
Frank didn't so much as twitch his tail. Uncertain how to continue, the steer standing nearest turned to the others behind him.
"He's not talkin'. Now what?"
Frank had had enough of such foolishness. Attempting to preserve what was left of his dignity, he lowered his head and charged the steer who had the nerve to speak to him. The entire herd (sans Frank) ran back to the gate as quickly as they could, begging the farmer to let them back into the barn. Frank, with the field all to himself again, turned his back on them. What was going through his mind after that we may never know. He remained silent for the rest of the afternoon.
Of course, I am of the opinion he used that time to plot his next escape.
Only time will tell...
by Gary Larson
January 16, 2012
Shootout At the Sci-Fi Corral
I dusted myself off and checked my hat for holes. Nope, nary a one. I was still standing - surprised, but unscathed.
It happened so fast. "So, what church do you go to?" my questioner asked while assuming the pose of an Old West gunslinger, fingers twitching, poised for the fast draw. Thoroughly, unashamedly, joyfully Catholic, I answered simply and with a smile, "St. Mary's."
At that moment the town clock struck noon - high noon. A tumble weed blew by. Where was that funky music coming from? Oo-ay-oo-ay-oooo, wah, wah, wah!
Before I could react the sincere soul before me unloaded both barrels. Scripture verses near and dear to my heart whizzed by my head in rapid succession. Apparently this verse-slinger packed a machine gun in place of a revolver. Without a pause for breath or letting me get a word in edgewise, the barrage continued.
"Peter was a big sinner - there was nothing special about Mary - you worship idols - and your spurs don't jingle like mine!"
My turn finally came.
"I love St Peter. If Mary was good enough for Jesus, she's good enough for you and me. I most certainly do not worship idols. And I'm not wearing spurs. They annoy my horse."
I doubt any of that was heard. Probably believing I was mortally wounded, my shooter quickly moved on to other targets. A quote from the late Bishop Fulton Sheen crossed my mind.
"There are not a hundred people in the United States who hate the Catholic Church. There are millions, however, who hate what they wrongly believe to be the Catholic Church....As a matter of fact, if we Catholics believed all of the untruths and lies which were said against the Church, we probably would hate the Church a thousand times more than they do."
Well said, Bishop! There is a ton of misinformation out there! Disagree with me if you'd like, but at least disagree with what I really believe. Of course, I might be tempted to put it more along the lines of another quote that suddenly popped into my head.
"If we’re going to be damned, let’s be damned for what we really are!"
So, who said that one? The (slightly embarrassing) answer - Captain Jean Luc Picard of the starship Enterprise. Yeah. I know. My geek is showing.
Perhaps the next time I encounter my new friend I will actually be able to hold a two-sided conversation. That would be nice. I'd hate to have to stun 'em with my phaser.
It happened so fast. "So, what church do you go to?" my questioner asked while assuming the pose of an Old West gunslinger, fingers twitching, poised for the fast draw. Thoroughly, unashamedly, joyfully Catholic, I answered simply and with a smile, "St. Mary's."
At that moment the town clock struck noon - high noon. A tumble weed blew by. Where was that funky music coming from? Oo-ay-oo-ay-oooo, wah, wah, wah!
Before I could react the sincere soul before me unloaded both barrels. Scripture verses near and dear to my heart whizzed by my head in rapid succession. Apparently this verse-slinger packed a machine gun in place of a revolver. Without a pause for breath or letting me get a word in edgewise, the barrage continued.
"Peter was a big sinner - there was nothing special about Mary - you worship idols - and your spurs don't jingle like mine!"
My turn finally came.
"I love St Peter. If Mary was good enough for Jesus, she's good enough for you and me. I most certainly do not worship idols. And I'm not wearing spurs. They annoy my horse."
I doubt any of that was heard. Probably believing I was mortally wounded, my shooter quickly moved on to other targets. A quote from the late Bishop Fulton Sheen crossed my mind.
"There are not a hundred people in the United States who hate the Catholic Church. There are millions, however, who hate what they wrongly believe to be the Catholic Church....As a matter of fact, if we Catholics believed all of the untruths and lies which were said against the Church, we probably would hate the Church a thousand times more than they do."
Well said, Bishop! There is a ton of misinformation out there! Disagree with me if you'd like, but at least disagree with what I really believe. Of course, I might be tempted to put it more along the lines of another quote that suddenly popped into my head.
"If we’re going to be damned, let’s be damned for what we really are!"
So, who said that one? The (slightly embarrassing) answer - Captain Jean Luc Picard of the starship Enterprise. Yeah. I know. My geek is showing.
Perhaps the next time I encounter my new friend I will actually be able to hold a two-sided conversation. That would be nice. I'd hate to have to stun 'em with my phaser.
January 15, 2012
Words That Should NOT Go Together
Baby Joseph
and
Pneumonia.
I repeat, those words should NOT go together... ever.
There should be a law.
and
Pneumonia.
I repeat, those words should NOT go together... ever.
There should be a law.
January 13, 2012
Are We There Yet?
I'm linking to a post from one of my very favorite bloggy friends. Read this and you'll see why.
...And Tired
Sick. Sick and tired of being sick. Yes, sir. That's what I am.
And that's what we are... again.
I don't think we have ever had so many illnesses in such a short period of time. Since moving in we have had Strep Throat, Whooping Cough, Strep Throat - again, stomach flu, and now a nasty, nasty cold. Sore throat, cough, headache, fever... The poor baby has had a fever for days and holding him in my arms feels like I'm hugging a hot water bottle to my chest. Back when I said I hoped we wouldn't catch the plague, I was just kidding. Now, I'm not so sure it's a joke.
The doctor sent us away saying I was doing everything that should be done, and apparently I knew what I was doing, "so go home and keep doing it." Fine.
To top it all off, I seem to have caught new-mom-itis. I didn't think I could catch that after having six kids, but it seems this special malady can strike even those of us that are old hands at the mom business. I guess I can add that to the list.
(By the way, did you notice what I just did there? If you are an old hand at the mom business I just lumped you in with me. It made me feel better. Thank you for making me feel better.)
And that's what we are... again.
I don't think we have ever had so many illnesses in such a short period of time. Since moving in we have had Strep Throat, Whooping Cough, Strep Throat - again, stomach flu, and now a nasty, nasty cold. Sore throat, cough, headache, fever... The poor baby has had a fever for days and holding him in my arms feels like I'm hugging a hot water bottle to my chest. Back when I said I hoped we wouldn't catch the plague, I was just kidding. Now, I'm not so sure it's a joke.
The doctor sent us away saying I was doing everything that should be done, and apparently I knew what I was doing, "so go home and keep doing it." Fine.
To top it all off, I seem to have caught new-mom-itis. I didn't think I could catch that after having six kids, but it seems this special malady can strike even those of us that are old hands at the mom business. I guess I can add that to the list.
(By the way, did you notice what I just did there? If you are an old hand at the mom business I just lumped you in with me. It made me feel better. Thank you for making me feel better.)
January 10, 2012
So Very Six
I love six-year-olds. And of all the six-year-olds I have had, Mary is the most six-ish.
Hey Mom, did you know I can play really bad sounding music on the piano? Wanna hear?
I love to eat sushi! I just don't like the way it tastes.
Achoo! Oh darn! (said with great exasperation) Now there's snot all over it. I'll have to start over.
I like to talk about cute, fuzzy animals, 'cause they're not just cute - they're cute and fuzzy.
Want to see a dance I can do? When I was born I didn't know how to dance. I still don't know how to.
I love you, Mom.
I love you too, Mary, more than you could know.
Hey Mom, did you know I can play really bad sounding music on the piano? Wanna hear?
I love to eat sushi! I just don't like the way it tastes.
Achoo! Oh darn! (said with great exasperation) Now there's snot all over it. I'll have to start over.
I like to talk about cute, fuzzy animals, 'cause they're not just cute - they're cute and fuzzy.
Want to see a dance I can do? When I was born I didn't know how to dance. I still don't know how to.
I love you, Mom.
I love you too, Mary, more than you could know.
January 7, 2012
Can Anyone Hear Me?
I have a confession to make. Sometimes I yell at my children.
It's not name-calling yelling, but I'm-just-trying-to-be-heard yelling. And I hate it. Not that it does me any good. My children have selective hearing. Don't believe me? Try this:
In a loud, clear voice say, "Someone, let the dogs out!" Not a head turned. Try again, louder this time. "The dogs need to potty. Let them out!" See that? No one even flinched.
Now, hide your mouth behind your hand. Lean in close to me and whisper softly, as though you don't even want me to hear you, the words "ice cream".
Congratulations. You have just triggered a child stampede. Watch as they come pouring in from rooms all over the house, tromping down the stairs, shoving each other in their mad dash, crashing into one another as they attempt to skid to a stop before you. "Did you call us? I thought I heard the words 'ice cream'. Did someone say 'ice cream'? Are we having dessert?"
I often remind my children about right-away-obedience. We have discussed the fact that the correct response when called is not "What?", but "Coming!" It's getting their attention in the first place that I seem to have trouble with. I suppose I could randomly interject attention grabbing words into each request.
"Someone, candy bar, needs to, video game, let the dogs out, recess!"
Their Daddy Boats, ever the navy man, is quite skilled with his boatswain's pipe. In the morning he stands at the foot of the stairs and pipes the children awake. A few notes on the pipe and a shout of "Reveille, reveille! All hands heave out and trice up! Reveille!" works wonders. To my constant amazement the kids are out of bed and downstairs in moments. Well, Annie doesn't jump up quite as fast as the boys do, but after a groggy complaint or two, even she makes an appearance.
It's not name-calling yelling, but I'm-just-trying-to-be-heard yelling. And I hate it. Not that it does me any good. My children have selective hearing. Don't believe me? Try this:
In a loud, clear voice say, "Someone, let the dogs out!" Not a head turned. Try again, louder this time. "The dogs need to potty. Let them out!" See that? No one even flinched.
Now, hide your mouth behind your hand. Lean in close to me and whisper softly, as though you don't even want me to hear you, the words "ice cream".
Congratulations. You have just triggered a child stampede. Watch as they come pouring in from rooms all over the house, tromping down the stairs, shoving each other in their mad dash, crashing into one another as they attempt to skid to a stop before you. "Did you call us? I thought I heard the words 'ice cream'. Did someone say 'ice cream'? Are we having dessert?"
I often remind my children about right-away-obedience. We have discussed the fact that the correct response when called is not "What?", but "Coming!" It's getting their attention in the first place that I seem to have trouble with. I suppose I could randomly interject attention grabbing words into each request.
"Someone, candy bar, needs to, video game, let the dogs out, recess!"
Their Daddy Boats, ever the navy man, is quite skilled with his boatswain's pipe. In the morning he stands at the foot of the stairs and pipes the children awake. A few notes on the pipe and a shout of "Reveille, reveille! All hands heave out and trice up! Reveille!" works wonders. To my constant amazement the kids are out of bed and downstairs in moments. Well, Annie doesn't jump up quite as fast as the boys do, but after a groggy complaint or two, even she makes an appearance.
I bet I could learn to use the boatswain's pipe. I just have to find it. "Does anyone know where Daddy's pipe is? Hello! Anyone? Hellooo! Guys, where are you?... Ice cream!"
January 3, 2012
Game On
Last night several of us felt well enough for a game of Uno. That's really saying something. Games in this house are rarely sedate events. After several days of laying around there was an abundance of silliness that simply had to get out.
What's the Spanish word for uno?
(laughter)
Seven.
Oh. That works?
Sure.
(more laughter)
Cool! You dealt me a bunch of power-ups!
Dude, power-ups are for video games. These are cards!
(giggling)
Remind me to play poker with you later.
(on seeing Annie's face light up when she looked at her cards)
I think he's cheating!
No I'm not! Who cheats at Uno?!?
(a chorus of voices) I do!
For your viewing pleasure - a few seconds of game night in our house:
What's the Spanish word for uno?
(laughter)
Seven.
Oh. That works?
Sure.
(more laughter)
Cool! You dealt me a bunch of power-ups!
Dude, power-ups are for video games. These are cards!
(giggling)
Remind me to play poker with you later.
(on seeing Annie's face light up when she looked at her cards)
I think he's cheating!
No I'm not! Who cheats at Uno?!?
(a chorus of voices) I do!
For your viewing pleasure - a few seconds of game night in our house:
January 2, 2012
January 1, 2012
Armchair Reflections
I had been sitting there for hours. The sun, just rising, hit me square in the face with its obnoxious glare, emphasizing the dark circles under my eyes. I was a vision of loveliness to be sure. Dressed in sweatpants and one of my husband's t-shirts (because all of mine were still wet in the washer), bath towel draped over my lap, my hair was a mess and I smelled faintly of vomit.
The vomit wasn't even mine. It belonged to the tiny boy sleeping fitfully in my arms. My neck and shoulders were aching, but I was afraid to move and wake him.
We'd had quite a night. Older children got sick in buckets placed near their beds, but baby Joey vomited with abandon and without warning of any kind. He covered several of my shirts, his jammies, sheets, blanket, the floor... and that thing all the way over there across the room. Who knew sick could travel so far?
Of course, I didn't really care about all of that. My biggest concern was making sure my sick little baby was cared for and comforted. If that meant a sleepless night, smelling of vomit, holding his precious weight until my arms felt like they were going to fall off, then so be it.
I peered at the Christmas tree, dark and quiet in the corner. Paper chains still hung festively from the windows. Glittery snowflakes dangled from the light fixture over the dining table. Gold stars stood silent watch atop the piano. What had happened to the idyllic Christmas I envisioned? Everything had started out well; but let's face it, the disheveled woman sitting in her living room, holding her sick baby, wrapped in a towel, hardly looked Christmas card perfect.
I glanced at the Nativity scene, and through the fog of my sleep-deprived brain flashed an image of the birth of Our Lord very different from the pretty, sanitized version displayed on my table. It occurred to me that the real Nativity probably didn't look Christmas card perfect either. If cameras existed back then we most likely would've photo-shopped the Dickens out of any images taken in that stable. I'm sure St. Joseph did the very best he could, but I imagine the animals that sheltered there didn't stop being smelly animals just 'cause the Christ Child was born in their midst.
Life on earth is messy. Such was His love for us that he deigned to enter the mess in order to lift us out of it. He was willing to become one of us, truly one of us. The Eternal stepped into time in order to bring us to eternity. The mess and the stink weren’t His doing, but ours. Nevertheless; He didn’t shrink from us, but became like us to bring us the healing we so desperately needed.
Joey and I stayed in that chair for a while longer. Neither of us smelled any better, but I was more at peace… except for that queasiness beginning to take hold of me. Oh, dear. Maybe next year our Christmas will be a little more “Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire”, and a little less “Eww! Where’s the air freshener?”
December 27, 2011
On the Third Day of Christmas
my true love gave to meeee...
a bucket 'cause we have the stomach fluuuu!!!
Everybody sing!
No?
Bummer.
Well, there are still nine days left. I shall just have to hold out hope for those.
a bucket 'cause we have the stomach fluuuu!!!
Everybody sing!
No?
Bummer.
Well, there are still nine days left. I shall just have to hold out hope for those.
Merry Christmas Anyway
It's not as if I spent no time WHAT-SO-EVER pondering the holy mystery of the Incarnation of Christ. I did, in fact, have some beautiful reflections on this sacred feast of the Birth of Our Lord. I even considered sharing a couple of them. But, you see, I live in a zoo. Amidst the incense and greenery, the beautiful hymns and candle-lit Nativity scenes, dwells my nutty little family.
Tonight around the dining room table, smack in the middle of our Second-Day-of-Christmas/Feast of St. Stephen dinner, there occurred a moment that will be recounted in our family circle for years to come.
I happened to mention to my husband, just in passing, mind you, that the Harlem Globetrotters would be visiting a nearby city, and I wondered aloud if the kids would enjoy their show. When one of the boys asked who the Globetrotters were, another child spoke up to remind him of an old 70's cartoon they had watched which featured the entertaining basketball team.
"Of course we wouldn't get to see the same players shown in the cartoon," their Daddy interjected. "I'm not sure any of them are still alive."
"You mean the Globetrotters are dead?" David wanted to know. He sounded upset.
Matt thought for a moment. "I know at least one of them has died. I'm not sure, but in any case they have new players now."
"Yeah," Brendan chimed in. "That cartoon was kind of old - like The Three Stooges."
"The Three Stooges are dead!?!" Alex asked, distressed. He and David looked to be on the verge of tears. What was going on in their little heads?
"Honey, it's a really old show..." I tried to reason with him. David pulled his shirt over his eyes. I looked at my husband. "Oh my goodness. Do something."
Brendan decided to try again. "Guys, you know those shows were made a long time ago. Just because they're still on TV doesn't mean the people are still around. Remember when I told you about the man who did the voice of Bugs Bunny?"
"BUGS BUNNY'S DEAD!?!" Mary wailed, bursting into tears.
That was it. I lost it. I couldn't help it. The harder I tried not to laugh the worse it got. I put my hands over my mouth while tears streamed down my cheeks. Mary thought I was crying about poor Bugs Bunny and cried even harder. I put my head down on the table, my shoulders shaking as Matt did his best to comfort the children in mourning. Oh, yeah. I've got that Mother of the Year award nailed.
Excuse me, can I have a do-over?
It's a good thing we have twelve full days to celebrate Christmas. That gives me ten more chances to refocus our family on Jesus' birthday and all that that means.
Until then: Merry Christmas, Bugs Bunny. May you rest in peace.
Tonight around the dining room table, smack in the middle of our Second-Day-of-Christmas/Feast of St. Stephen dinner, there occurred a moment that will be recounted in our family circle for years to come.
I happened to mention to my husband, just in passing, mind you, that the Harlem Globetrotters would be visiting a nearby city, and I wondered aloud if the kids would enjoy their show. When one of the boys asked who the Globetrotters were, another child spoke up to remind him of an old 70's cartoon they had watched which featured the entertaining basketball team.
"Of course we wouldn't get to see the same players shown in the cartoon," their Daddy interjected. "I'm not sure any of them are still alive."
"You mean the Globetrotters are dead?" David wanted to know. He sounded upset.
Matt thought for a moment. "I know at least one of them has died. I'm not sure, but in any case they have new players now."
"Yeah," Brendan chimed in. "That cartoon was kind of old - like The Three Stooges."
"The Three Stooges are dead!?!" Alex asked, distressed. He and David looked to be on the verge of tears. What was going on in their little heads?
"Honey, it's a really old show..." I tried to reason with him. David pulled his shirt over his eyes. I looked at my husband. "Oh my goodness. Do something."
Brendan decided to try again. "Guys, you know those shows were made a long time ago. Just because they're still on TV doesn't mean the people are still around. Remember when I told you about the man who did the voice of Bugs Bunny?"
"BUGS BUNNY'S DEAD!?!" Mary wailed, bursting into tears.
That was it. I lost it. I couldn't help it. The harder I tried not to laugh the worse it got. I put my hands over my mouth while tears streamed down my cheeks. Mary thought I was crying about poor Bugs Bunny and cried even harder. I put my head down on the table, my shoulders shaking as Matt did his best to comfort the children in mourning. Oh, yeah. I've got that Mother of the Year award nailed.
Excuse me, can I have a do-over?
It's a good thing we have twelve full days to celebrate Christmas. That gives me ten more chances to refocus our family on Jesus' birthday and all that that means.
Until then: Merry Christmas, Bugs Bunny. May you rest in peace.
December 23, 2011
Reading Between The Lines
I tried to reason with him. I tried explaining things to him using small words and lots of hand gestures, but, oddly, he didn't seem to understand.
"Joey," I said. "Mommy has so many things to do right now. I would like nothing better than to hold you in my arms all day long, but I simply can't. We have guests coming. Rooms need to be cleaned, food prepared, gifts wrapped. Don't you think you can be content playing with your toys for a little while so I can get some work done?"
As I looked into his little eyes staring up at me I could see understanding and compassion for his weary mama dawn on his face.
"Why yes, Mother," I could almost hear him say. "I could sit and play quietly, leaving you to your Christmas preparations, but you see, I'm teething. I simply cannot be out of your arms at all today. I do so truly appreciate the sacrifice you are making, forgoing all else you need to accomplish. The fact that you are here, nursing me, instead of cooking and cleaning makes me love you even more."
Okay, so he was nursing with a big scowl on his brow, whacking my face with his hands, and making grumpy noises at me, but sometimes a mother has to read between the lines. I knew what he meant. It will give me comfort when my guests arrive and discover we are eating Christmas dinner out on the front porch, 'cause the dining room is still a mess.
"Joey," I said. "Mommy has so many things to do right now. I would like nothing better than to hold you in my arms all day long, but I simply can't. We have guests coming. Rooms need to be cleaned, food prepared, gifts wrapped. Don't you think you can be content playing with your toys for a little while so I can get some work done?"
As I looked into his little eyes staring up at me I could see understanding and compassion for his weary mama dawn on his face.
"Why yes, Mother," I could almost hear him say. "I could sit and play quietly, leaving you to your Christmas preparations, but you see, I'm teething. I simply cannot be out of your arms at all today. I do so truly appreciate the sacrifice you are making, forgoing all else you need to accomplish. The fact that you are here, nursing me, instead of cooking and cleaning makes me love you even more."
Okay, so he was nursing with a big scowl on his brow, whacking my face with his hands, and making grumpy noises at me, but sometimes a mother has to read between the lines. I knew what he meant. It will give me comfort when my guests arrive and discover we are eating Christmas dinner out on the front porch, 'cause the dining room is still a mess.
December 21, 2011
Papa, It's Cold Outside
The telephone call went something like this:
Papa: Is it very cold, yet?
Alex: Really cold.
Papa: Do you like the cold?
Alex: No!
Papa: I knew you were the smart one.
My warm-weather-dwelling-can't-stand-being-cold Papa is still amazed his daughter (That's me!), son-in-law, and grandchildren have chosen such a cold place to to live. "You really like it, huh?" he asks, puzzled.
Perhaps I should clarify something for my Papa. It's not the cold that keeps us here. None of us like being cold. We do not like cold fingers and toes... and arms... and legs... and faces... We do not enjoy scraping ice off frozen windshields or driving on icy roads. We aren't happy about the need to pull on snow boots and several layers of clothing just to retrieve mail from the mailbox out front. It's not the cold we love, rather we love this place in spite of it.
When I was growing up winter meant fog so thick at times you couldn't see your hand in front of your face. Now it means bright white that shimmers and shines as though someone has sprinkled sparkly glitter over the whole outdoors. Oooo! And icicles. It's just so pretty! Especially when viewed from the window - while wrapped in a blanket, sipping hot tea, and yelling for someone to please turn the heater up.
Because of snow, the kids cannot ride their bikes, but sledding wears them out faster anyway. In fact, after a good while of sledding I call them in, give them cups of hot chocolate, and watch them pass out on the floor. Makes me happy.
We may still have snow on the ground here while my mother begins planting flowers there, but we are busy with other outdoor activities. We can sit in a little shack on upturned buckets, drinking coffee from a thermos, and stare at a hole in the ice for hours on end. Locals call it ice fishing. But since fishing implies actually catching something, I prefer to call it ice watching.
And then, there are bragging rights. I haven't lost them. I used to speak of summers where temperatures soared well over one hundred for weeks on end. I can now brag of enduring winter temperatures that sink so low we have to warm up to get to zero.
And the best part of living here on the frozen tundra? Seemingly, as a counterpoint to all that cold weather the people here are extra warm and friendly.
So, yes. We really do like it, Papa. Hopefully you will be able to visit us at least once during the winter. We don't have as much fog here, but we can still take you ice watching. And I promise to save you a seat by the heater.
Papa: Is it very cold, yet?
Alex: Really cold.
Papa: Do you like the cold?
Alex: No!
Papa: I knew you were the smart one.
My warm-weather-dwelling-can't-stand-being-cold Papa is still amazed his daughter (That's me!), son-in-law, and grandchildren have chosen such a cold place to to live. "You really like it, huh?" he asks, puzzled.
Perhaps I should clarify something for my Papa. It's not the cold that keeps us here. None of us like being cold. We do not like cold fingers and toes... and arms... and legs... and faces... We do not enjoy scraping ice off frozen windshields or driving on icy roads. We aren't happy about the need to pull on snow boots and several layers of clothing just to retrieve mail from the mailbox out front. It's not the cold we love, rather we love this place in spite of it.
When I was growing up winter meant fog so thick at times you couldn't see your hand in front of your face. Now it means bright white that shimmers and shines as though someone has sprinkled sparkly glitter over the whole outdoors. Oooo! And icicles. It's just so pretty! Especially when viewed from the window - while wrapped in a blanket, sipping hot tea, and yelling for someone to please turn the heater up.
Because of snow, the kids cannot ride their bikes, but sledding wears them out faster anyway. In fact, after a good while of sledding I call them in, give them cups of hot chocolate, and watch them pass out on the floor. Makes me happy.
We may still have snow on the ground here while my mother begins planting flowers there, but we are busy with other outdoor activities. We can sit in a little shack on upturned buckets, drinking coffee from a thermos, and stare at a hole in the ice for hours on end. Locals call it ice fishing. But since fishing implies actually catching something, I prefer to call it ice watching.
And then, there are bragging rights. I haven't lost them. I used to speak of summers where temperatures soared well over one hundred for weeks on end. I can now brag of enduring winter temperatures that sink so low we have to warm up to get to zero.
And the best part of living here on the frozen tundra? Seemingly, as a counterpoint to all that cold weather the people here are extra warm and friendly.
So, yes. We really do like it, Papa. Hopefully you will be able to visit us at least once during the winter. We don't have as much fog here, but we can still take you ice watching. And I promise to save you a seat by the heater.
December 19, 2011
He's So Understanding
Feeling slightly distracted in my sorry attempt to multi-task, I found myself apologizing once again for calling one of my twin sons by the wrong name.
"Oh, David, I'm sorry. I don't know why I keep doing that."
David was quick to furnish an answer.
"Senility?"
I just looked at him. He quietly got up and left the room.
I am so moving in with him when I'm old.
"Oh, David, I'm sorry. I don't know why I keep doing that."
David was quick to furnish an answer.
"Senility?"
I just looked at him. He quietly got up and left the room.
I am so moving in with him when I'm old.
December 16, 2011
You'll Have To Do Better Than That
Mary and a little boy were playing together when he started bragging about his family's trip to view a Christmas display at a local museum - Christmas at the Castle.
He finished his description with, "It was a castle and it had giant nutcrackers!"
Mary's not very impressed response made me laugh. "But, did it have hot chocolate?"
She may have a point. After all, what good is a castle if there's no chocolate?
He finished his description with, "It was a castle and it had giant nutcrackers!"
Mary's not very impressed response made me laugh. "But, did it have hot chocolate?"
She may have a point. After all, what good is a castle if there's no chocolate?
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