I can be so ridiculous sometimes!

Ok, so I have to tell you about the laugh I had on myself yesterday.  I got poison ivy about 2 weeks ago and have been itching like mad.  I've been sort of obsessing over it.  Diagnosing it myself... "Is it poison ivy, is it not?  Oh no, I had this when I was a kid and ended up on the couch for a week.  Did I give it to Jack?  I'm nursing him.  Oh, I hope he doesn't get it!  I see a red dot on him, could it be poison ivy?"  So I've been driving Doug nuts.  I know it, because he's kind of like, "put some cream on it and get over it".  He didn't say it in exactly those words because he loves me, but I was getting the picture.   AND THEN....

the backs of my legs started itching insanely.  It did not look at all like the previous spots, and it had been a long time since my first outbreak.  Now I'm thinking I've got chiggers!  OMG!  I never want to go outside again.  I HATE bugs!!!  So I start obsessing about these new spots.  (I learned nothing from before, you see).  "Oh my goodness, is it chiggers?  How do you get rid of it?  Does Jack have it?  Can I give it to everyone else?  How did I get it?"  Once again, I'm self-diagnosing.  I really have no idea what it is, it just doesn't look the same as the poison ivy.  Anyhow.  I went to the prayer meeting last night and as I got in the car to go home, 6 of the kids were with me, and Rachel shouts, "MOM! THERES SOMETHING ON YOUR FACE!"  So, considering my state of mind, and my recent obsession with bugs, I begin flailing my arms, screaming, swatting at my face and whipping my hands through my hair.  Try to picture it.  I'm not lying.  I looked like a complete idiot.  I scared the daylights out of all of my children.  And then, I saw it.  It was a harmless little ladybug.  I looked at Rachel's horrified face and I busted up laughing.  I laughed out loud so hard, and so loud.  And then all the kids started laughing, except for Holly, who was crying because she was sitting next to me and I terrified her.  The lesson I learned:  quit being an idiot and GET OVER IT!  I love God's sense of humor, don't you?

Something I Needed to Hear

This is going to be a long post... so if you don't have time to read it... then maybe later?  I LOVE this chapter in the book I just read called "Mom to Mom, Day to Day: Advice and Support for Catholic Living." by Danielle Bean (2007).  I have to write the whole thing because it's just too good not to.. And then I will tell you about my glorious self (not really).

Here it is.  Thank you, Danielle!

It's the Little Things

I don't know about you, but I can handle big disasters.  I actually keep my cool rather well in crisis situations.  It's the little things that get me.  Some days, the continual accumulation of tiny annoyances builds and builds until at great long last, it threatens to do me in.

One recent Saturday, my husband, Dan, took the older boys fishing.  Left alone with the other children for the afternoon, I decided we could get a start on some gardening work that needed to be done.  The strawberry patch was most pressing - the plants had arrived a few days before and had been weighing on my conscience ever since.  The box was well stamped with warnings: PERISHABLE PRODUCT!  PLANT IMMEDIATELY!  DO NOT DELAY!

But we had nowhere ready to plant them yet.  So I put baby Raphael down for his nap and asked Kateri to find me a shovel.  Raphael must have sensed my impending plans for actually accomplishing something.  He whined.  He shouted.  He sobbed.  But he would not nap.

Well, it was a beautiful, sunny afternoon, so I scooped him from his bed, brought him outside, and plunked him - barefoot - in the sandbox.  I charged Juliette with supervising him, picked up the shovel, and headed into the field.

As it turned out, however, the grassy spot I had scouted out for the strawberries was actually a rather mossy spot.  Thickly mossy.  Densely mossy.  Though I stabbed at the earth with the shovel, it remained obstinate.  At one point, I managed to get the blade of the shovel to break through just a bit, and then I proceeded to jump on it with both feet.  This acrobatic performance did little to improve the situation.

For her part, three-year-old Gabrielle was doing little to improve the situation either.  She parked herself on the ground beside me and moaned about a recent injury.  If I held my head to one side and squinted at her knee just so, I could barely make out a tiny, almost-pink line where she had suffered a scrape after falling off her tricycle.

"Need band-aid Mama." she whined. "Neeeeeeeeeed band-aaaaaaid."

It was right about that time that the beautiful springtime sun became vicious.  It mercilessly beat down upon my back and shoulders, and I felt a trickle of sweat form between my shoulder blades.

It was right about that time, too, that the black flies made their appearance.  Where on earth did they come from?  And how could I have not noticed them before?  They swarmed and buzzed in my ears.  Perniciously, they bit at my neck and weaseled their way into my eyes, my nostrils, and down my shirt.  

Come to think of it, it was right about that time, too, that Raphael tired of the sandbox and called for me, arms outstretched, from across the field.  It was right about then that I knelt down on the ground to examine it and felt the cold wet of recent rains seep through the knees of my jeans.  It was right about then that I realized I had been attempting to overturn not a small patch of earth but an enormous, moss-covered chunk of granite.  It was right about then that I recalled that the strawberry patch was my husband's idea in the first place.  It was right about then that I remembered I had left a load of clothes in the dryer that were probably sitting, cold and wrinkled, awaiting attention in my house.  It was right about then that I thought of the casserole I had intended to put together during Raphael's nap and the chicken I had neglected to remove from the freezer that morning.

I will spare you (okay, me) the details of what happened next.  Maybe some wildly immature person threw a shovel and shouted something she shouldn't have.  Anyway, it's none of your business if she did.  She probably doesn't usually do that kind of thing and maybe she felt bad about it afterwards and it was probably just all those little annoying things that got to her.

Because motherhood can be so overwhelming and because all the necessary, tiny tasks that make up our daily routines as wives and mothers can be so mind-numbing and frustrating, I'm in good company.  Many mothers I know struggle with controlling their tempers.

Sometimes, even perfect strangers will ask me: "Do you ever have a bad day?  do you ever yell at your kids?  Every time, I can hear the hope and uncertainty in the questioner's voices.  They want desperately to know: Is this normal?  Am I a bad mother because I lost my temper sometimes?  Do other mothers yell at their kids?

Why, oh why, do we women insist upon torturing ourselves with the thought that every mother in the world is perfect...except ourselves.

When w see a cheerful woman with well-behaved children in the grocery store or at Mass, why do we assume she never has a bad moment?  Why do we think that other moms have it all together all the time?  Why do we imagine that other women have perfect marriages, ever-orderly homes, and sophisticated spiritual lives?  Why do we believe that we are the only ones who ever get tired or cranky or just plain "sick of it" and yell at our children?

We all have different temperaments, of course, so some mothers are going to struggle with their tempers more than others.  But I really do believe that every mother does yell at her kids, at least occasionally.  As a natural consequence of embracing the motherly vocation, we will have our patience tried and tried and tried.  This is part of the difficulty of parenting that might not be immediately apparent to an outside observer.  The spilled juice.  The whiny two-year-old.  The bickering preteens. The dishes, the laundry, the carpooling.  Eventually, some small thing happens, like a potty mess or an act of disobedience, and we lose it.  We yell.  We might even cry.  And then we feel terrible afterward.

Ok, so I read this and I thought, FINALLY, someone has said it.  All mothers yell at their children.  I agonize over this problem myself, and after reading this chapter, I've actually wondered if I'm one of those mothers who struggles with a temper more than others.  What I do know, is I can totally relate to this mom in that I am soooo good at ignoring things.  I can handle all kinds of stressful situations.  The kids are yelling and fighting.  The supper is not working the way I've planned.  I got home late from work so I'm already behind.  I'm telling myself in my head. "It's ok.  You can do this.  One thing at a time."  But as these things all pile up, and I'm working so hard at remaining calm, eventually I do have a breaking point.  Sadly, the breaking point usually makes no sense at all.  Someone just has to be the straw that breaks the camel's back.  Whether it be the child who asks for help with homework while I am making supper (can you not see that now is not a good time?) or the kid who wants me to get them a snack, when I'm sitting on the toilet (again, NOT A GOOD TIME!).  Eventually, I too, hit my breaking point, and I YELL.  It feels really good right away, but afterwards, I am so sorry, and I am berating myself for being such a BAD mom, and usually end up apologizing.

It is nice to be reminded that I can stop torturing myself in those moments and stop comparing myself to other "more perfect" moms.  I'm doing the best that I can.  I screw up A LOT, but I love my kids very much, and I am a work in progress.

With that note, I'll leave you with yet another one of my bright, shining moments.  Doug came home from work yesterday and went back to the bedroom.  He came back out with a smile on his face.  He says to me, "Did you yell at Holly today?"  I said, "Why?  Did I get another note?"  He breaks into laughter (because of course, he has NEVER received a note of the likes yet, and I have received too many to count). And he finds this very amusing.

If you're having trouble reading it.  My daughter writes (in the most adorable first grade handwriting), "Mom you are nice but you been mean to me and can we please try on summer clothes!"  And just because I thought you might enjoy reading another one from my past (as if this blog isn't long enough already)...

I will translate for you:  For Mom  From: Holly

Mom you make me sad when you yell at me.  I just want you to be more nicer.  You make me really sad.  Mom you make me cry really hard.  (I think she added that for special effect - Oh the drama!) Please can you be more nicer?  I love you so so so much!

Please know that sometimes, this is just how you are perceived when you are doing what's best for your child, and they really don't like it!  First graders just can't have everything they want.

Pink Streak

So we've been going through Spring/Summer clothes, which the girls get so excited about.  I pull out Holly's tub, which has 2 tutus (one black, one pink) with LOTS of fluff, sparkles, and frill.  

I know once she sees them that she will be thrilled and want to wear them to school tomorrow.  

So we have this conversation about how tomorrow is a gym day - tennis shoes. Holly knows this and hears me say it 3 more times.  I guess she never heard me say "Not tomorrow, it's a gym day."  Actually, she has selective hearing.  She only hears what she wants to hear.  She might get some of that from her mother, and maybe some of that from her father.

It's Thursday morning... GYM day.  I'm getting ready for work and we're ready to head out the door.  I'm thinking, "Where's Holly?"  As I sit on the couch, I notice a flash of pink run past the doorway in my bedroom.  "Holly?"  No answer.  "Holly, answer me."  "You're gonna yell at me."  Okay, so now I know, she is definitely wearing the tutu.  "I know what you're wearing.  Come out here."  Pink tutu, pink tennis shoes, and too-tight pink T-shirt.  I'm thinking, We need to leave.  How badly do I want to do this battle?  So I compromise.  "Ok, you can wear the tutu with the tennis shoes, but you have to get a different shirt."  She's happy.  I'm happy.  We're actually NOT late!  

Now all I have to worry about is another battle, very soon, as I obviously did not stick to my guns this time.  Oh...

Tomorrow Will Be Better

Tonight I was talking to a mom who seemed very frustrated.  She had a rough day.  She had a to-do list a mile long and nothing seemed to go right from the get go.  Her kids would usually nap well for her, and of course, today they didn't.  I could see myself in her.  She was so frustrated, tired, and wondering if she'd ever get back to feeling like herself again.  She's nursing a baby yet, and she was worrying about her post-pregnant figure.  Don't we all?  After she had finished nursing her first child, she was just beginning to feel herself again and she found she was pregnant again.

Been there.

And I get it.

I had two thoughts for her.  First.  You are beautiful.  None of us feel that we are after having been through close pregnancies and never getting back down to the size we were when we started.  Then we fear that it just might not be possible anymore.  But as I stood there, I kept thinking, you are beautiful.  You just don't know.  There is a different kind of beauty that you have when you are a mother.  The way you love, sacrifice, and give, that makes you so much more beautiful than you'll ever be without having done so.  I look at moms around me and I'm in awe.  There's a real beauty there.  And you can't get it by standing in front of a mirror.

The second thought for her was.... It will be better tomorrow.  I know you have days when you feel like you've accomplished nothing, or nothing you did really mattered.  It did. The diapers you changed, the hug you shared, the "good morning, I'm so happy to see you" smile, the clothes you washed, the books you read, the meals you prepared.  It matters. And tomorrow will be better.  Tomorrow you just might have a chance to notice those perfect little hands, kiss that soft cheek, and thank God for the blessings He gave you.

One Hour in Eucharistic Adoration

I have a close friend who shared with me how attending 1 hour a week in Eucharistic Adoration changed her perspective on something very personal.  She said that within time, she began to ask herself, "Why couldn't I have another child for Jesus?  Why am I holding back?  Am I doing so for selfish reasons?"  As time passed, she and her husband opened their hearts, and God blessed them with 2 more babies, both of which she lost to miscarriages a few months apart.  Her courage and grace really touched me. There are many women who never look at it that way... have another child for Jesus.  She is an inspiration to me, and I know her family is so greatly blessed to have those beautiful babies in heaven, interceding for them. When we were talking about all of this, she brought up a book that was great encouragement for her. I read it a few years ago, "Life-Giving Love", by Kimberly Hahn.  After talking with her, I went to the library and checked it out again.  This is what I read today... (it is written by a woman, named Mary, and it is about her parents).
       
I can never thank them enough for all they have provided me: food, shelter, clothing, a two-parent household, a mom to stay home with me, a Catholic Education, a great faith, and twelve best friends that will be there for me the rest of my life.  The best gifts my parents could give us children, besides our faith, were siblings.  For when the entire world is against you, your family will always be there to support, help, guide, protect, and love you.

To my parents - Thank you.  I have been graciously blessed.
To my siblings - Even when the world is against you, I am for you!

And He Gave Us the Blessing

Have you ever heard Josh Groban sing, “O Holy Night?”  I have watched his video on YouTube several times.  The video is from the movie, “The Nativity Story,” which I watched when it first came out, and honestly, haven’t seen it since.  I’m not sure why I haven’t watched it again.  I loved it the first time.  Anyway, watching this video, while listening to Josh Groban sing, “O Holy Night” makes me cry.

Jesus is born, and Joseph weeps.  His shoulders were heaving; his body trembling.  I thought to myself, “Why is he weeping?”  Perhaps he was relieved, as fathers are, when their wife’s labor is finally over and the baby is born healthy.  But maybe it was more than that.  Maybe he was feeling in awe of this task that God had asked him to do for Him.   Maybe he was honored that God would ask him to be a part of this glorious act of love, bringing his Son into the world, even though he would have to sacrifice so much.  Perhaps Joseph was overwhelmed by the greatness of God, who fulfilled the words that he spoke to him long ago.  Perhaps he, himself was so moved as he gazed upon this child and he knew, he knew in that moment that this indeed was the Son of God.

And then Joseph looks at Mary with this look of pure gratitude.  His tears and his expression seem to say, “Thank you.”  Mary must’ve been so scared.  I myself have felt that way, with labor looming in front of me, wondering if I can really do this.  Yet at that moment, Mary looks as any new mother does, filled with  supernatural peace and joy as her months of sacrifice have come to fruition and she holds this new life in her arms; a miracle, every time. 

And then the kings come to Mary, who is holding Jesus in her arms, and they bow before their new king, this little child, and Mary watches this, saying nothing.  She already sees how the life of this child will be so very different than anything she could ever have imagined.  Have you ever felt like your own life is so different than you could ever have imagined?  Perhaps that is a good thing.

I guess I feel a little like Mary sometimes: uncertain, unable to see the future, and somewhat afraid.  But sometimes I feel strong enough to turn over my will in order to complete God’s will for my life.  I have heard that that is the best way to find peace in your life, when you are willing to live according to God’s will for you.  But what does he will for you? 

Doug and I are expecting our seventh child.  Many people say to us, “I don’t know how you do it.”  Honestly, I don’t either.  I feel like we are no more patient or kind than the next person.  We love each of our children dearly.  A few weeks ago, a friend of mine was talking about big families.  She is an only child.  She was wondering how the grandparents of so many children could possibly know them all.  She wasn’t saying this in a bad way.  She just didn’t seem to understand.  I thought about this for a while because it bothered me.  I know a family with 10 children, and they have close to 50 grandchildren, and yes, I know that they know each and every one of those grandkids.  How?  Love multiplies.   

This has been a different kind of a year for me.  I’ve been very concerned about some medical things that I’ve been experiencing.  We’ve been to several funerals.  Some close friends have been dealing with some very tough issues.  And sometimes, through my discouragement, I have held on to unnecessary fears, and it has made me feel like God is so far away.  But in fact, he has been right here.  I have felt Him even more through the people who love us.  

When we shared the news that we were expecting again, my brother, Jeff, told me that this was a tremendous opportunity to minister to others.  Despite my fears and worries, what he said really touched me.  Some friends at work, upon hearing the news, gave me a hug that seemed to last forever.  My Dad said, “There is no greater blessing.”  Two of my close friends cried when they hugged and congratulated me.  My aunts, sisters, and sister-in-law cried with me while I shared the story of how I found out.  I went to get an MRI, to check into some medical issues that were puzzling me.  Of course, I was worried about the MRI.  You cannot get an MRI when you are pregnant.  Although I was sure that wasn't the case, I had some blood work done first, just to make sure.  I’m looking at the MRI sign thinking “This could change my life forever”, and the sign for Lab Work (where I had just taken a pregnancy test), thinking “Either one could change our lives forever.”   

And God gave us the blessing. 

No matter how inadequate, unequipped, and unable we feel, I am so glad that God feels we are worthy and able to have another child for him.  So we are thankful for this blessing, even though it comes at an unexpected time.  As the bank account is never large enough, the car is certainly not big enough, and the house feels too small as well.  But God has planned this for us, right now, and so we thank Him, for His will is greater than ours. 

Love Does - by Bob Goff

My sister gave me this book as a gift.  I read it and was frustrated with a few parts, only because the things that the author was able to do, were not even a remote possibility for me.  But the message of the book became planted deep inside me and every once in a while, I see how it is taking root in my life.

Love Does.  You love by doing.

My favorite memory of last week's camping trip was the family game of kickball.  Almost everyone played.  I laughed so hard that I almost peed in my pants.  Had to cross my legs so I wouldn't .  It was just so much fun.  My sister-in-law and I exchanged glances, a smile, and a laugh as we watched her husband running the bases like a lunatic.  I thought to myself, "I don't think I've ever seen him run."  And he was running so fast.  I didn't know he had a competitive side.  I bet there's a lot of things I don't know about him, and the rest of my family.  Oh, it was so much fun!  The kids could have played all by themselves, but what fun is that?

Today when we were at the pool, instead of sitting on the edge of the baby pool, talking with the moms the entire time, I hopped in and caught Libby what felt like a million times down the slide.  I listened to her squeal with laughter.  I had bought an inner tube for her for the first time.  She was thrilled as she learned she could jump in all by herself without me catching her.  Four of the children did cannonballs off the edge of the pool.  They giggled and laughed.

Then Brooke took Libby to the park, and I watched Will as he learned to go off the dives for the first time by himself.  He  had just learned to swim.  I could see that sense of freedom and that thrill of learning something new.  It's been so long myself, that I forgot what that felt like.  I could see it on Will's face.  I loved every moment of it.  It brought me back.  And because Love Does, I got up on the big dive and raced Will into the pool.  I forgot what it felt like to jump high into the air and feel that flop in my stomach as I wondered when I would touch the water.  I attempted the old back flip that I used to do every day as a child at the pool.  Oh my gosh, it took me back, to what it felt like to be kid.  Amazing!  Love Does.  Thank you for that sweet message, God.  When I get up and do something with my kids, it's so much better than just watching.

When we got home, Will said to me, "Mom, today at the pool, that was AWESOME when you went off the dives."  He said it just like that, with capital letters.

Today I thought, "How blessed am I that I am even able to do these things with my children...and so I'm going to keep working on "Love Does".