Caution: Shallow

Sometimes I just don't know why I write.

I read the headlines. I listen to the news......


Osama bin Laden has been shot.

Tornadoes kill hundreds in the south, destroy everything for countless victims.

Tsunami in Japan. Nuclear reactors eeking radiation. Thousands dead.



And then I sit down to write about ....

My chickens?
Hamsters?
A sassy child?
A long church service?

Does it ever all just seem so pointless to you?

I close my eyes and put myself in the shoes of someone who has just lost everything. Or lost a loved one. Or I try to understand the emotions of a woman who lost her husband, or a child who lost a parent on 9/11...

I am filled with the feeling of being so small, so insignificant. So helpless to bring real aid or comfort to those in need.

Of course, we contribute to disaster relief aid. After the tsunami, B the Younger took up a collection of his siblings' charity money and brought a jug to school to collect more and he ended up getting about $150. We will add to that and send it to the Red Cross. And I know we will help with donations to the victims of the tornadoes, too. But ....

Is it ever enough?

Pocket change and prayers. That's all I got.

And my prayers can't be all that helpful the way my mind works....

Dear God, please help all the people who suffered losses during the tornadoes. Especially any mothers who have lost children. I can't imagine losing a child. I can remember it like it was yesterday when I brought my first-born home. Now he's in high school! And I love him so. But I wish he would get his head in the game with his homework or he'll never get into college at this rate. Did he turn in that last lab for his chem class? Did he finish his math homework?

I mean the tornadoes! Help the victims of the tornadoes! Rebuild lives! Find lost family members! Shelter, food, water!

And dear Lord, please help heal the hearts of the people who have lost loved ones in the attacks on 9/11.I remember I was in MOMS Club when that story was unfolding so many years ago. So awful...Hey I wonder whatever happened to Sherry from MOMS Club? The one with the kid that was always picking his nose? I'll bet he's nearly S's age by now. Wonder if he's still picking his nose....

I mean, help the victims! The survivors! Closure, peace, justice!


Dear Jesus and all the saints in heaven, please help all those poor people who are still struggling over in Japan to contain the radiation and rebuild all that was knocked out by the tsunami and the earthquake. The pictures of that wave rolling in were just horrific. It's amazing what the force of water can do. Like the bank on our pond. We keep fixing it but then the water finds its way under or around the dam we've built and erodes the bank even more. I know F is going to need to get out there with his tractor soon to try to fill in some of that area. Hope his tractor starts right up for him, sometimes it gives him trouble. It makes that weird noise like that woman at auditions on American Idol. I wonder who will be going home this week on Idol?

No, no, no! Tsunami! Reactors! Earthquake! Victims! Help!

Amen.


Maybe I'd better stick to that pocket change.....






[Images courtesy of Google Images:
http://www.movetransport.com/watertransport/water-safety-signs.html]

Easter Madness

So I left off hinting that we had a slightly chaotic Easter weekend. It wasn't bad, really, just too much going on and not enough time to squeeze it all in. But somehow we did. The only day that was truly a challenge was....


Saturday
My friend Mary and I filled I don't wanna know how many dozens of plastic Easter eggs with I don't want to know how many pounds of sugar. Yes, the sugar was in the form of cute Easter candy like egg bubble gum and pastel-wrapped Reese's peanut butter cups and little foil wrapped chocolate bunnies and all, but honestly it would have been more to the point to just dip each plastic egg into a giant vat of granulated sugar. Certainly would have been cheaper.
Started some of the food prep work for Easter dinner, like slicing strawberries, baking the cake, etc.
Sent about 7 or 8 of the kids outside to play while Mary and I got the stuff ready to dye the 5 dozen eggs I had boiled the day before.
As we were nearing readiness for the troops, in they started running, all yelling,
"James got hit in the eye with the softball!!!!"

Sure enough, in walked James, caboose of the Mayhem Train, bleeding from his eye. Well, not his eye, but right at his eyebrow. And it was bleeding pretty good, too. We guided him to the kitchen sink so he could bleed into that while about 25 hands started thrusting papertowels and ice towards us. And between James' best friend, Mary and myself all standing directly in front of James and each vying for the position of chief cook and bottle-washer, things were getting a bit crowded. And just plain nuts.

Finally someone got Fred who surveyed the damage and decided it would need stitches or glue. He had some old Dermabond (which is basically Crazy Glue for skin) but it was old and crystallized. It would not do. We found some Crazy Glue knock-off and he was thinking about using that but then heard where he could get his hands on some of the Real Thing and off he jetted to pick it up.


So we bandaged an ice pack to J's forehead and went ahead with the egg-dying. Sorry, but the day's schedule left no wiggle room. Head injuries be damned, the eggs would get dyed.

And dye them we did. Followed by Fred getting back in time to glue J's eyebrow back together just before dinner.

As you can see from the picture, there are more hands involved than there needs to be. I'm counting at least four.

But, bottom line is, J's eye got fixed, the eggs got dyed, dinner got eaten. So far we were on track.

Next up was the service for James' and Julie's initiation into the church. They had been going to CCD for awhile, coupled with much whining and complaining, but their education on matters of the church was deemed complete. They were to receive the sacraments of baptism, communion and confirmation during the Easter vigil mass on Holy Saturday. I had been assured that the vigil mass was absolutely beautiful, though a bit long. I was told to expect an hour and a half for the mass. Maybe two.

Since I rarely possess the courage to get my brood through even a one hour mass, that was cause for some angst on my part. But I swallowed the lump in my throat and agreed. What choice did I have, after all?

So after dinner we presented James and Julie with their gifts of some rosaries and mass books and statuettes and the whole crew got dressed up in their church clothes, which took me all day to round up and wash and (wink) iron.


The kids looked beautiful. Even James with his swollen and glued eye. My angels. And off to church went Fred and I, plus J and J, with the rest of the crew to follow later (rest of the crew meaning 3 of our guests, the rest of my kids and my sister).

Poor kids were both pretty nervous. James hid it well but Julie kept going over and over how to hold her hands for communion
(left over right) Like this, right?
(right over left) No,no, like this! Right?
(left over right again) Aaah! Like this!
And trying to remember her responses
Me (playing priest): Body of Christ
julie: And also with you. No! I do. NO! Amen.....Right?

Finally, at 8:30, the sun had set and it was time to begin. The priests and the deacons and the entire congregation filed outside to the bonfire. Candles were lit, ancient words were chanted by the men in white robes.
Fred said if only we had a few goat entrails we'd have ourselves a nice Druid ceremony.

Back inside the dark church we filed again, this time with our candles providing the light.
Because I needed to worry about my boys and fire.
But the CCD teacher was right, it was beautiful. The priest sang the entire opening of the mass acapella. Sang for a good 10 minutes. Like Gregorian chants.

Beautiful...
Lovely...
So peaceful....

OK, we need to move along here, people.

And move along they finally did. At a snail's pace. If said snail were oozing its way through a chalice of Holy molasses.

A typical mass will have two readings, generally each followed by a responsorial hymn, with the homily bringing up the rear.

This was no typical mass. There were 9, nine, NINE readings, each followed by a responsorial hymn.

And myself being a cafeteria-style Catholic, I'm more of a New Testament kinda gal. This was mostly Old Testament fire and brimstone stuff. Abraham binding his son and raising the knife till God cried "Psyche!". The parting of the Red Sea and the consequential drowning of the Egyptians. And we were singing about it!

The Egyptians sank like a stone, to the bottom of the seeeeeeaaaaa....
The water crushed all the chariots and charioteers and horses, till they washed up upon the shooooooore.....
We worship you because we fear you, and you cloak yourself in gloooooo-ryyyyyyyy...

I fought the strong urge to cover the ears of my children.

But at long last it was time for my children to be baptized and confirmed. We marched over to the font and I was waiting for the whole "Do you reject Satan and all his works?" line of questioning. Instead we got more singing. This time to all the saints in heaven.
Literally, ALL the saints in heaven.

Saint Agnes
Pray for usssss
Saint Anthony
Pray for ussssss
Saint Ignatius
Pray for usssssss

Fred swears about 5 minutes into it he heard us ask a St Billy Bob to pray for us. He says there's no such saint but I just pray what I've been told.

But finally they reached the end of the line of saints and we proceeded with the ceremony. The kids made all the correct responses and they had water poured over their heads and Chrism oil applied to their foreheads and they donned their white robes and voila, they were Catholic.

Not many minutes later they went up for communion and Julie got her hands a little mixed up but the priest was kind with his correction.


Then, miraculously, at 11pm, it was over. Not an hour and a half. Not two hours. TWO AND A HALF HOURS! For James, Julie, Fred and myself, it was three hours as we had to arrive early.

I mean honestly, couldn't the nice priest just have waved his magic wand and said a few things in Latin and made the sign of the cross to all corners of the earth or something equally holy and mysterious? Three hours we were there.

But to remain positive,
no one strangled any of their siblings
my boys did not set the church on fire
bottom line, James and Julie have completed all their sacraments in one fell swoop (though at three hours, perhaps not so fell)

Well, all sacraments except reconciliation.

Tune in next week for that one.....




Pray for ussss.... then click the brown button.

Just a Quickie....

Busy weekend, including head injuries, marathon masses, sacraments, houseguests, holiday meals, egg-dying, Easter egg hunts, computer viruses and more.

Will write tomorrow. For now, please accept my apologies and a re-post of what I posted at Easter the first year J and Y were home with us.....


So kids, let Mommy explain to you all about Easter.

Jesus died on the cross for your sins.

Well, no, I know you weren't around back then, not your sins specifically.
He just did.

Then He rose from the dead.

No, not like a zombie.
He just did.

We decorate Easter baskets and dye eggs real pretty to symbolize springtime and new life.

Yes, I know Jesus was born on Christmas, but we celebrate new life at Easter. After He died.
We just do.

We eat chocolate eggs because .....
Well I don't know why exactly, but aren't they yummy? Don't touch that, you've got chocolate all over your hands.

OK, now let's all go outside and find the candy-filled Easter eggs that the Easter Bunny hid in the yard.

Hmmmm? He's a giant bunny that brings candy to good boys and girls.

No, honey, don't look afraid, he's a good giant bunny.

No, he didn't rise from the dead.

No, he's not related to Jesus.

Here, have some more chocolate and let Mommy go lie down for a little while.

Mundanity Analysis. Dissection of a To-Do List.

In the interest of pointing and laughing at myself, I thought I would dissect and analyze a To-Do list of mine from earlier this week:

Bus
At 6:45, see onto the bus 5 fed, dressed, hair-combed, teeth-brushed, dishes-put-away, backpacks-and-lunches-packed teenagers.
Laugh maniacally as I wave to the busdriver.

Critter Care
Water to the rabbits-let Annabelle out of the barn-scoop worst of manure out of barn-let chicks out of hut into Chick Shack-top off chick feed and water-check swelling of Finn's nether-regions.

Drop Off Daniel
At 8:20, see into the car 1 fed, dressed, hair-combed, teeth-brushed, dishes-put-away, backpack-and-lunch-packed preteen.
Drive to school 20 minutes away.
Laugh maniacally as he disappears into the building.

Walk
In a woefully inadequate nod to the exercise this ol' body so desperately needs, I planned on walking a few laps at the park with a friend. Unfortunately, it began raining most of the way through our first lap. As the rain fell upon us, our saunter turned quickly into a stroll, the heartrate equivalent, for us, of running a 5k.

Pet Store
Buy 50 lb bag of rabbit feed, 3 boxes of crickets, 20 lb bag of cat food, 20 lb box of cat litter, 3 - 35 lb bags of dog food, 50 lb bag of chick feed.
Wonder to self why it is chick feed but dog food.

Grocery Store
Buy (cough, cough) dollars worth of groceries to pour down the throats of my 6 bottomless pit kids. Bring all groceries into house-put all food away-dispose of all questionable leftovers-flatten and put in recycle bin all the cardboard packages. Silently marvel at what a non-stop fiesta my life has become.

Make 2 Pies
Make 2 banana pudding pies. One for my brood to devour in about 5 minutes after school and one for neighbor.
Lick pudding and Cool Whip from my fingers.
Giggle while watching goats fight over banana peels.

Get Eggs/Drop Off Food
Buy weekly 4 dozen eggs from neighbor Sarah.
Drop off chicken noodle casserole and banana pudding pie to her.
Recall last night's conversation with husband:
Fred: What are you making that casserole for? We already had dinner.
Me: It's not for us, it's for Sarah. She just had a baby.
F: Sarah the Amish neighbor?
Me: Yes.
F: How many kids is this for her?
Me: 5.
F: Well since we have 6, shouldn't she be making YOU a casserole?
Me: That's not the point, she .... oh never mind ....

Pick up Daniel
Drive 20 mins out to school to pick up youngest. Listen attentively while he regales me with tales of his day.

Make Dinner
Since hubs not home, make "kids dinner" on autopilot: mac-n-cheese, hot dogs, carrots and applesauce .
I know, I know, I could make this meal blind-folded with one hand tied behind my back.
On rollerblades.
With a fork shoved in my ear.
With 6 kids making demands of me every third second.
Oh wait. That's every time.

CCD
Take James and Julie to CCD. Silently send up prayers of thanks to the Almighty that religious education will soon be a thing of the past for us.
What?
Tonight is what?
Parent visitation night?
Yes, I so had that on my calendar. Which is apparent from my hairstyle (finger-in-the-electric-socket-look), my make-up (as in, not a scrap), and my style of dress (ancient brown corduroys with splashes of green paint flopping soggily above my nasty barn shoes).
Get literature and lecture on the Lent Triduum, with "Ideas for My Family to Celebrate" Holy Thursday, Good Friday and Holy Saturday, including but not limited to
prayer and scripture reading, evening masses, Adoration with family, silence between noon and 3pm, acts of charity, fast and abstinence, afternoon masses, be peaceful....

Bad Catholic Bad Catholic Bad Catholic Bad Catholic

And where the hell did I leave my self-flagellation cat-o-nine-tails?

Decide: guilt or laughter.
Choose: Laughter.


Click the brown button. It's on your to-do list.



Clip art from Google Images Clip Art:
http://www.idratherbewriting.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/11/taskstornup.png

Ash Wednesday

I'm a Catholic.

A Roman Catholic.

A Slippery Slope Roman Catholic.

Whatthehell does that mean?

It means that over the years my adherance to the rules of the Church have taken a ride on a Slippy Slide coated in Vaseline and perched on a 45 degree angle embankment.

It means that

In the beginning
(insert thunderous echoey voice here)

I would tote my infant, then my infant/toddler, then my infant/toddler/preschooler combo-pack to church with me, even when I felt like crud.
I would wipe the spit-up off my dress, perform a last-minute diaper change on the fly, comb everyone's hair, put a double layer of leaking-booby pads in for when the baby started crying, and load the diaper bag up with Cheerios to be cast over the congregation during the service.

I would then take my brood with me and sit/stand/kneel on cue, all while restraining the two year old by the cuff of his pants from crawling under the pew, endure being scalped by the baby with a fist full of my unwashed hair, and yanking the crayons from the four year old after he edited the hymnal.

Whereas

In the beginning

I felt no excuse for missing mass was justified (with the possible exception of birthing a baby) , I gradually found more and more reasons to remain miserable within the confines of my own home.

Even so, I remained true to attendance at the Holy Days. Not a year would go by that I wouldn't have a dried-up stalk of palm hanging from my rear view mirror in the months following Palm Sunday, or a grey smudge on my forehead following Ash Wednesday.

And I made sure I explained to my charges the importance of Lent. That it was a time to sacrifice, or to choose to do something of hardship or value. Like Motherhood. The entirety of Motherhood could be considered one excrutiatingly long Lenten sacrifice, my dears. But I digress.

One year in particular, I remember that I thought of a brilliant Lenten objective. I would not yell at my children. They were my babies, after all, and I had no business yelling at my cherubs.

So I was going to refrain from yelling the entire six weeks of Lent.

Soon enough it was time to go to mass on Ash Wednesday morning and get our ashes and feel all holy.
I washed and dressed the children.
I changed their diapers.
I tied their shoes.
I fed them.
I changed their diapers.
I wiped their faces and hands.
I tied their shoes.
I stopped the preschooler from hitting the toddler.
I stopped the toddler from hitting the baby.
I changed their diapers.
I wiped a butt and emptied a potty.
I soothed a crying toddler.
I soothed a crying infant.
I put jackets on everyone.
I zipped and buttoned and tied.
I got the baby into the car seat carrier and took everyone to the car.
I hoisted the carrier into the backseat and buckled it in.
I chased the toddler and buckled her into her carseat.
I kissed her fingers that got pinched and soothed her crying.
I tried to quiet the baby who was now also crying.
I looked all over for the preschooler.
I found the preschooler behind a tree. Playing machine gun with a stick.
I took machine gun stick away from preschooler.
Preschooler simultaneously went completely fall-to-the-ground limp while screaming
at the injustice of having his machine gun anihilation interrupted.
I cleaned, best I could, the pants and shirt and hands and face of the preschooler.
I carried the preschooler, kicking and screaming and somehow mutiplying his weight
ten-fold, into the car.
I bent and folded the rigid-as-lumber preschooler into his carseat.
I walked around front and climbed in and buckled up.
Heading down the driveway to mass for our holier-than-though ashes, with my vow of not yelling at the children sworn only minutes ago, I looked in my rear-view mirror at three crying and screaming children in the backseat, and I added my own sound effects to the symphony by crying and screaming at my children till my face was blotchy and red and my hair was plastered to my skin.

And so the four of us drove to church on Ash Wednesday morning.

I may not have remained true to my promise, but dammit, we got our badge of ashes.


It's many many years later, but I still try. Sometimes.
Two years ago, when J and Y had only been home a few months, I took my crew to church for ashes on the way to school. A few of the kids' comments:

Daniel: I know how to pray the Rosemary.
Rosie: Feels like grit.
Bella(pulling all her bangs down low over her forehead): Can you still see them?
Julie: Which is this? Which is this one? You, me, church? Me, schoola?


Vow to click the button everyday for Lent.