A brief time-out

I promise something worthy of your reading time just as soon as we are fully recovered from the flu (me) and knee surgery (Joe).

A full report of Advent reflections and 5th birthday joy will follow just as soon as we regain order in this place!

In the meantime, could i squeeze a few intercessory "Hail Marys" out of you? Thanks!

Leopold is ONE!

A glimmer of yesterday's joy:



I can't believe it, either! My third baby is already a year old! And he's a real sweetheart, too: He saved every last crumb of his cake just for me! (Inconsumable, of course, as it was in crumbs all over the kitchen floor.) See how he mocks me....

This pretty much sums it up

"Viva Cristo Rey!"

They were his final words.



We may not be facing martyrdom by firing squad like Bl. Miguel Pro did (82 years ago tomorrow), but we are celebrating today's solemn feast with an array of construction paper crowns:



Does the Church grant plenary indulgences for that?

Taxation without Representation (alternately titled "Why I'm so Glad Local School Levies Failed.")

Call me bold or a prude or whatever, but I don't think everyone is entitled to a 'free' government education. I understand that education comes with a price tag, and that some people who desire it may not be able to pay in full. In that case, I'm down with the ancient concept of anonymous benefactors.

If a group of citizens chooses to give charitably of their own funds to an educational institute so as to enable a group of children - their own or those of their community - to attend said school, I praise them for their selfless generousity.

But i consider it criminal to garnish - I mean *tax* - the honest wages of any citizen in order to fund these same schools. It's robbery. That's grounds for a totally separate post, and I lay it out only as the foundation for what i'm really trying to say here.

Consider my personal circumstances:

I won't beat a dead horse by reiterating the "I-Pay-Twice-Because-I'm-Sending-MY-Kids-To-Private-Schools-AAaaaaaaaaaaaND-Paying-For-Everyone-In-Town-To-Go-With-The-Taxes-I-Pay" arguement. It's true, and that's robbery as well. But I feel smacked in the face when my money is taken - I mean *taxed* - when I have zero say.

My husband and I live in one town, and own an investment property in another town. You all know that school levies are funded through (an increase in) property taxes, right? Well, because we reside in Town A, we pay property taxes in Town A. We also pay property taxes in Town B because we own property there. Suffice it to say that we are now funding not one but TWO towns' government schools.

That's not all, though.

You all know that you can only vote where you reside, correct? So we vote in Town A. But what happens if Town B wants to vote on a levy that will increase the property taxes I pay on my investment property?

I GET NO VOICE!

I don't get to vote on what Town B does with the money they take from my wages. And what's worse is that the 2 sets of tenants that occupy my apartments - none of whom even PAY property taxes - DO get to vote on what's done with my money. I see this as robbery twice over. Sick. Sick. Sick.

Despite all the nausea, I rejoice today: Town B's school levies failed (by like 46 votes!).

Cue the choir!

Mischievous Anticipation of the Solemnity

The Unpatriotic Workshop of Santa

While Thomas and I were playing monster trucks yesterday, I became momentarily distracted by the brown plastic bear that was lying on the floor beside me. It was included as a bonus gift in the Water Baby package that Rosemarie received from Santa last Christmas. (You're right - it's never been played with.) As i examined it, weighing its worth against the freed-up toy space bear's demise would create, Thomas noticed my diversion and asked,

"Mom? What are you doing?"

"I'm reading the label," I replied.

"Well, what does it say?" he inquired.

"It says, 'Made in China.'"

And with more disgust than a preschooler ought to exhibit, he remarked, "Mom, why does Santa have to go to China to buy toys?!"

Incentive

Autumn brings black crickets. The noisy, jumpy kind that like to hide under piles of wooden alphabet blocks.

If I were a black cricket, i would definately invade the nearest toy-filled basement to enjoy the comforts thereof.

And if I were human (which i am), i would exercise my right to smash any insect that dared to enter my human dwelling. (We've got tough tenant requirements here, folks.)

So a-smashing i a-go.

Unless...

... one of my bug-loving kids is swift enough to catch one alive and brave enough to carry it to the sunroom door and chuck it across the patio, in which case said child will be rewarded with a nickel.

Piggy banks are overflowing, and I have a lot less guts on my floor.

She's still the best catch

I just cannot get enough of this little girl!

He turns compost with an audience

You're right - it *is* August!

If we're not fevered and sneezing, we're busy re-arranging the rooms of the house. It's been a major overhaul and v. time consuming. More on that later. Did i mention that i committed the sin of joining facebook? I know, i disgust me, too. I'll be back soon. Keep your eyes peeled.

It is still July, isn't it?

How can a girl be expected to post anything besides scrumptious pictures of her children at this time of the year?

And don't you dare feel silly for checking-in regularly. I find myself navigating to my own blog in hopes that there's something new each day, only to be disappointed at not finding the last awesome thing i thought typed up here by the me-with-free-time. Pathetic of me or what? Checking my own blog. Next thing you know, i'll be looking at the stove to see if E#2 cooked dinner.

Irresistible

Her affection is making up for my past sins.

Celebration Questioned

I'm not saying who said what, but last night at supper, one spouse accused the other spouse of overusing this weekend's solemnities as an *excuse* for serving extra desserts.

Somebody around here must have an ingrained sense of dessert guilt. I honestly don't understand how it's possible to turn your nose up at fudge brownies and mint icecream.

What we did with 36 hours to ourselves

I don't normally do this, but i know you'll love it. Here's a smattering of photos from the postponed-because-I-was-postpartum 5 year wedding anniversary getaway:

Joe, having a Rodin moment with The Thinker. I was having a Mona Lisa moment - disappointed with the real deal as seen here:



Cathedral of Our Lady of the Rosary. Too big from the sidewalk to capture the spires. Too late in the day to get to see the inside. Spanish Platteresque motif,
i'm told (whih is why i spelled it incorrectly, right?) Que bella! Tanto impressivo!



Calling home to check on the two older kids, whom we happily abandoned. This is a view of Lake Erie from our resort room. (Yes, i did say resort! Sweet!)



With the third wheel... i mean, third and utterly dependent child - on the bay. Call me stupid, but i never before realized that non-oceanic bodies of water made waves. Such are the things that never cross your mind when you spend all your time obsessing over diapers and kids' hair cuts. It was cool.



A shot of our super sweet, lake-front resort. What a treat!



Leopold with driftwood on the shore at Magee Marsh. It was really, really hard to get him to look at the camera for this one, since all the sea shells became a minor obsession for him. Totally worth the 5 minutes i spent behind the camera saying, "Leopold. Leeeeeeeeeeeeeeopold! Hey, LEOPOLD!!!!!"



Pretty great, no?

Mega shout-out to the sleep-deprived grandparents who cared for Thomas and Rosemarie. Super-duper shout-out to the husband who let me splurge on a bottle of Asti!! Joe, honey, you're the best! No, you are. No, yooooooooooou are!

Leop in retro high chair

Long have i awaited the opportunity to buy a high chair like this. ($4.00!) It would most likely fail modern child-safety inspections, but so long as he's smiling....

Lusting after Roses

When this post was first conceived, i didn't have any intention of mentioning that the DH came home last night with a gallon of chocolate milk from Kroger, just for me and just because. But i am mentioning it because - he is awesome. Now for the real post:

There are pros and cons to having a thoughtful husband.

As a combo Mothers' Day/belated Easter gift (*his guilt for forgetting me*), Joe purchased a Pope John Paul II rose bush for my enjoyment. It's gorgeous! A hybrid tea rose with a delightful citrus fragrance, known for its vigorous growth and superior disease resistance, it's a great tribute to JP the Magnificent, under whose reign both my first born son and I were born. Oh, and is it necessary to mention that its blossoms are white?

So i love it! It is small yet, but it promises a lot. How do i know? Because i've been reading about it and tons of other 2009 floribundas and grandifloras that Jackson and Perkins has to offer me this year.

You see, their full-color catalogue came in the mail yesterday, and i havent been able to put it down. Receiving this beautiful rose bush (and having been put on J&P's mailing list as a consequence) has released the awful beast of flower lust in my soul! Just seeing the rusty orange petals of the Tuscan Sun rose or the fleshy, deep red of the Mr. Lincoln causes my pupils to dilate and my heart to pound faster. I wish i was making this up, but - i'm not. Are 27 year old women supposed to react like this? To pictures of roses?!

*sigh*

I'm guilty of flower lust. I kind of like it. And is it too early to blame my thoughtful husband for introducing me to my latest coveted object?

*

Encounters with dead things at H.R.

Thomas, all caution, from the sandbox:
"Uh... Mommy. There's some kind of dead thing buried there in the sandbox. (Points nervously with shovel.) It's not a stag beetle or anything (meaning it's not a stag beetle, but rather some other ridiculously large insect). Uh... I don't think i want to dig in that part of the sandbox anymore."
(Scoots away.)

Rosemarie, uninhibited, while clutching that dead sparrow i'd been meaning to scrape off the driveway:
"Bird. Bird!!! Dead. Hands. Dirty. Sky!?"

*

"In silence is our strength."

That was one of the many quotes i can remember having tacked (artfully, mind you) to my bedroom wall during my formative high school years. I'd scribble phrases like this onto pretty paper and make them look antiquish, and read them after my nightly rosary before snuggling into bed. Decoration and inspiration, right? Though i can no longer be certain where i read it first, i can be sure it was from the writings of some Church Father or less remarkable theologian. But i found it to be true way back in my youth, and i find it to be even more profound as i live my adult life as a Catholic woman in the 21st century.

The blessing of living on a small piece of land - and living on it in relative poverty - has been a recurring topic at family gatherings. When we lived in town, and now that we live in the country, I've always tried to preserve our home as a kind of cloister - a place set aside for the glorification of God in the day-to-day goings on of our little family. A place where it is relatively quiet.

Don't mistake my application of the term "quiet": We've got 3 small kids and all the noises that come with raising and loving and disciplining them. But it is quiet here.

Because we're rural, days can pass with the only the sounds being heard outside are those of birds chirping or roosters crowing or rain dripping or wind howling through the trees. That's a magificent experience in itself! More importantly, and whether we lived 10 feet or 10 miles from the nearest neighbors, the quiet of the indoors - the quiet of our domestic church, the tranquility and unpluggedness of our home from consumer culture and the Culture of Death - is an opportunity for freedom and purity and the strengthening of the soul.

Since we've deliberately unplugged ourselves from the culture in so many ways, and in turn rooted our family life in the Bridegroom and His Church, i'm inclined to simplify and purify my senses and am given so many opportunities to be in union with my children and husband and my Father throughout the day. When there's silence, one is much more easily able to be in prayer or to exist quietly and simply and with vigor and vitality while living out the vocation as wife and mother. This silence of the soul and of the home is what allows for a receptivity of and a response to the grace of Almighty God in our day-to-day lives. Spiritual strength to fight the war waged on marriage and the family (and a free society) is a fruit of that choice to be removed and silent.

"In silence is our strength." That phrase may have been written centuries ago, but, as it goes with Him Who is the Truth, it was valid then, and it's valid now.


(The picture is of a bench in our woods that overlooks a small cliff. We call this spot "Mossy Prospect" and i think it looks quasi-monastic. But that's just me.)

Ah, variety!

For those of you who have an interest in purchasing our eggs (see ad in sidebar), I am happy to announce that our newest flock is laying a colorful bunch this season! The traditional white, a deep brown, the ever-popular bantam egg, and also a blue-green shell (from our Araucana hens) will be featured in every dozen. Call now to place your order!

(Props to the husband, who grew, clipped, and arranged the lovely tulips and lilacs for my kitchen table. Tres fragrant!)

In which i mock myself

I've had a major case of blogger guilt lately: To blog or not to blog about this or that profound or mundane-but-beautiful moment in the life of my family at this or that fleeting moment of quite time that i just happen to get on the computer? And should i even be on the computer when it's stinking gorgeous outside?! Am i neglecting my children?

Honesty is the best policy, methinks, and i have to fess up that spring is always a very busy time around here, just like it is eveywhere else.

What, with two April birthdays (Joe is 27 tomorrow. Happy Birthday, honey!!) a trip to the zoo (pictured above, it was a blast), dispersing 12 tons of gravel hither and thither around the acreage (i've been shoveling, wheelbarrowing, dumping, raking, etc with a baby on my back and feeling quite the uber-girl while we construct a nice 400 sq.ft. patio and other garden paths), and being blessed with a crop of 80 degree days, I hardly remember we have a computer.

Distractions, distractions, distractions!

Theology - preschool style

"There was nothing, and then... God wanted me."

That phrase, lifted from a retreat talk given by one of my favorite priests of the Community of St. John, is going to be painted onto a plaque and nailed to my kids' bedroom wall.

Why not? It's a basic truth that testifies not only to the dignity of the person, but also to the uniqueness of each soul created and loved by God, and whom He will love and hold in existence forever.

Nothing.
Then me.
Forever.
Why?
Because God wanted me.
He wanted me.
He continues to want me, at every moment, and without end.
He keeps me in existence, and continues to create and love me in a way He's creating and loving noone else, because I am the only me He created.

The phrase is concise and authentic. My preschoolers can understand it already, and on so many levels. So up on their lavender wall it will go, as soon as i can find my acrylic paints.

Happy Birthday, Rosemarie!

Doesn't she make a cute 2?

Sacramentals sacrificed?

This has been the most efficacious Lent of my life. Perhaps it's because the fulfillment of my penances is, for once, not tainted by a merit-diluting sense of dread. It may also have a little bit to do with the fact that those with whom i keep company (4's and under) often confuse impiety and piety, and thereby make me the stand-out:

"Ugh, Mommy! (wipes vigorously at forehead) I gave up holy water for Lent."

Ducks!

This Indian Runner possesses the ability to mystify my fat little baby.

Firearms and Trampolines

Me to the preschooler: "Thomas, you must put your guns away right now, or else you won't participate in gymnastics tomorrow."

Is it wrong for me to be balancing the influences like this? I mean, is it very, very wrong?

Pictures, where are you?

I really really want to post some of the latest absolutely adorable pictures of what the kids have been up to. But the thing is, we just bought this amazing new 10MP camera... and we have dial-up, so it takes an unjustifiably long time to upload any file that isn't pitifully small. I'll get around to tolerating the long process sometime soon. Maybe. Hopefully.

Cold but not forgotten

You poor last swig of coffee. You're ice cold, but i'll still force you down. Piles of laundry, sticky breakfast cereal hands, popped confetti-filled balloons, sibling quibbling - none of it could force me to spill you down the drain. Though your allure and aroma are faded, I'm faithful and committed, down to the last drop.

Like Magdalen at the Sepulchre

(Subtitled "Yet Another Good Reason to Have Perpetual Eucharistic Adoration in Your Parish" or alternatively "Moms of Young 'Uns Show Up without Notice (most of the time).")

Last evening, I was able to scrape together a few spare minutes and managed to get out of the house without my entourage and into a local parish, so as to spend a few moments in silent adoration of our Eucharistic Lord . Joe was home for the night with zero outdoor work plans, we just wrapped-up dinner, the kids were all fed and happy, and even Leopold had a full belly and empty diaper. The DH was willing to do the supper clean-up if I "just hurried up and got out the door without lolly-gaggin' so Rosemarie'd stop saying 'coat!'."

So off I went - alone (alone!?) - to a quiet chapel, expecting be able to flop my wearied and thirsty self down at the feet of Jesus in person. Just for a few mintues, which were, to me, worth their weight in gold.

I, like M. Magdalen, went with great hope and expectation to the place where I knew Jesus's Body would be, needing to be with Him. And, when I showed up, they had taken Him away.

This was not my home parish, so of course I didn't read the bulletin wherein, I am sure, the priest had noted the early reposition of the Blessed Sacrament on that day. Gotta accomodate the Lenten Mission. But I had gone to Him in great haste, holes-in-the-knees jeans and all (Joe was shooing me out the door, remember?), desiring to lay myself down to pay homage to the King of kings by simply being with Him. To watch and pray with Him. But He was gone.

Gone because of human scheduling conflicts.

*sad face*

The moral: Every parish needs perpetual adoration! Sometimes we need to be with Jesus unexpectedly, at weird hours, in the stillness of dawn like Mag, or just for those few minutes of sanity that descend upon the home right after supper time. What can i do to help make this happen? Anyone? Anyone?

We spent our sunday

rediscovering the fun of fishing our pond and revisiting water's edge rules so as to prevent near occassions of wetness.

Seriously, though, after looking at this picture, i have to ask myself, "What wouldn't i trade to be a little tyke for a day?"

Never too young to know how to impress the ladies

What i heard him say yesterday while dressing:

"Hey mom - I think i'm going to wear my more handsomer socks today. You know, since we're going to be visiting Gracie."

Looking forward to this:

The family and i always await with pregnant anticipation the blooming of the variety of wildflowers that carpet our woods.

Needless to say, that's where we've been spending a great deal of our time - in the woods or in the yard, discovering afresh the ways that God reveals Himself to us in the created world.

And if i have the courage to venture outside with 3 small children, then noone has an excuse to stay indoors! So get off the computer and turn your gaze out the window and accept spring's invitation. Take your coffee out there tonight after supper. That's what i'll be doing.

In the eye of the beholder

I don't do the chicken chores in the winter - usually - but sometimes Joe just needs to relax after school. (Since i'm a super-compassionate wife, i sensed this need and told him i'd feed the flock that night. Stay warm, honey. Sit down with a cup of coffee and consider yourself off-duty. Oh, wait. Here's the baby. Thomas is downstairs. Rosemarie is probably eating crayons. I'll be back in 15.)

Getting the chance to be alone and out of the house - i mean, er, getting the chance to lug around water and chicken feed - was actually quite nice, despite the biting winds and the ugly get-up i was wearing. I don't consider a black snow cap, the husband's tattered flannel coat, and over-sized rubber boots to be the hottest thing i've ever worn.

But some people, yet unscarred by pop-culture or sin, can gaze beyond the attire and into the beauty of actions. One of those people is my 4 year old son, Thomas. When i came back in the house, red-faced and drippy-nosed from the cold wind and clad in frumpy work clothes, Thomas took one look at me and ran away into the living room. He didn't flee in disgust or disinterestedness. No, he ran as quickly as his chubby legs would carry him so he could share something great with his infant brother. Over my sniffles, i could hear him whispering excitedly,

"Leopold! You wouldn't believe how beauuuuuuuuuutiful Mama looks!"

I must be doing something right...

...if someone this edible weighs so much.

16 pounds, 9 ounces
(and he's only 2 months old)

Happy Saint Valentine's Day!

MLPs Improved?

Note the physical differences between the 20+ year old My Little Pony on the right (mine), and the spankin' new MLP on the left (Rosemarie's). Does one appear a bit more voluptuous to you? Why weren't Barbies fat when i was a kid?

Some joyous news to share!

It is with great joy that i am able to share with you that my mom's brain surgery was a complete success, and that by some miracle, she survived it without any observable ramifications and is being discharged from the hospital TODAY! Alleluia!

I wanted to extend a very heartfelt thanks to all of you who were praying for her and our family as she underwent this extremely invasive and risky operation. I could list by name at least 350 people from all over the U.S. whom i know were praying for her, and I know that at least 3 different Masses were offered for our intentions here. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!

It almost goes without saying that, most of all, I would like to thank our good Father for consoling her, for watching over her, for arming her, for defending her, and for delivering her.
He has heard our prayers.

Will you now join me in offering a rosary in thanksgiving for the abundance of graces that He's showered upon her?

T.V. Converter Box Impact

Early Friday night, the two oldest children secure in their beds, I descended into our basement family room to indulge myself in a little bit of "It's-As-If-Leopold-Is-The-Only-Child" time. So there he and I sat, gazing into eachother's eyes, completely in love and conversing in our unique mother-son language.

Assuming that Leopold's proud father wouldn't want to miss a single coo or eyebrow raising of his son's, I invited Joe across the basement to join in our moments of mutual discovery.

Engrossed in whatever television show he was watching, Joe did not respond. This lack of attention illicted a pitiful, "Joe, don't you want to come over here and talk with us?" from me. The response i got (rather matter-of-factly, to boot):

"Honey. We get 26 channels now. It's doubtful I'll ever converse with you again."

a few for you

I've come across a few items lately that have given me great pleasure, and thought they'd be worth advertising on this humble page. Here they are, with brief comments, in no particular order:

1.) The Sensuous Garden by Montagu Don
A gardening book written by Joe's and my fav author.
(must confess we mildly worship the Brit - we may name a son after him)
Highly recommend it to anyone even remotely interested in flowers or veg.

2.) Moby Wrap baby carrier
I like it so much that my beloved baby sling has been temporarily shelved.
Need i say more?
Okay, i will, since you're shocked and scandalized.
It works so well for me b/c i am mostly at home and constantly mobile. Leopold sleeps for hours while he's taped securely to my body and i get oodles of work done without disturbing him or having to readjust him... but we do find 2 drawbacks that are non-existent with slings: a.) i have to set him down when i want to put it on, and it does take some time to wrap it and b.) it's really really awkward to nurse in, or to access body parts needed during said maternal act.

3.) Crayola's triangular crayons
I've noticed Rosemarie has great writing utensil holding skills, and i attribute them to the configuration of these colorful lovelies. A must-try if you have a toddler.

4.) Holy Baby! 7 Prayers in 7 Languages
Scored this dvd for $1 on eBay last spring.
I can overlook the freaky-looking computer-generated baby nun only b/c the kids now know how to pray the rosary in German, Latin, Spanish, Portuguese, French, and will occassionally be caught speaking a sing-song Vietnamese when playing make-believe with their food at the dinner table. Also helpful in foreign language development skills (duh) and promotes the concept of the Church being universal.

5. Double-Stuf Oreos
(Uh-huh!)

Date Night with the Wait Staff

Needless to say, Joe and i don't treat ourselves to many candel-lit dinners or nights out on the town. We're too budgeted and too romantic on a daily basis in the comfort of our own home to bother with those sorts of things... unless we have a gift card and a free sitter - er, um - grandchild-time-deprived grandparents. Last night, all those stars were aligned, so we braved the winter cold and headed out to dinner after dropping off the two eldest children at Nana and Pop's house (where they were treated to Happy Meals - lucky!).

We were (or at least *I* was) looking forward to an hour of dim-light, yummy (free-ish) food, and uninterupted spousal converation. So we took our seats at a secluded booth and ordered our drinks and platters of buttery seafood. We began discussing refinancing, gardening, the division of labor problems inherent in parish offices, our deep love for eachother, yada-yada-yada. I'm sure you can imagine how divinely romantic it all was. The dialogue would have been quite fluid, the romance blazing, and the night flawlessly dreamy were it not for the wait staff.

Don't get me wrong - they brought our food in record time and provided me with an abyss of cherry Coke, so the food service was great. But they just wouldn't stay away!!! Call me Miss Complainy Pants, but as a restaurant patron, if i wanted to know how cute your 6 year old granddaughter was when she said, "Orock Babama is MY president b/c Iiiiiiii voted for him!" I would have initiated a political conversation. And if I thought it appropriate for you to go into a five-minute monologue about your 5 daughters, their spouses, their ex's, step-grandchildren, out-of-wedlock relations and the fruits thereof, etc., then I .. wait, i DON'T think that's appropriate at all. And why do you? Also, i know my baby is adorable (thanks for noticing, and no, for the seventh time, we don't need a high chair), and I really am sincerely glad you love children, but could you please refrain from having an ongoing googey-goo conversation with him EVERY time you pass by our booth? I'm trying to have a romantic evening with my husband. We won't be dining alone again for at least a year.

Maybe i'm a snob, but i'm constantly critiquing modern customer service, and I think that dominating a dining couple with wait staff family trivia ranks among the capital offenses. So last night, despite our efforts to 'keep the love alive,' we came home having learned more about 3 waitresses than we did about eachother.

Rant complete.

January 22, 2009

Too many years have passed.

For a live television feed of the March for Life in Washington, D.C., click here. Thank God for EWTN!!!

[We certainly couldnt count on the mainstream media to stick around for a few extra days to give this national event any attention. The reporters are probably still recovering from the love fest - i mean, the Inaugural Ball - which was, as they bragged, "For the first time not exclusive to Washington dignitaries and elites." I lost count of all the pop-icons, Hollywood deities, comedians, and other multi-million dollar personalities whom i watched dance and laugh the night away. Thanks for the invitation, B.O. I feel so included now.]

This morning's reflection

My husband and i have always admired the monastic characteristics of winter, and when the earth is shrouded in her mantle of white, I'm reminded of the silence of a soul in adoration of the Most High.

Catholic -isms (not to be confused with Catholicism... although sometimes they end up being the same thing)

A new one to be added to the treasury is this:

Regarding Ring-Around-the-Rosie, a Catholic preschooler may, when referring to that beloved childhood pasttime, mispronounce it as "Ring-Around-the-Rosary."

And since I consider such misunderstandings to err less on the side of irreverence and *much* more on the side of oh-my-goodness-that-is-so-cute-how-could-i-possibly-correct-that?-i-wish-he'd-stay-4-years-old-forever, I smile in my heart and we play anyway.

Prayer Request

Asking for your prayers for my mama who will be undergoing invasive brain surgery on 02.04.09.

Thank you, and may God reward you for your powerful intercession!!

Censored Madness

I get myself into this kind of overly ambitious mess all the time. But there are rewards, i suppose. Like getting to snap and share photos... if you have a husband who is willing to dig the camera out of the diaper bag and come into the sloppy w.c. to play the role of photographer.*

So here.
This picture was crying out from the depths of digital memory logging,
"Share me!"

You *can* hear that, can't you?!

(*photo credit: J. Schmizzle)

'Tis the Season of the 3-4-5's

Meaning that, for a short (excedingly too short) time in my life, i find myself falling into that tiny population of those who have 3 kids under 4 years of age after 5 years of marriage.

I've not been part of this group for long, but i'm already counting its blessings and seeing how precious and how darned fleeting it is.

There are lots of diaper changes. Many messy hands and jellied mouths. The tumbling to the floor of siblings whose legs got twisted and tangled in the midst of their affection. Milky babies. Milky blankets, spit rags, onesies, wool sweaters, jeans, carpets, et al. Crumb-cluttered kitchen floors. Bathrooms that get nasty quick. Piles of itty bitty laundry and mud-caked Carharts that mock my domestic effort to keep up. Interupted rosaries. Toddler voices learning prayers. Ruins of toy set-ups. Requests to dance to radio music after supper dishes are done. The cooing of a sleeping baby. The crying of a sleep-deprived toddler. The peaceful, well-rested and pensive gaze of a preschooler. The coffee. The embrace of a spouse. Perfect love. God's grace.

It's busy. It's crazy. Sometimes it's overwhelming. But it's filled with huge joy. Unsurpassable happiness, in fact, especially when i recall that this home of mine that's been filled with the love of my spouse and children is my path to heaven, my refining fire, my delight.