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?