Fabric Bowl Tutorial

After seeing (and purchasing) some pretty fabric bowls at a craft show this Winter, I decided to track down a good tutorial and give it a try. Eventually. It's been just sitting in my bookmarks so I decided to de-clutter and share it with you ambitious crafty types who love fabric distractions as much as I do. Perhaps one of you can come up with a very pretty Easter project. Instructions HERE.

Fabric Bowl made by Linda Permann

Bullying Follow-Up

I received a comment on my last post that struck me as odd. My post was about the serious bullying that my 12-year daughter has been subjected to recently; a little vent coming from a place of frustration and sorrow. The commenter issued something of a rebuke to me for not being more compassionate to the bullies and for using words like "wicked" when describing people who intentionally try to destroy others.

I ruminated on the commenters words for a while, unsure whether to respond or just ignore it. Obviously the comment was written in ignorance of the details of our situation and a lack of understanding of correct parental responsibilities with regard to the wellbeing of children. I decided to ignore it. This morning, I received some information that changed my mind. Another victim had been claimed in this situation. This post isn't just for the eyes of "GrandmaGracie" but for anyone who has been victimized by bullying in any of its forms or who is ignorant of the urgent need for parents to stand up and fight for their children.

The bullies in our situation have been responsible for a great deal of suffering for my family and most specifically for my daughter. The attackers have included both children and adults and, in spite of the fact that we have never said or done anything other than encourage and support them, they have determined on a course of action to injure us.

They have done it. They have destroyed reputations. They have permanently ruined relationships. They have cut down a child's spirit and attempted to take away something that means so much to her... and have largely succeeded. They have no remorse and have no interest in reconciling or repairing damage done. And as of today... their actions have pushed an adult involved (not a member of our family) to abandon a job which she loves even though she did her best to love them and meet their needs.

We have forgiven. We have loved them. Now, it is time to get as far away from them as possible. I do not believe that Christ would have me leave my child in the midst of a pit of vipers. One of the reasons He blessed her with parents is so that we can protect her from people like these.

Wicked. When I use the word in relation to these bullies, I am not saying they are beyond redemption; I am not judging their souls. Their actions are wicked. Even the secular dictionary agrees with my usage. Wicked: morally very bad; fierce, vicious; disposed to or marked by mischief; causing or likely to cause harm, distress or trouble; nefarious; sinful; bad; wrong.  It's a harsh word, no doubt... but I use it accurately. Morally very bad girls. Vicious girls. Girls disposed to mischief and causing harm.

I spoke to a woman yesterday whose teenage daughter attempted suicide this past year... had her sense of worth cut down so severely by bullies that she was driven to a desire to end her own life. Beautiful girl with a gentle spirit. Any action that intentionally attempts to bring another soul to despair is wicked.

To "GrandmaGracie"....

I trust that your comment was not intended to injure anyone and was only thoughtless. I have written thoughtless comments myself and understand the ease with which inappropriate things roll off the fingers onto the screen. I also trust that you are largely ignorant of this extremely serious problem that afflicts our youngsters or else you wouldn't have written what you did. I am not in the habit of calling out commenters... but this time I felt obligated to for the sake of all the beautiful kids out there who are left defenseless because of misguided adults; adults who are either ignorant of the power of evil against our kids, deluded into thinking that being "nice" to everyone is the cure, or who are spineless in the face of such worldly power that unscrupulous meanness yields.

We have spoken with other adults in our situation who feel as you do, but they all had something to lose if we walked away. Money. Pride. Reputation. One of those adults has now fallen victim herself. I am sorry but not surprised. I'm not sure what is motivating you but I hope it is just ignorance, as that is easily resolved.

You want Cookie to love and forgive. Okay. She has. That's her nature... her character... her faith. She also knows the difference between a wicked action and a loving action and that those girls and mothers have freely chosen the former. It is not her fault. It is out of her hands. She makes a note of how not to treat others. Prays for them. And moves on.

Serious damage has been done and much of it is irreparable. Imagine what would have happened if we had allowed her to continue to be abused at their hands. Always loving, always forgiving, always excusing... always the object of their abuse. You correctly stated that I am the adult and she is the child. Consequently, I will allow her to continue to forgive and love and grow and be a child in a healthy environment. And on the adult side of things, her dad and I will be happy to absorb the fallout of that unpopular decision.

He Has Not Chosen To Take It Away

I had planned on writing something fresh this week for Lent. Posting some nice links. Coming up with a plan for my family's Lenten journey. How best to approach the foot of the Cross? How best to enter in to this time of repentance and renewal? Clever ideas for the littles. Practices for the older ones that will help them to mature in faith. A measured path of my own.

This weekend, praise God, I discovered that much of the work had been done for me. Trial, suffering, mortification, humiliation... all wrapped up in one big stressful package. Now, all we have to do is live through it with as much courage and virtue as we can. It won't be so much about the cute charts and clever sacrifice counters that I was hoping to use this year... the business has been taken out of my hands. This year, we are taking special stripes for Christ. 

My dear 12-year old Cookie has been introduced to the world of meanness. Wickedness really. "Mean" doesn't quite hit the target. I can be mean to you and you can ignore me. Wickedness is meaner than mean. It aims and strikes to the heart of the victim and cuts them down when they can't run. It hurts on purpose, intentionally attempting to drive someone to a state of sorrow and humiliation and despair. It seeks to drive a wedge between a person and hope, joy, and safety.

Wickedness feeds on itself. It doesn't get tired and go away when it's all used up... it just festers. It strikes, watches for the injury... and grows larger in its repulsive self-centerd glee. When wicked people are permitted to attack innocence, they are not satisfied, but grow hungrier and more ruthless. They taste power and want more.

I don't know why children do this to each other or why adults find that they must join in on the "fun" and evil. The little girls cackle with their mothers and whisper and poison and find a way to injure. Girls of shallow character or weakness join the wolf pack in order to avoid being eaten and are generally eaten eventually anyway.

Mean secular mothers teach their girls how to rise to the top of the pack. Christian mothers raise their children for courage in these moments. It is why we count our Lenten journey on a symbolic chart, decorate our tables with ashes, give alms, and forgo sweets and meat. Some Lents take place on that training ground. Some take place on the battle field.

We have dealt with mean before. We have dealt with wicked before. And the one thing that we have learned as parents over the years is that wickedness accepts no compromise. Meetings, tears, bonding activities, talking, ignoring, imploring... they often mean nothing to the heart that has given itself over to wickedness. The Chief and I will not sacrifice our children to the pleasure of wicked people.  We will not compromise with evil. These people might hurt my daughter. They might steal from her. They might do their very best to inflict painful wounds. But they will not destroy her so long as I have breath in me.

My heart was swollen with anger as I stepped into the confessional. Father encouraged me to think of Blessed Mother at the foot of the Cross. Did she focus on the ones who did the evil? Did she yell at them or confront them? Where were her eyes? Where was her heart? There are times to stand up to evil (and this is one) but I must not lose focus. Where are my eyes? Where is my heart?

Monday night, Cookie and I lay side by side in the dark talking about sorrow and anger. Her sisters slept and the clock marked hours into the morning... and we talked. "I'm a tough Cookie, Mommy." I know you are, but when it hurts, I'm here.

Morning came and her eyes were dark and puffy. She seemed less confident than the day before and told me that it hurts. You're taking stripes for Him, sweetheart. It is a privilege. But I know it hurts.

I printed off our Lenten calendars today and we hope to receive ashes on our foreheads this evening. (We may need to sacrifice our desire to attend Ash Wednesday Mass as a family as signs of illness and pink eye are emerging.) I hope to make pretzels this year and make daily mass more frequently. There are books I want to introduce and activities to plan. We will make our Lenten sacrifices. Cookie is welcome to give up or add something this year as always, and I'm sure she will, but I suspect that what she is undergoing now is a greater sacrifice than anything she could impose upon herself.

She has given the mean people the best of herself. She has loved them and worked for them. She has supported them and cheered for them. She has gone the extra mile to make sure they were comfortable and able to be their best. In return, they have broken her heart and taken from her one of the great delights of her young life.

I spent the day yesterday thanking God for this gift. I thanked Him in pain, but I thanked Him. I told Cookie it is a gift because she suffers for Goodness and Truth. Her intellect nods in agreement and her heart reels with mine. It is a burning, a purging... a Lenten blessing. It is a gift of simplification. It exposes the wounded heart and sets a perfect foundation for renewal and... Easter.

I would take the suffering away from her if I could. But God knows everything, loves perfectly, and has power over everything... and He has not chosen to take it away. So, I will continue to give thanks and pray for the grace to kneel next to Blessed Mother, focus on Jesus, and lead my children to Love.

In the coming days, we are going to have to make some very hard decisions and I pray that we do the right thing. It is confusing. There are people who will be angry regardless of what we do. There will be those who misunderstand. There will be innocent people who might be negatively affected. There simply is no coming out of this without wounds all around. Such is the price of wickedness.

Prayer. Fasting. Almsgiving. Repentance. Forgiveness. Mercy. Sacrifice... And a gift of suffering for Lent.

It was my plan to quiet the house today for Ash Wednesday. No music. No video. No computer. The first "no" fell when Cookie came to me and asked if she could buy a song for her ipod. She asked for "Blessings" by Laura story and I said yes. The second "no" fell when illness hit the house and I wanted a way to occupy the little ones quietly for a while. The third "no" fell when I let the tears fall for the first time through this mess and I was determined to lift up my heart in gratitude and joy. To do that (along with prayer), I decided to clarify my thoughts and write. And why not write it here?

My Lents, Advents and feasts never look quite like I imagine them anyway. Perhaps someday I will discover that the abandonment of my preferences in these things has been one of the greatest aids to my sanctification. I'm certainly praying that's the case.




Read: Bullying Follow-Up

Endurance, Grace, Openness to Life

It was a long weekend... going down in the family record books for top ten super tough mama endurance tests.  Toddlers and youth sport tournaments just don't mix. I am exhausted and waiting for my back muscles to stop seizing up. But my fingers work so I'll post a recap while I just... sit down for a while. Incidentally, I made a lovely list last week of things never to forget when leaving the house with multiple small children (posted here) and forgot about half of it. Duh. For example, while the Chief and Professor were out of town, I ventured out of the house with all the children to a new destination and no GPS. Double duh.

My camera was low on batteries but I managed to capture some moments for the purpose of remembering the weekend with light-heartedness... and identifying moments of grace...

Day #1 
5:30 am and time to make breakfast for the traveling Professor. In another few hours, it was Cookie's turn to leave for her games. The hectic tournament schedule was complicated by our weekend mass obligation. "Fit mass in"... as if it's an afterthought. *sigh* But we fight against the insanity and try to cling to faith and to each other.

The photo above was taken from the choir loft of a church close to the tournament site. (Doesn't it look like Noah's Ark?) Tournament schedules are extremely unfriendly to church-going Catholics. In this case, we were able to find a Mass to attend during a long break between matches. The rest of the team (most of whom are Catholics) had a cake and pizza party. We were in our tournament-enduring clothing and I was grateful for my blue jeans and sensible shoes since I would be spending the next hour crawling on wet carpets and tile and running after Cub. The vestibule was under construction and there was nowhere - I mean NOWHERE - to go with a fussing, yelling 1-year old. Except the choir loft. But he didn't like the choir loft and the people in the choir loft didn't like him (or rather, they didn't like his verbal expressions). So...

... we sat in the stairwell. And climbed up. And slid down. And fell down. And spilled our emergency M & M's all over. And took pictures just for a short-lived distraction...

That's a papal flag at the top of the stairs on the right. I know because my darling cherub tried to knock it down. I almost cried at mass. I really almost did. But I was so proud of my other children who sat all by themselves so nicely. 

As I waited with aching arms for children to use the bathroom after mass, I admired a statue of Blessed Mother and fancied that she was laughing a little at me. Don't worry, she seemed to say, you won't be standing here forever. Just a little longer, dear. You're doing fine.

I returned to the gym with Cookie and Cub (after handing off the other littles) to find that the concessions had run out. To try and simplify the evening, I had actually planned (against my better judgement) on buying some concession garbage to keep our motors running. With no food, the remainder of the evening became a painful test of pure endurance.

Mercy Moment of the Day:

Shortly after arriving at the gym from mass, an older gentleman approached me and said loudly in front of the staring parents of Cookie's teammates: Are you the mother of five children? Well, six children... but I'm probably the one you're looking for. I cringed and waited for whatever horrible thing was going to come next. Instead, I heard this: I saw you and your children at mass half an hour ago. I wanted to tell you what a joy it is to see families making time for mass in the midst of a busy schedule; and that your kids were so well behaved. Your oldest daughter was wonderful with the little ones. It's hard. I know it is. You just keep putting one foot in front of the other and doing what you're doing and loving God and each other. They are all beautiful.

I laughed out loud. I had just come from one of the most challenging masses of my motherhood and this guy spots me among hundreds of people at a volleyball tournament... and gives me words of grace. God's ways are wonderful.

I was much consoled as I sat on the bleachers with Cub. The man's words had given me new energy. The other moms admired my sweet little guy and we talked about family, volleyball and school. I don't know how you do it, they said. Your kids are so beautiful, they said. And then a mom turns to me with a sly look and with a bitter tone says...

Sooo... are you and your husband done yet?

I've had the exact same conversation a hundred times. It is incredibly uncreative and dull. Small talk, modern family style. Dull and offensive. I smiled and gave her my dull and standard answer and walked away.

Day #2

I awakened at 5:30am to again make breakfast for Professor before his travels to Pennsylvania. After the guys left, I shoveled the driveway in the dark and thought about the 2 hours I had left to try and sleep. But the activity made sleep impossible; so I started my day and then began the second round of breakfast and packing up food and supplies for another long day.

I tried to take pictures but I couldn't figure out how to change the setting on my camera to "action." I used to know how to do this. Cookie is the blur in red.

There was nowhere to sit except bleachers, on which Cub wouldn't stay. I finally found a cold corner in which to give him a nap. The above photo was my view of one of Cookie's games. The following photo is my view of Little Cub...

He was warm and cozy while every one of my limbs went numb. He awakened too soon and spent the rest of the day (several hours worth) on the verge of total breakdown. He wouldn't sit in the stroller. The only place of respite from the yelling and commotion was inside a stall in the bathroom. I perched as far on the edge of the toilet seat as I could and we talked and calmed down and nursed. Every once in a while, he'd wave a hand or foot and set off the electric eye on the toilet. SWWWOOOSHH! And my jeans would get sprayed with incoming toilet water. 

He didn't want any more of his snacks (even the emergency goodies) and lost interest in the toys I brought. He had no interest in sitting with me in the bleachers or on the floor. He didn't want me to put him down. And then he'd find some trouble to get into and wouldn't be picked up. He kept pointing to the bathroom, preferring the ugly stall to the screaming mass of humanity in the gym. I was sweating and flustered when a perfectly coifed volleyball mom asks me:

So. Are you going to have any more?

I laughed... and fondly remembered the good man from the previous day who had been such a gift of mercy. 

It was dark when we arrived home and my aching body hit the bed with tremendous gratitude; feeling grateful, strangely, that the next day was Monday.

Day #3

Monday. The Chief came home from work feeling terribly ill. I had counted on him taking Cookie to her practice and my heart sank as I realized it was not to be. Gear up, kids. Let's get out of here and let Daddy sleep. 

During practice I changed a soiled diaper, kissed a boo boo, nursed Cub, cleaned up spilled water and fish crackers, watched the children play under the filthy bleachers, hit the ball around with Professor and enjoyed a little adult conversation. 

20 minutes into practice a woman with whom I'd been conversing asks: So, do you think you're done?

40 minutes into practice, her husband (not being present for his wife's question) asks: So, do you think this is it for you?

After practice, one of the coaches asks: So, you having any more?

Because I guess that's the one thing that people just really want to know about me. 

Day #4

St. Valentine's Day. A music lesson. A celebration with friends who actually have more children than we do. A lot of kids. A lot of joy. A puppy dog. Grace-filled conversation. A little bit of Wii. A bunch of sugar. Blessing on top of blessing. Exhausted. Undone dishes that will wait until tomorrow.

The last few days have been a challenge... but it is not the goal of my life to escape challenge. I know plenty of highly challenged, unhappy people with fewer children than I have. To be honest with you, I would be much happier spending an exhausting day with my large and wonderful family than with any fashionable, well-educated, sociable adult who cannot manage to keep themselves from asking...

...Are you done? 

At the tournament, my hands were not free to take stats and compare figures with other parents. Not free to fuss with an ipad or phone... but they were full of one of the great joys of my life. It is an honor to care for Cub.

My voice was not free to scream at the ref and hurl profanities at 13-year olds like some of the fathers were doing. It was free from the temptation to gossip and complain with some of the mothers. It was free to be occupied whispering the sweet nothings that a toddler needs to hear from his mama in a strange and noisy place.

My eyes were not free to take note of every single point or error of my child and the children of others. I saw enough to take delight in Cookie's efforts and successes... but needed my eyes to ensure the safety and well-being of Cub.

My arms were not free to relax and be idle. My burning biceps and aching joints instead bore the blessed burden of my squirmy toddler. There could hardly have been a better use for them.

All in all, my occupied hands, arms, eyes and voice kept me from the temptation to many vices while giving me the opportunity to do some serious loving. Difficult? Wow. Yeah. You betcha. But I do not regret one moment and recognize the gift of grace throughout. 

Are we done? If the questioner means to ask if we've ruined our healthy reproductive organs in order to ensure that we will no longer have children... then, no. Are we having more? If the questioner means to ask if we know whether or not we know for sure if more children are in our future... then, no, we don't know the answer to that. If the questioner means to inquire whether the Chief and I intend to discuss the intimate conversations and discernment of our married life with anyone who asks... then, no... it's absolutely no one's business but ours. But if they must know (minus details and definitive answers)...

We will never say never. Never close the door completely. We love our children and know that having more, challenging as it might be in some ways, would only increase the love and joy in our home. This is not an easy life but it is mighty good. 

7 Quick Takes - TMI /Girls Only Edition

This is my TMI / Girls Only Edition of 7 Quick Takes. Meaning, if you're not a woman, you may want to skeddadle. It won't be too horrible, I'll keep it brief, but still...

~1~

Kegels. Ladies, are you faithfully doing your kegels? Then stop. Apparently, they don't help and could hurt. What should you do instead of kegels to strengthen the maternally strained pelvic floor? Squats. Now that you're over your shock, go read more about it here.

~2~

Gray hair. My visions of going gray gracefully and naturally are dying within me. Thirty-five used to sound so old... and now that I'm here it just doesn't seem like it should be time to go gray. It's just sprinkled but increasing steadily. The men I know who are going gray look so... distinguished. Mine just looks messy and random.

There used to be a lovely older woman in the J. Jill catalogs with long pretty gray hair. I have long imagined my ideal future older self to have that lovely head of mature hair. Natural, silver white hair blowing in the breeze. Anyway, it's not really like that for me and I guess I'm super vain... because I truly don't want to lose my brown hair yet. I've never had my hair dyed. Never even had highlights. So this is new territory. I have time to think about it since most of my gray is in the middle layer but it's irksome nonetheless. I have no desire to spend time or money fixing this "problem." Neither do I want to be the only gray-haired 30-something I know. If I was on my own, I don't think there would be much of an issue... but it doesn't seem like my husband should have a gray-haired wife on his arm just yet.

Speaking of the Chief, he insists that he doesn't care either way. Which, even though it's meant in a very loving way, doesn't help at all from a purely practical perspective.

I'm still open to graying naturally but I'm going to take it one day at a time. This sweet article helped me  shove my vanity under the bed for one more day. Road Maps and Silver Crowns

~3~

Feminine products. Natural is clearly better but I've tried cloth and am not a fan. I've been eyeing a product called the Diva Cup for years and, after hearing good reviews from other moms, am almost ready to start thinking about a purchase... maybe. More input would be helpful from you brave souls who would care to share. Email is cool (left sidebar). I'll take anonymous comments happily if you don't want to leave your name.

~4~

Custody of the eyes. I feel moved to say something about this... even some faithful Catholic men have a tendency to make me blush. Which is worse than being whistled at by a construction worker. Much more embarrassing. If I'm talking to a great Catholic dad who has a lovely wife and 24 children and I'm thinking "HEY! I'm up heeeere"... that's pretty frustrating. I'm sure I don't always reach the pinnacle of modesty perfection, but still... Please, talk to my face. There is currently a popular Catholic speaker who encourages a deep appreciation of the female form and thinks that men aught to be able to look with pure intentions. However... I think it would be best for a man to stick to appreciating his own wife's body.

~5~

Post-partum hair loss. Little Cub is 15 months old and my hair is finally growing back in. It looks funny because there are short bunches of hair growing around my hair line as if I cut it that way. I'm very glad it's growing back and I understand that it's normal but the one-inch growth sure is goofy looking!

~6~

Nursing bras. I have spent a literal decade of my 14 years of motherhood nursing little ones and can't stress enough the importance of a good undergarment. If you buy cheap stuff, it will wear out and fail you very quickly. It took me five babies to finally understand what a significant improvement this investment will make. My current favorite is the Bravado line from which I purchased for the first time this year. I admit it wasn't an easy purchase to make but I am quite happy with it. If you can afford it but your husband objects to the expenditure, please send him to me and I will explain a few things to him for you. If you are currently pregnant, start budgeting now for the purchase. Also, I was able to find brand new Bravado bras on eBay for almost half price which put them right about at the price of the super cheap versions with which I have settled in the past.

~7~

Valentines. Lastly, and since most of the men folk are likely frightened away by this time, I want to share a link to a lovely printable Valentine to give to our darling husbands. Hallie over at Betty Beguiles has put together a sweet letter with fill-in-the-blank prompts. It's a very simple but meaningful way to let our guys know they mean the world to us.

Got Pride? Embrace Motherhood.

Motherhood is a perpetual walk in the valley of humility. And no, I'm not being dramatic. If a woman becomes a mother and has the good fortune of having multiple children, she will eventually have all kinds of totally embarrassing things happen to her. It's really a good thing, I think. I have definitely learned to laugh at myself and do not suffer nearly as much as I used to under humiliating circumstances.

When Cookie was younger she danced ballet. Every week I would drag the other children with me to sit for an hour in a tiny little room with other mothers and siblings where we would patiently wait. There happened to be one week when I had only my baby and one other mother in that room. As we sat, my charming infant proceeded to loudly pass a tremendous amount of gas and fill her diaper. I laid out a mat on a nearby table to change the child (there really was nowhere else to do it) and the other woman continued to read her magazine. As I began the diaper changing operation, I heard an exclamation of surprise and relief come from the woman across the room. Our eyes met and she said with great sincerity, "Oh my goodness, I'm so glad to see that it was the baby. Really, I thought it was YOU! It does happen, you know. All the same, it's nice that it wasn't you after all." She picked up her magazine again and that was that.

There was the time that Crash got carsick and threw up all over himself (far away from home) as we arrived at his sister's club volleyball try-out. I couldn't go home... and he smelled so bad in a very crowded place in spite of our efforts to wash his clothes in the bathroom sink and dry him underneath the hand dryer.

Or the time when Jellybean wet her pants while we were visiting at someone's home and I had forgotten a change for her.

I recall a Sunday when Button stuffed her mouth full of cookies at a parish function and then coughed, sending mushy, saliva-laden baked goods all over someone's dress shoes.

Then there was the time my firstborn asked an overweight family friend why his belly was so much bigger than other people's bellies... is there a baby in there?

Or the things that kids will say about their parents. To their pastor. And the grocery store cashier.

And the crazy things that they will do in restaurants with ketchup, sugar packets and straw wrappers right after the waitress compliments us for having well-behaved children.

These kinds of incidents have afflicted me by the thousands in the last 14 years. I am largely immune to the emotional trauma by now. I experience an initial (extremely brief) pinch to my pride and sharp intake of breath... and then breathe it all out with my profuse apologies to the offended. I have also noticed that I am no longer totally grossed out when other people's kids pick their noses in my presence... although I do enjoy a private giggle at their expense.

I can tell that I have changed for the better as a mother because I used to suffer greatly under the memory of kid-induced humiliations... and now... I just put them on my blog. And then there are the ones that can't be repeated in public. I share those privately with my husband so that he can participate in the humiliation... and a hearty laugh. Remember when your kid did such-and-such? {cue hysterical laughter}

Note to new mothers: I highly recommend packing the following items into your car/diaper bag (in addition to the regular contents) until your children are at least 12 years old. And don't ask questions... just trust me...

~ Lots of plastic grocery bags (preferably without holes)
~ Roll of paper towels
~ Extra package of wet wipes
~ Hand sanitizer
~ A bucket (or two, depending on your numbers)
~ Pair of scissors
~ Extra clothes for all (including yourself)
~ Air freshener
~ All-purpose cleaner
~ Tissues
~ Anti-nausea medication
~ Super secret stash of really yummy, colorful candy (just trust me)
~ Super secret stash of emergency distracting fun things (like the Game Boy you saved from your childhood that your kids have never seen before.)
~ Snacks
~ Gallon Ziploc bags
~ A warm blanket
~ Bottled water (a multitude of uses)
~ Masking tape
~ GPS
~ Rosary
~ First Aid kit (including antibiotic ointment)
~ Benadryl
~ Ibuprofin (this is for your headache)
~ Quarters and singles
~ Forgiving arms
~ A smile
~ A ready apology
~ A heart full of gratitude

I've missed some things. It's the unspoken law of parental humility that you will have left the scorpion anti-venom serum on the bathroom counter when you most need it. Experienced moms... feel free to add to the list!

Here is the list for things to leave at home:

~ Your pride

This will do you no good when your newly walking angel baby puts a death grip onto someone's (maybe yours) elastic-waisted skirt... and falls. Or when your newborn spits up over your shoulder into someone's purse. Yes, these things have happened to me. They will probably happen to you. When they do, feel free to blog about it so that I can laugh with you and offer thanks to God for the opportunity for you grow in humility. :)

Blog Maintenance Today

Just letting you know in case you stop by and things look a little out of sorts. :)

Age-Activated ADD

Funny, funny... but oh, so familiar and lamentable. If this is Age-Activated ADD, then it was activated for me at a very young age. Some enterprising young mommy should remake this video to represent mothers with young children.



curtsy to Fr. V.

The Real Key to Successful Homeschooling...

My dear friend, Lena, forwarded me a link today... and here I sit in a puddle of tears. That's hardly anything new. The moment I enter the blogosphere and click on page titled anything remotely close to "Amongst Lovely Things", I know I'm at risk. It's just the good Lord touching my heart strings again through the words of one of His own. And sometimes, the words are so good and true that I have to pass them on.

In "Why I'm No Homeschool Superstar," Sarah writes...


"I have become convinced that a peaceful and happy mother is the real key to successful homeschooling. Choosing excellent materials is important, of course. Establishing a healthy daily routine is enormously helpful. Developing an active social life is essential. We can read up on every curriculum on the market, listen to webcasts, devour articles, attend conferences, participate in co-ops or support groups, and otherwise get our ducks in a perfect little row, but none of this will have the same impact on the life of a homeschooling family as a peaceful and happy mother." (Read all of it here.)



So, here I sit in puddles, struck by the absolutely truth of that statement. I know it so well. And yet I keep fighting what I know, chasing on the heels of the ideal of the "homeschool superstar." 


I am grateful to Sarah for making it plain again. And to Lena for sharing, knowing that I'd be swimming in the graces of this moment. 


As I ruminated on Sarah's post, I asked myself THE QUESTION that I always ask: What do I want my homeschool to look like? My imagination began to run and I saw a lot of smiling, and laughter; I saw gentleness, faithfulness and industriousness. In my weakness, I often think that I can force that... make it happen by putting the pieces together just so. If I only had that art program, my children would have an appreciation for great art and beauty... If I only had the perfect chore system... If I could only... whatever, fill in the blank... then I would have smiling, laughing, gentle, faithful, industrious students.


A peaceful and happy mother. Full of Grace. 


You know, I think I can do that. By the grace of God, I can. I've been dragging my heels with my New Year's resolutions and personal goal-setting. It came to me quickly and clearly last year but I've been stumbling a bit in 2012, not wanting to force what wasn't clear. Things just got a whole lot smoother. I have a beginning. 


This is not to say that I will be planning bubble baths, chocolate parties, and hours long reading sessions in bed. Not "peaceful and happy" in a sensual, secular sense but the kind that lasts and changes us. What is true about me and my household... and how will that bring us closer to our goals, to each other... and to God. 


It's time to open the floodgates of Grace. No more hesitating. 2012 is waiting... Thanks be to God!

Catholic Bloggers' Colossal Share-a-Thon (& Giveaway)

I'm participating in The First EVER Catholic Bloggers' Colossal Share-a-Thon (& Giveaway) over at the Catholic Bloggers Network. Huge fun. I love having a reason to give something away; they did all the work for me and provided me with an easy 5-minute blog post. Nice!

Since my Etsy shop is sitting empty right now, I pulled these pretty bean bags out from my waiting-for-a-good-home boxes for the giveaway fun.

This is a set of four toddler-sized bean bags (approximately 4" x 5") all wrapped up and ready to give. I call them "Toddler" bean bags because they are the perfect size for carrying, tossing, and learning to catch... and because they are machine washable. I used to make bean bags with organic filling... until it became clear that toddlers will spit up, throw up, and do whatever else they need to do to saturate organic (i.e. stuff that will rot when exposed to liquids) materials. And when it's handmade, it's painful to have to throw it out.

I don't actually know how the fun over at CBN is going to roll out... I just noticed an hour ago that the deadline is tomorrow and came right here to build a link. The giveaway will be live for two weeks once it's open.

Why Komen Flip-Flop is Actually Good News for Pro-Life

A few days ago, Komen announced that it was no longer offering grants to Planned Parenthood. I cheered and my husband cast a suspicious eye upon the whole thing. They are doing it for the wrong reasons. It won't last. It seems that he was right.

Today, Komen announced that they are going to cave to the significant pressure put on them by various groups and continue funding Planned Parenthood... even though there is evidence showing that abortions increase breast cancer and Planned Parenthood is the number one abortion provider in the world... even though Planned Parenthood does not offer mammograms... even though donations increased significantly after the initial announcement of their severed ties.

The good news is that pro-life life people can no longer ignore the relationship between Komen pink and abortion. There are many Christian people out there who never got the memo, didn't read the memo, or just ignored the memo, about what has been going on. Too many people who did not want to think about the fact that their enthusiastic, well-intentioned fund-raising efforts have gone, in part, to support the murder of innocent children.

The truth is out and all over the news. Most people will now have full knowledge of these facts before they give consent, money and support. There is no excuse for pro-life people to continue to walk with Komen.

Stop buying pink.

Find out more about why Komen and Planned Parenthood contribute to the increase in breast cancer.