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Heaven Help Me!

Life with six kids, my soul-mate, a bunch of books, a cat & a dog.

 

Archive for the ‘Help!’ Category

I need a megaphone

Can anyone out there  recommend a good megaphone? After about 5pm, my late thirty-something prego body is kaput, and the kids are totally taking advantage of this! It is much more effective for them to know that if there’s any goof-ball action, I’m going to get up, chase them, and catch them. But since there’s about five more months until I’m able to do that again without them totally laughing at me, I think I’ll have to settle for a megaphone. :)

(p.s. back in our days on the farm, I used to swing around 50 pound bales of hay and 45 pounds of grain until my due date! yikes! I was 25 then.  ;) )

“Good faith” Christmas Gifts

Ever given a Christmas gift, only to find out later that you have been a victim of a conspiracy? I felt a little bit like Liz Lemon a couple years ago when I unknowingly gave a retaliatory Christmas gift to someone. I was just trying to make the person “happy”; to make their Christmas wish come true! An extended family member asked for a microcassette recorder. I thought to myself, “what a great idea! This will make it super-convenient to take notes in class, or to record a beloved speaker at an event!” So, it was at the  top of my list to buy it. Presented to the giftee on Christmas Eve, wrapped to the hilt, and with a smile of pride on my face at how perceptive & generous I was, I quickly became horrified as the giftee turned to her spouse and announced to everyone in the room, “Oh, wonderful!!! Now I can tape record everything you say so I have evidence of you not keeping your word and changing your mind!” UGH!!! I should have just gone in a corner and stuffed myself with pumpkin pie while all this was going on! Anyone ever had such an experience?

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Dust

I am spending today with a bunch of dead people. No, I do not work at a morgue. I am at the cemetery. Today is All Soul’s Day, and my dear husband has given me a “day off” of retreat to spend as I wish. Before leaving today, we talked about where I planned to go. I have been craving some quiet one-on-one time with my maker, and as I said to Nick, “What I really need is a swift kick in the pants!”

The difference between myself and all the people six feet under is that while their bodies are dead, their souls are still alive. For me, my body is alive, but my soul is nearly dead from a lack of prayer, a lack of grace. I’ve stubbornly been avoiding asking Him for it. Clearly, He would give it; the problem is me not wanting to fall again. I know this is where to trust in God’s infinite mercy… but as St. Paul says, “For I do not do what I would like to do, but instead I do what I hate….  For even though the desire to do good is in me, I am not able to do it.” Ever been in a rut such as this?

Despite all those wise words from persons much wiser than myself on living the spiritual life, being a busy homeschooling mom of six living children has made me somber – slightly joy-less – I’m not a bad mommy – but if only I disciplined my mind, I could be so much better – like Zelie Martin. Hence, my first stop today:  St. Joseph’s Cemetery.

Thousands of mortal remains have been laid to rest here. It is a chilly autumn day. The wind is churning; echoing its sound: “You are dust, to dust you shall return.” As I walk through the crunchy leaves, shades of goldenrod, orange, and red, I am surrounded by towering monuments and level grave markers. One overriding thought pervades my mind: This someday will be me. Death is the one inevitable thing that happens to us all.  Although we try to do many things to delay its onset, age-defying remedies such as cosmetics, diet, or lifestyle changes, even these things cannot prevent the simple truth: We are destined for death.

A healthy dose of this reality around the “mini-Triduum” of All Hallow’s Eve, All Saints’ Day, and All Souls Day can do one no harm. I am not afraid of death, per se. But I am afraid of the judgment, since I am not sure that I have made the most of every waking moment I’ve lived here on earth. This is where one has to trust in God’s mercy.

My current issue, as aforementioned, is that I am tired. It is not due to a lack of rest, or some solitude every day – my dear husband is sure to make sure I have such time everyday. I just feel tired. How much of this is reasonably due to the pressures of my vocation is undisputed. But how much as this, in spite of the pressures of my vocation, I am allowing to overwhelm me, is another story.

How many mixed feelings I have about needing to be “comfortable”, have a “life of my own outside my family”,  and generally needing “free time”. Why would I desire such things, when I clearly have everything I need to be happy and realize I am blessed beyond belief? The thought is strange to me, too. So, what I’ve decided to do, is to examine this today. To recall the many times, previous to today, I could say with absolute certainty that there is no need for my vocation to be “split”, between my self and those who need my help for their very existence, and prospering.

So, with the tombstones in the background for scenery, I am reading “Story of a Soul: The Autobiography of St. Therese of Lisieux”. What I’m finding is that this young women, who was never married, never gave birth, and was 13 years younger than I at the time of her death speaks volumes of wisdom on not only family life and concern for the poor, but living and loving others in general.

I have not progressed through the whole book yet, but will write again, after I’ve had the chance to process what I’ve read.

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“10″

Growing up, I had a great relationship with my mom. We were always very close and sometimes, she was my sole confidant. I looked forward to the  day when I would get to pass on such a treasured relationship to my own children – anticipating that since things went so flawlessly for me they would go flawlessly for any daughter God would give me to raise for Him.

Imagine my surprise, when tonight I found myself Google-ing, “How to parent your ten-year old daughter”. Today was a rough day of sorts. I had to confront my daughter about her not taking care of her responsibilities at home and getting behind in her schoolwork, even though the school year just started three weeks ago.

She stomped off to her room in a full blown tirade.  (Homeschooling is not always roses). After a few minutes, I quietly followed her, in the way my mom would have done for me. She sulked, she cried, she refused to peer out from behind the book she was reading to look at me directly.

I informed her that  in order to spend more time doing schoolwork, I had to confiscate her computer.

“You just like to feel powerful!” she screamed. At which point I said, “Well. You’re right, I am your mother.”

Descending down the stairs, my heart struggled with this. While I think I did the right thing, I never thought parenting a daughter would be hard for me. She really felt I didn’t understand.

Well, in a sense, she’s right. Here’s why.

I don’t understand how, after wasting so much time in my own pre-teen years on less important, less essential things,  she doesn’t embrace my message of  “use your time wisely!”

I don’t understand how, after waking up ridiculously early every morning for years as a teen to do a daily makeover, and a hour obsessing on my hair, that she could possibly be attracted to “doing her hair”, too. I used to spend my whole allowance on that crap! (After all, the only “cosmetic” I wear these days is a little cherry chap-stick and I’m lucky if I do much more with my hair than put it in a ponytail.)

I don’t understand how, after my self-imposed practically anorexic suffering throughout those years, that she could concern herself with wanting to be “thin”. And how, after my weight fluctuating from 115 pounds to 160 pounds during and after each of my five pregnancies that a flat stomach would be my ticket to happiness.

Right. I have no experience. How could I possibly understand?

With my search for information on Google, I came across an article that shed new light: “Ten Ways To Love Your Ten Year Old Girl“. Which basically comes down to the reason I wanted to be a mother in the first place: Love.

I have been blessed with four living daughters and one  son. I can take a day to slow down…kick back…listen to them…and love them. Ask them about their dreams…be silent and let them talk. Come down from wearing my disciplinarian hat and just sit with them.

After all, they grow up so fast.

The Mark of Zorro

For the past month, I have been trying to solve a mystery in our home. It is one that no one will confess to. In this situation, I like to blame it on the escape artist named, “Not me”.

This is what I have found on our bathroom mirror repeatedly over the past month:

aug 2009 042

It is a handprint. It seems to be small, but then it streaks downwards to make it appear larger. It always appears in this pattern. I have asked all the children who did it. I tried to compare the handprint to each child’s hand size. I frickin’ even measured the kids hands with a ruler and studied the unique one-of-a-kind swirl mark on the fingertips of the imposed mark! (Amazing that I spend all this time doing this, but it’s really annoying that one of my kids won’t fess up! Grrrrr!)

No one admits to it.

It reminds me a little bit of this:

zorro

There must be somethin’ there

This morning after I had espresso I knew I could conquer the world. Well, not really the whole world, but at least my little zoo family here at home. The house was still quiet as all the little birds were still sleeping. I bid my husband farewell for the moment, and headed upstairs to have the time of my life wake up the kids.

Me: “Kids! Wake up everyone! Guess what? We’re going to mass!”

Kids: “ZzZzZz…Snore, snore, SNORE!”

Me again: “You know – Church! Hey everyone! We get to wake up early and take an early morning stroll!”

Kids: “(sleepy moaning sounds… fading to downright, unmistakeable snoring)”

Me (chanting, playfully): “Hut, 2, 3, 4! Up, 2, 3, 4! You’ll never get rich, diggin’ a ditch – You’re in the army now!” (*Loud clapping thunders from my hands* )

Kid #1:”What’s that? 4th of July Fireworks, again!?”

Kid #2: “Good morning, Mommy!”

Me: “Awh…You’re my fav. Now hurry up, go downstairs and get ready to go out.”

Kids #3 & 4 follow…

Choas ensues as everyone waits until the last minute tries to cram into the bathroom to use it before leaving and takes turns shoving each other out of their way using teamwork to get a drink from the kitchen.

Final kid, still in bed with eyes closed: “What’s going on? It’s too early. Why can’t we go later?” (Whine… Whine… Whine!)

Finally everyone is assembled by the front door (in birth order), ready to proceed to go to mass, while I’m in the other room explaining to the same kid who’s been rubbing their eyes for the past 60,000 seconds why I’m taking everyone to mass this morning. As I give a one word answer, I’m interrupted by my two year-old who says,

“Maaaaaa-mmmm-eeeeeeeee, I p-oped! I need a diaper change!”

And suddenly, instead of the long, drawn-out stupid reflection I was going to give, I simply say,

“If we’re going to go through all this, and still want to go, (actually, really long to go), then there must be something there.”

Yes, there is truly something there.


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