Heaven Help Me!

The weirdest part  about being pregnant is the delirium that can accompany it. This is one of the few things I argue with God about – that is – I tell him this aspect of pregnancy is a very, very bad idea.

Moms don’t talk about this much, but I have experienced this with all my pregnancies. (If you know what I mean, please leave a comment!) I describe it as “Mother Bear Syndrome”, with hormones thrown in. My experience tells me it is worst in the third trimester, when the mother’s body is “nesting” and planning for life after birth. There is much to secure, or keep secure. Primarily, it’s basic needs, such as food, shelter, and the means to get & keep them. It can also encompass the need for support, companionship and help after baby is born. When these needs are threatened, it can cause a visceral reaction in the mother as she feels the need to fight for her own and her “cub’s” survival and ultimate well-being.

If you’ve ever seen a mother bear protecting her babies from attack, you’ll know it’s not pretty…Intruders are not welcome and food is treated as though there is some impending famine.

Humans can become very animalistic under certain circumstances. My typical “c’est la vie” attitude toward life disappears in T-10 weeks before birth.

So, my apologies to all who have been unfortunate enough to have crossed my path in the past couple weeks and witnessed first-hand that I have morphed into some oddity that I usually am not.

I’ll be much nicer after birth. I promise.

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What’s this I wake up to? I may have woke up more overwhelmed than usual with the new baby kicking inside me reminding me that he’ll be arriving soon; I am not sure. But, within minutes my mind was racing with an unending list of things to do. Which resulted in tears. Not a fun way to wake up.  All this resulted in me turning to my husband and asking for my “emergency remedy”:  dark chocolate and a large glass of milk. After a little conversation with him, I realized something: I am lacking true joy. With all that I have, I can’t believe I feel sad. It is predictable that at the end of all my pregnancies, I tend to get down. I struggled through the morning, got my kids to their catechism classes at church on time, made it to a beautiful Mass, and smiled at friends. My spirits lifted after Mass when I had completed the most important tasks of the day.

Although I can now look back on the day with joy, there is a thought pervading my mind. Why has God blessed a woman like me with depressive tendencies with many children and all that I have? Why can’t some of those women who are immaculate housekeepers and gourmet cooks, chirpy and chipper in every way, albeit infertile, get the chance to do as I am doing? The answer came to me as we prayed the rosary on the way to church, “I am not the mother I want to be, but I am the mother God wants me to be”.

The remedy for this certain darkness? As St. John of the Cross says, “What is needed is hope”.

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I check my email after writing this to find a link sent by a dear friend entitled “A Mother’s Liturgy of the Hours” written by Danielle Bean. Hmmm…my life perfectly explained. Exactly what I HOPED to hear!

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One may be surprised to know that it is a fairly recent practice in Catholic homes to celebrate birthdays. In our culture, birthdays seem integral to the celebration of a person’s years on earth; but let us not forget the Catholic custom of celebrating “Name Days”!

Today is the name day of one of my children, Teresa. We are remembering her patron saint, St. Teresa of Avila.  At the age of seven, St. Teresa of Avila wanted nothing more than to give her life for Christ. So, she ran away to Africa to attempt martyrdom amidst the Moors.  Some may say it is fortunate that her uncle retrieved her from this, or we wouldn’t have the volumes of writings St. Teresa gave us.

This morning the children woke up to the smell of incense wafting through the air, the icon of St. Teresa of Avila prominently displayed at the kitchen table, fresh cannolis and hand-dipped chocolate covered strawberries from the local Italian market.

We celebrate Name Days “in style” in our family, perhaps more so than birthdays. Lest this tradition be misunderstood, I found an excellent article on the practice of celebrating name days.

What this article says in a nutshell is that while it is not necessary to ignore or do away with customary birthday celebrations,  we should try to restore the meaningful celebration of the feast of the saint whose name was given to us in Baptism, “our personal patron, loving and helping us whether we observe or neglect his veneration”. As a parent, I have found that my children typically do not object to this practice – any chance to get treats! They also like it because it is unique to them. Every one in the family has a birthday every year, but the child celebrating his/her name days enjoys a day which is exclusive only to him.

And the best part about it is the celebration of Name Days doesn’t end with childhood. It continues for older children, adolescents, and adults for the rest of their lives. As timeless is the life of faith, is as eternal the celebration of our union with God. And this is truly something to celebrate.

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As I was reading the Chicago Tribune this evening, I came across this article, entitled “Card games are great for families”. I remember growing up enjoying board games and playing “Rummy” with my family. We had an Atari 2600, and an Apple II Plus, but the thrill of playing a non electronic game with the family kept drawing us back to treasure that activity. In today’s world, however, it seems card games have a lot to compete with. Video games which provide constant stimulation and positive reinforcement every ten seconds are the entertainment of choice. I bemoan the fact that electronic video games are such a favorite activity amongst my children, but I am also responsible for that fact. After all, as one who spent hours every weekend on my Atari, how can I preach to them about how these games, while fun, are essentially a potentially dangerously solitary activity? The new social media does successfully draw people together, but the old-fashioned worried mother part of me thinks it is not as beneficial as the skills learned from an old fashioned card or board game. As the author of the article in the Tribune writes, “Card playing around a table is “massively social, intimate and direct,” McNeely says. “It covers all ages, interests and attention spans.”
Within my immediate family (now), we realized early on the importance of such intense and intimate social interaction. Having a child with Asperger’s Syndrome made it apparent to me early on, that board games and old fashioned card games run different for non-neurotypical children. In other words, for those who brain is wired differently and see the world not as others do, board/card games work on important pieces of the “social puzzle”. In fact, these games were recommended to me by my child’s therapists in second grade as a tool for teaching social skills. Everyone needs to learn important skills for civilized social exchange such turn-taking, following the rules (not cheating), and frustration tolerance. The flip-side of this, is that while these games are good for promoting civil behavior, playing them with this goal in mind makes them much more “work” for everyone involved. We do them occasionally, peppered with plenty of video games and movies in between. My children find the video games much more relaxing, and more so than I did when growing up. (This comes as no surprise to me now, as I’ve discovered many of my childhood favorites – spam, the great outdoors, having pets – are unappealing, and sometimes inconvenient to them as well). Perhaps the real problem is that I think children today have way too much ability to create their ideal environment – one which is convenient and comfortable, with frequent positive reinforcement – and my concern is that I’m not sure this produces the endurance and perseverance necessary to bear future hardships. Card games and board games could be one way to help in this area.

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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.

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