Wonderment of a good job

My drop off in blogging is a direct result of my new-ish job coaching swimming. I work evenings now. It's not for every long, about 3 hours an evening, but by the time I get home, I am so brain dead. I just want to, and often do, curl up in bed and go to sleep. I'm so thankful I am home during the day to take care of the kids and the house because otherwise nothing would get done!

I adore my job. It's not perfect- nothing is- but I like the coaches, the kids and the parents. I have fun and I learn alot from everyone. But, even though I am so happy doing what I love, I have been having horrible anxiety-driven dreams. It took me several weeks to figure out why- I'm happy! Life's good! Sure, there are still challenges at home and stuff but why am I having anxiety over my job??

Then it hit me- I have hardly ever been in a good work situation. My first teaching job was a disaster. I was totally set up to fail. When I coached another team six years ago, I had a great director, until she left for another position. The new director was the one who fired me because I had a baby. In both positions, I would be told to change something, or do something different, and I would. But it was never good enough, it was never right. Maybe I'm older, wiser or my give a damn is still off because when the head coach tells me to do something or whatever, I don't feel like she's trying to make me fail. Or maybe they just like me and want to help me.

It's weird being in a spot where I feel people like me. For me, it's not normal to think of the long term possibilities in a job. So I don't, really, I don't dare to hope that I will be there in the fall or winter. I mean, I want to! How I WANT to be with this team, these coaches, long term! I would be crushed to lose my job. And hope... well, I try not to think that every time I am positive about something, I lose it. I can't. I won't walk around bitter, thinking, "well, I loved my last coaching position and look what happened!"

Instead, I tend to think in the here and now. Through the summer, I have this great job that I love. I will always have wonderful memories of being on deck. I working my hardest, correcting my mistakes and learning. I'm trying not to overthink everything I say or do. It's hard, given my past and the feeling that every time something good happens, the other shoe will drop.

Because, really, that's not a fun way to live.

Guest Post: SCHISM book release!

Guest Post: Masks - A portrait of Lea Huckley

Thank you for hosting me on your blog today. I’m very excited about SCHISM being released into the world, and I’d like to talk a little about one of the main characters, Lea Huckley. Though Lea is introduced as a secondary character, she’s a co-protagonist alongside Gabe. As the story progresses, she becomes more and more important.

Lea is exceptionally fun to write. She’s driven, overtly “Type A,” and quite analytical. She’s also got her own host of issues. Because her parents were falsely incarcerated in a mental institution from the time she turned eight, Lea struggles with others’ perceptions of her. She wears a “mask” over her emotions and acts how she wants other people to see her.

Essentially, Lea pretends to be eccentric and a little crazy, so if people say she’s crazy, they do so because she made them. Otherwise, they’d judge her for where her parents are, and she can separate their predicament from her own identity. Wearing this mask takes its toll, and she begins to lose sight of her real emotions. She doesn’t allow herself to feel freely. Worse than that, it blunts her ability to connect with people as well. Since she’s constantly creating a false representation, she assumes everyone else is free to do the same. How can you possibly know what someone else is feeling or thinking? She’s a terrible judge of what’s going on in someone’s head. She’d much rather be solving a concrete problem, something she can test or experiment.

Through the story, Lea obviously deals with these issues and becomes more of her true self. She opens up and allows herself to be vulnerable. Gabe certainly plays a major role in her transformation. I hope everyone enjoys reading about her as much as I had fun writing her. You can find me on the internet in the following places:

Author page: www.lauramaisano.blogspot.com

Twitter: @MaisanoLaura

Facebook: www.facebook.com/LauraMaisanoWriter

Google + http://plus.google.com/+LauraMaisano

SCHISM (Illirin Book One)

By Laura Maisano

Art therapy hasn’t done squat for Gabe Jones. A thousand sketches of his fiancée can’t bring his memory, or her, back to him. Nothing on Earth can. His past lies in another dimension, a world just out of sight.

Another student on campus, Lea Huckley, unknowingly shares Gabe’s obsession with the fourth dimension. The monsters from the other side attacked her parents and fled, getting her folks locked up in the loony bin. Proving this other world exists is the only way to free them. Lea and Gabe strike a deal to help each other, and together they manage to open a door to the world of Gabe’s true origin. She’d use him for proof—if she didn’t already care too much.

While Gabe tries to reconcile his feelings for Lea and his rediscovered memories of his fiancée, a much more sinister plot unravels. He uncovers his history just in time to become the unwilling lynchpin in a conspiracy to start a war. His memory holds the secret to the final riddle the would-be conqueror needs to get the upper hand. Gabe must protect the riddle at all costs, even if that means leaving Earth, and Lea, behind forever.

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Excerpt

Lea packed light. Other than her phone’s GPS and a flashlight, she kept a small notepad, her lucky pencil, and the thermometer in her cargo pocket. She didn’t need to find data, now she needed proof.

She led the way down the alley where skyscrapers blocked the glowing moon and the lamps from the highway. Yellowed fixtures above each back entrance threw faint cones of light onto the cement, like holes in Swiss cheese.

Lea checked the coordinates on her phone while she walked, and the little red arrow crept closer to the flag icon she placed to mark the interaction point.

Gabe spent his time surveying the area for anything that might be a danger. He kept fidgeting behind her and turning around every few seconds, a twitchy meerkat on patrol.

“We’re only between buildings. It’s not the end of the world.” Lea checked her phone again to make sure they were headed in the right direction.

He glanced over his shoulder. “I still don’t like it. It’s night, people do get mugged, you know.”

“The statistics of that are so low. We’re really not in any danger, considering the population and how many times that sorta thing happens.”

He shifted uneasily behind her. “Whatever, we’re raising the chances by being out here at night.”

Lea rolled her eyes. “I’m not missing this opportunity.”

“I know that. Neither am I.”

“Good.”

They came to a cross section behind two major offices where the loading docks and dumpsters sat for both of them. A stream of water trickled down the concave cement into the large sewer grate. Old garbage left a fume hanging around, and the humidity only made it worse.

Lea double- and triple-checked her coordinates, cross-checking with her notes. “This is it. Within I’d say, a fifteen foot diameter, low to the ground.” She shoved the phone in her cargo pocket. “Perfect.”

“How long?”

“Roughly ten minutes.”

Ten minutes may as well have been six hours. She paced back and forth, her sneakers scuffing the gritty pavement.

Gabe continued to keep a watchful eye out for muggers or vagrants. What a dork.

She snickered quietly. For someone who didn’t know his own experiences, he sure seemed paranoid. She watched him standing straight, darting his eyes to the entrance and even up to the windows above them. Watch out bad guys, Gabe’s on to you. She smiled and turned to see what looked like heat waves rising from the cold cement. Crap. The interaction had already started.

“Gabe…” She waved him over next to the loading dock.

This interaction provided no shining lights or obvious movement. Not much stood out visually, except maybe the air glistening like summer heat waves if she squinted hard enough, but her digital thermometer found the coldest point.

“Here,” she whispered, not wanting anyone or anything on the other side to hear. She stretched her arms forward, and Gabe did likewise.

“On the count of three.” She waited for him to nod. “One…two…three.”

They both reached through the interaction point and grabbed at the thicker air. Nothing. They tried again, pulling, grasping, and making any sort of motion to trigger a rip. Finally, Gabe leaned in and pulled out at just the right angle, because the light tore across like a jagged line. Lea grabbed the edge of it and tugged, opening the tear wider until they both fell through.

About the Author

Laura has an MA in Technical writing and is a Senior Editor at Anaiah Press for their YA/NA Christian Fiction. She’s excited to release her debut YA Urban Fantasy SCHISM, and she’s finishing up the sequel UNITY.

Her gamer husband and amazing daughter give support and inspiration every day. Their cats, Talyn and Moya, provide entertainment through living room battles and phantom-dust-mote hunting. Somehow, they all manage to survive living in Texas where it is hotter than any human being should have to endure. Check out her blog at LauraMaisano.blogspot.com.

Website: http://www.LauraMaisano.Blogspot.com

Twitter: @MaisanoLaura

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/LauraMaisanoWriter

Google + https://plus.google.com/+LauraMaisano

Screaming into the void

Adam has a friend who has several children. One of them, his son who is about ten, died last night.

It wasn't unexpected but it still sucks. It's horrible. My heart goes out to the family.

And, selfishly, as I was driving the kids to school and trying not to cry, I was screaming in my head, "I can't, I can't, I can't. I can't do another funeral. I just can't." I had flashes of the last time I saw my niece, I felt her in my arms. I wanted to kick something, to throw something, to scream that this- child loss, knowing people whose children have died- needs to stop. I just can't.

The thing is, I will. I will go to the funeral, I will buy the card, I will hug the parents. I will suck it up and deal because whatever trauma and flash backs and stuff I have to deal with, it's nothing compared to the parents.

I will remind myself that these children, our friend's son and my niece, are so very lucky. Their lives were too short but they were filled with love and peace. To die peacefully surrounded by the ones you love and who love you is a gift. To feel only love your entire life... that's not something everyone can know. A short life, in the womb or out, is still a blessed life.

Yet I want to scream into the void, "Why?!" Why these children, why these parents? No one deserves this.

But maybe it's good that no one deserves this because what would we be like if we did?

Love Won.

Joseph wasn't very old when people began asking where we would send him to school. At the time, I was more concerned with learning to parent than thinking about preschool or kindergarten but they persisted. Since I hung out with the conservative Catholics (as I am one) and the hippies (as I am one) two options were presented to me:

Catholic school
Homeschool

Now, both options are good and decent and right for some families. However, I was told over and over and over that the ONLY way to raise faithful Catholic children is to put them in Catholic school or homeschool them. Never mind that our public schools are award winning. Never mind that faith formation begins in the home and no matter how nice the Catholic school is, if you aren't living it at home... well...

In the end, we moved from that parish to a new one that is tithing based. If you tithe your ten percent, your kids can attend the school. In spite of the nice, small public school two blocks away, we looked into the Catholic school. There was a wait list for kindergarten and a down payment to be placed on the list. If he didn't get it, we wouldn't get our money back. Our priest and the office staff were very encouraging that we would make the best choice for our family, reassuring us that our children would receive a great faith formation either in the school or the RE program. Because we couldn't afford to lose the down payment money, we enrolled Joseph in the public school. 

I still hear about this choice, not from the priests so much but that other parents. They ignore the fact that my two boys need an SLP, PT and OT full time, on staff. They ignore the fact that my oldest would have been kicked out of a private school. They ignore the hundreds of dollars in therapy bills we have each month. They ignore the tight food budget, the menu planning, the things we do without to afford the therapy my kids so desperately need. No, if we gave up more, we could tithe and send our kids to the school. If we REALLY REALLY REALLY cared about their immortal souls, we would do anything to send them to the Catholic schools because how else would they grow up to be faithful Catholics if they aren't surrounded by them 24/7? There's no way those "government" schools can nurture these precocious gems.

And you know what? No, my kids aren't studying the canonizations of four popes in school. No one will lead them in a Rosary over lunch and they won't study the lives of saints. They don't go to Mass multiple times a week unless I pull them from school to attend and winter parties aren't Christmas parties. So, no, they aren't getting a Catholic education in the public schools. At least, it's not direct.

Recently, the community was hit with two tragedies. A young man was critical hurt in a swimming accident. This high school senior was pulled under by the waves and damaged his spinal cord. His mother was my sons para and they attend our parish. Both mother and son are in another state as the son undergoes rehab and the mom helps him.

On Palm Sunday, there was a shooting at our Jewish Community Center. Three people were killed, including a high school freshmen and his grandfather. It was a horrible, senseless act, a hate crime.

I feel for our community, especially the young people of our high school. In the past six weeks, they've had to deal with media attention and ask questions that no one wants to ask. But instead of wallowing, you know what they've done? They've surrounded these families with love. The students put on a carnival for the young man who was hurt and raised $22,000. That's dollars, people, dollars! Our school, where the mom worked, is raising money at our own carnival for him, and a teacher and I are working on organizing a garage sale to benefit the family. The parish RE program and the school have card drives going so that this young man will receive cards every day.

The freshman and his grandfather? My kids told me that alot of their teachers took time off to attend his funeral. Staff members helped provide food for the funeral. Because our elementary school is close to the high school, the young children saw the media trucks. The staff went above and beyond to make sure the kids were safe, questions were answered in an age appropriate manner. The principal and superintendent sent out e-mails, telling the parents what was going on and how it was being handled. Everything was done in a gentle, loving manner.

Shortly before the funeral. word came around that Westboro Baptist was going to protest the funeral. What did our community do? Students- not just the students from our high school but schools all over the district- lined the streets surrounding the church with signs that said "Love wins." Motorcycle riders were there, holding similar signs. Westboro was regulated to a small corner, out of the way, and I don't think the family saw them.

Love wins.

What a powerful message, held up by the young people of my community. I don't know if they are Catholic, Protestant, Jewish or atheist. All I know is that they held the powerful, loving message in their hands that day: Love wins. In their actions, they showed the message- Love wins. In raising money, donating to causes, hosting the carnival, they are living, acting out Christ's greatest commandment, "Love one another as I have loved you."

Love wins. 

No, no my children don't attend Catholic school.Instead, they are shown the example of Christ's love for us and how to carry it out on earth. They are surrounded by adults who will do anything to help them succeed. They are surrounded by people of all ages who, without a second thought, give and give and give some more to those in need. They do all this out of the goodness of their hearts, without calling attention to themselves. Even in these "soulless government schools" my children are surrounded by Christ-like people, living the way Christ calls us to live. There isn't a better example of "love and faith in action" than what these public school teachers and students have shown us over the past six weeks. They are, indeed, surrounded by people who will continue to help them grow into loving, faithful (dare I say it?) Catholic young adults.

Love wins . . . indeed.

Why

I haven't thought about it in years but I don't think the memory will ever leave me. It's not as present and up front as the NICU or my niece, but it's there. It always will be there. And I think I will always wonder.

It was my junior year of high school and the only year I swam for the high school swim team. I normally swam for our base's age group team but I really, really wanted to swim in college. I thought I would need to swim with the high school team for this to happen.

Instead of the closeness and friendship of the age group team, I found people who used drugs. Bullies. An abusive coach. It wasn't what I wanted or hoped for. It was so hard. But I wanted to swim so bad that I stayed.

One day, the pool was being used to train saliors so we trooped to the beach. It was an overcast day, the clouds low and grey and angry. The waves were crashing into the shore and it was a red-flag warning; it was dangerous enough that if we went out swimming and got in trouble, the lifeguards did not have to save us.

I didn't want to go in.

I don't like open water swimming. I was a strong swimmer, able to do the 400 IM and I loved swimming the mile. Still, the waves were high and strong and... fish and seaweed. Ew.

Inspite of my protests, my coach got in my face and ordered me in, that our practice was going to be in the ocean today. I needed to get over myself and get in. I can't remember the exact words but I remember his face in front of me, yelling. I remember the waves hitting the sand, the flat sky and the spray coming up through the cracks in the rocks.

I was a goody-two-shoes in high school. I toed the line, obeyed the rules. I had good judgment but I went against it and I went in.

I don't remember exactly how it happened, but the waves crashed over me. My feet left the sand and I was pulled, somersaulting, out to the ocean. I managed to plant my feet on the ground and staggered up for air, trying to reach the beach but it happened again. And again. And again.

I was going to die. I was going to die right there, in that ocean. I was going to die. I thought of my boyfriend, my best friend, my parents and siblings. I thought of God. I hoped it would be painless but I was terrified.

And then I was up on the beach, staggering forward and no wave hit me. I saw our team captain crawling forward before laying prostrate on the beach, her face buried in her arms. One of the other girls asked if she was okay and she nodded but didn't lift her head. I don't know if she was crying or breathing or praying- but I remember her still form in her black team suit, her red brown ringlets coming down around her shoulders.

The team staggered up to the open air showers on the beach, complaining of sand in places the girls didn't want sand, spitting out the ocean water that we swallowed. As we crowded under the spray, the others chatted about how the beach is called "Breakneck Beach." We laughed and joked and knew we were damn lucky.

At home, I took a proper shower, threw on a sweatshirt with a cartoon cat on it and lay on my bed, shaking. I had been close. I had seen my 17 years flash before my eyes. There was no reason why I was alive and I had been very, very stupid.

***

A few days ago, an e-mail went out saying that the teenage son of one of the teacher's at my sons' school had been injured in a swimming accident. Like I was, he was a strong swimmer but got caught in the waves. Unlike me, he did not walk away unscathed. He's in the hospital and will be in rehab for awhile. I don't think he was stupid to go swimming in the ocean- it just happened. Sheer stupid bad chance.

I know how it happened, I've been in the same situation and, frankly, I probably should have ended up like him. I didn't- by the grace of God? Sheer dumb luck? I don't know.

I've wondered- always wondered- why two people can be in similar situations and one has a "good" outcome and one has a "bad" one. Two babies born at the same gestational age, in similar health.... why does one go home and one doesn't? Two car accidents- one person goes home, one doesn't. I don't have the answers. I wish I did but then I suppose I would be God and I'm not sure I want that job either.

I have asked "Why?" more times in the past five years than I ever have before. With this news, it's on my mind even more so, so much that I woke up in the middle of the night, my mind racing. I took my medicine to calm myself down, which has given me a pretty chill morning. Be anyone thinks I am completely nuts (I am nuts- not fully though!) or overreacting- it's April. Any time other than April, I would have been sad but not needed the meds.

I wonder, someday, if we will all know why. Why, why, why. Why one person, one teenager, one baby and not the other. Why.

Please keep this family in your prayers- I know they are thankful for them.

Late to the (Hunger) Games

This post contains spoilers for the books in The Hunger Games series. Read at your own risk!

When I was in high school, I was a big fan of utopia/dystopian novels. I think I am one of the few people who liked reading 1984, Animal Farm and Brave New World. I still love them, but, as a mom with kids, I have become super sensitive to violence anywhere- movies, books and real life. The idea of children hurting children, people dying would and could set me on edge for days. Thankfully, I know my limits and stick to things like Percy Jackson (if someone dies, it's a Greek monster and not real anyway), Harry Potter, Dan Brown books (I love all the twists and history and art references) and history. Oh, and fluff. Lots not forget the fluff.

I knew I would like The Hunger Games novels- dystopia at its finest! However, the whole premise of the books is children being forced to kill each other in sadistic games and... no. Just no. I've had enough of sick and dying children thankyouverymuch.

But when the movie came on Netflix for free, I hemmed and hawed about watching it. We don't really rent movies and I wouldn't buy it without seeing it first. Finally, I realized that if it got to be too much, I could stop the movie and not deal with it anymore. I fired it up on my laptop, put on the closed captioning so the children could hear it and . . . got sucked in.

I told myself I wasn't going to read the books but Cole had a sleepless night and I'm a fast reader. I finished all three in a weekend. Since then, I've read them two or three times each and the literary part of my brain, the part that gets put on hold because I need to be thinking of making dinner, the next IEP meeting, getting homework done... that part of my brain began to awaken. It began to- dare I say it?- catch fire.

I went back and re-read the parts where Katniss talks to President Snow. I muse why she killed Coin, the president of the rebels. I sent Gale through the literary wringer and decided that he's kinda a jerk. I wanted to shake Katniss and tell her that she loved Peeta from the Victory Tour in Catching Fire. And I really, really wanted to get the poor kid some PTSD help.

I googled to see what people thought of the ending of Mockingjay. I was surprised- but not- to see that people thought it was unrealistic.They thought that she didn't want children and that she and Peeta should not have brought them into the world. Many people thought she should just "Get over it."

But you know what? I got her. I got her actions in the last book. She's young, 17 or 18 or so, and had never felt safe. All her actions from the time her father died were about survival. Find the next meal, keep Prim alive, keep her mother sane, survive the Games, keep everyone alive, keep herself alive. When the war is over and she's home, who can blame her for not feeling safe? She has every right not to trust anyone and not want to bring children into her world. It doesn't mean she doesn't love them or want them- it means she knows that no one can promise her that her children, who she knows she will love, won't be taken from her.

In my world, everything goes back to the NICU. After you've had a preemie, no one can promise you that your next baby will be term and healthy. You know you will do everything in your power to keep your baby safe, but the worst has happened to you. You are not immune- and if it has happened once, it can happen again. Yes, yes just like Katniss in the Hunger Games.

As a teen, I think I would have understood the ending in some abstract way. Now, as a mother and an adult, I understand in a deeper way. I haven't seen nearly the horrors that she has but I completely understand her feelings of terror. I know the flashbacks. I know the dreams. I know the feeling of wandering aimlessly, finding places to hide, wanting to sleep and not dream.

The craziest thing about these books, though, is that they have made me happy. While the content is certainly depressing, the books are a love story- the love Katniss has for her family, the love Peeta has for her, the love Gale has for rebellion and making the world a better place in his own insane way. It reminds me of the love I have for these kinds of novels, the part of me that loves pulling apart books and discdisecting characters. It's something I can discuss with very few people and do very rarely. Reading those books reminded me of the hunger I have for literature.

What will I do with this hunger? No clue. I likely won't go back to school and I don't know if I want to return to full time teaching. But this is something I need to keep doing for myself, my quirky little self who can pick apart characters and themes and ideas.

It's something I hunger for, really.

Respecting all stages of life

I wrote this several years ago, when Cole was a baby. Since he's turning four soon, I figure I should post it!

I was slotted to work the nursery at church again today. (How I end up there once a month is beyond me!) My co-worker was a woman I know through church, a mom with three kids. Her youngest is six months old, just a few months younger than Cole.

I asked after her baby, who was at home. She joked that she has banned har baby from church since the baby projectile vomits alot- to the point that she soaks herself and her mom! The baby is a happy spitter, growing and gaining well, but "she won't take a pacifier or bottle! Have you ever heard of a baby who won't take a binky?"

Yes, I said, my kids. My older two never took a bottle and my younger two only took one because it was a matter of life or death.

Really? she said. I kinda wish she would take one. I can only be away from her for one and a half or two hours and there's things I would like to do, like help at the soup kitchen.

I understand, I replied. And it can be very hard when you need a break from the baby and feel like you can't get it. You need time to recharge in order to be there fully for your kids.

Did it bother you?

Yes.Yes it did.

When Joseph was born, I was told that babies NEED to take a bottle. I should MAKE my baby take a bottle so people could baby sit and I could have date nights with my husband.

Now, as a  young mother, I didn't know what the future would hold. Sure, I wanted a date night with my husband. I stressed and fussed and tried to get Joseph to take a bottle so I could let others baby sit and "have adult time" by teaching swim lessons at a local gym. Meanwhile, my mother and friends pointed out that I was a stay at home mom who rarely left her baby. I could step out for an hour or two, they reminded me, and I probably wouldn't want to be away from my baby for hours on end.

Of course I didn't want to be away from him for hours on end! But... shouldn't I? I mean, yeah I wanted a date night with my husband or coffee with friends but I didn't want to be gone all day. I missed my Jo-jo. What was wrong with me? Was I too attached?

Then I became pregnant with Camille and suddenly Joseph was weaned, attached to Daddy and I had a new baby to care for. And again, people said to me, "She NEEDS to take a bottle."

She never did.

Somewhere between Camille and Georgie, it hit me.

My children can except to live 80-plus years.

For those 80 years, we will likely support them in some way or form for 24 years (18 years at home plus a few at college).

Of those 24 years we will be feeding babies, they will likely nurse for two, or less, years.

Of those 2 years, for six months, they will be dependent on me and only me for food.

For their entire lives, there is only six months where Mommy and only Mommy can feed them. After six months old, they will take some solid food, water from a cup and can be left while we enjoy dinner out, maybe grab a movie or I have coffee with a friend. For six months out of 80 years, they need me.

I can give them six months.

It's six months, I said to my friend. When we talk about being pro-life Catholic and respecting all the stages of life, I think that means respecting the ages and stages of kids. Right now, I have a young baby who needs his mother. That's appropriate for his age. When I want or need to do something, I bring him with me. If he can't go with me, I figure out another responsible adult to leave him with or I don't go. I love working the soup kitchen but right now, because of the stage of life my kids are in, I can't go. In a few years, it will be my turn.

"Respect life" is why I bring Cole with me to teach CCD- or did, until this week when he suddenly decided to crawl, cruise and be the center of attention. I think society tends to view children as a problem, a pain, people that you'd want to run away from. While I totally agree that a break from very demanding and draining little people can (and should!) be in order, I think sometimes society treats kids as a convience item. They are there when we want them to be there, we make them fit into our lives as we see fit and that's that. Of course, give and take is part of any relationship, even parent/child, but we need to remember babies are young, immature and incapable of taking care of themselves. They really do need us and we need to respect that.

But, as someone once said, children are a wonderful INconvenience. It's joyful, most days, to be inconvenienced by diapers, feedings and playtime. It's part of the job. Every stage of childhood has different joys and challenges and parents need to respect those- especially, I think, the baby stage where those little people can't speak for themselves. They need you for everything- but it is for such a short time.

It's said again and again but children really do grow up soooo fast. Issues that seem so big and never ending, like a baby not taking a bottle, are gone in a blink of the eye. Joseph is turning seven in a few months and it seems like just yesterday he was a tiny baby who only needed his mama. And now, of course, I am chopped liver! ;) With Cole, even though he took a bottle, I made sure to cuddle and simply drink in his warmth, because I knew it would be over too soon- and it was. But, then, can babyhood ever last long enough?

My friend's baby wants her milk from her mama, straight from the tap. That's something simple need and can- and should!- be respected. Cole needs his milk too, but he's old enough to go longer between feedings..

(*And in case anyone is wondering, no, having babies who took bottles didn't I got anymore time alone or that I did less of the feedings. I still did the same amount of feedings, we had the same amount of dinners out alone and I washed more bottles. Eh. Cole and Georgie HAD to take bottles but if we were to have a normal, term, non-tounge ties baby, I wouldn't push the bottles at all.)

Five Years Old: A Letter

Five years.

In some way, this feels like a major milestone, just as big as your first birthday. Five years. Half a decade. You are five years old.

Five.

There's so much a five year old can do. Five year olds aren't preschoolers anymore. They're... kids. Just kids. They go to kindergarten. They ride bikes and play with big kid toys, like Power Rangers and Lego. Not Duplo. No, you don't want the "big Lego." You want the "little Lego, like Joe."

Five years.

How has five years gone by? Aren't you still my little bald baby who asks for his "ba" and does a silly little dance when he wants it? Don't you still have chunky monkey legs and fat little wrists?

Everyone considers their children a miracle and, to some degree, everyone is right. But you are so much more a miracle. Not a day goes by that I don't think of prematurity or your NICU stay. I'm reminded, in the conversations I have and the work I do, that you were born with lungs unable to keep you alive without help.  Sometimes, I still listen to you breath and marvel at the miracle of every easy, unaided breath you take.

Five . . .

If someone had told me five years ago what would have happened this year, I would have laughed... and then punched them in the face. I never, ever thought that our family would walk the NICU path again. I never thought any of us would go through what we did. But, we did. We have. And because of you, we had the strength and knowledge to muscle through that hard path. Because of you, we loved with wild abandon. We knew the questions to ask, the answers to seek and the hope of what might (what we wanted) to come.

That was your gift to your cousin.

... Years

I wonder who you will be five years from now, when you are ten. A decade. I don't think too much of it, though, my sweet five year old. I want to love an savor each moment of you, right now, my sweet puddinpie. I love your laugh, how your "s" becomes "f" and how you call yourself "Forge." I love how everything is "nine": Nine more minutes Mom! You are popular at school; I can't tell you how many times someone has said, "Oh, you're George's mom! My kid talks about him all the time!" You love Bigfoot and Lego and Power Rangers.

Five Years Old

Saturday will be your first big birthday party. It speaks volumes to how far you have come that we could even think of having this party- 30 kids in a TKD studio smack at the beginning of cold and flu season. Germ and sensory overload and yet you are so looking forward to it! Who woulda thought? You have come so, so far!

I look forward to seeing how much farther you have to go and what you will do with the life you have been gifted with. You are five years old George David and you are as much of a miracle now as you were then. We love you.

NICU Reunion, 2013

Hope, Part Two

"Hope," Emily Dickinson wrote, "is the thing with feathers."  It is indeed... but sometimes it is also a young priest in a cassock.

We've had a change of command at our parish and have two new priests. One, Fr. Engineer, I met years ago when I was teaching in the Catholic schools. He was the vocations director and came around to the eighth grade classes to tell his vocations story. The other one, Fr. Youngin', is young and new, but a really sweet man. (I joke that it's not that I'm getting older; the seminary just takes them younger and younger these days!)

After Mass on Sunday, I stood in the parish hall, chatting with a friend as our children gorged on donuts. Fr. Youngin' came over to chat, as our friend was hosting the priests for dinner that night. Normally, I would bug out during these conversations but I stayed and the three of us began to joke and chat.

At one point, I made a comment about how George once said that when he grew up, he wanted to "be that daddy" (a priest). I said that the front row would be reserved for all this speech therapists, because, without them, my son wouldn't have a voice. My friend understood but Fr Youngin' is new and blissfully unaware of George (and the issues we have had with the parish). I made the comment to him that, "My son has a severe speech disorder and trouble talking."

I expected questions.

I expected a blank nod.

Instead, I got: "I understand I was in speech therapy until I was 12. Sometimes people have trouble understanding me."

My jaw dropped to the floor. "You? Really? You?" He nodded. "No way."

My friend laughed at me and said, "You're going to cry, aren't you?" I nodded and nearly burst into tears.

I don't know what Fr. Youngin's problems were. I don't know if he had Apraxia, articulation or what. I do know how hard it can be for anyone, anyone, to get up in front of a group of people and talk, let alone for someone with ANY speech problem to do so.Yet he followed God's call and became a priest. Every weekend he stands before a full church and says an entire Mass, and often a homily. He goes to the local high school and interacts with the students- and we know how children can be with someone who acts or speaks differently.

And he does this. Every day. Every week.

I admire that, I do. But, selfishly, I know that this man will understand my son. He will understand when George doesn't want to talk to people because he knows they won't understand him. Maybe he will understand why VBS was like the seventh layer of hell for my son- overstimulating and scary because of all those people who don't know him. Maybe he quietly spread awareness and understanding of those invisible disabilities.

We have had so, so many problems with our parish since last summer that I had nearly given up hope of understanding and acceptence. Between my own spiritual life being "meh" and the constant judgement of several prominent members of the parish, I had been expecting to just muscle through, going through the motions but any growth for me or my children would have to be done at home. I had stopped expecting people to be kind and understanding; I had started expecting judgment. 

We are still in the gale. I thought the storm had beaten the hope out of me but suddenly, I hear it again, quietly.

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -

And sings the tune without the words -

And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -

And sore must be the storm -

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -

And on the strangest Sea -

Yet - never - in Extremity,

In Which I Confess My Academic Struggles

Every summer, I set out to make sure my kids don't loose academic skills while they are on vacation. I don't want to teach, teach, teach them over the summer and suck the life out of their vacation but neither do I want them to become literal zombies who play Minecraft all day as their brains ooze out of their ears. I usually make them do a page or so of math in a workbook and practice reading, either to themselves or out loud. Most summers, we do a great job of this. This summer, not so much.

Adam expressed concern to me today that our daughter isn't reading well. I know she had some struggles and got a little extra help during the school year. Her first grade teacher and I stayed in close contact during the year and I asked time and time again if we needed Cami tested. We discussed her progress (slow and steady), what errors she makes in reading and so much more. In the end, her teacher advised us to wait on extensive testing and, based on our many conversations, input from Cami's reading teacher, the teacher's MANY years of experience and my (much more limited) educational experience, we agreed. Some basic testing had already been done (out of our pocket and away from school) and a couple things had been ruled out. Camille was a struggling reader, who was progressing on at her own pace in an upward trajectory.

This summer, I had hoped to work with her on reading every day. It hasn't happened but she has been practicing here and there. She goes to tutoring once a week and the tutor is her reading teacher during the school year. She enjoys this and works hard for her teacher. All reports indicate the same thing: she is struggling but progressing and working hard. Don't worry too much, keep helping her and she will get it.

I told him all this and he didn't look convinced. Something must be wrong, right?

I hesitated for a moment and then said, "You know I was a late reader, right?" He looked back at me, surprised.

"No."

School wasn't always easy for me. I don't remember the specifics about kindergarten and first grade (except for the paste! Oh, those jars of paste!) but I know I had a lot of trouble academically. My report cards indicate as much. I know I went to the resource room and that, at times, this was upsetting or embarrassing to me. Reading and math were struggles.

The funny thing is, though, that I loved reading. Loved it! My mom would take me to the local library and fill a brown paper sack with books. We would read them all many times before returning them and getting more. She read out loud to me often and frequently. I remember reading Sweet Valley Twins books and American Girl stories snuggled on the couch. My struggles weren't for a lack of stories or modeling. It was just... hard.

I don't know what changed, when it clicked or what the magic solution was. I know I had a tutor one summer. She was called the "Toodling Tutor" and let me use a type writer. I remember she was good but I don't think she had a magic solution. I think... it was just time.

I think was about eight when reading really took off. I know we moved when I was ten and, by that time, I was a very strong reader. By fifth or sixth grade, I was a decent writer and I know that really took off when I was in the seventh grade. (Three words: Early Fan-fiction.) Now math . . . not so much. Numbers are not my strong suit. But reading? Everyone knows I love to read. Writing? Yes, please! I adore the fact that I am published on the web at the Natural Parents Network and soon I will be on Catholic Mothers On-Line! Sure, it's small and unpaid but I love it.

Am I a perfect reader? No. Sometimes I read too fast. Sometimes I read too much, if that is indeed a problem. I am constantly working on my writing skills. I can't spell worth a damn. I make mistakes and typos and I really could use a class that works on the nitty-gritty parts of grammar, something that is lacking in my education. Oh and sleep. I could really use sleep but I think that will only be solved when there are more hours in the day.

That's why, yes, I am keeping an eye on my daughter but, at the same time, I'm not too worried. I was older than she was when reading was really opened up for me and look what happened! Look! I became an avid reader, a book addict. I became a writer. I became me.

Thank you, Sheepdogs.

For America's Memorial Day, it's time for a flashback of a flashback- the sheepdog essay I posted last year.

Thanks for always getting our back, guys.

(Please note that I did not write this essay. The author's credit is on the orginal post.)

Cup

We all have a Cup.

Placed in front of us, we've all stared down this Cup, thinking, looking calculating. We've looked up and said politely, "No thanks. I don't want it. I pass."

The Cup is pushed forward.

Again, perhaps a little firmer, "No. I don't want it. Take it from me."

The Cup is placed in our hands and we resist the urge to throw it against the wall. "No! Oh, HE LL NO. I don't want it! I am NOT going to drink from it and YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!"

We think we have a choice: take this Cup or not. The truth is, we really don't have a choice. We want the choice,we wish we had a choice but there really isn't a choice. It's there, it's ours and we have to have it.

"Take this Cup. Pleasepleaseplease take this Cup. I don't want it, I can't drink from it. It's too much."

We sob and cry and wail against the Cup. We pound our hands, pitching a fit like a two year old, wailing about how unfair it is to receive the Cup.

After a bit we calm down and sniffle, looking at it. We know we have no choice. It's there, it's ours. Not drinking from it really isn't an alternative because not accepting it would lead to disaster. No, allowing the Cup to pass would mean a horrible alternative, one far worse than drinking from it.

Sniffling, we take a tentative sip and then down the contents in one fell swoop.

In agony, the Cup becomes a Cross. In the dark recesses of our mind, we are bitter that we drank from the Cup- although we know there was no real alternative. We heave our Cross on our shoulders, dragging it forward, stumbling forward into the abyss.

Then . . . light. We look up, squinting into the light in the darkness. It's dim at first, then brighter. We step forward slowly.

Brighter.

A lightness. Tentatively, we look back. There is someone there (Someone?) holding the end, carrying our Cross with us. He smiles. We smile back slowly.

We raged against the Cup, struggled with the Cross but there is always someone there to carry you through it...

to step together to the light.

Honesty in Illness and Death

Welcome to the February 2013 Authentic Parenting Blog Carnival: Honesty This post was written for inclusion in the monthly Authentic Parenting Blog Carnival hosted by Authentic Parenting and Living Peacefully with Children. This month our participants have written about authenticity through honesty. We hope you enjoy this month's posts and consider joining us next month when we share about Self-Expression and Conformity. ***  

 

This essay is also part of the "Let the Little
Ones Come to Him" seris.

Our family is very lucky and somewhat unusual. My husband and I have four living grandparents (total!), and many aunts, uncles and cousins. Not only do they know their great-grandparents, but they see everyone at least once a year.  They have loving relationships with all these people and look forward to seeing them. They are very, very blessed.

But with this blessing comes a downside: the knowledge that, at a young age, they will likely have to deal with the illness and/or death of many people they love. Because they know all their relatives on a personal level, I imagine it might be harder for them than it might be for the average child, who only knows their great-extended-family through pictures and the odd card.

I have never wanted to shield my children from some of the harder life-topics, like birth and sexuality. We talk openly and honestly about how babies are made and the physical differences between boys and girls. But when the questions about death came, spurred on by the death of our beloved dog,  I found myself hemming and hawing. We had explained that the dog was dead and she was in heaven- wasn’t that enough? It wasn’t for our Herd and in the days and months that followed, we were asked the hard questions about death, dying and what happens to people and animals after they die. The questions, and my determination to answer them as openly and as honestly as possible,  forced me to talk to them about this tough topic. In the end, I was more comfortable discussing death and the afterlife than I was born.

Why was I comfortable with questions about the beginning of life, but not the end?

I’m sure part of it is the stage of life we are in. With four children and many of our friends and families still having babies, pregnancy and birth are topics of frequent conversations. Generally, birth is a happy topic and people like discussing happy things. Death, though, isn’t considered happy and our first instinct as parents is to shield them from life’s difficulties. When death came to our house, the first thing I wanted to do was say, “Yeah it happened but let’s get back to the happy stuff!”

My instinct was normal but not necessarily good. Childhood is the time to learn how to handle “big emotions” in a healthy way, so they can know how to deal with these emotions when they are adults. I needed to show them healthy ways of dealing with something that is very difficult.

Recently, this topic has come up again but in a much, much more difficult way than the family dog: a member of our extended family is very ill. My children are older and their understanding of illness and death is much more complex than it was before. The hard questions are coming again, but this time they are about a human, not a dog.

 It would be easy to shield my children from this event, as our extended family is not physically close to us. However, I’ve chosen to be age-appropriately open and honest with them. For one, I know they might overhear my husband and myself talking and I don’t want them to think we are the ones who are sick. They have also seen me upset and crying, something that can be scary for children. I think that knowing why Mommy is crying makes it easier for the children to see; plus, it acknowledges that crying is a healthy response to upsetting news.

As Catholics, many of my answers to their questions are rooted in our faith. The children have gone with my to the church to light candles, asking various saints for their intercession. I have encouraged the children to pray for our family member, both in their personal prayers and when we pray as a family. We also have sent cards and drawn pictures. They like being able to do something for the person that is ill.

Our family member is doing well but that doesn’t erase the knowledge that no one knows when they will pass on to the next world. Whether or not the children will attend funerals depends on a variety of factors. My husband and I agree that they will likely travel with us but we will not force them to view a body or approach a casket. We plan on reminding them that the body is just a shell; a person’s soul lives on forever. It may be very hard for them to see people they love mourning but I hope that seeing adults mourn reassures them of the fact that everyone deals with these big emotions- they are hard and hurt but they are normal and healthy.

For me, walking with my children through the hard questions and experiences about illness, death and dying is one of the hardest parts of parenting. I wish could keep all the hurts of life from them, especially things like this. However, I can’t and I hope that by being open and honest with them, I help them handle a difficult situation in a healthy manner.

Tips for answering questions about illness, death and dying:

1. Be honest: it's okay to say that you don't know the answer to something.

2. Be age appropriate: What I tell my children about illness and how the body works depends on their age and understanding. My older children may receive a more complex answer than my younger kids.

3. Assure them of love: I always tell the kids that I love them and the person who is ill or has died loves them too. Love never dies.

4. Remind them it is okay to mourn, cry and ask hard questions: I've told the children that they can ask me anything and I won't get mad. I know they might be mad at God and ask why He took this person from them. It's okay to have those feelings too: God can handle it.

5. Allow them to see you mourn, but it's also okay to ask for privacy and cry in private. I've also set limits with our children and asked that they come to myself or my husband with their questions. Other family members might not welcome children's questions when they are dealing with their own emotions and that's okay.

6. Decide what you want to tell them about the afterlife: I think this goes for younger children more than older ones. Younger kiddos seem to want concrete answers more than older children, who can entertain higher level thoughts and explore different beliefs about what happens to a soul when the person dies. Our family is Catholic and we have explained these answers in accordance with the Catholic Church's teachings.

7. Enlist help: There are a variety of books that explain illness and death to children. Use them! There is nothing wrong with asking a consular, child-life specialist or social worker for help. These people are more than happy to give you resources or talk with your children.

 

***
Visit Living Peacefully with Children and Authentic Parenting to find out how you can participate in next month's Authentic Parenting Blog Carnival!   Please take time to read the submissions by the other carnival participants: (This list will be live and updated by afternoon February 22 with all the carnival links.)

• A Lie Is A Lie - Jennifer at Hybrid Rasta Mama outlines ten reasons why she believes parents lie to their children on a more than casual bases.
• Telling Truths - Survivor at Surviving Mexico writes about the difficulty in raising a bi-cultural child when cultural norms are not mutually exclusive, specifically in the area of lying.
• Honesty in Illness and Death - Laura at WaldenMommy:Life Behind the Red Front Door writes how she and her husband strive to be open and honest with their Herd of children about tough subjects, especially death.
• Talking Honestly About Death - Amy W. at Me, Mothering, and Making it All Work, is glad she chose to be honest with her children about the deaths of their pets, despite her fears of upsetting them.
• Freedom through Honesty - At Living Peacefully with Children, Mandy speaks to how honesty allows us to break free of the chains which bind us.
• Guilty Children? - Jorje of Momma Jorje touches on the many ways lies (and accusations of lies) have impacted her abilities as a parent.
• Choosing Our Words: Everyday Honesty With Children - In her guest post at The Badass Breastfeeder, Alice discusses the importance of being honest with children, even when it seems easier not to.
• Truth/Lies...Accuracy, Honesty...Love - Mari from Honey on the Bum talks about how a shift in perspective helps her deal with inaccurate statements and secrets with her kids.

"But it could be worse!"

If there's one phrase I hate more than "at this point in time..." it is "But it could be worse!"

"Your baby was bon at xyz weeks? Mine was born SO MUCH EARLIER! Be grateful because it could be worse!"

"Your child can't talk? Ha! It could be worse! Mine can't walk!"

"Your kid has cancer? But it's treatable? Well, it could be worse; it could be the kind that would KILL her!"

"Your kid has a fatal birth defect? Whatever. At least you don't have to watch him suffer and die!"

Yes, all of these things have been said to me and to people I know. I know what you are thinking: the statements are mocking and hurtful. All cancer is bad, whether it is the "easy" treatable kind or the rare kind. Loosing a child is hard, whether it is shortly after birth or after a long illness. The people who are saying "it could be worse" are really saying, "Suck it up and deal with it because there is someone out there who has it worse than you. No one wants to hear your whining."

While the examples I gave above are indeed extreme, the fact that people often take a certain situation and remind you "But it could be worse!" isn't extreme. It isn't new. Often, these people want to pull you out of your own suffering and make you feel better by reminding you of how good you have it- because they (or someone else) had it "worse." At its heart "it could be worse!" is both an effort to pull people out of their sorrow and a cry for acknowledgement of their (or someone else's) pain.

Whatever the desired effect is, that phrase, however, just makes them feel bad. Sadness, grief, anger and the like are complex emotions and they are all present in stresful situations. People who are reminded "it could be worse!" may feel like they are being ungrateful or overreacting to their stressful situation. The truth is, they likely aren't. Most people who are dealing with a crisis know it could be worse and are intensely grateful that it isn't "worse." Yet the knowledge of "worse" doesn't make their situation any "better."

"Better" and "worse" are also subjective. The person who is told that a child dying at birth is "better" than watching a child suffer might envy the other parents- not because they want to see their child suffer but because the other parents had more physical time with their child. Likewise, the parents who saw a child suffer may envy the parents who didn't see their child suffer from a painful illness. In an effort to remind the first parents of this, they dismiss their feelings by crying, "Suck it up, buttercup, because we had it worse than you!" The truth isn't that one situation is better or worse than another; all the situations are hard. It's just that there is a silver lining, however crummy that silver lining might be, and that silver lining is something other people want.

When a child skins his knee, you don't tell them to stop crying because "it could be worse! Some people break their leg when they fall off a bike!" No, instead you offer a hug, a kiss, clean the wound and put on a band-aid. That's what people in crisis situations really need:  a hug, a listening ear, a shoulder to cry, a cup of tea. They don't need their feelings dismissed or rejected. They need them acknowledged before they can begin to heal.

 

What can you say to someone going through a crisis? While it depends on what is going on, some helpful phrases might be:

 

I'm sorry for your loss.

I am here if you need to talk.

Call me if you want to talk. (or call your friend!)

Can I bring you a meal?

May I coordinate a meal service for you?

May I provide _____ (housecleaning, yard work, etc) for you?

I am thinking/praying for you.

Your feelings are valid and normal.

You are not a bad person for being angry/upset/mad/fustrated/etc.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



Let the Little Ones Come to Him: Teaching Kids to Behave in Church

This post is the first in a series about children and faith. While I write about the Catholic faith, as that is the religion of our home, many of the ideas can be applied to families of any faith background. Please feel free to pin, tweet, share and like this article, I ask that you keep all comments to me and others respectful. I love healthy, respectful dialogue and anything less than that will be deleted.

When Joseph and Camille were babies, I was determined to teach them how to behave in Mass. Going to church and participating the Mass are important to me, and I wanted to pass that onto my children. Plus, taking care of my spiritual needs is vital to my emotional well being and I think all parents should take the time to take care of their personal spiritual needs no matter how they worship. For some, that might be simply going out into nature. For me, it is the Mass and, most importantly, the Eucharist.

My children, however, ado not naturally come by the "be quiet and sit still" behavior that is often desired for Mass attendance.  More than once I have spent the entire Mas in the Narthex or a cry room, not really hearing anything and keeping my kids from destroying a hymnal. More than once, I have looked on with envy as a family with multiple children from high school to toddler sitting peacefully in the pew, everyone smiling, sitting still, and paying attention. I wondered how they did it. I wondered what drugs they were all on. (I'm kidding! Maybe...)

As the years have passed, I've found that there is no magic solution to make kids behave like the proverbial perfect angels. It seems that whatever worked for my older two doesn't work for my younger two, or I don't have the time to do that activity with them. I guess between all four of them, we've done everything!

1. daily mass- Daily Mass can be a great "training ground" for young children. It is shorter than Sunday Mass (about 20-30 minutes total!) and generally much less crowded. My older children couldn't participate and sit still for 60 minutes, but they could handle 10-15 . . . which is almost all of daily Mass. It was a great way to help them be successful at participating in Mass in an environment that was tailored to their attention span.

2. practicing at home- One of my friend's couldn't take her children to Sunday Mass. She found a Mass on EWTN and played it for her children at home. They learned all the responses, prayers and when to sit, stand and kneel but in the comfort of their own home. This does not "count" as part of an adult's Sunday Obligation but it does help children become familiar with the sites and sounds of the Mass.

3. switching off- One adult can go to Mass with the older children while the other stays home with the little ones. You could also have one adult take the more active child to Mass one on one so they don't have to worry about helping other children as the toddler runs down the aisle. You still might not hear much of Mass but it's easier to help a small child learn the ins and outs of church when you don't have their other siblings there "helping."

4. nursery/preschool CCD- We have used the nursery on and off, depending on the needs of our family, and the dynamics of the nursery. Currently, Cole is very active and I cannot focus on the Mass if he is with me. He likes to run and play "leave the cry room." He's happy in there and I can focus on Mass and leading my older children through it. Is he learning how to behave in Mass? Not directing, although I have a solution for that later!

At our current parish, we have a great option for the 3-5 year olds: preschool CCD. While the adults and older children are at Mass, the preschool age children learn about our faith in an age appropriate manner. They have class 3 Sunday's a month and the fourth Sunday they attend Mass with the grown-ups. This set-up allows them to learn about their faith (prayers, Sign of the Cross, Jesus, Bible Stories and saints) and participate in Mass. These classes are not mandatory and I know many parents who do not send their children to preschool CCD. However, it has worked well for 2 of our four children and we plan on enroll in Cole in the fall.

5. going when it is empty-  I recently stumbled on a great trick that helps both my busy little man and my "I go into sensory overload in church!" preschooler: going to the church when it is empty.

A few weeks ago, I dropped my oldest children off at CCD and had to wait around until they were finished. There wasn't enough time to go home or do errands so we walked over to the church to light candles. As soon as we walked in, the boys demeanor changed. They slowed their gait and lowered their excited voice.Quietly, I took the boys to the Holy Water font and showed them how to dip their hands in it and bless themselves. As we walked towards the statues of the saints, George pointed to the Stations of the Cross on the wall and asked me what was happening. I explained each station to him and then the boys helped me light a candle. They were so excited they wanted to go light MORE candles! I happily let them and they stopped in front of Mary to point out the flowers at her feet and the baby Jesus in her arms. Before we left the sanctuary, I pointed out the tabernacle and said, "Jesus is in there!"I happily let them and we spent a good 20 minutes in the dark, quiet church talking about the different statues, the items on the alter and blessing ourselves with Holy Water.

About this time it dawned on me that my boys were learning how to behave in church at their own pace and in a relaxed, happy manner. They loved taking as much time as they want to look at all the statues and paintings. When they genuflected before the tabernacle (and there is nothing cuter than a toddler trying to genuflect!), lit candles and peered into the Holy Water font, they were practicing for their future participation in Mass. For my little boys, this is the perfect set up to learn about their faith with me!

6. Cry room- Ah, the ever present cry room that invokes heated debates on parenting forums. It can either be a great teaching tool or a near occasion of sin for parents. For me, it's a bit of both. I love how the parents at my parish participate in the Mass while they are in the cry room and how it is reserved for small children. Kids are still being shown the Mass but their age appropriate manner (and voices!) can't bother anyone and they are free to move around. At the encouragment of our priest, the parents don't "make it their home" and only take their children to the cry room when they become rowdy.

However, it is not like this in every parish. In some parishes, the cry room is a free for all where the parents play on their phones, talk to each other and allow the kids to have full on fast food picnics. (Yep, true story!) As with anything, each family has to decide if the cry room is a great teaching tool for your family... or if it will give you more fodder for the Confessional.

7. Just take 'em-  I know this is the most obvious but for some families, the nursery, cry room or splitting masses with a spouse are not options. If want to have all your children with you in Mass, from the big kids who can sit still to the toddler who screams, "Poopyhead!" then you should. The nursery or cry room is an option, not a mandate. When you have the days when you don't hear a word of the homily and there are runs in your panty hose before the first reading, remember that this is a) a season in your life and b) there are graces from simply attending Mass. Your crying baby is the living, breathing future of the church and she has just as much right to be before Jesus as anyone.

This list isn't ment to be exhaustive and I am by no means a parenting expert on taking children to church (or anything else, for that matter). I'd love to hear from other parents about what did and didn't work for their family! Please leave a comment in the ComBox.
(Want more tips for dealing with children during Mass? Please check out my article on the Natural Parents Network, Tips for Managing Children During Worship Service.)

25 Activities Families Can Do Together During Lent

I know we're not the only family who struggles to find something to do during Lent. With two adults and four children, it's rare there's something we can all give up or add in that will enrich our spiritual lives. The little ones don't really understand what is going on or why they can't have a certain treat (and are not obligated to sacrifice during Lent) and the older two are just now at the age where they can "offer up" a suffering.

My husband and I put our heads together and came up with a list of 25 things families can do during Lent, from the adults down to the Little's. This list isn't meant to be exhaustive; please feel free to add your own in the combox! If you like, pick what works for you and leave the rest but, no matter what, spend the six weeks of Lent growing closer to Christ and closer as a family!

1.       Cut back or reduce screen time. Maybe set a limit for each family member or agree that screens are only for the weekends (or special occasions, such as family movie night or when someone is ill). Discuss how you can monitor yourself and each other in a positive manner and brainstorm a list of things to do when the urge to mindlessly flip on the TV strikes!

2.       Take a class, either as a family or with just one or two of your children. Six weeks is long enough to really get a good feel for an activity and see if it is the one you want to keep doing.

3.       Commit to taking a walk together every evening. If the weather is poor, exercise at home!

4.       Does your family have a special treat that you just love? Give it up together! My kids and I are love Sonic Happy Hour. We go about once a week. This would be something great to give up together and donate the money you would have spent to your favorite charity.

5.       Pray together. Have you been wanting to start a family Rosary or get back in the habit of bedtime prayers? Start back up!

6.       Commit to going to bed at a reasonable time every night. This goes for parents too!

7.       Cut back or eliminate unnecessary spending. Kids can help remind adults that they don’t need that impulse soda or the latest book on Amazon.

8.       Reduce the amount of meat you eat.

9.       Give up between meal snacking or after dinner snacks. Offer up your hunger for people who don’t have enough food to eat. (Note: This would be only for healthy adults and older teens who aren’t growing. Healthy snacks are an important part of a child’s dietary needs.)

10.   Have all snacks be healthy and in moderation. No more bags of chips, organic or otherwise! Chose healthy whole foods.

11.   Try a healthy eating plan, like 100 Days of Real Food.

12.   Work on reducing negative behaviors, like yelling. It’s so easy to get in the habit of yelling or snapping at each other. This Lent, work to speak to each other in loving, caring tones. And when you can’t say anything nice… don’t say anything at all.

13.   Practice random acts of kindness, to each other or strangers. Challenge your family to think of ways they can brighten someone’s day, either through a kind word or action. Children of all ages might enjoy creating small bags of treats or non-food goodies to hand out to strangers.

14.   Volunteer together!

15.   If your kids are too young to physically volunteer take them shopping for goods for a relief agency. Have a list of needed items handy so you know what to pick out and help guide your children in their selections. (Ie, the food pantry probably doesn’t need a new LEGO set!)

16.   Give up your pillow for a certain amount of time. Many people in this world do not have the luxury of a warm bed and pillow. Give up your pillow in solidarity with them!

17.   If you find money, “give it to God.” Loose change from between the couch cushions and on the sidewalk can really add up!  Put it in a special place and at the end of Lent, count to see how much you have. You’ll be surprised at how it adds up!

18.   Go to Adoration together . . . and alone.

19.   Read the Bible, about the Saints or another book that will help you grow spiritually. Alternatively, find a book that the whole family can benefit from and spend time each day reading from it.

20.   Learn new prayers.

21.   Have at least one meal together every day or a certain number of meals together each week. Hint: It doesn’t have to be dinner!

22.   Give up complaining. It’s harder than it sounds!

23.   Stick to a cleaning routine.

24.   Declutter! Some of my friends do “40 Bags in 40 Days” or “6 Bags in 6 Weeks.” The whole family works together to declutter what they don’t need and donates the items to charity.

25. Reconnect with someone. Was there a teacher in your life who was special to you or a friend who went above and beyond the call of duty? Write them a note to thank them for their kindess and influence in your life. Encourage your children to write to someone special in their life, thanking them for all they have done.

 

What are we doing this year? I am committing to going to Stations as much as possible and not snacking after dinner. I also want to take the older children to Holy Thursday and Good Friday Masses. As a family, we are giving up Sonic Happy Hour!

What are YOU doing for Lent?