The Mask of the Red Death

Ok, so it isn't your typical Christmas reference, but it does make for a funny Christmas tale--if you're Irish. Every year we get everyone together, all of my family and all of Kurt's family, for Christmas. We can do this because my sister married Kurt's brother. It simplifies everything and we've all learned so much from each other. This year we learned the cost of togetherness. My niece and nephew both had the flu--again, and after everyone deliberated we decided to risk it. I don't regret the decision. Christmas wouldn't have been the same without them, and I don't think I own much of anything that hasn't been barfed on before and probably will be again. The unexpected thing was that so many of the rest of us--who were supposed to be immune due to an earlier round of the flu--caught it. My poor parents had to spend an extra day before they felt well enough to drive home.
You'd think it'd be a real buzz killer, but actually, being Irish on my side and good natured on Kurt's side, we had a good time around it, through it, and even at moments because of it. We had withdrawn from the world into our clan, and we proudly added Mary's new husband Dan and his three daughters. Fortunately they escaped the flu, and the oldest set a Wii hula hoop record no one believes will be broken any time soon. I cooked Beef Tenderloin with Mushroom Risotto and another night was a bunch of seafood, some from scratch and some from the freezer section at Sam's. Almost all the adults and the older kids stayed up until midnight and beyond to play Balderdash. The younger children quietly stayed up until their parents busted them and separated them to various regions around the house. Mom Vi made her pies. My mom brought her biscuits and Wreath Bread. Every moment was a blessing.
Our Christmas gathering grows more and more important to me every year. It's a benchmark where if you haven't connected with someone by Christmas, you know you'll get the scoop then. It also provides me with a great opportunity to cook and to cook things I'd never otherwise have the chance to try. It's worth braving the stomach flu for.

Anyone missing some snow?

Because I think we found it, and I'd be glad to send it back. Last year was the worst snow year in all the years I've lived in Michigan. I thought sure we'd be getting back to those nice mild winters that made the snow mobile jockeys think about moving on to Alaska. Instead we have just been dumped on with such ferocity I have begun to give up hope.
It's not so bad except for the cabin fever. I can keep busy with kids and work and books, but there comes a point where they can't be kept busy. They need to get out, and I need to get to my meetings. Hopefully the homeschooling co-op will ease their loneliness, and we've made some new friends who are close enough to risk travel for. It's nice to finally be settling in.
I'll be spending part of today checking out our snow gear. They've already been out to play but at this point I don't know whose snow boots are pinching and which snow pants are too short. Coats we seem to be all set, but waterproof gloves and mittens took a beating last year. The hot chocolate is laid in, but it's also been very popular. I'll need to see if we have enough to get through the holidays. I guess I'll have to make peace with the snow. It is beautiful to watch. I never struggle with SAD because it's all a painting to me. Whatever light or color the artist chooses I enjoy it. As art snow is quite lovely. Stepping into the painting though immediately changes my feeling. I hate to be cold. I get dizzy and my ears burn. I've bought gear to cope with it all, but who wants to spend all that time putting on layers and layers of clothes? I'll have to find a way to enjoy the snow. Life is too short to be grumpy with weather.

A Greater Work

My conversion was long and slow and then somewhere in the middle of RCIA classes it just took off. The thing was, my husband couldn't buy it. He wasn't/isn't ready to convert and I respect that, but when the oil was dry and my guests were gone I couldn't help wondering if I'd missed a step or screwed something up. How did I end up alone?
My thoughts and feelings since conversion have ranged from anxiety to fear with the occasional moments of certitude that even if I'm alone I'm doing the right thing. I was asking God about it, and there was an inner turning that brought to mind the powerful healing I've been experiencing sitting there alone in the pew. My sister says that I'm the kind of person who would allow an elephant to stand on my toes without saying anything because I'd be sure he didn't mean to and I didn't want to embarrass him. It's true. Sometimes I wonder if I have any toes left. The evangelical world I grew up in was tightly knit and gossip spread like fire. From a very early age I was aware that my behavior and our family's imperfections were dangerous and had to be guarded. I learned from fighting bullies that the best way to keep from being hurt was to be the scariest person in the room. It's funny that I used to trip over "forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us" because that's exactly what I most needed to do. But I had no place to do it, until St. Mary's.
For those who've read Tales of the Kingdom, entering the church is like crossing the Circle of Sacred Flames, who I really am--good, bad, and ugly comes forward. I've begun to be comfortable with that. All those imperfections that were dangerous are simply the ordinary stuff of living. I'm free to admit I'm a sinner, my family isn't perfect, there are things in my life you don't want to know. In the quiet of St. Mary's, far from the maelstrom of painful people and memories I can listen to God and God only.
I'm beginning to see this quiet time as a special retreat--a much needed retreat. I'd come to the end of my usefulness. There was/is so much that is too broken to do anyone any good. All those painful days and nights when my world was torn apart for reasons that still just seem stupid to me. Everywhere I went before now all of that went with me. But at St. Mary's no one knows anything about me or my family or all those tiresome ins and outs. They just know me, and they know I like to sit quietly, third row from the back, chapel side. I wish I could show them how much that grace is purchasing in my soul. I used to be afraid to be alone, but now I see that time alone is preparing me for greater work.

Reading List

One of the things I love most about vacation is I usually get a day or two to relax and read. I go up to my bedroom and lock the door, and Kurt takes over the kids. This is the first year I've decided to draw up a reading list. The other years it was usually Harry Potter. Not so this year.
My friend, Heather Bowman, reminded me of a great book we read as girls, Jackaroo. It's basically a female Robin Hood. When I looked it up on line I found out it was now a series, so Cynthia Voight's Kingdom series is on the list for light reading.
Kierkegaard's Purity of Heart gets dragged everywhere and never finished. I am going to finish it! I will. I will. I will!
I have been saving Flannery O'Connor's work for years. She's never going to write any more. She doesn't have exhaustive files for her non-existant children to edit. There are only so many Flannery moments left in my life. I feel like it's finally time to read Wise Blood. I'm sad about it because once I'm done I'm done. I may wimp out and set it aside for another Christmas, but I do feel it's time to beef up her influence on my novel.
This last book I read every day. It is a beautiful fusion of faith and art. The entire calendar of saint's feast days is represented and accompanied by beautiful art. It's a wonderful book and a great gift idea.

Harriet the Cow!

At my writer's group, my major character has received a special honor. One of our poets has a farm and she named one of her cows after Harriet. I'm so tickled. This is a picture of Harriet the Cow. Is she cute or what? Just look at that smile.
The other great news is that I seem to be getting back on track with Harriet at 14. Last night's section got the "it works" comment that I've been waiting for. I'll be glad when Harriet leaves New York and heads home to Chattanooga, maybe she should drop by a farm. :)

The best Christmas gift

Last year my husband gave me the best Christmas present ever--a giant creche. I've wanted one since I was five. My mother was playing some kind of elaborate guessing game about a gift she'd bought for under the tree. I couldn't follow, the only thing I could think of going under the tree was a creche. The more I thought I was right the more excited I got. Baby Jesus, Mary, Joseph, it would be wonderful. She kept stressing how delicate the gift was and how important it would be for me to take good care of it. What a let down when it was just a jewelry box. She couldn't understand my disappointment. I couldn't understand how anyone wouldn't prefer a creche. Mom put creches in the same category as Santa Clause. A few years earlier we'd gone to the mall and I'd wondered who the guy with the beard was. My mother and I are just very different people.
Anywho, the first thing I bought for Mea's second Christmas was small, inexpensive creche she was free to play with. She rearranged those figurines for hours. It was highly satisfying to watch. Through the years the set has suffered greatly. No animals have their ears, a wiseman is missing his hand. The HolyFamily is doing OK, but everybody else has suffered for my children's faith. Two years ago we bought the Little People Nativity Set, but I don't like it as well. Last year, Sam's Club had a beautiful, gigantic nativity set, and I walked by it, and I walked by it, and I walked by it. Every time I'd stop for a good stare, then I'd check the price tag and I'd roll on. It was getting really close to Christmas day when I discovered they'd significantly reduced the price. I took a deep breath and rolled by again. When I got home I told Kurt about the price reduction. He thought it was decently priced. I decided it was too much. I could live without it. It wasn't that important, but it was.
Next shopping trip I expected that the set would be gone, and the wild happiness with which I found it still there made me take out my cell. Kurt didn't sound surprised. "Go ahead and get it. It'll be your Christmas present." I don't normally do things like that, but when I could imagine my grandchildren playing with it I realized it was more than an object it was a way to stir up our faith. Poor Kurt, it weighs a ton and we put it up on the bookcases so that it won't be damaged by the kids. I wouldn't change a thing. The reason for the season dominates our living room and that's the best gift we all could receive.

When will she ever learn?

The first time I got this hairdo I was 13, the age my daughter is now. I offered her a trip to the salon, but she wasn't interested. I wasn't offered a trip to the salon, my family felt that cutting my hair would be a travesty sincerely repented. They were right.
I should have known better when the greater majority of my beautician's clients were my grandmother's age. The thing that nobody expected was that a perm would make my exceptionally thick hair stand up. In a small school where punk was banned I was an accidental bad ass. Fortunately, my class was the kind that could overlook a couple of bad hair years. (Don't ask for the full arsenal--one of my highschool hairdos was lovingly called my chemotherapy wig.)
So what am I doing recreating the nightmare of my adolescence? Every so often I get sick of hair. If I were braver I'd be bald. If it's been long enough from a Polish Punker moment I say chop it off short, and here I am. I'd give a lot to have low maintence short hair, but keeping my hair short requires a trip to the salon every other week and who has the time? I'll just have to content myself with my regular bob. Yawn.

Obsessed with the Sixties

It's research, honest! The whole reason I'm almost exclusively listening to the Oldies station, looking up obscure facts about the various political events and movements, the reason my wardrobe is moving in a Bohemian direction is all research. I've not really fallen in love with the time period that destroyed civilization as we know it. I'm not finally conceding that the Beatles might have had something. I haven't given in and embraced the brash exploration of what the best life is by crazy young adults for whom very little was out of bounds. OK, I still have a lot of bounds. Bounds are my life, but studying other people's courage is almost as good.
The more I work on this book the more I realize research is going to be critical to it's success. I'm going to need to spend a week in Chattanooga, another in New York City and at least a few days in Boston. I can get enough for this first draft off the internet, but once I've committed to the events I select from the rather over written manuscript I'm creating, then I'll need hard facts and even photos. I'm not sure I can get with inserting my characters into the only historical event I want to modify by inserting my characters. Fortunately the boomers involved are still alive and B list enough that I can contact them with a reasonable assurance of success.
In any case, growing up with the certitude that the sixties were to blame for everything, it's been a lot of fun discovering the positives.

Netflix for the Holidays

Keeping Mum--This is rated R and deserves it, but don't let that stop the adults in your household from indulging in this witty play with the idea of Grace. It has no direct tie to Christmas, but it is so funny I can't keep mum about it. :)
Tsotsi--This would be a sophisticated albeit dark choice for an adult Christmas gathering. Not exactly It's a Wonderful Life, this meditation on redemption would inspire all kinds of interesting conversation.

Children of Heaven--This is a G rated film that children ought to see. Iranian siblings struggle to keep a lost pair of shoes from putting a further strain on an already struggling family. The ending is heartbreaking largely because of its innocence.
Babette's Feast--This is another meditation on Grace, a more conventional study than Keeping Mum, but equally interesting in its way.
Merry Christmas--Before my kids and I studied modern history I thought World War I was some kind of milder version of WWII. Now I think of it as the stupidest war in history. I'm not alone in that opinion, the soldiers in the trenches weren't all that infatuated with it either. This film celebrates the true story of the impromptu truce the soldiers themselves called on Christmas.

Facebook

I finally joined something on-line. I did it initially because Facebook was the only way to contact someone I needed to hear from. My account just sat there until a high school friend found me and the connections game was off and running. At first, I was going to delete the account, but how to do it without offending the people who'd found me? After a while the whole thing grew on me, and I did my own searches.
I'm up to around 25 people, and I'm thinking about chilling out. To have so many people from so many different time periods suddenly present in my life again is overwhelming. Elementary school rivalry mixed with former students mixed with people that were only part of my life for a brief but powerful moment. I'm a bit dizzy from it all.
I didn't think so many people remembered me. It's very nice to find that they do. I guess I'll need to adjust to the emotional clutter.

My first crucifix

Getting together with my mother's family was always a summer activity. We lived close enough that we could have gotten together every week, but we're brooders and therefore need our space. The times we did get together were good, particularly when it was my mother's cousin Aunt Karen. (My dad's family insists on titles like that so I call all relatives of his generation or older Aunt or Uncle, sometimes they aren't even relatives just very close friends. It's a lovely tradition. I wish I had enough friends and relatives to pass it along.) The only downside was they lived near the coldest lakes in the region and that's where we'd go. Everyone has their battle strategy for leaving the delicious warmth of summer for the subterranean chill of mountain lakes. Mine was always slow and easy. Giving my blood time to chill made it easy to finally dip under and swim. Every time I tried jumping in I was out as fast as I was in.
Slow and easy is actually the same strategy I adopt for most things, and becoming a Catholic is no different. It started with discovering nuns in the Sound of Music and it has ended with my confirmation in the church. I have not filled my house with Catholic stuff yet. There are a lot of Catholic books, which is in a funny way rather Protestant, and I regularly attend Mass. Confession I go as needed. There are a long number of things I intend to try as soon as my life slows down or simplifies. But none of these are things that change my house. My home until now has remained Protestant. That's beginning to change. I have candles on the window sill that I light for my current favorite saints--St. Mary, St. Zita, and St. Scholastica. I have my eye on the candles at the supermarket--maybe for Christmas. The biggest change is I finally got a crucifix. It's not standard as you can see, but the shop only had 6 or 7 and I didn't like the Jesus on the others. He was either sleeping or he was like Munch's Scream. This one was in the middle ground and as I looked at it the more it inspired me. The Father's tender care for his Son is evident and the roll of the Holy Spirit is also honored. I know that Christ was alone on the cross, but in some ways his suffering continues now because of us and the way we treat each other. I like to think that this crucifix reminds me that I don't suffer alone. As we identify with Christ we are upheld by the Father. I'll have to check my catechism to see if I've got that right.
In any case, the more I walk toward the Church the more I benefit. Having permission to let objects and fellow Christians remind me of what is important and that I must obey is, for me, a huge help to going forward in my faith. Perhaps it has something with being a brooder who needs her space. Every new step raises my gaze and helps me move forward. The more I bring in the Church the more my space becomes sacred, or maybe more properly the more I see it's sacredness. In any case I've made good progress in doing what's right since I nailed up my crucifix. It's time to dip under and swim.

Fork in the Road?

Motherhood was priority number one when I was young. Once I made the fundamental choice of family over career, I did it with gusto. Six kids is not something that happens by itself, despite the frequent teasing we get. I've really tried hard to be certain that my children have access to me, that they get enough time to feel loved and heard. Homeschooling has been a big part of that, because we are together all day long. The only problem with that is that we are together all day long. ;)
This year is the first year that the numbers game felt overwhelming. Keeping five children on track while keeping the house in reasonable order and tending an infant can ratchet up my perfectionism beyond reasonable tolerances. The kids are getting better at fulfilling their responsibilities and Merry Maids is a Godsend, but I'm still falling back on Lamaze breathing some days. This is also the first year we have Co-op. The kids can't believe we've ever lived without it, and I'm inclined to agree even though it does force us to get school done in four days instead of five.
This Friday, Kurt took the kids and fulfilled my responsibilities at Co-op, so that I could prepare our home for a sleepover. I haven't been alone in this house, perhaps ever. Cleaning, caring for baby, it was all so easy with the five of them gone. My mind started to wonder--what if they were in school? If the kids went to school I could keep the house the way I like it. Working out would be easy, and the biggest temptation of all, I'd have time to write.
I knew writing was becoming important when I couldn't stop doing it. I kept finding myself sneaking off to work on a story. I knew the story had become important when I thought that our van had been stolen and I was far more concerned about my manuscript than I was about the van. Now I'm beginning to realize how serious I am about completing it as I keep showing up at my writer's group even though I know I'm going to take a pounding because my work isn't as polished as I'd like.
I want more time to write. Two or three hours every Saturday after Mass is not enough. All I can do is put the ideas on paper. Editing is going to have to wait, or I'll never get the initial draft done. I've got four-fifths of the book to go and I've been serious about this for three years. I don't think I'm ready to send the kids to school yet, but I'm struggling to see any other way to get some more writing time. I suppose I'll just have to live with what I've got.

Feeling Groovy

Feeling awful for a long time has a few unexpected benefits, the largest of which is that when you finally do feel good you feel great. All that weight and fear and guilt fall off and it's almost like God pushed the reset button on your life. For a long time now my life has been wearing me. Today I know what I want to do and how I want to do it and I know it's the right thing to do. Not a bad way to get ready for church.

Comes in ships

The priest speaks.
Thirst is remembered.
Long dry wells run damp.
Oh for Noah's courage.

Thinking about tomorrow

As we sat enjoying a very nice meal it occurred to me that it is half past October and I have only the sketchiest of plans for Christmas. This is not good. Christmas is not the kind of occasion I can throw together at the last minute. Kurt was equally alarmed so we did some planning at the table, but there is only so much we can do without access to cookbooks and toy stores/websites and records of our family traditions. We hoped to get to Hallmark to get the children's ornaments for this year, but City of Ember was calling. (City of Ember is a fun, but unremarkable film.)
Once I sit down with some paper I should find it fairly simple to fill in the framework of tradition with some kind of theme--last year's was Noah's Ark. What I'd really like was a celebration that was firmly based in church and pulled from the broader tradition, but we are currently attending two churches. We've got twice the options and twice the force pulling us in different directions. I'm going to start a new series called "Living the Schism" about the challenges (and blessings) of celebrating both Catholic and Protestant varieties of the Christian faith. Christmas may be a good place to start, but right now I've got to figure out what's on the menu.

Date Night!

Tonight, tonight won't be just any night, tonight there will be no children to lug around. It's date night! We all love date night. One of the best features of this house is that Ashley lives next door. She is one of those people who are born knowing what to do with kids. When Ashley arrives little hands plant themselves firmly on my backside and push toward the door. They don't have to push too hard because it's such fun to have my husband to myself for an evening.
We tried a lot of different, creative ways to arrange for some face to face time without leaving the house. Some were more successful than others, but there really is no substitute for a good babysitter.
Tonight I'm hoping to enjoy the City of Ember. The only thing I know about it is the trailer which I enjoyed. To arrive with no expectations is a rare pleasure these days. I'll let the story speak for itself. I hope Kurt likes it too. It's about a dying generator. An engineer has to like that--right?

Finally Observed

To be stood under
Raises me to Heaven
It sets
Too much
To writes.

Quiet Week

This week I was too busy trying to recover from last week to push forward with school. This was our eighth week because I started early, and we all needed some margin in our work. It's taken this much time for it to sink in with the older girls that they need to work or they will be overwhelmed. Previously our oldest could just skate along, and our second can charm her way out of most things. This year the requirements and the schedule are wearing us all out, but at the same time it is forcing us to be more disciplined. The younger ones are delighting in beating their elders almost every day, but none of us was enjoying the lack of relaxation.
The week was a standstill for every subject but their required reading, mathematics and writing. They have the skills now to keep up, but they needed a chance to catch up. I needed a break too. I was beginning to dread waking up and the immediate necessity of ordering, begging and disciplining the kids to get the extensive demands met. Taking a step back let me reevaluate a number of things and make some decisions--as well as catch up some cleaning--that will hopefully lead to a happier home life for the rest of the year.

You can't be happy all the time.

It's Friday and I feel it in my bones. The day began with baby crying and is ending with me thinking about it. There are many things that could be said about me, but the one I know is true is that I give being a mother 100 percent. The discouraging thing is that sometimes it's really hard to see that it has accomplished very much.
Overall it was a good day. Co-op is so much fun. The kids get a chance to bond and stretch and use the things we're learning at home in new ways. Kurt came along, and neither of us could resist hunting up the kids and peeking in on their classes. I don't know why, but somehow by the end of classes a creeping ennui had me saying yes to a chocolate shake. I associate milkshakes with being sad. We went to the shoe store for the usual chaos of fitting everyone out in new sneakers. We did get them buy one get one half off, which for us is a great savings.
Tomorrow we'll be visiting with family from the east coast, so I won't be able to write. Once we'd unloaded the van, I took off to get my haircut. I made more of a production of it than usual adding the special tea treatment and getting it styled. I don't know why, but sometimes I just hate having all that hair. It's pretty short. After the haircut I went to Barnes and Noble with two goals--one, use up a gift card and two, write something. I failed at both objectives.
I edited the most recent bit I took to group. I counted the almost tens bits of manuscripts that need to typed. I despaired of getting the timeline for the New York trip in order. Then I faced the real issue. I don't think I've done enough to get my kids ready for the world. My childhood there was that heavy axe we all had to grind and as soon as you were old enough you picked it up and off you went. I'm not so clear as to what I want to give my kids. I want them to know God, but I'm not dogmatic about how. I want them to have some knowledge of the many ideas that are the basis of human culture, but it's hard for me to be sure which ones to include and which to ignore. I had hoped to ignite in them a passion for the treasures of literature that have enlivened generations of human beings. At this moment my only victory is an enjoyment of Chaucer.
The problem is probably more about the general weariness than it is about any actual failure, but I'm at the point of being fairly certain I'll send the kids to the local highschool when the time comes. They could use the opportunity to practice making friends and to learn how to navigate the culture that is so very different from our quiet life at home before they are thrown in the deep end in college. I hate the idea even though it's probably the best one. Highschool is when everything gets interesting. I guess I've just flunked myself as their teacher.

From Madam Blueberry to Cinderella

For the first time since my turbo-charged Nissan 200SX that could talk, I'm driving a Japanese car. Previously we've bought American, either Chevy or Ford. We wanted to continue, but neither offered a vehicle that can seat all of us at a price we can afford or a size our garage can accommodate. Originally we'd selected the Chevy Tahoe, but when we went to see the version that seats eight it had no cargo room and no leg room for the final row of seats. We've been driving two vehicles whenever we needed to go somewhere as a family, and the two tanks of gas at this time in history is awful.
We were very frustrated and just googled "seats eight." The Honda Odyssey was the best for us, but it has been hard to think of buying a foreign car. Owning the car is much easier. We took it out for a Sunday drive yesterday, and we all fell in love with our "Cinderella." She has great features including leather seats that have been covered with some kind of super stain resistance. It was nice to ride in the passenger seat and to chat as the countryside rolled by.
We will miss our "Madame Blueberry" but at least we know she is going to a good home. My sister-in-law and her husband have recently blended their families and they need a vehicle that seats all six of them. I hope they love her as much as we have.

Cooperative Homeschooling--how fun is that!

We joined the LMHSC, and today was our first day. It was fabulous. The kids were so excited about the classes, and everyone was on the hunt for friends. The church where we meet was crammed with kids, around 70 or so. There were classes for all my kids even the baby had a place to be. The four class periods moved very smoothly and my husband was able to come over for lunch with us.
When I collected the kids at the end of the day they were all planning for next week, and I have to confess my teacher genes began to itch. I'd forgotten the pleasure of a group of age mates working on a project. The only thing now is to decide what I'd like to teach and when I'll feel up to adding another responsibility in my crowded life. I could ditch my novel--some of my writer's group suggested I should, but every time I decide to do that my conscience bothers me. At this moment that's the only thing I can jettison, so I guess I've got a year to do my planning.
I love planning!

Playing Hide and Seek with the Saints

This fall I'm surrounded by saints. Since we are studying the medieval period and I wanted to add some uplifting devotional material we're reading the biographies of prominent medieval saints. Some of them were on the menu because if your going to read medieval philosophy you're going to read Augustine and Acquinas. The others I added because I didn't thing you'd have a good grasp of the period without St. Joan of Arc and St Catherine of Sienna. The funny thing with the saints though is the sense that somehow they are with you.
As a former Baptist I wouldn't have expected this to be an important part of my spiritual practice, but it is. It all started with St. Zita who even before there was any serious thoughts about converting adopted me. She is my patron saint and sadly overlooked. I discovered her in a book about find your birthday saint. She's April 27 which you might consider my rebirth in some ways, but it isn't my birthday. I was just drawn to the brief portrait of a household servant whose sanctity was universally acknowledged. She came from being one of the most unimportant people in her household to attain sainthood. When I find myself performing feats of household magic I never thought I'd manage I feel her presence.
The rest of the saints we're learning about help out too. My son is not the best behaved child and whenever he is being a real trial in mass I find myself appealing to St. Monica, Augustine's mother. Whenever I think of St. Francis, I always feel sorry for him. We'll be studying him as well, but the sorrow comes from what must be overuse. Here's my little St. Zita with nothing to do, and poor St. Francis, everyone remembers him. Leave it to me to feel sorry for the saints.
For my own personal reading, I'm learning about Mother Theresa. I'm firmly convinced of her sanctity. Her life inspires and frightens me. She is braver than anyone I know, and always effective when I'm afraid.

Cold Weather Socks

The best thing about summer is the lack of socks. If it were up to me, we'd live in a warm climate where I can go barefoot or in sandals every day. My feet are all kinds of rough and I care not. I like to feel the world spinning around under my feet. My kids love summer sandals too. When it's time to go we stick our feet in and fasten the velcro. Thirty seconds later we're in the van and on our way.
Winter is not so simple, mainly because of the socks. At the moment we have three sizes of socks, not that that stops anyone from trying to wear whatever size they find--only the baby's socks are safe. Peter hasn't realized that there is supposed to be a gender difference between the white tubes we put our feet in, so there isn't much hope there either. I don't know why socks are so difficult to organize, but they are.
We begin with bulk discount packages and dire warnings about abusing or losing socks. I've considered requiring a sock oath, but why tempt my children to sin? The first week or two getting socks and shoes on is only two or three minutes longer, but then, somehow, the socks disappear. The rest of the winter is a constant rerun of the following conversation. "I bought you 15 pairs of socks and you are telling me you can't find any?" or its variant "I bought you 15 pairs of socks and all you can find is this mismatched horror I don't remember purchasing--ever?"
I do love the days when the snow falls and falls and falls and falls. I do love Christmas looking like a post card. I do love the wondrous comfort of a hot beverage after a day of running errands or playing with the kids. I just wish we could enjoy all of that in our bare feet.

Diagram of a Woman's Mind

A friend sent this to me. I can't figure out how to post it so it is animated like the version she sent me, but the idea is right on. All those little blue balls are ideas or decisions a woman has to make. We seldom have the luxury of thinking about one thing at a time, so we've made a strength out of managing whatever presents itself. I had a lot of fun with this thing.

Goodbye to Chekov

In my youth I spent a lot of time in my parent's shadow. In some ways it wasn't a shadow, it was a spotlight. If I chewed gum I was in trouble twice before the flavor was gone. Being the child of two teachers at the school you attend is tough. The most difficult thing for me was sorting out friendships. Who was my friend because they liked me? Who was my friend because they liked my parents? Who was my friend because they wanted to find out good stuff for the gossip mill? The other thing I disliked was what I privately called "The Chekov Effect."
My grandmother was a spoiler. She knew my cousin loved Star Trek, so she painstakingly collected a set of coffee mugs through a magazine offer. The porcelain company sent her two Sulu's and two Chekov's, but no Captain Kirk. She had to go through all kinds of hassel to get Captain Kirk, but when she asked them what she should do with the extra Sulu and Chekov? "Keep them" they said, "nobody wants them anyway." In my life, I was always Chekov. You Checked Off that you had him, but his only real purpose was completeness.
Being Baptist there wasn't any real escape, shoot, I walked into my writer's group and found someone I could play six degrees of being Baptist with. Within a few minutes we'd uncovered a mutual friendship that was pretty significant. I tend to end those conversations back in Chekov mode.
I'm not a Baptist anymore. I love all my Baptist friends. I love my parents, but for the first time I'm just an ordinary church member. I have no parental burden to bear. I have no fond memories that I am required to recount. I'm just the rather inept Catholic trying to remember to bow, then put your left hand on top of your right, then say "Amen" then eat (praying you don't sneeze or drop it or something else equally awful) then cross your self while trying to return to the proper pew gracefully and on time.
The lack of pressure was very scary at first, but now I'm beginning to enjoy it. Discovering who you are when you can be anyone is fun. The best thing though has been the general clearing of my ideas about who my friends are/were, and the closeness I feel without the nagging worry about why people choose to be my friend. Thanks to everyone who's stuck by me in the bad parts. Hopefully the good parts are ahead of us.

Time Tracker

I am currently enjoying the weariness that only teachers and homeschoolers completing their first week of school can truly understand. School this year starts at 9 and ends at 4. It's the only way to fit everything into four days instead of five. This is the first year I've decided to hold firm about homework. If they don't finish within the given hour, they must do it in the evening. It helps that we've banned all electronic media, including the internet during the work week. Tokens for weekend use must be earned by completing the work on time. I thought this was going to be a real drag, but I bought the above device--the Time Tracker--and it really has worked small miracles. They decided to divide the hour evenly between the three sections, and they do try to beat the clock. When the red zone beeps and lights up, the atmosphere in the room changes. The price for this gadget seemed high when I bought it. Now, they could charge me more.
The schedule isn't as bad as I thought it would be. We begin with phonics/writing. On one level I'm teaching the ABC's on the other they are writing essays and preparing speeches. The second hour is math which Kurt grades so I just have to get it done and on his clipboard. Third hour is reading time ranging from The Bug Bag to How to Read a Book. We take a break for lunch and a walk, then we come right back for spelling and handwriting. I still can't believe I have to teach those, but any time I come across my own work I had the same problems. Amnesia is a kind friend. My favorite hour is the sixth where we alternate between Chemistry and history. I wish the whole day could be devoted to science and history. The last hour we work on grammar. This week it was very easy to skip it. I'll have to be more disciplined as the book shifts gears from introductory stuff that's pretty useless to serious instruction.
I have 18 years left of being a mom. Motherhood hasn't had an expiration date before. Bumping into it makes me feel like the clock has left the green zone and entered the yellow. Knowing that makes all the work feel trifling and pleasurable.

Another Milestone

I was updating my poetry file and I've written over 50 poems. They vary in quality and kind, but I'm still proud to have done it at all. Maybe my next milestone should be writing 50 good poems. :)

East Meets West

I've got too many good ideas and not enough time. I have an essay for this blog that I can't get out of the brainstorming phase. I have my novel which is finally picking back up. I rewrote one section 3 times before I had a version that I didn't hate. A character that I thought was a minor throwaway is now refusing to go quietly. I'm trying to think how I'll get rid of him without either rebalancing the ending or making my readers hate me. I just found a fun website where I could play around with T.V. School called WeBook. On top of all of that, I'm haunted by this project and the first story in it. I'm writing a series of children's books about the great ideas. I'm doing my best to incorporate details that while they'll just be furniture to the child as he/she grows they'll become good jokes. My parents suggested one of the best. The dog in the story about justice will be named Hammurabi.
The thing that has begun to worry me is that I'm taking a Western approach. If I want to write something that will last it has to include Eastern wisdom. The broader an approach I take, the more inclusive it will be in the long term. We're in the age of getting acquainted. For the first time in human history it's more difficult to find solitude than it is to find company. I'm not talking about emotional solitude, emotionally we are more isolated than ever. I mean that even at The Center of the Earth (fun movie) there is always your cell phone or satelite phone or something. I'd like to write a book grounded in that new reality. I'd like for the series to bring people together.
The problem is I'm not as familiar with Eastern wisdom. I'm also wondering if I try to do too much if I'll ending up doing too little. Sometimes it's best to stick to what you know.
Duty calls.

An Ordinary Day at Home

Kurt and I are trying to get back on the winter schedule, so the alarm rings too early and we ignore it. The second alarm does the trick which is good because baby wants his breakfast. Baby gets fed. Everyone else is excited because Dad bought sugar cereal. Reminders about unfinished chores need to be given, but most of the kids comply without further reminding.
I decide that all the books I'd hauled upstairs need to be returned to the classroom. I'm hoping inspiration will hit me because I'm in the right setting. The schedule is a problem with our new four day school week. I am sure that joining a homeschool group is a good thing for our girls as finding faithful friends has been a struggle recently.
Once I'm settled in the basement, the need to bring the room back up to school year standards strikes and I try to get the kids excited about digging through bins and throwing out last year's worksheets. Baby gets hungry and unhappy. The cleaning crew ditches me for lunch.
A friend comes to visit the oldest, so I relax things for everyone. Most of the kids head out to the yard, and then migrate to the garage. Baby gets his nap. I try to make progress, but I just can't seem to focus. Summer fever isn't only for kids.
I panic about dinner and then I remember I put one of the meatloaves in the crockpot. Some potatoes and green beans and we're good. I'm not sure what I'll do after the frozen meals run out. We can see the bottom of the freezer. I originally thought I'd be ready to sign up for another marathon cooking day, but I miss working with fresh food. The Cook's Illustrated bug is reasserting itself. If nothing else we have to make that French Onion Soup again.
The outside became boring, so the children flowed back into the house. Two of them must have a bath and an older girl volunteers to supervise. The oldest takes over watching the baby and I hit the treadmill. I take inventory of the damages after my workout. We've lost a large quantity of shampoo--otherwise not bad.
Kurt arrives home and we head downstairs for our new joint workout. He takes on the treadmill and I use the stationary bike. Someday I will be able to ride a bike but for now the stationary bike is as good as it gets.
We eat the meatloaf, and the kids enjoy the treats Dad bought them yesterday. Baby goes to bed, and I have a little time to work on that schedule.
Maybe I'll get around to it tomorrow.

Live-in Library

The start of school sends me checking around the house for appropriate books. I know that certain subjects or authors have taken hold when books begin migrating. Recently we counted them up and we have 15 bookcases. The only rooms without books are the kitchen and dining room, and, well, you know.
This time I'm on the hunt for books about the medieval period that are appropriate for our ten year old. So far I have The Imitation of Christ, Ivanhoe, Robin Hood, King Arthur and His Knights. I'm debating using the Chronicles of Narnia and The Once and Future King. Tales from Shakespeare keeps trying to sneak in. I might use it and then reuse it next year to double up William's impact.
The other subject I was trying to find books for is chemistry and I've had little luck. Even the chemistry section in the childrens' wing of our local library is limited. The good news is that NOEO Science is based on reading books, so they had us buy a bunch. They look interesting. I just hope they can get us motivated to memorize the Periodic Table.

Rebecca's Nose

I woke up late
after pounding marathons
in my sleep
to find blank canvas
at sea

School already? Where did the time go?

School is coming. For the first time in years I'm not really planning. I've got the curriculum pretty set. The schedule is working itself out. There is no need to fuss with decorating the basement. I had hoped to paint it blue, but you can't have everything. Maybe blue would have been a bad call. I wish I could move our kitchen table down to the basement so that we'd have more room for everybody. This year we have five students, and a teacher who has vowed to set a good example by studying and working right along with the kids. Our current table is very nice, seats four and is built for children around the age of 9. I think I'll be able to spread things out, and one child will be doing the bulk of her work on the computer.
None of it really matters. What matters is the attitude with which we approach our project and everyone is being positive. I was mulling over the difficulty level of my oldest's work and she reassured me that she'd already read some of the titles I was considering and she was sure she could keep up. I hope she's right. Our second struggles with spelling, but after working together this summer she seems ready for more challenge. Number three will be working on the computer. She's been watching older siblings do it for years and she's kind of excited. Number four is eating any challenge I throw at her for breakfast. I just hope I've got enough for her. Our little son is demanding the same kind of attention his sister used to, so we're going to start him on work that is a year beyond his age. If it doesn't work out, he'll be more prepared for next year. Baby will be busy sleeping, eating, burping and drooling. We expect excellent work for his first year. :)
My fears about the Chemistry have subsided. NOEO science is helping me with the younger people. My videos and reading have been doable. I'm pleased to discover it isn't as bad as it seems. Everything else is exciting. This year feels like the first year where I know what I want to accomplish and how I want to accomplish it. Ironic since this is the least planned for year in our history. I guess I just needed to find my own groove.

If it's Monday, I'm wearing purple.

As we pass the halfway mark for summer I've been trying to work in all the special goodies I bought for our Monkey Summer. We're wearing our monkey shirts. Each child has a special color, and I bought matching shirts so that I can identify with each one in turn. They may not be the most fashionable attire, but they let my kids know I care.
The other new item I've added is the Best of the Monkee's CD to be our summer soundtrack. I couldn't resist the idea of popping open Madame Blueberry's doors and having all the kids deploy in full monkey regalia with "Hey, hey, we're the Monkees..." playing in the background. So far I've been unable to realize that dream, but I'm sure I'll get it all together one of these days. The thing I wasn't expecting was how much we'd all enjoy the other tracks on the disk. There are all the Monkee classics, but also almost forgotten songs like "Auntie Griselda" and "Goin Down." It's nice when a car full of people can agree on music.
The other fun gem we haven't gotten the max out of yet is the book Monkey. It's a Chinese classic that we've only made it through the first chapter of. Summer is a hard time to get the kids interested in sitting quietly to listen to a story. Our oldest has read it by herself 2 or 3 times, and she really enjoyed it. I'm hoping we can be more diligent and expand our understanding of another culture. Maybe I'll bribe them with ice cream.

I love the movies!

From the age of 5 to the age of 14 my family was prohibited from attending movies. My parents worked for a fairly conservative church and we couldn't do a number of things other families did. We missed Star Wars. We lived without all the Disney movies. We listened to other, more decadent people describe the films, and television premiers were huge. A network executive could clear the church out several minutes early by scheduling such blockbusters as Gone With the Wind and The Sound of Music.
When we found ourselves parting company with the church we'd poured our lives into for nine years, one of the few bright sides was that we could finally go to the movies. I remember the moment quite clearly. We chose a smaller theater in a neglected area of town and we watched The Great Mouse Detective. Dad loaded us up with popcorn, Jr. Mints and soda pop. It was a great day. Even now I walk into a movie theater feeling proud and excited. I am a storyteller and the movies are our great medium. Sometimes I think archaeologists from the future won't even begin to understand us if they can't somehow access our films.
The kids are setting most of the agenda for our movie watching this summer. Kung Fu Panda wasn't as funny as I expected Jack Black to be, but we enjoyed it. As American Girl fans the girls and I had to see Kit Kitteredge. We plan to see Wall E, but the family reviews have been mixed, so we haven't been in a rush. I saw Meet Dave, and was disappointed. Kurt and I really enjoyed Hancock. We all saw Prince Caspian the first Saturday it was out, and loved it. Sometime this summer we'll have to do the drive-in experience. There really isn't anything like it.

Shades of Grey

Growing up I belonged to the Fundamentalist crowd. Grey was a bad word. Life was clear, and easy. We all knew who the good guys were and who the bad guys were, and the decisions that life called on us to make were simple. Vote for the good guys. Ignore the bad guys. I gave up looking at life in that way two years ago, but only now am I beginning to understand the trade. I never realized how uncertainty would dog my thoughts, and how difficult those grey decisions would be. It never occurred to me that my whole family would be affected by those grey thoughts and choices. I was just reaching for the better way.
Perhaps I haven't found it yet. Perhaps my apprenticeship is only begun. Part of me wants to run home where faith is a consumer product, conveniently packaged and on sale. Part of me knows I just can't anymore. But what kind of faith am I giving my children? What have I taught them about God and living in a relationship with him? It feels like all I've taught them is that church is hard. Living in the body is painful. I want them to have the same transcendent confidence that sparkled through the beginning of my faith life, but then again I'm a better person and a better Christian since I accepted the difficulty of an adult faith.
Sometimes the greatest act of faith I can muster is the most simple, I keep breathing. I keep breathing in the hopes that somehow it will get better, or it will make sense, or something will come right again. Sometimes that breathing leads to little victories and life becomes easier. Sometimes I even find joy in just breathing. One more day with my husband. One more day with the kids. One more day of hoping and watching for God to show up. One more day of realizing that breathing is sign enough that God has shown up. One more difficult day of doing the best I can to do the right thing well, even in the shades of grey

Step 10

When I was a child my father usually gave me the option of confessing my sins to God or a spanking. It was a no-brainer even for a toddler. Dad made getting things right with God seem like a very good thing, and long after the deal was off the table I persisted in the habit of confessing my sins as soon as I realized I was sinning. I owe my Dad a lot for fostering that kind of joy maintaining a clear conscience.
Somewhere in those mildly random moments of childhood, I met a little Catholic girl and in awed tones she told me about confession. The very idea terrified her, and she was glad she had awhile before first communion. I thought the whole idea was awesome. An official place to say goodbye to mistakes and sins. What could be better than that? When I was younger, and certain I'd never be Catholic, I wondered if the priest would notice or care that I wasn't Catholic if I stepped into the confessional. There were numerous times when sins seemed so complicated I'd never make sense of what was right and what was wrong, when I longed for the comfort of someone else thinking it through with me.
The confessional lived up to my expectations and then some. I find that after I've made confession I have new strength to resist temptations and there is a freedom and moral clarity I can't imagine finding any other way. My heart can find its way to happiness again without the strain and stain of sin.
This story begins Here.

Chemistry

Next year's curriculum is giving me some grief. This is the first year that has me feeling apprehensive, and the main cause is chemistry. I was unable to make any sense of the discipline throughout my school years, and now I need to find a way to make it understandable for my kids. All the other subjects I not only feel good about teaching I'm actually excited about teaching. We'll be doing medieval history, writing, spelling, math. All of these things I'm confident that I know enough to do a good job. Chemistry, not so much.
The good news is, this is just a let's get acquainted year. Our oldest is still too young to take a real chemistry class, so I just need to wet the appetite and introduce the fundamentals. I've got the Teaching Company videos and a high school chemistry book I happened upon in the library's resale book room. These will get me started. I've found some interesting chemistry curriculum online, but I'm not sure it's what we're looking for.
Homeschooling is often just as educational for the parents as it is for the children.

Birthday Resolutions

This year my birthday was a fairly quiet occasion. I like that in a birthday. I had time to think about my life so far, and what I want it to be in the future. Various exercises and workbooks gave my thinking a structure, and what came out of the experience was a list of resolutions. Some are fairly mundane--eat right, exercise. Some are just fun--bubble baths and date night. Some are a stretch--learn calculus. Some are spiritual--spend 20 minutes a day in prayer, go to Mass once a week. Some of the most challenging are social--invite people over for dinner twice a month. I've also made the decision to take a picture of my family every day. I think that's the hardest one for me. Photos freeze the present and make it the past. It's my nature to want to be in the here and now. The present is where all the action is. I like to pay attention to who you are right now. Photos are a record of who we were, parts of ourself we just can't get back. I don't know why I made that particular resolution, but I trust the self that made it enough to haul out the camera and take a few snaps. I don't have to look at the pictures. They can just live on my hard drive.

Best Birthday Present Ever

For my birthday this year my mother-in-law gave me Merry Maids for a month. I cannot express the relief that one gift has given me. The children have just begun to pick up after themselves without prompting, and now the scrubbing is done for me. The maids come as a team and the two of them have the house spic and span in a little less than 2 hours.
What an amazingly helpful gift!

My Own Room

This is my little office. I don't do much writing here, but I do type up the long-hand manuscripts. Research and finding the best homeschooling curriculum happens here too. My dad put up the bead board, and I covered the cement block with old Mary Engelbreit calendars. The desk has been mine since I was ten. Manuscripts and rough drafts are filed in the filing cabinet under the printer. Further down the wall, dad put up a gigantic whiteboard and that is terrific for plotwork and poetry. This is my quiet little space to do my own work and to grow as an individual. The rest of my spaces are all about growing as a parent or a wife. This little desk is where I express just myself. Everyone ought to have a corner to dream in.

Goosebumps

I recently went through a very dark time, a trial of the soul. In the midst of it, I came near to despair. A kind chaplain stepped in and got me breathing again, then he gave me a pamphlet about Mother Theresa. It's just two half sheets of paper stapled together, but the story of her struggles in the dark was an anchor. I wrote my truth all over it, and whenever the darkness threatened to return I reread her story. When I was feeling well enough to start planning for the future, I promised myself I'd buy her autobiography and read all of it. I was fulfilling that promise when I found this quote, and I went all goosebumpy.
“If I ever become a Saint—I will surely be one of “darkness.” I will continually be absent from Heaven—to lit the light of those in darkness on earth .”
—Mother Teresa of Calcutta
I love being a Catholic.

One Meal at a Time

We have finally eaten at least one of every kind of meal I put in the freezer, so I'm ready to review. The meals came from three sources, family favorites I always make, Fix, Freeze, Feast, and Cook's Illustrated Make Ahead Meals cookbook.
Our family favorites are pretty ordinary, meatloaf, lasagna, taco meat, etc. We do have a standout, Mexican Chicken Lasagna which came from a book titled Fresh Ways with Pasta. I'm not going to review these, because they are the kind of dishes about which everyone has their preferences. Instead I'm going to focus on what I did from the two new cookbooks beginning with the Cook's Illustrated book. We made both versions of the Chicken and Rice Casserole. My personal preference is the spicy black bean and corn version, but the peas and carrots were equally comforting and delicious. These recipes were much more labor than the other recipes, but the reward was excellent flavor. These recipes were worth the extra work.
Moving on to Fix, Freeze, Feast, the labor to produce these meals was very low. Many of the recipes were so simple that all we did was measure ingredients into a freezer bag and label it appropriately. The work once you pull it out of the freezer is generally just as minimal. I highly recommend this cookbook for anyone who is short on time.
Now for the reviews
Apple Cranberry Pork Loin. Nice, but not a knockout. We all enjoyed this dish, but I don't think any of us will be saying, "Man, do you remember that pork loin. We have to have that again."
Beef and Barley Soup This got mixed reviews. Soup lovers thought it was wonderful. Non-soup fans thought it was OK. I liked it, and will fix it again. I think I'll add more barley to it though.
Spanish Rice My mom used to make this, so it was a nostalgic moment. The kids like the gooey cheddar on top.
Sausage Hamburgers. I don't think I found the right sausage, and I didn't think to run it through the food processor. The hamburgers are tasty, but next time I'll use whatever sausage appeals to me instead of trying to replicate the recipe.
Honey Glazed Chicken Thighs. Interesting. The chicken comes out almost black, but nevertheless very tasty. It's also good because you cook it from frozen. Quite a help when you forget, or the meal you planned on isn't properly defrosted.
Cherry Skillet Chicken. I don't like cherries, but my family loves them. The family gave this a six thumbs up.
Tequila Lime Chicken. Very good. We all liked the flavor.
Chicken Broccoli Bake. This replaced a Campbell's Soup recipe, and did so very nicely. This is one of my favorites.
Blackjack Steak. A little too sweet. We like our beef to be salty and savory, and the marinade almost turns the flank steak into candy. We probably won't do this again.
Mustard Oregano Pork Chops. Nice but not memorable.
Salisbury Meatballs. New family favorite. The sauce is great and if you buy the meatballs ready-made there is nothing easier. We all look forward to pulling one of these out of the freezer.
Pecan Roasted Chicken Strips. Worth the price of the book. These are absolutely phenomenal. Everyone loves them. The honey and pecan coating is simple, and delicious. Everyone from the youngest kid to the the grandparents who have been over to help out loves this meal.
Rice Pilaf. This is a pretty good side dish and it cooks from frozen. I'd add a little more salt than the recipe calls for, or you could cook it in stock
Wild Rice and Nut Bake. I had high hopes for this one because it's so like Redwall fare. Alas, we are not as healthy in our habits as The Abbey dwellers are. It was good, but it needed some Tabasco or something to perk it up.
Apples and Cheddar. I should have splurged on the cheese since it's such a main ingredient, but I didn't and the dish was a bit of a failure.
Garlic Mashed Potatoes. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. These are so good. I think I will incorporated them into our holiday meals. All I have to do to have really excellent potatoes is pull them out of the freezer. It could be a lifesaver.

Hitting the Wall

Sooner or later, no matter haw many books you read, checklists you fill out, or mentors you recruit you will reach your breaking point. In fact, the more spectacular you preparations, the more spectacular your breaking point may be, if by preparing you allow yourself the false luxury of assuming your breaking point can be avoided. Pardon the crude illustration, but you can’t have sex and your hymen too.
When you became a mother you changed states. You have taken on a new and demanding dimension of personhood. Perfectly good mechanisms for coping with and understanding the world are now completely inappropriate for you because you are a mother. The responsibilities of motherhood are overwhelming and boundaries that are even similar in meaning to those you’ve developed as an adult will not apply to this relationship for several years. Another human being has been given an all access pass to your life and it’s not going to expire for a very long time. Sooner or later you are going to pee while this person watches. Sooner or later, they will ask you for something you don’t have and you’re going to come unglued.
When life happens all over you, here’s what to do. #1 Put baby down and walk away. Most likely you’ll figure out what to do about this sudden insanity long before this child expires. No child will be permanently scarred by an hours crying. #2 Seek support. Call family, friends, neighbors, your doctor. Keep calling until you find someone to listen. #3 Cry. Let it out, your anger, your fear, your frustration, your self-pity and self-loathing, whatever ugly you’ve got in there, let it out. #4 Recognize that every mother since Eve has been here. You are so normal. Welcome to the secret club. Hallmark doesn’t make Mother’s Day cards about this, but this is why you get Mother’s Day cards. #5 Get over it. There’s really no other option, and when these feelings pass (and they will. It might take some Prozac, but they will.) all those other feelings they do make cards about are there too. You signed up for this personal development boot camp because nothing else could replace it for you, and there’s no greater reward than launching a new human being into the world.

Light House

Thank you to all my friends and caregivers for putting the light back in my house. I needed all of you, and you came.