Momofive

Forgive the terrorists? Really?

2011-09-10T16:31:00.000-07:00

The subject of forgiveness has come up in my life a lot lately. Especially on the anniversary of the terrorist attack on September 11, 2001, it is important to remember that forgiveness is the only way through the anger, frustration and pain the comes with the horrific acts that were committed that day. It also applies to us, personally, to the hurts inflicted upon us by family members, friends...anyone during our entire lifetime.

There have been times when people have almost gone postal on me when I say I forgive bin Laden for what he did on 9/11. I do. I forgive him. I also love him.

I can say these things because, as a Catholic Christian, I am called to love everyone, not just the people who are easy to love. But what is love? Love is wanting only good for the person, not bad. It doesn't mean they are a nice person; it doesn't mean their actions are acceptable...it just means you no longer wish evil on them.

After the events of 9/11, which did not affect me personally, but did affect several family members and acquaintances of mine, I began to ponder this...whether to forgive...how to forgive. Forgiveness is not an easy thing, but, ultimately it is a decision and not a feeling. It is a decision to say to the person who hurt you, "I break the bond that anger, resentment, frustration and pain have forged between you and me. I am no longer connected to you." It is releasing them from your life so they no longer have any power over you.

Think about this: someone murders a man's wife. He spends all his time cursing the murderer and harboring anger and resentment toward him. The anger stresses the man and he starts to become ill because of it. In effect, this man is allowing the murderer to kill him as well. He is giving the murderer power over his life. If this man makes the decision to forgive, he releases the murderer from his life forever and can go on living a relatively normal life. His pain will still be there, his loss is still there, and the murderer has not, himself, changed or been affected in any way. Yet this man's life is no longer consumed with anger and he may be able to then experience joy. What better way to honor his wife's memory than to go on and live a productive, peaceful life?

Shouldn't we all be able to do this? Catholic Christians are called to forgive. How can we not forgive, when God is there, waiting for us in the confessional; just waiting to forgive us our sins at any moment? How can we not forgive when Jesus forgave the men who were hammering the nails into his hands, even as they were doing it?

The anger of unforgiveness is destructive. The ironic thing about it is, it only destroys the person who won't forgive. St. Maximillian Kolbe said, "Love alone creates." Loving--hoping only for the good of the person--is healing. The ability to love and forgive are graces from God that are both healing and freeing.

In those times in my life when I was unable to forgive, I simply prayed for the desire to forgive. In those moments when I was so wounded and in pain, I prayed the words of Psalm 51:

A clean heart create for me, God;
renew in me a steadfast spirit...
Restore my joy in your salvation;
sustain in me a willing spirit...
My sacrifice is a broken spirit; God, do not spurn a broken, humbled heart.
(Ps 51: 12, 14, 19)

Forgiveness is far from easy. Sometimes, in our woundedness, we need divine assistance. But the act of asking, of opening our hearts to the possibility of forgiveness can result in a healing and the freedom that comes with it.

An Open Letter to Fr. Corapi

2011-07-19T15:51:00.000-07:00

You don't know me, but I love you. You taught me almost everything I know about my Catholic faith. When my children were little and my husband worked nights, I would truck the kids in and turn on the TV and there you were, preaching to me. Because of you, I am now an educated Catholic in love with my faith.

I learned a lot from you. I learned how to pray, I learned about spiritual warfare and resisting temptation and I also learned the most important lesson, which is to be obedient to Holy Mother Church.

Well, many years have gone by since you kept me company at night when my husband was working at his job. We cancelled our cable and I stopped listening to your preaching, but I have always carried with me the lessons I learned from you.

Tuesday, after the announcement from your order that there may be evidence that you have broken your priestly vows, and after I had a good cry, I realized that I am still learning from you. Here are the things I have learned in the past few days:

That, although my family prays for priests on a daily basis, we need to step up the prayer, because all priests seem to be under tremendous attack, especially of late.

I learned that, although we are all sinful in many ways, the Holy Spirit can and does still use us for good despite our sinfulness. All the teachings you taught me are still valid even though you may have been living a sinful lifestyle while preaching to me.

And the most important thing I learned recently is that the Church goes on despite the sins of mankind. Jesus told us this was the case and, over and over it has proven to be true. The Church is both a sign and a sacrament. She is not merely a fellowship. Your actions and circumstances have underscored that for me today.

I cannot judge whether or not the charges against you are true or false. That is between you and God. I do know that you have been ordained a priest forever and it breaks my heart to see you in street clothes and referring to yourself as 'John.'

Father Corapi, the Lord has brought you to your knees in the past and it seems that He is doing it again. I am not presuming guilt or innocence, but the Lord is allowing you to be publicly humiliated for a reason. This time, reach out to Him in humility and allow Him to heal you. There are thousands of people praying for your conversion. Do not waste the prayers of those who love you. Many of us are faithful Catholics because you brought us deeper into our faith. We are here for you now and we hope that you will benefit from our prayers and petitions just as much as we have benefited from your preaching.

With love from your spiritual child,

AnnMarie

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do...

2011-02-21T18:35:00.001-08:00

Joe called me from the store today, for clarification on something I asked him to pick up on the way home. Mobile phones never work properly in this particular store. He called once and he couldn't hear me. He called again and I couldn't hear him. Then he called a third time. "Your breaking up," I tell him, but a few seconds of clarity come and I give him the info he needs.

A couple of hours later, I hear Genevieve tell Bella, "Mom and Dad broke up on the phone today."

Feast of Our Lady of Lourdes

2011-02-11T13:38:00.000-08:00

In the Jubilee year of 2000, we were able to go on a very short pilgrimage to the Marian Shrine in Lourdes. Although we had three children at the time, Noah and Isabella were toddlers, so we decided not to take them, since it would be a difficult trip. Joe and I just took Charlie with us. Charlie was 9 at a the time and since he has autism, we were, of course, hoping for a miracle, but willing to take any grace God would grant us on the trip.

Charlie's autism was exacerbated by some food intolerances he had to gluten, casein, soy, chocolate and corn. When these foods were in his diet, it was almost impossible for him to get any sleep and they caused laughing fits that could sometimes last for 15 minutes. Needless to say, he was on a very restrictive diet and so it was quite a challenge to pack the proper food for him. This was part of the reason we needed to make it a short trip.

Joe had worked for Swissair for many years and the previous year his department was dissolved and everyone lost their jobs. One of the benefits negotiated in the severance package was that the former employees would be able to use their flight benefits for a year after being let go. We were using these benefits, but a caveat was that we had to fly standby.

When we arrived at O'Hare Airport there must have been a run on tickets to Paris, because there were no seats open on any of the airlines we were able to fly on. I, of course, started to panic. Joe went over to the flight attendant and told her where we were going and why. She was very sympathetic and tried to get us on a flight. No luck. Finally, she talked to another attendant at an airline that doesn't honor our standby tickets. It turned out that there were plenty of seats open on their next flight to Paris, and, miraculously, he let us on the plane, no questions asked.

We had about 10 hours to spend in Paris until the high speed train left for Lourdes. Disney's The Hunchback of Notre Dame had recently been released and it was Charlie's favorite movie. So, when we emerged from the Metro station and the cathedral loomed in front of us, it was touching to see the look of joy on his face. We spent hours in the cathedral, looking at the stained glass windows. Charlie was in awe. He enjoyed being there, bathed in the colorful light of the windows, gazing up at their beauty. We were also fortunate enough to go to confession and Mass at Notre Dame. After a brief break for dinner and to shoot over to the Eiffel Tower (how could we be in Paris and not see the tower??), we went to the train station and headed down to Lourdes. It was an overnight trip and early in the morning we arrived in the mountains and stepped off the train at Lourdes. Although it was the end of June, with July just days away, there had been a cold snap and there was a bit of a chill in the air. I was so thankful we had bought Charlie a sweatshirt while we were in Paris. He needed it.

The baths at the shrine were just opening so we headed straight there. They are separated by gender, so Charlie had to go with Joe. There were several women ahead of me on line, so I sat tight until it was my turn. Joe and Charlie, however, went right in. When I came to the head of the line, I was amazed at the efficiency of the whole process of bathing in the miraculous spring water which, at the direction of the Blessed Virgin Mary, was discovered by St. Bernadette a century and a half earlier. The people assisting pilgrims were all volunteers from different countries. They worked together in pairs, but didn't necessarily speak each other's language. You would think that this would make the process confusing, but it didn't. There was a lovely spirit of cooperation there that underscored the holiness of the shrine. The first thing we pilgrims needed to do was to remove all of our clothing. By holding up several sheets, the workers were able to allow us to do this in a completely modest way. Once I had disrobed, the women assigned to help me brought me over, sheets and all, to a bathtub that was carved out of the rock at the base of the hill. At the far end of the tub, there was a statue of our Blessed Mother. They told me that I should get in the water and I could submerge myself if I liked, but Mary's instructions were to 'go and wash in the spring,' so they said I could splash some water on my face and wash as well. Then they said they would wait for me to pray and if, as an act of faith, I wanted to touch the statue and ask for Mary's prayers, I was welcome to do that. Given that the water was absolutely frigid, I decided not to dunk myself. But I did pray for a healing for Charlie and asked that the Lord heal anything in my family that needed to be healed. Then I sloshed through the water to the statue. In a gesture symbolic of my trust in the prayers of the woman who bore Our Savior, I put my hand on her heart and consecrated my family to the Sacred Heart of Jesus through the Immaculate Heart of Mary.

When I was done, I went back outside and sat on a bench to wait for Joe and Charlie. I was surprised that they weren't out yet, considering that they went in before me. After what seemed like an eternity, they emerge from the men's area. Joe looked stressed. I asked him what happened. He told me that there was a little 'accident' and it took longer than usual.

Here is what happened. When they went in, there were two men assisting them. Joe explained as best he could to them men about Charlie's autism, since neither spoke English or each other's language. Charlie got undressed and Joe was hoping to help Charlie just step into the pool, or put a little water on himself, since it was way too cold to spend any amount of time in there. But, Charlie was a little boy and it was cold and he was naked and so Charlie did what any cold naked, slightly wet boy would be inclined to do. He peed. Not on the side of the bath tub...into the bath tub. My son peed into the holy water at Lourdes. Anyone who knows me would say that they were not surprised. Honestly, our last name should be Murphy, given all the crazy, outlandish things that happen to us... But I digress. Only one of the men saw Charlie. He tried to tell the other man, but there was a language barrier. Finally, Joe told me, after much gesturing and frustration, the first man hold his finger in the air like he just got an idea and says, "Peepee." The other man, looks at him and says, "Oh, ho, peepee!" And everyone was on the same page. Joe and Charlie had to wait while they drained the tub, scrubbed the tub and then refilled the tub. After that they just washed Charlie with a bit of the water and Joe took him out.

After the polluted bath incident, we went to adoration, which was held under a large tent in a beautiful meadow. We walked around a bit to orient ourselves and then headed to the town for lunch. I can't remember what Charlie ate,, but I do remember we were running low on his food, so I must have found something at the restaurant that he could have. There was a Eucharistic procession that evening and we took Charlie and prayed. When Our Lord in the Blessed Sacrament passed by, I heard myself pray, "Jesus, son of David, have pity on my son." Those desperate words, originally spoken by blind Bartimeus, were a comfort to me.

We stayed in a lovely hotel overnight and the next day headed back to the shrine, this time avoiding the baths. There was an English Mass in a conference center that we decided to go to. At the time I was still learning about my faith and didn't know about many of the feast days. That particular day happened to be the Feast of Corpus Christi, the Body and Blood of Our Lord. Later, I would learn that this feast day is a powerful one and we would decide to have our children receive their first holy communion on this day in the Church calendar. But as far as I was concerned, on that day in the mountains of France, 11 years ago, it was Sunday Mass. There were very few pilgrims there, but about four priests presiding. So, it was Joe, Charlie, me and several elderly people at this Mass. One of the priests kept looking at us during Mass. Not in a weird or rude way, but in a loving, fatherly way. When it came time to receive communion, Joe and I made a snap decision to have Charlie receive. Charlie's first holy communion was scheduled to be at our parish later in the summer, but we thought that it would be special to have him receive Our Lord at the shrine with us. The priest that was looking at us came over to us at communion time and gave Charlie communion. After I received, he touched me on the arm and said, "If you need anything, please let me know." I thought that was sweet of him. After Mass, as we were leaving I thanked him for his kindness. He told me that, in Ireland, he was in charge of all the families with autism in his diocese. "Your son is a profound gift from God," he said, "Never forget that." I never got his name and I still regret it, but this compassionate priest remains in my prayers.

After Mass, we were all hungry. We went for a little walk around town and then settled on a friendly looking cafe for lunch. Charlie, who had very few words at the time, actually said to us, "I want pizza." Now, Charlie knew that he couldn't have pizza, but he made the tremendous effort to ask for it anyway. Joe and I thought about what to do. Joe finally said, "Let's just give him the pizza as an act of faith. If he has a reaction, we are here with him and we'll take care of him." So Charlie ate a personal sized pizza for lunch. When he was done with that, he asked for another. We obliged. After the second pizza, he asked for chocolate cookies. Lots of language for this little guy! We left the cafe and found a bakery and got Charlie some chocolate cookies. That night, he slept peacefully. The next day, he was fine. Still had autism, but no reactions to the foods he ate the day before. We went to the grotto one more time before our train left. While we were there, Charlie took the empty bottle from the water he had just downed, went over to the spigot for the Lourdes water, filled it up and drank it all. I'd say he got his fill of Lourdes water that day!

We took the high speed rail back to Paris only to find out that there was an air traffic controller's strike and we couldn't get out. So, we went back to the cathedral and took the tour that brought us to the roof. The view was spectacular, but, as I have a deathly fear of heights, I didn't enjoy it as much as the guys. Charlie was thrilled to see the gargoyles up close, though. That night, we stayed in what was probably the last hotel room in Paris and spent some time calling around to figure out how to get out of Paris with the strike going on. I re-read the literature that came with our rail passes and realized we could take the high speed train to Belgium for a small fee. There was no strike in Belgium! So, the next morning, we stopped for an early lunch at a Parisian McDonald's (the burgers were so much better than in the US, but, ironically, not the fries) and hopped on the train to Belgium. At the airport, we quickly realized that there were a lot of other people who had the same idea as we did. I began saying the rosary and asking for God to help us get home to the two little ones who were waiting for us at their grandparents' house. Joe went to check out the flight situation. They put us on a waiting list for the next flight out. It didn't look too good. There was a connecting flight due that would fill up the plane. I continued to pray. Finally, several minutes before the flight began to board, Joe found out that the connecting flight wasn't going to make the connection and we would get on the plane after all.

At home, we cautiously began to add foods to Charlie's diet that were on the forbidden list. No sleepless nights, no giggle fits. Within a couple of months he was off the restrictive diet but retained it's benefits. Maybe it's a coincidence. I like to think it was a gift from God.

Several months after our pilgrimage, I checked on Charlie in his room and he was crying softly. I wrapped my arms around him and asked him what was wrong. He said, "I want Lourdes." I told him that maybe someday we would be able to go back there, then I asked what was it about Lourdes that he missed and he put his hand on his heart and said, "Lourdes, spirit." That was all I could get out of him, but I think he had a very profound encounter with the Holy Spirit on the Feast of Corpus Christi at the Shrine at Lourdes. It was at this same place where the Holy Spirit sent His spouse to work through a simple, humble peasant girl to make a call for conversions. And I hope and I pray that someone may hear the story of my sweet, simple child and his experience at Lourdes and their faith might be strengthened by it.

A Miraculous Birth

2010-12-24T20:38:00.001-08:00

I remember what I was doing on December 23rd, nine years ago. I was frantic over my son, Charlie, who had left our house and was lost to us for over an hour. Charlie has autism and back then he had a serious elopement problem. It was, needless to say, a most upsetting time for a mother. What made it worse was that I was pregnant at the time and it had been a very difficult pregnancy; so much so that we thought I lost the baby on two occasions. So, I was worried about Charlie and I was worried about what the stress would do to the baby.

Charlie had sneaked out of the house while we weren't looking. It was an unseasonably warm night and he was wearing black sweats and no jacket. He ran in the direction of downtown St. Charles and the reason we knew this was because Joe went to his favorite place, the candy store and some people there said they saw a kid of his description running toward town. I stayed home and called the police. The kids prayed. It was agony not being able to go out there and look for him, but the police needed me home so they could come by and pick up a current picture.

I start getting cramps, which makes me worry about the baby. I have no recourse but to pray, which I do, but I also think about all the scary things that might be happening to my precious son. A half hour goes by. I know that Joe is downtown searching for him because he calls on his cell phone. I tell him to try the Santa house because Charlie was asking to go there. More time passes. I am freaking out. I call the police and ask them why no one has come yet to get the picture. They explain to me that they are pretty sure they found him and they will be bringing him home soon. As I hang up, Joe calls and tells me he found Charlie. "The police did, too." I tell him. "I know," he says, "we both walked in at the same time." Apparently, Charlie made his way into a restaurant and told them he was hungry, so they fed him popcorn and candy canes until they could figure out who he belonged to. I am so relieved, but a wave of pain floods my body. "It's the stress," I think. I pray in thanksgiving for the safe return of my son, and also for the life of my baby, who has had so many challenges already.

The next day is Christmas Eve. We go to my parent's house where my brother and his family and our friend, Fr. Beekman are spending the day. I have some mild contraction-like pains in the afternoon, but I chalk it up to false labor. I am due in 5 weeks, after all. I inform Joe, who defers to my judgment. Throughout the day, the contractions become a little more frequent, but they are not intense. I promise myself I will go to the hospital after the kids are in bed, just to get checked out. So, I go on with the day. I help my mother prepare dinner. I cut up cheese for the antipasto, I fry the calamari; everything is going smoothly. After dinner, Fr. Beekman comes up to me and whispers in my ear, "You're going to have that baby tonight." he says, conspiringly. "What?" I feign ignorance. "I know you're having contractions," he chuckles, "have you timed them?" Honestly, the thought never occurred to me, I was so sure I was in false labor. So, I time them. Oh, my! Twenty minutes apart!

I tell Joe. Then I tell my mother, who is incredulous. "You've been in labor all day and didn't tell me?" Well, I didn't want to throw a monkey wrench into the day if I wasn't sure...anyway, it's false labor.

We tell the kids I am going to the doctor for a little while and will probably be back soon. They are fine with that because they are happily playing with their cousins.

We get to the hospital about 9:30 p.m. One of the first things they do is ask me what I ate. "Hmm...let's see," I think aloud, "a lobster tail, some calamari, shrimp scampi, salad..." "That sounds delicious! What restaurant did you go to?" asks the nurse. "My mother's house!" I exclaim.

The nurses check me out and determine that I am, indeed in full blown labor. By now the contractions are about 15 minutes apart. I feel like an idiot, not realizing that this was labor at my fourth child. My doctor is not working on Christmas Eve, so they contact the on-call OB. She is not familiar with my pregnancy and since I am 5 weeks early, she tells them to give me a drug to stop the labor. My mother's intuition switches on. I refuse the drug. "This child has been trying to get out ever since she went in," I tell them, "If she wants to be born, let her be born." Just to cover themselves, they make me talk to a neonatal nurse who tells me all the bad things that could happen if I let me baby be born before her due date. I listen and then, once again, assert that I want the labor to progress.

Joe leaves to tell my parents that they will be getting one more Christmas present than they thought, and to get the kids pajamas so they can stay at my parents' house for the night. After he leaves I have a fleeting sense of guilt that I am in the hospital and not with my kids. I also planned to have Christmas day at my house, so my mother will have to go and take all the food out of my refrigerator and cook it for everyone. "So much more work for her," I think, wistfully.

My labor continues and I pray the rosary as I breathe and work through the mild pain. The contractions are not all that intense and so I lay quietly in the dim room praying, offering up my prayers for the baby, my family and those who have no one to pray for them. After Joe returns, the doctor shows up. It is now close to 1 a.m. She checks on me and lets me know she is not too happy about the fact that I want to have the baby. I am at 7 cm so she lets me go for awhile. Finally she decides to break my water and the contractions come hard and fast. The doctor corrects my breathing technique. Apparently I am not doing it to her satisfaction. I want to smack her, but I bite my tongue because I know it would just cause problems for everyone if I reacted in anger. Finally, I get the urge to push. The doc, for some reason, is not ready for me to push. Huh??? Telling a woman in labor not to push is like telling a sick person not to vomit. You can't stop it! It controls you! It has a mind of it's own! "Mmmm...pushing!" I manage to blurt. "No, you are not in a good position for that," she says, "I want you to scoot up more and bend your legs more before you push, so breathe through this one." I glare at her and push anyway. I can feel the baby move down. She yells at me to move into position. I feel another huge contraction coming, so, although it's excruciating even to move, I quickly do what she wants just before the bad pain hits. I am so angry at this woman that I channel the anger into the push and the baby pops right out. I hear everyone yell in surprise, and then I hear the doctor making all kinds of surprised exclamations that include taking the Lord's name in vain, so I won't repeat them here. I get nervous. "Is she OK?" I ask. No answer. "IS SHE OK??" I yell. "Yes, the baby is fine," says the doc, and I hear a lusty cry. Relieved, I lay back and tears begin streaming from my eyes. All the stress, anger and worry is being released in each tear and I feel at peace. They let me hold my beautiful Angelina Rose. So tiny, she is! But she has the face of an angel. Then I hear the doc say, "This is a miracle...a miracle." When I ask what she means she tells me, "This placenta is completely compromised. I have never seen one in such bad shape. I don't know how this child survived even till now, but I would bet if she weren't born right this very minute she would have been a stillborn." I look at the clock. 2:51 a.m. Merry Christmas.

Then I look down at my little beauty and tell her all about how she has an older brother who has autism and ran away and put Mommy in labor so that she could live. God knew that Angelina would need to be born just at this time, on His birthday. So He used Charlie's disability in such a way that it saved His sister's life. Angelina was born on the first day of Christmas and Charlie's birthday is January 6th, the twelfth day of Christmas. My two Christmas babies, connected in a spiritual way that could only have been orchestrated by the Author of Life Himself.

There is God's Christmas story that He wrote for all mankind, but for some reason He allowed us our own very special Christmas story. And, like the Blessed Virgin Mary, I will keep all these things in my heart.

To Be Six Again...

2010-11-24T13:25:00.000-08:00

The other day the bag of mini-marshmallows the kids convinced me to buy at the grocery store was sitting out on the counter. Genevieve comes into the kitchen, picks up the bag and sniffs the outside. He little face lights up and her eyes grow wide. "Mom? I LOVE the smell of marshmallows! It's so sweet and...GLORIOUS!" She gives me a quick hug, then skips out of the kitchen.

Wouldn't it be great if we all saw the world through the eyes of a six-year-old? Everything is AMAZING to a six-year-old. That attitude would foster a lot of gratitude in the world, wouldn't it?

Next time I am feeling grumpy or ungrateful for the blessings I have in my life, I'm picking up a bag of marshmallows and taking a big whiff...

The Reaction

2010-07-19T14:55:00.000-07:00

We have been so busy lately. The other day I took a few minutes and laid down on the bed. Genevieve comes in the room, sees me and, with a running start, tackles me on the bed. I wrap my arms around her in a great big hug. "Oh, Mom!" she says, "You are SO overreacting...and I don't even know what that means!!!!!"

After the belly laugh I got out of that one, I had some energy to get a couple of things done. Kids always seem to give us what we need...even if we do overreact now and then.

My Youngest is 6

2010-06-16T18:54:00.000-07:00

Today was Genevieve's 6th birthday. She celebrated by dressing herself in patchwork shorts and a multi-colored polka dot top. Festive! We began the day with a breakfast of whole wheat toast slathered in Nutella and coffee with caramel syrup. Our family is a coffee family. All my kids have been coffee drinkers (decaf, for those of you who are horrified) since they could hold a cup. It wasn't the the most nutritious breakfast, but perfect for a 6-year-old's birthday. Then she went outside and jumped on the trampoline with the neighbor kids for what seemed like hours. Genevieve requested eggrolls for lunch and she helped me get them into the oven. That is all anybody wanted. They were saving up for dinner, which, as requested, was baked ziti, meatballs and eggplant.

All day, Angelina pampered her sister. She has such a generous heart and wanted to make the day special for her baby sister. She woke up early and helped me wrap gifts. A few days ago she woke up at the crack of dawn and asked Joe to bring her to the dollar store so she could get Genevieve a gift. She had been saving up for awhile and finally amassed enough coins to buy a surprise for her sis.

Instead of reveling in the pampering, Genevieve decided she would cater to Mom today. So, she read me a story. I also got lots of extra hugs and snuggles, as well as a specially made snack of tea and nuts and craisins. She even used the fancy teapot.

After dessert of a home made ice cream cake (layers of Snickers and chocolate ice cream with chocolate animal cracker crumbs in the middle) that melted at a rate which defies all science, she opened her gifts. She only got a few today, because we had an early "family" birthday party for her the weekend of Angelina's first communion. But she was happy. She got a bright green ball from Angelina, some hair pretties from Bella and some art and craft supplies from the rest of us. Once the presents were opened, the girls ran downstairs to cover themselves with finger paint.

After the kids were ready for bed, and after we had said the rosary, Genevieve entertained us with her, ummm...unusual talents. She stuck her shoulder blades out so far that they looked like wings (no one else in the family can do this), she stuck her tongue up her nose (no one else in the family wants to do this) and she wiggled her ears. After the show it was off to bed for everyone.

It was a simple day, but a happy one. I hope the joy she felt today will be etched in her memory forever. It will be in mine.

Father, grant me dissolution...

2010-05-06T17:16:00.000-07:00

Angelina will be receiving her first holy communion on the Feast of Corpus Christi at Sunday Mass in our parish. We have been preparing all year and she is getting excited. To get ready, Angelina will first receive the sacrament of confession and then her first communion. The other day, we were studying and I asked her what does the priest do during confession. She stands up, puts her right index finger in the air, clears her throat and exclaims, "He dissolves you from your sins!" Did I mention she is the Yogi Berra of the family?

So, we go back to Illinois for my nephew Jonny's first communion. Angelina's godfather, Fr. Beekman, is pastor of several parishes about 90 minutes away from where we will be staying. He generously offered to take the drive out and hear his goddaughter's first confession. It needs to be very early on Saturday, because he has obligations all the other time we will be out there. We get to IL on a Thursday night. The kids don't sleep very well on Friday because they are overtired. We wake up at the crack of dawn on Saturday and meet Fr. Beekman at a restaurant for breakfast. The kids are like zombies. We haven't seen him in over 2 years and they sit in a stupor when he walks in. Because they are so tired, breakfast is very subdued.

After gorging ourselves on eggs, hashbrowns and every other breakfast food known to man, and several trips to the restroom, we head over to the church. It is not yet 9 a.m. and Angelina is very sleepy. Her cheeks are bright red, which happens when she is tired. She looks a bit nervous. Fr. Beekman reminds her of the special words to say when you are too nervous in confession: "Father, help me, I'm stuck." I give her a kiss and she follows Fr. B into the confessional. I kneel down in front of the tabernacle and pray for my family while I wait. I hear the door open and Angelina walks out. "How'd you do, sweetie?" I ask. She bursts out crying. I am shocked. "What's wrong?" I ask. "Nothing," she bawls. "If there is something wrong I need to help you fix it...please tell me," I say, wondering what in the world could possibly be upsetting her. Then I give her a a long, silent hug and she calms down enough to whisper, "I forgot..." "Yes?" I prompt. Then she sobs, "I FORGOT MY PENANCE!!!" Oh! The poor thing! The exhaustion made her feel like it was the end of the world. "Would you like me to go ask Fr. Beekman?" She nods. I go into the confessional and tell Fr. B what's going on and he tells me her penance. I go back to where she is waiting and tell her which prayers to say. She smiles a teary smile and then goes into the pew and kneels down.

Today she is no worse for the wear. Angelina is working on a thank you note to her godfather and she says she wants to go again soon to confession. Next time, we'll get more sleep.

**For clarification on what on earth the sacrament of penance is, click on the title of this post.

Endless Journey

2010-01-28T16:55:00.000-08:00

We couldn't get back to IL for Christmas this year, so we decided to go in January. We booked Amtrak for the first time, because I didn't want to drive 8 hours in the snow. As I clicked the "purchase" button I wondered if this was a good idea, but I went ahead anyway, risk-taker that I am.

The station we were going to in IL, wasn't equipped to accept checked bags, so we had to do all carry ons. Me, Joe, 5 kids, 3 duffels, 1 pullman, 3 backpacks and 1 suitcase arrived at Union Station, at 7 a.m., in anticipation of the 7:45 train to IL. Joe was going to stay just long enough to get us onto the train, because he had a flight to California a bit later in the day. The best laid plans...

We get to Union Station and drag our bags to the waiting room, then I go to the ticket counter to get my tickets. When you make reservations on Amtrak, all you get is a bar code to print out, then you have to get the tickets the day of your trip. When I get up there, the ticket guy tells me the train isn't scheduled to depart until 9:30 a.m. ARRGGHH!

I go into the waiting room and break the news. We decide to take the kids out for breakfast and then come back. "Be back here at 8:45 or you'll miss the train," the ticket guy tells me. We have an hour and a half at this point. So we rush out to Cascone's and order breakfast. Now, when we are at home, and whether the kids eat cereal for breakfast or bacon and eggs, it always takes, like, 2 hours. I am constantly yelling at them to hurry it up. We get into Cascone's, order, and the kids are completely done by 8:00. What the??? So we stretch the time out by making them drink every last drop of the huge mugs of cocoa we ordered and then taking them all to the restroom, one by one.

We get back to Union Station by 8:45. The ticket guy says, "10:15." Ten fifteen!!!! I have an hour and a half with five very tired kids in a now, very crowded waiting room (note to self: if the train is late don't go out to breakfast or you will not get seats in the waiting room) with all that luggage. Lord, help me! Joe had to leave or he was going to miss his flight. I found a couple of seats next to each other (OK, what really happened was I made the kids squeeze in until the woman, who had PLENTY OF ROOM to do so, moved down a bit). Then I got a chair that was hiding in a corner and brought it over and sat in it. Bella made a bed out of the duffels, covered herself with jackets and took a nap. The girls took out their drawing supplies and got to work. Noah read and Charlie busied himself by studying all the other people waiting right along with us. They were SO GOOD! I was even able to play my new, hand-held Yahtzee game that I got for Christmas and thought I would never use. It was pleasant and the time went rather quickly. At 9:55, a voice came on the PA. All it said was, "10:55." I get up to see what's going on, but the grate to the ticket window is closed and the ticket guys have magically vanished into thin air.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! Lord! I am with 5 children! They are tired! I cannot believe that they are not cranky! But I KNOW it's coming! Make the train come now! Pick it up and bring it here! Please!!!!!"

It is good that most people cannot see what you are thinking. So, while the above outburst is happening, privately, in my brain, I hand out bagels. Again, the children are well behaved. They sit. They eat. They throw their garbage in the can without having to be reminded.

At 10:55, and unusual thing happened. As if on cue, everyone in the waiting room got up, picked up their stuff, and formed a line that began at the door to the tracks. The kids and I dragged all our stuff and stood on line, too. Charlie started to get antsy. Poor guy. I couldn't blame him. But I was armed with lots of chewing gum and I wasn't afraid to use it. The gum calmed him down. Noah and Genevieve begin to bicker. The usual "he/she's touching me" stuff. Honestly, I can't blame them...they have been awake for over 5 hours at this point and they are tired. We stand there..and stand there. I look at my phone. 11:30. "If I drove," I think, "I would have been close to the Mississippi by now."

We wait some more. I find myself sighing a lot. Finally we see someone come into the door from the track. More people follow. There is no announcement, but all of a sudden a guy in a blue hat appears and starts taking tickets. Wahoo! We shuffle up to the door with our bags and onto the icy walk that is very long and will take you to either a very slick stairway down to the platform or an elevator. I opt for the elevator. We wait for the elevator. The elevator doesn't come. We wait some more. I panic. What if we miss the train because we are waiting for the elevator? Finally, it shows up and we get down to the platform. There is a conductor right there. We drag our bags over to him and I ask him where we need to be if we want to go to Chicago. He points toward the end of the train. "See that vary last car? That's where you want to be." Of course...of course it is. So we haul butt down there and the conductor relieves us of the heavier bags and we go up top to find a seat. Finally, at 12:10 p.m., the train departs.

The ride was really pleasant. The train wasn't crowded, so we had double seats all to ourselves. I played Yahtzee all the way through Iowa and got a high score of 416..all right! The kids drew, read and snacked. Angelina made a bed out of a sweatshirt and a jacket and napped most of the way.

When we got to the station, the door was frozen shut and the conductor had to kick it in, but other than that the landing was fine. I call my Dad and let him know we are there. He tells me he will be there in 5 minutes. It was a cold 5 minutes. He calls me again. "I can see you...can you see me?" I look all around. Can't see anyone. The place looks deserted. "Look over here!" he yells. WHERE? We keep walking and dragging the bags until I hear someone yelling. I hang up the phone and look up. He is standing right there. Whew!

Our visit was good. Didn't get to see everyone we wanted to, but the kids saw their cousins and friends and had lots of fun.

The train home was scheduled for 3:50 p.m. We picked up some fast food to bring for dinner and the train actually arrived on time... a good sign! We get on the train and the conductor tells me to get seats downstairs because the majority of the ones upstairs are full. I look around. There are 12 seats total. Six have no one in them, but one of those has a briefcase in it, like someone left it there to save their seat. "Sir," I say to the conductor, "It looks like there are not enough seats." He ROLLS HIS EYES at me. I try to be polite. "Um, I am traveling with 4 minors and an adult with autism and we really need to be together." He presses his lips together and then emits an exasperated sigh. "Those are the seats I have," he says firmly. "OK, I tell you what," I say, sweetly, "I will go find an empty seat upstairs and let the kids stay down here, but understand that there will be 4 minors and an adult with autism unsupervised for 7 hours to Kansas City." A man appears behind him and says, nervously, "You want me to start shuffling people around up there?" At this point I think the conductor is going to blow. Then Bella comes to the rescue. She asked around and the briefcase doesn't seem to belong to anyone in the car. So I give the briefcase to the exasperated conductor and we take the seats. He puts the briefcase in with the other bags and leaves. "Great," I think, "It's probably a bomb and it is about 3 feet from me and my kids...what a way to go." Then I say my usual prayers of protection for the kids, but with a bit more fervor this time.

The ride home was not as blissful as the ride there. The car was hot and the kids made about 2,487 trips to the bathroom, which was, conveniently, just outside the door. At least one of the kids wanted to get up every 26.4 seconds and I couldn't get through one Yahtzee game without being interrupted by a child doing the pee pee dance. But we survived. The train was only 9 minutes late into Union Station. By the time we pulled into the garage, it was close to midnight and everyone was so very happy to be home and sleeping in their own beds. I am sure the conductor was happy we were home, too.

You Must Become Like a Child

2009-10-09T16:41:00.000-07:00

I went to NY for a week in August, to see my grandmother, who is 87. She had a lung removed about 9 years ago and we had just found out that the remaining lung has a malignancy. I hadn't seen her in 3 years, so I wanted to go, and I brought 2 of my kids.

I had planned on making a vacation of it, and seeing everyone I ever knew since birth, but when I saw Grandma all of that went out the window, and I just spent the time with her, mostly.

She is not getting a lot of oxygen, due to the lack of a lung, so she has developed some dementia. Thankfully, she remembers people, but she forgets events. She still lives alone, due to the fact that all her children live very far away and she refuses to budge. She does have Mary, a wonderful woman who comes every day for a couple hours to bathe her and do some housekeeping, as well as keep her company.

We went over there every day for hours and just sat with her. When we would arrive, the door would be wide open.

"Grandma," I would say, "You have to keep the door locked."
"But I like it open."
"What would you do if a thief came in the door?" I ask.
She looks up, waves her hand in the air, smiles and says, "Hi!"
"Not the proper response," I sigh.
"Well," she says, "I don't have anything worth taking!"
"OK, let's try another approach. What if a murderer came in the door, then what would you do?"
She thinks for a moment, cocks her head to the side and says, reluctantly, "I guess I should keep the door locked."

Over the week I worked with her on that, asking all the time if the door was locked, why did it need to be locked, etc. She did pretty well by the end of the week. I don't know if she is still doing it, though.

She used to be pretty high strung, before the dementia. Now she is as happy as a clam and nothing phases her. She is like a baby, in that way. Once, we came over in the evening and she was sitting in her usual place; the comfortable chair in the corner, by the TV, with the cat at her feet. She was watching an infomercial about room heaters.

"Grandma?" What are you watching?"
"What am I watching?" she asks, incredulously.
"It is an infomercial. Do you know what that is?"
"Infomercial? No."
"It is big long commercial."
"A commercial!" she laughs and slaps her knee.
"Do you want to buy that thing?" I chuckle.
"Me? Nooooo," she says.
"Then why are you watching it?" I ask.
She shakes her head and gives a toothless grin. "Why am I watching it?"

She enjoys eating. Her favorite is Entenmann's crumb cake. We replenish her stash and the kids get hooked on it. We decide to eat our way through NY, because the kids have never had authentic NY food. We get take out from my favorite childhood burger joint. We get pizza. We go out for Chinese food.

"I can't eat much," she says as we settle in at the table in the Chinese buffet.
She gets a small plate of food and polishes it off immediately.
"Let me get you some more," I offer.
"OK," she says, "Some more chicken...and some egg foo young."
"I'll be right back," I say. Then she calls over her shoulder, "Fried rice!"

One night we had coffee and I put some French vanilla creamer in it for her. My Uncle Tom is a top-notch baker and he had left a chocolate mousse cake, so I cut her a piece. "Uhmmmmm...I love this cake...this is SO delicious. What did you put in the coffee?" She smacks her lips. "Mmmmmm." We should all enjoy our food as much as Grandma does.

The night before we had to leave I have a conversation with Grandma.
"You know we've been here for a whole week, Grandma."
"A whole week," she answers, nodding.
"I am so glad we came, but we have to go home tomorrow."
"Home? But I am so used to you being here now... Stay!" she says, slapping her leg.
I can feel my throat closing as I whisper, "I wish I could, Grandma, but you know I have to get back home so Joe can work and I can take care of the kids."
I go into her kitchen and cry. I wish I could take her home with me and take care of her, but that is an impossibility.

The next day I wake up early, with Grandma on my mind. We were going to breakfast with my childhood friend, Denise, and her family, who patiently put us up in their house for a whole week. I decide to make a quick stop at Grandma's before breakfast and then spend the rest of the time there between breakfast and our departure for the airport. We pull up in front of the house and immediately I sense something amiss. It looks empty and Mary should be there at this time, but there is no car in the driveway. I go up the stairway and knock. While I am waiting I notice a neighbor walking over.

"They took her away in an ambulance just a little while ago."
"But...but she was fine when I left her last night," I stammer.
"Well, I don't think it was very serious, because they didn't have the siren on, but I thought I should come out and tell you." I thank her and then call my Aunt Andrea, who lives in New Jersey and is Grandma's primary care giver. She tells me she is on the way to NY and which hospital Grandma will be in. I find out later my grandmother has been diagnosed with pneumonia. I don't know how she can possibly survive that with one lung.

When we get to the hospital, Aunt Andrea is asking Grandma about the Do Not Resuscitate order. "I know you have one at home, but do you want one for this hospital stay?" Grandma cocks her head to the side and ponders. "Mom, do you understand? Do you want them to revive you if your heart stops?" she asks, with tears in her eyes. "Natural," Grandma answers. "I am ready to meet Jesus."
My Aunt and I both burst into tears. "Why are you crying?" she scolds, "I am ready." She grins, "Hey, what do you expect? I'm 87 years old...I'm pushing 90 here!"

And then it hits me. Scripture says you must become like a child to enter the kingdom of heaven. This is what God has done for my grandmother. What a gift. She is exactly like a child. And she is there with arms wide open, embracing both life and death.

Miraculously, she made it out of the hospital. One day I call her to chat.
"When are you going to come to see me? You live so far away. When do I get to see your kids?" she asks.
"Grandma, I was just there for a week, with Noah and Bella, remember?"
"A week?"
"Yes, remember we had Chinese food and burgers from the Good Steer? You loved the cole slaw. I got you extra cole slaw," I reply, wistfully.
"Burgers? We did?"
"Yes, Grandma; we did. And we had fun." I remind her.
"We had fun," she says decidedly.

"I tell you the truth, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it." Luke 18:17

Gimme a Hand

2009-10-07T15:53:00.000-07:00

We were eating dinner tonight and all of a sudden I see a black, shiny hand on the table. I look around and everyone's hands seem to be accounted for. "Who's the gorilla?" I ask. Everyone looks at the hand, which begins to tap Noah on the shoulder. Genevieve starts to grin. It is her FOOT, with a black leather glove on it.

Deep in the recesses of my mind, I have a fleeting thought. Something about table manners. But it goes away when I burst out laughing. Everyone joins in. Noah is laughing the hardest, because she is right next to him. "Hey, Genevieve," he giggles, "Snap your fingers!" Then Joe caves and puts a fork in the "hand." She is wiggling it all around. Needless to say, the rest of dinner was far from calm.

But we had fun.

Music to My Ears

2009-10-02T15:37:00.000-07:00

Today, after he got home from school, Charlie crashed on his bed and hummed the entire Dance of the Hours, by Ponchielli.

I'd Rather Roast the Chicken

2009-09-27T18:59:00.000-07:00

Bella told Joe and I a joke today:

What's the difference between roast chicken and pea soup?
Anybody can roast a chicken!

Woe at Walmart

2009-09-16T15:10:00.000-07:00

We were at Walmart for 3 hours. I brought the 4 younger kids with me. I talked the entire time. Here is what I said:

OK, everybody our of the car..lock the doors...I said lock the doors...where is Genevieve?..Genevieve, come here...yes, you can sit in the cart...where is that thing I was returning...darn! it's in the car...back to the car, kids...no, we should all go...stay by the car...no, we cannot get Subway for lunch...where are the bandaids...stay close to the cart...don't touch that...Halloween costumes?..well, we can look...(sees a provocative nun costume with a mini-habit)...oh, my! let's not look, after all...yes, the candy looks good...six weeks until Halloween...we don't need candy yet...remember I said you can have a yogurt as a treat...yes, you can get the chocolate kind...don't touch that...don't touch that...OK, let's pull over...what did I say you can touch in the store?..very good...NOTHING...NOTHING means NOTHING, remember...stay close enough to touch the cart...oh, for Pete sakes, I forgot to get the hand soap refill...this way, kids...I said this way...where's Noah?..let's stay together...yes, Genevieve, you can get out of the cart...let's look for paper plates...not those...here are the ones we use...Dad needs a rake?...are you sure...call Dad...you need a rake...a metal rake?..OK, got it...no, you may not hold it...let me put it in the cart...you can pick out yogurt now...watch the rake...yes, I said chocolate is OK...one each...someone is coming, get behind me...watch the rake...no, you may not have new toothpaste until the old one is running out...let me look over here...where is Genevieve?..get out from behind that clothing rack...I said get out...come over here...OK, I am putting the yogurt back...no, you do not come over here and expect the yogurt...Noah, Bella, go put this back and meet me at the check out...thanks for helping...put the heavy stuff on first...watch the rake...Noah, Bella, over here...Noah take the rake...NO TWIRLING THE RAKE...don't put the shampoo on top of the light bulbs...the bread..the bread!..OK that goes on last...thank you for helping load the cart, Bella...let me find my debit card...the rake stays STRAIGHT UP AND DOWN...stay by the cart...hold onto me...I need to get the keys...watch the rake...the bread goes in the car last...buckle up...now, please...when we get home please help unload...yes, I did put the yogurt back...did you behave?..maybe next time...OK, everyone take a bag...these things go inside the house...come out after you put them in...Noah! Bella! Genevieve! Angelina! I said come back out!...yogurt after lunch...PLEASE wash your hands NOW...yes, with soap...

He's No Jerry Lewis...

2009-09-08T17:09:00.000-07:00

We started school today. All of our books aren't in, but we have the majority of them, so I decided to just start with what we've got. Last night I filled out the white board that we have hanging in our dining room. I wrote a welcome sign, the date and what I've decided is our new school motto. The kids are learning French, so I chose the French equivalent of "no pain, no gain." I wrote "Il faut casser le noyau, pour avoir l'amande." Literally translated, it means, "You have to break the shell to get the almond."

Noah saw it first and asked Joe what it meant. Joe doesn't speak any French, so, of course, he made his answer up, based on what the words looked like to him.

He looks at the words, "Il faut casser le noyau, pour avoir l'amande," and says, "I'll fight Caesar, Noah, until you pour the lemonade." What a wiseguy.

So, this morning I am giving the usual start-of-the-year lecture on how the kids need to try their best, blah, blah, blah, and the kids are all giggling. Of course Noah told them what Joe said. So now our new school motto is: "I'll fight Caesar until you pour the lemonade."

I guess it could be worse. It could be any one of the following:
I'll play video games until my eyes fall out.
I will misbehave until you put me up for adoption.
I will ignore you until you fade away into nothingness, never to return.

So...I guess the new school motto isn't so bad, after all. Thanks, Joe.

D'oh!

2009-09-06T19:36:00.000-07:00

Charlie ate 6 donuts today.

We got a dozen Krispy Cremes and each child ate one. Stupidly, we left the box on the table. Now there are 2 left.

He's Quick!

2009-08-08T16:59:00.000-07:00

I went to make chocolate milk recently and when I opened the pantry I found that Charlie had eaten all the rest of the Nesquick out of the container with a spoon, which was still inside the empty container.

Seven Weeks

2009-08-04T11:12:00.000-07:00

The new job Joe had just wasn't doing it for our family. It was no one's fault. They couldn't pay him what he had been making and the commissions were taking way too long to come in. I could see his frustration every day when he would get home from work. I prayed. What else could I do? I had cut our budget to the core.

One day he calls me from work to tell me that he was approached by a company, let's call them Company W, to interview for a position. I encourage him to go for it, so Joe starts the interview process. Several days later, he gets a call from Company L, asking him to interview for a job at their company. We can see God's hand in all this, so he goes for both W and L jobs. He has a series of 3 meetings with W and then we wait. In the meantime, he has a phone interview with L and then they call him and ask him to write a proposal of what he would do should he get the job. Perfect timing. The kids and I had planned to go back to IL to visit during the week Joe had to do the writing, so he would have peace and quiet to concentrate on writing.

When we are in IL, I have the chance to visit a wonderful priest; let's call him Fr. Skinny. Fr. Skinny is one of those priests who totally understands that as Christ's representative here on earth, he should minister to more than just the people who show up at his church on Sundays. He tells me to come out and he will do a Mass just for us. Charlie and I make the drive to his church. He just remodeled it and he shows us around. It is absolutely breathtaking. When you walk in, you are definitely aware that you are in the presence of God. We assist at Mass. After Mass Fr. S anoints me with holy oil and prays over me that Joe and I will prosper and be fruitful. "I am your spiritual father," he says, "and I impart upon you my fatherly blessing on your marriage, family and finances." I start to cry because I know that God is working through him and these blessings come straight from heaven. He prays for any healing that may be needed for those on my family tree and then he anoints and blesses Charlie. After all that, we go to lunch. "It's on me!" he proclaims. I protest. "Am I your spiritual father?" he asks. "Yes," I say, reluctantly, because I can see the trick he is using. "Then I bind you to obedience. I'm paying and that is that," he says, with an impish grin.

When we get back to my parent's where we were staying, they get a call that they have a showing the next day. They have been trying to sell their house for quite some time and are feeling rather frustrated. We all clear out the next morning and give the realtor time to do his thing. When we come back the get a call from their agent that the people loved it and will be making an offer. My parents are ecstatic. Quietly I whisper a prayer of thanksgiving. Fr. S's blessings were meant for my whole family, after all. The next day we go look at a townhome my parents have had their eye on. They make an offer and it is accepted. Everyone is happy.

The kids and I head back to IL and a couple of weeks go by with no word from either company on the jobs. Joe calls company L, his preferred choice, and asks them what is up. They get back to him right away and set up a phone interview with one of the owners. I e-mail everyone we know and ask for prayers. The interview went well. We continue to wait.

In the meantime, I ask everyone at church to keep praying. One woman, Terry, who I barely know, approached me each week after Mass to let me know she is still praying. Our pastor even checks in on how things are going. The church secretary, all the Knights and women from the ladies' auxilliary are praying for us as well.

One day, a letter arrives from Company W. Uh oh. Letters aren't good. I call Joe and he tells me to open it and read it to him. It is a rejection letter. Well, he tried his best and that is all I could possibly have asked of him. As I am reading the letter all of a sudden I am infused with peace. In my heart I can hear a voice whispering, "He didn't get this job because I have something so much better in store for you." There it is, my favorite bible verse from Jeremiah 29:11-14, happening right here, right now. God is so good.

We pray, we wait...

One day I get a call from the Ladies' Auxilliary to sub at Bunco. A night out for me? I am SO there! During the day I say my usual prayers for Joe to get a better job. "If he is going to get this job with L, please give me a sign; let me win the big prize at Bunco." Then I feel guilty. Did I just test God? I don't know. So I apologize to Him and go put my lipstick on and flat iron my hair, so the other Bunco women don't run away screaming when I show up.

I thought Bunco started at 6. It was 6:30, so I steal away into the church sanctuary to spend some time with Jesus. I am so tired of praying for the job that I just bask in His presence and remain silent. Then, I go play Bunco. I wound up losing half and winning half the games. I did get 3 Buncos, though. I had no idea if this was good or bad, being a newbie. When it comes time to award the prizes, they ask if anyone has gotten more than 5 Bunco's. Silence. Four? More silence. "Three?" they ask. I put my hand up. "I got three." They all shout, "You are the big winner of the night!" I won $33. But, more than that, I had God's assurance that all would be well.

Joe gets a call from L. They are flying him to L.A., to their corporate headquarters, where he will be expected to do a presentation for 6 of the top honchos. Oh, my... Joe spends hours working on the presentation, perfecting it. Everyone keeps praying. The kids and I are going to daily Mass and offering it up for Joe. Friends of ours in IL have been going to daily Mass at 6:30 a.m. for our intention as well. I feel like the world is storming heaven for us. I pull out the big guns; I ask my grandmother and my Great Aunt Lena to pray as well.**

The big day comes and Joe goes to L.A. The kids and I pray all day. He calls late in the afternoon. "They can't make a decision today. One of the people who was supposed to be at the interview couldn't make it, but they will let me know this week." The waiting is just excruciating...

The next day he gets a call from HR at L. They want to set up a phone interview with the founder of the company. He calls and talks to Joe for about 10 minutes. Joe calls me and tells me he seems like a real nice guy. I almost can't hear him, I am so weary. I pray more and berate myself for not trusting as much as I should. The reading at Mass recently was about how Lot's wife looked back. I feel like Lot's wife. "Just look forward," I remind myself. Joe calls again. They want him to stop by the KC office that afternoon to meet the person who has the job temporarily. "OK," I say, "and then they want you to meet the owner's Aunt Cloris, with the mustache, who has a Yorkshire terrier named after her late husband, Fred. After that you need to meet Keith, the kid who bullied him in the 3rd grade and then Stella, his nanny, who made him eat every vegetable on his plate or no dessert." We both laugh, glad to break the tension for a few seconds.

I had to drive to Kansas that day and there was a detour on the way home that took me right past Company W. "Don't look back," I hear a small voice whisper in my heart. I think of Lot's wife and I resolve to quit worrying. I decide to just pray in thanksgiving for the new job, even though we haven't heard yet.

The next day is a long day. I keep calling Joe. "Anything?" "Not yet," he answers patiently. Finally, that afternoon, he calls and says he got a verbal job offer from company L, contingent upon verifying his past employment. The company pays 100% of all benefits and they have a bonus program. Actually, every small complaint he had about any other company he has ever worked for is non-existent in company L.

That night, we go out to eat (something we haven't done for over a year), on the advice of a good friend. "Kill the fatted calf, baby!" she urges. She is right. This has been such a long and painful journey, full of uncertainty. We have been uprooted from our home, we have suffered financial blows, but God has remedied all of this.

It was seven weeks from the time company L first called to the day they offered Joe the job. 49 days. I think of 40 days in the desert and how Jesus fasted the whole time. This is what my family and I have been through. Only I haven't handled it so well. I need to trust more, which is why God probably keeps putting me in these situations. Someday I will learn that lesson...

At Mass the next Sunday our pastor congratulates Joe on the job. I look for Terry and tell her the good news. She bursts out crying. "Oh, God is so good!" she proclaims.

Yes, He is.

** For those of you who are freaking out at the thought of asking a dead person to pray, here is what I have to say on that: They are not dead! They are alive in Christ and are closer to Him than we are here on earth. For those of you who balk at asking someone to pray rather than going straight to Jesus: do you ask your mother to pray for you? Do you pray for others when they ask you to? Well, you better stop all that, because that is not going directly to God, is it? Look, in the bible Jesus takes the advice of His mother (wedding at Cana, remember?). Why would He give this example for nothing? No one is more powerful than God, but it doesn't hurt to have your friends (in heaven and on earth) asking Him for help, either. Squeaky wheel gets the oil, after all...

School Is Never Really Out...

2009-06-28T21:38:00.000-07:00

We were driving in the car yesterday when I overheard Noah and Bella in the back seat, discussing the Shakespeare plays they have read. They both agreed you should never read Hamlet or MacBeth before you go to sleep because they will give you nightmares. They both think A Midsummer Night's Dream is weird.

Bella: How could one guy write all those plays?

Noah: I don't know. He had a good imagination. But then there is always the Baconian Controversy...

Bella: Huh? Wha...?

Noah: The Baconian Controversy. The theory that it was not William Shakespeare, but Sir Francis Bacon that actually wrote all the works.

Bella: Bacon? Wasn't he a science monk? Oh, wait a minute, that was Roger Bacon.

I was proud of the kids. They held their own mini lit class in the car. AND they retained some of the stuff we discussed during the school year! Wahoo! The dream of every homeschool mom!

Now I'd better go brush up on my Shakespeare...

Ah, the price you pay to Freecycle...

2009-06-01T16:15:00.000-07:00

I have been using freecycle a lot since our move. For those of you that aren't familiar, freecycle is an online community where people can give away things for free to others who might want them. You can also post a want ad for something and you may get a response back that someone has the thing you are looking for. I have gotten a couple of things off freecycle, including my nightstand that I faux finished and my beloved elliptical machine, that I use, but not enough. Mostly, though, I give things away.

The people who lived here before us left a corner computer desk in a walk-in closet. I don't want or need the desk. It is in pretty good condition, so I decided to freecycle it. I got about 6 messages from people who wanted the desk. I chose the woman who made a funny comment in her e-mail. I e-mail her back that she can have the desk. She replies that she would like to come today because her husband is off from work and they can load it into their truck together (everyone out here seems to own a truck). Well, I was leaving in a little while to drop Bella off at a birthday party and then do marathon errand running, so I wouldn't be around. I decide that, along with getting 5 children cleaned, fed and ready, I would also dismantle the desk and leave it on the driveway for the freecycle woman. I rummage through a really, really, messy garage (we just moved in) and find what tools I need. Then I remove the hardware. I enlist Noah to help me get it out of the closet. We pick up the desk and hear a cracking sound. Part of the desk came off. Aaaarrggh! I look underneath and see that there is a piece of hardware that I forgot to remove (in my defense it was really hidden). What am I gonna do now?

I go upstairs and e-mail the woman and tell her I am sorry but I broke the desk. She e-mails me back that she would like to come look at it anyway. OK, so I go back down and continue trying to lug the thing out, when I hear another sickening crack. Yep, another chunk came out of the desk. Have I mentioned lately that I am the type of person who could be considered slightly klutzy? Anyway, I go upstairs again and call her on the phone and explain the situation. Miraculously, she says she still wants to come get it. I hang up, tell the kids to make themselves presentable and get in the car. By this time we were running late. I am really hurrying now. I rush into the closet, trip over the remaining part of the desk and gash my leg. Out of my mouth flow some words that, let's say, warrant a trip to the confessional. I get up, drag the thing, limping, through the obstacle course of a garage, and prop it up at the exterior wall. Then I run into the car and back out. As I am backing out I realize there is a piece of the desk I forgot to bring out. It was a small shelf that the younger girls decided to use as a doll table. I shoot back into the driveway, Bella hops out of the car, gets the shelf and dispenses of it, then we go on our way.

By the time we left the house, I looked like I had been through a war. Did I mention the temperature hit 90 today? I was sweating like a pig and my hair felt like it was on fire. I drove like Cruella de Ville to the party and dropped Bella off, got my errands done (barely) and we got home safe and sound.

When we pulled into the driveway the first thing I noticed was that the desk was gone. Hallelujah! I am now one desk lighter...but I had to work for it.

Healthy Trinity

2009-05-31T18:08:00.000-07:00

All my life I have struggled with my weight. I have tried lots of different diets and I was always starving on them. Finally, this January, I tried an online fitness program that combines diet and exercise. They had a quiz on there which helps you eat right for your body type. I usually think those things are ridiculous, but, since I had nothing to lose (but weight, of course) I decided to follow the guidelines. I had to cut out wheat and sugar completely. The only fruits I can eat are apples and pears. Yes, there are no bananas for me. Religiously I have stuck to it. Not too easy, as you might imagine. The only bread I can eat is a bread made from lentils and sprouted wheat (yes, sprouted wheat is wheat, but when it sprouts it changes the protein and apparently this is OK.) These guidelines are actually working. I am utterly amazed, especially at the fact that I am not starving all the time. After a lifetime of trying to eat "naturally," it turns out that all those whole wheat foods were the problem to begin with!

I look at this as a lifelong fast and I offer the lack of my special foods (pasta, for one) as a sacrifice. Well, the big, black circles have disappeared from my eyes, I have lost 2 dress sizes and I have more energy. Now I actually have the strength to exercise! I have the strength but where do I find the time? I know I should exercise in the morning when the kids are still in bed, but that is my prayer time.

I prayed for God to find the time for me. One day, at Mass, a thought popped into my head that I should exercise and pray the rosary at the same time. I tried it the next day. Instead of praying it by myself, I turned on my trusty MP3 player with the rosary loaded onto it as soon as the alarm rang. I offered up the beginning and ending prayers for my hubby and each decade for one of my kids (it is very convenient that I have 5 of them). During each decade I did a different type of strength training; crunches, arm work with the weights, etc. (I did the crunches first because you have to be laying down for them and I was tired.) Then, when I was done, I went and took my vitamins. I started taking B6 for the stress and I have increased that to 2 tabs a day. The past few days have been the least stressful of my life.

So, my healthy trinity is prayer, exercise and vitamins.

Now, if I can just find the time to do my cardio...

Gimme Your Hugs!

2009-05-21T06:35:00.000-07:00

Charlie calls me Cookie Monster. He also calls me Mom, but a lot of time I am Cookie Monster. This morning, I went in his room to wake him up for school and he said, "Cookie Monster, gimme your hugs." So, I went over and gave him a hug. While I am hugging him, he says, "Elmo, Cookie Monster." I think he fancies me Cookie and himself Elmo. I'm OK with that. Elmo and Cookie are buddies. They help eachother learn stuff. Notice that Cookie is the one that gets crazy under stress and is definitely an emotional eater. Elmo is always happy and laughs a lot.

C is for Charlie...that's good enough for me!

Epiphany

2009-05-16T18:53:00.000-07:00

The kids brought in a piece of wood a couple of weeks ago. It was a few inches long and it looked like it was broken off of a log. It had something on it that was hard, white and petrified-looking. Reminded me of a trilobite fossil. It sat on the counter for a few days and then I tried to sneak it into the garbage, but they caught me and strongly expressed their desire to save it. Noah was sure the white thing was some sort of egg sack. I sighed as I stuffed it into a ziploc sandwich bag. There it sat on my counter, keeping us company throughout our daily living, until it became so familiar that I no longer noticed it.

This morning, we were all excited, because the owners of our rental house were moving out, which meant that we could have possession of it. We couldn't wait to go over and figure out what colors to paint the rooms and where to put the furniture. As usual, Angelina was the first one up. Like Mom, she needs her coffee in the morning. She staggered up the stairs, eyes and hair all sleepy. I put my arms out and beckoned for a hug. As she came over to me, her eyes opened wide and her face filled with awe as she pointed behind me and exclaimed, "Oh, Mommy, look! Dad! Look! Look!" We turned around and saw the broken-bit-of-log-in-the-bag. It was filled with tiny, newborn praying mantes (that is the plural of mantis and it is pronounced man-teez; do not argue with me; I looked it up)! And since there was some sturdy plastic between me and the wildlife, I, too, thought it was pretty cool. Angelina went and roused the other kids out of bed. They plod in, one by one, eyes and noses red, hair all askew, to see the wonder on the counter. They marvel at the nature happening in the ziploc bag. As usual, Noah was right.

Then the day began and we had to run errands. Charlie and I had haircut appointments, we had to sign some paperwork for Charlie's attorney and get it notarized and the county was having a program were they were creating ID kits for parents to keep, with fingerprints and dental impressions, etc. So we brought all 5 kids there as well. Busy, busy.

Finally, we get the call that the house is empty. We head over there and the kids immediately go into the backyard to play. It is lovely, with a large playset, and beautiful landscaping. Joe comes out of the house and hold up his hand. In it is the plastic bag. The kids shriek with excitement and go get it. They release the mantes (go ahead, check the dictionary) in an area full of plants and flowers. Joe tells them that the mantes (see, I was right) stay very close to where they hatch, so, this summer, the backyard should be full of them.

We go into the house and bless it with blessed salt and pray in each room for God to cleanse the home and make it spiritually suitable for us to live there. As we are doing this, it occurs to me that those mantes were a gift from Him. It was not a coincidence that they hatched on this day. This day we begin again. God has given us a new life. He took us away from the home we thought we belonged in and placed us in one more beautiful than we could have imagined. Like the mantes. Or the birds of the air. Or the lilies of the field...

Matthew 6:25-33. Read it.

Last Day of School Blues

2009-05-12T11:37:00.000-07:00

Angelina got a book out of the library with that title. Not in my house. Mom likes the last day of school. It ends with a sigh of relief and a sigh of contentment as well. I love being able to see how much the kids learn over the year and how they grow as people. It is so satisfying when they finally understand something they have struggled with. Our official last day of school should be Friday, God willing...

A friend of mine came over yesterday. The kids planned some entertainment for her. They put on their version of Beowulf and a play they wrote, entitled, Little Red Riding Hood: From the Wolf's Point of View They are very creative! Noah recently said to me, "Mom, I am glad we don't have a TV. If we did, we wouldn't have as much time to read." My kids are voracious readers and have developed a creative streak as a result. They get giddy when we tell them a trip to the library is coming up. Noah and Bella will take out books, read them, then tell Angelina and Genevieve the stories, then they will perform a play of whatever they read. It is a good system for everyone. I think I may have the only 4 year old on earth who not only knows the story of Beowulf, but has played the main character as well.

Charlie enjoys the library, too; for different reasons. The first thing he does when we get there is wash his hands. "Restroom, please!" he says as he bolts toward the door. It took me awhile to realize that he was just washing up. Initially, I thought the atmosphere in the library had some kind of accelerating effect on his bowels. Then he comes out, surrounded by soap bubbles, and heads over to the Children's section. There, he takes out at least a dozen Dr. Seuss books. After that, he goes over to the music and takes out five or six Christmas CDs...it's always Christmas for Charlie.

We are a reading, geeky kind of family. But, that's OK; we like it that way.

Happy Mother's Day!

2009-05-10T19:15:00.001-07:00

The Debut!

2009-05-07T08:00:00.001-07:00

Welcome to my new blog! Well, it is the same blog, just a different site. Hey, we are moving too, so why not move the blog as well?

We are coming to the end of the school year. I am pushing to finish so I can unpack without having to school the kids as well. Looks like it will actually happen! We had a good year. Noah learned about decimals and percents and the US government, Bella learned about the Middle Ages and tackled the parts of speech and Angelina and Genevieve learned to read and do some math. And what did I learn? The same lesson I need to be taught every year: To trust that God will give me whatever I need to teach my kids and be a mom.

It is so funny to listen to the kids' conversations. They have come up with their "dumbest thing ever said by a human being." After reading Exodus, they decided that Aaron's answer to Moses' question about the origins of the golden calf takes the cake: "Uh, I don't know...I just put some jewelry in the fire and this calf came out..."

Nothing else is really going on except packing and getting ready to move. Joe is working hard at his new job and we are settling down after a difficult couple of months.

One change I have made is that I am now an affiliate for Sacred Heart Books and Gifts. I have been a customer of theirs for some time and now have decided to join their team. For those of you who don't know about them, they are an online book store catering to homeschoolers and Catholic families. They carry fiction and non-fiction books for preschoolers and beyond; also videos, music and art. Shipping is free on orders over $25. I realize this is a shameless ad, but if you click on the link and order through them whenever you plan to buy a book or gift, you will be helping to support my family.

Well, if you have read this, you have found the new blog. Glad you are here. I'll post again soon...

12/25/08-4/18/09

2009-05-07T07:41:00.000-07:00

Entry for April 18, 2009
The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away.
Blessed be the name of the Lord. Job 2:21
We have passed through the stark Lenten season and have moved into the joyful Octave of Easter and Divine Mercy Sunday approaches. I find it amazing how often life parallels the season of the Church.
In March, Charlie received the sacrament of confirmation. This is the sacrament that began with the Apostles receiving the Holy Spirit in the Upper Room on Pentecost. We were really excited about this milestone in Charlie’s life. My brother and his family were able to come down here for the event and some good friends of our who live in Smithville celebrated with us as well. My parents were unable to make it because my father had been ill and was forbidden to travel under doctor’s orders. My in-laws were also unable to take the trip, but everyone was there in spirit.
The day before his confirmation, Charlie came up to me and put his forehead against mine and said, “Trust.” He did this several times that day. It was a busy day. I was getting ready to have a party at our house, washing bedding in preparation for my brother’s visit and so I welcomed Charlie’s message as advice to trust God that everything would get done as it needed to Everything did and we were all happy .
The day after my brother and his family left, Joe woke up early and asked to speak to me. He told me that, on Tuesday, the day before Charlie’s confirmation, his company had let go 10% of their staff and he had been a casualty. It took me awhile to process this information. So many things ran through my head. First I thought, how kind of my husband to wait until the visit was over so that I could enjoy Charlie’s special time unmarred by the situation. But my second thought was: How could they do this to us after we moved down here for them? I felt so betrayed. After the shock wore off, the pride set in as I thought of all the people who expressed doubts about whether or not this move would work. What humiliation. Then reality set in. The situation was not good. I know a lot of you are asking, “Why can’t you just go back? You have a house. It should be a no-brainer.” Not that easy. Charlie would not be able to get back into Giant Steps. He would be at the bottom of a waiting list that is hundreds of students long. The school he goes to down here is excellent. We talk, we cry, we plan. We decide to stay. Our housing is an issue, though, because it is corporate owned. We need to leave or pay a very high rent. “How could these bosses, who had been so benevolent, turn on a dime?” I think to myself.
Joe gets right to the task of applying for jobs and making contacts. I offer prayer support and try to figure out how long we can live on what we have and also search for housing. Mostly, I pray. The first order of business is to forgive his ex-bosses. It is Lent, I think, and I am a Christian. I need to forgive right now. Somehow the grace comes and the bitterness goes. At various times it comes creeping back, but mostly I am able to manage the grace that was given me and I even get to the point where I can pray for them. God is good.
It is an emotional roller coaster. I juggle periods of hope with those of complete terror. Two days after Joe breaks the news, there is Eucharistic Adoration at church. I go. I sit in front of Jesus and I cry. I tell Him all of my worries. He listens. “Lord,” I ask, “Don’t you have a way to console me right now? I am really afraid for us. The economy stinks and it could be a very long time before Joe lands a new job.” All of a sudden, my soul is flooded with peace and I hear a voice. Not a real, audible voice, but a voice that speaks inside my heart and says, “I am speaking to you through your son.” Huh? I think, I ponder and then the light bulb comes on. Charlie! Charlie has been telling me to trust!
We tell our pastor and some friends at church about the situation. They all promise to pray. We do not tell our parents. Our fathers are both having health issues right now and we do not want to put undue stress on them. We hope and pray it gets resolved soon so we can tell them when it is over.
The next Sunday friends of ours pay for us to go to the pancake breakfast after Mass. I am so touched by this that I have a meltdown. I literally cannot stop crying. A woman who I barely know comes up to me and tells me that the whole parish is saddened by our news and everyone is praying for us. “We care about all of you,” she says and gives me a hug. I look over at Joe, who is taking to a fellow K of C. The guy is crying. I can’t believe the outpouring of love. I remember that we are all God’s instruments and that this love is really coming from Him, so I run into the sanctuary, kneel in front of the tabernacle and thank Him for showing us His love through others.
I keep praying. I ask God to take care of our every need. I ask him to get us all into the doctor and dentist before the insurance runs out. Miraculously, appointments open up and we all get seen. I ask Him to find a house for us. Coincidentally, I run into our realtor while I was out one day. I tell her what is going on. She vows to find us a house. A tall order. We need a large house at a rent we can afford in case the situation continues for a long time. She e-mails me listings and we go see a few. Nothing pans out.
I have many sleepless nights. All I can do is throw my family on the mercy of God. So much here is beyond our control. Many nights I lie in bed repeating, “God, I believe, I hope and I trust in Your Mercy,” until morning comes.
Joe and I talk some more. We decide to go and get the rest of our stuff from St. Charles. We have a few large things there. We also decide that I should be the one to go because I am really needing some time away. I go out and collect the stuff and my adventurous friend Kerry agrees to make the drive down with me. Her hubby helps load up a truck and we take off to Smithville. It was a good trip. I got to stay with my parents and see another good friend, which was wonderful. It was the first time I had seen my father since his health problems and it was good to see him on the mend. The time off from thinking and worrying was helpful, too. Kerry stayed an extra day to visit before she flew back. While she was here we get a call from the realtor about a house that was on the market, but the owners are willing to lease. We go over and look at it. It is gorgeous., with a great backyard for the kids. Joe likes it, I like it and Kerry also gives it the thumbs up. We begin negotiations with the owners.
Holy Saturday comes. I am joyful. The song “Shout to the Lord” plays over and over in my head. I think of how it is good to be joyful in the midst of tribulations. We are together, we can live for several months without going down in flames and Joe was getting a lot of interviews. We attend the Easter Vigil service, which is about 3 hours long. Noah served. He was the candle bearer, which meant he had to light a small candle from the Easter candle that Father had blessed and pass the light on to the parishioners. The church was dark, except for the candle light, to emphasize the fact that Jesus is the light in the darkness. I thought about how God never changes. He never stops loving us even though we may stop loving or believing in Him. I thought of how Jesus conquered all, even death. My hope was renewed and Easter joy invaded my soul that day.
On Easter morning Joe receives a call from Brett, a former co-worker. “Allelulia! He is risen!” says Brett when Joe picks up the receiver. He proceeds to tell Joe about a job opening at a company where he knows the owner well. Brett recommended Joe for the job and the owner wants Joe to call him the next day.
During the Easter Octave, Joe gets the job offer and we sign a lease for the new house. He starts the new job on Monday and we move in on June 1st.
Life is definitely not what I had envisioned, but it is good. I never thought we’d be long term renters, but it’s looking like that’s the way it is going to be. But we have a place to live. Joe’s new job is base+commission, which is new to us as well. But he has a job. All I can say is...
The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away.
Blessed be the name of the Lord. Job 2:21

Entry for February 18, 2009
We are home a lot, because school takes up so much time, but life is not boring. It helps that my kids have wacky senses of humor...
I have a running "to do" list on the white board in our kitchen. Since our homeschool group meets this Friday and we are having a Valentine exchange, I wrote "Make Valentines" on the list. Noah, the prankster, erased some of the letters, so now it says, "Make ale." What a wise guy.
In school, we are reviewing verb tenses with Bella. I had her read me some sentences and tell me whether they were in past, present or future tense. When we were done, there was a doodle in her note book, of a gift with a face on it that looked worried. Above the drawing, Bella wrote "present, tense."

Entry for February 10, 2009
I have always had healthy teeth. I have just one filling and still have all my wisdom teeth. Of course I have a huge space between my front teeth. Not an alluring, Lauren Hutton kind of space; an embarassing, hate-to-smile kind of space. But I digress. Imagine my surpise when I got a toothache. It was a really bad toothache. I was in a tremendous amount of pain and was eyeing the pliers trying to decide whether I should just get it out of my mouth on my own. I felt wimpy. I have had 4 of my children with no epidural, but the tooth I couldn't deal with.
I wound up making an emergency apointment with a dentist. He looks at the tooth. "Well," he says, "we can pull it or do a root canal." "PULL IT!!!" I scream. "Get it out of my mouth!!!" He chuckles. "Well, for a woman of your age, you have very good teeth..." Wait one minute! Did he say, "For woman of your age?!"
After that disturbing statement I could no longer hear what he was saying. Everything was "Blah, blah, blah." I was stuck on the offending phrase. Someone asked me if it was like listening to Charlie Brown's teacher. Yes, it was, but garbled.
When I recovered, he explained that if I pull the tooth it will result in losing the wisdom tooth down the road and he thinks it would be better to do the root canal. So, he patched me up and gave me drugs and sent me on my way.
I went and had the root canal. The endodontist (everyone's a specialist) told me that my root canal would take longer because I have some rare root formation that only occurs once every time Haley's Comet passes (or something like that). I nodded my head and tried not to drool and prayed that this didn't mean he could charge me twice as much. I had already had to agree to indenture two of my children as servants just for the co-pay.
After the root canal healed, I needed to go to a regular dentist for a crown. The hygienist wanted to take a look at it first, so I went in for a visit. When I open my mouth, she remarks, "Wow! Nice teeth! If I didn't know better, I would think I was looking at a 25 year old, just by your teeth." Luckily, her hand was in my mouth, or I would have said, "Just by my butt, you would think I was 87."
So, it all balances out, doesn't it?

Entry for January 19, 2009
OK, so it is MLK Day and the tree is still up. Just haven't had the time to take it down. I am thinking of leaving it up. Noah's birthday is this week. It could be a birthday tree, with LEGOs and Bionicles on it. A few weeks later it would be a Valentine's Day tree with chocolate hearts. After that, it would become a Washington's Birthday tree, with wooden teeth and cherries. Bella's birthday comes next, so we would decorate it with the Schleich animals she loves so much. On Ash Wednesday, we'll burn it.

Entry for December 25, 2008
So, Christmas is Angelina's birthday. I always give the kids a choice of what they want for their birthday meal. Anything (within reason) goes for the birthday kid. This year Angelina chooses Chinese food. The kids were all shocked. On Christmas????? I explain that Angelina can have whatever she cooses and if she wants Chinese food, then that is what she is getting. Secretly, I was hoping she would choose a turkey or a roast of some sort, but I have to keep my word, don't I?
Well, we ordered Chinese for our Christmas/Angelina's birthday dinner and it was great! I didn't have to cook! Everyone liked the food! Wahoo! After dinner, I innocently ask Angelina if she liked her birthday dinner. "Loved it, Mom!" she exclaims, giving me one of her sunny smiles. "Should we get Chinese food every year for your birthday?" I ask. "All right!" she says. So, there it is, a new tradition. Egg rolls, roast pork fried rice, General Tso's Chicken, crab rangoon and a partridge in a pear tree. And NO DISHES!!
For her cake, Angelina wanted a Hershey's Disappearing Cake, a really decadent chocolate cake that I make from scratch. The cake is tempermental, though. It either comes out of the pan perfectly or you have a mess of crumbs. There is never any indication as to what will happen when you tap that cooled cake pan. This time it was a mess of crumbs. Arrgh! I had baked the cake on the 23rd and put the two lumps of crumbs on plates and into the freezer to deal with on the big day.
After dinner, I get to work decorating the cake. I had bought chocolate frosting last week, but Charlie found it and ate it, so I had to go out on Christmas Eve and buy more. I hid it in my underwear drawer so he wouldn't find it. I remove the cakes from the freezer and go get the frosting. I open it up to see that it is open, and half eaten. "CHARLIE!!!" I yell, exasperated. I feel like the guy from the chipmunks who is always yelling for Alvin. That is what my life is like. I must yell, "CHARLIE!!" at least twice a day and at least one of those times involves him eating something he shouldn't (remember the gingerbread?). Sigh... Joe comes running in and I show him the frosting can. He looks panicked. "What do we do?!" he yells. "We make the frosting," I say. By some miracle, I have confectioner's sugar in the house. I never use the stuff, but one day I was compelled to buy it. It must have been a little nudge from my Guardian Angel. I get on allrecipes.com and find a simple choclate icing recipe. Joe melts the butter while I gather up the other ingredients. Everything goes into my trusty Mixmaster and we had some good frosting. I did not ask Charlie if he wanted to lick the whisk attachment. That went to my hubby as a reward for helping me make frosting in no time flat.
When I start to frost the cake I realize I had left it out of the freezer and now it was all crumby. It probably has to be the ugliest cake I have ever decorated. The frosting was just full of crumby lumps. I put lots of swirls and flowers and made the letters cover the majority of the cake, but it was still pretty ugly. My little sweetie didn't mind. Angelina wanted red flowers with sprinkles in the middle and she was very happy with what I came up with.
All in all, we had a great Christmas. We woke up early, and went to 9:00 a.m. Mass, where Noah served. He did a great job. After Mass, we stayed and chatted with all our friends. Then we came home and opened gifts, said the Angelus, ate dinner, decorated a birthday cake and had a birthday party. We all went to bed tired and happy.
Before I fall asleep, I mentally visit the little baby in the manger. I tell Him about my day and I thank Him for all the gifts he has given our family. But before I drift off, the last thought on my mind is:
WHAT was Charlie doing in my underwear drawer???

11/16/08-12/23/08

2009-05-07T07:33:00.000-07:00

Entry for December 23, 2008
God is Love. We hear it all he time, yet rarely reflect upon this truth.
In 2008, more than any other year, this point has been driven home to us time and again. We left St. Charles with sadness because we had to say goodbye to family and friends we love so much. Yet, we arrived in Smithville to the warm welcome of many new and good friends. We saw much love and generosity in Illinois and we arrived to the same in Missouri. It seems this year was a great tapestry interwoven with love, loss, sadness and joy. Yet all is good.
This Christmas, let us all remember that the Christ Child, who was born in the humblest of circumstances, is Love. He gives love and is the connection of the love between every man, woman and child. No matter what your circumstances, you are rich in blessings if you truly believe in He who is Love.
Look past the presents, the cookies, the wrappings and the decorations, into the quiet stillness of the stable, where a baby lay in a feeding trough. Even in His manger He revealed to us that He is the Bread of Life.
In the humblest of surroundings, the ox and the ass, symbols of pagan gods, now bowed down before Him, revealing that the Christ Child is God become man. Long ago, on a clear, cold night, God came down from Heaven to save us, knowing full well what He would have to endure on our behalf. This, truly is Love. It is a sacrificial love, garnished with humility and truth. This is what we celebrate at Christmas.
May the silence of the stable bring peace to your heart.
Merry Christmas.

Entry for December 16, 2008
It is snowing. We decided to take a half day off from school and bake a gingerbread nativity. The little girls are helping. They want to cut their own cookies. They don't press down hard enough. So, then I have to perform surgery with a paring knife to extract the little sheep and camels from the gingerbread dough, which is getting warm and sticky. I keep having to stop and put the dough into the freezer for a few minutes at a time. I am frustrated. Finally, all the pieces we need are cut out and baked. Whew!
I decide to celebrate by putting on some Christmas music. My back is turned to the cooling cookies. Suddenly, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I whirl around to see Charlie, taking a bite of a cookie. "Nooooooooooo!" I yell and dive across the kitchen. It was Mary. Charlie ate Mary. It couldn't have been a camel or a sheep? ((((sigh))))
Thank goodness I have some leftover dough. I make another Mary and another baby Jesus-- just in case. With the rest of the dough that was too little to roll out and cut anything out, I make 5 small lumps, one for each child. Martha Stewart, I am NOT.
I have no patience for this. I will bake and decorate a cake. I will cook a meal for many people, but no more gingerbread for me. This experience has helped me decide to bake only drop cookies from now on. I'm officially turning in the cookie cutters.

Entry for November 29, 2008
Today we had our first snowfall. Amazing, considering we went outside with no jackets on Thanksgiving. The kids were excited. We let them go outside in the dark. There was just a dusting, but they scooped up enough to make snowballs, which are resting comfortably in our freezer at the moment. Ah, the first snowfall is always special. Noah and Bella collaborated on a poem for the occasion.
Snow Song
First winter's snow, it does not last.
It melts quickly and very fast.
By the time the sun has sung it's song,
The snow has melted and is long gone.

Entry for November 26, 2008
It is about 25 minutes till Thanksgiving and I am still up. I'm tired. I want to sleep, but I cannot. Why, you ask?
Well, Joe went and picked up the "fresh" turkey he ordered from a gourmet market after work. He got home with it at about 8:00. Immediately I opened it up and tried to get the giblets out to make the turkey stock. I couldn't. The legs were frozen together by a chunk of ice. I check the bird. The other side is frozen, too. I knock on it just to make sure. Yep, solid. The breast is thawed, but the wings are frozen to it. I am upset. I need to get at the giblets and I can't, and I am starting to worry that it won't be thawed enough to cook tomorrow. Instead of doing the logical thing (have Joe drive the 20 minutes and return it) I decide I will try to see if it can be thawed first so my hubby won't have to go back out.
I put it in cold water and disconnect the wings from the breast. I notice one wing is broken. Then I chip away the ice in the cavity enough to stick my hand in. No giblets, and it feels frozen in there. So, I have a mutant, half-wing, partially-frozen turkey with missing giblets. I don't want this turkey. I tell Joe. He calls the store to give them the heads up, grabs the bird and heads out.
I am at a standstill. I cannot cook, so I give Genevieve her bath. The phone rings. It is Joe. I answer it saying, "Don't tell me the only turkey they had left had 3 wings." He laughs. He tells me they gave him a new bird, which he checked and made sure that it was, indeed, completely fresh. I am so thankful (it is, after all, Thanksgiving eve). Then he asks me what we should do with the mutant turkey. "They didn't take it back?" I ask, incredulous. "No, do you want me to stick it in the freezer at work?" I sigh. We can't re-freeze a raw, thawed (well, mostly) turkey. I ask Joe if he really, really thinks we should keep it. He thinks we should. I tell him to head straight home, then I go in the kitchen and turn on the oven. The only thing to do is to cook the mutant. I only have one refrigerator and it isn't big enough to hold two turkeys. In my tired, deranged mind, I see a vision of the two raw, naked turkeys wearing holsters and guns. One says to the other, "This fridge ain't big enough for the two of us... Draw!"
I snap back to reality and look for a disposable foil thing big enough to cook a turkey in. Joe walks in at about 10 p.m. and he gets the giblets out for me (a good sign that this one actually has giblets) and I put them in the pot with water for the stock. Then I stick the mutant in the oven. I set the timer for 5 hours. After that I make the stuffing and run the dishwasher.
Now what do I do? Do I stay up and wait for the half-wing to cook? Or, should I sleep? What if I sleep through the timer? Will I awaken to a crispy, Cornish hen-sized bird?
Three hours and 21 minutes to go. However, it is now 12:01 a.m., which makes it Thanksgiving, 2008. Happy Thanksgiving.
Have you put your turkey in yet?

Entry for November 16, 2008
I hate dogs. Not in the sense that I want harm done to them, but I just cannot tolerate animals-- the hair, the smell, etc. Also, I am slightly afraid...
Tonight at about 9:15, I had to go up to church for a few minutes. I pulled out of the driveway, and made the left onto the street and there was a huge husky dog laying down, lounging, in the middle of the street. I move forward. It picks its head up and looks at me. I inch up. It puts its head back down. I gun the engine. It yawns. I gingerly pull the car around the darn thing and continue on my way.
At around 10:00 p.m., I get home and pull into the driveway. The dog is there, waiting for me. I pull up and it moves over, as if to say, "Its OK for you to pull into your own driveway. I'll allow that." Given that I borrowed Joe's car for this quick errand, I don't have the garage door opener doohickey at my disposal (we only have one), so I am stuck sitting in the driveway. The dog comes over and sits next to the door of the car, preventing me from escaping, uh, leaving. I sit and look at the dog. The dog looks back at me. I tap on the window and ask the dog if it is friendly or if it is planning to eat me. All I get from the dog is a deadpan. I sigh. The dog gets up. A glimmer of hope enters my soul. It is bored and it is leaving! I think. No such luck. It walks over to the front door of the house, as if to see if someone is on their way to get me out of the car. Lazily, it walks back and takes up residence next to the car again. I am trapped. I look for my cell phone. Arrgh! I left it home because this was to be a short trip. I am exasperated with myself.
I try to come up with a plan. I decide to beep the horn in the hopes that it will either scare the dog away or one of my family members will hear it and save me. I lean on the horn. The car is located directly under Charlie's bedroom window, and I hear him say, "Beep, beep, be quiet." I laugh at the absurdity of that, then beep again. The dog gets up, but he doesn't go away. He begins to howl like a wolf along with the beeping of the horn. I am in hell, I think. The more I beep the more it howls. "Get away, you demon!" I scream.
Miraculously, a car pulls up at the house diagonally across the street from us. That person gets out of their car and their dog goes bonkers, greeting it's owner. The demon-from-hell's ears perk up. It turns around and checks out the situation. My hopes rise and I put my hand on the door latch. It looks back at me to check and see if I am still there. Guiltily, I remove my hand. Then, I guess it just can't resist and it runs across the street and begins a bark and snarl fest with the dog. Quickly, I open the car door. The dog stops barking and walks back my way. Halfway out of the car, I jump back in. Satisfied, the dog goes back to barking and snarling. I decide that its now or never. I run to the house and fumble for the keys. I am totally freaked and cannot get my hands to work, so I just bang as hard as I can. Joe opens the door. I run in and I am so freaked out that I scream the entire story to him at the top of my lungs. He was at the back of the house and heard nothing.
One of my children begins to cry and believes that the dog will not go away and that they will never be able to go outside and play again. I calm the child and look for Joe. He is outside standing next to a police car. He had called them and they came and got the dog. One of the officers said they knew the dog because it had "priors," but that it was a friendly dog and wouldn't hurt anyone. I have trouble believing him. Even serial killers have to start somewhere...
But at least I have my knight in shining armor to protect me...or at least call the police.

9/21/08-11/4/08

2009-05-07T07:25:00.000-07:00

Entry for November 04, 2008
Happy Election Day! I hope all of you voted. I promised myself that this blog would be about family and that I wouldn't go all political. I will keep that promise. But I can indulge in a bit of patriotism.
I do sincerely hope all of you exercised your right to vote. People have suffered and died so that you can have the right to vote. Do not take this lightly.
We live in the greatest country on the face of the earth. I do not say that itn a hegemonic way, but with awe and humility. Think of the founding fathers and all they suffered to get this country going. Some lost their livelihoods, their entire families, even their lives. They had a vision and a dream of unencumbered freedom and they gave all to realize that dream. So, if you are tempted to be apathetic on this of all days, remember those who were there when this all started.
God Bless America!

Entry for October 17, 2008
Today was our 21st wedding anniversary. I spent it making pizza, surrounded by our kids. When Joe got home, we ate and had cake. The kids sang, "Happy Anniversary to you (cha, cha, cha)." We had fun.
Twenty-one years is a long time. Over the years we have learned a lot of lessons from eachother. I learned that men don't have rules. They're just coasting. Joe learned that women have rules-- lots of 'em.
Here's to you, Joe:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XqnVJ8ggCvc

Entry for October 08, 2008
One Saturday night, we stayed up late with Noah and Bella and played Lord Of the Rings Trivial Pursuit. Thank goodness Joe and I weren't on the same team or the kids would have killed us. They are good. Each of them has read the trilogy (except, according to Noah, it is not a trilogy; it is a series of six books combined into three; he should know because he has read the appendices) at least five times each and seen the movies as much.
The game ended in a tie, and by the time we called it quits, it was 12:30 a.m. Joe and I were exhausted. Bella and Noah were wired. We agreed they should have a sleepover because the little girls were in dreamland and we didn't want to disturb them by sending Bella down to their room. The kids kept getting up. Noah begins to ask questions across the hall: "Does fire have one syllable or two? Did you know the word orchid comes from a Greek word that means testicle?" ...and on and on. Our response was always the same: "Go to SLEEP!!!"
Finally, the two of them creep in one last time. We read them the riot act. They tiptoe out into the dark hallway. The only light was the blue glow of the printer power light from the kitchen. "What's that?" One of them says. "A light," the other answers, "Oooooo...pretty."
That put Joe and I into hysterics. We were so tired and giddy and we just couldn't stop laughing. This scared the children. They stayed away after that.
Moral: Act crazy and they'll leave you alone.

Entry for October 07, 2008
Today we headed over to Immaculate Conception cathedral in KC. Bishop Finn was saying Mass there and it was to be televised on EWTN. Joe programmed the GPS and we woke up early, got in the car and away we went. As we approached downtown, the GPS lady had me make a right and then I think I either went too right or not enough right, because it was one of those octopus-like intersections and I wound up going out of my way for about 20 minutes. My cell phone rang and it was my friend, Genevieve. "We were right behind you. Why did you make a right???" I shamelessly put all the blame on the GPS. Genevieve talks me over into a place to park and tells me she has saved a pew and she will be standing outside the cathedral so I know where to go in. Didn't I tell you we made some awesome friends here???
I park on the street, feed the parking meter every silver coin in my wallet and off we go. We bump into a couple of nuns on the way and they are giddy with excitement about the Mass. My children say hello and the sisters compliment them on how nice they look. I sheepishly ask if we can follow them to the cathedral, which turns out to be practically in front of us. The nuns are charitable about my ignorance. And there is Genevieve, waiting. She escorts us in and we sit down in the pew. Whew! Made it.
Then panic sets in. I left the GPS on the window, in plain sight. Aaargh! I am not sure if I can find my way back to the car in order to hide the GPS. We decide to send Genevieve's son, Gus, as a guide for Noah, who knows the car and has the keys. They make it there and back in record time. Miraculous.
The cathedral is very crowded and there are lots of Knights of Columbus there in their "regalia" to act as color guard for the Bishop. They wear hats with some feathery stuff on them and, when Bella was about four, she began calling them "sheepheads." The name stuck and now my whole family refers to the K of C color guard as sheepheads. The music starts, the sheepheads walk in and the procession starts. The music is absolutely beautiful. I am turning my mind toward God when Bella tugs on my sleeve. "Mom, I have to go to the bathroom really bad." I hear a small voice say, "Me, too. Really bad." It is her sidekick, Genevieve. Sigh... We wait until the procession is over and dash to the restroom. We come back and enjoy the rest of the Mass. The Bishop gave an awesome talk on our responsibility as Christians to care for others and implore God for help in doing this.
The Mass is almost over, but the next child has to go. I have Bella take Angelina and they make it back just in time for communion. I really wanted to receive from the Bishop, but there was another priest right next to him that no one was going to, so I went to him instead. Bella and Noah received from the Bishop.
After Mass we met Bishop Finn. From his demeanor, he obviously loves being around kids. He was thrilled to see so many children.
I was just contemplating the drive home when Genevieve suggested we go out for lunch. I take her up on it and we head over to Cascone's in the City Market and have burgers or grilled cheese. The kids had fun being with their friends. Genevieve and I talked politics for awhile. It was a good time.
On the way home, my cell phone rings. It's Genevieve. "What road are you on?" "169," I answer. "Oh, good!" she sounds relieved, "We are, too and we just saw a purple van get on 29 and we thought it was you!" HA!
That night, my mother calls. She is watching a rerun of the Mass on EWTN and is looking for us. I put it on my computer, but my broadcast is several second behind hers. She narrates the whole thing for me. Finally, she spots Genevieve, who was sitting at the end of the pew. She is happy. Then she continues to narrate the whole rest of the Mass that I, too, am watching. It comes time for communion and she is looking for us. "I see the Bishop. He is giving out communion. Is that you? No. It's an old lady. Oh! Now they switched to showing candles. Why are they showing candles? Wait. No. It's a statue now. Can't they switch it back?" I patiently listen to the complaining. "Peter!" she yells, "That looks like Bella! I saw Bella receive communion!" "That's not Bella!" I hear my father yell. Then I see Bella on my computer screen receiving communion. I also see my left shoulder going past her to receive communion from the other priest. As soon as Bella receives, they show the choir. I tell my mother that she was right, it was Bella. "Peter!" she yells, "It WAS Bella!" Satisfied that she saw her granddaughter on TV, my mother hangs up.
So, we had a good day. We went to Mass, saw some friends and Bella and Genevieve each had 2 seconds of fame. But most of all, we took time out of the day to lift our minds to God. Mass was a small oasis of peace in the midst of the chaos that (usually) is my life.

Entry for September 21, 2008
At Mass today, we had a visiting priest, Fr. Charles, who was originally from Uganda and lives now in Michigan. Thirty weekends a year he travels to other parishes asking people to sponsor children in need. He gave a great sermon and the kids really wanted to meet him. After Mass, we approached him and I noticed that he had the most joyful smile I had ever seen. It was infectious. He went right over to Charlie and introduced himself. After some prompting, Charlie reciprocated. He explained to Charlie that they shared a name. Then he got really close to me, so close that I could only see his eyes, put his hand on my shoulders and said, "You are truly a mother, because you will always have a baby."
Now, this really struck me, because the way he said it was so sincere. Quickly, the story of the presentation of Jesus in the temple flashed through my mind and I could hear Simeon saying to Mary, "And your own heart will be pierced by a sword." I am sure Simeon didn't say it in some condescending way; full of pity. No, he was merely stating a fact. This is how I took it.
Lots of people say stuff to me about being the mother of a child with a disability. They tell me I'm special. I hate that. "Oh, God knew you were special and that is why He gave you Charlie." Bah. I am no more special than you, or your Uncle Carmine, if you happen to have one. I am a mother, plain and simple. I am raising the children who were entrusted to me by God. That's all. Motherhood is no walk in the park, whether you have one child or seventeen kids. It's all in the attitude. You can whine about it or you can laugh about it. You can embrace it or run away from it. You can throw yourself into it and give it your best shot or spend your life just phoning it in. It is a choice. Most of the time you make that choice moment by moment. Sometimes it is a little of both. There are some days, when things are so wild that I can't even stop for a second. But then, when all is quiet and I am in bed reflecting on my day, I burst out laughing at the sheer nuttiness of it all.
After Mass , Joe and the kids wanted to go for a hike. Now, if you are a regular reader, you know that I hate going outside. But my encounter with Fr. Charles left me in such a joyful mood that I tossed caution to the wind and agreed to go.
We went up near Lake Smithville, to some hiking trails there. Joe was in front and I was in the rear, with the kids in between, except for Genevieve, who held my hand. She told me she needed to hold my hand "Just in case, Mom, because you never know."
As soon as civilization was out of sight, Charlie said, "Use the bathroom, please." Sigh. Thank goodness there were no other hikers in sight. I escorted the rest of the clan a discreet distance ahead, while Joe complied with Charlie's request. The hiking resumed.
Bella brought a small cloth bag in which to collect things. We saw some flowers that we hadn't seen before, so Joe cut one and Bella put it in the bag. In also, went a thorn from a tree that had thorns. There were some mushrooms that Bella thought might be poisoncup mushrooms and she warned me not to touch them. Angelina took a picture and we will try to identify them sometime. Joe pointed out a spot on a tree that ws used by deer for rubbing their antlers. Again, Angelina took a picture. We had to hike across a dry creek bed and the bank was very steep. When Charlie got to the top he turned around and saw me approaching. He came back down, offered me his arm, and assisted me up the bank. I offer up a silent song of praise for this silent, but thoughtful young man.
Noah was diligent about looking for poison ivy. "Remember, Mom, leaves of three, let it be," he reminded me often throughout our journey. He made sure to point out to his sisters all the places that were most likely animal homes. "But don't put your hand in there," he would warn.
At one point, when the trail was easy, Joe came to the back of the line and we held hands for a bit while the kids took the lead. Small rays of light shone through the trees, keeping the temperature comfortable for walking. The forest, with the gentle sounds of wildlife, was peaceful. I must admit that I was actually enjoying the outing. Then a huge hornet started following us and I freaked. A couple of times I thought we lost it, because the loud buzzing stopped. But I realized it was still there; just hovering. Eeeww. That gave me the willies. Eventually it went away, though, and I calmed down.
Deep into the hike, we saw a deer. It stayed so still, that we were able to gaze at it for a long time. Joe and Angelina got some pictures. Then I found some snail shells, which were deposited in the bag. Almost at the end of the hike, the kids spotted a snakeskin. What a prize! After everyone had a turn holding it and feeling it, in the bag it went.
Just when we were starting to tire out, we came to the end of the first trail. We looked at the map and determined that to get back to the car, we had about 0.7 miles to go. Everyone was a good sport and spotting some caterpillars and dead, but intact, cicadas along the way, helped the last part of the hike go quickly.
On the ride home, the children looked over their bag of treasures. They were so happy with the specimens they collected. As I listened to their excited chatter, I thanked God for giving them the gifts of curiousity and love of learning.
Life is a series of moments. In each moment we make an unconscious decision to be happy or wallow in self pity; to take what is given us and deal with it or run away from pain, sorrow or discomfort; to live or merely exist.
One thing I can say for myself is today, I lived.

8/5/08-9/12/08

2009-05-07T07:18:00.000-07:00

Entry for September 12, 2008
Happy Anniversary, Mom and Dad.
*******************************
My girls love the Strawberry Shortcake characters. I have a vague recollection of these from my childhood, or was that Hello Kitty? Whatever. On our last trip to the library, Genevieve found a book about Strawberry Shortcake. We borrowed it, and I must have read it about 8,637 times. Do you know that all of the charaters are named after foods? There is Blueberry Muffin, Ginger Snap, Angel Cake, Huckleberry Pie...you get the idea. All of these characters love the foods they are named after.
I wonder what life would be like if we named our kids after the foods they love...
"Anchovy, Garlic, Sundried Tomato Sandwich! Get off the computer! It's time to eat!"
"No, you cannot spend the day in bed reading, Salami and Mayo on Italian Bread."
"Black Olive Pizza, finish your spelling."
"BBQ Chicken Wings, it's time for your reading lesson."
"Maple and Brown Sugar Oatmeal, put your crayons away."

Entry for August 31, 2008
I grew up in NY, which, in my opinion, has some of the best pizza in the world. My grandmother used to make pizza. Not the perfect, round, pizza you see on TV. It was sort of misshapen and really rustic looking, but, oh boy, was it good! There is nothing like a good, home made pizza, especially when it is made with love.
When we moved to Illinois from NY, I hadn't expected that, along with the regular culture-shock, there would be a pizza culture-shock as well. In NY, when I ordered pizza, this is what I would do:
Dial up the pizza place (often called a pizza parlor ).
ME:"Hello, I would like a large pie, half pepperoni."
THEN:"OK, what's your phone number?
ME:"555-1234"
THEM:"'Bout 20 minutes."
ME:"Thanks."
Short, sweet and to the point. Not in Illinois. The first time I ordered pizza there I had no idea who to call, so I open the phone book and find a place called, "Rosati's." Sounds good. I dial the phone.
ME:"I'd like a large pie, please."
THEM:"I'm sorry, we only serve pizza here. Click."
I stand there, phone in hand, incredulous. Pie? Do they not understand that a pizza is a pie? It is round. You cut it in wedges. It is a pie. I compose myself and try again.
ME:"I'd like to order a large pizza, please."
THEM:"Thin crust, stuffed crust, deep dish or hand-tossed?"
ME:"Huh? I would just like a pizza."
THEM:"We can't just make a pizza. You have to tell us what kind of crust."
ME: (confused) "Oh, OK, well, which kind would be most like the pizza in New York?"
THEM: (getting anoyed) "I don't know..maybe hand-tossed."
ME:"OK, then, I would like a large hand-tossed pizza, half pepperoni."
THEM: "What do you want on the other half?"
ME: (fighting the culture clash) "Uh...nothing?"
THEM: (exasperated) "Look, I think what you want is a large hand-tossed, half pepperoni, half cheese."
ME: "But don't all of them have...Yes! That will do it!"
So, while I am waiting for the pizza to be delivered I am meditating on the fact that I have to say "half-cheese" when it should be a given that all pizzas have cheese on the whole thing. Would I order a pizza that had one half intact and the other half with, say, just sauce? However, the culture shock is not over. When the pizza comes, it smells good. Joe and I open the box and peer in. We stand there, staring, confused. This round pizza is cut into squares!!! We had never seen this before! "What is this a joke?!" I yell. This is supposed to be a pizza pie cut into wedges and the crust is supposed to act like a handle when you hold it. Or do they use some other method of eating pizza out here, like using chopsticks?
Well, life went on and we became used to ordering pizza in Illinois. We learned to say "half cheese," although that still makes no sense to us. We learned to ask for the pizza to be cut into a pie. We found that the local grocery store had $5 one-topping large pizzas on Friday. For a large family like ours, this is about as close to eating out as we get, so Fridays became pizza night.
After we moved to Missouri, we wanted to keep the tradition of Friday pizza nights. We tried Pizza Hut Pizza Mia, but we just don't like it. The crust is too sweet and there is barely any cheese. The only other place to get pizza within a 25 mile radius is a place called The Pizza Shoppe. I get on their website. They have goofy sizes for their pizza: Prince, Queen and King. I assume the Queen is large, so I order two and prepare some salad and crudite to go with it. We are being cautious because we don't know if we'll like them and don't want to waste food if we don't. Joe goes to pick up the pizza. He calls me on the way home. "Do we have any frozen pizzas in the freezer?" "Yes, a few," I answer. "Cook them all." Not a good sign.
Joe gets home and puts the pizza boxes on the table. We begin to say our prayers and I burst out laughing. Everyone stares, because they know I wouldn't tolerate this from someone else. But I can't help it. "It's like Christmas at the Cratchit's!" I giggle. "I have never seen smaller pizza boxes in my life!" Everyone laughs. It is true. We have a large, 9' X 4' table, and it looks like there are two match boxes on it. We thank God for our food and for a good laugh and we eat store bought and frozen pizza for dinner.
That incident put me at the pizza crossroads. I had a decision to make. Do we cancel pizza Frdiay? If not, where do we get the pizza? I get some inspiration from above, in a voice that sounds curiously like my grandmother's. "So, you can't get good pizza. Make the pizza!"
I get online. I look for a pizza dough recipe. I think to myself that if I am going to go as far as making pizza for a family of seven, I may as well just go nuts and make healthy, whole wheat pizza dough. So, here we are, in Missouri, with our Friday night pizza nights. The first home made pizza Friday was a flop, in my opinion. The kids all said they liked it. I think they were being kind. Each week it gets better and better. This week, I must say, it was delicious. I made three pizzas: pepperoni (we have graduated to a whole pepperoni pie), cheese and a garlic-basil pizza that everyone loved. When the kids and I am in the kitchen, making pizza, and I'm wearing my apron (which looks a lot like the snap-front one my grandmother wore), I give a silent salut to her. My grandmother, Angelina Abbate, in Heaven almost two years now, has been a quiet inspiration to me throughout my life. And here she is again, watching over us on Friday pizza nights. Grazie, Grandma.

Entry for August 29, 2008
I realize it has been over three weeks since I have checked in, but there is a reason for that: we've been sick. We all went down like dominoes. First Charlie, then Noah, Bella, Genevieve, Angelina and Joe. I was last and, of course, worst.
It was a horrific virus that starts out with a sore throat, stomachache and fever. Sounds like strep, you say? Right. We all got swabbed. No strep. Just the horrific virus.
My bout with the germ lasted 9 days. Now I feel all weak and I am still not myself. I spent about 7 of the days in bed. Thank God for good husbands who work from home and keep things under control while their wives are writhing in pain and alternately freezing and sweating in bed. The sore throat was the worst. Nothing helped. I tried ibuprofen. I tried acetominaphin. I tried alternating these two drugs every three hours. Nothing. It was like someone was rubbing a cheese grater up and down my throat. The doc prescribed Lidocaine for the throat pain. If you have never heard of this, it looks and smells just like hand sanitizing gel. Seriously. I was supposed to gargle with the stuff. Instead, I was struggling not to vomit. I spit it out and consult the container. What on earth is in this stuff, I wonder? It lists a bunch of long ingredients and then it says: flavoring. Flavoring???? What flavor-- rubbing alchohol? Couldn't they have chosen cherry?
My throat is on fire, so I decide to try again. This time I put it on a Q-tip and rub it on the back of my throat. The sounds that come out of me cause Joe to sprint down the hall and appear in the bedroom. "Was that you? Are you OK? Are you sick to your stomach now?" "No, just rubbing Lidocaine on my tonsils with a Q-tip." A fleeting look of confusion crosses his face. "But you're OK?" "OK for now," I answer. The Lidocaine rub does not take the pain away, but it does take the edge off, so I don't yelp everytime I swallow. In my foggy fever brain I have a vague recollection of bringing the children ice water to sip constantly, to numb their throats. The ice water and Lidocain Q-tips work enough so that I can get to sleep.
Around day 6 my nose becomes congested. Nothing helps. I blow and blow and blow and it doesn't help at all. However, with all the blowing, I wound up pulling a groin muscle. So now I have chills, sweats, cheese-grater throat, nose congestion and groin pain. At this point I thank God for the concept of redemptive suffering. I offer it all up, swab my tonsils, pop an ibuprofen, take some Benadryl and pass out.
On day seven I no longer felt feverish. I was able to get up and walk around for short periods of time, but then I would get dizzy. Same thing on day eight. Finally on day nine the sore throat subsides. Just in time, too, because Joe has to go to St. Louis for two days. On his first day gone I take the kids on a field trip, about 40 minutes away, to learn about service dogs and how they are trained. I drove the 40 minutes, sat for the presentation, took everyone to the bathroom and drove home. By the time we got to Smithville I was dizzy and nauseas. It took me two hours to recover. I feel like I am 87 years old.
Funny, when I am well, I often think how nice it would be to just spend a day in bed, doing nothing. I just got a week of that and hated every minute of it. That old saying is true:"Be careful what you wish for."

Entry for August 05, 2008
Charlie came home today with a paper from school that required him to copy sentences and fill in some blanks.
The first line had him fill in: Cookies smell ______.
Charlie filled in good. Cookies smell good.
Then next line was: Fritos smell like _________.
This is what Charlie wrote: Fritos smell like feet.

6/16/08-7/18/08

2009-05-07T07:13:00.000-07:00

Entry for July 18, 2008
The slug either made it's way to freedom or is now a dried out, crispy corpse somewhere in my house. Frankly, I don't want to know...
So, Charlie has half-days of school in the summer, so he's been hanging out with us more during the day. He is such a character. The weather has been rainy and the lack of pressure in the atmosphere really affects him. He needs that pressure and will try to get it any way he can. He's been asking a lot for hugs ("Gimme your hugs.") and bopping around like Tigger. He's really big and I am afraid he will be jumping and all of a sudden disappear right through the floor. He spends lots of time in his room drawing, which is his favorite past time. When I go in there to check on him, he will ususally say, "I'll be right back," which means he wants me to say that, and take a hike.
Noises affect Charlie. Most of the time he wears sound-reducing headphones to Mass, because the music can be too loud, or the pitch may bother him. He will usually say, "It's too loud," when a noise bothers him. It is good that he has learned these coping skills.
Several years ago, whenever Charlie would walk past me, I would see a glint of something shiny white. Frankly, I thought I was having a seizure or something. It was just a split-second flash and then it would go away. By some divine inspiration, I got closer to Charlie and looked in his ears. At the time, looking in his ears was a problem, because he was much more sensitive than he is now. He would either fight you or collapse in laughter and roll around so you couldn't keep him still long enough to look. By some miracle, I was able to keep him still just enough to peer in. PAPER??? There is rolled up white paper, stuffed way in his ear. And, yes, it was in the other side, too. {{{sigh}}}
I call the pediatrician and make an appointment. I tell the nurse to warn Dr. Murphy that he will be dealing with Charlie's ears. The poor man. I explain the situation to Joe and send him to the appointment, because he is stronger and can deal with Charlie's physical antics better than me.
It is hours before they return home. "What took so long?" I ask. "Dr. Murphy couldn't get the paper out, so he called a friend who is an ENT and asked him to do it. The guy said to go over there right away and we did. He got the paper out of his ear. There was a lot of paper."
My heart skips a beat. "Ear? Did you say, "He got the paper out of his ear?"
"Yep. All gone."
"Joe? The paper was in both ears."
I will not tell you what Joe said next. I will tell you, however, that Joe was able to remove the rest of the paper himself, with a tweezer. Charlie was miraculously cooperative. I guess he was all struggled out by that time.
Life with Charlie: very unpredicable, but never boring.

Entry for July 12, 2008
There is a slug loose in my house. A 3-inch long, fat, slimy banana slug.
The Backyard Naturalists Club was busy last night. They were out scouring the property for wildlife. Bella cought a toad, dubbed "Mr. Toad" or "Toadie" for short. Angelina found the slug. They put the toad in a large glass vase with some vegetation, sticks and a bit of water. Angelina made a home for the slug in a clean, empty jar. She added a rock, a bit of water and some sticks. We were discussing their finds and Angelina burst out crying. "The kids got a toad and all I got was a slimy slug!" she wailed. The other kids quickly agreed that both creatures belonged to everyone. Angelina was happy.
Before bed, we needed to find a way to give the animals air and secure them in their homes. Poking holes in the metal jar lid seemed too involved, so we wrapped some Glad Press 'N' Seal securely over the containers and poked holes.
This morning, Mr. Toad was there, in his little habitat, ready to greet the kids. The slug was gone. He had made a break for it overnight. All the kids made a collective yucky noise when they realized he was loose in the house somewhere. After a careful search, we turned up nothing.
So now the big, fat, slimy slug is somewhere in this house, slithering around. Only he knows where he is. Given my luck, I will be the one to find him. And I won't just stumble across him and cheerfully say, "Kids! I found the slug!"
No. You know it will be gross. Stay tuned...

Entry for July 06, 2008
It was hot today. Not just hot, but hot. A steamy, slap-you-in-the-face kind of hot. After Mass, on the way home, in the car, Charlie said, "Too hot. Go home, takin' a shower." So he took a second shower. Later, he went outside and emptied the plastic tub that we keep the outdoor toys in. He filled it with water and sat right down! He was happy as a clam, sitting in the tub with all his clothes on. It was so hot that steam was coming off his body. Then, he took the hose and doused himself. After that, he came in and took another shower.
After dinner, Joe treated the kids to a trip to the beach. I stayed behind and did the kids' jobs for them (aren't I a great mom???). They played in the sand, swam and got to pet some carp. They also spotted a hawk in a tree.
When they got home, Charlie took a shower. Then the kids had Jello, said the rosary and went to bed.
Charlie was wrinkled like a prune. But, he was happy. And clean. It was a four shower day.

Entry for June 28, 2008
There is nothing really going on. It is summer. The kids have been outside a lot. I've been rearranging things in the house to suit us better and washing a lot of sheets (because 4-year-olds don't wear pull-ups to bed). We are just coasting along. But I am aware that some of you check the blog regularly and have been disappointed in the lack of a post. Since nothing hilarious or horrendous has happened lately, to keep you entertained, I will now tell you what is known in my family as The Dead Girl Story. However, I will preface this by saying that this story happened before I turned 40 and my eyesight was good. Now that it has begun to go, I no longer find it as funny. Here goes...
When we lived in Illinois, my parents lived diagonally across the street from us. They could see the front of my house from their front porch or from some of their upstairs windows. Early one spring morning, after I had put Charlie on the bus, I get a phone call from my mother.
She talks in a conspiratorial whisper, "AnnMarie, have you looked out on your front porch lately?"
"No," I answer, "Not since I put Charlie on the bus and put out some bags for Amvets."
"There's someone sitting on your porch."
"Huh? Are you sure?" I ask, incredulously. "Maybe it's the Amvets guy sitting for a minute between stops?"
"No, your father and I have been watching for 20 minutes now. It's a girl. AND SHE"S DEAD!!!!!!!!! Go out and look on the porch. There's a dead girl on your porch. She hasn't moved since we first saw her."
"Mom?" The hair stands up on the back of my neck. "You're saying there is a dead girl on my porch. I don't want to look now."
"Go look," she prods, "I'll hold on."
Reluctantly I put the phone down and go peek out of one of the small windows in the front door. I try to look without really looking because now I am scared. No dead girl. All I see are the 3 bags I put out for Amvets. I go in the kitchen where I left the phone.
"I don't see any dead girl, Mom."
"You didn't open the door and stick your head out, did you? You have to stick your head out. She's sitting on the stairs. AND SHE"S DEAD!!!!!! She STILL hasn't moved!!!" I hear my father in the background say, "I'm going over there!" "Don't do anything! Your father's coming over!" my mother yells.
What am I gonna do?
Then, in a moment of perfect clarity that never again will be attained by me, I ask my mother, "What does the dead girl look like?"
I can hear my father shut the front door to come over. "Well, she has light brown hair and she is wearing a white shirt and blue pants. AND SHE'S DEAD!!!"
Composing myself, I ask, "Could it possibly be the brown paper bag, the white shopping bag and the blue shopping bag THAT I PUT OUT FOR AMVETS????????"
{{{{{crickets}}}}}
"Hold on. PETE! PETER! It's NOT a dead girl! It's bags!"

Entry for June 16, 2008

Genevieve's 4th birthday. What an event. It was just us family to celebrate, so we tried to make it special. She wanted Chinese food, so we had Chinese food. After discussing the cake for several weeks, we decided on a strawberry shortcake decorated with a Strawberry Shortcake decoration.
All day she would be playing, then stop for a moment and say, "I'm so happyyyyyyyyyyyy!" Once, she came up to me and said, "Mom, I need to go to the bathroom, and I need help." I reminded her that she was 4 now and she promised to go by herself. "Oh, yeah," she says, and happily skips away.
When present time came, each time she pulled something out of a gift bag, she would say, "Cool!" Except she would pronounce it "Coowal!" (Yeah, she has parents who grew up in the '80s.) She got the Tic Tacs, gum and gummy worms she was pining for, and also a bunch of other stuff. She opened up the tea set from her grandparents early and played with it the whole day. Later she opened lots of crafts and art supplies (courtesy of another set of grandparents), some new, fashionable outfits and computer games and a Disney Princess hippity hop ball. She bounced around on that like Ricochet Rabbit. After a scare, we had to make a rule that it stays downstairs.
Genevieve is looking forward to eating candy, chewing gum, having teas, blowing bubbles, creating with play dough and Moon Sand, drawing, cutting, pasting, playing phonics games on the computer and hopping around. What more could a 4 year old ask for?

4/29/08-6/14/08

2009-05-07T07:09:00.000-07:00

Entry for June 14, 2008
We were saying the rosary tonight, like we do every night. The rosary consists of 5 sets of prayers (decades) and during each set of prayers, you meditate on some event from Christ's life, through the eyes of His Mother, Mary. Tonight we were saying the Glorious Mysteries and Genevieve likes to be the one to announce them.
"The first Glorious Mystery is The Resurrection...of the body!!!"
I don't know where that came from, but we pray. After the first mystery we have to stop and remind some of the kids to pray reverently and actually say the prayers instead of sitting there with there mouths open, staring off into space.
"The second Glorious Mystery is The Ascension...of the body!!!"
We all meditate on Jesus' ascension to Heaven. After we are done, two of the kids need to go to the bathroom. We wait. We say the third mystery. During the third mystery, Charlie says, "One hour!" We all chuckle a bit. When we are done, Joe says, "Yes, Charlie, it does seem like the rosary is taking an hour tonight."
"The fourf (this is how she pronounces it) Glorious Mystery is The Assumption of Mary...of the body!!!"
When it comes to the fifth mystery, we all say, "The fifth Glorious Mystery is the Coronation of Mary, Queen of Heaven and Earth." Then Noah says, "Of the body!!!" We all laugh.
The rosary is supposed to be a spiritual bouquet that you offer to God. Each prayer is another beautiful flower in the bouquet. In our case, we have the chuckle patch from the old TV show The Magic Garden.**
**If you don't remember this show, check out this link:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q51Nki1PldA&feature=related

Entry for June 10, 2008
I took Charlie to the doctor yesterday because he was complaining of a sore throat. They decided to do a culture and while we were waiting for the results he told me he had to use the bathroom ("Use the bathroom, please."). So, I find the bathroom and he goes in. I stand outside and wait a minute, then poke my head in. He is washing up. "Don't forget to flush," I remind him, then close the door. I hear the flush and the water goes on again. I wait a bit, then poke my head in. "Why don't you dry off now?" I suggest. He takes the paper towels and dries his face, then his arms, then back and...legs? I burst out laughing. If anything, Charlie is definitely clean! And he doesn't have strep! Hooray!
Charlie does the same thing with the holy water at church. He will scoop some up, the rub his whole face, then hair, then pull up his shirt and rub his back, but he hasn't gone so far as to douse his legs, probably because we stop him before that. We get stares, but who cares? The kid is holy!

Entry for June 09, 2008
My birthday was Friday. I will not tell you how old I am, but ask any one of my children and they will be happy to. They remind me every day of my deteriorating age. For my birthday this year I wanted longer arms, so I could see. Didn't get them. I guess it is time to break down and get the reading glasses, hmmm?
This was a great birthday. As a pre-birthday gift, Joe got home early on Thursday night and told me to go shopping by myself at Zona Rosa. I took him up on it and got some new clothes.
First thing Friday morning I got a call from a friend of mine, who informed me that she attended 6:30 a.m. Mass and offered it up for me.** She also sang me Happy Birthday, a capella. After the pleasant phone call, we had the requisite tantrum over a pair of shoes. But we were able to get out the door to 9:00 Mass before it was over. It was First Friday, so Fr. Greg exposed the Blessed Sacrament and we all said the rosary in front of Jesus. To me, this was a huge added birthday bonus. After Mass, we headed over to my friend Suzanna's house. She had planned a small gathering of homeschooling families from our parish so that we could meet them. Very like Suzanna-- she is extremely thoughtful. She did this without knowing it was my birthday. We all had a really nice time and stayed way too long. It was an excellent way to spend a birthday morning!
In the afternoon a couple of eager helpers assisted me in making my birthday cake. We made a lemon bundt cake with lemon frosting and decorated it with whole strawberries. Charlie made brownies while we did the cake.
When Joe got home we left for Olive Garden. When the kids asked where we were going, he told them Chez Poisson, but they weren't falling for that again! It was crowded when we got there and a look of alarm came across the maitre d's face when I told him we were a party of seven. But, in about 2 minutes we were seated at a quiet, out-of-the-way table. Bella gives me 2 gift bags, one with 2 new pairs of earrings that the girls had picked out by themselves and one with a brand new prayer journal. Perfect gifts for me! During dinner, the kids were very well-behaved and, except for the 6 trips to the bathroom, we had a nice time. The kids told the waitress it was my birthday. "21?" she asks. "Twice," I tell her. Before we left she brought over several waitstaff to sing me a birthday song. My family thinks it is hysterical. I thank her for the public humiliation and she says I am very welcome.
We get home and rest for awhile because we have gorged ourselves on salad and breadsticks. Then we have cake and brownies and head off to bed. It may not have been the most glamorous birthday, but for a homeschooling mom of five, it was just perfect.
**For those of you who have no idea what this means, it is the Catholic way of saying, "I prayed for you."

Entry for June 04, 2008
Charlie has a new laugh. He sounds just like Tim Hulce in the movie Amadeus. All I need to do is get him a white wig and we can take the show on the road. Too bad he can't play piano...
Check it out: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rjmmjXGwarU&feature=related

Entry for May 29, 2008
I will not go into how this happened, but several crayons ended up in the dryer. There was a load of laundry in there, too. It was a color load, but now it is REALLY a color load. Not in a good way.
On the internet it tells you to use either Goo Gone or WD-40. I call Joe at work and ask him to bring these things home. I will not describe to you the hysterical, screaming, crying way I asked. After work, Joe shows up with WD-40; the store didn't have Goo Gone. I had to go shopping anyway, so I take the long trip to Walmart and buy the Goo Gone. I also go to the grocery store as well, and buy lots and lots of groceries-- hey, I'm not in town that often-- I have to take advantage. When I get home, Joe and the kids unload the car while I unpack. Then I go into the laundry room to start the hard work. I open the dryer. It is all clean. Joe took care of it when I was out. Yippee! I get the pile of laundry that has crayon-induced stains all over it and look for the Goo Gone. I cannot find the Goo Gone. "Did anyone see the Goo Gone?" I ask. No one has seen it. I sigh deeply. Then I begin to mutter under my breath. I will not tell you what I muttered. I look all over. It's nowhere to be found. I call Walmart. They don't see it at the register, but they tell me to come in tomorrow and get another one. I thank them politely, but I am thinking that I wish I just had the stuff instead of having to drive 9 exits on the highway back there to get something I already bought. Sigh...
I go back in the laundry room. The WD-40 is there. I use it on all the clothes, let them sit and then rub all the spots with dishwashing detergent (this is what it said to do online, who am I to question?). Then I set the washer to the pre-soak cycle. Before it drains I set it again. While I wait, I begin to straighten up the laundry room. Better get this WD-40 put away before we have another laundry accident, I think to myself. I open the cabinet and what do my incredulous eyes behold??? The GOO GONE!!! It is in the cabinet along with a couple other things that I bought earlier. I make a noise that sounds a little like this: "Praarrrf!!!" Then I pick up the Goo Gone and hold it in my hand and stare at it while trying desperately to remember when it was that I put it away. I have no recollection whatsoever.
So, here I am blogging, while the laundry soaks. Hope it works. Joe's summer work pants were in there, along with Bella's favorite jeans. Well, if the WD-40 fails, I can always use the Goo Gone.

5/1/08-5/26/08

2009-05-07T07:03:00.000-07:00

Entry for May 26, 2008
I was so tired after yesterday that I had trouble sleeping.
In the morning we went to Mass. Charlie was extremely giggly and Joe had to take him out. Then, as we were going up for communion, Genevieve had a meltdown and had to dragged, uh, taken out. After Mass, I looked for a woman named Genevieve that I "met" through the homeschool Yahoo Group. In the parking lot I see a woman who fits her description. "Genevieve?" I ask. "Yes! AnnMarie?" We have officially met face-to-face. She says she would like Angelina to meet her daughter of the same age. At the same time, Charlie declares a need to wash his hands and bolts back into church, where a pancake breakfast is taking place, so there are lots of people in there. I tell Bella to follow him and I have Angelina with me, right behind. On the way in, Angelina screams. I look down at her and see blood gushing out of her foot. "My scab!" she yells. She had fallen on concrete several days earlier and had a scab on the top of her foot. It somehow ripped completely off on the way in. I marvel at the volume of blood. We race to the bathroom. I see Charlie coming out and quickly tell Bella to walk him to the car and tell Joe what's going on. Then, I take Angelina into the bathroom and try to stop the flow of blood (did I mention she was wearing her white dress shoes?). I wet some paper towels and sop up what is there, but more keeps coming. I scoop her up into my arms because she is hysterical, and try to hold the papaer towel on, but it isn't working. I decide that, since we live 3 minutes from church, we'd better just get home.
We leave the bathroom and Genevieve comes over and asks how she can help. I tell her that I think it is best we leave. An usher, Vince, comes over. "What happened? he asks, a look of alarm on his face. "A scab got ripped off," I answer, "We are going home to fix her up." The shoe is dangling now, and blood is pooling inside the shoe. "Is that all that happened?" Vince asks, still alarmed. A woman comes running over with a first aid kit and begins to dress Angelina's wound. Genevieve formally introduces me to Vince and he smirks and says, "Yeah, I have seen you and your family at Mass." And heard us, no doubt.
The lady, who I don't remember actually meeting, gets Angelina all wrapped up. Genevieve's daughter comes over and we try to get the girls to talk to distract Angelina. She's having none of it. I apologize and promise we will get together another time, under better conditions. Then we leave and, on the way out, I thought I heard a collective sigh of relief coming from the church hall.
When we get home, I spray Angelina's shoe with some cheapo oxygen cleaner and it works like a charm. Great-- something positive!!!
Then we eat lunch and leave to meet some friends in the church parking lot and follow them to Kauffman Staduim for the Family Rosary Crusade. We get there, surprisingly, with no problem. After we arrive, we lose Noah. We spend time looking for him. We are freaked out. We find him sitting with the friends we came with. It's one of those "I don't know whether to hug you or punish you" moments. Our friends found seats that were in the shade, which was great because it was 90 degrees and very sunny. There was about 45 minutes of praise and worship music, which everyone enjoyed. Then the Bishop came out and gave a talk. Then we said the rosary. They had each prayer represented by a country and the prayer was said in the language of the country. It was pretty awesome to hear the same prayers in all those different languages. But I actually didn't hear all of the prayers, because we had to make 4 trips to the bathroom. Then I had to reprimand a couple of the kids for not behaving reverantly during prayer. I imagined an entire stadium of 25,000 people praying peacefully and there were 7 seats where there was chaos...
Anyway, we prayed for peace in the world and in out families and the Bishop did Benediction and blessed the crowd with the Most Blessed Sacrament**. It was amazing to be at an event like this and we felt very blessed to be able to be there.
After we left, we headed toward a buffet restaurant that Joe and I decided we would go to for dinner. We thought we would surprise the kids. They ask where we are going. Joe tells them to Chez Poisson a fancy French restaurant that serves only fish soup. They all moan and complain. He tells them it took him 3 months to get reservations, mostly because he doesn't speak French. More moaning and complaining. He asks if he mentioned their specialty, a warm salad? "Bleccch!" they all yell. They start lobbying for the buffet restaurant. Joe protests. When we pull into the parking lot Noah asks, "Dad, were you joking?"
We go in and eat and thoroughly enjoy ourselves. It was a good time. Much better than that stuffy Chez Poisson ever could have been ;) So, we had blood, we got lost, we achieved an intimate relationship with a public bathroom, but the day ended well.
**For those of you who are not Catholic and have no idea what I might be talking about, please refer to the New Testament, Gospel of John, Chapter 6. Catholics interpret it literally.

Entry for May 24, 2008
Genevieve's birthday is coming up. She will be 4 in June and she is already plotting and planning for the big event. First came some royal proclamations:
"When I am 4 I will not need help going to the bathroom."
"When I am 4 I will not wear pull-ups at night."
"When I am 4 I will not scream when I get my hair washed."
Big, big plans. She has an ongoing list of presents she wants: a pack of gum ("My own pack of gum."), a box of tic tacs and some gummy worms. She also wants "big scooter." She has a scooter already-- she's not getting another one and has been informed of this.
Then, there's the cake. "I want a lot of cream!" she tells me, shaking with excitement. "And strawberries! Can it be with cream and strawberries? A lot of them?" Yes, I tell her, I can make a strawberry shortcake for her birthday. "Strawberry Shortcake? You will make me a Strawberry Shortcake cake for my birthday? But I wanted Hannah Montana. How about half Strawberry Shortcake and half Hannah Montana?"
Sigh. And I thought I was getting off easy with the gum and candy...

Entry for May 16, 2008
A well-meaning friend sent me an e-mail about the brown recluse spider. Our computer is in the kitchen, right out in the open, and the kids came in the back door just as I was opening the e-mail. Right there in front of us, were disturbing pictures of spider bites. I closed the e-mail quickly, but the kids saw some of the pictures and all kinds of questions get thrown at me. I Google the spider. Turns out the spider is prevalent in Missouri (oh, great). It rarely bites humans, but when it does, if it is not treated quickly enough, the flesh around the bite can rot (oh, really great). I don't let the kids know. I explain to the kids that we need not worry too much about spiders, but just be careful not to play with them or pick them up without asking an adult first. We find a good picture and description of the spider and save it in favorites, so we have a quick way of identifying it. Noah was very interested that it has six eyes and a violin-shaped marking on it's body. The kids are still nervous, though, and Angelina wants to move back to IL. I assure her that every region of the country has some kind of unpleasantness, but she doesn't care. The tiny child is quaking. Being Italian, I assure myself that food will help her get over this. I serve lunch and that distracts her for awhile. Later they go outside to play. Whew!
When Joe comes home the first thing on their minds is the spider. They tell him all about it. I make sure he knows that I didn't sit them down and force them to watch a slide show of graphic pictures of spider bites, just in case he was wondering.
After dinner, Bella and I go food shopping. When we get home, around 8:00, Noah informs Bella that they have started a Backyard Naturalists Club and Dad is the leader. Angelina tells that Daddy found a crab spider and and looked it up online. She was very excited because it is definitely not harmful and it walks just like a crab. Seems she got over her fear of spiders. Bella wants to join. Noah questions her qualifications. Bella announces that she is the one who spotted the skink. She's in.
So, now, instead of a frightened brood of children, we have a club interested in the local wildlife. Obviously there are some things only Dad can handle...

Entry for May 05, 2008
My kids were playing outside today and found a skink on the back deck (if you do not know what a skink is, see above). Sounds like a Dr. Seuss creation. They didn't know it was a skink at the time, but when Joe got home they described it to him and he found out online that it was a five-striped skink. We have also seen wild turkeys in the backyard. Joe says all we need is some wild cranberry sauce and wild potatoes to go with them...
Today is my godson Jonny's birthday. We called him up and sang "Happy Birthday." Angelina did the cha-cha-chas. Afterwards she talked to him on the phone and gave him the news about her tooth coming out. Genevieve, standing next to her, whispers, "Don't forget to tell him Mom pulled it out with lip gloss!"

Entry for May 01, 2008

Charlie got out of bed the other night after everyone was tucked in and came into our room. I asked him what he needed and he told me that in September, he wants to fly to China on a vulture. Then he cracked up. He is such a joker. (Although, with the price of fuel skyrocketing, vulture flight just may become the norm. Maybe Charlie is actually a prophet...)
The next day, at lunch time, Bella was making one of her gourmet sandwiches. She put on some roast beef, provolone, pepperoni, the onions and celery from a container of Sicilian olive salad and some mushroom salad. Angelina was checking out the sandwich and said, "Wow, Bella, you make good crochet sandwiches!" After the shock and confusion wore off, we realized she meant "gourmet."
After lunch, Angelina was complaining that her loose tooth was bugging her. She asked me to help her pull it out. It was really hanging. So, we got some dental floss, wrapped it around the tooth and pulled. It came right out. She looks so cute with her first missing tooth. And she whistles a bit when she makes the "s " sound.
A long time ago I did the same thing with Charlie. He had a loose tooth that hung on for weeks. Every time he smiled it was in a different spot. I took the dental floss and got it out in a jiffy. But after that, he would never let me floss his teeth. The poor kid thought I wanted to take all his teeth out. He got over it, though. He flosses regularly now.

4/9/08-4/28/08

2009-05-07T06:56:00.000-07:00

Entry for April 28, 2008

We went back to IL for 4 days because my niece was receiving her First Communion and we wanted to be there. The ride was fairly uneventful. Before we left, we stopped to gas up and Joe got a very large cup of coffee. Charlie asked for a sip. Joe passed it back and he took a sip, then returned it. Later in the trip, Charlie asked again and Charlie began to chug. "NONONONO! That's my caffeine for the trip!" Joe yells. Charlie hands it back and says, "It's empty."
We got there at about 11 p.m. on Wednesday and dropped 4 kids off at my parents'. Then we went to our friends Dean and Kerry's with Noah to sleep there, because my parents can only fit 4 people in their house, so we had to split. I know, we could have gone to our old house with an air mattress, but we wanted to see Dean and Kerry anyway.
We get to their house about 11:30 p.m. They were up and we got to chat a bit, then we went down the basement to sleep. They had it set up as a hotel. HA! There were mints on the pillows and a list of "Hotel Rules" (which included a warning that the remote control was calibrated only for their TV and wouldn't work elsewhere if it was removed), and they had put a price list on their downstairs refrigerator that was like a minibar. It was hysterical! The prices were outrageous, just like a real hotel, except they listed what was actually in the refridge, so there was Gogurt for $7, slices of cheese, $2 each, eggs, $1 each, etc. Then, in the bathroom, they had put a sign over the toilet seat that said, "Sanitized For Your Protection." There was also a note under the bathroom mirror that said, "Forget something? Check at the front desk. We may have what you need!" It was a really funny welcome from some treasured friends!
The rest of the trip was very busy, but we got to see my niece on her special day and that created some nice memories. Other friends of ours had children receiving that day, so we were treated to being able to see them as well. On Sunday, we had a gourmet breakfast at my parents'. My mother made French Toast, bacon, sausage and, not regular pancakes, but gingerbread pancakes. At church it seemed that almost all our good friends were there. Fr. Randy, who used to be my spiritual director, was the celebrant, so I visited with him and also received a travel blessing.
The ride back wasn't too bad. It got pretty hairy toward the last 90 minutes, though, because the kids were really getting on eachother's nerves. After we pulled over on the side of the road to let Genevieve pee in a cup, I put on a rosary CD that was recorded by Angelina's Godfather, Fr. Beekman, and we all said the rosary. Everyone quieted down immediately and the rest of the ride was peaceful.
It was a good trip, but the kids were happy to be home, which made me feel good about the move in general. It is a huge grace from God that the children have adjusted so well. They really miss friends and family, but we are at peace here. Now, what the future holds, only time will tell...

Entry for April 14, 2008
This weekend will be forever known as "couch weekend." Joe and I spent the weekend on the couch with aches, pains and fevers. Joe had such a bad headache that every time he coughed, he yelled in pain. Genevieve, who had gotten better, was also feverish and stuffy. Angelina was fatigued and stuffy as well. We had to miss Mass. We were in no shape to leave the house at all.
Yesterday I spoke to a good friend of mine about our current sitaution. She joked that if we lived closer she'd make us dinner. Hah! About an hour after that phone call, the doorbell rang. Joe hauled himself off the couch and answered the door. It was a guy with a box of food. "This is a get well gift from your friends in Illinois!" he happily proclaims. I think Joe managed a "thank you," and took the box up to the kitchen. Delicious smells pervade the house. Wow! SO glad we're not nauseous! It is an authentic, Kansas City, barbecue dinner. We had homemade baked beans, Texas toast, pulled pork, brisket, burnt ends, onion rings and chicken fingers for the kids. They descend on the food like locusts. Genevieve is too tired to eat. She manages a few bites of Texas toast. I eat a few bites and wrap some up for when I can breathe (and therefore taste) better. Everyone decides that it is one of the most delicious meals we have ever had.
After we are done and I am comfortably settled back on the couch, I reach for the phone to make a thank you call. It rings as a grab it. It is my thoughtful, Illinois, barbecue sending friend. I tell her she's crazy, and then thank her profusely. She tells me that she spoke to the owner of the restaurant and they don't deliver, but when she told him we had just moved, and were sick as dogs, he quickly agreed to bring the food over.
This morning when Joe woke up, he felt a lot better. He took the boys to work with him today, so he must have energy. I still have a sinus headache, but the fever is gone and I actually feel like I can get up and walk around. Genevieve and Angelina are still stuffy, but there are no fevers and they are playing together as I write this. So, what's the conclusion? Friendship and good food cure all.

Entry for April 11, 2008

A Mr. Richard Feder from Fort Lee, New Jersey writes in and asks, "How are the Creedons doing on their fourth day in Missouri?"
Well, lemme tell ya, if it's not one thing, it's another... They got fevers, aches, pains, insomnia, some are throwing up, coughing, chills, night sweats and stuffy noses. It's always something.

Entry for April 10, 2008
I think Charlie likes it here. We set up his room first. His desk went under the window, so he has ample light for drawing. He unpacked all his CDs and has been listening a lot to either Dean Martin or Silly Songs With Larry. He made the green beans at dinner yesterday and did a good job. He has been very helpful all in all and adjusting well, I think.
He starts school next Friday. We take him in on Thursday for a tour and to meet the staff. I am praying that the transition goes well. Giant Steps was his second home for 9 years and I am sure he will miss it deeply.
He keeps putting the heat up to 90. I don't know why. It hasn't even been cold. Noah has had a fever and we all thought we were coming down with it, but it was just the heat. Except Genevieve actually did get a fever last night, then I came down with one this afternoon. I slept for a long time. The kids were good while I slept. They stayed in the kitchen on the computer while I was just steps away in the living room on the couch. When Joe got home he took care of dinner. Now he is with the children that are well, trying to find Sam's Cub to go shopping. Hope he put the GPS on "fastest route."

Entry for April 09, 2008
Yesterday we went to shop for a washer and dryer. We didn't bring ours because we are leaving them with the house. Besides, my washer is a gas one and here we need electric. So we decide to buy reconditioned ones because we had a reconditioned dryer years ago that we bought for $50 and it lasted 6 years. We have no idea whether or not the house we will eventually buy will have these appliances, so reconditioned seemed the best way to go.
I found a dealer online. He is in Belton. We don't know where Belton is. We check a map. It is in Missouri, south of KC. Some very good and very thoughtful friends of ours gave us a GPS system for a going-away gift. This seems like a great time to use it. We get the thing programmed, load the kids in the car and sit back and enjoy the ride. We begin on a very pretty back road. "Hmmm," Joe muses, "Not the road I would have picked, but this thing is supposed to know what it's doing, so..." An hour and a half later we are in Kansas. Bella says to her brother, "Noah, I don't think we're in Missouri anymore." I get a weird feeling of deja vu when she says that, but it goes away. Joe and I are perplexed. We have passed many major highways and still no Belton. The ride has been very scenic, but... Wait a minute! A light bulb goes off over Joe's head. He checks the settings of the GPS. It is set to "scenic." AAARRRGGH! Joe quickly reprograms it and off we go. By this time, Genevieve has to use the bathroom, Angelina and Noah are fighting, Bella is being loud and Charlie is complaining that Bella is being loud. "You kids were great on the long trek out here yesterday. What's the problem today?" I lament.
FINALLY we get there. I quickly pick out the biggest dryer I can find, a commercial grade monster. I get a Kenmore washer that is much bigger than the one I have in St. Charles. Flippin' sweet! They deliver the next day and yes, they warrantee everything for 3 years. Yippee! We get back in the car, completely forgetting that our 3 year old has to pee.
We take the kids to Sonic. While we are waiting for our food, Genevieve begins to pee. "Mom? I'm peeing." "AH! Please stop right there!" I desperately plead. "I'll get you to a bathroom." The girl delivers our food. Joe asks if our toddler can use their bathroom. She informs us that it is not working (yeah, right!). "Everyone, look for a pull up!" I yell. The kids all dive down onto the floor looking for a stray pull up. Joe finds one. We get it on Genevieve and everyone is happy.
We go directly home, because the GPS is now properly programmed. On the way, I start to laugh, because I am thinking what if they made the voice on the GPS like my mother's when she was teaching me how to drive?
"OK, make a right. A RIGHT!!! Watch the truck! Get over! Get over!"

3/20/08-4/8/08

2009-05-07T06:48:00.000-07:00

Entry for April 08, 2008
I learned a lot of things in the days before the move and on our drive down to Smithville.
I learned that a 26 foot truck will not hold all of our stuff.
I learned that it is unnecessary to save every piece of clothing the kids have ever worn "just in case" they will be worn by another child someday.
I learned that my daughters have entirely too many shoes.
I learned that I actually am capable of driving using only my side mirrors because the back window is blocked by stuff.
I learned that if you listen to music on the car CD player for four hours straight it will overheat and refuse to work until it cools off.
I learned that my tolerance for listening to Silly Songs with Larry, also ends at 4 hours. If I listen longer than that I develop a twitch in my left eyelid that may possibly be permanent.
I learned that my children are capable of being really good for over eight hours in the car when they really want to.
I learned that, although we left some beautiful, generous friends behind, we arrived to find that there were beautiful, generous friends here, too.
More to come...

Entry for April 01, 2008
This morning, I went in the girls' room to wake them up and Angelina's face was covered with green dots. "Were you girls up last night, playing when I thought you were asleep?" I ask. Angelina rubs the sleep out of her eyes, "Huh?" "What did you do to your face? Go wash that off immediately." She looks bewildered, but leaves the room. Seconds later she returns, in tears. "Bella played a joke on me!" she wails. Ah! Things are starting to click with me (I'm slow, aren't I?) I hug my spotty child. "Let's go wash that off," I say. Now that I think of it, I was so busy today that confronting Isabella completely fell off the radar. {{sigh}} How am I supposed to be an effective parent if I'm too tired to discipline?
Bella is a joke genius. Two years ago, in February, she approached me. "Mom, when Dad is out of blue hair gel, save the bottle for me, OK?" "What for," I ask. "I'm planning an April Fool's Day joke. I'm gonna fill it with blue Jello, but you've got to help." Without even hesitating, I was in. It was so hard to wait the 6 weeks to do the nasty deed, but the payoff was great. Joe was a good sport. I think he was startled by the ingenuity of it. Hope I'm never the butt of one of her jokes...
On my parents' first April Fool's Day in Illinois, Joe played a trick. (Now, let me preface this by saying that my parents' backyard looks like an arboretum. It is perfectly manicured and equipped with a little pond that has a waterfall and many, many pieces of statuary.) He sneaked across the street to their backyard and did a little rearranging. He came home chuckling, but wouldn't tell me exactly what he'd done.
The next morning, April Fool's Day, I get an angry phone call from my mother. "You're not going to believe this!" she cries, "Someone stole ALL the statues in the backyard! We moved out of NY to get away from the crime and we're not even here six months and someone steals our statues! I'm calling the police!"
I tell my mother to calm down and ask her why she thinks they are all stolen. "I looked out my bedroom window and they're GONE!" she yells. "Why don't you go out there and see what's going on before you dial 911?" I suggest. "OK, I'll call you back."
Seconds later, the phone rings.
"AnnMarie, some weirdo did something weird." She sounds freaked out. "They put our St. Francis statue on the stoop facing away from the house and all the little animal statues are around him like they are listening to him preach! It's weird! Who would DO that?"
I act nonchalant. "I don't know. Hey, Mom, what day is it?"
"Thursday. Anyway, can you believe it? Do we have a psycho in the neighborhood or what? Should I call the police?"
"What day is it, Mom?"
"Thursday. This is so weird! Nothing like this happened in NY. What should I do?"
"Check the date."
"I told you, it's Thursday." She sounds miffed.
"Not the day, the date."
She sighs. "Wait, I have to change the calendar...(long silence)...WAS THIS YOU????????????"
I can't type what she said next, but I can tell you there were a lot of asterisks, ampersands and pound signs coming out of my mother's mouth.
The good thing is, now we laugh about it. Thank goodness...

Entry for March 27, 2008

It's March 27th and it's snowing. Not just flurries. There's snow on the trees and the ground. It is accumulating. People are shivering, making fires (hopefully in fireplaces) and drinking hot cocoa.
I think Al Gore should re-name his book, An Inconvenient Stab at Creating Mass Hysteria About Global Warming.

Entry for March 26, 2008
An old friend stopped by today for coffee and to say one last good-bye. We had a good visit. Good byes are difficult, but I am getting to see lots of people, and that is fun. After she left I went shopping. I had to wrestle a $14 can of anchovies out of Charlie's hand, but otherwise the trip was uneventful. I came home, unpacked, served lunch and then I was tired. I baked a birthday cake for a friend and then I was really tired.
Sensing my extreme fatigue, the kids occupied themselves today. Bella is spending the night at my parents' house with my niece. She spent a good part of the day calling her cousin to discuss what she should pack, making a list of what she should pack and then finally packing. Noah is a bit under the weather, so he spent the day reading in bed and drinking tea. Angelina followed me around, holding onto my shirt and hissing, "My precioussss..." It scares me when she does that. She also drew a great picture of a Hobbit hole with two Hobbits standing in the doorway. "Which Hobbits are these?" I ask. "It is Sam and Rosie Cotton getting married." Did I tell you my kids are Lord of the Rings fanatics? Does any other six-year-old know who Samwise Gamgee married??? The rest of the day was spent drawing flowers and cutting them out, then gluing them to a paper towel roll to make a bouquet.
Charlie alternately played on the computer, ate oranges, skin and all and drew in his room. He was big into watching the "Strand Home Video" logo on You Tube today. Now I have the music from it in my head. In case you don't know what the Strand logo is, it is at the beginning of any Thomas the Tank video.
Genevieve was more needy. "Mom, can you tape this marble to my wrist?" "OK," I answer. I've been asked to do other weird things that are gross, but this is something that is weird, but not gross, so I comply. She is happy. "Mom? Will you play Angelina Ballerina with me? It is a matching game. You turn over the cards and get a match and then take turns." "Wow," I say, "you know so much about that game that you could teach someone to play!" I have her set it up while I make dinner. We play and then I get dinner on the table. I make homemade lemonade to treat the kids because they have been so good today.
After dinner I tell the kids to go get PJ's on while I clean up. Genevieve comes downstairs, wiggling. "Mommy, I have to go to the bathroom!!!" "Who is in there?" I ask. "No one." Huh?! "Well, then go." "OK!" she shouts jubilantly, then skips away. Upstairs I hear Angelina singing Maurice Sendak's Alligators All Around in an operatic voice. Oddly, Noah is quiet. Charlie comes into the kitchen, removes a seedless cucumber from the fridge and begins to eat it whole.
Last week, when I was out shopping, Bella spotted a sign that said, "As far as anyone knows, we are a normal family." I think I need to go back and buy that sign...

Entry for March 20, 2008

Every Holy Thursday we act out the Last Supper using grape juice and matzoh. I completely forgot to buy those things this year, since I am busy packing. We wound up using a silver goblet of V8 Fusion and a slice of whole wheat bread. It was late. Joe had gotten home after 9 p.m. and we were all tired. Charlie went up into bed and refused to come down. Joe, of course, played the part of Jesus. Bella was Peter, Angelina was John and Genevieve was the rest of the apostles. Noah wanted to be Judas and was scrounging for 30 quarters (he takes his role very seriously). I put a stop to that and I narrated from the Gosple of Luke, while everyone acted it out. My children, budding theologians that they are, insisted we do it again, using a different gospel. So, onto Mark we went, more V8 was poured and an additional slice of bread was procured.
When we were done, Isabella expressed her dislike for plain whole wheat bread and asked if I would buy some "sugary white bread." We act out the Last Supper and my kids are thinking about junk food? I wonder if that was running through James the Lesser's head. "Darn! Whole wheat pita again??? I thought I asked Peter to pick up some white."
Hmmm...I don't think so...

2/9/08-3/14/08

2009-05-07T06:44:00.000-07:00

Entry for March 14, 2008
Joe donated 2 prints of a drawing Charlie made to a silent auction for a camp for kids with autism in KC. One was 5 X 7 and one was 8 X 10. The small one sold for $75 and the large one went for $350!!!!!! How wonderful for Charlie, that his love of art can benefit others...
One day, when Bella was an infant, I was sitting on the couch in the living room nursing her. Noah, who was two and a half at the time, toddles in and says, "Mommy, I don't draw on the wall." "That's right, Noah," I say, "You don't draw on a wall, only paper." Then common sense takes over and I ask, "What is Charlie doing?" "Drawing on the wall." AAARRGH!
I run into the dining room. Charlie, my artist, is there and he is standing in front of a huge mural that he had drawn of Mushu, the dragon from the movie Mulan. It was a very large drawing, maybe 5 feet long and 3 feet high. It was absolutely beautiful. Mushu is a Chinese dragon and Charlie had drawn the details perfectly. But, wait a minute, what is this? Awww, Mushu is a male dragon and the drawing was anatomically correct! I sigh. What am I going to do with this obviously male dragon mural on my dining room wall?
I talk to Charlie and explain that all drawings must be done on paper. I ask him to draw the same picture again and give him the paper to use.
Then I call Joe and tell him about the original art work on our wall. He says, we have two options: paint over it or change the decor of the room to an oriental theme. What a wise guy!We decide to paint over it. But we leave it up for a couple of weeks just so we can appreciate Charlie's talent.
So, unknowingly, the new owners will be receiving an original "Charlie," under several layers of paint.

Entry for March 12, 2008
Well, things are wrapping up here in IL. We have less than a month to go before we start our adventure way out west. I called and cancelled my newspaper subscription today. I am s-l-o-w-l-y boxing things up. But, most importantly, I changed my avatar to reflect my state of life right now. Did you notice the suitcases in the background? She's cute, isn't she? They didn't have a plumper body or I would have chosen it. I am on an emotional roller coaster-- alternately eating and crying. It's a bad, bad cycle. Not that I don't want to go, because it is surely God's will that we do. It just isn't easy...
It is time for teacher conferences at Giant Steps, Charlie's school. I e-mailed his teacher and asked if I could do a phone conference-- it would save me half a day and time is of the essence right now. He e-mailed me back and said, yes, the phone conference this Thursday would be fine. Then he told me that they were planning a good bye assembly for Charlie during school on his last day, April 4th. I burst into tears. Wow. What a send off. Charlie gets his own assembly. The people over at GS are so unbelievable. Just when you think they care too much, there they go again. The staff there constantly go above and beyond what would be expected of them. It is a good place.
After I stopped crying, I forwarded the e-mail to Joe and said, "Please be home for this." He e-mails me back, "Honey, that's this Thursday, in two days, I can't fly home for that." Huh? Then I realize he thinks I want him home for the phone conference, not the assembly, which was what I was talking about! Does he really think I want him to get on a plane, fly home and make a phone call? Have I been acting THAT irrational??? Have I completely lost it, or give the appearance of having completely lost it?? I mean, I cry a lot, but I believe I still have some sanity left... I e-mail him back and ask him these hard questions. I guess this is the kind of miscommunication that happens when you talk to your husband mostly through e-mail...
Well, on a day that was spent mostly crying, at least I had one good laugh.

Entry for February 25, 2008
I dropped Joe off at the airport last night. On the way there, Charlie was in the back seat saying, "broccoli." He just kept saying it in different ways, "BROCK-lee, brock-a-lee, broccoli, BROCCOLI!!!" I'd LOVE to know what is in his head...
There is a line from a song from one of his favorite movies, Rock-A-Doodle, that goes, "Cock-a-doo, what a day, the sun is shining brightly!" Charlie sings it "Cock-a-doo, what a Dave, the sun is shining in the broccoli!!!" I guess in Charlie's world broccoli is happy thing.
Have a broccoli day.

Entry for February 21, 2008
Tomorrow is Bella's birthday. She will be 9 years old. I can't believe how fast the time goes. It was just yesterday she was born, wasn't it?
Bella was two weeks early. I think she was early because we belonged to a food co-op back then and it was delivery day. I had stood up for about 3 hours helping to check in food. The nice people at the co-op loaded my car up with the groceries, but I hauled most of them in, except for the really heavy ones. I had to get the perishables put away, after all. Noah was 2 years old at the time and he was home with me. After Charlie got home from school, in the late afternoon, I started to get contractions. My friend, Christine, had offered to take the kids, but Charlie had a very bad problem with elopement at that time and since she lives on a farm with a creek and lots of corn to get lost in, we decided Noah would go to Christine and Charlie would go to the neighbors down the street.
Charlie left on his adventure and the contractions really started getting bad. Christine was out and was coming by to get Noah in a little while. My back was killing me. The only way I could get through the contractions was to stand up and lean on Joe, with my arms around his neck. Christine arrived around 8 p.m. and took Noah. Joe and I left for the hospital and the contractions were coming stong and frequently. Thank goodness the hospital is only 10 minutes away. I had 3 contractions on the way from the parking lot to the entrance of the hospital.
When I get to the maternity ward they want me to sit in a wheelchair. Sitting, at that point was really uncomfortable and I argue with them. They persist. I let myself have one more contraction and then dive into the chair. Joe tells them to go fast. They get me into the labor/delivery room and I hop up just as another contraction is starting. It was exactly 8:29 p.m. when I was officially checked in. We go through all the questions, and indignity of wearing the tiny, backless gown, getting poked at by the nurses, etc. We wait a little while and the doctor comes in. My water hadn't broken yet, so he said he would break it and then check on me in a little bit. Sounds fine to me. He takes out-- what is that? A crochet hook? He breaks the water and then he and the nurse leave. As soon as they are out of the room I feel the urge to push. Poor Joe. There's no one around and he starts to yell for the doctor. Too late. I hear someone screaming-- it could have been either me or Joe, or someone down the hall-- I don't know. Out she comes. Out of the corner of my eye I see the nurse enter the room. A look of horror crosses her face. She breaks into a run. But the way I see it, it all happens in slow motion, like a bad dream. She's like the Bionic Woman going across the room yeling, "Nooooooo!" Joe catches the baby. And so Isabella Mai Creedon enters the world in a very dramatic way at 9:29 p.m. on 2/22/99. And the first thing the proud father says to his firstborn daughter is, "Isabella, do you think we still have to pay the doctor for the delivery?"
I usually don't go for weird spellings of names, like Gylle, instead of Jill, or Geena instead of Gina, etc. Bella's middle name is Mai, which is the French word for May, pronounced the same. The reason why her middle name is Mai, is because Joe's Great Grandmother was French Canadian and her name was Maibelle. So Isabella Mai is a roundabout way of honoring Joe's Great Grandmother. Some people have asked me if it is a Hawaiian name, pronounced MY. No, it's not. All my daughters have middle names that honor the Blessed Mother. Bella's honors her because May is the month of Mary. Angelina's is Rose, which honors Mary under the title of Mystical Rose and Genevieve's middle name is...well, Mary.
When Bella was a preschooler, she would make funny noises. I would ask her what she was saying and she would always answer, "That's Elvish, for bed clothes." No wonder the Lord of the Rings Trilogy is her favorite movie and book. She's a funny kid. Loves the grossest things imaginable. Her other favorite books are The Encyclopedia of Everything Nasty, History's Grossest, Wackiest Moments and Seriously Sick Bible Stuff. Yet she is very prayerful. She insisted on the Douay-Rhiems when I bought her a bible for her first communion. She always remembers to pray for a former neighbor of ours, and unmarried elderly woman. She likes to light a candle for her at church. Bella has an extensive collection of holy cards and a devotion to St. Kateri. She is also very motherly and a good big sister.
Isn't it amazing how God allows all of ourchildren's traits to unfold like the petals of a flower, so we can savor each one, instead of dumping them all on us at once? He sure knows what He is doing, doesn't he?

Entry for February 09, 2008
We are in Smithville again. We drove down and this time we went straight through. It was an uneventful trip; which is good. On the way I saw a sign for the Machine Shed Restaurant. In what way did the owners think this would be appealing to anyone's appetite??? It sounds like a place where everything comes with a side of diesel fuel and you have to use waterless hand cleaner after each meal. Maybe it's a restaurant for robots. I don't know.
We have mostly been meeting new friends and driving around to look for areas to live in when we come down here. Today we went to Gladstone, which I had been reluctant to do, since it is surrounded entirely by KC. I just can't wrap my brain around the fact that you can live in or very close to KC and still be in the boondocks. Kansas City sounds like a city, but much of it is still open land. Very open. With cows. Every time I think about being out here permanently, Marissa Tomei's voice whispers to me, "Yeah, like you blend." *
I guess I shouldn't worry too much. We met the families of both Noah and Bella's penpals and they were some of the nicest and down-to-earth people I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. Noah's penpal, Sam, is a great kid. He also feels called to be a priest, just like Noah. They spent lots of time playing army and just having a ball. Bella's penpal, Lydia is just as much of a Lord of the Rings fanatic as Bella is. They hit it off immediately. If I had to create brand new friends for Noah and Bella, I couldn't have come up with two more perfect kids. I can see God's hand in all this...
So, anyway, we head over to Gladstone, because Sam's mom informed me that that is where the Italians live. We have been on a quest for an Italian deli and we found one today in Gladstone. We got sandwiches there for lunch. Yum... everyone was happy! The kids were especially good in the car. We put about 100 miles on it, just driving around. We did see several subdivisions in Gladstone that we really liked. One of them is within walking distance of the local parish.
On the way back Joe got the kids Hershey bars because they had been so good on such a boring trip. Genevieve sang in the car, as usual. Angelina did her imitation of a hobbit. She sounds just like Pippin when she says, "But what about second breakfast?" Charlie hummed quietly to himself and commented when the kids got too loud. And Noah and Bella had a good discussion on the difference between hyperbole and exaggeration.
It was a good day. A day full of hope tinged with a bit of sadness at the familiar faces we will eventually leave behind. We are trying to look at this as an adventure. We will be closing a chapter of our lives in St. Charles and opening a new one in MO. Although there are a few questions we have about the future, like where, exactly, we will live; we know that God is in control and caring for us. So, at least we won't ever have to ask, "But what about second breakfast?"

* Marissa Tomei as Miss Mona Lisa Vita in the movie My Cousin Vinny

1/18/08-1/30/08

2009-05-07T06:39:00.000-07:00

Entry for January 30, 2008

When I woke up yesterday I said a totally different prayer than I have been saying. Instead of the whole litany that I ususally go through (Oh, Jesus, please let our house sell soon, let Charlie get into a good school in MO, help us find a suitable house down there, good friends, blah, blah, blah), I simply prayed, "Lord, Your will be done." Amazing what God can do when you get out of His way...
The last thing that needs to get done to make the house move-in ready was refinish the upsatirs hallway floor. Since we are leaving soon for MO, there's very little time to do this. Joe will be home for less than 12 hours before we leave, so he can't do it. So, I decide that I am the best candidate for the job. I put out a message on the homeschool Yahoo group asking for a palm sander. I get an overwhelming response. A good friend calls and volunteers her sander and her husband drops it off Tuesday morning. I thank him profusely. I look at it and try to make sense of it. I start getting intimidated. It comes with a case of attachments. I put that in a corner without opening it up. The phone rings. It is my friend, Kerry. She's coming over with a floor sander. Whoa! A floor sander! It sounds even more intimidating than the palm sander, but it also sounds faster!
Kerry backs into the parking lot next to my house and I go out to help her carry the sander in. This thing is HEAVY. Not "Oh, gee, this bag of groceries is heavy" heavy. More like "Oh, @#%* I am going to @#%* DIE!!!" heavy. We count to three then hoist it out of the trunk. She starts to laugh. Very contagious. I join in. Here we are balancing the sander between us and just roaring with laughter. We begin to shuffle down the sidewalk with the thing and then realize that it has wheels on the bottom. Sheepishly, we lower it and push it to the porch, then hoist it up and get it in the house. Now, for the stairs. I bust out laughing again. Kerry joins in and I tell her that we are like the mice in Cinderella trying to get the key up the stairs. "Stop making me laugh!" she laughs. We compose ourselves and I get on the step and start to pull, while she stays at the bottom and pushes. (Did I mention this thing was HEAVY???) Slowly we pull it up. I am grunting like Monica Seles. Finally we get it to the top. Somehow we feel as if this was an episode of I Love Lucy. I get the curious urge to drink Vitameatavegamin while stuffing candy in my mouth and stomping on grapes. But it passes. Ethel, uh, Kerry, shows me how to use the thing. I try it out while she is with me. We both marvel at it's effectiveness. Then Kerry goes home with the promise to come get it tomorrow.
The phone rings. It is another one of my good friends. She said she heard that I am sanding today and she's bringing over dinner. I start to protest and she said she knew I was going to do that and to stop it because she's bringing over dinner anyway. Now, I stop because this particular friend happens to be an excellent cook, so I take the offer.
I round the kids up. I explain to them that schoolwork must be done independently and they must either do it in their rooms or in the classroom, but they may NOT come into the hallway. I show them the sander and how it works, to satisfy their curiosity, then send them into exile.
About 2 hours later I am done with as much as I could do with the floor sander. I shut it off and lean against the wall, exhausted. Those things are hard to use!!! The phone rings. It's Kerry. I tell her I am done. She can't believe it. Neither can I. About an hour later she shows up to pick up the sander. Now for the challenge. We need to get the sander into her van. Here we go! Down was easier than up. We take it easily to her car. As we were lifting it off the ground into the trunk we both get another attack of the giggles. It gets stuck on the bumper. We laugh harder. Finally it goes in. Just as Kerry closes the trunk, my parents show up. They want to see the floor. They are incredulous. My Mom asks when I am going to get the rest done. "Right now," I tell her. I'm on a roll. She offers to stay and make sure the kids don't do anything harmful or illegal while I am sanding. They need to be downstairs because the palm sander doesn't have a bag for the sawdust and I don't want them breathing it in. Another hour later I am done. Wow! I am feeling pretty cocky right now. I may even go for my own show on HGTV: Desperation Remodeling on a Non-Existant Budget. What do you think? I could be the creative, free-spirit and Kerry can be the organized, tech-pro sidekick. Or, we could just be Lucy and Ethel.
I go and sit down on the couch. Ouch. Someone suggested I wear knee pads when doing the palm sanding and I don't remember that little nugget of advice until now, when my knees look like two lumps of ground beef. Hey, it's an occupational hazard when you are a skilled remodeler like me, I think to myself. My mother offers to vaccuum upstairs. I let her. When she finishes I thank her and she leaves. Several minutes later, dinner arrives hot and right to my door. God bless my dinner fairy! She made chili and corn bread and fruit salad. Oh, yum! We pray for all the people who helped us that day, then dig in. Genevieve has a head cold, so she just wants the fruit. I spoon some into a bowl for her. She peers in. "But, Mom, where's the salad?" In Genevieve's world, salad is synonymous with lettuce. I explain to her that fruit salad has no salad in it. This is acceptable to her and she polishes it off immediately, then requests more.
Dinner was excellent. There was almost no clean up involved and for some reason the kids are very tired, so I decide it's bedtime. By 9:00 the house is quiet and all are abed. Before I drift off, I remember to say a prayer of thanksgiving for the friends that God has given me. I also put in that I am confused as to why He is asking me to leave them and go down to MO, but I try not to dwell. He is smarter than me. He knows what He is doing. I know that we function as His hands here on earth. Today he used the hands of four generous women to help me through. Maybe in Missouri it will be my hands he uses to help someone else...

Entry for January 29, 2008

I am SO tired. Tell you all about it tomorrow...

Entry for January 25, 2008
I was so tired today. It was like anvils were attached to every appendage. I am so weighed down by the responsibilities of single parenting, selling the house, catching up because we are behind in school, etc., that it is taking it's toll on me physically and emotionally. My energy is gone. So, we did what we call "couch school." Everyone gets on the couch under a blanket and we do school on our laps. It is a cozy way to pass a cold winter morning.
When I realized that I was nodding off, I gave the kids a break and told them to play in the livingroom while I shut my eyes for a minute. They begin to plot and plan. They leave the room. They come back with supplies. There is a lot of activity. I get no true rest. Someone taps me on the shoulder. It is Noah with a small piece of cardboard. "We're doing a TV show, Mom. Here's your remote." The piece of cardboard was decorated with channel and volume buttons and a power button. I haul my sleepy body up into a semi-sitting position and press the piece of cardboard. "Click," I say. On the coffee table is a box with a rectangular hole cut into it. The Weather Channel is on. A small hand dressed in an old sock with a face on it appears in the cut-out "screen" and delivers the weather report.
Genevieve comes over and climbs up on my legs. She asks for the remote and says. "Click." The Children's Channel comes on. Three socked hands appear and announce that today's topic is the alphabet. The sock in the middle explains that the alphabet was invented by the Phoenicians, who were also called the Makers of Civilization because they were fisherman who travelled from port to port bringing the ideas from one culture to another. Genevieve is stone still, like she's having an apparition or something. It is amazing how kids are drawn to the TV, even a fake one. The sock trio sing the alphabet and have Genevieve guess some letters. She's having a ball.
After the Children's Channel we were treated to the Animal Channel where we learned that some cats, like the Scottish Fold, have folded ears. After the was the Myth Channel where we learned the difference between a Chinese dragon and a plain, mythological one. After this, TV is done for the day. Three heads appear on the screen. I am told that today's TV was brought to me by Bella, Noah and Angelina. We clap. Genevieve says, "Click." TV time is done.
We say the rosary afterward. Charlie comes home from school. The younger 4 kids go outside (briefly, because it is COLD), then have hot cocoa. We finish up school then eat dinner. Charlie initiates a game of chase with me while Genevieve watches. She stands off to the side clapping and laughing while the two of us collapse in a heap on the floor. The other children play with Legos for awhile and it's off to bed for everyone.
My afternoon TV watching sure perked up the day. Who needs a 60" plasma? Who needs Oprah? I have the best TV in town. Maybe even the world...

Entry for January 24, 2008
We had a doll hair mishap today. Isabella's beloved Elizabeth's hair somehow got melted. Bella is very distraught. I feel terrible. That doll is so precious to her. Her Nana makes handmade clothes for the doll and Bella dresses her in them all the time. I called the company to see if we could just get a replacement head instead of buying a new one. Noah says she needs a "complete headectomy."
Noah's birthday was yesterday. He's 11 now. He was my biggest baby at 9 lbs. 1 oz. He had jet black hair when he was born and it stuck straight up in a Mohawk. He looked like a Sumo wrestler. If you saw a baby picture of him, you'd never know it was the same child now. He has sandy colored hair and is thin, but athletic. No more Sumo wrestler.
Noah was born 6 years after Charlie. Charlie was a c-section and I wanted to do a VBAC with Noah and no epidural. I wanted to offer the labor up for a specific intention and so I prayed through the whole thing. I remember being at the hospital and being in labor and doing all my hoos and hees like a good Lamazer and all of a sudden I blacked out. When I came to I was on the floor hugging a metal box. Joe and the nurses flipped me back on the bed and all of a sudden I felt like I had to push. I managed to whisper "push" to Joe between hees and hoos.
Joe: I think my wife has to push.
Nurse: Impossible. We just checked her. She's at 7 cm. She has a way to go yet.
Me: Puuuusshhhh!
Joe: (breaking out into a cold sweat) "Ah! Go get the doctor!"
Nurse: But...
Joe: GO get the DOCTOR!!!
Nurse runs out, doctor runs in.
Doctor: Holy Crow! It's the head!
The head came out. That was the easy part. You know, they always make a big deal about the head. Now, I'm laying there thinking this and realizing that there are a pair of SHOULDERS that follow the head. No one ever mentions the shoulders. I decide I am not going to do it. Too big. Joe and the doctor are cheering me on. I try to push without really pushing. It doesn't work. I pray a Hail Mary. Somehow the strength comes to me. One huge push and here he is! The big red Sumo wrestler enters the world!
Doctor: WOW! I honestly did not think you could do this!
Me: Thanks for telling me AFTER I gave birth.
Noah was so big and I needed so many stitches that we achieved sort of a celebrity status in the maternity ward. Until two days later, when someone gave birth to a 10 lb. 11 oz. baby. Ouch...
******
We decided to head down to Smithville again in a couple of weeks. We seriously need some family time. At bedtime, I was telling Charlie this. He said, "Missouri, west, north." I explained that it is west, but it is south, not north. I continued to talk about the trip and he began moving away from me. Then he clamped his hand over my mouth. Coffee breath. I had downed a cup right before tucking him in. I apologized and moved away. He picked up the blanket and held it over my mouth. Oh, well. Payback for all those sardine kisses he's given me...

Entry for January 18, 2008
We were studying religion and one of the questions I asked Noah was, "Why shouldn't we place our faith in horse shoes, ouija boards or fortune tellers?" Noah answered that it is because it is the sin of superstition because it attributes power to a creature and not God. (He was correct) Then Angelina chimes in, "Yes, and it could be painful for the horse!"
OK, so I absolutely could NOT take it anymore. I looked like a Beatle. Something had to be done, so I gave myself a haircut. Yes, I did. It actually came out pretty good. I had picked up a texturizing scissors awhile back and that thing is a wonder. This is not the first time I have cut my own hair. Patience is definitely NOT one of my personal virtues. And thank goodness for hair putty. Spiky, messy hair doesn't reveal mistakes as much as perfectly coiffed hair does. That's why I opt for spiky and messy.
So, for those of you who e-mailed me that you were afraid of the shrub; the shrub is gone. But beware, she'll be back in about 6-8 weeks...

12/26/07-1/12/08

2009-05-07T06:38:00.001-07:00

Entry for January 12, 2008
Charlie was full of jokes today. Now, for those of you that don't know this, all the textbooks will tell you that people with autism are completely incapable of joking around. It has to do with something called The Theory of Mind. Apparently neurotypicals (people like you and me...well...you) have it and people with autism, or auties, as adults with autism like to be called, do not. Except Charlie. He has a good sense of humor-- always has.
I remember when he was about 7, he was eating fresh strawberries. He put one on the end of each finger, held up his red-tipped fingers and yelled, "Owieeeee!"
Yesterday he came home from school and was giggling. I asked him what was so funny and he said, "Snowman, inside!" That's his kind of joke. His latest is to tell me the name of a movie with the wrong distribution company. He will say, "Tom & Jerry, Disney!" and I will answer, "No way! That's WB!" And he falls into a fit of giggles. So, "The Little Mermaid, WB" and "An American Tail, Disney" are hysterical jokes as well.
He is also on a hair-cutting kick. Around Christmas, he cut all the front off his hair. He looked like a geek extraordinaire. I tried to fix it, because the thought of him going in public like that made me cringe. He wouldn't sit still. It came out really bad and I had to cover it up by putting lots of hair putty in his hair and messing it up. It was a few days before we were able to get him to a barber. He looks much better now.
Last night, I was having a conversation with Noah and all of a sudden his eyes grew as wide as saucers. I was scared to look behind me and then I hear an odd sound near my ear. Noah yells, "Mom! Watch out! Charlie is trying to cut your hair!" He actually had a lock of my hair in his hand and was opening and closing the scissors near my ear. Payback, maybe? Or maybe he's trying to tell me I look horrible. I really do. I look like I have some Australian brush on top of my head. It has been way too long since I got my haircut. No time. I'll go next Saturday, hopefully. In the meantime, if you see a small shrub driving a minivan around St. Charles, it's me.

Entry for January 10, 2008
Charlie turned 17 on Sunday. I cannot believe he is 17. Gone is the smooth baby face, replaced by some zits and facial hair. ((sigh)) Time is so fleeting. He has come a long way in 17 years. There was a time that the possibility that he may never speak was very real. He is such a fighter and he has such a zest for life that he has overcome so very much. I am very proud of him and tell him that often.
Charlie has also been the source of many, many hilarious moments for our family. All the kids are, actually, but Charlie always seems to add a twist...
It was the first day that Noah was in Safety Town and parents had to stay. Isabella was 3 at the time and Angelina was still an infant. I had Isabella on my lap as the director was talking to the parents. Something is not right. I sniff. I wince. I sniff again. "Why does your hair smell like pee?" I whisper. I can see from the look on Bella's face that she is clueless.
As soon as we get home I wash her hair. Then I try to figure out what's going on. Did she wet the bed? I check the sheets. They are fine. Hmmm. Hair doesn't just smell like pee for no reason. I think and think and I still can't come up with a reason. Finally the light bulb goes off over my head. I run to the bathroom and check the spray bottle I use to spritz her hair. Bella's hair was curly back then, so in the morning I would spray it with water and scrunch it to get the curls all bouncy. However, this day there was no water in there. It was pee. I sprayed my three-year-old's head with urine. What kind of mother am I? Well, I am Charlie's mother, too, and at that time Charlie was peeing in bottles. Didn't think he'd expand to spray bottles...
Several weeks before, we went to Mass and then planned on going to pick up some cold cuts for lunch, eating at home, then going to the Geneva Swedish Days Parade. We drove into Geneva to the store and saw that people were already lining up to see the parade, so we decided on an impromtu picnic instead. We put Bella and Angelina in the stroller, got some picnic blankets out of the trunk, bought some food and drinks and camped out to watch the parade. It was a hot day and Charlie wound up drinking 2 bottles of Snapple Iced Tea. The parade was loooong and after awhile he told me he had to use the bathroom. So we started packing up, but I noticed that he was pretty uncomfortable, so I went ahead to the car with Charlie, while Joe finished up and took the other 3 to meet us there.
When we got to the van, Charlie was visibly struggling to hold it in. I had an empty Snapple bottle, and no one was around to see, so I had him get in the van and go in the bottle. This was during the period of time when Charlie had to completely pull down his pants in order to go, which was why I told him to get in the van. He was standing between the front and middle seats and I held the bottle. I was too busy to realize that his naked bum was visible through the front windshield. He started to go and the bottle got more and more and more full until I began to panic and had visions of pee going over the top, down onto my hands and onto the seat. Both my and his Guardian Angels were working overtime because it stopped just at the top. Whew! As I was carefully screwing on the cap I hear Joe yelling, "Charlie! Noooooooooo!" He had come down the street and the view he got was Charlie in the van with his pants down! I popped my head out of the van and saw him racing frantically down the street pushing the double stroller with one hand and dragging Noah along with the other. I tell Joe it's all under control. The poor guy!
When we got home I disposed of the bottle and called it a day. About a half hour later Joe said to me, "AnnMarie, that is gross. Why didn't you throw out that bottle?" Huh? I told him I did. Then he said, "Then what's with the Snapple bottle on the kitchen counter?" Oh no!
That's right, Charlie went into the recycling bin and had gotten out a bottle and went in the bottle. It took a quite a few weeks to help him unlearn the bottle thing. We'd find bottles of pee all over the place-- even in the refrigerator. Needless to say, I avoided buying apple juice for quite some time.
Months after he got over the compulsion to pee in bottles, we took Charlie to the doctor, the reason escapes me. But, you guessed it, the doc wanted a urine sample. When we were in the bathroom to collect the sample Charlie shot me a look that clearly said, "You ask me to pee in the bottle. When I do, you say not to and I get in trouble, now you want me to pee in a cup? I think you are completely and totally insane." However, I am sure he was also thinking: "But I love you anyway."

Entry for December 30, 2007
Before Christmas, we cut off 14 inches of Angelina's hair. She had been growing it for Locks of Love. I haven't mailed it yet, because I have this weird aversion to going to the post office to mail anything. I just never seem to get there and the thing I am supposed to mail winds up collecting dust and eventually being donated to St. Vincent dePaul. I don't even buy stamps-- I order them from the postman. He brings them to my house (yes, you can do this at no charge). All my bills are automatically deducted. See? I avoid the post office at all costs. Why? I don't know. Nothing traumatic ever happened to me at the post office. Maybe I'm just lazy.
Anyway, this time I am glad I didn't send the hair because I heard from my hair stylist, Erika, that Locks of Love doesn't necessarily use the hair you send them. They sell the hair at their discretion. They also do not necessarily provide the wigs for free; they charge according to a sliding scale. And, most of the recipients are not childhood cancer patients, but people of all ages suffering from alopecia. Which is OK, except, when I told Angelina about my cousin, Janine, who died of leukemia as a child, she made the decision to donate her hair to someone like Janine. Both Angelina and I would like her hair to actually make it into a wig for a child who needs it. SO, I found another charity, called Little Princesses, that was started by the parents of a child who died from cancer. Every ponytail they receive gets used and all the wigs they provide are completely at no charge to the child or their family. It just sits better with me. For those of you who are interested, here is the link: http://www.littleprincesses.org.uk/donate/hair.aspx
Now, if I could just get to the post office...

Entry for December 28, 2007
I told the kids a joke at dinner: "How does Good King Wenceslas like his pizza? Deep and crisp and even." They didn't think it was as funny as I did, but then we started singing:
Good King Wenceslas looked out, On the Feast of Stephen,When the snow lay round about,Deep and crisp and even;Brightly shone the moon that night,though the frost was cruelWhen a poor man came in sight,Gathering winter fuel.
and Angelina follows up with,
"Yankee Doodle keep it up!
Yankee Doodle Dandy
Mind the music and the steps
And with the girls be handy!"
HA! Try it! It absolutely fits!

Entry for December 26, 2007
As I write this, Fintan is at Children's Memorial receiving his new heart. Please say a prayer of thanksgiving for this Christmas miracle! And please pray for the family whose child died on Christmas Day and who, despite their grief, chose to gift Fintan with their child's heart.
+++++++++++++++++++++
Years ago, my childhood friend, Denise said to me, "AnnMarie, you can never just do something. With you, there's always a story attached to everything." Unfortunately, she was right.
Almost everything I ordered online this year got messed up. I ordered my in-laws a nice gift box of a variety of foods. It had about a dozen pears, some apples, candy, nuts and cookies. What they got was 3 dozen pears. I got my in-laws PEARS for Christmas. When I called the company to resolve the problem, I should have had them send a partridge.
Even stuff we received was messed up. About 2 weeks ago, Fr. Beekman, Angelina's Godfather, called to ask me her dress size. He always sends har a birthday gift, usually from Amazon.com, because he lives over an hour away and, being a priest, Christmas is his busy season, so we don't get to see him in person. Anyway, I am expecting a dress to arrive in the mail. Wednesday, I get a small package from Amazon. I thought that was odd, since he mentioned a dress and was about to toss it in a drawer to save it for her birthday (which is ON Christmas and that is a whole other story, which I will tell at another time), when common sense took over and I opened it. It was a Harry Potter DVD. Now, I know Fr. Beekman and I know he would never send a Harry Potter anything to anybody, so I am thinking maybe this was a mistake. I look at the return address. It is from Michael Pollack from Manhattan. Now, unless Angelina is getting on MySpace and chatting behind my back, I'm pretty sure we do not know this man. I plan to resolve the problem the next day, which is Thursday and we are getting carpeting installed in the LR and DR.
Thursday morning I get up early, finish getting ready for the installers, send the kids across the street to my parents' and exile myself to the kitchen. I can't get into any other part of the house except by going outside, around to the front door and back inside the house, so I make sure I have my jacket in the kitchen with me. I set out to straighten out the Harry problem. After 15 minutes searching on the website for a phone number, I find it and call Amazon. I explain that we received the DVD in error and ask if I can return it. The CSR is incredulous. Apparently this doesn't happen very often. He tells me he can't believe I didn't just keep it. Yeah, yeah, whatever. How can I get the dress? He can't help me. He needs an order number for the dress, which I don't have. I bet if he calls Michael Pollack of NY, NY, he would have the order number, probably the dress, too. So, ultimately, my honesty gets me nowhere.
I e-mail Fr. Beekman with the whole saga. He e-mails me right back. Here is what he wrote:
"NOOOOOOOOOOOO! I bought her a Christmas dress! This is the work of the devil!!"
I crack up! Then the phone rings. It's Fr. B. He is not happy. He promises to call Amazon and straighten it out and get something else in the mail. I explain to him that he doesn't need to take all the trouble to do that and I will just explain to Angelina that he wanted to send a dress, but Amazon messed up. She's reasonable, she'll understand. He's having none of it, so I wish him luck and sign off.
Now I am stuck in the kitchen, with about 10 dining room chairs and a big box of books. Since there is just a small, L-shaped area in which I can maneuver, there's not much I can do. I go downstairs and throw in some laundry. I wash all the dishes. I drink some coffee. I clean my stove top. I call my friend Kerry and we chat for awhile while I scrub.
The doorbell rings. I throw on my jacket and head out through the snow to the front porch (WHY did I wear my CLOGS today???). It is another homeschool mom. Huh? Then I remember, she was supposed to stop by today and pick up some clothes I am giving away. She sees me approaching from the back yard and I can see the puzzled look on her face. I run upstairs to get the bag of clothes and then I come down and give it to her. For some reason I feel compelled to tell her all about my vendor problems. The story spills out like vomit and she politely listens. This poor woman, whom I have never met face-to-face before has instantly and involuntarily become my therapist. I realize what I am doing to her and let her escape.
I notice that the mail has come and I bring it around to the back door and into the kitchen. There is a box addressed to me. I open it and realize it is a gift I ordered online and had sent to my cousin for her new baby, except now it has arrived at my house. An expletive escapes from my mouth (hey! my kids are across the street, remember??). I need to call her and explain. I check her number in my phone book and, as I am dialing, I remember that she moved and this number may not be current. I hear the familiar "dee-dee-DEE! The number you have reached, yada, yada, yada..." and realize I am right. Darn! I will call information to get it. I dial 911. 911!!! AAARRGH! I hang up the phone! Then I dial 411 and get the number. Then the reality that I dialed 911 by mistake hits and I dial it again.
"911 Operator."
"Hi. I just dialed 911 by accident and wanted to tell you that I don't need any assistance."
"You dialed 911 by accident?!"
"Yes, it was accidental. Please don't send anyone to my house. I don't need any help." (and as I am telling her this I am thinking, maybe I DO)
She sighs. "What's your address?"
I give it to her and hang up. Then I call my cousin and leave an apologetic message.
Then the phone rings. It is Fr. B. "I'm on Randall Rd. I'll be there in 15 minutes." Wow! He went and purchased a dress and drove out here from Amboy to give it to Angelina! I explain to him that we are getting carpet installed and I can't answer the front door from inside, so he should ring the bell and I will come out the back and get him, then we will go across the street to where my kids are. I can hear his eyes rolling. "With you, some things never change," he sighs. Has he spoken to Denise, I wonder?
I finish cleaning the stovetop. It is SO shiny! I go and switch the laundry. Then I hear the doorbell. I throw on the jacket and head to the front door. It was nice to see an old friend standing there! We say our hellos and cross the street to my parents' house. He gives Angelina the dress. It is beautiful; a black, velour top with a red taffetta skirt with a black velour design on it. She tries it on and looks just like an angel. He has to go. Before he leaves, Fr. Beekman gives us all his priestly blessing.
The carpet isn't quite done, so I leave the kids and go back across the street, to my small, L-shaped patch of kitchen. I make more coffee while I am on hold with the vendor that messed up my cousin's gift. After 20 minutes I just start pressing buttons. Hint: pressing "00" will get you a live person. That fiasco gets resolved. After I hang up, the carpet is done. It looks good. Hope the new owner appreciates this. The carpet people leave and the kids come home and then we all work to put things back on tables and shelves and in their rightful place. I make a quick dinner and then it was time for the Little Flower Buds meeting. It was our turn to host. The meeting was very nice. We put together a box of toiletries for a local homeless shelter and made cards to go with it. We ate cupcakes and talked about St. Jane Frances de Chantal. Then the girls played while the parents chatted a bit. It was a very pleasant evening.
That night, after the kids were in bed, I was the most tired I have ever been without having just given birth. As I lay in bed I thought that, although it was a crazy day; no policeman had come to the house, my stovetop was as shiny as ever, there was brand new carpeting in the LR and DR, I got to see an old friend and my family had received a priestly blessing. And then I chuckled. Denise is right; there is always a story, but it usually has a pretty good ending.

11/05/07-12/13/07

2009-05-07T06:31:00.000-07:00

Entry for December 13, 2007
I gave Noah a haircut today. I cut the back, and was getting rid of all those little hairs when he starts yelling. "Ah! Ooooooooo! Owowowowowowow! Mom! What are you DOING?!" (Noah and even the slightest hint of discomfort do not mix)
ME: "I'm clipping the little hairs on the back of your neck."
NOAH: "Don't DO that! I might NEED those!"
ME: "Why?"
NOAH: "If you cut them all off, how do I tell if I'm scared?"

Entry for December 12, 2007
It is such a pain to have the house on the market. You never know when they'll call for a showing, so the house pretty much has to be perfect all the time. Unfortunately, I forgot this fact until about an hour before Mass on Sunday. Let me preface this by saying that 5 of us had the stomach flu on Thursday and Friday, so nothing got done, except the making of a lot of dirty laundry, which I am always behind on, anyway. Saturday was spent recuperating and disinfecting everything.
So I am lounging in my jammies, putting off getting into the shower till the last minute and suddenly it hits me, the house is a MESS!!! Oh no! I flip out and start barking orders at everyone. They freak and start to scatter. Joe looks at me as if I have lost my mind (a look he uses often). "We might get a showing while we're at Mass!! Hurry!! Clean! Pick things up! QUICKLY!!!!!" All of a sudden they are gone. I am running around grabbing stuff, doing what my friend Denise's husband calls a "cheap clean," which means you just make it look that way; and I thankfully realize that Joe has them all upstairs to dress and pick up rooms. But I am downstairs getting all worked up and thinking that at this moment it would be really nice to be Elastigirl.
Finally, it is passable. I go into the bathroom to take my shower, which I REALLY need now. I open the bottom door of the closet to get a towel and... CRASH!!!! The top door comes flying open and EVERYTHING-- all the toiletries, hair stuff, etc. cascades out onto the floor. I must have screamed, because Joe was at the door asking if I am OK. I tell him I am. But I'm not. I am naked, standing in my own personal sea of toiletries and Mass starts in about 20 minutes. I take the fastest shower ever and tell Joe to put the shelves back and I'll take care of the rest. He does, then loads the kids in the car. I begin to put everything away. WHY do I have sunblock from 2001? Do I really need 8 half-used deodorants? Hey! Who has been using up my good body scrub from Bath & Body Works??? I throw most of it away and let myself feel guilty for not recycling for about 20 seconds. Then I run through the house grabbing what we missed the first time.
As I walk out the door Bella yells from the car, "Mom! Look! A hawk killed a small bird on our path and ate it! You can still see the blood and feathers and stuff!" {{{sigh}}} Some things are just beyond your control...
Of course we did NOT get a showing that day, but, darn, the house looked good!
I tacked up a poem at the entrance of our house to warn people in case I miss something and they are there for a showing. Perhaps it will warn them/help them understand/make them chuckle. Here it is:
We have five children and we must confess, that quite often our house is a mess!
So look around, but close your eyes if you must, to laundry, crumbs, fingerprints, dust.
Please remember as you tour our dwelling, that it's the house, not the dust that we're selling!

Entry for December 01, 2007
Everyone has been asking when I am going to update the blog. Sorry, guys. It has just been nonstop around here. We had the fundraiser on November 16th for the Schiltz family and it was a big success! We raised enough to help them out for a few months and we fed over 700 people! Please continue your prayers for Finn to get a heart...
* * * * *
I am so tired, I don't even know why I am sitting here at the computer. We went to Smithville, MO for a week and got back about 2:00 this morning, so I am zonked.
Car rides are always interesting, especially with 5 kids. It takes a little over 7 hours to get from St. Charles, IL to Smithville, MO. Well, if you don't stop. With 5 kids, you stop. The trip always starts the same way. I get the lecture from Joe: "Do not give the children anything to eat or drink. I am not stopping till we get there." In this case, there was Hannibal, MO, Mark Twain's boyhood hometown. We thought it would be nice to check it out, since Noah and Bella are avid readers and Noah, especially, has read lots of Mark Twain. So Joe's intentions were to drive for 5 hours straight till we hit the Mississippi and Hannibal.
The ride started out nicely. The birds were chirping, the sun was shining, the world was happy. Five minutes later Isabella and Genevieve are having a fistfight in the back seat. Joe starts yelling at them. Charlie gets upset because Joe is yelling and squeezes Noah. Noah cries. Angelina begins to whine that she is thirsty. I burst out laughing. Joe glares at me. I can't help it. All I can think of is that outside the car it's so peaceful and we are driving at 70, er, 55 miles per hour and it is like complete chaos on wheels. That's our family.
After a couple of bathroom breaks, a snack (eaten in the car) and an endless medley of Hannah Montana songs courtesy of Genevieve, we arrive in Hannibal. It is much later than we were planning on getting there. The sun is setting and the attractions are closed. Oh, well, we can take a walk around after dinner. We find the Mark Twain Diner (seriously, you expected a different name?) and get a table. The waitress informs us that there is a buffet. We check it out. It is completely repulsive. There are trays of breaded lumps of unidentifiable food and various veggies and salad fixings. After careful examination, we realize that there is fried chicken, popcorn shrimp, whole (I mean with the fins and head) fried catfish and frogs legs. I had never seen frogs legs as a food before. They look just like they do on the frog, except breaded. Ugh, icky squishy frogs, breaded and fried. I try to act natural and as if I am not completely grossed out. So, I ask the kids if anyone is interested in having the buffet. The are ecstatic! They all want the buffet, except Angelina, who always waits until the waitress gets annoyed because she's taking too long to order. Eventually, she decides on a bowl of chili. Good girl.
Charlie immediately heads for the buffet. He puts a catfish and about seven frogs legs in his dish, sits down and gets to work. In about a minute there is a catfish skeleton in his dish. The waitress brings my meal and I am busy eating when I hear Bella say, "Charlie, you can't eat the spine! Put it down!" She looks at me and makes a yucky face. I make a face back at her that says, "I don't care if you think it is gross, he is using good manners and eating food that HE likes to eat." I have faces for many occasions. I use that one a lot, though. Then I tap Charlie on the shoulder and quietly remind him that, no matter how pleasantly crunchy they are, we shouldn't eat bones. A couple of minutes later I furtively glance over to see how he is making out with the frogs legs. I don't think he likes them as much as the catfish; he only ate the little flipper-feet off of them. I can't take it anymore. I go up and get him a dish piled with normal, non-squishy popcorn shrimp. He eats it all.
After dinner we make sure everyone uses the bathroom to ward off disaster and we head out the door. On the way out Noah sees that they have a jar of Andes mints for 5 cents each. He politely asks for a quarter and gives it to the guy behind the counter, then gives each one of his siblings the candy before taking his own. Good boy.
It was dark out, but the weather was mild, so we had our own twilight tour of Hannibal. We saw Mark Twain's boyhood home, Becky Thatcher's house and Cardiff Hill. The kids were happy with that, so we piled into the car and headed west. Noah starts saying, "We're goin' west! We're goin' west on the wagon train!" He is a great mimic and he sounds like a leathery old prospector. We all crack up. Ten minutes later Noah and Bella are fighting and Angelina is begging for a snack, because she is SOOOO hungry. Charlie yells, "It's too loud!" I giggle. Joe glares. We're on the road.
The week in Smithville was good. We stayed in a house that Joe's bosses are letting us live in for several months after we sell our own. This way we don't have to scramble to buy a house right away. It is very generous of them. The kids enjoyed the fact that it was almost completely empty, so they did a lot of running and jumping. There was nothing to sit on, because it is unfurnished. Joe brought in the patio set, so the kids had places to sit at meals. The kids enjoyed looking around and deciding who was to go in which bedroom when we move. We went and got our library cards at the Smithville library, so the kids had lots of books to read. We also went to Arthur Bryant's and got a taste of real Kansas City Barbecue. Charlie, of course, loved the ribs, but the other kids liked the burnt ends best. By the end of the week, we had decided that we liked it, but that we would like it even more with our own furniture. Or ANY furniture, for that matter.
The return trip was basically a replay of the trip there, without the stop in Hannibal. Except we listened to Tony Bennet and Frank Sinatra most of the way home. Nothing like snapping along with "Boulevard of Broken Dreams" to get you excited about the prospect of being in a car for 7 hours. When the kids got tired, we listened to an audio book; Madeleine L'Engle's A Swiftly Tilting Planet. Noah, Bella and I love L'Engle's stories. Joe hates them. It was torture for him to listen to the audiobook, but he made the sacrifice for his loved ones. What a guy!
We got home safely. No bodily fluids were spilled on the way, there was minimal bickering and everyone kept their clothes on. All in all, a good trip, I'd say.

Entry for November 09, 2007
Today we and some other homeschoolers headed over to the VFW post, where we met with two war veterans; one from WWII and one from Afghanistan. I have never seen so many boys in camo clothes. But, more importantly, I have never, ever, seen so many children sit quietly for such a long period of time. They were absolutely mesmerized.
Noah was the most still and quiet I have ever seen him. Anyone who knows Noah knows that his need to talk is equal to his need for oxygen. Well, at one point, one of the vets was describing his stint in Saudi Arabia and talking about what it is like to sleep in a foxhole with scorpions and other insects for months at a time. Noah couldn't hold it in any longer. He raises his hand and says, "Actually, the scorpion is an arachnid." Noah-- always good for a bit of science trivia!
Those vets were amazing. They were there for almost 3 hours talking and answering questions. We truly have NO IDEA what these guys endure for us. I have always felt like I was patriotic and support the vets, but now I realize what a slacker I am. Get involved. Help these guys. They give everything and get very little in return. A good place to start is www.woundedheroesfund.net Check it out.
Anyway, my hubby set this up, so I went early with the kids and brought some snacks and coffee. Genevieve played nicely with her little friend Cecelia. But apparently she drank one too many juice pouches, because, during Q & A time, Noah informed me that Genevieve was in the girls' bathroom and her tights were wet (now that I think of it, how did HE know this?!). So I go in there and, lo and behold, she is standing in a puddle of pee. I am so thankful she had the good sense to remove her boots before the pee came out. I throw out the tights and underwear and clean her up as best I can, but nothing can change the fact that I've got a pantyless toddler walking around. To make matters worse, I can't just leave, because I need to stay and clean up. So I'm stuck there with little Miss Au Naturelle (not sure if I spelled that correctly-- the French is a bit rusty) until everyone else leaves.
A few minutes after we get out of the bathroom she has to go again. I take her in and she's doing a dance while I put the paper down (didn't she just go??). I put her on the toilet and-- I didn't know girls were even capable of this-- she pees OUT of the toilet onto my shoe. Right then and there, any problems with pride that I have had went out the window. I am now a person that people take aim and pee at. How low can you go?
Then, of course, on the way home, we had the requisite tantrum. Seriously, what's a day without a tantrum? My parents happened to stop by just as I was hauling the kicking, flailing child into the house. While they were visiting she writhed on the floor making guttural sounds and then removed all her clothes. I think my parents were scared, because I heard my father say, "C'mon, let's get out of here," to my mom. Genevieve eventually calmed down-- she always does. After the tantrums she is the sweetest child in the world. Which leads me to believe that my daughter has an evil twin. (What, you think this is a bad theory? Ever watch "I Dream of Jeannie?" Enough said.) If I could just figure out how she's getting in the house, I could end the scourge of tantrums.
Later in the day, my mother called and said she would come sit with the kids while I went out to pick up the pizza I ordered for dinner. Wahoo! I can pick up the pizza BY MYSELF!! Thank God for small favors!
OK, so speaking of thanking God for favors I'm going to get totally serious about something. As much as I poke fun at Genevieve's tantrums, I can be thankful for them, because the truth is, she is a healthy child. Friends of ours have not been so fortunate. Mark and Gina Schiltz have a little boy, Fintan Patrick, that needs a heart in order to survive. Mark has taken a leave of absence from his job to be with his family and help with the burden of traveling back and forth to Chicago, where Finn is at Children's Memorial as they await news of a heart for Finn. Some friends and I have organized a fundraiser for them this Friday, November 16th at the VFW on Cedar and N. 3rd St. in St. Charles, IL, from 5-9 p.m. It's a pasta dinner and a silent auction. If you can make it, please go. If you can't but want to help, here is a way to do that:
Make check payable to: The Fintan Patrick Schiltz Fund
Be sure to include the account number on your check: Account # 4500232949 Mail checks to: Remittance Processing Dept. Charter One Bank PO Box 42006 Providence, RI 02940-2006
To read more about Fintan and for pictures, see his CarePage at: http://www.carepages.com/ServeCarePage?cpn=MightyFinn452&extrefid=tlcinvite
And, if you do go on Friday, you'll get to meet me. I'll be the one with the screaming toddler...

Entry for November 05, 2007
Charlie had a great morning today. I have been giving him 2 soft gels of fish oil every day in addition to his other vitamins and I think it's helping him socially (besides, he loves fish so much, why not add more to his diet?).
Anyway, I go in his room to wake him up and I hear, "Takin' a shower," from under the comforter. I tell him that it is, indeed, shower time and he scoops up the clothes we laid out last night, except no socks because I have a huge laundry basket full of clean socks that I am hoping we use up before I have to actually pair them and put them away. I hate doing that almost as much as cleaning the toilet. So, I will get him the socks out of the basket when we get downstairs. He notices there are no socks and says, "Socks, please," so I explain to him about my aversion to socks and he listens as we walk downstairs, then he sighs and says, "It's Monday." I sigh, too.
Before he gets in the shower we need to shave because Charlie is starting to look like a parolee with the scruff on his face. So I tell him to put warm water on his face and he does, then I put the shaving cream in his hand and he rubs it on. He is careful to avoid his lips. The first time we shaved, he tried to shave his lips. I had to tell him not to shave his lips. Then I got to thinking, "I wonder, in the history of man, how many times the sentence 'Don't shave your lips,' has been uttered aloud." Not many, I'd wager. But I digress...
I start to shave him because we are pressed for time and he gets annoyed at me because he is so sure I am going to mess up and nick him. Finally he can't take it anymore and pushes me away and rinses the rest of the shaving cream off, while saying, "It's all gone. It's very all gone." All right, kiddo!
On the way out of the house, he stopped and picked up the newspaper and handed it to me. Excellent! When he gets on the bus, though, he doesn't wave. That was a big bummer. Usually he will wave and I can read his lips saying, "Bye, Mom." It is always a good day when Charlie waves.
Anyone who knows Charlie knows he is a man of little words. But he can sure say a lot in just a few words. Years ago, he was saying something that sounded like "missy kwilla." It dawned on me that he would only say it when I lost it and was yelling at someone. Then, one time, in the middle of the night it came to me. He is a big "101 Dalmatians" aficionado and what he was actually saying was, "Must be Cruella." I must be really scary when I'm mad.
Lately, when I call him to come downstairs for something he has been saying, "Keep your pants on!" Hysterical. Bella says it's from Rock-A-Doodle. Who cares? He's using it correctly!
Once, I knew a mom of a boy who had autism. He was in Charlie's preschool class. I saw her at school one day and she was all excited because her son had said his first word. "Wow!" I said, "That's great! What was his first word?" "@&%*," she replied. What do you say to that?
Sometimes, when I tell Charlie to sit down, he will say, "Shut up and sit down." This makes me feel terrible.
Me: "I didn't say, 'Shut up and sit down, Charlie, I just said, 'Sit down.'"
Charlie: "Shut up and sit down!"
Me: "OK, I did say it that time, but just to tell you that I didn't say it. I'm not telling you to shut up, just sit down. I wouldn't tell you to shut up."
Charlie: "SHUT UP AND SIT DOWN!!"
Me: (sitting down) "OK."

10/16/07-10/31/07

2009-05-07T06:28:00.000-07:00

Entry for October 31, 2007
We went trick-or-treating today and it was fun. We have enough candy to put all the kids in Portugal on a sugar high for four days. But no smarties. Darn! I LOVE smarties and usually steal them from the kids' treat buckets. Maybe they got wise this year and ate all the smarties first.
The kids saw lots of scary stuff today. There was a zombie that delivered candy, a spider that came down from a ceiling, a spider that was eating a kid dressed as Spiderman, etc. Now, given that I had a 3 year-old and a very shy 5 year-old with me, I was cautious and tried to shield them from the very scary stuff because I don't want them to be in therapy when they are 20, blaming me for their phobias (and also because I'm their Mom and I care about them).
So what was the scariest scary thing they saw today? It came running out of a house. My kids rang the bell and the owner opened the door and out ran a SMALL DOG. Genevieve and Angelina started screaming bloody murder. They both jumped right out of their skin, did 17 jackknifes in the air and landed back in their skin, still screaming. Then they clutched at me as if the Creature from the Black Lagoon was slithering after them while they were stuck in quicksand.
The dog lay down and let the other kids pet it. It didn't even let out a yip. I stood back and protected my girls from the animal, which I found out was a yorkie-chihauha mix. Yes, it was that tiny. You never know what will set them off...
Now I am changing the topic and was completely unable to come up with a suitable segue, so here it is, all awkward and choppy. Sorry. It's late and I'm tired.
Anyway, yesterday was one month exactly since I wrote my first blog entry and it has gotten over 450 hits. I don't even know 450 people. Is it one person, checking the blog 15 times a day? A handful of people with nothing else to read? I don't know, no one leaves comments, except Mary Kay, who, besides being a friend, has sort of become our family cheerleader. Well, whover you are, I am glad that my public humiliation makes your life richer in some way. If these entries give you a little lift, then I am glad. And knowing you are out there helps me, too. The next time I am dealing with a tantrum in a very public, but quiet place, surrounded by gaping onlookers I will be able to say to myself, "No matter how weird this gets, the blog people will appreciate it."

Entry for October 28, 2007
I went and saw the movie Bella. It was AMAZING!!! All of you go see it, right now. Outside of The Passion of the Christ, it was the most powerful movie I have ever seen.
Anyway, Joe was home this weekend (yay!!) and instructed me to get out of the house (he must have noticed the tics I am developing and the chunks of hair missing from my head). So my buddy Janet and I went to see the movie. We got there before the movie started, but it was PACKED, so we had to sit in the front. Not the very front row, but about the third row in. Still, I had to lean back and tilt my head to see.
The movie is beautifully filmed, but gritty and raw in it's style, which I liked. But quite a bit of it takes place in either a car or a train and, believe it or not, I GOT MOTION SICKNESS. That's right, sitting still in a movie theater, I got nauseous. By the time the movie was over, I thought I was going to lose it. When we got into Janet's car I was getting the chills and when she backed up to get out of the spot I felt like my stomach was going to fly right out of my mouth, hit the dashboard and smack me in the head.
Luckily, Janet is a good friend and noticed that I wasn't just a bit queasy, but that I was ready to hurl. She thoughtfully pulled into a nearby McDonald's parking lot, got me out of the car, bought me a vanilla shake and instructed me to drink. Surprisingly, it worked. Then we sat and chatted for awhile, which was great fun. We actually closed the place. What wild women we are!
My kids will like that I wrote about being nauseous. They think anything that has to do with throwing up is just hysterical. Isabella knows a bunch of different ways to say "throw up." Let's see if I can remember them all:
Ralph, hurl, worship the porcelain god, do the technicolor yawn, upchuck, spew, drive the porcelain bus, blow chunks and, her all-time favorite, running the stew master.
Disgusting, but funny-- to an 8 year old. As for me, the next time I head to the movies, I'll pop a Dramamine, bring along a motion-sickness bag and hope for the best.

Entry for October 24, 2007
Let me start out by saying that I spent an hour writing a blog entry and Yahoo wigged out, so I lost the whole thing. Thanks, Yahoo.
It's been a hard week. Joe has been in KC for a week and won't be back till Friday night. The kids are punished. Well, the younger four. Somewhere between Friday and Sunday, they did something to the upstairs toilet bowl so now it can be picked up off the ground. There is also a hole in the ceiling in Noah's room. No one fessed up. They are all punished. Except it is really me that is punished, because they are WITH me and they are BORED.
In India they are having a problem with a pack of roving macaques terrorizing people. They attack people and steal tourist's food and generally are very destructive. Frankly I don't think it is a roving pack of renegade macaques-- I think it's my kids. Somehow they figured out how to transport themselves halfway across the world for kicks. Then they forget and do the same stuff at home. That's when they get punished.
Today I was in the dining room yelling at, uh... doing school with my kids when the doorbell rang. As I opened the door I could hear angels singing. A heavenly light shined through and the fragrant scent of cinnamon wafted through the screen. There was an angel there with a cup of Starbuck's coffee. Coffee? For me? For a moment, time stood still and it was just me and the coffee ...
"MOOOOOM! Angelina won't leave me alone!" ZAP! Back to reality!
It was LeeAnn with the cup. LeeAnn is a fellow homeschooling mom. She is a very busy, talented woman and a homeschooler extraordinaire. She's functioned as a sort of homeschooling doula for quite a few women, including me. She has the cup of coffee in one hand and in the other is a little bag; the kind that says, "Inside me is something that has A LOT of carbs." Now, this was not just any cup. It was the VENTI. What a gal!
"I understand you've had a hard week. This is for you." I thank her profusely and invite her in, but she can't because her 3 year old is sleeping in his carseat. She stands on the porch so she can chat and keep an eye on him.
The children are curious. They start to swarm. Isabella tries to steal the coffee. I have to keep swatting her away. Angelina is prancing around. Noah, surprisingly, is nowhere to be seen. All of a sudden, I hear a sickening thud and a wooden stool comes down the stairs, with Genevieve behind it. I scoop her up and she is crying so hard she's not making any noise. She begins to wail, which makes me feel less freaked and then I rock her until she calms down. She is shaken, but OK.
"Isabella locked Noah in the basement and I was trying to get him out, Mommy," she sniffs.
I get the rest of the story from the girls. Apparently, Angelina was bugging Noah so much that he ASKED Bella to lock him in the basement (hasn't he heard of locking himself in the bathroom? I do it all the time). She eagerly complied. Genevieve saw this and wanted to save her brother, but she needed the stool to reach the lock on the door.
All of this happened in the span of about 8 minutes. LeeAnn stayed to chat for a few more minutes while I held Genevieve. Then I found out that she had a hard couple of days and it should be me buying her Starbuck's (except she doesn't drink coffee, so it would have to be something else). Then my coffee angel had to leave and get back to her busy schedule.
I sit down at the dining room table and take a sip. MMMMM..still hot and SO cinnamony. Again, they swarm. "OK, you coffeeholics, ONE sip each." I open the bag. A cinnamon scone!! I know she brought it for me, but I just had to share. It was decadently delicious!
Somehow, after that, school miraculously got done. I also had time to snuggle on the couch and read the girls some stories and help Charlie try on his Halloween costume that had just arrived in the mail. Then we headed over to my parent's where we were invited for dinner. SO great not having to cook.
At bedtime Genevieve was particularly mushy. We hug, we tuck, we sing. "Hugs, Mom! C'mon, hugs!" I hug her tightly and give her a kiss. "No kisses! Just loving, but no kisses wif the loving." OK, so we hug. "OK, kisses now, kisses wif the loving and say yum-yum-yum." I kiss her chubby cheek and say "Yum-yum-yum." "Louder, Mommy, like this: YUM-YUM-YUM!!!" I comply.
Actually, it wasn't such a bad day after all. Amazing what a cup of kindness can do.

Entry for October 18, 2007
I am writing this at the request of my children. Otherwise I would be in bed. I am completely and utterly exhausted.
We picked up Noah from his friend, Matt's house today and on the way home. Genevieve had another screaming fit. I was actually going to let her scream it out and just drive home with her howling, but I got bitten by the stupid bug and instead pulled over and tried to calm her down. Rule #1 for a tantruming child: IGNORE THE CHILD. I broke the rule.
So, here I am, on the side of the road, with my blinkers on, trying to peel Genevieve off the floor. Instead of flailing, she has changed her approach to tantrums. She now goes limp. It's like trying to pick up a fish with vaseline on your hands. I actually got her calm enough to where I could understand her. She wanted to sit in the middle seat of the van, instead of the back seat. Given that I had removed her from the back seat myself, I decided to indulge her. So, I took her hand to help her get into the car seat.
FOOOMPPH! She goes down like a ton of bricks.
Me: (incredulous) Are you OK?!!!
Genevieve: I'm trying to get in the seat but I keep falling down!
The other kids are chuckling and I make a scary face at them that says "Be quiet or she'll blow!" But I find myself biting my lip to stop from laughing. Such a poor role model I am.
Me: (suppressing the smile and extending my hand) Should I help you up?
She lets me help her up, turns around to climb in the seat and FOOMPPH! She's down again! What the...?
Genevieve: I don't want to sit next to Noah!!! I WANT TO SIT IN THE BACK!!!!
Noah: (laugh-whispering) Mom, you GOTTA put this in your blog!
Me: Yeah, remind me later. Let's get her in the back.
I sit Bella next to Genevieve in case she starts to scream again and I strap her in.
Me: You have not behaved like a preschooler. Preschoolers sit nicely in the car and don't scream.
Genevieve: (bottom lip quivering) Yes, Mommy.
Me: When we get home, you are going to sit on the steps until I tell you to get up, do you understand?
Genevieve: (tears welling in the big, hazel eyes) Yes, Mommy.
OK, I actually don't want to punish her. She's so cute and sweet when she is not acting like a rabid poodle in labor. But I have to or she'll walk all over me. Well, more than usual. She's the 5th child. I'm much more fatigued with her than I was with the others. And I think somehow, she's figured that out.
When we got home, she got on the step by herself and put her head down. When I went back to tell her to get off the step, she was sound asleep. {{{sigh}}} Wish I could have joined her.

Entry for October 16, 2007
Tomorrow is our 20th wedding anniversary. What on earth happened???? Wasn't I 24 last week?? Where on earth did the time go?
20 years is a LONG TIME. Charlie keeps walking around saying "Wednesday, 20 years." He's a cutie. He's just happy he gets to go to Grandma's for unlimited candy and TV. My parents are watching the kids while we are going out to dinner at a NICE restaurant BY OURSELVES. A rare occasion, let me tell you.
Although I can't remember much past last Thursday, I do remember a lot of our wedding day. I remember that I was a young, clueless kid who really had no idea what was going on. I looked good, though. If I could switch my body now with my body then, but keep my mind (what's left of it) it would be an optimal situation, I think. Seriously, I was 21. I was a little kid!!!
I remember all the big hair. Remember the big hair of the 80s and earrings to match? Sheena Easton? Prince? Van Halen? (I was so jealous of David Lee Roth's hair-- women should be so lucky! But now he's lost most of it...) My wedding reception was a sea of big hair, mine included.
I remember walking down the aisle and getting really freaked out inside. I had been so busy up until the day of our wedding that I hadn't had time to process anything-- that's how I was back then-- driven. I was always nonstop, gogogogo. Now, I wasn't freaked out that I was marrying Joe, but that I hadn't had time to prepare myself to enjoy the wedding and so I remember thinking that it was happening and it was going to be over soon and here I was. I wanted to shout, "Stop! I just walked down the aisle and I didn't even realize that I walked down the aisle. Can I go back and do it again?" Now I would have no problem doing just that. Why not? I've been publicly humiliated before. Back then I hadn't been. Well, not to the extent that I have in recent years!
During the Mass, remember Fr. Rich Viladesau metioning little Jessica McClure, who fell in the well and how the fact that other people, who had no connection to her, were concerned for her safety; meant that we are all connected by something and that something is God. That always stuck with me and helped me. You see, on the day of my wedding I hadn't had my conversion yet. It would be years before I actually took an interest in God (although He kept trying to get MY attention in various ways!). But that is a whole other story.
At some point Joe leaned over and whispered something in my ear.
Joe: AnnMarie, a bird flew over and..
Me: What? You're not supposed to be talking to me, right? This is our wedding-- you can't talk to me!
Joe: No, I just wanted to tell you that a bird pooped on me.
Me: You know, it sounded like you said a bird pooped on you...
Joe: I was in front of my parent's house and I was putting stuff in the limo, so I took off my jacket and a bird flew over.
Me: This is not a good sign.
I could barely get through our vows. All of a sudden, the gravity of the situation hit me like a ton of bricks. I'm thinking, two minutes ago I was a kid. Now I have to be an adult, because there is someone else in my life that I am responsible for and vice versa. It took me so long to say my vows that some people thought I was bailing. Seriously. But I wasn't. I was experiencing a divine smack in the side of the head with a two-by-four. It was God saying, "PAY ATTENTION! THIS IS SERIOUS!"
The reception is a blur. I do remember that we ordered a chocolate wedding cake with whipped cream icing and what we got was a vanilla wedding cake with butter cream icing. I was angry. If something like that happened now, I probably would let it slide, but I stewed over that one. I remember dancing with my father and wishing I had the guts to tell him I loved him (our family is one that expresses our love for eachother through food and yelling, not just coming out and saying it) or some other profound thing that a daughter should say to her father on her wedding day, so that he would have a special memory to keep. I remember missing part of the tarantella because a pin came out of my dress and stuck deep into my side and I had to run out because I was in pain. When I got back I was too shy to ask the band to play it again. I remember wondering, am I going to get to spend time with Joe at this reception?
All these little bits and pieces of memory that make up the whole. Frankly, they don't mean all that much. What matters is the marriage, not the wedding. 20 years IS a long time. Together, Joe and I have learned a lot. We have learned to laugh, but, more importantly, we have learned to cry. And even more important than that, we have learned that it is OK to cry. We have experienced such suffering together. But without that suffering, we never would have been able to experience joy. Joy in this life that God has prepared for us.
We are a different kind of family. We don't have a TV. We don't own iPods. We follow the church calendar. We have a birthday party each year on the Blessed Mother's birthday. We eat angel food cake on the Feast of the Guardian Angels. My children actually ASK to go to confession. We celebrate Advent. We don't put up a Christmas tree until Christmas Eve. We say the Angelus before lunch. We sing "That's Amore" at the top of our lungs on road trips. We don't do two-piece bathing suits. We don't do Harry Potter, but we know all the characters in Lord of the Rings. Going to the library is our favorite family outing. All of us love fish (but Charlie is the only one who eats sardines). We are coffeeholics. We only have 3 coffee cups that match our dishes because Charlie smashed the rest. We don't get embarassed when Charlie takes a bird bath in the holy water font. All of our children use the word, "actually," about 87 times a day. We're different. We're quirky. But we're OK with that.
On my wedding day, if someone would have told me that 20 years into the future, I would be a stay-at-home, homeschooling mom, living in the midwest with my husband and 5 children I would not have believed a word of it. But now that I am here I would not change a thing. Except probably my wedding day. I would have enjoyed it more.
Jer 29:11-14 Look it up.
*******************************************************
Tomorrow is a happy day for my family, but it will be another tense day for our friends Gina & Mark. Their 5th child was born a month ago, with a defect in his heart. His name is Fintan, but they call him Finn, and he needs a heart transplant. Please pray for Gina and Mark and their family. They need a miracle for their little son. Remember him in your prayers.

9/30/07-10/13/07

2009-05-07T06:24:00.000-07:00

Entry for October 13, 2007
Genevieve throws tantrums. She is three, after all, so it's her job. The thing about Genevieve is that her mood can change on a dime. One second she's jumping around the house holding a flashlight, singing Hannah Montana songs and the next minute her head is spinning and she's spewing pea soup. If we are at home, I usually can get through it by making sure she is safe, then leaving the room and covering my ears while doing lamaze breathing techniques.
Out in public, it's a different ballgame altogether. Once, we went to the library on a Sunday after Mass. A nice, relaxing family outing; educational, too. As we were getting in the van to go home, something went wrong. Not sure what it was, but Genevieve would NOT get in her seat. Now, I am an educated woman, but I started to reason with her, as if this would actually work.
Me: Honey, you need to get strapped in or you won't be safe. Let Mommy strap you in.
Genevieve: AAAAUUUUGGGHHHRRRARRRAAAAWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Me: Sweetie, time to go home now, let's get into the seat.
Genevieve: AAAAUUUUGGGHHHRRRARRRAAAAWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Me: (coming a bit unglued) OK, look, your behavior is horrible. Get in the seat or I'll...
Joe: Take a break from this, AnnMarie. Let me try. OK, look, your behavior is horrible. Get in the seat or I'll...
Genevieve: AAAAUUUUGGGHHHRRRARRRAAAAWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Now I notice that the people in the parking lot are looking at us, but trying not to let us see they are looking at us. I think they are fishing for their cell phones to call 911, because it sounds like there is a pack of wild, rabid wolves in the van.
I tell everyone to get strapped in and read a book until Genevieve is done. Surprisingly, they all comply. So, there we were, 6 of us sitting calmly in the van, turning pages, while Genevieve was going ballistic. She was screaming, crying, flinging her body all over the place. I can imagine what it must have looked like to the onlookers in the parking lot.
All we needed was Cookie Monster singing: One of these things is not like the other things, one of these things doesn't belong. Can you guess which thing is not like the other things, before I finish my song?
Actually, it would have been really great if someone piped in some elevator music. This thought popped into my head as Genevieve threw her body against the seat for the 67th time. and I let out a chuckle. I could just see what the spectators saw; everyone else calm, but every once in awhile a body part would pop up into the van's window, with a continuous, muffled scream coming from inside. The Girl From Ipanema would be the perfect background music. (No one really knows the words to that song. I know some of them: Young and lovely, la dada la-la-la, the girl from Ipanema goes dancing and la dada lala, la-la-la-la-la-la. You get the idea. )
Anyway, all of a sudden her yelling starts to become intelligible: "UNDERWEARUNDERWEARUNDERWEAR!!!!!
Us: Huh?!
Genevieve: UNDERWEAR! UNDERWEAR!
Me: If you want to tell me something about your underwear, you need to use a nice voice, sweetheart.
Genevieve: It's this underwear! I gotta get it off me!
I see an opportunity here, to be let out of the van prison, and go home again. But do I really want to disappoint our audience?
Me: OK, sweetie, you can take off the underwear IF you get right into your seat.
Time stood still while we waited...
She did it! She took off the underwear (thank GOODNESS she was wearing a dress) and hopped into her car seat.
Joe: (starting the ignition) Somebody strap the kid in!
Bella dives across the seat and buckles her sister in, in record time and we speed away.
Little Genevieve, a toddler trying to exert some control over her environment. For now, at three, she has dominion over her underwear. She has complete control over ALL of her clothing and, by gosh, if she wants to remove it, she will!
Funny thing is, as a mother (HER mother, in particular), I can completely sympathize with the feeling of lack of control over the world around her. Some things never change...

Entry for October 09, 2007
Dead animals.
There is a dead squirrel in the parking lot next door to my house. When the kids told me about it, I thought it would be a squished, barely-can-tell-it's-a-squirrel, dead squirrel. But it's not. It is a perfectly preserved, taxidermist's dream. It is lying on it's back, little squirrel hands and feet reaching toward squirrel heaven. Hope he made it.
I don't like animals all that much. Being originally from Brooklyn (and having the distinct advantage of learning to speak while living there), I prefer pavement to grass. Actually, I prefer hardwood to pavement. I am not exactly what you would call the "outdoorsy type." Hoop earrings and raspberry lipstick don't really go well with overalls and other camping, working-in-the-garden type clothing. And I am all about the hoop earrings and lipstick.
But, as fate would have it, one day I was inspired to venture outside. It was several summers ago and I was back there with the kids trying desperately to have a good time out in that hot, beating sun, with all those insects around me.
Anyway, I hear Isabella scream, "Eeeeuuwww!" and I turn around to see Charlie with a chipmunk in his hand, coming toward me. This was not a cute little Chip and Dale Disney chipmunk, it was a stiff, dead chipmunk with FLIES IN ITS MOUTH!!!!! I heard some one screaming. It was me.
"AAAAAAUUUGHHH!!! Drop the chipmunk Charlie, drop it!!!!"
He advances with the dead rodent.
"NONONONO!!! Drop it! Put it down!!!!"
He drops it at my feet. I grab him (by the wrist) and drag him toward the house, yelling, "Everyone inside, and no one go NEAR that chipmunk!!!"
Once inside, I actually poured straight rubbing alcohol onto Charlie's hands and rubbed for, like, 80 minutes. If I had a surgical scrub brush I would have used that, too. Then I had to stand still for a moment and allow myself to finish getting the willies, because, up until then I had been too busy.
Then, I armed myself. I got a spray bottle of straight bleach. I put on Joe's heavy leather work gloves, long pants, long sleeve shirt and sneakers. I was tempted to put on a ski mask to cover the rest of my body, but I bravely fought the temptation.
I went outside and grabbed the shovel that had the longest handle. I held my breath and screamed (yes, it is possible to both hold your breath AND scream at the same time, if you are grossed out enough) and got the dead thing onto the shovel and flung it into the garbage pail. Then I got the bleach and sprayed, well...everything. The shovel, the grass, the picnic table, the swing set; everything.
Then I went in the house and locked the door and leaned my back against it, like they do in horror movies, when they are so sure they have escaped whatever evil is stalking them. But they don't ever really escape, do they? Me neither. I know that, at some point, I'm going to have to go back outside.

Entry for October 04, 2007
Today is Joe's birthday. He is 44. In a couple of weeks we will be married for 20 years. I have to say that he is pretty patient when it comes to me. I have done some really wacky things and he always takes it in stride.
In mid-August, we went down to KC for Joe's boss' daughter's wedding, and the hotel included breakfast. Now, I am the type of person who needs protein in the morning. The continental breakfast isn't really my idea of a good breakfast-- it seems more like a sugary snack. So I go and check it out. Hmmm, make your own waffles. Nah-- too much work to pour the pre-measured cup of batter onto the waffle iron. It would seem like cooking, and I'm on vacation. Next I check out the baked goods. Bagels, which seem to be screaming, "I taste like cardboard!" Uh-uh. Danish? No. Cereal? This kind has too many colors. I'm a nervous wreck because I am meeting my husband's bosses for the first time later and I'm afraid that I would be a live example of what the term "technicolor yawn" means. Hey, wait a minute, what's in the crockpot? A little crockpot filled with.. is that oatmeal? Homemade oatmeal? I LOVE homemade oatmeal! Yay! I take a little styrofoam bowl and start scooping it in, humming contentedly to myself, when Joe appears next to me.
Joe: "Hon, what are you doing?"
Me: (excitedly) "Getting oatmeal!"
Joe: "That's not oatmeal, it's gravy."
Me: "HA! Don't make me laugh."
Joe: (takes the bowl) "It's gravy. Don't you see the bicuits?"
Me: "I hadn't got that far down the line yet. Are you sure? It looks like..."
Joe: (throwing out the bowl) "Have a bagel."
***
Joe is a talented gardener when it comes to vegetables and flowers. Me? I don't garden. I don't even go IN the garden. I don't even go OUTSIDE unless it's absolutely necessary. One day, though, I got an inspiration. It was a couple of summers ago and the kids were out playing and I thought to myself, "I am going to weed my husband's garden. He'll be so happy." So I went outside and started pulling all the nasty weeds that were polluting my husband's garden. It wasn't too bad. I got a bit sweaty, but what's sweat when you're doing something special for your sweetie? Then I got to a big patch that had really thick stalks. Darn! These weeds are strong! I went and got a knife and hacked them all away. I just knew my hubby would be so proud.
Later, as I was doing some dishes, Joe came in from work through the backyard. The kids were still out there. He went over to the garden. My heart leapt! He's going to see that I slaved away in his garden and truly know the depth of my love for him! He dropped his briefcase (in awe, I thought). His hands when up in the air and he began to yell. Uh-oh. Then he turned to the kids and began to yell at the kids. I couldn't hear what he was yelling about because the water and the radio were both on. He continued to yell and the kids ran away from him. He followed them, still yelling. I went out there. His hands were on his hips and he was shaking his head. "Now who is going to tell me who did this?" I raised my hand, like I was in a classroom. I was hoping he wouldn't call on me.
Joe: "Did you see what they did?"
Me: (stalling) "Who did? What?"
Joe: "One of the kids ripped out ALL of the zucchini plants! Every last one!"
Me: "Zucchini? Are you sure it was zucchini? It wasn't weeds?"
Kids: "It was Mom!" (the rats!)
Joe: (stunned) "You ripped out ALL the zucchini..."
Me: "I was...helping."
Joe: (laughing) "Kids, Mom was the one who wrecked the garden. How should I punish her?"
Kids: "Spank her!" (the rats!)
Joe was nice. He let me sit in the corner, if I promised never to help him in the garden again. I thought it was a pretty good deal.
***
Before we had children, we lived in Flushing, in an apartment that backed up to an empty lot. We were having Joe's family over for St. Patrick's Day and I was cooking a lot of corned beef. I trimmed it and he threw the scraps over into the lot. I yelled at him not to do that because there were raccoons that lived back there and the raw meat would make them sick...
So, here's to my hubby, who has put up with my antics for almost 20 years. Happy Birthday, Joe!
***
Today is also the Feast of St. Francis of Assisi. Here's my favorite prayer of his:
Behold the cross of the Lord. Flee thee adversaries, the Lion of the Tribe of Judah. The Root of David has conquered, Allelulia.

Entry for October 03, 2007
I never bothered with CCD for Charlie. Well, actually, I tried, but I had to be his teacher and I figured if I was going to be his teacher I may as well do it from the comfort of my own home without the responsibility of a bunch of other people's kids as well. So, I decided to focus on prayer with him.
When I taught him to say the Hail Mary, Charlie would say, "Hail Mary, full of grapes." I thought it was so cute that it was years before I corrected him. Charlie knows the Our Father, the Guardian Angel prayer and when we are at Mass, he says the Gloria and the Creed.
At home we sometimes say the rosary in it's entirety. Charlie knows the majority of the prayers of the rosary and will say some of it and sit quietly with me while I say it. The other kids aren't so compliant. Genevieve is usually crawling all over me. Angelina occupies herself with searching for treasures underneath the couch cushions or playing with her feet. Bella sits OK, mostly, and Noah is usually doing some form of acrobatics on the chair he's supposed to be sitting in. This, of course, drives me insane, because patience was definitely not a virtue bestowed upon me.
They are busy. They lose interest. I usually have to stop at some point and explain that if they want to pray for our intentions, they have to actually DO the praying, not just sit and zone out. I once made the mistake of saying that if I wanted to stand in front of people and pray I would have become a priest. This put Noah into hysterics, because he knows women can't be priests.
Noah: "But it's WRONG!!"
Me: "Yes, I know. I just said it to make a point."
Noah: "But it's WRONG!"
Me: "I KNOW. I don't WANT to become a priest. I know I CAN'T become a priest. I JUST SAID IT TO MAKE A POINT!! Now PLEASE SIT STILL and SAY THE ROSARY FOR PETE SAKES!!!"
Genevieve: "Mom said a bad word!!"
Bella: "For Pete sakes is NOT a bad word, you baby!"
Genevieve: cries
Me: "Bella, you hurt your sister's feelings, that's not nice!"
Charlie: "It's praying! It's Church! It's yelling!"
Angelina: "Hey! A quarter!"
So, by the time we get through the rosary (IF we get through the rosary) my hair is falling out in chunks on the floor, Noah is climbing the shelves like Spiderman, Angelina has created a sculpture with the bits of dust and things she's excavated from the bowels of the couch, Isabella and Genevieve are having a fistfight and Charlie has long since escaped to the sanctuary of his room.
What a holy family. You think Martha, Mary and Lazarus behaved this way? They are all saints, but you don't hear about their mother, do you?
Mom: "Martha, Mary, stop bickering!"
Martha: "But Mom, I'M saying the prayers, but Mary's just SITTING there!"
Lazarus: laying down
"Lazarus, please SIT UP when you pray."
My guess is she's still in Purgatory, picking up chunks of hair off the floor...

Entry for September 30, 2007
Charlie's school asked the families to send in a recipe tomorrow for a project they are doing. I think I will send in Charlie's recipe for fish that he concocted one day after school.
Charlie sauteed some frozen tilapia filets in A TON of crushed garlic. I mean, he used so much garlic that I was afraid it would be toxic. I tried to get him to take some out, but he fought with me about it.
He thoroughly enjoyed every bit of the fish. Afterward, he totally reeked, so I had him brush his teeth. He had to brush them in the kitchen, because one of the little ones was using the bathroom at the time.
The next morning Charlie was enveloped in a toxic, garlicky cloud. The stench was oozing out of every pore in his body. I felt really bad even sending him to school, so I put a note of warning/apology in his backpack that day. Anyway, he got ready for school and ate breakfast and he was really dawdling and it was getting late so I told him to go brush his teeth. He headed for the kitchen. I told him his toothbrush was in the bathroom. He went in the bathroom, came out and headed toward the kitchen. Again, I told him to go in the bathroom. The bus pulled up and Charlie headed toward the kitchen again. Finally, I lost my temper and said, "Charlie, GET in the bathroom and brush your teeth and don't come out until you are done!!" He went in there and I heard the toothbrush going and then he came out and I kissed him goodbye (reluctantly, bad mother that I am) and off he went to pollute the bus.
After he left, I was putting his coffee cup in the kitchen sink and I noticed Charlie's toothbrush there. Wait, CHARLIE'S toothbrush????? I sprinted to the bathroom. Yep, he used MY toothbrush on that fateful, garlicky day. The poor kid was just trying to get to his own toothbrush until I lost my temper, then he gave up and used the only one available-- mine. Serves me right...
Anyway, here is the recipe for Charlie's Garlic Tilapia
Coat the bottom of a large pan with olive oil and put on medium heat. Add 4 frozen tilapia filets. Add about 4 heaping tablespoons of crushed garlic (personally, I would use less). After fish begins to brown, use a country herb grinder to coat the fish (ours has salt, rosemary, parsely, mint, oregano, basil and thyme). Turn and coat the other side. Cook until done.

9/26/07

2009-05-07T06:22:00.000-07:00

Last night was the Little Flowers meeting and, since I am the coordinator, it was at my house. My husband, Joe, has been in KC almost full-time, for about 3 weeks, so I have renewed my respect for single moms. The day was spent cutting clear contact paper and preparing the lesson. I actually had my mother come over for a couple hours to help with the kids so I could do all this stuff. The meeting went well, except one of the girls hit her head on a ceiling fan (don't ask) and left with a knot on her head. Ask me how guilty I felt, especially since all I could do to help her was put ice on it. I happened to see her today and she looked fine. Glad it turned out OK.
When one of my good friends dropped her daughter off for the meeting, she thrust a 6-pack of Mike's Hard Cranberry Lemonade in my hands. She knows I'm having a hard time being without a hubby during the week. Thank God for good friends!
Today I made a meal for another homeschooling family who just had their 5th child (see, we are not the only crazy ones out there!). Charlie took the car ride in his fave spongebob pjs with the big hole in the crotch. Of course, when I went into their house to drop off the meal, he got out of the car and tried to get in the house. It was kind of funny. I was absolutely horrified, but, whenever we go out in public, I just wait for the humiliating episode to occur. It is guaranteed that when I step foot out of the house, with all 5 kids (or, sometimes even by myself) some form of public humiliation will occur. So, Charlie in his crotchless pjs attempting a home invasion was the most current episode.
Charlie is so cool. He never gets embarassed. I wish I was more like him. Although, if I was more like Charlie, I would eat sardines warmed up in the microwave and attempt to wash my entire upper body everytime I went to a public restroom. Still...

An Open Letter to Fr. Corapi

2001-07-11T20:34:00.000-07:00

Dear Father Corapi,

You don't know me, but I love you. You taught me almost everything I know about my Catholic faith. When my children were little and my husband worked nights, I would truck the kids in and turn on the TV and there you were, preaching to me. Because of you, I am now an educated Catholic in love with my faith.

I learned a lot from you. I learned how to pray, I learned about spiritual warfare and resisting temptation and I also learned the most impostant lesson, which is to be obedient to Holy Mother Church.

Well, may years have gone by since you kept me company at night when my huisband was working at his job. We cancelled our cable and I stopped listening to your preaching, but I have always carried with me the lessons I learned from you.

Tuesday, after the announcement from your order that they have concrete evidence that you have broken your priestly vows, and after I had a good cry, I realized that I am still learning from you. Here are the things I have learned in the past few days:

That, although my family prays for priests on a daily basis, we need to step up the prayer, because all priests seem to be under tremendous attack, especially of late.

I learned that, although we are all sinful in many ways, the Holy Spirit can and does still use us for good despite our sinfulness. All the teachings you taught me are still valid even though you may have been living a sinful lifestyle while preaching to me.

And the most important thing I learned recently is that the Church goes on despite the sins of mankind. Jesus told us this was the case and, over and over it has proven to be true. The Church is both a sign and a sacrament. She is not merely a fellowship. Your actions and circumstances have underscored that for me today.

Father Corapi, the Lord has brought you to your knees in the past and it seems that He is doing it again. This time, reach out to Him in humility and allow Him to heal you. There are thousands of people praying for your conversion. Do not waste the prayers of those who love you. Many of us are faithful Catholics because you brought us deeper into our faith. We are here for you now and we hope that you will benefit from our prayers and petitions just as much as we have benefitted from your preaching.

With love from your spiritual child,

AnnMarie