All of a sudden it seems he’s not a little newborn anymore, but he’s grabbing and rolling and yesterday he gave me his first kiss. They say there is nothing as sweet as love’s first kiss… it’s true.
And my toddler is talking up a storm. Everyday he has new words and phrases that surprise me and make me realize he is picking up way more than I think.
My kindergartner is learning to read and has matured so much since starting school.
And my oldest just had his eighth birthday. REALLY? 8?
I was reading a blog recently about what you would tell your pre-kid self. When my oldest was born he had colic and cried for the first four months of his life. I wish I could go back and tell that bleary-eyed, overwhelmed me with spit up on her shoulder that even though each day felt like an eternity at the time… all of a sudden he would be an eight year old with an amazing sense of humor and a big heart… that didn’t need a booster seat anymore.
(His first ride without needing a booster carseat)
In honor of Thanksgiving approaching, my next several blogs will focus on things that make me happy or illicit gratitude.
I am grateful for a good night’s sleep.
I got one once. I remember it was a Saturday. Miraculously no one peed the bed, had a bad dream, spent half the night coughing, or cried incessantly because they wanted to eat at four in the morning. I woke up feeling like a new woman… you know, normal! My smiles came a little easier that day, and my patience didn’t feel so forced. It seems in the life of a baby it is two steps forward... four steps back when it comes to sleep. Once we start making progress, something always happens: daylight savings, a cold, teething…the list seems endless. I have even had fantasies of going to a hotel just to be able to sleep for eight hours in a row.
When I start to see double or have to wear sunglasses to cover my red-eye, I remember that this is only temporary. All of my older kids eventually sleep through the night most nights. If I ever feel tempted to fast-forward through this chapter of life, I am reminded of Erma Bombeck’s, “No More Oatmeal Kisses”.
Erma Bombeck is one of my best friends. I never actually met her, but she has encouraged me and helped me appreciate the humor in many of my mothering moments. If you haven’t read any of her work, I highly recommend, “Forever Erma”. I laughed, I cried, I cherished.
No More Oatmeal Kisses
One of these days you'll shout,
"Why don't you kids grow up and act your age!"
And they will.
Or, "You guys get outside and find yourselves something
to do...and don't slam the door!"
And they won't.
You'll straighten up the boys' bedroom neat and tidy:
bumper stickers discarded, bedspread tucked and smooth,
toys displayed on their shelves. Hangers in the closet.
Animals caged. And you'll say out loud, "Now I want it
to stay this way."
And it will.
You'll prepare a perfect dinner with a salad
that hasn't been picked to death and a cake
with no finger traces in the icing and you'll say,
Now there's a meal for company."
And you'll eat it alone.
You'll say, "I want complete privacy on the phone.
No dancing around. No demolition crews. Silence!
Do you hear?"
And you'll have it.
No more plastic tablecloths stained with spaghetti.
No more bedspreads to protect the sofa from damp bottoms.
No more gates to stumble over at the top of the basement steps.
No more clothespins under the sofa.
No more playpens to arrange a room around.
No more anxious nights under a vaporizer tent.
No more sand in the sheets or Popeye movies in the bathroom.
No more iron-on patches, rubber bands for ponytails,
tight boots or wet knotted shoestrings.
Imagine. A lipstick with a point on it.
No baby-sitter for New Year's Eve.
Washing only once a week.
Seeing a steak that isn't ground.
Having your teeth cleaned without a baby on your lap.
No PTA meetings.
No car pools.
No blaring radios.
No one washing her hair at 11 o'clock at night.
Having your own roll of Scotch tape.
Think about it.
No more Christmas presents out of toothpicks and library paste.
No more sloppy oatmeal kisses.
No more tooth fairy.
No giggles in the dark.
No knees to heal, no responsibility.
Only a voice crying, "Why don't you grow up?"
and the silence echoing,
"I did."
Erma Bombeck
And so this day, I am thankful for this hectic, crazy, full, sweet chapter of life. And I'm grateful for Erma Bombeck.
I just finished reading “Ten Prayers God Always Says Yes To”. Anthony DeStefano mentions things like, “God, show me that you exist”. “God, make me an instrument”. And “God, get me through this suffering.” He asserts that there are certain prayers that God always answers. I have one I think he should have added: “Lord, make me grateful."
When we seek gratitude, we will find it. We have so much for which to be thankful. What are some things that make you grateful? On the top of my list are my faith and the countless ways God shows me that He is with me and in charge, my four boys who bring so much joy to my life, and my husband who really is my best friend. I’m also grateful to be near family and friends, to have an amazing school for my older boys, and for so many other things I couldn't possibly name them all.
A few less significant things that illicit gratitude:
·Finding new music that I love… the latest is Ray LaMontagne thanks to my friend Cynthia
·Chinese take-out from our favorite place
·Watching my kindergartner learn to read
·A hot cup of coffee first thing in the morning
·Watching “Little House on The Prairie” (you know, the old 70s one with Michael Landon) with my husband while drinking a glass of wine
·Cheeks so chubby that they jiggle when my toddler runs
·My sons’ proud look
·A million other little surprises that grab my heart and make it grow in love and thanks
I must admit though, while I am abundantly blessed, I often don’t feel grateful. I take 99% of my blessings for granted.
Recently I read “Happy Are You Poor” by Fr. Thomas Dubay. This is not a book I could easily recommend, unless you want to feel uncomfortable, very uncomfortable. Dubay proposes a level of radical detachment that is well beyond what I’ve ever desired or even witnessed. In fact, I probably never would have chosen to read this book on my own, but it ended up in my bathroom, and so I opened it. I wondered at first if it was my husband’s attempt to get me to spend less money, but my husband doesn’t have a conniving or manipulative bone in his body, so if he wanted me to spend less, he’d tell me.
Despite the challenge that Dubay proposes, and my fears of being called to live a simpler and less materialistic life, I couldn’t put this book down. The truths he presents are uncomfortable indeed, but somehow attractive at the same time. He promises a joy and peace that this world cannot offer. Well, actually it’s not Dubay that promises this, but Christ Himself. He also promises that if we embrace this call to detatchment, we can change the world. As St. Catherine of Siena says, “If you are what you are meant to be, you will set the world on fire”.
“If we wonder why, despite the millions of us who follow Christ, the world has not long ago been converted, we need not look far for one solution. We are not perceived as men on fire. We look too much like everyone else. We appear to be compromisers, people who say that they believe in everlasting life but actually live as though this life is the only one we have.”
Ouch. Ummm.... guilty as charged. Since I stay home and my husband works for the Church, I would say we live simpler than some, but in reality we do look an awful lot like everyone else. And I’m not sure I’m ready to look “different” or to let my sons look “different”. But as Dave Ramsey says, “Normal is broke.” Normal is often also empty.
“The wealthy are bored to death in the dullness of their cocktail parties. There is a sprinkle of pleasure here and there, and it is de rigueur to put on a brave front and a superficial smile, even though one feels the gnawing emptiness in his aching heart.”
A recent video clip of two famous movie stars makes the point well:
I love this clip because it illustrates both the emptiness that even the rich and famous experience as well as our need for God, not only for His forgiveness, but also to lift us up out of the mire, or to help us stop hugging the cactus, as the case may be.
“The worldling will not face his colossal inner blah. He multiplies experiences in an unending and desperate attempt to numb his spirit. It hurts so much not to have attained the very reason for his existence, an immersion in God, that he uses things as a narcotic. The worldling pursues prestige or comfort or wealth or sexual encounters not because they basically satisfy him (if they did, once would be enough) but because they dull his inner aching. Always and eventually he is faced with his personal failure. But the sight of it is so revolting and painful, he dives once again into the aspirin sea of frantic pursuits.
The saints know better. Having tasted the best, they know how to assess the least. Having drunk at the Fountain, they spend little time with the trickles.”
I can say that I have experienced both my “colossal inner blah” as well as the deep and abiding joy that comes from God alone. I suppose that is why this book resonated with me, despite myself. I know that “things” cannot bring me joy, yet I enjoy a thousand little luxuries everyday. And while I don’t feel ready to don camelhair or fast on bread and water, I do feel like maybe God would like me to find a few of those luxuries to do without.
Dubay reminds us that many of our efforts are really distractions. Living a simple detached life
“shouts reality into the ears of anyone willing to hear. It dissipates the tinselly illusions of marketing and advertising and consumerism. It declares that elegant dining and drinking, extensive wardrobes, expensive traveling and position, prestige, and pleasure seeking are really side issues, indeed, often impediments, to the main business of life.”
And so I find myself challenged. And uncomfortable. And a little guilty. But also inspired. Maybe I can recommend this book after all. As we prepare to enter the Christmas season, we need something to counter the “tinselly illusions of marketing and advertising”. Dubay offers a vision that is radical and demanding, but also beautiful and strangely reminiscent of the simple manger where our Savior was born.
I’m doing a little experiment on the power of positive thinking. The past few weeks at least two of my children have been up every night. I’m tired. I’m worn out. I need a break. The problem is I keep telling myself this and I feel like I’m carrying around a fifty-pound weight of dread, resentment, and negativity. So, as I was nursing the baby in the middle of the night, I resolved to remind myself how lucky and blessed I am. (Nevermind that I promised never to make public resolutions again in my very last post!)
As I lied in bed the next morning, I tried to think positively. I am blessed. Listen to those four beautiful boys.
“I have to go potty”
“Can someone get me some cereal please?”
“Mom, what did you do with my uniform shorts?”
As I’m listening to the awaiting demands in my state of exhaustion, my “positive” voice sounded superficial and fake. Like the advertisers had gotten into my head. What were they trying to sell me? Oh yeah, my life. Why should I get out of bed when I really want to stay buried under the covers? It was the baby’s coo that got me up.
Just as my toast popped, my toddler said, “I have to go potty”. I started trying to think positively … look how he’s learning… think how much we’re saving on diapers. As I brought him some clean underwear and pants he squealed with delight, “Mater!” (a character from the movie Cars for my non-parenting friends). He was so happy to get his Mater underwear that his joy was contagious and I actually felt it too. How blessed I am to be able to give my son Mater underwear! J
Apparently it just takes a little while for gratitude to wake up too! Suddenly the positive voice in my head didn't feel so fake anymore.
Have you ever noticed that if you make a resolution, especially publically (like on a blog let’s say) that you are extraordinarily tested? My husband was probably wondering what happened to that nice woman who wrote that last blog promising to work on being peaceful and joyful.I can tell you exactly what happened to her in one scary but short word:
PMS.
(Okay technically it’s not a word, but an acronym...work with me)
Now some women seem to resist the notion that hormones affect them much at all.They are either:
a) very lucky
or
b) not very self-aware
I however am:
c) none of the above
I am generally speaking a fairly even-keeled rational adult.I’m not especially prone to tears or yelling. However throw a few hormones (or lack thereof) into the mix and I can turn into momzilla one second and a weeping slobbering mess the next.
Apparently, during the second half of a woman’s cycle there is an ample supply of progesterone, which is sometimes called “the happy hormone”. Happy indeed. It’s like a drug. Well, in my case, it actually was a drug at times. I’ve been on progesterone shots or cream for various reasons at different times, and I can testify that this hormone really does help you feel happy.
The problem is that as your cycle comes to an end, so does the supply of happiness, I mean, progesterone. Add to this a tired baby, a potty training two-year old, and a trip to the pharmacy and you have the perfect storm. After waiting in line at the pharmacy for 10 minutes, it's finally time for us to check out, and my two year old starts yelling, "I have to go poopy." This was his second attempt at the pharmacy alone and by this point I'm mumbling under gritted teeth, "even Mother Teresa herself would be frustrated!"
Enter humility lesson number one: I was not exactly an example of peace and joy the past few days. I’m sure glad I told the world I was working on that.
Lesson number two: don’t announce how you intend to eat healthy and moderately the day that your kids are literally bringing home buckets (and buckets, and buckets, and buckets) of candy.Yes my husband even had the baby trick-or-treating so that we could have some candy. Great. Thank you, honey.
From now on my public resolutions will involve things like… I hope to live a life of ease and luxury.I hope to pursue comfort and pleasure. J
“The first goal of spiritual combat, that toward which our efforts must above all else be directed, is not always to obtain a victory (over our temptations, our weaknesses, etc.) rather it is to learn to maintain peace of heart under all circumstances, even in the case of defeat.”
So I guess I’m back where I started, trying to maintain a spirit of peace… PMS and all. Blessed Mother Teresa, pray for me!
