Happy Birthday, Stephen!

Today, you are 11. And I know that you hope that means I will stop referring to you as one of the "little boys." Not a chance;-)! You are forever my little boy. You are the little baby who woke up promptly at 3AM every morning for months, lulling me into a habit of snuggling alone with you on the couch in the wee hours. I think you knew that someday you be the "middlest" and that you needed to seize your opportunities for spoiling early and often. And I think I knew you were the best snuggler ever.  When you were two or three, you insisted we call you "Superman." And because you really are rather spoiled, we still do. You're Super in every way. Have a super birthday!

 

~

Rocking the Super Beat with Dad and Nick in Seattle.

The Snowy Day Daybook

Outside My Window::

::a sparkling winter wonderland of fluffy light snow

I am Listening to::

::big boys entertaining Sarah Annie.

I am wearing ::

:: corduroys, a Hanna Andersson ski sweater that is older than 7 of my children (does that make it vintage?), warm socks...

I am Thankful For::

::piles of blankets on a well made wintertime bed. I'm a total sucker for linens and quilts.

I am Pondering:

::St. John Bosco on training children:

The repressive system may stop a disorder, but can hardly make the offenders better. Experience teaches that the young do not easily forget the punishments they have received, and for the most part foster bitter feelings, along with the desire to throw off the yoke and even to seek revenge. They may sometimes appear to be quite unaffected, but anyone that follows them as they grow up knows that the reminiscences of youth are terrible, and some have even been known in later years to have had recourse to brutal vengeance for chastisements they had justly deserved during the course of their education.

"In the preventive system, on the contrary, the pupil becomes a friend, and the assistant, a benefactor who advises him, has his good at heart, and wishes to spare him vexation, punishment, and perhaps dishonour. By the preventive system pupils acquire a better understanding, So that an educator can always speak to them in the language of the heart, not only during the time of their education but even afterwards. Having once succeeded in gaining the confidence of his pupils he can subsequently exercise a great influence over them, and counsel them, advise and even correct them, whatever position they may occupy in the world later on.

For these and many other reasons it seems that the preventive system should be preferred to the repressive".

I am Reading:

::The Gift of an Ordinary Day

From the Kitchen::

::snow ice cream:-)

I am Thinking:

::About this video. And because some of you have insisted on full disclosure about such things:  I have loved Katrina Kenison since I was a mother with three little boys and only one girl,  since before the internet, but I kept Mittenstrings for God near and dear to my heart, steadfastly avoiding online conversations of it a couple years back, lest they end badly. In Mittenstrings, Katrina gratefully acknowledges the influence of Waldorf education and Rudolf Steiner. 'Twould be a shame if you didn't hear what she's saying because you've eschewed all things remotely Waldorf, but I offer you the fair disclosure that it's so.

This video is beautiful and rings clearly with truth.

I am Creating::

::Photo books at Snapfish and I am so thrilled with them!

On my iPod::

:: I am finding that it takes iBreviary, Universalis Lite, and Divine Office to really put together a Liturgy of the Hours program that works for me and doesn't have gaps or glitches.

Towards a Real Education::

::We are settling into a pure Charlotte Mason February. That means we're hunkering down and digging deep and lighting fires instead of filling buckets.

Towards Rhythm and Beauty:

::All the blinds are up today to let the bright, snowy sunlight in.

::To Live the Liturgy:

::Today we celebrate the feast of the patron of our home education adventure: St. John Bosco.

:Daily Mass four days this week.

:Candles to be blessed for Candlemas on Tuesday.

::confession on Saturday.

:Oh, and an order to King Arthur Flour to provision before St. Valentine's day.  Someone mentioned homemade Oreos and creme brulee just before he boarded a plane to the sunny south. I was reading some of the comments here, and thought to myself that it sure is a shame to turn up one's nose at a perfectly good excuse to celebrate love. We should not let a single one of those slip by. So, I'm definitely giving serious consideration to all things chocolate and to sweet heart-shaped ramekins for creme brulee.

::I am Hoping and Praying:

::For Mike as he works long days far from home .

In the Garden:

::It's cold and white and a half dozen soccer balls sit forlornly in the backyard goals.

Around the House:

::The contractor is currently AWOL, with about 400 square feet of flooring left to nail down and all the furniture on the main floor out place and/or draped in plastic. STILL .

On Keeping Home:

::The one thing I miss most of all is eating dinner around the table. Both tables that are big enough for all of us are inaccessible. I can't wait for a tablecloth and a civilized meal!

One of My Favorite Things:

::Snow days. Really can't get enough of them. Hot chocolate, snow ice cream, wood fires, damp and rosy cheeks. I count it all joy.

Sarah Annie this week:

::She is suddenly in love with books. She begs anyone who looks her way to read to her all day long. Look for a post a little later about her favorite books..

A Few Plans for the Rest of the Week:

::Oh, good grief! Just finish these floors please! I can't plan anything else until the floors are in, I move everything back into place and I finally dust every. single. surface. The limbo of it all is starting to make me nuts.

A Picture Thought I'm sharing:

The utter joy of chocolate chip pancakes:-)!

Do Drop In!

It's a rare occurrence. Comments are open here and I'm actually engaging in an online conversation. Pull up a chair. I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Mentor Moms

Once upon a time, I was young mom with two little boys who was determined to homeschool. A homeschooling mom who was a little older, with kids older and the same ages as mine, invited me to come shadow her for the day. A mentoring relationship was born, one for which I will always be grateful. Mary is no longer homeschooling, but, as our children get older and I find myself trying to navigate the even trickier waters of teens and young adults, she is still a mentor and I am reminded anew how blessed I am to have her.

So, when that mom, who is a writer too, asked me if I would help her hear what women are thinking about mentoring, I was happy to do so. 

Mary Hasson, asks, "I am writing a piece  on "mentor moms,"  focusing on the idea that  momswho are beyond the baby years have time and wisdom to share with their younger counterparts. [Some churches]  have established programs that bring younger moms and older moms together in those kinds of relationships.  In [other churches], these relationships seem to establish themselves more informally or organically.

" I would love to hear from your readers on two points:  If they are younger moms:  Would they be interested in a mentoring relationship with an older mom and, if so, what qualities would they look for? I'd love to hear their stories of moms who filled that role or how they found a mentor.

" For older moms:  Are they open to sharing their time and wisdom?  What do they feel they have to give? How would they begin such a relationship (suggesting it to a younger mom or wait to be asked)? Again, I'd love to hear stories of the mentors in their own lives or how they have become involved in mentoring younger moms (however informally)."

So, have you been blessed by a mentor? Have you reached out to mentor? Do you wish you had a mentor? Do you find mentors in your neighborhood, your parish, online?

You can reply here, in the comments, or you can write to Mary directly at catholicmentormoms@gmail.com.

Let's talk!

Missing

I live in the shadow of an international airport. I see its tower every day. When I drive to soccer, it's on my left; to ballet, it's on the right. When I drive to the grocery store or daily Mass, it's right in front of me. Taunting. Reminding.

How many days until he leaves? How many days until he comes home? How many hours until I make the 17  minute drive, pulling to a stop at the very end of the upper deck, my heart leaping as  I get that first glimpse of him?

This airport is woven into our life. We chose our neighborhood because of its proximity to the airport. We went into this lifestyle with our eyes wide open. I don't have a substantial paying job in this two-income economy. But we do have two incomes. For as long as my children can remember, my husband has worked two jobs.

One job takes him an hour from our home into the heart of Washington, DC every day. He commutes without complaint in a town known for complaining commuters. The other job takes him out of town nearly every weekend to produce live sporting events all over the country. Sometimes, there is a perfect storm and the weekday job requires travel, too. All those sportscasters don't just magically appear on location on South Beach for the Super Bowl. Someone goes there well in advance to make television magic happen. I know him well. He left today. I hear it's going to snow. And snow...

And, so, the missing begins. I remind myself that he is not deployed. He's producing television shows about a football game in Miami.He will work long days, but he will be safe. Two weeks hence, he will come home.

This is our life. There is a constant cycle of coming and going. I don't often write about it because it's probably unwise to publicize it too often in public spaces. [Note to the bad guys: Dad might be gone, but there are three man-boys in this family. They are all six feet tall. Two of them are more man than boy and the third is a black belt in Tae Kwon Do. And we have a very big dog.] Despite the lack of print it receives here, travel is big part of our family culture. And it very much plays into this. "I can't do that" because my husband works very long hours and travels frequently. Conversely, I don't have to do that because my husband works two jobs in order to give me the freedom to focus intensely on hearth and home and family. It is a lifestyle that is not without considerable sacrifice on both our parts, but it is the lifestyle that works for our family right now.

So, we each endeavor to make the best of what we do. We work hard at those survival strategies. Still, sometimes, at the end of the day--quite literally--all there is is the missing. I sleep on his side of his bed when he's gone. At least for the first couple of nights, the pillows still smell like him. I'm sitting there now, wrapped in a ginormous bathrobe with DAD monogrammed on it.

For the next two weeks, I will endeavor to make life run as smoothly as possible, though there will surely be too much on my plate. I will make sure that every child gets picked up and dropped off and, as much as possible, every game will be watched. I will try hard to stay up later than my teenagers and make sure no one is online, on the phone, or watching television because I fell asleep nursing. I will  put dinner on the table every night, despite the temptation to serve cereal in paper bowls. Lessons will be learned, books will be read, tutors will be paid. Children will be tucked into bed and kissed goodnight after prayers are said. 

With God as my helper, I will do it with grace and good cheer. I will do it with gratitude. Because to do so honors the man who works so hard to bring to life his vision for home. But with every breath and every moment, I will miss him. I will miss flirty text messages throughout the day that hint at evening's homecoming. I will miss squeals of glee from tiny girls when they hear his footsteps in the foyer. I will miss the careful dance we do to meet the daily needs of our children together. I will miss meeting his eyes with twinkling appreciation above the melee of our family life. I will miss tracing my finger along his cheek at night before I fall asleep with his strong arms around me. And I will miss slipping out of bed in the morning , knowing that he will gather our baby girl in those arms and sing her back to sleep.

I will be grateful for my extraordinarily generous husband. I will be grateful for these children, this home, this life. And if I find myself in the chaos of my life wishing instead that I were in a hotel on Biscayne Bay, it's only because he is there.