Laughter

From November 20, 1997

For Mother’s Day, our friend Jim, who is Christian’s godfather, gave me a votive candle holder and some aromatherapy candles. The candles were supposed to dissolve stress in the lives of those who inhaled their fragrance. About a month ago, my sons were playing soccer in the house. The “indoor” soccer ball hit the candle and it went sailing across the wood floor, to be shattered when it hit the wall. My rowdy gang grew fearfully silent and all eyes fell upon mom.

 

A very brave nine-year-old dared to break the silence. “Geez, you know things are bad when your stress candle breaks.”

 

I looked up from the mess, grim-faced, and burst into laughter. Michael had effectively broken through the anger and used humor to defuse the situation.

 

One of my favorite proverbs is “A cheerful heart is good medicine.” My children have taught me to laugh, by their example and their inspiration. Some people are born laughing; they have wonderful senses of humor, laugh easily and make people laugh. I was a rather solemn child. But my kids make me laugh all the time. Laughter really does make us all feel better and childhood seems much funnier this time.

 

Patrick, our third boy, is our resident clown and he has held that position since before he could talk, though  his baby sister is an able understudy. When we moved into our new house, Patrick was a little over 18 months old.  He observed the comings and goings of various servicemen and added their titles to his ever growing vocabulary. As I was retrieving him from the car one day that summer, I noticed an ominous wetness on his bottom.

 

“Oh, Paddy, your diaper’s leaking.”

 

“My diaper’s leaking? Quick call the plumber; I’ve got a leak!” We’re still laughing about that one. 

 

Christian is usually the great philosopher. Serious like his mom, his humor runs deep. Occasionally though, he is so earnest, it’s funny. His friend Kevin is one of four boys and has two older sisters. Christian has decided that this is the perfect family because they fill the van and older sisters are nice to little brothers. We have explained to him that, try as we might, there will be no older sisters in his future.

 

He thought he had the perfect solution when he ran excitedly into the kitchen one day. “Mom, I just saw on TV how we can send 72 cents a day to these people in a poor country and they’ll send us a kid. We can ask for a boy or a girl. (I’d pick a big girl.) Can we buy two?”

 

“Christian, they don’t send you the child. They just use the money to help the child.”

 

“Mom, I know they’ll send them to us. I think they come UPS.”

If only it were that simple.

 

I gained a greater appreciation for the gift of laughter that my children give me continually early one morning when I inadvertently shared it with strangers. After driving my husband to work, I took the children to a bagel store in the heart of many business offices. We were clearly out of place amidst the rushed, suited, early-morning clientele. My children chatted with each other, happily unaware of workaday woes.

 

Patrick was in his prime, telling us stories with all the expression he could muster. He has a flair for the dramatic and his gestures and flirtations had caught the attention of several other customers. They were laughing so hard they held their sides. As we were leaving, one man stopped me. He apologized for eavesdropping and said, “When I saw a lady in here with four kids at eight in the morning, I thought you were nuts. But I’m really glad you came. That little boy made my day.”

 

As I buckled him into his seat, Patrick was confused and wanted to know why everyone was laughing at him. I explained that he had been blessed with a tremendous gift. He was able to tell stories and to use words to make people laugh and laughter was a wonderful thing. Michael caught the drift of the message and began to tell Patrick all the times that Patrick’s antics had made him happy. We laughed together all the way home and I thanked God for sending me angelic clowns disguised as children.

The other day, I happened upon an overstuffed envelope filled with my old columns. Most of them pre-date my time on the internet. I enjoyed some quiet time, re-acquainting myself with the young wife and mother who wrote those columns. And since I'm in need of a bit of a blogging break, I'm going to share her with you in the next few weeks. I hope you are blessed.

 

Is Mike Foss Covering the World Cup?

Well yes, he always does, in some form or fashion, what with that ESPN job and all. He is not going to South Africa. Nor is he going to Bristol this year, thank God.  But wait, there's another Mike Foss in this house. Did you mean him?

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He's a little bigger now and he's polished those writing skills beyond simple narrations. Yes, indeed, he is covering the World Cup! Today in USA Today, he has a full-page color spread, breaking it all down for you. He tells you what to watch for, which games to skip, who the key players are and what their challenges will be. He makes sense of the game and inspires you to watch, even if you've never cared about soccer. (Seriously, are there people who never cared about the most watched sport in the world?)

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If you don't happen to be reading this from any hotel in America, where USAToday is awaiting you outside your door, or from a Starbucks, where it is readily available, you can read it online. And if you are really into the greatest soccer tournament in the world, you can chat with him live at 1:00 today. Go ahead, chat away. He's pretty cool. We should know; we talk soccer with this expert all the time. Hang on, he's an expert? Yeah, I guess he is. USA Today's soccer expert. Pretty cool.

Happily Ever After

From September 1997

Ten years ago, I brought a simple band of gold into the jeweler's shop and asked him to engrave it for me.

"I want it to say, 'Once upon a time and happily ever after' and the date '9-12-87.'"

The jeweler cocked one eyebrow and said, "It's just one ring; you can't write a novel on it."

"It's not a novel. It's just the beginning and the end. Can't you print really small?"

"No way. You'll have to come up with something else."

Before we even got to the altar, the reality was that this was a marriage and not a fairy tale. My perception at the time was that "happily ever after" meant that we'd never be unhappy. I took the jeweler's refusal a bit personally. It's a good thing I wasn't superstitious. Ten years and four children later, I've discovered what "happily ever after" really means.

My white knight, it turns out, doesn't ride a white horse. He drives a 1988 black Taurus sedan. It is the "family car" that we bought when we discovered, somewhat unexpectedly, that we were going to have a baby for our first anniversary. It is the car that he tried to convince me not to take to the hospital for that birth. He was afraid I'd get it messy. That car made midnight trips to the hospital a few more times, for a life-threatening infection as a result of chemotherapy, for another birth, and for the first of many childhood asthma attacks. It also has been the chariot to countless Sunday Masses, Saturday soccer games and midnight trips to the grocery store. Now it groans along, needing frequent transfusions of vital fluids in order to reach very local destinations. No white horse, just a trusty old black car.

My white knight, it turns out, doesn't live in a castle. He lives in a four-bedroom house in the suburbs. He works very long hours to pay for the house. There are so many riding toys, basketballs and bikes in the garage that he has never parked his chariot there. There is a swingset in the backyard that he designed and built for his children. Inside, there is happy confusions. Upstairs, there are beds in every room, but the knight often finds himself having a "sleepover" on the floor of the the family room with the young squires. No castle, just a home.

My white knight, it turns out, gets cranky when he's hungry (he reminds us of the giant from Jack and the Beanstalk). And sometimes he gets angry. This was not something I counted on when I went to have the ring engraved. I think I thought that as long as we were in love, there would be no anger, no arguments.

Around the time of our wedding, Carly Simon had a new song entitled "The Stuff that Dreams are Made Of." The tune was catchy and though I cannot even find the album (an antiquated term in these days of CDs), my children have often heard me sing the few phrases that have stayed in my mind over the years. [editor's note: isn't the 21st century grand? I found a YouTube link in 2 seconds flat:-)] I sing this tune when I wipe runny noses and clean dirty diapers, when pots boil over just as the white knight calls to say he'll be late to dinner. I sing it when I'm frustrated because I can't get the real to meet the ideal.

What if the prince on the horse in your fairytale

Is right here in disguise?

And what if the stars you've been reaching so high for

Are shining in his eyes?...

It's the stuff that dreams are made of

It's the slow and steady fire

It's the stuff that dreams are made

It's your heart and soul's desire

I never thought I'd have to reminded that my life is indeed the stuff that dreams are made of.

But I do. Reality is not as sugar-coated as the fairy tales. However the pain in our lives has borne such sweet fruit. The bitterest of arguments have yielded the greatest understanding, the tenderest reconciliation.  Real life is not a fairy tale. There is no fairy godmother; nothing is tied up in a beautiful bow.

Instead, married life is a journey undertaken by two souls. Our destination is heaven. That is our happily ever after. There is always joy, even in the darkest moments, because there is always God. Our marriage is a covenant between Mike, me, and God: a commitment. For better or worse. The joy, the genuine happiness, is in the commitment--God's commitment to us; ours to him; and ours to each other.

What I could not know as a young bride-to-be is that in a covenant marriage, the flushed, giddy, once-upon-a-time romance grows into a deep, abiding, mature love. A love that endures. A love upon which God pours out His riches graces.

On second thought, maybe I did know, deep down inside. I had my husband's ring engraved "Once upon a time and forever" and slipped it on his finger on a beautiful morning ten years ago "as a token of my love and fidelity. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit."

The other day, I happened upon an overstuffed envelope filled with old columns. Most of them pre-date my time on the internet. I enjoyed some quiet time, re-acquainting myself with the young wife and mother who wrote those columns. And since I'm in need of a bit of a blogging break, I'm going to share her with you in the next few weeks. I hope you are blessed.

I am happy this week to share this post with my dear friend Ann Voskamp, as part of her June devotion to the Spiritual Practice of Matrimony

holy experience