In the Heart of my Home

Renew

 

Last year was pretty huge. I was so tired, so completely spent at this year's beginning that I noticed year-in-review posts on other blogs, and just pulled the quilt up tighter around my ears and closed my eyes. I didn't have the energy--physical or spiritual--to revisit it all, even virtually. It was just.so.much.

I went through that year of many, many transitions kicking and screaming. Turns out I'm not a big fan of change. The reality is that I liked the baby years, loved them, really and never once wished them away. And yet, in the big giant year of transition, they were indeed being swept beyond my reach. I left my children for the first time. And then for the second. Someone turned four and there was no one younger than her around the table at dinner. But there was someone new at the table. And she came to be one of us. I gained a new role. The transition was absolutely unmistakeable.

Our culture is so youth oriented. For the most part it seems, no one really searches out ways to be older. We celebrate 21 in a big way. We mark midlife with black-themed birthday cards and bad jokes about being over the hill. I think I bought into that mentality a bit. And I think I know a big reason I was such easy prey.

I was so dang tired. The truth is that this wholehearted, all-in, very attached parenting style had depleted me to the equivalent of soil dust. Nothing rich was growing there. If this was what the mid-forties felt like, I could not imagine sixty.

But I have a four-year-old. And my most fervent prayer is to grow old healthy, and holy, and helpful. I want to be there for her. I want to see how the story unfolds. I want to get out of bed in the morning without my knees cracking so loudly it wakes my husband.

In the blur that was the new year, friends were choosing words for the year--just single words upon which to focus, meditate, seek wisdom. A word to live for the whole year. I couldn't wrap my brain around one. 

And then I could. Aimee said her word was renew. Renew.

That's it. That's the word. It's the word that says that this stage in life is not the beginning of the end. It's the beginning, instead, of something better, stronger, wiser, and yes--older. But older in the richest way. That's certainly being proven true in marriage. Did you know that the sweetest wine is grown from the oldest vineyards? Grapes grow best when the farmer works in harmony in with the earth, when he embraces the whole and considers that plant and the land around it as they were endowed by the Creator, with an eye towards preserving the quality for a long time. The goal of biodynamic farming is to be sustainable. When you grow grapes, you draw something from the soil and you have to replenish that. 

When we learned about biodynamic vineyards, one point that came home to me is that growing practices greatly influence how long the vineyards will continue to bear fruit. The vines where the practice is focused upon sustainable growth--where the big picture is considered and every element of farming is oriented towards ensuring health of the vines down deep and over time--are the vines that bear the sweetest fruit. At first, the explanation of biodynamic farming sounds a bit hokie. But then, you can literally taste and see that the fruit borne of the wisdom of old is of a superior quality.

This image works so well for me. The Bible is rich with imagery of vineyards. Clearly, God wants us to consider how to grow in a sustainable way in order to renew the face of the earth. I've never been more certain of that than I was this morning. I had written the above over the course of the last few weeks. I clicked over to visit Aimee in order to link to her in my post. When I did, I learned she's writing today about sustainable homeschooling. My jaw dropped and I smiled widely at God's thunk over my head. If ever I asked for a sign that I was on the right track, I got a clear answer at 7:00 AM on Tuesday January 29th while visiting Aimee's blog. It's a post that just might easily have catapulted to my favorite home education post ever this morning. There is wisdom there, my friends. Rich, rich wisdom. Get this: middle aged wisdom. Yep. There is wisdom and it's invaluable.

I look around at the friends with whom I've had babies and I am blessed to know that they've grown wise. How amazing! We all learned something during those hazy, intense, sleep-deprived years.

So, now I embrace renewal. I look to tend the vineyard of my soul, to be sure, but I am not going to neglect the rest of me any more. The big picture of renewal is one that encompasses physical health, spirtual growth, creative energy and enthusiasm, and an invigorated sense of hope and optimism for the future. I look to my home, to my homeschooling, to the relationships within these walls and to the people I love beyond these walls. Renewal. All of it is waiting to be made new again. 

What a different perspective than that of a withering towards an inevitable end. We can renew and renew and renew again, until our dying breath. God is generous that way.

I've talked a bit about stillness. About allowing Him to come in the silence.

Be still and know that I am God.

The last two weeks at Mass, an old familiar hymn has settled on my soul in a new way. I've listened to You Are Mine and heard the refrain of stillness. I will come to you in the silence. But I've also heard the rest. I heard the echoes of Isaiah 43:1

But now, thus says the LORD,

who created you, Jacob, and formed you, Israel:

Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;

I have called you by name: you are mine.

There is nothing to fear. I am redeemed. 

And the promise of John 14:27

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give it to you. Do not let your hearts be troubled or afraid

Transitions can be scary. Aging can be scary. Renewal, though? The sustainable model of growth that keeps us renewing until we reach heaven? That's peace.

Last year, was a hard year. It was exhausting. It was a compost year, I think. A year of creating very fertile ground for renewal. 

The Best Wine

As I was going into Mass Sunday morning, I saw a young mom struggling with a preschooler, a toddler, and a bulky, heavy infant seat. I helped her with the door and pushed away a now familiar pang. I know it is a struggle; that stage of parenting is super hard. But I liked it. No, I really, really loved it. Revelled in it. I miss it.

Last September, Mike and I celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary with a trip to northern California. It was Mike's idea--completely, totally, and 100% Mike's idea. He's been many times for business and he was certain I'd love it there. I was certain that I have a fear of airplanes and earthquakes and being very far from my children. I was certain that Sarah Annie was not going to be thrilled about weaning (despite the fact that she was absolutely old enough).  I was certain it was imprudent to plan any sort of trip out of town during the first week of the school year. He was gently insistent.

I was nervous, too. We'd never been away from our children for a whole week. Come to think of it, we'd never really spent a week together without him working since 1996. And that was the one vacation we'd taken in all our married life.  What if we got bored with each other? I knew that this season--the one begun when Michael's engagement coincided with the obvious fact that our baby days are over--was not the season I'd always lived in my dreams. That was the season just ending. What if I hated this season?

He wanted to start in Napa, in wine country. I didn't drink wine. What in the world was he thinking? I am the child who saw alcoholism up close and personal. Wine sets off buzzers and beepers and PTSD. Wine? Seriously?  He was thinking that I love agriculture, that I throw myself headlong into the land and I want to see it and smell it and touch it and taste it and... well, frankly winemaking is the total package. I was dubious.

But I said yes. One morning, under a deadline, I emailed him this column to proofread. And at the very end, I wrote "Let's go to San Francisco. I trust you."

So we did.

I know he worried as we drove away from the San Francisco airport. I tried to look cheerful, but my heart sunk. It was pretty ugly. But then, as we drew near to Sausalito,the cloud lifted and my soul soared. From that moment on, the trip was absolutely everything he'd hoped and so much more than I imagined. 

First, the whole wine thing was a huge success. I loved Napa valley. Just absolutely loved it. And, now, I kind of like wine, too. It's a hobby we share. From there, the trip just kept surprising me with joy. 

One night, in Monterey, after I'd skipped down Cannery Row (yes, really, skipped), and flitted through a Ghirardelli shop, and inhaled the beach at sunset (the first time I'd ever seen the sun set over the water), we had dinner outdoors. Actually, we ate outdoors almost every night, but on this night, I remember revelling in the idea that no matter how empty our house became, the "us"--Mike and me together--would be so full. And I think I was a little surprised.

So, last Sunday at Mass, when that familiar wave of want washed over me, I remembered sharing wine and conversation on the water in Monterey. I remembered that we did this, but I had a growing sense that there is true renewal in this season of life. The end of childbearing isn't the end; it's the beginning of something even deeper.

I nearly cried when Father began his homily by saying that the wine in the wedding at Cana is a symbol of joy and the wedding is analagous to marriage itself. He went on to explain that everyone expects the good wine at the beginning and so, too, everyone focuses on the giddy joy of the newly married years. For us, those were good years. And "giddy" is an excellent word for them. We worked super hard. We also giggled. A lot. 

Father went on to say that the bridal couple doesn't even notice as the joy begins to run out. It's the Blessed Mother who watches over the pair and it's she who points to the solution to the problem of lack. Do whatever he tells you. And then, everyone is surprised by the abundant excellent wine later in the wedding celebration. Later in marriage. There is this growing sense of forever joy. Forever.

Joy.

Fine, miraculous, consecrated, holy. Joy. 

We can drink deep and give thanks.

 

Wedding Day: Lord, Hear Our Prayer

 

 

Twenty-five years ago today, a new life began. It grew from the love of a brand-new marriage. Nine months later, on September 29, 1988, a son was born. My firstborn. The baby who made me Mama, who made us family.

Today, that boy--now grown to a man--will take a wife. In many ways, he's grown up here in this space and in the pages of books and newspapers. We've stumbled along together, he and I, learning as we go, and sharing those lessons with all of you.

I'm at a loss for words. I have been all month.

I tend to take a while to process big things and this is a very big thing. We head to church this morning to meet both the same priest who baptized Michael and our dear pastor, who will concelebrate the marriage. My heart is full--very, very full. I'm eager to encircle Kristin, to call her daughter-in-love, and to fully celebrate this new beginning. But as I said, I'm at a loss for words. So, I beg your prayers for us this weekend and for Michael and Kristin as they begin their new life together.  And I leave you with Mike's words from last night, when he welcomed family and friends after the rehearsal.

 

I thought a fair-amount about what I might be able to share this evening….something that would capture what Elizabeth and I are feeling this weekend.  Coupled with that, I also considered the amount of time I would be allowed to speak before my sons would begin shouting me down.  I think I have about 30-seconds left.

Mark and Terumi, distinguished grandparents, family and friends, thank you for accepting our invitation tonight and for sharing this evening with us.  Elizabeth and I are very grateful.

In spite of what anyone might tell you (and by anyone I suppose I mean our current culture), this life is about relationships.

What we share and what others are willing to share with us.

What we do for others and what we allow others to do for us.

About half of this room is filled with people who have supported Elizabeth and me for at least 30 years and in many cases, closer to 50.  They were there to help us through school, help us through cancer, to help us change the diapers of nine children and help to drive to so many soccer games and ballet rehearsals that it would be impossible to count.

I know the other half of the room is filled with those who have supported Mark and Terumi in a similar fashion.  And while I may not know the specifics of their actions, I do know something about life…..and this outward demonstration, their attendance here tonight, is life.

As I look around this room tonight, each and every person can claim a special relationship with Kristin and Michael.  Grandparents, aunts and uncles, sisters and brothers, and many friends.  As you both consider the weekend ahead, I hope you will take time to reflect on the love and the support which surrounds you tonight, which will surround you tomorrow and which will surround you for years to come.

Kristin and Michael, as you have learned, marriage in the Catholic Church is a grace-filled sacrament.   As the early 20^th century Belgian Priest and theologian, Jacques Leclercq wrote:

The sacrament of marriage is the imprint of God on the souls of the married couple, not merely in order to deify their life in general, but in order to deify their union . . . The sacrament of marriage is thus not merely a religious act sanctifying a human one, it is a seed sown in the soul and bearing fruit through the whole of married life, giving life to all its acts and sentiments . . . it is a predisposition to holiness placed in their souls by God on the day of their wedding.

As you celebrate the powerful and grace-filled sacrament of marriage and enjoy the events of this weekend,  I pray that you will find time to reflect upon the many blessings God has bestowed upon you.  Particularly the blessings of your family and your friends who have gathered with you tonight.

May God grant you many years and may He bless your marriage forever.  We love you both.

 

video credit: Mary Beth Foss, with help from Kristin's sister, Cherise.

Homecoming

Yesterday, the painter found this picture. It made me smile and then, unexpectedly, cry (this may or may not have to do with lack of sleep and the influence of paint fumes). This picture was taken October 31, 1982. Homecoming, my senior year of high school.

It's Homecoming Week in our small town. My children don't go to the local high school, but Patrick is going to the dance with Hilary and Mary Beth is going with Hilary's younger brother, Jack (I know, too cute, right?). I told Hilary earlier this week that I remember the homecoming dance my senior year as the absolute best night of high school. 

I remember sitting with Mike late into the night and planning our future. Never mind that this night came after the world's rockiest high school "romance" (if it was even that). And never mind there were still plenty of tears yet to shed. In that moment of time, we were perfect. I don't really remember the details, but I do remember him saying something about a big family-- four kids sounded good to him. I also remember we planned to open a day care center and school, firmly rooted in Montessori. I detailed for him every nuance of educational philosophy and prepared environment. He was totally on board. We were going to change the world, beginning with the children.

So, that all worked out, right? We have our own little cottage school. (And exactly 26 years after that perfect date, we welcomed our ninth baby into the world.)

Sally Clarkson writes, "As a younger woman, I struggled with many of the scriptures referring to a woman's role in life. But the more I have lived, the more I have come to appreciate the beauty and wisdom of my God-given assignment. As a free-spirted person who generally thinks outside the box, I have found deep fulfillment and satisfaction in exercising my gifts, strengths,and personality to bless my family, neighbors, and friends from the strength of my home. Establishing my household as a place in which the greatness of God and a devotion to him is lived out each day has given me focus. Loving my children and nurturing their hearts and minds while training their characters and leading them to know the Lord and his purposes has satisfied my soul's need for purpose. The Mission of Motherhood,

I wish I could show you how my home looks this morning. The contractor who promised we'd do one room at a time has successfully put every single room on the main floor and my bedroom and bathroom out of commission at the same time. There is no shower available to anyone at this moment. No room is untouched by this process of transformation. Mike was up until 2:00 this morning re-wiring the bathroom. I'm bone tired. But these words--this one paragraph of Sally's-- is propelling me through this day.

Tonight, my teenagers and their friends will come here for brunch after the dance. I have a vision. It's not a business and a school and a few advanced degrees. It's a home and a handmade meal. And by golly, it's going to be warm and welcoming and beautiful. As I move about my space, putting things back in order (even bettter than before), I am so grateful for a soul overflowing with a sense of His purpose. I am grateful for a life of love lived in out in the strength of my home. I am ever so grateful for homecomings.

~~~

This post is part of 31 Days To Remind Myself of the Mission. I'd love to hear your thoughts about mission and vocation in the comment box. Find all the posts in the series here. And please, help yourself to a button if you want one for your blog. I'd love to read what you say there. 

 

<a href="http://www.elizabethfoss.com/reallearning/2012/09/31-days-to-remind-myself-of-the-mission.html" _mce_href="http://www.elizabethfoss.com/reallearning/2012/09/31-days-to-remind-myself-of-the-mission.html"><img src="http://www.elizabethfoss.com/.a/6a00d8341c543553ef017c323f2b90970b-pi" _mce_src="http://www.elizabethfoss.com/.a/6a00d8341c543553ef017c323f2b90970b-pi"width="125"height="125"border="0" alt="31 days Misson"/></a>

 

Forever In the Forest

He took my hand as we started down the path and I couldn't help but think how strange it felt. Try as I might, I could not think of any other time within the last quarter century that I had walked a wooded trail without a baby within, or strapped to my chest, or holding my hand. Or all three.

And still, it felt really right. If I were asked to pick a moment when I first knew--really knew--that I was in love with this man, it was on a wooded trail. The man was a boy back then. Those woods, those dear, familiar east coast woods, were so very young compared to the woods we were about to walk that day in California. 

How fitting then, that this clear September day found us in the woods again. The grown-up woods. Even the grown-old woods. For nearly half the Septembers of our marriage I have been round with child. But not this September, or the three just past. It's been a process of letting go. I was the mom with the baby for so long and I loved being that mom so much. The letting go has not been quick or easy. I am painfully aware that the seasons of autumn babies are no more. Slowly, I see glimpses of what lies ahead, in these years after babies. More than anything I am struck by how full they can be of that first love, the one that set the rest in motion.

He's still here. My heart still skips a beat every single time I encounter him again after he's been away. It's not that young, green love of the forest by the lake in the town where we were children. It's a big, grown up love, the kind you find in a forest with scarred trunks and soaring treetops. So we set off down the path, just us, beginning a new season of our lives together.

The trees were breathtaking. They are massive, old trees, trees with a history that stretches back a full 2,000 years. My camera was no match for their immense presence. I could not begin to capture the essence of that forest. 

I stood and stared long and hard inside the burned out redwood. Trees created to last forever? Truly made of resilient stuff. The fire burned within, but it didn't kill the tree. Instead, the tree grew anew. I thought of the grave realities we met so early, the really scary stuff, the heated words, the tired anger, the every day hard work of figuring it all out. The fires of us. And there he was. Still. Tall and strong against the sky. New life, new love growing still, reaching heavenward. Always reaching heavenward.

 

He delighted in my awe, watching me dance along the shaded path as if I were a character in an Elsa Beskow book. I could tell he was well pleased with himself for insisting we go all that way to see the trees. I told him I could stay there forever. He suggested we send for the children. The children! They would love the giant forest we discovered. We'll bring them back there, I promised myself. And we'll get them out in their own eastern woods more often. 

I left with great reluctance, inhaling deep the scent of that rich forest as if I could keep the big wonder of it inside of me even as we went. Trees. Trees put there by the Creator around the time the Son walked the same earth. Forever trees. It's a mystery, really, how anything can last forever in this disposable world. Some things do, though.

Forever.

A mystery.

And a grace. 

With my Heart in San Francisco

If you're growing weary of my travelogue, I do apologize. I think my parents are enjoying it and I know Mike is loving it, so I plan to continue to work my way through my pictures and add words as I go.

We reluctantly left Napa and headed back into San Francisco. This is a city that MIke knows well. It occurred to me more than once how his frequent traveling was blessing our time together. Beyond the obvious frequent flyer, car, and hotel points (and those were huge), he knows how to travel well. I just followed his lead. 

On our way in, we wound up a mountain and then pulled over. Mike wanted me to look from that height across to the Golden Gate Bridge. And I did. That might not be a big deal to some people, but I have a serious fear of heights and this trip was all about conquering that impediment. Pretty amazing view. I'm glad we stopped. I'm really glad I got out of the car. 

We went to lunch at The Slanted Door, a Vietnamese restaurant that overlooks San Francisco Bay. What a view! Just an aside, we had an interesting conversation about gray hair. We'd noticed that many of our servers were our age or older and all of the women had naturally gray hair. And all of them were really very pretty. So, I extended my people-watching on the topic of gray and looked around. I think leaving one's hair gray is more acceptable in the west? Am I wrong here? I notice new grays every day and I'm not inclined to color. Mike and I made a deal that if he gets to thinking it looks like steel wool, he'll let me know pronto.

After lunch, we walked around a bit and headed to our hotel. There, I changed into some serious athletic walking shoes. They were a last minute gift from Patrick--our resident Mr. Nike-- and I'm so glad I tossed them in my suitcase. We walked. And walked. And walked. It was glorious. I'm not a city person at all, but a city like this could change my mind. Walking it was the perfect way to experience it. And all those significantly steep hills? The better to work up an appetite for amazing food.

We walked from the hotel down to the wharf where the sea lions bask in the sun. The sea lion picture was a must for Nicky, but it's the worst of the trip (sorry). We meandered a little around the shops at the pier and then looked up towards a steeple. Then, we just started walking that way. Straight up, it seemed. Mike kept asking if I wanted to take a cab. I most definitely did not. I had been working out and eating Paleo for months to get ready for this trip. Bring on the hills!

The church was St. Peter and Paul. It was open and we went in to admire its majesty. There was a group there and I felt out of place and awkward, so we didn't stay long. We started walking again.

 

This time, we walked through Chinatown and into the financial district and to Old St. Mary's. We arrived at 6:00. Just in time for Vespers. Only the church was locked up tight. 

So we walked again. I thought it would be fun to visit St. Francis parish in San Francisco. It looked nice from the outside. Locked up, too. What's up with the locked up churches in California?

From there, we walked Nob Hill, stopped at a sushi restaurant to buy takeout for dinner and then threaded our way back from whence we came. Downhill. Awesome.

The next morning, I got up and out early, by myself no less-- in the big city. I found Starbucks using the app on my phone and walked a whole block alone:-).  Then we took a little spin around Lombard Street. Oh, my!

We left the city pretty early in the day. Mike had big plans. Big, big, gigantic plans. 

More later.

Him

Twenty-five years ago he had a proposal that sounded so impossible I could scarcely envsion it. He had plans and dreams and ideas that were a world I'd never even imagined. But I said yes. 

Because I trusted him.

And, together, we brought those dreams to life and we dreamed new dreams.

Together.

Looking back over a quarter century of chances taken, every single time, I was afraid. Every single time, I could not begin to fathom that all would be well. But I said yes.

Because I trusted him.

And now, as I look at the tapestry of our lives woven together, I see the thread running bold and bright throughout. 

Trust.

I knew that he loved me intensely and forever, that I was safe with him. I knew that he was true. Real. Genuine. 

Not perfect.

But honest. 

And when he said he was giving me his whole life. He meant it.

Nothing held back. Nothing hidden. 

I took his hand. I looked at the leap we were taking.

I knew there would be curves in the road.

What? Where?

I had no idea.

But I knew--I was sure--that this was the man I wanted to lead me. This was the heart I trusted with mine. This was real. 

So I said yes.

I say it again every day.

And I always will. 

 

The Other Man in my Life

On the occasion of my 25th wedding anniversary, I'm thinking about the other man in my life. Please join me at MomHeart this morning.

I'll be back later today to smile about my husband:-).

Reminiscing

In two weeks, my husband and I will celebrate our 25th wedding anniversary. Jenny has discovered an anniversary memory from 15 years ago. Will you stop for a moment with me at Suscipio today and remember when...

7 Habits in the iGeneration

Do you ever consider the legacy you are leaving? I admit, I do. Probably, I think about it too much. I think that's a longterm effect of cancer survival (we're never sure when the cancer caused by the chemo is going to pop up) and I think it's related to having baby girls after 40. When they are my age, what will they know of me? What can I leave for them that will encourage them when I am not able to do that? It might be a middle-age thing to think about legacy.

Honestly, though, I've been thinking it since I was 24. Cancer thing, definitely. Shortly before I was diagnosed, an influential book hit the bestseller's list. Stephen Covey was writing compellingly about living intentionally and leaving a meaningful legacy. I was earnestly seeking father figures in my twenties and this guy fit the bill. 

Stephen Covey died a few weeks ago. I cried. I was surprised by my reaction, but it reminded me just how much he influenced me way back when. I took the book from the shelf, dusted it off, and wrote about it here.

Answering Questions: Dads Who Work Hard. Really hard.

I'm trying to answer some questions from the last few weeks. In this post, Greg from USA Today said:

I have read nearly all of your backposts and I just have a couple of questions:

1) How did you do it with your husband seemingly never at home to help?

2) Do you regret the decision to have him work 2 jobs at the same time?

Dear Greg,

1. We struggled through together, each granting the other grace. (Note, sometimes we failed miserably in this area, but we tried. We still try. And we're getting better at it as we get older.)  I really do believe that the biggest help is attitude. I never allow myself for a moment to think that I'm a single parent. That's self-defeating for me: If I think that way, I fail to see how blessed I am to have emotional support of a loving husband, to have financial support, to have reunions and homecomings and late night phone calls. Single moms have none of those things. I don't live with the pain of divorce or death. I live knowing that I am loved by an amazingly wonderful man.  I don't mean to candy-coat it. It was--and is--hard. Really hard. Especially with teenagers and toddlers together. But I'm not a single mom. Not by a longshot.

And it's downright insulting to him to consider myself as a single mom. He's working for US. That's the point. His job doesn't serve him; it serves our family. I wrote about that here: An Active Love.

Also, when we were younger, Mike's father was younger. Actually, he was older as fathers go. I remind myself that he was the same age when I was born as I was when Sarah was born. 42. That means that he was retirement age when our firstborn was born. And retire he did. For the first 20 years of our marriage, he was readily available to help me any way he could and he filled in a lot of those dad places--repairs, carpools, even vacuuming when I was pregnant. Repairs. Did I mention repairs? He's been unable to do those things in the past five years or so and I have felt his absence keenly. In many ways, he was the wind beneath my wings and I will always be grateful for his generous help.

Some women find that support in a military community of wives. Others find it in their mothers, mothers-in-law, or sisters. And some have truly super great local friends. I think it's pretty much impossible to do it without some adult support. I remember years ago, when Stephen was a baby. His doctor and I spent a long week together when my newborn was admitted at 2-weeks-old. The doctor had just joined the practice and his family was really young. He asked me what he could do to make his hours easier on his wife. I didn't hesitate to tell him to get her a cleaning lady. He was so surprised! But it was the first thing that came to my mind. Those early years are so physically intense. Another adult to bear those burdens, even a little bit, is a huge help. I used to wish that someone would offer to just come hold and walk with the baby for a half hour so I could fold laundry. That's such a simple--and desperate--wish. (Granddad could not bear fussy babies;-).

More often than not, there was no one. We muddled through--a crew of small children and me. Friends from the beginning drifted away as our family grew and we chose to homeschool; we just didn't have as much in common any more. Then we moved to a very new neighborhood with very few people and even fewer homeschoolers. And no Catholic homeschoolers at first. There was support in neighboring towns, but that involved driving and relinquishing naptime and sometimes, the tradeoff was more than I could bear. It was hard. And if there's a lesson in it for me--for us--it's to be on the lookout for people in my life right now who bear similar burdens. We can be a support to one another. We just have to be active about looking for ways to help and about reaching out and asking. All my asking was in my mind. I never spoke the words aloud to anyone but God. I should have.

Here are ten more essential tips for coping when dad's away.

2. Regret? I don't know. I don't really go there and neither does Mike. It was something we did together. Something that allowed us to live in this area, where all our extended family was when we made that decision. Something that allowed me to stay home. To homeschool. To write. He takes providing opportunities for his children very seriously and he saw building his career through both a "steady" job and freelance as the way to do it. He was right.  I trusted him then and I trust him now. I trust.

And so, no, I guess I don't regret. I don't think trust and regret can co-exist.

Now, I have a question for you, Greg. Did you strike up a conversation with Michael in the elevator at USA Today a few weeks ago? If so, thank you:-) He told me about it and I sort of thought he was just making it up because I was having one of those "I want to throw the computer out the window" kinds of days. You made me reconsider and saved my Macbook from certain doom;-).

Prayerful Sex

This my second installation of NFP Throwback in honor of NFP Awareness Week. For the full introduction, please read here.

Without further ado, here's a column from Summer 1993. My current editorializing is in pink:

I recently asked a young man who is about to be married what advice he had received concerning marriage. He looked me straight in the eye and said, "The only advice my mother has given me is that no marriage can have too much of two things: sex and prayer." As I  recall, I turned very red and quickly inquired about china patterns. But the words have stuck with me. Now I wish I could sit with his mother and discover what other pearls of wisdom she has to offer. 

Because I know this young man, I know his mother was referring to unselfish marital sex. It is wholly appropriate to discuss lovemaking and prayer in the same context. That is how God intended it. Married love should embrace the Lord, creator of life. The unitive nature of making love and the procreative nature are inextricably intertwined. To deny either one is to deny God, who invested sex with that quality. In order to know God's will regarding the conception of children, the couple must pray together. It is that constant communication, with each other and with God that makes Natural Family Planning (NFP) so good for marriages.

In my last post, I shared the myriad of options the medical community makes available to couples who are planning their families. And we discovered what a euphemism "options" is. Rather than arbitrary, heavy-handed rules, the Church's stand on birth control is a protective measure, which shields couples from the evil inherent in all forms of artificial birth control and encourages them to consider God's will in every aspect of their lives.

NFP is not the rhythm method. It does not solely rely on a "safe time of the month." Instead, it is a scientific method in which married and engaged couples note, chart, and interpret the woman's fertility signs. The couple considers the time of the month, basal body temperature, cervical mucous, and physical attributes of the cervix itself. When used properly,it is every bit as effective as the pill.

It is not my intention to tell couples how to use NFP, but to tell them why NFP makes so much more sense than artificial birth control. Many couples decide on a form of contraception and then rarely discuss sex in terms of children. I wonder how many women, before they take their pills every morning, consider what God's plan is for their families. I wonder how many men ever think about the pill at all, even when their wives take it daily. Contraception becomes a routine part of day-today life-- a mechanization requiring little thought and no communication.

NFP enhances communciation between spouses. It is a shared responsibility. Most importantly, this cooperative effort embraces God. An NFP couple must not only discuss sex, but to use NFP properly, they must pray about it. It is a blessing to a marriage when God is included in the  sacred act He created. NFP requires prayerful consideration. It does seem that couples using NFP have more children than other couples. None of those children are "accidents." These couples have prayerfully considered life more often and are more open to divine intervention in the family planning. Above all, marriage partners who are open to God's plan know the peace of cooperation with the love of the Creator.

Marriage is hard work. I won't deny that NFP is work, too. I don't know of anything of value in interpersonal relationships that doesn't require some effort. NFP requires faithfulness. It requires some sacrifice, a dying to self. But that is what love is all about--giving for the good of another. That is not a bad thing. When they are choosing abstinence, couples experience a time of "courtship." They are challenged to find alternate expressions of love and they experiences the joys inherent to those expressions.

Finally, NFP is wonderful witness to children. When my children are adolescents and I want to impress upon them the merits of chastity, I will speak from a personal perspective, telling them about the sanctity of sex within a marriage, about sacrifice, and fidelity. I'll urge them to prayerfully consider God's will and His plan for their lives. Iwill be able to empathize with how difficult it is to deny the urgings of the flesh because I will be living a chaste life. [Note: Now that my children are of this age, I recognize the huge role a community of faith plays. When you are surrounded by supportive friends, this lifestyle is more readily embraced than when you are all alone in the culture. Whether married or single, living sexuality as God intended requires open communication and a shared of philosophy within the couple and, ideally, surrounding the couple. Cultivating that community is infinitely valuable.] I will tell them that I know what it feels like to be in love and to gratefully accept God's blessings upon a union. And when they are about to be married, I will tell them that a good marriage can never have too much of two things: sex and prayer.

NFP: 19 years later

It's NFP Awareness week. This year, there's a bold, fresh website on the scene to take on the challenge of introducing Natural Family Planning to a new, decidedly digital generation. There's a great new collection of articles there that I'm sure will enlighten most everyone. And there's more: iusenfp.com is another new site--this one run by two young women--designed to promote the value of natural family planning. 

I heartily applaud the efforts of these young people (and I feel a bit like my grandmother calling them "these young people."). As I read them, I remember being young and married and not at all a part of the contraceptive culture. While I think these sites do run a calculated risk of sounding a bit like "The Natural Approach to Contraception," I think the good outweighs the potential for misinterpretation. They're definitely getting good information out there, information that is not readily available on the maintstream information superhighway. Over the years, I've grown to appreciate the spiritual aspects above all the rest. Openness to life is the ultimate self-improvement --God-improvement-- program. Hopefully, that, too, will come from these young writers.

My early NFP days predate said superhighway. I learned about NFP mostly from another young teacher who was also a newlywed at the first school where I taught. I had heard of it during an Engaged Encounter just before the school year began (we were married the first week of school), and Betsy followed up with her own experience. She was open and frank, but not nearly as frank as what's floating out there now. From there, I did some reading on my own and we took a Couple-to-Couple League class. 

We had decided on that Engaged Encounter not to contracept. And, frankly, we were pretty much open to whatever God had in mind. We welcomed our first baby just after our first anniversary. And I would do it exactly that way in heartbeat, if I had it to do again. It wasn't really until after that baby, and after cancer, that we started to understand the theology behind NFP. Our early marriage story is pretty different from most, but it's dear to us. 

Anyway, that's a rather longer introduction than I planned. All that to say, I figured that since I'm old enough to call the 1flesh.org folk "these young people," I should probably go back and dig up my own words before I share what I thought about NFP back in the beginning. I have three artcles from exactly 19 years ago today to share over the next three days. These were originally published in the Arlington Catholic Herald on the occasion of the 25th anniversary of the very prophetic Humanae Vitae. I'm going to try to refrain from editorializing too much. The articles are just as I wrote them, with my comments today in pink.

Here we go:

There are table tents set up all around the waiting room of the OB/GYN office where I teach childbirth classes. "Ask about your birth control options," they scream from every corner of the room. Ask indeed. I wonder what I would be told.

Would I be told that the pill is an abortifacient? I don't think so. Rare is the doctor who sit down with a patient and discusses the fine print. Most couples know that the pill often prevents pregnancy by suppressing ovulation and altering the cervical mucus. But how many people understand the ultimate "back up"? When a baby is conceived, he is aborted without his mother's knowledge because hormones have rendered the uterus inhospitable to life. Some option! Before a woman could even consider her choices, the hormone in the pill she takes so routinely can abort her baby. All hormonal contraceptives work in a similar manner.

Norplant, new and trendy though it appears, is merely a steady stream of hormones for five years. A woman will never have to give birth control a second thought. But will she think about what those hormones are doing to the natural chemsitry of her body?  [Note: Norplant was discontinued in the United States about ten years after it was introduced. Hmmm]. 

Depo-Provera, a recently introduced injectable hormone contraception, provides up to three months protection against pregnancy, while remaining in the body and preventing the resumption of a normal cycle for up to eighteen month. Of course, once it has been injected the woman is stuck with it. Once they give her the shot, she can't take it out--for better or worse, no matter what the "side effects." ["Side effects" is a joke term. All efects of a drug are just that, effects. They may not be what you signed up for, but they are effects. Incidentally, Depo-Provera is Melinda Gates' drug of choice. You can read more on that here.]

Let's consider the side effects. "Side effects" are what the pharmaceutical companies call the unpleasant effects of drugs. They all listed in a rather lengthy insert included with every prescription of hormonal contraceptives. A woman may not experience every effect of the drug. But the list--which includes risk of blood clots, heart attack and strokes, gallbladder disease, liver tumors, headache, nervousness, depression and hair loss--is pretty scary reading material. Most couples never even glance at the insert. 

Then there are the other "options" which society and the medical community present to us. Another abortifacient, the IUD, works to prevent an embryo [a real live baby] from implanting in his mother's uterus. Instant abortion. Barrier methods, especially the condom which the popular press holds in such high esteem, prevent the very physical intimacy that lovemaking seeks and deny the unitive as well as the procreative nature of intercourse. And as far as spontaneity and romance go, I don't think it's spontaneous or romantic to go to bed with barriers between us.

When the couples in my classes ask me about birth control and I mention NFP, I amost always get the "you-must-be-an-extremist-hope-to-have-ten-kids" look [I was 27, with two children, when I wrote this. I am well aware that this line is amusing now. In a very, very good way.] I've often heard that the Catholic Church is unrealistic, rigid, and chauvinistic in its approach to contraception. I disagree.

When my husband and I really looked at the "options," when we took the time to educate ourselves about what was being professed by the secular society versus what the Church taught, we found that the Church was not only reasonable, but very supportive of marital sex. Far from being evil, in a Christian marriage, sex is a high and noble thing--a gift from God. The Church approves of lovemaking, even if for serious reasons the couple isn't trying to achieve pregnancy. The Church's stand on birth control seeks not to make life difficult by to help married couples make a good thing even better. Sex is holy; it is God's idea. And openness to children is an integral part of God's plan. 

Artificial birth control isn't good for women. And it isn't good for marriages. It deprives couples the third party in their union. God. When sex denies life, it denies Life. That is, it excludes the Creator of Life. once He is exclueded, one third of the mrriage covenant participants has been asked to leave--the wisest one. In my nex tpost, we'll consider Natural Family Planning, a way to plan families that embraces God.

[Am I a bad witness for NFP because I have nine children? I don't think so. I don't think so at all. I think there is a danger to think that good or successful use of NFP guarantees that your family makeup will look just like that of pharmaceutical family planners. If so, then clearly you have excellent scientific charting skills and applaudable self-control. I've even seen blogs where couples have practiced for years and never knew these few lines existed in the Church's teaching: With regard to physical, economic, psychological and social conditions, responsible parenthood is exercised by those who prudently and generously decide to have more children, and by those who, for serious reasons and with due respect to moral precepts, decide not to have additional children for either a certain or an indefinite period of time.  

We learned quickly that we couldn't out-give God. His generosity--of adequate wealth, but more importantly of grace and strength--was sufficient. Always. For us, NFP was there, an underpinning of an awareness of fertility and hormonal cycles. Every one of those nine children was welcomed enthusiastically. We knew there would be challenges. And we trusted He would equip and bless. He always has.]

Can we Divorce-proof Our Marriages?

I still remember it vividly. They seemed the perfect family: one girl, one boy, both darling. Mom and Dad were together at swim meets and ballgames. They lived in a lovely house. Their children went to great schools. And then, the day after the younger graduated high school, her mom up and left. Walked out. At least that’s the way it looked to those of us watching from a distance. Just like that: marriage over; family dissolved. Read the rest here, please?

Time to Connect

I think it was about three weeks before Easter that he mentioned it again. 

"You should come with me to Miami." I'm pretty sure I rolled my eyes. This crazy idea was a clear illustration of the disconnect. This man has no concept of what the three weeks before a major holiday hold for mothers. He doesn't understand that we were going to throw Bluebell Week in there a month early, that soccer season began the day we were to leave, that we were going to move most of the contents of two bedrooms right after Easter. He was suggesting that I just take a week off and leave everything. Go in an airplane. For four nights away from my toddler who still nursed herself to sleep.

But just as my eye rolling ceased I saw for a brief moment the look on his face.

I didn't say anything. Instead, I sulked and thought to myself that he was adding something pretty huge to an already crammed to-do list. I needed to finish spring cleaning before Easter. I needed to cook and bake and get ready to host his extended family for the holiday. And besides all that, who takes a vacation at the beginning of Holy Week? The whole idea grated on my liturgical sensibility.

The next day, I dashed off a whiny email about my predicament to a very dear friend--the kind of friend who would read my ungrateful rant and say not a word until much later, when I'd come to my senses. And even then, she would not remind, she would just smile broadly at my note telling her how wonderful this whole idea was. My initial complaint was blown away with a puff of  loving grace.

Shortly after my haughty email, I called my father. Would he, could he, could they, please watch six of my children for four nights so I could go to Miami? Of course they could, came the ready reply. And then he handed the phone to my stepmother. She listened to my litany of ifs, ands and buts. And she wholeheartedly encouraged me to go. She was happy to have them, happy to give us this chance to get away.

The three big boys would remain at home so that they could go to school and to work. I drew up a long list of chores that required manual labor so that they wouldn't kill each other would have a positive outlet for all that energy.

I knew that Mike would be at work all day while I was there. So, I set some intense writing goals. I prepared three embroidery projects. I downloaded two new books to my Kindle. And then, after a conversation about something entirely different with my friend Becca, on a complete and total whim, I ordered this book. I described it a little to you last week. Here's what I said:

I spent Holy Week reading Consoling the Heart of Jesus. There are a small handful of books in my life where I remember exactly where and when I read them because those times and places are turning points. This book is one of those. It is easily at the top of that list. This incredibly readable volume makes some of the most beautiful truths and devotions of the Catholic faith understandable (at last)  and accessible (even to busy mothers of large families).  Fr. Gaitley brings together fine threads of several spiritual traditions and weaves them into a beautiful and exceedingly useful tapestry of a do-it-yourself retreat. It is Ignatian spirituality made accessible. It is the Little Way of St. Therese for all of us. It is consecration to Mary and devotion to Divine Mercy explained in plain language and made clear to little souls. Mostly, it is a rich volume of Merciful Words that brings Merciful Love to its readers. You don't have to have a weekend to make the retreat. You can just read a little each day until you are finished. If it's your heart's desire to get to know and understand Jesus better, tell Him. He'll help you find the time. I heartily recommend that you hurry and get yourself a copy of this book--what a beautiful way to spend the Easter sason.

I started reading on the plane. By the time we landed, I knew that this Holy Week was set apart for me by God Himself, in His infinite mercy. This time would be a time of retreat. I would fill my days with God and spend my evenings with my husband. No interruptions. No distractions. Just the three of us.

I kept to my general prayer program.

I started my days there at the gym. The hotel bike is considerably newer than my 13-year-old one. The voices from divineoffice.org joining me in prayer were familiar, even far from home. Mike and I had leisurely breakfasts at an Argentinian market. We walked hand-in-hand back to the hotel and he went off to work in his office right next door. I returned to the room and to my retreat. At ten o'clock, I went back out for another walk, soaking up the gorgeous sunshine and drinking deep of the lovely town that is Coral Gables. I stopped at a sushi restaurant and ordered a salad to go to bring back to my room. Back to my retreat. When I got there, the bed had been made, the room straightened and it all smelled like a tropical breeze. It's amazing how clearly one can think in the absence of clutter and a to-do list.

At three o'clock, I walked again. One day, I looked see where the closest church was. I walked three miles to The Church of the Little Flower. I wish I had  pictures for you. There's a tour here; you can even see the street I walked. It's actually only two miles, but I got lost on the way there. Then I walked back to the hotel, stopping at a cafe for iced tea to bring back to the room. I sat in the courtyard and read some more. After a day or so of filling this way--of relishing much needed silence--words came back. I found myself drawn to keyboard, fingers flying and thoughts tumbling from my hands. The time I spent at my computer wan't much at all, but it was rich.

The embroidery went untouched. I didn't have my camera, so the very few pictures I have were taken with Mike's cell phone from our table outside at dinner one evening on South Beach. But the images in my head? All art created by Him.

Mike and I enjoyed wonderful evenings. We had all the time in the world to finish conversations, to think deep thoughts together. His workday was pretty intense and he was not on vacation at all, but he was so genuinely happy to have me there. We ate great food and we took in the sights and sounds of the unique culture that is south Florida. I saw through his eyes and my own the places and people he spends so much time with. It was all good.

I returned to my home and my children early Holy Thursday afternoon, in plenty of time to make a seder dinner and go to Mass together. Mike did not join us until Easter Sunday.

Despite all my reluctances, I know I spent those days right in the middle of God's will. I am so grateful that my husband saw much better than I did how much I needed to get away. I'm grateful to my father and stepmother for sacrificing their own quiet and rest for my rowdy, energetic crew. And I'm grateful to a merciful Jesus for the gift of graces he showered on me.

I am so glad I said Yes!

 

Joining the ladies at Suscipio this week for Moments of Grace.

Blessed are they...

Your children will see that– in spite of imperfections in their parents– joyful obedience to God is still the standard. That obedience is all the more fruitful when difficult temperaments and real life challenges are involved. Your children will learn that you can’t change someone else. But you can love them.  

I'm sharing an old post at Suscipio this morning, the notes from long ago conversations with wise women. Thoughts on love and marriage. Please join me there?

I still think children are good for a marriage.

Way back when I started blogging, I was very shy about writing about marriage. It's a tricky topic and, though I venture there a wee bit more these days, I'm still hesitant. But I got bold one day way back when. I think I was bothered by somehting I read. (Isn't anger a great motivator to write? On second thought, don't answer that.) I wrote about how openness to life made us better--better spouses, better friends, better Christians. That piece has been republished today at Suscipio. Won't you join me there?

Perfect, Part 2

This is Perfect Part 1

Thank you for all your kind words and your prayers yesterday. The secret was a huge success! I had envisioned slipping in and standing next to him as we watched the show, but I knew there could be production glitches that would call the whole thing off. Last week, I enlisted the help of our dear family friend, Frankie, who works in Mike's office. I shared the idea and asked him if he thought it too crazy. He was enthused and thought it might work, given a tidy production day. We both acknowledged that sometimes first days aren't all that tidy. The plan was to check in with Frankie around 2:00. If all was good, I'd hit the road. It's a bit more than an hour into the city from our house. 

At 11:46, my phone rang. It was Mike. I knew that they were shooting at noon. My stomach dropped and my heart leapt. I was sure something was terribly wrong. Why in the world would he call so close to "action" time? Because that's the time we exchanged our vows. He just wanted to say, "I still do."

We chatted for just a few minutes and I hung up very pleased that I was still keeping the secret.

At 2:00, I checked in with Frankie and he said there were some glitches but to come on. Patrick and I drove into the city and Paddy dropped me off at Mike's office at 3:30. Frankie met me in the lobby and helped me clear security. He explained that the glitch was pretty big and he was going to sit me in Mike's office until it was a good time to tell him I was there. I was a little bummed that I wouldn't see him, but really glad I'd enlisted Frankie's help. The last thing I wanted was to be in the way and I knew Frankie would keep me from doing that.

I sat at Mike's desk and doodled little notes and pictures on a notepad. I'm sure he'll smile when he goes to jot things today. I left yesterday's blog post up on his computer. And then, I started to get a little concerned. It was 10 minutes to air and I couldn't figure out how to work the TV on his office wall. How ironic would it be if I came all this way and missed the show? I texted home. My teenagers always help me with TV issues. No luck. So I stuck my head out the door and 'fessed up to all those TV guys that I couldn't even turn it on. After getting all tuned in, I settled in to watch the show. In his office. By myself.

But it was fine. I was pleasantly surprised by how much I liked the show (I'd had my doubts). Frankie checked in a couple times to tell me that the glitch was unglitching, but that Mike was crucial to making sure it all went well. At the end of the show, a huge cheer went up in the ESPN wing of the ABC building. And I think I heard an audbile collective sigh of relief. It was way fun to be there for that. 

After the show was over, Frankie insisted Mike come upstairs to his office. I'm pretty sure Mike was annoyed with Frankie;-). He opened the office door, saw me sitting there, and literally did a double take. A smile slowly spread all over his face and he said, "You're here. Wow. You're here." I explained the rest of the plan, shared that we had reservations at 7 and that he had plenty of time to do all the things he had to do. If we needed to go a little later, we could do that, too. Then I curled up in the corner with my Kindle and let him do his thing.

When he was satisfied that all was well with his corner of the television world., we walked to this restaurant, a block or so from the White House. On the way, Mike said he really couldn't believe I'd done this whole thing, that I'd appeared on this day. I was quiet and he went on to elaborate. You have fear of cities (um, yeah, that whole agorophobia thing). Today was the first day of full ballet and soccer driving--everybody has something. HOW did you manage that? (With fine-tuned precision and a lot of help). You were afraid that because the 10th anniversary of 9/11 was a Sunday, the new attack would come on the next day. (You knew that? I never said that! How did you know that? But, yeah, that was the big obstacle. And then I remembered that you flew the first day planes went up ten years ago and you have said ever since then that the terrorists win if we let them make our plans for us. So I did this for you. Because you're brave. I am not.)

Fear is a thief. I've allowed it to rob me far too many times.

After dinner, we walked in front of the White House and across Lafayette Square. I noted that there is an American Craft exhibit at the Renwick Gallery and promised myself to come back soon. Mike and I chatted about art, craft, and creativity. I'm grateful for a life that allows us both to do things we genuinely love to do. We went back to the studio and turned off all the lights. We gathered up the leftovers of the Georgetown Cupcakes emblazoned with the new show's logo and took them back to our kids. 

A perfect ending to a very sweet day.

We're in this together.

Twenty-four years ago, we said "I do." Sometimes, it's hard to remember the people we were back then, the dreams we dreamed, the plans we made. We said "in sickness and in health." Boy howdy, did my new husband get more than he bargained for there--nine months of pregnancy nausea followed quickly by chemotherapy and radiation. He married a petite, long-haired girl and by the time we celebrated our third anniversary, I'd been fat and bald (and throwing up) most of our married life . He was a very good sport.

In all seriousness, he was better than a good sport. He was everything I could have ever hoped for and more than I ever imagined. He was with me at every single doctor's appointment. Every single blood draw. Every step of the way. We walked that path alone. Together. None of our friends were married yet, never mind married with a baby and cancer. Many of our friends from high school and college walked out of our life as we walked this unpaved path. Together, we found a strength in Someone bigger than we were. Together we dreamed hope. 

And we were never the same. It was never him and me again.

It was us. Together. With God.

Then the babies came. It takes a very strong man to say "yes" to every opportunity to be co-creators with God. A very strong, very faithful, very hard-working man. One after another, every two years until there were seven of them, all lined up like a staircase, each one looking very much like the next one. Seven precious souls to love and cherish and teach and drive to soccer. It was still us--but us plus them. Busy. Busy. Busy. Mike building a career. Me, holding down the fort at home. Still together, but sometimes, much more often than we liked,  just in spirit.

Two more really hard pregnancies, the second one a refresher course in life-threatening goal setting. There he was again, right beside me every time it got so scary I thought the fear would crush me. Lovely miracles, two golden haired sweethearts. They are his heart's delight. Even now, nearly three years after the second was born, I can't quite believe how generously and abundantly our good God answers our fervent prayers.

{Speaking of prayers, I have prayed for Mike every day since we were sophomores in high school. That's a crazy lot of prayers. Thirty years of daily prayers. 10,950 days worth of prayers. }

But back to those babies. Nine babies in all--nine babies to feed and clothe and educate. He has worked so hard all these years, often far away in a TV truck parked outside one stadium or another. He has spent many a night in hotel bed, trying to sleep just a couple of hours before catching the early flight home. And I've been here, trying to do all the things that need doing, trying to craft home, even when home is a lonely place without him. Together we've done the best we can. So often, he calls and he says he I wishes I were there. I believe him. I wish I were there, too. He's really good at what he does in those trucks and those studios and I wish I could come alongside him more often and watch him in action.

Early this year, we made a gut-wrenching decision. He sacrificed a huge opportunity and a long-hoped-for title and we prayed the tradeoff would be to settle down a bit at last. The whole idea was to bring him home. That hasn't quite worked out yet (though I'm assured it will very soon). He has been gone a lot since that decision, finishing up his freelance work and then working indescribably long hours  to launch a new show. The show is shot in Miami, but produced in DC. He has done his level best to be both places at once. Neither place is home.  

Today is our 24th wedding anniversary. Today, that show launches. He has a big day ahead of him. He will be working from dawn until showtime. Then, late in the afternoon, he will watch the show become what he envisioned-- in a cold studio in another city. And just like every other time, he will want to share the moment.

This time will be different.

A lot of people who love us (most of them those aforementioned babies) have come together to cover all my bases at home. God willing, when that show goes to air, and Mike is watching months of work come to fruition, he will be surprised to see me standing right beside him. 

Because, today, I can't imagine being anywhere else.

{Thanks for listening to this story. I have never surprised my husband with anything; I have a very hard time not telling him my every thought. So, the writing of this piece was therapy. I had to spill it somewhere and telling Karoline didn't seem a prudent option. So, I will set it to auto-post at a time I am quite certain he won't see it. That means that you are in on the secret, because really I'm a terrible secret keeper and I had to tell someone and you are much less likely to spill the beans than my little girls.}

Maybe if I write it, it will leave me alone

There was an earthquake here yesterday. The day was bright and beautiful and clear as a bell. I'd just come inside from dropping Paddy off at the pool to lifeguard and I hustled Sarah into the bathroom before taking her to the doctor. There, the house shook and a low rumble filled the air for what seemed like a very long time. I yelled to my kids to stop roughhousing in the house (though I couldn't imagine what they were doing to make the whole house shake). When they said they weren't doing anything, I told them to turn off the washer. Most crazy off-balance spin cycle ever. They told me the trees outside were shaking. We all figured out that it was an earthquake just as it ended. 

Three trophies fell from an upstairs shelf. They broke. No big deal. They were Division 2 trophies.

I talked to my sister--the queeen of hyperbole--and learned there was a tidal wave in her backyard pool. I checked in with my mom and my dad. I left a message on Mike's voice mail. He called back a few minutes later and we briefly connected before his phone went dead. That happens all the time.

I scooped up Sarah and we went to the previously scheduled doctor's appointment. Business as usual. I thought about how it was kind of cool to have felt an earthquake, particularly since there were no reported serous injuries or deaths. 

Most of my children left to go a long-anticipated sleepover at their cousins' house. Mike's sister commented that it was taking her husband forever to get out of the city. Mike decided to stay and wait out the crowd. So, the handful of people left at home ordered Chinese carryout. They watched a movie and I sewed.

Mike returned home around 9:00. I asked him if he'd been in his office when the earthquake happened. He said that he was two stories underground in the studio. He described the same thing we felt here. Only he was underground. A stone's throw from the White House. He didn't think roughhousing kids. He didn't think off-balance washing machine. He thought "if that was a bomb I should..."  "If that was a plane I should..."

When  you work in Washington, D.C., you don't think first of earthquakes, you think of a clear September day ten years ago and you think of bad guys who would be tickled to watch the federal government scramble in fear and chaos. When he told me about his earthquake moments, it stopped me in my tracks. It still brings tears to my eyes.

That studio is in the basement of ABC Washington. It didn't take long to find out it was an earthquake. Mike went outside and saw the panic in the streets. It's easy to poke fun of the silly people in Washington, DC who are overreacting to a minor earthquake. And it's the fun thing to do to get on Facebook and giggle over incompetent folks who work in our nation's capitol. But it's another thing entirely to think about my dear man, working to support his family yesterday and wondering if the world had been rocked the way it was ten years ago. No matter what I think about our government and the people who do or don't get things done in DC, I have to applaud the courage of the men and women who got back in their cars this morning and drove over those bridges. Because really, it's hard to shake that "what if" feeling.