Shhh...

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"Talkativeness is the throne of vainglory, on which it loves to show itself and make a display. Talkativeness is a sign of ignorance, a door to slander, a guide to jesting, a servant of falsehood, the ruin of godly conviction, a creator and summoner of hopelessness, a precursor of sleep. the dissipation of recollection, the abolition of watchfulness, the cooling of zeal, the darkening of prayer."

~St. John Climacus

Daybook: it's really spring!

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Outside My Window

the birds are chirping and the sun is shining, but I’ve been outside already this early morning. It smells like skunk.

I am Listening to
chirping birds. The early crew has already left for Mass, then soccer and ballet. Everyone else is still asleep.

I am wearing
a T-shirt and boxer shorts. I saw the cutest Liberty of London summer PJs at Target and I was very tempted. I don’t think they’d wash well, though...

I am Thankful For
quiet. Those little pockets wherever I can get it.

I am Pondering
St. John of the Cross:
"Wisdom enters through love, silence, and mortification. It is great wisdom to know how to be silent and to look at neither the remarks, nor the deeds, nor the lives of others."
This quote will define my Lent. And, of course, the St. Ephrem prayer is  back at the forefront for this holy time. Plenty to ask God's help with here:
O Lord and Master of my life! Take from me the spirit of sloth, faint-heartedness, lust of power, and idle talk.  But give rather the spirit of  chastity, humility, patience, and love to Thy servant. Yea, O Lord and King! Grant me to see my own errors and not to judge my brother; For Thou art blessed unto ages of ages. Amen


I am Reading
Delivered from Distraction. I recommend everything written by Dr. Hallowell. He’s the Crazy Busy guy. Interestingly, he’s also worked with Kim John Payne, author of Simplicity Parenting. Together, there’s a sense of cohesiveness and sanity in their messages.

From the Kitchen

For Saint Patrick’s day, we had salmon and green potatoes (using Dubliner cheese). We made the mint cake again, substituting white lifesavers for the red-striped peppermints and Creme de Menthe (thanks, Mary Chris!) for the peppermints schnapps. So the filling was green. It was so good!

I am Thinking
 About a quote from St. Teresa of Avila and how it really is a caution to those of us who find our support in church-related groups.  It’s been good food for conversation with my eldest daughter, as she learns some hard lessons from “church ladies.” Teresa of Avila writes, “From silly devotions and sour-faced saints, good Lord, deliver us.” I’m thinking that we need to be careful not to be influenced or hurt by people who, though well-intentioned and seemingly devout, are unkind and judgmental and joyless. Good Christian friends aren’t sour-faced saints. Good friends don’t bring you down. They aren’t shrill and hysterical and fearful. They are joyful, happy witnesses to a life of grace. Or they bear the inevitable sorrows in life with sure faith in God’s wisdom and goodness. They are kind. They don’t tear down; they build up. And if you are surrounded by friends who are sour faced saints, find some new friends. There are genuinely holy people out there who will walk in faith beside you with a spring in their step and a  shoulder to lean on when necessary. 

I am Creating
pockets of quiet. Mike will be gone pretty much from now until Easter. My plate is heaped to overflowing with the usual and the unexpected. I know that I have to eat well, exercise, get outside, and have some quiet and some space. I intend to do just that. And everything else I have to do.

On my iPod
Superparenting for ADD. I highly recommend this book.

Towards a Real Education
this time of year always has the same effect on me (and on my children). We want to do nature study and art and pretty much nothing else. I’m working on some plans that will make that almost all we do. Sorry kids, there’s a little math in there, too:-) 

Towards Rhythm and Beauty
Today is the day I pull out Jerusalem works. I’m really looking forward to it this year, since Karoline loves every aspect of our home atrium these days.

To Live the Liturgy
I’m hoping to get to daily Mass every day this week. My calendar says this will be a very difficult week, with impossibly full scheduling. My head and my heart both tell me that daily Mass is a necessary non-negotiable.

I am Hoping and Praying

for Christian, who gets thrown curve ball after curve ball (and he's not a big fan of baseball). We need some solid answers from doctors this week. Pediatricians, cardiologist, surgeon--I’m praying someone can figure this all out.

and for my Aunt Ida, who fell and broke her hip last week. She's 92; she doesn't "bounce back." She is however, the antithesis of a sour-faced saint. She's joy personified. I think that's why she's lived so long.

In the Garden
Oh my goodness! There are tulip leaves everywhere! And weeds. Many, many weeds.

Around the House
I gave up on the basement until after Easter. Or maybe summer. Whatever.
On, the positive side, there are only 6 loads of laundry left.

On Keeping Home
chore charts printed. We’re going to follow those things to the letter while Mike is gone. And it’s time to give some serious consideration to table settings and decorations for Easter.

One of My Favorite Things

the the long fifth burner in the center of the stove. A cast iron griddle fits perfectly. Pancakes for breakfast every day since that stove arrived!

Sarah Annie this week

Poor dear. She gets terribly, terribly sick in the car. The vomiting episodes are becoming regular occurrences. Since we have lots of driving to do on a daily basis, any suggestions towards motion sickness remedies would be very much appreciated.

A Few Plans for the Rest of the Week

Gracie is coming to spend spring break with us this week! She’ll be at Atrium today and then back here to play. We’re planning a day at Clemy park, a sleepover, a tea party, and lots and lots of time to play.

And Patrick leaves to play a week of soccer in Dallas. He's counting on a contingent of local Dallas fans to come out and cheer for him and totally confound his DC area teammates. I'm working on a schedule for distribution today. If you're a Dallas buddy and you want to take your kids to see some seriously good soccer, email me for the details.

A Picture Thought I'm sharing:
 

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Sarah playing with our wedding bands.

Quick Answers

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I've had several questions in my inbox about depression. All I can share is what worked for me. I do encourage you to follow the links to the conversation, even if you just read and decline to participate.

Here is the quick list of my postpartum essentials, bearing in mind that for me, postpartum continues through weaning;-):

  • at least 400 mg of DHA every day. I take mine in the form of Cod Liver Oil.
  • 5,000 units of Vitamin D. I don't drink milk when I'm pregnant or nursing (or really any other time, come to think of it). I don't get outside much with winter newborns. This is a huge amount of Vitamin D, equivalent to what you'd find in 40 glasses of milk. I seem to need every drop.
  • Progesterone cream two weeks a month.
  • A good mulitvitamin and extra calcium and magnesium. Cal-mag get depleted when you nurse for long periods of time and that leaves women very prone to anxiety.
  • No caffeine. Depletes vitamins, feeds anxiety. Same can be said about sugar. if you are craving chocolate, you need magnesium.
  • Exercise. Absolutely, completely non-negotiable.
  • Fresh air and sunshine.
  • Sleep. Duh, right? But I've learned to stop myself and ask if I'm genuinely depressed or just so tired that I can't cope. When you are tired day in and day out for many months (years), you stop recognizing fatigue for what it is. Recognition is a skill worth relearning.
  • Talk it out. Be careful who you choose as a confidante. Begin with your husband.
  • Frequent the sacraments and enlist the help of a good spiritual director. Satan would like nothing more than to discourage good moms in their mothering.

What is it with me and carseats?

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I was hanging the lining of Sarah's carseat to dry after the barfing episode and Katie wandered into the laundry room.

"So, I guess now that it's all clean and beautiful, you'll put it away until we have another baby? Sarah hates that carseat."

And the tears spring way too easily. I lean into the dryer even though there is nothing in there. I don't want her to see.

"No, we'll put it away until we find someone who needs it. My guess is that Mommy's too old to have another baby."

"That's ridiculous. We should adopt."

She skips away to discuss Haitian adoptions with Nicky, who would really rather adopt a boy his age than a baby.

I finish hanging the rest of the items from that offensive load; the Ergo is last to find a hanger. It smells so sweet now. We have at least one more season with my little one nestled against me in this carrier. I remember one of my favorite hugs ever, right around this time last year, when Sarah was asleep in the Ergo just after Paddy won the State Cup. She was sandwiched between us. Life was perfect that day: funny, interesting teenagers; utterly engaging middle kids; twirling, dancing toddlers; and a baby asleep on my chest. My dear husband utterly delirious to be in their company. One more season of the Ergo. I know that it is unlikely that I will give it away. It will end up in my hope chest with Michael's Peter Pan costume and Stephen's and Nicky's matching gecko shirts and Katie's crocheted bunny hat. All little pieces of fabric in the quilt of our lives.

DSC_0069

Sarah's nearly 17 months old. She gets sick riding backwards. It's time to move on to a bigger carseat. What the heck? It's a carseat. Why do I care so much?

Because I know.

I've been here before. If I blink--if I dare to blink--the tears that fill my eyes will surely run down my face.

Remember this, from five years ago?

Don't Blink

For the first time in a very long time, I am neither pregnant nor mothering a baby. My "baby" is now two years old. And with a certainty that takes my breath away, I suddenly understand why wise women always told me that the time would go so quickly. To be sure, I’ve had more "baby time" than most women. My first baby will be 16 in a few days. I still think it’s over much too soon.

This column is for mothers of infants and toddlers. I am going to attempt to do something I never thought I’d do: I’m going to empathize while not in your situation. My hope is that it is all so fresh in my memory that I can have both perspective and relevance.

What you are doing, what you are living, is very difficult. It is physically exhausting. It is emotionally and spiritually challenging. An infant is dependent on you for everything. It doesn’t get much more daunting: there is another human being who needs you for his very life. Your life is not your own at all. You must answer the call (the cry) of that baby, regardless of what you have planned. This is dying to self in a very pure sense of the phrase. And you want to be with him. You ache for him. When he is not with you, a certain sense of restlessness edges its way into your consciousness, and you are not at complete peace.

If you are so blessed that you have a toddler at the same time, you wrestle with your emotions. Your former baby seems so big and, as you settle to nurse your baby and enjoy some quiet gazing time, you try desperately to push away the feeling that the great, lumbering toddler barreling her way toward you is an intruder. Your gaze shifts to her eyes, and there you see the baby she was and still is, and you know that you are being stretched in ways you never could have imagined.

This all might be challenge enough if you could just hunker down in your own home and take care of your children for the next three years; but society requires that you go out — at least into the marketplace. So you juggle nap schedules and feeding schedules and snowsuits and carseats. Just an aside about carseats: I have literally had nightmares about installing carseats. These were not dreams that I had done it wrong or that there had been some tragedy. In my dreams I am simply exhausted, struggling with getting the thing latched into the seat of the car and then getting my baby latched into the carseat. I’m fairly certain anyone else who has ever had four of these mechanical challenges lined up in her van has had similar dreams. It’s the details that overwhelm you, drain you, distract you from the nobility of it all. The devil is in the details.

You will survive. And here is the promise: if you pray your way through this time, if you implore the Lord at every turn, if you ask Him to take this day and this time and help you to give Him something beautiful, you will grow in ways unimagined. And the day will come when no one is under two years old. You will — with no one on your lap — look at your children playing contentedly together without you. And you will sigh. Maybe, like me, you will feel your arms are uncomfortably empty, and you will pray that you can hold a baby just once more. Or maybe, you will sense that you are ready to pass with your children to the next stage.

This is the place where nearly two decades of mothering babies grants me the indulgence of sharing what I would have done differently. I would have had far fewer obligations outside my home. Now, I see that there is plenty of time for those, and that it is much simpler to pursue outside interests without a baby at my breast. I wish I’d spent a little more time just sitting with that baby instead of trying to "do it all."

I wish I’d quieted the voices telling me that my house had to look a certain way. I look around now and I recognize that those houses that have "that look" don’t have these children. Rarely are there a perfectly-kept house and a baby and a toddler under one roof. Don’t listen to the voices that tell you that it can be done. It should not be done. I wish I hadn’t spent 16 years apologizing for the mess. Just shoot for "good enough." Cling to lower standards and higher goals.

I wish I’d taken more pictures, shot more video and kept better journals. I console myself with the knowledge that my children have these columns to read. They’ll know at least as much about their childhoods as you do.

I wish I could have recognized that I would not be so tired forever, that I would not be standing in the shallow end of the pool every summer for the rest of my life, that I would not always have a baby in my bed (or my bath or my lap). If I could have seen how short this season is (even if mine was relatively long), I would have savored it all the more.

And I wish I had thanked Him more. I prayed so hard. I asked for help. But I didn’t thank Him nearly enough. I didn’t thank Him often enough for the sweet smell of a newborn, for the dimples around pudgy elbows and wrists, for the softening of my heart, for the stretching of my patience, for the paradoxical simplicity of it all. A baby is a pure, innocent, beautiful embodiment of love. And his mother has the distinct privilege, the unparalleled joy, of watching love grow. Don’t blink. You’ll miss it.