We raise them well, these precious daughters. We assure that they are kind, empathetic, compassionate, obedient, dutiful. They are good girls. They'd better be careful and so should we.
Read more in my latest Herald column.
Please.
(I said "please" because I'm a good girl;-)
Large Child comes in the house and knows immediately that little siblings are in his room. Touching his stuff. He heads off with alacrity to catch them in the act.
Wait," I call. "Come back. Where are you going?"
"To get them out of my room. I hate when they're in my room and I'm not there."
"Hold on. How is that different from yesterday when I came out of my bathroom to find you sitting on my bed, with your snack on my nightstand, your computer in your lap and my remote in your hand and you said you didn't know I was there?"
"That was your room. It's a public access room."
"A public access room?"
"Yes. Every single one of us started out in that room. It was our room, too. We slept in that bed. We were fed and comforted in that room. So it's only natural that when we want to relax and eat and be comfortable, we go to your room. Because we've learned that it's ours. All of ours."
He's quick, that one.
I have a new book to share today, a perfect book for this feast. The Queen and the Cats is the the story of St. Helena of Constantinople, who traveled to the Holy Land in 326 and supervised the excavation of the land where Jesus was buried. She is said to have found the cross on which Jesus died.
This sweetly illustrated book, with large, easy-to-read font, tells St. Helena's tale through the eyes of a little girl who was in Cyprus when Queen Helena came to visit and brought a piece of the holy cross. The churches were overrun with vipers and it was the queen who provided a solution to the snake problem and made it safe to worship in the churches and monasteries once more.
The author wrote me this morning and offered this sweet deal: We’re offering an incentive to anyone who buys the book in the next three days (Tuesday, September 13, Wednesday, September 14 & Thursday, September 15th)! If they buy The Queen & the Cats in either format, email book@xistpublishing.com with your receipt and we’ll send a downloadable .pdf line-art coloring book version of the book. Buy both editions, (or multiple copies!) and we’ll also mail a postcard icon of Saint Helena.
As for other yarns, knitting is painfully slow. The yellow tiny tea leaves is finished through the body but still needs a button band and sleeves. The red ruffle scarf is inching ever so slowly to that huge increase row where I'll go from 200 stitches to 600!. No chance I'm going to hit birthday deadlines. Oh, well.
God our Father, in obedience to you, your only Son accepted death on the cross for the salvation of mankind. We acknowledge the mystery of the cross on earth. May we receive the gift of redemption in heaven. We ask this through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
Go visit Ginny for more yarns of both kinds. See you there!
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.
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.}
I'm Elizabeth. I'm a happy wife and the mother of nine children. I grab grace with both hands and write to encourage myself and others to seize and nurture the joy of every day. I blog here with my daughter, Mary Beth, a wholehearted young lady on the brink of adulthood.
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