Footprints on the Fridge

The View From Where I Stand...

is all belly!

Yesterday, after an afternoon trip to the nail salon for a little pampering, I posted on Facebook that I was feeling "pink pedicure pretty."  My oldest brother, in a joke only he could get away with, asked if I could actually see said pedicure or if others were just assuring me it was there.  I, true to form, responded like the baby of the family and told him I was going to tell our mom.  In all honesty though, I do like my pink toes, it just requires a little effort to get the pink belly out of the way so I can enjoy them.

But I can see them and they are pretty!

And I'm actually still feeling really great and enjoying being this pregnant, except at night when heartburn takes the place of sleep and I get a full aerobic workout on my bathroom runs.  

 See, very pregnant, but still smiling!

And all that nesting mania that I know you all have been chuckling over the past couple of weeks?  It has paid off.  Other than cleaning the car out and re-engineering the car seat arrangement, we are ready to welcome this wee one next Tuesday, on the feast of St. Philip Neri.

Ready for our newest passenger

 The baby pampering station in my bedroom!

 

 And my new girly-girl suitcase, just about packed, with all my favorite things--

(that post coming soon!)

A Life Set Apart

I've been thinking a lot lately about all the statements and thoughts about Sarah Palin's candidacy for the Vice-Presidency.  I have not summarily dismissed the opinions of my sisters who feel that Palin's responsibility as a wife and mother are her foremost God-given duties and that this choice causes those responsibilities to suffer.  I have thought about this and prayed about this.  I have tended all along to agree with those women who feel that maybe, just maybe, we should assume that the Palin family has already considered that in prayer and counsel and determined that they are called to a special kind of service, to a life set apart.

Throughout salvation history, God has called men and women to do things extremely out of the ordinary in order to accomplish a specific purpose at a specific time in human history.  It was hardly the moral norm for a man to place his son upon a rock and sacrifice him to the Lord.  And yet God asked just that much trust from the Father of salvation history.  Most people would be considered imprudent if they gave up all other pursuits in their lives to build a large boat, load it with animals and board up their own family members, and wait for a flood God had promised.  And yet it was just that that God asked of Noah.  David was not supposed to go to the battle field and sling a stone into Goliath's forehead.  He was supposed to be bringing food to the "real" warriors.  And yet God gave him a special grace for a special purpose.

In the New Testament, Apostles were called to leave their families and their professions to follow Christ.  Not all men and women who knew Him and served Him were asked to do so, but a select few were.  Their purpose was unique and the grace to match the call was present.  Martha was frustrated because she thought her assessment of service was the proper one and her sister Mary's off the mark.  By conventional standards, Martha was right.  But in Jesus' eyes, Mary had chosen the better part.  She had followed His lead.  Martha couldn't have known that because she was not privy to what the Lord was doing in Mary's heart.  But had she stopped to assess what He was doing in her own, she may have found the answer before she spoke wrongly. 

The salvation of human kind has always been dependent on men and women who were willing to do the different, very difficult thing.  God's presence among us and His desire for our hearts has been revealed by extraordinary people in extraordinary circumstances.  Sometimes God calls some among us to a life set apart.

Joan of Arc was surely not doing what would have been the prescribed path to holiness for women of her day.  Catherine of Siena lived a life totally out of the norms of women of her time in order to restore order in the Church.  St. Giana Molla sacrificed the opportunity to mother her own children in order to heroically bring one more soul into the world.  Zelie Martin left her newborn babies in the care of another woman who could better provide for their physical needs.  That, I'm sure was a sacrifice that caused great pain.  Every saint who has earned his/her sanctity in the confines of a cloister has lived a life set apart, a life out of the ordinary prescriptions of Christian society.  Surely none of us would now accuse the Blessed Mother of making a bad choice when she said "yes" to an angel and became pregnant out of wedlock.  But undoubtedly there were those among her contemporaries who thought so.  We look back on the heroes of salvation history with gratitude and salvation, but let us remember that was not the light in which they were judged in their day.  We have the advantage of seeing God's plan play itself out throughout history.  The contemporaries of these great women did not.  They made an assessment based on what human knowledge was available to them at the time.  It probably seemed the holy assessment to them.  But they were unequivocally wrong.  So let us be very cautious in relying on what we think we know. 

When we became missionaries, we were the parents of two small children and were expecting a third who would be a newborn when we left the country for service in a faraway place.  There would be sacrifices involved, for both us and them.  There would be limited access to medical treatment.  There would be few educational opportunities.  Our kids would be hot, bothered by bugs, and susceptible to illnesses not even considered in our life in the States.  There were many who argued that our choice was imprudent, that it required too much sacrifice on the children's part, that it was unfair to them for us to pursue this life that we wanted at a cost to them.  But the fact was, this life was not even on the radar in our plans for the future.  It was a call that God placed upon our hearts in an immediate moment for a specific purpose.  We were called to live a life set apart and trust in God's providential care for the little ones who were to follow us on that journey.

And the journey was hard.  And it did ask a lot of us.  And our children did suffer on occasion.  And what was the result?  They learned to be heroes for Christ.  They learned fortitude and the value of the grace won in times of hard sacrifice.  And they learned to preach the Gospel in season and out.  Still they identify themselves as Christians set apart, as people called to preach the Good News to all they meet in a unique way, in a way that asks us to leave our comfort zone and walk in really hard places to serve the Lord. 

If there was any point in human history that the world needed a unique voice to fight the battle for salvation, this is it.  Humanity has reduced itself to killing its own babies.  The witness to family life in our culture is embattled, belittled, and degraded by public policy and the whims of lawmakers daily.  The world needs a unique voice to wake it up.  That will require an extraordinary person living an extraordinary circumstance.  I don't have the call.  And for that I am grateful.  I don't want to make the sacrifices at this point.  I did it to a small extent already and I'm on hiatus for now.  But I want someone to do it.  And I want that someone to be powerful, dynamic, and capable of accomplishing what God desires.  I want that person to know her God and to be seeking His will and the grace to do it.  I wouldn't have imagined that choice would be Sarah Palin if I were drafting the plans.  But I am not the Author of Life.  I don't know the plan to reverse the landslide of the culture of death.  But I am sure God has one.  I don't know the path to heaven for the Palin family.  But I am certain God has one.  And why could this not be it?  How can we be so certain this is NOT it?  Perhaps the Palins are called to live a life set apart.  Perhaps this woman, so willing to claim who she is and that all life is worthwhile, so eloquent and well-educated, loved so deeply by her husband and her family is living a life scripted by the One who knows all.  It looks different from the ordinary plan because it is unique in purpose and in grace.

It is done.  Sarah Palin is the vice-presidential candidate.  Our vote will not change that either way.  But we do have the chance to make an act of faith, to place our vote in the hands of God and pray that He had the salvation of a world in moral peril in mind when He spoke to the hearts of the Palin family and called them to a life set apart.  And we can pray every day that grace flows in abundance in the Palin family, that endurance and hope and faith and fortitude and the grace to won in suffering and persecution are real and present and tangible in their lives.  And then we can leave the Palins to their conversations with their God and trust that He will not let them down.   

Shortcut to Holiness

In the car on the way to his sleepover at Granny, I was having a conversation with Brendan.

Me: "You're a sweet boy, you know that."

Him: "Yep."

Me: "And I want you to be a holy boy too.  Do you know how you become a holy boy?"

Him: "Yep."

Me: "You listen in your heart to know what Jesus wants you to and then you pray for the grace to do it.  And if you need help, you call on your mother Mary to help you."

Him: "I thought I already was holy."

Me: "Well, the sacraments make us holy, but we have to keep trying to grow in holiness every day."

Him: "No, I thought I was holy because I drink the holy water at Church all the time!"

As funny as that is, if I thought it might work, I'd consider it myself.

Ruminations from the Campfire

We had a wonderful weekend camping and the weather was just incredible.  I have some photos to upload later today and, of course, some thoughts to share.  As I have shared before, I have aimed to make our lives slow-paced and reflective this year.  Camping seems to me the perfect activity to achieve this goal.  Besides a bit of a frenzied packing and loading schedule (Greg had to work that morning and I had to await the arrival our new dining room table and chairs--I can't boast of how lovely they are, because they are still in boxes.), the weekend took on that feel of slow, gentle activity.  We weren't in a rush to do anything, be anywhere, call anyone...and it was just us.

I realized that I have developed an intense need for family time, times where I don't have to share us with anyone else: afternoons where my kids' have their parents' full attention and as spouses we are totally focused on serving the needs of one another and the kids.  We are a rather social group, our family, always inviting friends to join us in whatever activity we have planned.  But lately, I have want a bit less of that, and a bit more of us, together, away from the demands of home, breathing different air, seeing different sights, and sharing the experience as a family secret.  This weekend satisfied that need in a deep way.  Much to the boys' delight, Granny and Pops did join us Saturday afternoon and spend a few hours.  But in the evenings, when we sat staring into the dying fire, cuddling our little ones, laughing at the days' joys, surrounded by the stars, there was a certain contentment words cannot describe.  In that great big forest, there was a little closed circle, and it was us.  And I felt so blessed to be part of it.

I also realized this weekend how much the passage of time and the addition of children have changed me as a mother.  I take so many, maybe too many, things with a shrug and a smile.  We had our share of mishaps this weekend--mishaps that eight years and three children ago would have sent me packing my tent and heading off to the emergency room.  But this weekend when Evan toddled right to the edge of the campfire, stumbled and put his hand down right in it, I didn't.  Okay, there was a slight feeling of panic as Greg was off in the woods with the older boys and I had been nursing the baby who was now screaming as wildly as Evan.  But a dunk of the hand in cold water, some tight caresses and a bit of burn cream, and he settled down on the cot with his favorite blankie and that thumb in his mouth.  I was worried, but figured if he had settled down that quickly it mustn't be that bad.  I sat beside him and finished nursing the baby.  When dad returned, he cleaned the hand and took a good look, determining it would be badly blistered, but okay.  I took the bandanna off my head, tore off a strip, tied around his little hand to protect it (he looked just like Padre Pio), and sent him toddling off to play, which he did, quite happily for the rest of the weekend. 

And when Gabriel found himself so enamored with the millipede he had caught and attempted to give it a big kiss by letting it crawl across his lip, then spent a half-hour crying because his lips burned intensely from "the millipede's sting juice", I handed him a can of cold beer to place against his lips, wrapped him up in blanket in front of the fire, and admonished him not to kiss his creatures no matter how much he loved them.  Then hid behind a tree and giggled for a few minutes.

Mostly what I found out is that I really love being the mom of this family.  I love my husband and the joy he gets when he plans an outing for his family and it comes to fruition.  And how proud he is when he has provided the warmest sleeping bags and the brightest lantern at the campsite.  I love my boys with all their boisterous noise, fervent activity, and generous affection.  I appreciate their uniqueness and the way they individual joys at a common place, and I relish the moments when they all gaze intently on the same activity and work side-by-side to accomplish something.  I love "us" as a unit and as individuals, and I love the vocation of being someone's wife and helpmate, and some people's mommy.  And I love that a little quiet space in the woods is all it takes to remind me of that, to refresh and renew me on the journey.  I love the God who created those spaces and these wondrous little people in my life and this little unit we call a family.  And this morning, I thank Him...for so many things.

Let's Have Coffee

Since when did 6:15 am become one of my favorite hours of the day?  For those of you who know me and have seen me in the mornings, you can go ahead and laugh.  I am, generally speaking, NOT a morning person.  However, as my brood grows and motherhood affords me few opportunities for silence, I have become more of a morning person.  I love the semi-silence of knowing my family is here, but quiet, asleep, nestled snuggly in, well, my bed, dreaming away. 

The baby and I usually awake around 6:15.  He nurses, fills, his growing tummy, gets a clean diaper, and I usually put him down to doze back off for a while as I get in some prayer time and a bit of writing, then start on the day's housework and greet his waking brothers.  But this morning, I didn't put him down.  I lingered with him over coffee, watching him smile and kick his legs, look at the sailboats floating across his jammies.  I noticed that his dimples aren't out in the center of his cheeks like his brothers', but right at the corner of his mouth.  We had a fantastic conversation about his friends Cooo and Oooo.  Apparently, they have had numerous adventures as of late.  I heard Gabriel laughing in his sleep in the other room, and Kolbe and I had a good giggle too.  It was its own little prayer time, this moment--when a baby's smile was magnetic and held me anchored, regardless of what else was on my to-do list this morning.  That list never even crossed my mind as I sat there staring at him, finding his thumb, putting it is his mouth, then closing his eyes slowly and drifting off to sweet slumber. 

I think of how often I say to my favorite adult people, "Let's go have coffee."  You see, coffee occupies a special place in my heart.  It is my favorite comfort food.  It is a warm, sweet memory of conversations had, quiet mornings, and home.  When I ask someone to have coffee with me, it my way of saying, "I really like you, and I want to share one of my most favorite things with you."  Today, I got to have coffee with one of the most special people in my life, my baby.  As I walked away from his little body, stretched out on the sofa cushions sound asleep, I couldn't help but lean in for a kiss; nothing is quite as wonderful as the feel of chubby baby cheek on your lips.  And I though, "Let's have coffee, again sometime....tomorrow...for you are one of my most favorite people and I want you to know all of life's simple joys, and I want you to share them with me!"

"Hey Mom, Come See..

Look what Evan can do!"  After all these years I still hold out the hope that they've actually taught their brother something useful, like how to use the toilet or put on his own shoes.  But I can tell by the joyous hollers coming from the living room that it is a testosterone-laden accomplishment we are applauding this morning.

I enter the living room to find my toddler, only in his diaper, perched at the edge of the coffee table.  Upon my entrance, his brothers begin to encourage and prod, "C'Mon Evan, you can do it, JUMP!"  He pulses his knees twice like an Olympic diver on the platform, then leaps into the air.  He lands with a thump on his two feet and stretches his arms out to the side to keep his bottom from hitting the floor, like a gymnast trying to stick a landing.  He straightens up, inflates his bare chest, and grins widely.  The brothers all cheer wildly.

I wonder in whose list of developmental stages this is an accomplishment.  I am tempted to scold, "No jumping on the furniture!"  But I realize rather suddenly that it is an accomplishment in their eyes, his brothers.  The same brothers he has followed around the past two weeks repeating all they say in his best baby vernacular, the same brothers he tries to sit like, stand like, run like, exerting much concentration to arrange his little legs just so, only to find that once he gets them there, his brothers have moved on. 

But today they haven't run off.   They have stayed to cheer for him.  He has completed a rite of passage for them, he has graduated the baby brigade and joined the band of brothers.  As much as I wish the rites of passage were a bit more gentile, these are their moments, when they cheer for and encourage one another of their own accords.  I am just the onlooker, invited to the ceremony.  And these are the moments that will keep them cheering for one another, at soccer games, graduations, weddings, and the births of babies.  The bonds formed at the edge of the living room table are strong and durable, and for today I must stay out of the way so as not to sever them.  Next week I'll have to figure out how to undo the whole furniture jumping thing!

Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall

Okay, so it's not on the wall at all, it's a part of my beautiful dresser that I love dearly, and it's lucky!  Usually, I don't like the word lucky because I don't believe the good things that happen to us are simply a jaunty twist of the fates that happily bestow a nicety on us every now and then.  I believe each good thing is ordained for us from God, designed for our journey to holiness, to bring us closer to Him here on earth and to get us to Him eternally in heaven.  However, today as I stood in front of the aforementioned mirror cheek to cheek with my Evan, each of us grinning widely at the other's reflection, the thought crossed my mind that if I were my mirror, looking at my life from the outside in, how lucky I would think I was.

Each morning that mirror watches my sleepy eyelids unfurl from the comfort of my warm cozy pillows to the sweet breath of a baby at my breast and often the sleepy sighs of one his siblings snuggled next to me.  She watches me stand and peek into the living room where I spot my husband, Bible in lap, gazing on the image of the Sacred Heart, lost in prayer.  After a trip to brew the coffee and have a little prayer time of my own, I return and smile at her as I choose something to wear and mull over what the day has in store.  I make it a point to smile at myself in the mirror in the morning.  That way, if the day goes seriously awry form that point forward, I know I have smiled once that day, and someone has smiled at me!  She witnesses the sweetness of little boys who fight over the opportunity to make mommy's bed for her in the mornings and arrange the pillows just so.  And then that mommy, eyes closed, led by the hand, ohh and ahh with delight over the job they have done. 

In the afternoons, she often finds herself privy to moments no one else gets to see, like the one today where Evan and I stopped folding laundry long enough to smile at one another and tell each other how beautiful we are, or the quiet conversations I have with the baby as I lie down to nurse him and rest a bit, or the tender moments of marriage when mom and dad retreat to their space during the day to catch up on what has taken place and revel in one another's joys and encourage one another in our trials.

In the evenings there is the sweet silence that falls when everyone is in bed and the comfort of night clothes and sweet smelling lotion.  There is the falling in bed exhausted and resting once again against the softness of my pillows.  There is the prayer of gratitude whispered to a generous Father and the acknowledgment that while my mirror may be lucky, I am truly blessed.

Haircut Heartbreak

I finally did it.  I cut Evan's hair.  He's almost 19 months old and has needed a haircut for quite a while now, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it.  There is a certain finality in cutting a little boy's hair for the first time.  It's not like a girl-- it won't grow back. Ever. (Gulp) He is, from now on, gone from the ranks of baby curls and on to the the world of little man hair.  And I am a bit heartbroken about the whole thing.  I don't know if it's because Kolbe came along so quickly after him that I am desperate to protect Evan's babyhood.  Or because with each child you realize how fleeting that babyhood is and so you cling to to with all your mommy heart and demand that it stay longer.  I will not put away the baby clothes Kolbe has already outgrown in two months; I just can't bring myself to do it.  I want to be able to cuddle them up in my arms forever, know the joy of carrying them from the bath wrapped in a hooded towel with the smell of sweet baby soap on their soft skin.  I want to rock them and nurse them and never, ever want that to end.  But alas it must.  And as I look at my "big" boys I realize those baby moments don't go away.  They are a gift we shared, the colors that paint the background of  our relationships now, our foundation.  And they remember it too, and like me, long to experience those moments once again sometimes.  And so they still like to curl up and have me all to themselves, or let me brush their sweet-smelling hair after a bath.  And they too are growing, and these moments are fleeting as well.  And one day they won't fit there in my lap (of course in the book I Love You Forever.....).  And I'll be heartbroken once again.  But then I'll remember then as I do today that these precious ones are not mine.  They are entrusted to me by God, to raise them up so that they may fulfill His singular purpose for their lives.  And then I'll begin to relish the thought of watching these innocent little boys becoming big, holy men of God and of doing the job God gave me, which includes cutting those curls when the time has come.  So welcome to the ranks of the little men, my sweet Evan, it is my honor to assist you on your journey.

Alone in a Crowd

Today we baptized our baby Kolbe.  We used the opportunity of having family in from out of town to also celebrate our oldest son's ninth birthday and our third son's fourth birthday.  With a large family, you cannot throw a big fiesta for every celebration, so this one met a lot of needs at once.  However, party aside, the day was really about Kolbe, his reception of the sacrament of baptism, the continued celebration of this new life God has added to our family, and now, our church.  As I sat in Mass holding him, fingering the delicate pleats of his christening gown and kissing his soft face, I felt so in love with him.  And during the baptism ceremony, it was as if for those moments the rest of the world faded away and I was fully present for this one child, Kolbe Fisher, for his special moment.  I think when people look at large families and ask that FAQ, "How do you do it?", they assume it's always about all those kids, all the time.  And while meals and grocery shopping become larger tasks and outings require a bit more planning, and you have to figure car-loading time into your travel plans, the truth, is I do it one child, one moment at a time.  There are moments in the day when everyone needs your attention at once and it seems overwhelming; but for most of the day, it is about being present to a particular child, meeting that one need, then moving on to the next.  And when you have stopped worrying about how full your hands are, as everyone keeps telling you, it is not only possible to meet those needs one moment at a time, it possible to celebrate those moments with joy and intimacy and grace.  Special celebrations remind me of that.  Opportunities to take notice of this one child for this moment or day remind me of all the moments that make up our life with that child and how unique and special each is--stopping to bandage a skinned knee for that child, serving breakfast to that child, nursing that child, cuddling in bed with that child.  Multiply that by my five or someone else's eight or ten and it feels bigger than you, more than you can do in a day, but then so is God--and somehow in His speical plan, He has made it possible for me to do it for each and every child He sends into our family and to find peace rather than turmoil in the process.  I am vaguely aware that one child jumped out into the aisle and did a dance during Kolbe's baptism, and that one wandered around the church aimlessly because no one stopped him, but I am acutely aware of just how the brushed cotton of Kolbe's gown felt against my arms, of the scent of lavendar soap mixed with holy oil in his soft hair, and big blue eyes smiling and cooing as Mass was celebrated on the this day, his day.  I cut three cakes today, served more than 50 guests, visited with family, set up a space jump and cleaned muddy kids more than once, cared for my newborn and eighteen month old toddler--and how did I do it? One moment, one child a time, only with God's grace.  I am not raising five little boys collectively as it would seem to some who are overwhelmed at the thought.  I am raising them individually, singly, intimately, wholy engaged with each in his own way in his own moments of each day. And those moments are blessed and precious; I am grateful for days so full of such moments that I don't often have time to think about them as nostalgically as I do today.  And I am grateful too for the sacred, once in a lifetime moments that wake us from the ordinary and open our eyes to recognize the extraordinary-- the hand of God at work in our lives, in this sweet family, in the moments we share, in all their fullness.