How blogging is going to help me fight my addiction to social media

The summer of 2017 will go down in our family’s history book as the one of massive upheaval and change: new house, new job, new school, new town, thrown in with a dose of career change and a new-ish baby.  No big deal.  Everyone has been dealing with the change in their own unique ways, for better or for worse.  My children, God bless them, have had their fair share of intense squabbles, and I’m trying to be as patient as possible. Everyone has lost a sense of control of their environment, and their stress has been manifesting itself. 

I tend to shut down in the midst of too much change.  My brain short-circuits and I find myself escaping the massive to-do lists by easier, less intentional activities.  I used to allow myself to become absorbed by a good Sudoku. Nowadays, however, it’s been Facebook. 

I know it robs too much of my time.  I know it messes with my attention span.  I know it’s ultimately an avoidance of dealing with my own anxieties, and yet, I am constantly drawn to my sleek phone and that little blue icon.

Lately I’ve found myself wandering rather aimlessly in my home, looking despairingly at unfinished projects and cluttered corners and hearing too many opinions in my head.  Too many lists, too much advice, and way too little of my own voice.  By mid-morning I've had to fill up my coffee mug yet again to jumpstart myself from the slump, but it has only ended up making me a jittery, irritable grouch.

I’ve been reaching for the phone instead of doing the dishes.  I’ve been lingering a little too long reading that insignificant article about that celebrity.  Ultimately I’ve been hiding from this one truth: Moving to a new place is lonely.

So I turn to the immediate stimulation.  Social media is quick entertainment.  It’s distanced relationships.  There is no mess and no uncomfortable interaction.  There is a sense of control, as I choose what to click and who to follow. 

And yet, it’s completely superficial. The mindless scrolling produces so much noise, but so little substance. 

Because to have good friends you have to be a good friend.  And frankly, I am not good at that.  It means I have to put myself out there, I have to say, “Here I am! Here are my flaws and insecurities and my quirks and awkwardness.”  It also means I have to listen to the other person, to hear about their own struggles and triumphs, and to put my own story on hold for a few minutes. 

This weekend I was blessed to attend the Catholic Women’s Blogger Network at the amazing Ana Hahn’s house.  The experience was surreal in that I got to meet, in person, so many inspirational writers that I had previously only met on the screen.  They were real, beautifully authentic, funny, and full of joy.  And the truly remarkable thing was that they interacted with each other like true friends will do.  I did not witness small talk and guessing games (What’s the name of your blog again?). There was genuine and graceful conversation (It’s so good to see you again!  I loved reading your latest post about your new e-book.  How is your husband doing?).  And even though I had never attended this conference before, and even though my blog is virtually unheard of, they welcomed me with warm smiles.

By the end of the day, I was hugging these women.  I was laughing with them.  (But I was certainly NOT jumping on the trampoline with them.)

I was able to look in their eyes and find commonality. 

Yes, Victoria, there is community in the blogging world.  We support each other with comments and link-ups, the experienced and popular bloggers sharing their expertise with the new kids on the block.   

Putting a face to many of the witty and thoughtful blogs that I follow gave me hope and purpose.  I will continue to write so that I can connect to these courageous women.  I will take more time to read their own work because I will be supporting and participating in our community.  That is not to say that I will neglect meeting folks in our new town.  There will be plenty of opportunity to meet fellow parishioners, soccer moms, and school families.  But it will take time.  For now, at least, I have a venue where I can share my personal victories and vices.  

(Photos courtesy of the lovely Rosie Hill.)

Back in Action (7QT)

I’m baaaack!  It’s been a while since I have posted anything (good reasons for that, perhaps explained in another post), but I thought now is as good a time as ever to get back into it. I have missed writing.  Even though, admittedly, by the end of the day I feel so fried from breaking up endless sibling squabbles, feeding five littles (simultaneously! And three times a day!), and the maddening to-do list that has so many checks unanswered.  Too often the last thing I want to do is a brain-requiring activity. But the fact remains that I have SO MUCH MENTAL ENERGY just swarming around in my head with nowhere to go. Writing is a release for me, and even if my corner of the cyber world is small and nearly unnoticed, I at least can sleep a little more soundly.  Like children, the thoughts in my head have to get their ya-ya’s out.

I thought I would take advantage of the 7 quick takes format to update everyone on the big changes in the Lynch household:

1.       We have a new Lynch Little!  Baby Lynch #5 was just before Thanksgiving.  Here he is at eight months:  

2.       Hubby got a new job! My dear husband has moved out of the classroom and jumped into fundraising.  He is working at a real gem of a school, Chelsea Academy (check it out!). 

3.       We have a new address!  And I never want to move again.  Blerg.

And yet...the swing set has been resurrected.

Oh, and did I mention that we are right around the corner from Shenandoah National Park?  So there's that.

4.       We are doing something completely different for school! It’s not homeschool.  It’s not public school.  It’s actually not even Catholic.  It’s Montessori.  I am a public school gal, so the Montessori method feels kind of out of my comfort zone.  But I think it will be a great fit for our very independent and curious kids.  

5.       We go to a new parish! And it’s huge! It's been an adjustment going from teeny tiny mission among the dairy farms of south central PA to a packed church of over 1200 families (you mean there is more than just one Mass on a Sunday?).  We went from feeling like the oddball, weird Catholic family with five kids to one of many large families.  It's awesome, but overwhelming at the same time.  

6.       Our kids have grown! Kids' ages are 6 (x2 of course, because twins!), 5, 3, and 8 months. We are in the throws of potty-training (I feel like I ALWAYS have a child who is potty-training), loosing our front teeth, and even beginning to read.  Baby can sit up but hasn’t quite figured out how to scoot or crawl, which is perfectly fine with me 😊

It's all good.

7.       I’m reading a new book! Trying to read more, exercise the brain, get the mental ya-ya’s out, etc.  I have had this one on my to-read list for many months.  Highly recommended.  Stay tuned for my review.

Find more 7QT's at This Ain't the Lyceum!  Kelly has some great tips on keeping a clean home when you actually have a lot of people living in it.  Happy weekend!

I don't know how you do it

I hear the question often, and I've finally gotten to the point where I don't get offended.  Most people are generally curious when they see a small brood of little people dancing around my legs.  I am going to take your question most literally and attempt to answer it here.

For the well-intentioned comment, "I don't know how you do it," let's first define the "it".  My house is often very messy, jobs are unfinished by the end of the day, the family menu is pretty basic and mostly not organic, and I am usually vegging out in front of the TV with my feet up once the kids are all in bed.  So in a lot of ways, the "it" is not very spectacular.  What do you mean by "it"?  That I keep the kids alive?  Well in that case, here are some quick ways to explain how I survive the day.

1.  The kids play together.  This is primarily the way I can get things done throughout the day.  With four kids in one house, there is always a play date happening.  Someone always has an idea for playing....as soon as breakfast is over there are always activities, suggested by the kids.  Obviously little kids' attention spans are short-lived, they do squabble over toys, and often their play gets LOUD, so it's not like I get hours to myself while they play peacefully and quietly.  BUT those dishes I never loaded in the dishwasher after last night's dinner?  I usually can count on at least 15 uninterrupted minutes to clean up the kitchen while they build the latest Lego castle.

2.  Naps.  There are actually only a few times during the day when I have to direct all four children at the same time (mealtimes and bedtimes are the intense moments).  But during the remainder of the day, they are often either entertaining themselves (see point #1 above) or are sleeping.  As in, not mobile, not hungry, not whiney, not anything but conked out safely in their bed or crib.  And even if only one of the Lynch Littles needs to snooze, that afternoon nap is sacred.  I count on it for the child's and my own daily regeneration.  Of course, the other thing I count on is ironically...

3.  No Naps.  Wait, what?  Allow me to explain.  The youngest of the Lynch Littles is at an age where he really can't avoid the afternoon nap, even as much as he fights it.  Even if we are all on the go, he inevitably will fall asleep in the car, or in the stroller.  But the older ones generally have outgrown that stage.  I originally thought I would be in a state of mourning when they dropped the nap, because that afternoon time was so integral to my sanity.  But as I discovered, dropping the afternoon nap equated with an earlier bedtime.  It has also meant that once they are in bed, they stay there.  Bedtime has become so much easier since they gave up the nap.  But wait, you say, there still are kids that need my attention during that afternoon sacred time.  Which brings me to my next point:

4.  TV.  OK, I realize that I may have invited all the perfect parents out there to criticize my decision to let my kids watch TV in the afternoon.  Go ahead and write your nasty comments.  Because honestly, I have very little guilt about allowing my kids to watch age-appropriate shows from PBS for a limited amount of time.  I don't rely on the TV to babysit my kids, but I do take the time when they are watching how Daniel Tiger learns to share so I can catch up on whatever jobs have been interrupted throughout the day.  And sometimes, I even take that time for myself.  I can squeeze in a workout video from my Kindle during a couple of episodes of Wild Kratts!  I even have time to shower!

5. Preschool.  Yes, even SAHM's rely on preschool.  I believe my children benefit from the time they can spend with other children their age, and I believe they can benefit from listening to another adult telling them what to do.  And the verdict?  They love it.  So yeah, I'm perfectly OK with dropping the oldest two off for 2.5 hours, twice a week.  It gives me a chance to breathe from the constant demands of four kids.  It's not an excessively long chunk of time, but enough to be able to think of what I need to do for the rest of the day, and week.  If taking care of my kids is like a track workout, preschool is like the short rest in between intervals.  Preschool also gives me some quality time with the youngest Lynch Littles, and that is invaluable in and of itself.

6. Community.  Even though new life is always joyous, I *may* have panicked a little when I found out I was expecting baby #4.  Who would look after my kids so I could go to my prenatal check-ups?  Who would watch the kids while I was in the hospital?  How would I manage to keep up with the usual laundry and meal planning, all with a newborn?  We live pretty far from family, and the baby was due at the start of my husband's coaching season, and arguably the busiest time of year for a schoolteacher.  But you know what?  My husband's colleagues and their families all rallied.  They brought meals, they allowed me to drop off the older kids for a few hours, they gave me baby clothes and toys, they simply checked in.  The grandparents took their turns to make the 8 hour drive and visit for even a short weekend.  Packages arrived from faraway friends.  Despite all my anxieties, our little baby's birth was a true celebration of life.

Ultimately baby #4 finally taught me to rely on all this help.  When my older kids were first born, I tended to bristle when someone went ahead and folded the laundry, when someone set a plate of food in front of me while I was nursing.  I am strong and self-sufficient, I shouted in my own head!  Stop stepping on my confidence!  It only took the fourth kid for me to realize that my self-perceived independence was really just an outward sign of my own self-righteousness and pride.  With the fourth baby, I had no other choice BUT to lean on others.  I let go of my false sense of control, and it was beautifully liberating.

So that's it.  There is no magic formula or secret system I implement.  And despite all that I've written above, most days are still tiresome.  Joyful, but exhausting.  This parenting gig is hard, no matter how much help you have.

I suppose the greatest answer I have to "how do you do it all" is basically, I don't.  Thanks for reading.

Five Minute Friday

Inspired by Abbey's always-artistic style of writing, I decided to emerge from my winter blogging hibernation and participate in a new link-up.   So this is me putting myself out there, my very first appearance at Kate's site...which is ironic because the theme for today's Five-Minute-Friday is...

HIDE.

Hiding in the Loud

The other night I was lamenting to my husband at how I can never seem to have anything complete: there is always unfolded laundry, the kitchen is still somehow dirty (even though I felt like I was stuck there all day cleaning), I haven’t gotten a chance to exercise, and there are toys everywhere (even though I barked at the kids to help clean up).  And then he gave me a little gem of wisdom:

“It is not about managing four little kids, it’s about creating a home.”

For a minute I started to get it.

And here I am feeling completely lost again, trying to figure this formula out.  The kids are literally running back and forth in our playroom area.  One is dressed, another is half-dressed (pants are optional), and one is still in her pajama’s.  I would like to have lunch.  Do I go into drill instructor mode, ordering them to get dressed and get downstairs?  Do I let them continue to run wild, allowing them to play and be happy, and setting my agenda aside for a little longer?

As Bambi announces to his mom, “Winter sure is long, isn’t it, Mother.” 

Please help me to navigate this impossible ebb and flow of quotidian life, this managing vs. creating.  

Worth Revisit Wednesday

Trying something new: I'm adding an oldey-but-goodey post to Worth Revisit Wednesday Link-up over at Allison Gingras' blog Reconciled to You.  The post I chose is actually from my other blog,  Catholic Working Mama, but it definitely fits the bill for La Joie Inattendue.  So sweet to re-read these memories from when my twins were barely two!  (And perhaps a good reminder to re-locate those saint baseball cards and introduce them to the younger brothers.  Ahem.)

Read more WRW posts at Reconciled to You and Theology is a Verb!

Giants Meet St. Michael
(originally posted on May 29, 2013)

I never fully appreciated the gift of sacred images and icons until I had kids.  The purpose of oral tradition and visual depictions of sacred history was certainly downplayed in the Evangelical tradition of my own childhood.  In many fundamentalist, "Bible-believing" churches, including the one I attended, a Christian's knowledge of God and faith life come directly from the Bible.  The Bible is the authority.  Unfortunately, this limits the profundity of the Christian faith ultimately to only the literate and so-called educated.  Certainly children of Evangelical parents become introduced to Christianity through the re-telling of Bible stories and pictures they see in Sunday School, but the centuries of thought, philosophy, and Church history are lost when one solely relies on simply reading the Bible; Christian tradition is then grossly incomplete.  That being said, I do not mean to say that the Bible is incomplete, for it is the most complete and sacred Book ever written.  Nevertheless, simple Bible-stories only tell of the faithful heroes who lived in the small window of history recorded and canonized.  What about the scores of saints who lived and died in the faith, and who continue to intercede for us?

I have aimed to tell my twin girls about Jesus and God as early as they could understand.  Whatever interest they show when we are in Mass, my husband and I try to explain.  Most of what they ask is about what they see: stain-glass windows, the images of fish and loaves embroidered on the altar cloth, the statues of Mary and Joseph, and even the Crucifix.  M can recite (as best as a 2-year-old can) the Lord's Prayer, and E can say the Hail Mary.  They understand that Jesus can help them with the challenges of being 2 (sharing, learning to use the potty, and listening to Mom are some of their big prayer requests).  They also know that Jesus heals our boo-boos.  Oral tradition at its best!

But all our explanations about Jesus and His love for us were too difficult for them to apply to their first encounter with a new emotion: fear.  As quickly as their little imaginations had started to develop and invent fun games of pretend princess tea parties, the nighttime imaginations also emerged.  This created an epic bedtime battle (Ironically, it was a Bible story that started it all....I would not recommend reading about David and Goliath before bedtime). I was at my wit's end trying ways to comfort my girls without dragging out a lengthy bedtime routine.  We tried monster spray, a nightlight, we checked under the beds and in the closets.  Unfortunately, despite my theatrics and pleas, a little girl always seemed to end up in our bed at night.  To my disappointment, no matter how much I explained to them that Jesus was watching over them, it didn't sink in.  It was too abstract.

Then an unexpected break.  Another mom from church passed on to us a packet of some pro-life literature.  She also included for the girls a small envelope with 4 saint "baseball cards": each card had an image of a saint on the front and a simple history written on the back.  The images resembled cartoons more than sacred historic icons, but it was exactly their juvenile quality that caught the girls' attention.  The four saints were St. Michael, St. Elizabeth Ann Seton, St. Gianna Molla, and of course, St. Mary.  They listened intently to their stories, but grew especially attached to St. Michael, perhaps because I explained to them that St. Michael chases away the "bad angels".  That night I stuck all four cards on their dresser, exchanged our good-night kisses....and enjoyed an entire night in my bed sans enfant.  The next morning M went directly to St. Michael's card and joyfully announced,  "Mama, St. Michael watching over me!"

Learning about prayer to the saints was one of the prickly points of my conversion.  I was skeptical that prayer to a saint would distract me from my personal relationship with God, or even become an idol in itself.  In my research and discussions with other Catholics, however, I began to understand that prayer to the saints is simply asking them to pray for us, just as I would ask that mother from church to pray that the girls would sleep through the night.  To any skeptical Protestant reading this, let me affirm that God is above all the saints.  Nevertheless, knowing that the saints watch over us and pray for us has increased my understanding of the love God has for His people: not that we would be blessed by only the small number of people who live in the small moment of time as we, but that we would have a team, a cloud of witnesses, so large that it would span generations and cultures.  Saints were ordinary people who struggled with the same sufferings as we do, who overcame, and who speak with Jesus now in Heaven.  How much love does God have for us, that He would give us a family not limited to the living?

The baseball card saints serve as a reminder to the girls that they are not alone at night.  To a two-year-old, Goliath is no match to the image of St. Michael holding his sword high and smiling a goofy, cartoonish grin.  To anyone cognitively limited and/or illiterate (and that pretty much means anyone younger than age 5), icons, artwork, and stories are the window of understanding of God's immense love.  Catholics and Protestants can agree that Christianity is not meant for only those who have the ability to read a Bible.  Stories and images give children and the mentally handicapped access to a holy life.  My girls are learning about how God protects them from all the monsters at night through the images that watch over them.  The images themselves do not protect the girls, but serve as a comforting reminder that they are never alone in the dark.  And that's pretty comforting for the literate Mommy's and Daddy's too.

7 Quick Takes: Milestones

1 
So I wrote a little something. Then the hubby stumbled upon it on Google+, shared it on Facebook, and BOOM. I check my stats and see over 400 views. I know that is small compared to the many blogs I follow, but it was really a big deal for me. I’m super excited, and maybe blushing just a little from the sudden cyber-attention. So thanks for the love. It is really humbling to know so many people read what otherwise would have remained just a rambling monologue in my own nutty brain.

2
A friend of mine suggested that this video would make a nice complement to my post:




Yep.  Pretty much.

3
And then this blog post showed up in my inbox. So much truth! What I loved most was reading that according to some people, four kids isn’t a big family at all….

4
….which made me wonder, why are larger families less and less of the norm? This post from Mama Needs Coffee provokes a lot of thought.  Has the game of debt truly created so much fear of the future?  Jenny makes a valid argument.  It's all about freedom.

5
In other news, the baby’s crawling. Which means there will be CD and DVD cases pouring out of our TV cabinet, books pulled from the shelves, blocks dumped on the floor….

But the little guy is so excited he can do new tricks.

(Proud big sis taught him how to pull himself up to stand.) 

6
Of course, the day when Baby decided to start making his way across the living room floor was also the third day of a brutal cold snap. That particular day the temp never got about 10 degrees. Stuck inside for the third day, wind howling and heat blasting, and wheee! All 4 kids are mobile! But fear not (that's my theme for 2015). Abbey has a great list of indoor activities for the super cold days over at Surviving our Blessings. The Lynch Littles are particularly fond of blanket forts.

A blanket over a crib makes a snuggly little hideout. Good thing the little guy is so willing to share his space. 

7 

Finally, I just wanted to give a big shout-out to the Blessed is She group of writers. The devotionals have been truly inspirational for the daily routine, and I've discovered so much good writing and so many uplifting blogs to follow. Especially during the bleak and bitterly cold days of January, it has been such an encouragement to virtually connect with so many talented and faithful women. You HAVE to check it out. Really.

Thanks to Kelly for hosting 7QT's!  Hop on over and read a few!

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Don't feel sorry for me...

I see you looking at me as I herd my handful of kids into the supermarket.  I know that reaction well.  It usually goes like this: the eyebrows raise, then the eyes look down, and then either a silent whistle or a chuckle to oneself.  The body-language reflects the other all-too-common and maddening comments:

“Better you than me.”

“You got your hands full.”

 “You’re a busy woman.”

All of them are wrought with sarcasm, and I never understand how a passer-by would find these things helpful to say.  Are they trying to evoke some sympathy?

Listen.  I don’t want your sympathy.  I don’t say this out of anger or defensiveness, waiting to pounce on the slightest good intention and label it as misguided.  I REALLY don’t want or even need your sympathy.  And you know why?

Because I am actually happy.

It was completely unexpected for me too.

It may surprise you, but I never envisioned having a large family.  I don’t consider myself someone who is particularly good with little kids.  I used to be completely ambivalent about motherhood.  Sure, I wanted to be a mom.  I guess.  Someday.  But here I am, four children in tow, and you may be feeling sorry for the plight of my overburdened, frazzled, lost sense-of-self life.

Even though I may look less than graceful as I guide my darling little strong-willed versions of myself through the aisles, I am ultimately happy with my lot in life.  The scene at the supermarket may be intensely chaotic, but I have some other more peaceful moments in my day.  Don’t feel sorry for me.  Really.  It turns out I am actually quite happy.

But do you know what I feel sorry for?

I feel sorry that motherhood is considered merely a side show of a woman’s talent and education. 

I feel sorry that our children have become the next measure in the keeping up with the Jones’.  No longer is merely a big home and fast car the signs of success.  Now our kids’ academic load and athletic promise are lumped into the high stake game of comparing ourselves to others.

I feel sorry that any woman with more than two children spaced 2.5 years apart must be either a religious freak, uneducated, or both.  I am sorry that for the sake of choice we have left women feeling so pressured to plan the perfect family, creating yet another measure of success to be compared.

I feel sorry that the high costs of a college education, owning a home, and day care have all bore an overwhelming fear in young couples looking to get married and have kids.   

I feel sorry that there is a mentality that pervades our society, namely the equation that children = burden. 

I feel sorry that I believed all these things for so long and completely overlooked the potential for joy in my life. 

Because for all the responsibilities, worries, and frustrations that come with having kids, I have also experienced a whole new dimension to life’s purpose, and that happiness and love ultimately override the fears.   

So please don’t feel sorry for me.  I should not be the focus of your sympathy.  And even if I may not exactly be smiling right at this moment, please know that I am truly happy.

New Link Up!

Hey, I just linked up with the NEW Catholic Bloggers Network!  Check it out!
http://www.catholicbloggersnetwork.com/2014/09/link-up-to-new-catholic-bloggers.html

7 Quick Takes: Back from Christmas "Break"

(because do parents ever really get a break?)

Welp, it’s back to Ordinary Time….which means back to school, which means back to work for the hubby, which means back to mom vs. four again.  Sigh.  Here’s to some necessary reminiscing of the Christmastide.

1

We traveled to New England for Christmas, spending a few days with my folks and then a few days with the in-law’s.  Our kids thoroughly enjoy seeing the grandparents, and there were beaucoup de presents to be had.  But man, it is a rough trip.  No offense to anyone reading this that may be from Connecticut, but there is ALWAYS TRAFFIC IN CONNECTICUT.  It normally takes eight hours to make the drive, but we have learned to add on two extra hours to our itinerary, because well, four littles, and no matter which route we take, we always seem to end up in a jam somewhere in Connecticut.  At least we can pass the time with the minivan’s DVD player.  Now before you pass judgment, I usually abide by clear screen time limits, but the screen time quota was definitely blown on this trip.  Hey, anything to get us through Connecticut.

2

To further complement the too-much-TV-dilemma, the weather was absolutely crummy.  Certainly not a magical white Christmas this year.  It was too warm for snow, but too drizzly and raw to play outside.  My husband came up with a perfect outing: Bowling.  We found a place that was actually the same alley when my husband was a kid….and judging from the outside, I don’t think they have ever done any renovations since.  But it was so, so fun to introduce our brood to the sport.  And the best part was when the man at the shoe check-in looked at us, four little ones milling around our legs, and gruffly asked (but smiling all the same), “Ahr all these youhrs?  Wha-did-you-do, have ‘em all at once?”  Nothing says old school Boston with a sassy comment and snicker, complete with the notorious accent.  It was awesome.

 

3

We returned home a couple days before New Year’s, which gave us some relaxing time to unpack and unwind from all the driving.  And miracles of miracles, everyone slept in on January 1^st (anything past 7AM counts as sleeping in chez nous).  Despite missing the morning Mass for the Solemnity of Mary, we calmly figured we would just go to an evening Mass.  However, as our minivan approached the church that night we were overcome by a sinking feeling: the parking lot was empty.  We actually drove to two other parishes and there was no evening Mass at either one.  It felt like déjà vu in Connecticut again….driving but not really getting to our destination.  In any case, even though it was not intentional, Happy New Year’s Whoops to us.  At least I got to meet two other lovely ladies at Confession a few days later. 

4

I’ve been reading so many thoughtful blogs regarding the New Year and fresh inspirations, and many writers have chosen a word for 2015.  I have not really been able to decide on one word for the year, but some phrases keep coming up in prayer: Peace amidst the chaos.  Fear not.  What words inspire you for 2015?

5

Looking at little Joseph sitting on the floor playing with a rattle, I can’t help but reflect upon Christmas time last year.  I was barely into the third trimester, but already uncomfortably big and quite self-conscious.  I was also so mentally scattered and anxious.  I endured the obvious-but-never-helpful comments about how large I was getting, the raised eyebrows and I-feel-sorry-for-her looks in the supermarket, and I grumbled incessantly about the pains of pregnancy all the way up until I went into labor.   And here he is this year, spending his first Christmas with his three crazy siblings.  

Of all my kids, he is the best imitator of faces.  I scrunch up my nose at him and he returns the goofy look.  Then he raises his eyebrows and turns his mouth into an “O”.  It is the Cutest. Face. Ever….as if to say, “Just laugh, everything is fine, Mom.”  Oh sure, he has caused me the expected sleep deprivation, he has added to an ever more chaotic experience at meal time, and his cries have rattled me on more than one occasion, but his smiley face and bubbling laugh also remind me that all is well, simply because he is here.  Peace amidst the chaos.  Fear not.  How I wish that was my mantra a year ago, but by God, by His grace, has helped me to sort through my anxieties.

6

Because we didn’t have Christmas in our house this year (we were at my parents’ house), we decided to make our own very special Epiphany celebration with presents.  It was a bit of a spontaneous plan, but it worked out beautifully.  We surprised the kids with a few presents under the tree because  1) we wanted to remind everyone of the story of the Magi bringing gifts to the Baby Jesus, and 2) it was so sweet to see our own kids experience the magic of Christmas in their own home, even if it wasn’t exactly December 25th.  That Christmas morning joy is an intimate moment for families, and I am really glad we decided to preserve it despite all our travels.

 

7

Elisabeth: Mom can you help me with my PJ’s?  The zipper is in traffic. 

Me: Oh, um, OK.  What does “traffic” mean?

 Elisabeth: “Traffic” means it is stuck and can only move slowly. 

And I half expected her to say her zipper was stuck in Connecticut.

Read more 7QT’s at This Ain't the Lyceum !

Midnight Clear

This is a re-print from my other (dormant) blog, Catholic Working Mama.  It's one of my favorite memories of the time leading up to my conversion.  Merry Christmas!

Until I was about 10, I had attended a Catholic parish with my family, attended CCD classes, even had experienced my first Communion and first Confession.  When my father started attending a different church, my family attended fewer Masses until we stopped going altogether.  It was a completely different type of service, as it had a very Evangelical (and I daresay a very anti-Catholic) tradition.  My 10-year-old brain at the time could not comprehend the difference in theology, and all I knew was that a charismatic service trumped a solemn one.  The teaching at my father’s church became my new religion.  

Fast forward to adulthood: about 3 years after we had married, my husband Greg converted to Catholicism, which to me was the worst denomination any true Bible-believer could be a part of.  I was stuck in a dark place, overcome with confusion, anger, and growing resentment towards my husband and his faith.  For at least a year we tried to awkwardly avoid confrontation, but I sought opportunities to fire all my misinformed theological gunfire in an attempt to catch Greg in a trap.  I mistakenly believed that if Greg had rejected aspects of my faith, which is a significant aspect of my identity, he was ultimately rejecting me.  Consequently I had little respect or patience for his newfound faith, and I found myself constantly on the defensive.

But with God all things are possible, even the softening of a Grinch-y heart like mine.  

Two years ago, as we had done in years past, we drove to my parents’ home to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas morning.  The route to snowy New Hampshire passed through quaint New England towns, antique homes adorned with Christmas wreaths, garlands, and white lights.  Greg was visibly uneasy.  He slowed down considerably as we passed through each town, eyeing each church.  I know what he was doing, but neither one of us said anything.  He was looking for a Christmas Eve vigil Mass that he could attend, and thus minimize an awkward interruption of our Christmas morning (and considering my dad’s harsh view of the Catholic Church, this was a sensitive move on Greg’s part).  Each church we passed had a Mass that either started much later than our trip allowed, or had already happened.  I was growing impatient to get to my parents’ home.  And yet, in some sort of Christmas miracle, I sympathized.  I realized that he was trying to discreetly find a Mass and celebrate one of the most important days of his faith without offending my (albeit rather ridiculous) belief system.  As he was having no luck finding a Mass on our way, he said he would go to a midnight Mass in my parents’ town after everyone had gone to bed.

Christmas Eve with my family was cozy and festive.  The fire roared in the fireplace.  My mother’s decorations and my father’s cooking created an inviting atmosphere and a pleasant yuletide aroma.  We ate until we were stuffed, watched some football, and started dozing off while watching a cheesy TV special.  Slowly we each retired to bed.  Greg and I were the last ones watching the TV.  I started to feel bad that Greg would have to wait by himself for another 2 hours until it was time for Mass, and I also started to worry that he would get lost either to or from the church.  I offered to stay awake and go with him.  

At 11:30 we bundled up and snuck out.  It was a cold and clear December night.  Millions of stars sparkled bright and their reflection glistened on the crusty frozen snow.  All was still on the way into town of Jaffrey.  An ice-covered swamp bordered by tall, snow covered pine trees dazzled under the moon’s light.  We didn’t see one car until we approached the church.  The light from inside the building poured out onto the street and revealed a long line of cars parked at the curb.  Families walked close together to stay warm, and greeted others with a strong handshake as they entered.

We were able to find a seat, but there were few remaining.  An usher wearing Carhartt pants, work boots, and a flannel shirt led us up to a pew.  I gulped; it was the second pew from the front.  As much as I had boldly argued the pitfalls of Catholicism with Greg at home, walking up that aisle made me feel meek and timid.  The family already sitting in the pew squished together to make room for us, and greeted us with warm smiles and a kindhearted “Merry Christmas”.  Although they did not know me or my bitterness, their welcoming faces seemed to demonstrate forgiveness.

Each progression of the Mass weakened my presumptions of Catholic Masses as dull and empty; it intrigued me.  Parishioners sung loud, the homily was profound and fiery, and the sign of peace was heartfelt and full of hugs.  Most touching, however, was the serving of Communion.  People of all shapes and sizes, all manners of dress, all ages, and all states of health made their way up front.  The line seemed unending.  Such a genuine display of faith!  I was amazed to see that the priest seemed to know most of people he served, as he gave a knowing smile to young and old.  Not at one point did I feel excluded or unwelcome because I was not Catholic.  On the contrary, the strangers around me shared their joy that I could celebrate the birth of our Lord with them.  

Finally, as we sang the final hymn and we all filed out, a strange and amazing mini-miracle occurred.  I held Greg’s hand so as not to get separated in the crowd, and for the first time in many months I felt connected to my husband.  The months after his conversion had made me feel inferior and confused, but this night I felt united with him.  We continued to hold hands as we walked our way to the car.  The cold air was abrupt yet refreshing, and the clarity of the stars reminded me of the simplicity of the night’s celebration:  on such a starry night the brilliance of the angels flooded the vast shepherd’s fields, and lit the manger where the Holy Family made their shelter.  No theological rants, no complicated relationships, just pure love and adoration.  The midnight clear drove out the darkness that had cloaked my soul for too long.  

The softening of my heart was irreversible at this point.  The moment was too romantic, the stars were too bright, the night was too clear to deny my newfound openness towards my husband’s faith.  

For the next couple weeks, I did my research.  I read books written by Catholic converts, looked up many informative sites on the internet, and found material that directly confronted my skepticism.  Three weeks after that Christmas Mass I sought out the chaplain at the school where I work, and he led me through my first Confession in about 20 years.  Later that morning I had my first Communion at our school’s daily Mass.  When I texted Greg about the monumental decision I had made, he sent me a message back saying he had been in Confession at the same time.  

And a few weeks after that we found out we were expecting.   (We wouldn’t find out I was having twins until several months later… that is, a few weeks after my Confirmation.)

There is a lot more to my conversion story than just that one Christmas night.  I know it was the result of many people praying, and most certainly by God’s mercy and grace.  Our Lord came to the world to bring peace, and that on that Christmas two years ago, He most certainly did: peace to a rocky marriage, peace to a wounded heart, and peace to a family united in Christ.

Sweet idea: a fun way to get your family to pray the Rosary together

It’s been a while since my last post.  The fall months hit us hard, for several reasons, but basically it went like this: the twins had a birthday, there were visits from all the grandparents, I took an online course, and then 5 out of 6 Lynches played virus volleyball with a nasty cold (the husband was spared at least).   

Of course, the other big fall event was Halloween.  Between the town trick-or-treating and parade, a costume party play date, preschool parade, and trick-or-treating in the student dorms (yet another perk of being a faculty kid), it was the never-ending holiday. 

So…candy.  Halloween only starts the quarterly onslaught of sugar inundation for the next six months: Christmas, Valentine’s Day, Easter.  Fortunately I have learned to utilize it all as bribery incentive for good behavior.  Last year the Halloween candy went towards Operation Twin Potty Training.  This year I figured out how to use it for a more spiritual purpose: praying the Rosary together. 

Based on fun suggestion from Catholic All Year, I amended the method slightly.  After each decade, all prayerful participants may eat one piece of candy.  A participant is free to leave at any point during the series of prayers, but then they forfeit the candy.  BOOM.  We got through the entire Rosary without any wiggly children or exhausted parents.  AND there was even at least one child who asked if we could do the same thing tomorrow.

Now before you blame me for having contributed to the childhood obesity problem in this country, let me confess something: I have no idea how to get three littles to sit down (I’m not counting the baby because he is not mobile yet) and recite a series of Hail Mary’s while maintaining some kind of peaceful family harmony.  I don’t see offering one Milk Dud after sitting still and praying ten Hail Mary’s an artificial way to trick my kids into blind religious practice.  On the contrary: this is a way to demonstrate that family prayer time should be a joyful activity, a small yet significant tradition that we do together with great love in our hearts.  

A spoon full of sugar helps the medicine go down. 

And let’s not overlook the fact that my whole family is willfully praying together.  Can I get an Amen?  Before each decade we go around and announce our intentions, and let me tell ya, each one of them is precious.  For the record, the grandparents are getting a lot of prayers on their behalf.... 

Even the most secular educator will give a nod to teaching kids delayed gratification.  To wait patiently, to endure, and to finally receive.  Ever hear of the marshmallow test?  Walter Mischel's study shows that children who can learn impulse control grow up to have better life outcomes. So yeah, I’m OK with offering a few Skittles for the sake of teaching my kids how to prayerfully wait in joyful hope.

My kids are now the ones who ask if we can recite a Rosary together.  Sure, they may just want some of their Halloween candy (and we’ll refill the bucket soon enough…Christmas is just around the corner), but I truly believe that they experience peace and joy when we pray.  Perhaps that’s why they named it the Sweet Rosary.

P.S. The kids came up with the name on their own.  :)

"Make It Right": how my preschooler helped me understand forgiveness and penance

I cringed when I saw her wiggling in her chair in the restaurant.  “Hey,” I whispered, “Do you need to go to the bathroom?”  She wrinkled up her nose, as I knew she would.  “I already go-ed.”  I tried to subdue the growing frustration in my head.  I bit my lip and sternly and coolly said, “Let’s go to the potty….right now.”  Cue the dramatic crying, the stomping, the protesting.  She knew she did something wrong, and I probably embarrassed her.  Of course, a four-year-old can’t really process those emotions that well.  Thus, tears.

Back in the car, I buckled her baby brother first.  The lateness of the day was made apparent by his tired whining.  Let’s just get everyone home and in bed as soon as possible, I thought.  By the time I had coaxed little baby’s flailing arms through the straps of his car seat, she still had not buckled herself.  “You have to the count of three to buckle yourself, and then I will do it for you.”  The annoyance from her “accident” was quite evident in my voice.  Finally my impatience, coupled with her grand frustration, bubbled over.  I tugged at the car seat straps while she swatted my hands and wiggled her legs, trying to prevent me from reaching the buckle.  I gritted my teeth, trying not to completely lose it.  I put my face right into hers, holding her wrist, all the while repeating, “Stop it, stop it, stop it.”  Customers in the parking lot witnessed everything.  I was so embarrassed.  

Somehow, she gave up the fight.  I finished buckling her and drove home, fuming.  I was mad at her for causing a scene, and at myself for not being able to handle it.

No one said a word, whether it was out of the tension, exasperation, maybe even mere tiredness, or a combination of the three.  Nevertheless, the car ride gave us each some time to calm down.  When we got home, I unbuckled her and mustered up a much warmer and approachable voice, “Look.  You made two mistakes tonight.  Now is your chance to make them right.  Your first mistake was not using the bathroom when you should have.  We can make that right with a quick tubby.  The second mistake was to scream and hit me when I tried to buckle you in.  You can make that right by saying sorry.  So what do you say?”  She had her tear-smeared face down while I gave my explanation, but when I put the question out there, she seemed a little surprised and perked up a bit, as if she realized that a simple apology was all there was to fixing a wrong.  “Sorry,” she mumbled and sobbed.  I helped her out of the car after a great bear hug and encouraged her to head upstairs for the bath. 

The rest of the night she was quick to respond to the bedtime routine and more than happy to help with her baby brother.  Forgiveness had released her and she beamed in her freedom.  And her willingness to help and take care of her bedtime obligations was her affirmation to me that she had forgiven me for my impatience and shortness.

Kids need to know that they are loved, and demonstrating forgiveness confirms that love.  Without a forgiving hug, a child will wallow in their own self-pity until they start to believe that somehow, they became “a bad kid”.  Forgiveness gives a child closure.  I doubt her misbehavior would have magically ended had I maintained the stern face and cold demeanor.  

Give kids a way to make it right, because the freedom of forgiveness is incomplete without it.  A punishment alone teaches a child that the mistake is bad.  But no consequence at all dismisses the misbehavior and eliminates the responsibility.  The “making it right” strategy gave my daughter an exit for the shame of her mistake.  It channeled her stubborn independence so that she could take care of what she could control.  In short, she knew she was forgiven, and she was able to move on.

Getting a kid to say “I’m sorry” is not all that difficult, but having them appreciate the meaning behind the words is the tricky part.  For them to fully comprehend their responsibility and take control of the mistake, they have to know forgiveness.  Where there is love, they will be more willing and eager to “make it right”.

Do you know you are forgiven, or do you still hold on to your guilt, like the child who continues to commit the same misbehaviors?  Do you assume responsibility for your actions, or do you avoid thinking about it, uttering a meaningless “sorry” as a jaded and aloof kid? 

In our own grappling with sin, let us never forget, the battle has been won.  Our sins were nailed to a cross.  Let us serve Him then, and “make it right”, not because His sacrifice was insufficient, but because our  love and gratitude for Him is abundant.  For when we start to comprehend the immense love and forgiveness of Christ, the “make it right” desire bubbles over, and we beam like a preschooler eager to show her mom how well she brushed her teeth.

A former Evangelical's perspective on the "Hell-o-vision"

I've recently started an online class through Holy Apostles Seminary, as part the Massive Open Online Course (MOOC) program.  It does not count for a grade, but it has been an intellectual exercise to keep my mommy brain alive and kicking, and a way to meet other (highly intelligent), passionate Catholics.  Oh, and the best part is that it is FREE.  So because I have so much free time being a SAHM (that was sarcasm), I decided to do it.  The course explore's the Vatican's take on media, and more specifically social media.  Here are some thoughts I've pondered in doing my reading and writing my discussion responses on the discussion board:

I was raised in a very conservative, right-wing Evangelical church (I converted to Catholicism in 2010) and any reference to “media” was predominantly negative.  “The liberal media” was a frequent moniker.  Unfortunately, these opinions on mainstream media demonstrate an incomplete perspective because 1) the name branding is primarily based on American political “culture wars”, and 2) they highlight only the dangers of mass media.  Conversely, what I understand from Pope Paul VI's Inter Mirifica is that there is potential for good in the use of social communication, whether it be television, movies, or radio.  Information can be used so that “all can contribute more effectively to the common good and more readily promote and advance the welfare of the entire civil society.” Even the portrayal of a moral evil, if done with moral restraint, can be used to serve a greater understanding of humanity and goodness.  One movie that comes to my mind is the recent rendition of Les Miserables with Hugh Jackman.  There are some troubling images of poverty, hopelessness, and even violence, but the themes that override the scenes of misery are redemption, selflessness, courage, and above all, the resiliency of the human spirit.

Viewers (or listeners) have the responsibility of choosing a media source that upholds their spiritual well-being.  In other words, one must be discerning of where there information is from, and that they are filling their minds with that which is noble and good.  That does not mean one has to throw out the television or refuse to turn on the radio for fear of hearing inappropriate language, for example.  Nevertheless, with the freedom to choose a certain media comes the responsibility to discern its spiritual worth. 

Freedom in Christ does not mean a list of "thou shalt not"'s, in a legalistic checklist.  And it doesn't mean the freedom to do whatever in the name of love.  It is about self-restraint and choice, choosing what God wants for us, which ultimately will give us the greatest freedom from the burden of sin.

Do what God commands, not out of guilt or out of force, but simply out of love for Him.  The Truth will set you free.

Thanks for reading.

Morning Prayer Snuggles

Tuesday was rough.  Between the twins' squabbles over toys, potty training mishaps, Cheerios crunching under my feet from breakfast, and the random toys lurking in every corner, it all got to me.  I found myself getting so angry at my kids' such slight misbehaviors.  I started lecturing loudly about how they are supposed to listen and obey instantaneously.  I blamed them for our being late (even though we were just a few minutes behind schedule) and ignored their innocent questions while I drove the car fuming.  

By naptime I was DONE. I retreated to my computer after I had tucked them in, and I was still so worked up I couldn't even look at their picture that is on the background of my laptop screen. It wasn't that I was still mad at them, I was mostly angry with myself.  I was too ashamed to see their beautiful bright faces grinning broadly back at me.  I had lashed out on this innocent, lively pair, and had allowed their little brother to hear and see it all take place.  Surely they had made some mistakes that had called for necessary parental intervention and instruction, but nothing had warranted such extreme moodiness and frankly, immaturity, on my part.  I have little doubt that my increasingly frequent outbursts and their dramatic squabbles with each other are related.

So I started to brood in what I call my Dark Nest, a.k.a my husband's oversized armchair. Even though I knew it was not an uplifting activity, I resorted to Facebook. I snidely rolled my eyes at certain happy posts, and I quickly skimmed over darling pictures of happy families. I dismissed the smiles and became even just the slightest bit jealous, even though I knew that most people post pictures of the good times and rarely post updates of the crummy ones.  Looking at Facebook allowed me to enter a state of jadedness; it was my virtual escape. But being in a constant state of "whatever" is not the same as a healthy habit of learning to sweat the small stuff.... I felt like a complete failure, and the longer I brooded, the longer I remained frustrated with my inability to handle the stress.

I laid down on the couch for a nap, but I was too wound up to fall asleep.  Needless to say, I did not feel rejuvinated when everyone woke up.

By bedtime I was running on fumes.  The finish line was in sight: just one book, one half-hearted prayer, and lights out (cross your fingers they stay in bed).  Elisabeth came back from the bookshelf with her book choice and I sighed deeply.  She had chosen a children's book, written in German, based on folklore from my father's small hometown village in Switzerland.  Normally I would have delighted in sharing a piece of our family's heritage with her, but tonight I just wanted a short and quick story.  This particular story was on the longer side, and I usually read it to them in German, giving a brief summary after every page in English, which meant an even longer story.  I debated just summarizing each page in English, but I knew they would not allow me to get away with short-cutting it.

So I propped up a pillow behind my back, took a deep breath, and started to read.  They cuddled on either side of me with their legs curled up and leaning on my belly.  Elisabeth had her two middle fingers in her mouth, a habit she has had since she was born.  Even though I read in German, they listened intently, and I felt them relax against my body.  Perhaps it was the artful illustrations, perhaps it was the cadence of my voice, or perhaps it was simply the end of a trying day and they were beginning to let sleepiness overtake them....or perhaps they started to relax as they felt me relax, as my angry and sarcastic words had to take a backseat to the clever words of the text.  It was the most peaceful part of the day.

In the morning Elisabeth came into my bed to snuggle, as she does every morning.  She climbed over me and buried herself deep in the blankets next to me, sucking on those same two fingers, her forehead nestled close to mine.  Sometimes she narrates all the thoughts in her head, abruptly ending the morning slumber, but today she just lay there.  I dozed back to sleep listening to her breath and finger sucking, the softness of her skin a gentle reminder of her presence.  The only way I can interpret her action is that it was the softest and sweetest act of forgiveness, one of the most perfect acts a childlike faith can execute.

In that moment I started to pray.  I didn't run down the list of things I need to do, should probably do, might do.....and add prayer to it.  There are some days that I have the mental focus to order my day first thing in the morning, and on those days fitting in prayer is pretty easy, and my day goes well.  But this particular morning I was still feeling overtired, upset, and with Elisabeth gently breathing next to me, undeserving.  I was in no place to organize tasks in my head.  I finally realized that despite the emotional and mental chaos, I can, and MUST, incorporate prayer into the day.  And even though it may not fit perfectly on my agenda, prayer can be done amidst the dirty kitchen, unmade bed, and unfolded laundry.  And yes, even during a morning snuggle.  Especially during a morning snuggle.

Before kids, I used to get up with my alarm, sit with my hot cup of coffee (programmed from the night before), and pray through a running list of things in my head. I made sure everything was covered. With little ones I have opted for catching as much sleep as possible in the mornings, and therefore the set-time prayer schedule has been hard to pin down. Even though I know in my head prayer can happen whenever and however, it has admittedly been difficult for me to fully comprehend the power of unplanned prayer.  I am beginning to realize that my day goes better when prayer is on my to-do list, because I am in control of my agenda.  And yet, on the days when I feel hopelessly out of control, the desperate prayers at the random times get me through the day with so much more grace because it is my ultimate confession that God is in control.

So I prayed in the moment without any structure, without any memorized morning offering, without any mental list of the types of things I should pray for.  I simply begged God for patience for the day, at least more patience than I had the day before.  I told Him how grateful I am for this little body snuggled up close to mine, and even though she's here before the sun is up, I know that someday I will miss these moments.  I asked St. Francois de Sales to pray for me, to pray that I would go through the day with a spirit of gentleness.

For the rest of the day, I was so much calmer .  We went to the preschool story hour at the town library and they girls were wonderful.  I didn't even bark at them when we arrived 10 minutes late.  They let me help them with the craft activity without demanding they do it their way.  They sat with the other kids and sang songs with big smiles.  They politely ate their snack, and even cleaned up on their own, even though I was preoccupied with their little brother.  Lunchtime went smoothly, and even that blasted transition from lunch to naptime was a breeze.  I believe they sensed a calmer, more relaxed mom, and thus didn't have the need to push back or engage in a preschool power struggle.  They knew they had my undivided attention (as opposed to my preoccupied, worrisome, overwhelmed attention), and therefore did not have to resort to getting my attention through bad behavior.  Naptime was long and peaceful.  I did not feel worn out, but had enough energy to pop in an exercise DVD.  The house was just as messy, the disorderly piles of random clothes and toys still taunted me, but I let it go, because I had admitted that I can't do everything.....and I allowed God to take care of the rest.

The beauty of prayer is that any and every activity can be consecrated to God, whether it be changing a poopy diaper, picking up broken crayons, and all the other mundane tasks that are a part of the day.  It doesn't have to be a perfectly quiet and uninterrupted period of time.  I am beginning to learn that there is much peace and even holiness in the daily chaos of motherhood.  I like to think that God is more pleased with the desperate, I-can-only-get-through-the-day-by-your-grace prayers than the regimented I've-got-the-day-already-ordered-and-God-happens-to-be-the-first-thing-on-the-list-prayers.

Being a wife and mom has been the most unstructured, messy, and unpredictable chapter of my life, and it has been the greatest, most sanctifying blessing I could have ever been given.

7 Quick Takes: Thank you, forgive me, help me more!

1
Saturday marked the beatification of Don Alvaro del Portillo in Madrid.  Don Alvaro was the successor of St. Josemaria Escriva, the founder of Opus Dei.  To be honest, I don't know much about Don Alvaro, but I have some very dear friends who are part of The Work, and who were able to be in Madrid for the exciting day.  In his letter to Bishop Javier Echevarria, Prelate of Opus Dei, Pope Francis recalls Don Alvaro's frequent prayers: Thank you; forgive me; help me more!  This prayer is so appropriate for today's crazed busyness (I think of myself as I scurry about chasing after the littles and trying keep some sort of order in my head).  No matter how flabbergasted I get during the course of the day, I've been trying to remember to utter this short supplication, because it has been a sort of lifeline this week.

2
Pre-school for the twins continues to be a hit.  And I'll admit: Mama enjoys having that two hour breathing room too.  I can go food shopping, for example, with two children as opposed to four.  This is huge!  Speaking of food shopping, a new BJ's is open in our area.  Not only can you save a lot of money buying wholesale, but BJ's has shopping carts with four seats!  ....for crazy families like us, of course.

3
Maybe it's pre-school, maybe it's because this is the 3rd year I've been doing the stay-at-home gig, and like many professional teachers will tell you, things start to come together the third year....but our weeks seem to actually have a little structure and schedule to them.  That is, I don't feel like I have to invent a brand-new plan for each day.  And no, I am NOT over-scheduling the little ones.  I'm talking a very basic weekly schedule: Tuesday's and Thursday's are pre-school for the twins, and Wednesday's are story hour at the town library for all four kiddos.  Other days are open for play dates or just hanging out at home.  Our town library, by the way, totally rocks.  They even schedule field trips!  Here are some pics of us visiting a local farm.

(The kid in the Red Sox jacket?  Yep, mine.) 

The calves were only a day old.  Precious. 

4
I finally figured out a solution to the daily negotiating of screen time in our home.  I actually sat down with the girls and wrote out a contract.  They even signed it.

If you can't read the terms beneath the scribbles, it basically states:
1.  No screens in the morning (morning is play time!).
2.  TV choices are 2 shows, or 1 short movie.
3.  Mom's Kindle: 30 minutes for apps, but reading books is unlimited.
4.  If we fight over Mom's Kindle, no one gets it!
5.  Giraffes are nice.

I know everyone has their own opinion about the amount and content of screen time.  I am not sharing this to say my plan is the best, but it has been working for us.  I am happy to report that since we have implemented the screen time contract, there have been no tantrums when the TV goes off, no begging for one more show, and I feel less guilty when they do watch TV or use my Kindle because I I've already agreed to a reasonable time limit.

5
Even though I feel a little more confident in my momming job, I still have moments when I loose my cool, because, well, there are many kids under the age of four living here.  I'm not excusing the times when I bark at the kids, but I do admit it does happen.  And just to rub it in, Gregory, who has been piecing together full sentences lately, has been asking me quite deliberately, "You happy?"  He usually asks this at times when my answer is a resounding NO! and it makes me feel like such a failure.  I have got to work on keeping it together.

To be clear, I am happy in this vocation, but perhaps I could be doing a better job showing the joy that I have in my heart.  Thank you, Lord, for revealing this truth through my son.  Forgive me, Gregory, for letting my emotions get the best of me.  Jesus, help me more!

6
Monday was the Feast of the Archangels and Thursday was the Feast of the Guardian Angels.  We didn't make whiskey-glazed carrots or anything extraordinarily celebratory.  I had every intention to making an angel craft, but we all somehow got distracted.  Nevertheless, pondering the angels and God's plan for them in our lives brought great peace to me on both days.  Thank you, Lord, for giving us angels; forgive me for not making these liturgical feasts more of a priority in our family's lifestyle; Guardian Angel, help me more!

7
I think I've become slightly addicted to blogging.  I am find and reading so many good ones!  I've also been playing around with the layout and look to my own space in the internet.  I'd love to hear what you think!  Check out la Joie on Facebook.  It would make my day :)

Thanks to Jennifer Fulwiler for hosting 7 Quick Takes!