Purifying My Memory

I feel like I'm on the cusp of something cool. Detachment of the "memory."

In Carmel, we learned that we have three parts: "the memory, the intellect and the will." I feel like God has been steadily purifying my intellect and my will--ever since I've come into the Catholic Church.

This Advent His focus is on purifying my Memory.

It's weird. It's uneven. This type of healing doesn't feel comfortable. Some days I actually feel so much worse. I can't write at all. Sometimes I sit on my little leather couch in my family room and cry and need a heating pad to soothe my back pain and can't summon the strength to mix a meatloaf for dinner. Yet, now this more intense emotional pain doesn't linger.

The next day, I feel lighter.

This underlying anxiety disappears--more and more each day.

For example, i have really nutty neighbors. For the first time, I walked out my front door, saw their house and realized "I don't care what they think about us." I don't care. I'm not forcing myself to pray for them. Or fearfully thinking about what awful interaction is going to happen the next time we run into each other. It's just gone. I feel like "I know who I am. I know what is actually happening inside this sacred space of my home. So the interactions with strangers 25 feet away, those don't matter."

I can't believe how much mental space the thought "I'm going to get in trouble soon" was taking up inside my head.

The other thing, is this constant fear "the bottom is going to drop out of my life." I felt like "we're okay now, but soon our decisions are going to catch up with us." My husband and I had a deep, emotional talk about what it means to all of us that I'm a stay at home wife. (A home-maker--as I'm slowly reclaiming that title).

I didn't realize how much fear I'd had in the back of my mind. "Like sure this life looks great now--but someday, something is going to happen--like Jon is going to die, and I'm going to be so sad that I didn't keep my foot in the door by continuing to practice law part time while I have young children." The axe was going to fall and all those voices would be right. "See, you're totally stupid for trusting in God. You should have been practical with you life!"

I realize that what my husband calls "the Barbie Dream House Life" is right in front of me. It's here! The life that's closest to the hidden desires of my heart. Right now, it's time to cut up those hidden memories that are keeping me from relaxing and enjoying my life.

So 2013, is the year of good mental health. Time to meet the real Abigail--as opposed to the fearful, living to please others Abby. It's pretty cool. I'm learning how to play the cello at night. I made Madelines for brunch today. I'm forcing myself to slow down in the mornings. To sit and eat breakfast with my girls and fearlessly rub my son's chin whenever he says something funny.

I'm learning how to live my life, instead of "always rushing through it."

Hat Tip: Enjoyed this article by the lovely Mother Angelica and her description "There are three rooms in the Temple of our souls—Memory, Intellect and Will—all three are to be returned to God adorned with the jewels of Faith, Hope and Love."

The Emotional Cost of Homeschooling

I feel like there is a lot of support online for the practical aspects of homeschooling, but I've yet to really find much grappling with the emotional costs of homeschooling.

Homeschooling is "not normal", however popular its quickly becoming in certain circles. Being out of the mainstream, means your heart has to fight a serious battle with fear.

"Can I do this?"
"What happens if I mess up?"
"I don't like teaching phonics, why wouldn't I want to outsource elementary school?"
"I'm pregnant, sick, or having a family crisis. My kids might be damaged by my lack of focus right now on their academics."

Another question a friend phrased was "worried about my kids judging me with their adult eyes." For example, "So we're having fun blowing bubbles in kindergarten today. But what about in 30 years, when my daughter is mad that I didn't challenge her developing brain enough by reading Chaucer in the original Middle English at age 5?"

We make the road by walking it. You learn to teach by teaching. Your kid is a unique individual. You are unique. This interplay of teacher/student is sometimes smooth, and sometimes volatile.

I think what has helped me lower the emotional cost of homeschooling is detachment. We homeschool. "shrug." It's one of the things that my family does together--it's not THE thing my family does.

Finally, this year, I'm backing off of my intense focus on my kid's reading success. We are at the stage in 4th and 2nd grade where I've been totally intense, and then totally apathetic, and then mildly depressed about their lack of reading "progress."

Now I show up.
I show up.
I show up with an engaged smile and a patient heart and I'm ready to teach reading skills 5 days a week. My kids can choose to take advantage of that special tutor time with their Mom, or not. Meanwhile, I'm mastering the art of persistence.

 I feel like I'm starting to make the shift to "this is about teaching for God alone." There is this beautiful hymn I sang in a Carmel Mass that said "when I was little you taught me to read." Teaching someone to read is an act of mercy. It's not always fun. It's not always well received. Yet God is always pleased when I do something little, hard, and with a pure intention.

So that is the emotional cost of homeschooling. There are some warm fuzzy days. There are some things that are major suckage.

Know yourself. Know what part of homeschooling is easy and what part is draining to you. Figure out how to pick yourself back up. Teaching is not your job. It's a part of your vocation. If God puts homeschooling in your lap, its because he hand pick this task for you--it will help make you more holy.

An Unusual Thank You Note

"No one will ever thank you for praying your Morning Prayers" my leader told me when I started at Carmel. "You'll never see you name listed in the church bulletin. You'll never get a special plaque with your name engraved on it thank you for your volunteer service for time you spend in prayer."

Wouldn't that be funny if at a wedding or a priest's ordination, they asked all the prayer warriors to please stand and said "these are the people who helped make this great event happen?"

So I wanted to send an open thank you note.

Thank you for your praying!

Prayer changes things. Prayer makes you more wise. Prayer makes you more pure. Prayer makes you more sensitive. Prayer heals. Prayer helps the surgeons do the big scary heart surgeries on little bitty babies. Prayer heal the scrapes and bruises of everyday home-life.

Prayer gives you more courage. Prayer infuses you with Hope. Prayer makes you funny, and easy going, and kind.

Prayer makes you a friend of God.

God made us for himself. He made us to be his companions. That friendship doesn't start in heaven when our souls go to live with Him forever--that friendship starts here on earth. God loves us. God likes us.

Thank you for keeping our mutual friend Jesus company today in prayer.

Have you ever thought of becoming a Nun?

Praying Through A War Wound

I realized that I'm having a hard time praying for Miss Emma because I'm a former NICU Mom. You think it would make it easier, but its harder sometimes.

It's like I've got this hidden scar tissue, that I don't even know is there until I start using that muscle in prayer. First, I realized Emma's accident violated my unspoken contract with God. I was totally cool with accepting that every time I got pregnant in the future, I was going to struggle with anxiety that a birth defect would land us back in the NICU. That is a hard struggle, but I took a false comfort that my intense anxiety would only be for a"fixed moment in time."

Emma's situation highlights that a serious health concern can happen to any of my children at any moment in time. A Life and Death trip to the ICU isn't simply limited to the time they are fragile newborns. I'm so not cool with that, God! Ugh, I need to revisit that "Jesus, I trust in you" Physical Therapy schedule again.

Secondly, it hurts my heart to see people not pray for Emma. I was in a situation where I called it "spinning plates." There were two people who were standing next to me when I asked them to pray for Emma. My request made them massively uncomfortable. Rather than say, "Wow, this situation is really scary, I'm not sure I want to talk about it." They started what I called "spinning plates." The conversation jerked around into some really strange directions, the two of them tossed around different plans and ideas that had nothing to do with prayer, and I felt rushed out of their presence as quickly as possible.

I felt awful. My first thought when I got back into my car was "God, please don't let Maureen feel like I did!" Where did that come from? Why was this suddenly about me?

 I realized only later that this is the opposite angle of the abandonment I felt when my daughter Tess was in the hospital. I feel so ungrateful writing about this--because I know God was with me! It's just this father wound I have. There were men that before Tessy's sickness I had as father-figures to my soul. When they didn't show up or call during her hospital stay--I just assumed they physically didn't know that I need them. So when I see avoidant behavior worked out in front of your during a PICU prayer request--even though it has nothing to do with my own child years later--it hurts my heart.

After the "spinning plates" episode, I couldn't solicit anymore prayer requests or even create a Facebook page for a few days.

But today I'm back. Emma's got her cross to carry today. I've got mine. My job is to love on my babies and my spouse as best as I can, be gentle around this hidden war wound, and trust that all of this emotional pain brings great Glory to God when carry our hidden crosses for Him and with Him.

Having a Hard Time Praying Lately

I feel like I'm having a hard time praying lately. I feel like Henry's death shook me up. I know it seems crazy to think that you're blind sided by a critically ill orphan dying in the ICU--but I don't know. His death just felt like it came out of left field for me.

So now I'm cringing when I get all of these prayer requests. Man, especially Emma. I can't believe that there is a four year old who I have clear memories of chasing around our new church Social Hall in a church dress and cowboy boots, who is now not talking for two weeks after a serious brain injury.

My daughter painted her finger nails purple (to match her friend's color in the PICU). We're in this pattern where everything Maria does something sweet, we pause to say a quick Hail Mary that her friend Emma can come home soon to enjoy the same thing. I feel like I have about 20 seconds of faith during my little prayers and then I flip into "Crap! God, don't let her die." Which is not exactly a model position of Faith for a Catholic--but God knows me. I'm little. I'm broken. He takes me as I am. My imperfect prayers for Emma are better than no prayers at all.

I've got a long prayer list right now, can you help me out?

Henry's Mama, Carla, is in horrible back pain. She has one last ditch effort tomorrow at noon Central Time for a treatment to avoid back surgery. Could you pray for her?

Dominic Pio was inches--INCHES--from getting released to go home to Wisconsin when he had complications from surgery. He's now stuck in Boston Children's Hospital. His Mom is waiting for insurance to approve a Medical Transport Flight home. She really misses her children and her husband. Home = Healing.

Jennifer F and the baby son in her tummy are out of the hospital. Jen is looking at months of a slow recovery. She just got hit with a prescription drug bill for $4,000 per month.

Miss Emma is getting transferred to a rehab center three hours from her home. I just want her to wake up and start talking and come home to prep for Swim Team and have a Barbie Pool playdate with my Maria. There's precedence for this dramatic type of recovery in the Bible, right?

Mary, Mother of God, hear our prayers. Make our life a Daily Prayer to the Son your Love, in our sickness, and our health.

Prayer Requests

Jennifer F. is back in the hospital. Please pray for her and her little unborn son.

Four year old Emma still hasn't started talking after her brain injury on Christmas Eve.


I got to take my 4 girls to Daily Mass today to take communion for Jen and Emma. Then we lit candles and prayed. St. Elizabeth Ann Seton, pray for us.

Unpopular Thoughts, Part 2

I'm eight years out of the workforce. That's a huge number for me. I was an approval junkie and an achievement junkie. I couldn't get enough awards. I could get enough special projects to fill up the hollow feeling in my chest.

God has a really good sense of humor. He fashioned my soul to be a stay at home mother! That was the fast track for getting over my horrible workaholism and advancing in humility. Rebecca, I remember in pre-cana the presenter saying "your spouse comes first, ahead of your job." I remember looking at my fiance and thinking "Well, not on weekdays!"

So I feel like I'm finally in a place where the dust has settled. I'm not actively seeking out new trauma, or distractions. I'm pretty still. I'm around healthy people. I've got a special ops mission from Jesus to be loved and to show love.

Everything is sweet. I've got a husband who writes me love letters in the morning and teaches himself how to fix our yucky kitchen floor. I've got five kids. A dog. A cello. I'm starting to form friendships that are based on mutual respect and affection rather than "drama."

Now it's time for the grief to come.

It's like I didn't have a safe space to grieve when I was a child. Then I spent most of our early marriage running around trying to "fake it"--fake being healthy, fake knowing how to be a wife and a mother, fake being close to God.

That's been a huge part of recovery. Stop faking that I'm already a Saint. Just be with Him. Just let Him love me. And recognizing that intimacy is hard for me. Intimacy means quiet prayer with God. Sex with my husband. Causally hanging out with my girls at the breakfast nook. There is always a tendency for me to bolt just when things start to get interesting. If I force myself to stay, just a hair longer than I feel comfortable---really beautiful things start to happen.

We have a strong cultural tradition that says "Never say an unkind word about your mother!" That's a hard cultural taboo to have, when you become a Mother yourself.  There's venting behind the scenes and then there's a false public front--but the reality is this complex gray in between. I think you've got to strive for peace with that mixture if you're going to be busy with motherhood yourself for large chunks of each day.

I found that when I stopped saying "everything my Mother did was right!" I had more space to stop thinking "everything I'm doing is wrong." That gave me space to breathe. I'm no longer walking around with this vague fear that there is this trip wire that I'm going to hit that is going to make everything fall apart for my family.

As in strangers would say "Oh, you enjoy your kids when they are babies. Just you wait. Things all fall apart when they become teenagers."

There's an ease in my chest now. I don't wait with fear that things "look fine now" but they will all fall apart in the future. I know now that my Mother's relationship with me is in stasis. Pretty much the way things were between us when I was six weeks old, is the way things were at 6, 16, 26, and 36. There's less of a need to get surprised again and again.

But the difference now is in me. I know "I'm not my Mom" intellectually--and now I'm trying to feel that concretely in my own emotions, absorb that truth into my own body.

A little distance from my own Mom, makes me a better Mom to my kids. I'm no longer feeling these huge swings between "I'm the best mother in the world to my daughters" or "I'm the worse Mother in the world."  I feel much more like "I'm their Mom." The good, the bad, the in-between--I'm their Mother. I don't have to do extra stuff to feel like "a great Mom." I don't freak out if I'm having a rough patch. There's a stability about my mothering now--a new calmness.

Ironically, with that comfort, I'm much more introspective. I don't walk around saying "I'm the worse Mom." But I do think "Hmmm, there are some things that could use improvement." And the things that need improvement are "doable!"

For example, I realize that I don't put my older kids to bed. In our house, Dad handles all bedtime routines for the "older kids." Now six weeks ago, I would have had all sorts of reasons why this routine happened in our family. Jon is better at it then me. I need a break. The kids really enjoy their special Daddy time.

But the real subconscious reason was that I was horribly uncomfortable around our kids at bedtime. I would sit on the couch reading or blogging while Jon spent an hour putting the kids to bed. I would start to get really angry. "This is taking too long!  We're missing out on our couple time!" It's embarrassing to admit, but I must have started at least 50 arguments over this issue during our 9 years of parenting. (Maybe more, right Jon?)

This Advent, I was more open to the grieving process. I sat still on the couch and listen to my husband lovingly put our kids to bed. I thought, "I didn't know you could do this?" I didn't know older kids could get put to bed. I went outside and walked our dog. I started crying a little. I told myself, "I have no memory of being put to bed--ever."

I pieced together that is why I'd been getting angry. I told myself "kids don't need this much cuddling at bedtime, it should be a simple affair" because it hurt to realize how much my nine year old and eight year old like it. My husband was showing me what Love looks like. I didn't even know I missed out on it, until I'm suddenly in this stain glass window of a grace-filled family life.

I'm taking a small step forward. I stopped beating myself up for not praying the family rosary upstairs at bedtime, or waiting to hear full chapter of the latest Sci-Fi bedtime read. I decided I'd take the small step of working backward. Right now, I go upstairs and draw the sign of the cross on each of my children's head at the tail end of the bedtime routine. It's small. It feels awkward. But it's doable. And I'm enriched. Because my kids like to see me at night--in that intimate moment.

So that is what recovery feels like. You go through life. You start to cry over something that seems simple (like an excited friend who posts glowing updates of her daughter's engagement). I think "I didn't know you could do that." It's not just like "Oh, I didn't have that." It's this deeper sense of loss "Oh, I didn't know you could have that." This thing with our kitchen was so beautiful, so affirming. Then I had to be sad for a few hours because "I didn't know you could teach yourself how to fix your house." I thought some people were just "unhandy" and you just had to live with the house you bought.

Right now, I let myself grieve. Then I try to transition back into the moment. I try my best to get back into the current reality of the day. I feel grateful and sad at the same time. I also have a lot of Hope.

I'm not falsely claiming that I'm doing everything right as a Mother to my kids. But I have great Hope for them. I can see the family pattern getting dramatically better. I know my girls and I are emotionally close. I watch the Holy Spirit help us get even closer. I have confidence that God is at work in me, and that He's more than capable to heal any emotional cracks that are left over when they become adults.

Mary, Mother of God, pray for us!

Dominic Pio--Our Little Hero

Prayers for Jennifer F.

Yuck. I'm used to praying hard for very sick babies. Today, I'm praying for a sick pregnant Mom and her dear baby. Catholic blogger, Jennifer F. is in the hospital with pulmonary embolisms in each lung. Please pray for her! Thank you!

More Unpopular Thoughts

I want to talk about this "fear" of children. We live in a culture where it is increasingly normal to be living with a man and not get married. Or if married, to not have children. Or if you have two children to stop firmly at that line because "any more will drive my wife crazy."

People talk about certain women as being "anti-child" as if it's a lighthearted issue. It's a preference like "some women like to shop" and some women like to go to art museums.

As someone who spent my teens and twenties terrified of having children--it didn't feel like a "choice to me." I thought I couldn't be a mother. Sometimes I thought I'd physically be infertile, but mostly I thought I'd be really, really awful as a mother. I thought I was broken inside. I thought being someone's Mom was just something I couldn't do.

So something that I "couldn't do" quickly became something that I shouldn't do.

I endured some crazy, crazy emotional abuse as a kid. Parts of mothering came easier to me than I expected, but other parts that I thought should be easy to do, are hard. It's work. And it's embarrassing that it's work--rather than this la la easy lifestyle I imagine (probably falsely) that other women experience.

Yet, I am on my knees grateful that I have my babies. They are saving my soul. They are saving my marriage. They have made me go from this hollow person--to an actually feeling, giving, shiny soul. My husband and my relationship is so much better with each and every kid--it's hard to go back in time and remember what our marriage was like before I had Baby Abigail. Our marriage is that much better this winter.

St Paul tells us to "encourage each other daily while it is still today."

A mother is not "born" automatically whenever her first child is born. Motherhood is a spiritual reality--a gift each day from God. I only got over my fear of 'pregnancy' (which was really a deep seeded fear that I'd be a bad mother) because obedience to the Catholic Church demanded that I give up birth control. I am forever grateful to the Catholic Church for that teaching.

Lee Brice- A Woman Like You + Lyrics [New Single 2011] in HD

I want to rewrite the lyrics of this song into "girl form" from my husband.

Unsustainable

I'm gobbling up these film reviews for "This is 40." Some reviews seem to dismiss the angst in this movie as "first world problems." Some were mystified as to why a family "with all the trappings of wealth" feels economically insecure.  Yet I really "got it", even though I haven't see the movie yet. Growing up in Suburban America, I felt this great insecurity. Even though everything looked fine on the surface, it felt unsteady. It felt like the floor or your life could drop out underneath you at any second. I grew up around successful adults who seemed very nervous. We kids felt that nervousness.

When I was in 8th grade, the bottom did fall out from us. My father didn't get tenure. Jobs for college history professors are not easy to come by. The job options my father in 1988 had were in North Dakota, rural Michigan, and rural West Virginia. So we moved 4 hours away, but it was entering a different world.

I started a new high school and hated every second of it. Then when I travelled "back home", I started to see how much better my life was at age 15 compared to the lives of all of my old friends.

I'm fascinated about this "gift of poverty." I get that on our small salary and large family, we're financially better off than the family depicted in "This is 40." We're not just reaping the spiritual benefits of poverty-- emotionally and financially, I have a much easier life because we have a small income.

That is so anti-American.

I think film-makers really get in trouble when they try to speak the truth. "First world problems." That is so dismissive. Our material abundance, our lack of community inside our marriage and our families--that is a problem. That's a huge problem.

Hopefully, I can find the clip where one husband talks about his wife not liking him. It's so heartbreakingly true.

Why I Want to Adopt More Kids

These are my five kids. They are nuts! So I splurged and got them two "king size" bars of chocolate. Before I could even unload all the groceries, they are having an impromptu chocolate party on the floor. When I asked to take a picture, they decided to start smoking the individual KitKat pieces like cigars. I love little Abigail's face in this picture. "I don't know what is going on, but I'm very excited to be included." Life is fun with this crew. We need more!

New Kitchen 5

 

New Kitchen 4

 

New Kitchen 3

 

New Kitchen 2

 

New Kitchen!

 

Old Kitchen 2