Chillin'
alec vanderboom
Alcove
Why I Love Living In The Country
alec vanderboom
Birthday Party Fun--Hannah Age 11 and Abigail Clare age 2
alec vanderboom
My Cupcake Shop client let us trade Advertising work for a birthday party credit. So fun! I need to do the "will work for cupcakes" model more often!
Living Like a Happy Graduate Student With Kids
alec vanderboom
I'm messing around with some research for my poverty book and found this cool post for new doctors making six figure incomes "Live Like A Resident." This author makes a compelling case for the virtue of poverty, especially when starting out with a full doctor salary for the first time.
Here was a comment:
Here was a comment:
"This is a nice idea, but it doesn’t really acknowledge the extent to which its feasibility is almost 100% dependent on when one has kids. Saying on survived in a small (in our case 800 SF) apartment in a crummy neighborhood so you can do it for a few years afterwards, too, doesn’t make as much sense when your kids are hitting school aged and you need a reasonable school district, and they are starting to need their own bedrooms, etc…. I would love to see more attention paid to how to handle this aspect of things!"
I think this theme of "sounds great to me, but how do I do this path with kids?" is a question I'm trying to answer in my book. Poverty as a virtue is pretty popular. There are the monks and Christian Mystics. There's Thoreau. There are the Bohemian Artists living in an unheated Parisian garret. There are entrepreneurs. Students. Now I'm adding "white coat investors trying to get rid of outrageous medical debt quickly."
The question is "How do I do this sanely with kids" because our culture has decided that each kid requires X amount of stuff every single moment of their life.
I was really blessed to have a rough start in my financial life. I spent $85,000 in Law School loans to make less than $32,000 as a Legal Aid Attorney after graduating in the top of my class. (That was back in 2000, when there were still open jobs for new graduates.) That trade off made absolutely no sense unless you could see how deadly boring I found writing Legal Research Memos about obscure contract phrases.
My husband who is a commercial artist actually had a slightly better deal. $65,000 in student loan debt for $62,000 in annual salary. That's a decent trade off that would make Susan Ormond happy. Add in a stay-at-home wife and five, possibly six, kids. Suddenly we're knocked firmly out of the middle class.
My financial peace comes from living well in the present moment with God's help. Our financial numbers are close enough from income to expenses that we've got peace of mind and not fear. Rather than scramble to earn more income, or invest, my goal is to live well on little money.
I try to get the biggest "enjoyment of life" from each dollar I spend in our home.
1. Paint. I love color! Paint is from $20 to $30 a gallon. I find that a small investment really transforms my mood. When we lived in an apartment with white walls, I picked one accent wall and made it a color. I was happy to repaint it white when we moved out.
2. Candles and Plants. When I lived in an apartment, I was so afraid to garden. There seemed to be so much stuff to cart home on the bus. Now that we live in the country, but I don't have much time to garden, I love living with indoor plants. I've got ivy growing in my bedroom. I've got a crazy plant I don't know the name of that I got for $6 on clearance from Home Depot. I used to have a palm tree. Living with plants is really healing for me.
3. Cook Good Food. Cooking is so cheap! Aldi's Grocery store is my friend. I love roasting vegetables in olive oil. I made bread in a bread maker and serve it with dipping sauces. I can now roast a chicken with olive oil, lemons and rosemary easier than I can make most pasta meals.
4. Don't forget to give your kids the simple stuff. We're a normal family. My kids are into Legos and video games and overpriced Disney Princess Items. I'm also a heavy pusher of the simple stuff--sidewalk chalk, bubbles, bike rides & skateboard time. We go hiking, fishing, and camping. They make up plays in the living room. We play charades and Monopoly. This is the "good stuff" that I want them to experience in childhood anyway.
I think that a small home, that is beautifully arranged, a roast chicken that is almost finished cooking in the oven, lots of kids giggling under a blanket tent and a husband who froths a good cup cappuccino with our "el cheapo" coffee and our Mr. Coffee cappuccino maker are Good Things.
Everybody can afford the good things in life. A good book. A good conversation with a dear friend. Feeling useful to a kid with a scraped knee. Handing out a smile to a stranger in need.
I wish that more people I knew with kids lived how we lived in Graduate School. We had more time than money.
I think this theme of "sounds great to me, but how do I do this path with kids?" is a question I'm trying to answer in my book. Poverty as a virtue is pretty popular. There are the monks and Christian Mystics. There's Thoreau. There are the Bohemian Artists living in an unheated Parisian garret. There are entrepreneurs. Students. Now I'm adding "white coat investors trying to get rid of outrageous medical debt quickly."
The question is "How do I do this sanely with kids" because our culture has decided that each kid requires X amount of stuff every single moment of their life.
I was really blessed to have a rough start in my financial life. I spent $85,000 in Law School loans to make less than $32,000 as a Legal Aid Attorney after graduating in the top of my class. (That was back in 2000, when there were still open jobs for new graduates.) That trade off made absolutely no sense unless you could see how deadly boring I found writing Legal Research Memos about obscure contract phrases.
My husband who is a commercial artist actually had a slightly better deal. $65,000 in student loan debt for $62,000 in annual salary. That's a decent trade off that would make Susan Ormond happy. Add in a stay-at-home wife and five, possibly six, kids. Suddenly we're knocked firmly out of the middle class.
My financial peace comes from living well in the present moment with God's help. Our financial numbers are close enough from income to expenses that we've got peace of mind and not fear. Rather than scramble to earn more income, or invest, my goal is to live well on little money.
I try to get the biggest "enjoyment of life" from each dollar I spend in our home.
1. Paint. I love color! Paint is from $20 to $30 a gallon. I find that a small investment really transforms my mood. When we lived in an apartment with white walls, I picked one accent wall and made it a color. I was happy to repaint it white when we moved out.
2. Candles and Plants. When I lived in an apartment, I was so afraid to garden. There seemed to be so much stuff to cart home on the bus. Now that we live in the country, but I don't have much time to garden, I love living with indoor plants. I've got ivy growing in my bedroom. I've got a crazy plant I don't know the name of that I got for $6 on clearance from Home Depot. I used to have a palm tree. Living with plants is really healing for me.
3. Cook Good Food. Cooking is so cheap! Aldi's Grocery store is my friend. I love roasting vegetables in olive oil. I made bread in a bread maker and serve it with dipping sauces. I can now roast a chicken with olive oil, lemons and rosemary easier than I can make most pasta meals.
4. Don't forget to give your kids the simple stuff. We're a normal family. My kids are into Legos and video games and overpriced Disney Princess Items. I'm also a heavy pusher of the simple stuff--sidewalk chalk, bubbles, bike rides & skateboard time. We go hiking, fishing, and camping. They make up plays in the living room. We play charades and Monopoly. This is the "good stuff" that I want them to experience in childhood anyway.
I think that a small home, that is beautifully arranged, a roast chicken that is almost finished cooking in the oven, lots of kids giggling under a blanket tent and a husband who froths a good cup cappuccino with our "el cheapo" coffee and our Mr. Coffee cappuccino maker are Good Things.
Everybody can afford the good things in life. A good book. A good conversation with a dear friend. Feeling useful to a kid with a scraped knee. Handing out a smile to a stranger in need.
I wish that more people I knew with kids lived how we lived in Graduate School. We had more time than money.
Assumption of Risk
alec vanderboom
"We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair, persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be visible in our bodies." --St. Paul, 2 Corinthians 8-10.
I had a really weird visit to my OB's office yesterday. In the first few seconds of my visit, I flunked my blood pressure test. My regular nurse is an immigrant with accented English who strokes my arm and says "Relax! Relax, Mama!" I almost always end up getting an even higher blood pressure score the second time she puts the cuff on my arm.
At some point, I'm going to explain to her that I need to take the blood pressure test outside my OB's office to get a more accurate reading. Simply walking into the same office where I found out that my Leo unexpectedly kicked the bucket 16 weeks ago is enough to spike my anxiety levels. Yesterday, that communication task seemed a little beyond me, so I focused instead on taking slow, deep breathes.
I spent a lot of time alone yesterday, waiting for my appointment. Jon stayed in the waiting room with our kids. My doctor was running late. The nurse just happened to have me wait in the same exam room that we discovered we lost Leo. I started to get scared about being alone in there. To calm down, I told myself "This is my Carmelite Cell." I started praying intensely.
I have this prayer I invented when my three year old went to her first emergency heart surgery in 2010. It's for those medical moments when things are either going to be a clear "up, down, or a maybe." I go through each of the scenarios and tell God "No matter what happens, I praise you."
My doctor came into the room. He asked a lot of questions about bleeding. (My low levels last week suggested that I'd have a miscarriage this week.) I told him that I've had no signs of bleeding, but instead more symptoms of pregnancy. He was excited. He said "Maybe we can find out some good news for you today."
When we did the ultrasound, I started praying again. A sacrifice I made was to refrain from asking the first second "Is there still a heartbeat?" I waited patiently. My doctor is methodical and serious. He said "I'm just going to take some measurements first and then I'll turn the screen so you can see it also." He worked in silence for about 2 minutes. Then he said something about taking one more measurement of the fetal pole.
I thought "Well, that sounds positive." "Is there a heartbeat?" I asked.
"Oh yeah!" my doctor said. He flipped the screen around to me. The doctor, the "Relax Mama" nurse and me all had a moment of exchanging high fives. We did not expect to see a growing baby with a normal heartbeat on the screen.
I felt more relaxed after seeing Baby Matthew, so I started talking a lot. I told my doctor that if it was another girl I'd have enough for a Girl's Basketball Team! If it was a boy, I'd have these two perfect bookends 10 years apart. It felt really good to joke around. This baby is so loved.
Unlike the last visit, this time I made it into the official paperwork of my HMO. After I got changed back into my regular clothes, the doctor handed me a thick pre-natal questionnaire. This is my fourth pregnancy with the same OB, but I always go through the same issues.
Both Jon and I are carriers of the Cystic Fibrosis gene. (Cystic Fibrosis is basically a fatal, genetic lung disease). That generates a bit of buzz each pregnancy. I have to explain that we got diagnosed 11 years ago at the Genetics Department of Ohio State University. Jon has the really bad CF gene. I have this weird mutation of a CF gene that the experts don't think is active because of my negative family history. Basically even though it looks bad on paper, the experts don't think my kids are any increased risk for CF. All my babies will inherit either my totally good gene or my "basically good to go" CF mutation every time.
Good doctors are science geeks. My OB follows logic this easily. We joke about how modern medicine sometimes makes mountains out of molehills with potential genetic problems. I feel at ease with him. I feel like we are kindred spirits.
It comes out of the blue a few minutes later when my doctor asks me "Would you consider termination for Cystic Fibrosis?"
I have to mentally translate the phrase "termination" to mean "abortion" because I'm not used to that lingo. I say "No!" In my head, I think "We would just treat the Cystic Fibrosis!" I'm not excited to sign up for repeat visits to Children's Hospital in Washington DC. But I'm not afraid of it either. The average life expectancy with CF is 35. I'm 39! There is a lot of living a kid can do with 30 plus years on this earth.
My OB asks me again. "So you wouldn't even consider a termination?" He leaves this blank pause at the end of the sentence like "Don't you need to at least ask your husband?" I shake my head No. No, I do not need to consult with my husband. I'm grateful that we have unity on this issue.
Later the OB asks me twice about my willingness to consider termination of a Down Syndrome fetus. I say "No!' again. The Down Syndrome abortion issue is even more strange to me. A Down Syndrome diagnosis is a little scary to me because of the baby's higher risk of heart defects and childhood leukemia. Straight up Down Syndrome itself isn't fatal, however. I'm a teacher. If we get a Down Syndrome kid that would be another teaching challenge.
The whole nature of the conversation starts to freak me out. This mention of "termination" isn't the same thing that we go through with birth control. When we talk about birth control, my doctor understands this is against my Roman Catholic faith. He says "I have to ask you this, Mrs. Benjamin, Do you want a prescription for the pill?" I say "No thank you!" He says with kindness "I thought that would be your answer! Your kids sure are cute!"
I don't understand why our conversation about abortion isn't the same thing. A formality, but the option is clearly off the table.
I realize that my OB is scared for me. I've had two second trimester losses. This fetus is showing signs of being a little 'off'. He'd like to spare a nice Mom like me the pain of having a genetically damaged kid to care for.
The thing I was trying to explain, but failed in that emotional moment, is the legal concept of the Assumption of Risk. I'm 39 years old. I know that having a new baby comes with an increased risk of Down Syndrome. I've known for 11 years, that I could end up with a baby with Cystic Fibrosis. These are known and accepted risks.
Each pregnancy brings other, unknown risks. Quiet honestly, Autism scares me. Childhood cancer scares me. Also, weird genetic disorders that nobody knows about. My three year old had some roommates in the NICU that had some really hard birth defects. I'd rather not be the Mom of a son who has 16 different doctors curiously examining him before neo-natal surgery.
Assumption of the Risk means that when you enter a soccer game, you assume the risk of minor injury. You expect to get kicked in the shins or experience a minor shove. You can't get all furious and sue over the inherit risks of the game.
I feel the same way about having babies. There are some risks involved. Heartache is a risk. You might not get a perfect kid. But you always get "your kid." A little baby that maybe has the recessive gene that lets him do "taco tongue", or bright blue eyes like his Daddy, or nutty curly hair like his Mommy. Little Matthew might never get bigger than my smallest fingernail. His existence is still a miracle.
The last thing I'm going to do after preforming backflips in celebration over Baby Matthew still having a beating heart at 7 weeks is make a plan for his eventual "termination" if he fails a genetic test. I am this baby's mother. I've already Assumed the Risk.
When I think about what makes a Christian different from a more secular person, I think of St. Paul's description of the Christian life. It's a paradox. Christians are "afflicted but not crushed. Perplexed but not driven to despair." St. Paul says that the Christian must confront the reality of death.
I think all Christians wrestle with the reality of death. Some monks were pretty extreme in their quest. St. John of the Cross used to eat every meal with a real human skull staring up from his table. St. Anthony of the Desert spent hours laying in an open grave in his church cemetery.
Modern skeptics would label their behavior as "insanity."
There is something cool about this paradox. The more I'm comfortable with reality of death--this idea that I'm got a limited time on earth too, thus all things are transitory on earth-- the more beautiful my life becomes. I can see the things of this world in more vivid color.
I totally hate miscarriage. It sucks. It really hurts to put a tiny baby in the ground who I never got to hold in my arms.
Yet taking a risk after a heartache is really beautiful. I'm grateful I've got five noisy, nutty kids currently living in my house right now. I'm the Mother that I am today because of loss.
It's two sides of the same coin. Embracing the possibility of death means embracing the joy of life. St. Paul tells us that by "carrying the death of Jesus in our bodies," we can "manifest the life of Jesus" to others. I wish St. Paul's description wasn't so literal in the case of a potential miscarriage, but I'm honored to be on a spiritual path this Lent.
I had a really weird visit to my OB's office yesterday. In the first few seconds of my visit, I flunked my blood pressure test. My regular nurse is an immigrant with accented English who strokes my arm and says "Relax! Relax, Mama!" I almost always end up getting an even higher blood pressure score the second time she puts the cuff on my arm.
At some point, I'm going to explain to her that I need to take the blood pressure test outside my OB's office to get a more accurate reading. Simply walking into the same office where I found out that my Leo unexpectedly kicked the bucket 16 weeks ago is enough to spike my anxiety levels. Yesterday, that communication task seemed a little beyond me, so I focused instead on taking slow, deep breathes.
I spent a lot of time alone yesterday, waiting for my appointment. Jon stayed in the waiting room with our kids. My doctor was running late. The nurse just happened to have me wait in the same exam room that we discovered we lost Leo. I started to get scared about being alone in there. To calm down, I told myself "This is my Carmelite Cell." I started praying intensely.
I have this prayer I invented when my three year old went to her first emergency heart surgery in 2010. It's for those medical moments when things are either going to be a clear "up, down, or a maybe." I go through each of the scenarios and tell God "No matter what happens, I praise you."
My doctor came into the room. He asked a lot of questions about bleeding. (My low levels last week suggested that I'd have a miscarriage this week.) I told him that I've had no signs of bleeding, but instead more symptoms of pregnancy. He was excited. He said "Maybe we can find out some good news for you today."
When we did the ultrasound, I started praying again. A sacrifice I made was to refrain from asking the first second "Is there still a heartbeat?" I waited patiently. My doctor is methodical and serious. He said "I'm just going to take some measurements first and then I'll turn the screen so you can see it also." He worked in silence for about 2 minutes. Then he said something about taking one more measurement of the fetal pole.
I thought "Well, that sounds positive." "Is there a heartbeat?" I asked.
"Oh yeah!" my doctor said. He flipped the screen around to me. The doctor, the "Relax Mama" nurse and me all had a moment of exchanging high fives. We did not expect to see a growing baby with a normal heartbeat on the screen.
I felt more relaxed after seeing Baby Matthew, so I started talking a lot. I told my doctor that if it was another girl I'd have enough for a Girl's Basketball Team! If it was a boy, I'd have these two perfect bookends 10 years apart. It felt really good to joke around. This baby is so loved.
Unlike the last visit, this time I made it into the official paperwork of my HMO. After I got changed back into my regular clothes, the doctor handed me a thick pre-natal questionnaire. This is my fourth pregnancy with the same OB, but I always go through the same issues.
Both Jon and I are carriers of the Cystic Fibrosis gene. (Cystic Fibrosis is basically a fatal, genetic lung disease). That generates a bit of buzz each pregnancy. I have to explain that we got diagnosed 11 years ago at the Genetics Department of Ohio State University. Jon has the really bad CF gene. I have this weird mutation of a CF gene that the experts don't think is active because of my negative family history. Basically even though it looks bad on paper, the experts don't think my kids are any increased risk for CF. All my babies will inherit either my totally good gene or my "basically good to go" CF mutation every time.
Good doctors are science geeks. My OB follows logic this easily. We joke about how modern medicine sometimes makes mountains out of molehills with potential genetic problems. I feel at ease with him. I feel like we are kindred spirits.
It comes out of the blue a few minutes later when my doctor asks me "Would you consider termination for Cystic Fibrosis?"
I have to mentally translate the phrase "termination" to mean "abortion" because I'm not used to that lingo. I say "No!" In my head, I think "We would just treat the Cystic Fibrosis!" I'm not excited to sign up for repeat visits to Children's Hospital in Washington DC. But I'm not afraid of it either. The average life expectancy with CF is 35. I'm 39! There is a lot of living a kid can do with 30 plus years on this earth.
My OB asks me again. "So you wouldn't even consider a termination?" He leaves this blank pause at the end of the sentence like "Don't you need to at least ask your husband?" I shake my head No. No, I do not need to consult with my husband. I'm grateful that we have unity on this issue.
Later the OB asks me twice about my willingness to consider termination of a Down Syndrome fetus. I say "No!' again. The Down Syndrome abortion issue is even more strange to me. A Down Syndrome diagnosis is a little scary to me because of the baby's higher risk of heart defects and childhood leukemia. Straight up Down Syndrome itself isn't fatal, however. I'm a teacher. If we get a Down Syndrome kid that would be another teaching challenge.
The whole nature of the conversation starts to freak me out. This mention of "termination" isn't the same thing that we go through with birth control. When we talk about birth control, my doctor understands this is against my Roman Catholic faith. He says "I have to ask you this, Mrs. Benjamin, Do you want a prescription for the pill?" I say "No thank you!" He says with kindness "I thought that would be your answer! Your kids sure are cute!"
I don't understand why our conversation about abortion isn't the same thing. A formality, but the option is clearly off the table.
I realize that my OB is scared for me. I've had two second trimester losses. This fetus is showing signs of being a little 'off'. He'd like to spare a nice Mom like me the pain of having a genetically damaged kid to care for.
The thing I was trying to explain, but failed in that emotional moment, is the legal concept of the Assumption of Risk. I'm 39 years old. I know that having a new baby comes with an increased risk of Down Syndrome. I've known for 11 years, that I could end up with a baby with Cystic Fibrosis. These are known and accepted risks.
Each pregnancy brings other, unknown risks. Quiet honestly, Autism scares me. Childhood cancer scares me. Also, weird genetic disorders that nobody knows about. My three year old had some roommates in the NICU that had some really hard birth defects. I'd rather not be the Mom of a son who has 16 different doctors curiously examining him before neo-natal surgery.
Assumption of the Risk means that when you enter a soccer game, you assume the risk of minor injury. You expect to get kicked in the shins or experience a minor shove. You can't get all furious and sue over the inherit risks of the game.
I feel the same way about having babies. There are some risks involved. Heartache is a risk. You might not get a perfect kid. But you always get "your kid." A little baby that maybe has the recessive gene that lets him do "taco tongue", or bright blue eyes like his Daddy, or nutty curly hair like his Mommy. Little Matthew might never get bigger than my smallest fingernail. His existence is still a miracle.
The last thing I'm going to do after preforming backflips in celebration over Baby Matthew still having a beating heart at 7 weeks is make a plan for his eventual "termination" if he fails a genetic test. I am this baby's mother. I've already Assumed the Risk.
When I think about what makes a Christian different from a more secular person, I think of St. Paul's description of the Christian life. It's a paradox. Christians are "afflicted but not crushed. Perplexed but not driven to despair." St. Paul says that the Christian must confront the reality of death.
I think all Christians wrestle with the reality of death. Some monks were pretty extreme in their quest. St. John of the Cross used to eat every meal with a real human skull staring up from his table. St. Anthony of the Desert spent hours laying in an open grave in his church cemetery.
Modern skeptics would label their behavior as "insanity."
There is something cool about this paradox. The more I'm comfortable with reality of death--this idea that I'm got a limited time on earth too, thus all things are transitory on earth-- the more beautiful my life becomes. I can see the things of this world in more vivid color.
I totally hate miscarriage. It sucks. It really hurts to put a tiny baby in the ground who I never got to hold in my arms.
Yet taking a risk after a heartache is really beautiful. I'm grateful I've got five noisy, nutty kids currently living in my house right now. I'm the Mother that I am today because of loss.
It's two sides of the same coin. Embracing the possibility of death means embracing the joy of life. St. Paul tells us that by "carrying the death of Jesus in our bodies," we can "manifest the life of Jesus" to others. I wish St. Paul's description wasn't so literal in the case of a potential miscarriage, but I'm honored to be on a spiritual path this Lent.
Praying for Baby
alec vanderboom
So far the baby is okay. He grew appropriately in seven days and he has a normal heartbeat. My OB is still concerned. Twice in the past, I've had pregnancies with a rocky start that ended up as miscarriages after 12 weeks. My treatment plan is to have a normal pre-natal visit schedule only with more sonograms. My next visit is in two weeks. Thank you so much for your prayers.
Top Twelve Ways to Piss Off Your OB As A Pro-Life Catholic Woman
alec vanderboom
(For Rebecca)
1. Get pregnant after age 35.
2. Get pregnant after having two or more previous c-sections
3. Describe your family of five or more children as "small." Talk tearfully of the multiple miscarriages and years of secondary infertility during routine questions about your medical history.
4. Admit that you have no idea when you conceived this baby because you and your husband were hitting the sex "hot and heavy" during the romantic month of February.
5. Groan loudly when a nurse asks if you've tried to treat overwhelming mourning sickness with "crackers and some ginger ale." Remind her that this is not your "first time at the rodeo!"
6. Roll your eyes when the recommendations over the amount of coffee, red wine, Tylenol, potentially mercury poisoned fish, et al, have changed radically since your last pregnancy. Remind the doctor that you know these newest recommendations are pretty much just "fads" since you were just here 18 months ago.
7. Remind your doctor that Catholics are not Jehovah Witness, so you can have a blood transfusion.
8. Refuse a prescription for The Pill at the 6 week post-natal check-up.
9. Ask for the remains of a miscarriage so you can bury your child with dignity.
10. When your doctor gives you grief for passing on the early Down Syndrome Test, remind him that for the last baby you spent 3 weeks at the Children's Hospital NICU. Say "I went into this pregnancy with my eyes wide open!"
11. When the doctor asks "Was this a planned pregnancy?" cheerfully answer "Planned by God Himself!"
12. Get pregnant two weeks before your scheduled hysterectomy.
1. Get pregnant after age 35.
2. Get pregnant after having two or more previous c-sections
3. Describe your family of five or more children as "small." Talk tearfully of the multiple miscarriages and years of secondary infertility during routine questions about your medical history.
4. Admit that you have no idea when you conceived this baby because you and your husband were hitting the sex "hot and heavy" during the romantic month of February.
5. Groan loudly when a nurse asks if you've tried to treat overwhelming mourning sickness with "crackers and some ginger ale." Remind her that this is not your "first time at the rodeo!"
6. Roll your eyes when the recommendations over the amount of coffee, red wine, Tylenol, potentially mercury poisoned fish, et al, have changed radically since your last pregnancy. Remind the doctor that you know these newest recommendations are pretty much just "fads" since you were just here 18 months ago.
7. Remind your doctor that Catholics are not Jehovah Witness, so you can have a blood transfusion.
8. Refuse a prescription for The Pill at the 6 week post-natal check-up.
9. Ask for the remains of a miscarriage so you can bury your child with dignity.
10. When your doctor gives you grief for passing on the early Down Syndrome Test, remind him that for the last baby you spent 3 weeks at the Children's Hospital NICU. Say "I went into this pregnancy with my eyes wide open!"
11. When the doctor asks "Was this a planned pregnancy?" cheerfully answer "Planned by God Himself!"
12. Get pregnant two weeks before your scheduled hysterectomy.
Prayer Request
alec vanderboom
Tomorrow is my second ultrasound with Baby Matthew. Not sure at all what I'm going to see on that black and white screen Please pray for me and my friend Rebecca.
Happy St. Patrick's Day!
alec vanderboom
I adore this Saint! My faith really took off after I visited Ireland as a new convert to the Catholic church. Here is a piece of his famous prayer, the Breastplate of St. Patrick:
Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me,
Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ on my right, Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down,
Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of every man who speaks of me,
Christ in the eye that sees me,
Christ in the ear that hears me.
I arise today
Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,
Through a belief in the Threeness,
Through a confession of the Oneness
Of the Creator of creation
--St. Patrick, 377 AD
We have about 6 inches of snow in Washington DC this morning. Crazy! I'm celebrating the last of the snow season by teaching two of my daughters how to knit. We found this brilliant yarn store at a nearby college town. I first learned how to knit from my Grandma Jean. Yet I really came into my own with knitting during cold New England nights in college. It's so fun to pass on this tradition to my girls. Meanwhile, my new change is figuring out how to knit socks with three double point needles. Jon is so ridiculously excited for me. He's such a Farmer Boy who is all about sustainability and "do it yourself" projects.
Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me,
Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ on my right, Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down,
Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of every man who speaks of me,
Christ in the eye that sees me,
Christ in the ear that hears me.
I arise today
Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,
Through a belief in the Threeness,
Through a confession of the Oneness
Of the Creator of creation
--St. Patrick, 377 AD
We have about 6 inches of snow in Washington DC this morning. Crazy! I'm celebrating the last of the snow season by teaching two of my daughters how to knit. We found this brilliant yarn store at a nearby college town. I first learned how to knit from my Grandma Jean. Yet I really came into my own with knitting during cold New England nights in college. It's so fun to pass on this tradition to my girls. Meanwhile, my new change is figuring out how to knit socks with three double point needles. Jon is so ridiculously excited for me. He's such a Farmer Boy who is all about sustainability and "do it yourself" projects.
Why I Love Carolyn Hax
alec vanderboom
Do you guys read Advice Columnist Carolyn Hax in the Washington Post? I love her! She's such a good writer. Dear Abby has common sense and wisdom. Hax has a turn of phrase that will stick in my head for days. Here's a sample from a recent discussion in the post.
Letter Writer:
"Recently you’ve run a couple threads about SAHMs and how they’re perceived by the world. From what I can tell, everyone seems to fall into one of two camps: 1. those who believe SAHMs sit around eating bonbons all day, and 2. those who insist SAHMs are badly undervalued and are short-order cooks/paramedics/professors worth six-figure salaries.
I’m home full-time with my kindergartner, who spends about half the day in school, and my infant. I’m friends with a handful of other SAHMs, and indeed their kvetching about being overworked is nonstop. I find it unsettling, because honestly (and I’m sorry if this outs anyone or hurts the ‘SAHMs are hardworking wizards’ cause), between school hours and the time my older kid spends playing alone, I have quite a bit of free time during the day.
We don’t have any hired help–I cook, clean, and engage with my children plenty. Yet if something comes on TV and I want to watch it, I can. If I’m ever behind on replying to emails, it’s just because I didn’t feel like writing them.
This unsettles me, because while I do feel that I’m a good mom and that what I do is very important, I also have the sense that there’s something I’m missing about what causes others to struggle so much. I worked for nearly two decades before transitioning to my current lifestyle–the former is harder. It just is.
My question is, should I assume I’m somehow shortchanging my child if I don’t end each day exhausted and praying for relief and recognition? The tone of this question may be coming off a little (or a lot) snarky, but this is a topic that irritates me to no end because I feel like a traitor whenever I acknowledge the truth about my SAHM life. –Help, My Tiara’s on Too Tight!!!”
CAROLYN HAX :
You're doing just fine by your child; the people you're shortchanging are the stay-at-home moms whose children are not as calm as yours.
What you're essentially doing is looking through a periscope, and drawing a conclusion about the entire ocean. Look around you sometime at kids not your own, out in the world. The amount of variation in temperament is enormous. You will see, for example, babies who sit peacefully in their car seats as their parents have a conversation, do their shopping, watch an older child's sporting event, etc. Or, toddlers who contentedly play on a blanket with a stack of blocks or a truck or some dolls. Keep looking, though, and you'll see other babies who thrash around in their car seats or strollers and then try to writhe out of their parents' arms when they're picked up, or you'll see toddlers who start running the moment their feet hit the ground or who lose interest in their toys after 5 minutes. Being home with one of those, even amid other children who are calm, is enough to fry a person by lunchtime.
What has me skeptical, though, is that you really need me to explain this. Your conclusion after hearing so many other SAHP's kvetch wasn't, "Whoo, I'm lucky my kids are easygoing"?Instead it was, "get over yourselves, people"? I'm asking because the tone at the beginning of your question seemed to be one of genuine curiosity, but by the end there was a distinct harrumphing sound.
You don't say explicitly that your friends have received your truth-telling badly, but if that is in fact the case, then I suspect it will go better if you do it with the understanding that your experience is both the exception and, to a large degree, a fluke. "
My own take-away: Temperament matters! So far I'm 5 for 5 in challenging temperaments with my kids. My favorite reassuring book on parenting sensitive kids is "Raising your Spirited Child." Sometimes kids are just "more hard." I've grown to really like that aspect of my kids. That overwhelming intensity when they are little is what makes them such passionate, neat kids in later in life.
Praying For Baby
alec vanderboom
I have a baby with a heartbeat! Unfortunately, my doctor is concerned. I've got a lot of things that predict a miscarriage. I'm in the grey zone. I could still have a normal, healthy pregnancy. More likely than not, however, we'll be saying goodbye to this little baby early. I go back for another check-up in a week.
Because I've now lost two babies in the second trimester, I've got more than 10 weeks before this little baby starts to be in the clear. It seems like a long time to feel uncertain.
I can't control the outcome of this pregnancy. I can control my attitude. One day at a time. I decided to simply celebrate this precious gift for as long as he (or she) is in my life. Today we have a strong heartbeat. That is no small feat. There are a lot of Moms who would happily trade places with me. "Guarded Hope" is how my husband is describing our feelings.
One funny note,-- the doctor carefully printed out two pictures of my baby, who's "working title name" is Matthew Benjamin. Things are so bad that this could very well be the only two pictures I ever have of this kid. I came out from my ultrasound and showed the images to my husband. He said "I'll take one for my office." My nine year old son instantly followed, "Can I have one for my wallet?"
My husband said "Sure!" He asks for scissors at the front desk. They don't have any. So my husband starts to tear the photos apart with his car key.
I'm watching this situation unfold and it's on the tip of my tongue to say "Wait, I need one! Also, what about the scrapbook? Can't we wait until we make copies?"
Something in my stops my words. I realize I'm okay being left out. I'm the one carrying the baby. It's so darling to see my husband and my son take ownership of the two blurry images we have of Matthew. Matthew's ultrasound picture is now inside his older brother's wallet. The only other things inside there are a Game Stop card and some wrinkled single dollars.
St. Gerard, Pray for us!
(this is my special baby song I sing to Matthew during this pregnancy)
Because I've now lost two babies in the second trimester, I've got more than 10 weeks before this little baby starts to be in the clear. It seems like a long time to feel uncertain.
I can't control the outcome of this pregnancy. I can control my attitude. One day at a time. I decided to simply celebrate this precious gift for as long as he (or she) is in my life. Today we have a strong heartbeat. That is no small feat. There are a lot of Moms who would happily trade places with me. "Guarded Hope" is how my husband is describing our feelings.
One funny note,-- the doctor carefully printed out two pictures of my baby, who's "working title name" is Matthew Benjamin. Things are so bad that this could very well be the only two pictures I ever have of this kid. I came out from my ultrasound and showed the images to my husband. He said "I'll take one for my office." My nine year old son instantly followed, "Can I have one for my wallet?"
My husband said "Sure!" He asks for scissors at the front desk. They don't have any. So my husband starts to tear the photos apart with his car key.
I'm watching this situation unfold and it's on the tip of my tongue to say "Wait, I need one! Also, what about the scrapbook? Can't we wait until we make copies?"
Something in my stops my words. I realize I'm okay being left out. I'm the one carrying the baby. It's so darling to see my husband and my son take ownership of the two blurry images we have of Matthew. Matthew's ultrasound picture is now inside his older brother's wallet. The only other things inside there are a Game Stop card and some wrinkled single dollars.
St. Gerard, Pray for us!
(this is my special baby song I sing to Matthew during this pregnancy)
Prayer Request
alec vanderboom
I might be miscarrying again. My OB is really kind. I went for an hCG blood draw today. Tomorrow, I have an ultrasound. God is very good. Please pray for me to stay calm and attentive to his grace. Thank you.
automatic ....Miranda Lambert new song
alec vanderboom
Healing My Inner Crazy
alec vanderboom
I am not a normal person when it comes to the task of cleaning. First, I have a sanguine temperament, which means I don't like to do unpleasant things. Dusting cobwebs from the ceiling and intensely scrubbing the mildew off my shower stall, generally fall under the "things I'll easily save for another day" category in my own head. That's my nature part.
Then there is the nurture part. I grew up with several members of my family of origin having a form of OCD. As a young kid, I have repeated experiences of different people "going flip out crazy" over one of my minor cleaning mistakes. At the time, I didn't know that there was a neat line between "their issue" and "my issue." In my head, my incompetence at cleaning caused their reaction. I started to associate house-cleaning with extreme danger.
Still today as a 39 year old adult, I have what I can only describe as minor PTSD symptoms whenever I start to clean my house. There's this intense anxiety that flares up. I start taking shallow breaths and feel a tightness in my chest. There's this shame spiral that starts. "This mess is overwhelming! I'll never be able to catch up. I'm such a loser for letting it get this bad." If I don't stop that intense shame experience, I can easily flare up into anger. "Why doesn't anyone in this house pick up stuff besides me!"
(I'm probably the only person in America who has deep shame associated with three day old dried oatmeal stuck to my kitchen floor but I share my personal weirdness in case it's helpful to someone else with a similar handicap in another area of their life).
So God has a great sense of humor. He takes a women who is terrified and incompetent at housecleaning, and makes her the mother of six children!
I started out Lent this year finding out that I was 6 weeks pregnant! Yeah! For the first few days, I was really happy about the new baby. We picked out a name. I have my little cheerleaders in my life who are jumping up and down in support of this new life. I took the slogan from my recovery "One Day at a Time!" I don't know how long I'm going to get to mother this little one, but I'm going to celebrate everyday she (or he) is here.
Then the fear started. And the fatigue. I'm sure its inner-related. Once my body gets tired from normal first trimester pregnancy stuff, my mind starts to weaken in the fight against anxiety. The fatigue and sickness is hard. The mental stuff is super hard.
One of the things that helps me cope with my anxiety is to "nest." I want to fix up our house. I want to paint the blank walls I've been looking at for 3 years. I want to finish our taxes. I want to organize the kids' rooms. I have this new human being that is coming into our family. I know I'm going to be out of commission for a while, so there's is this focus to "get things ready" for a new baby.
I've had the "nesting urge" in the second and third trimester of pregnancy. I've never had it in the first trimester before. I don't know if that's because I lost a baby in the second trimester last year, so my head's picking up in the middle. Or if I'm worried we could be having a second funeral in a few months. Whatever it is. I really want to nest. At the same time, that I'm weak.
God uses everything for good. The thing I realized is that I really have to seek more help from my family. I have to heal my inner crazy.
It's Lent. My number one resolution is to not yell. Ever! For the whole six weeks. Prior to pregnancy that would have seemed pretty hard not to yell during cleaning session. To avoid snapping at my kids, I either did the major cleaning tasks myself. Or skipped all the cleaning jobs I didn't think were critical.
Now I've got that combo of fastidiousness with cleaning combined with great fatigue. It's weird. But things are actually easier. I have to enlist my kids help. At ages 10, 9, and 6 asking kids to pitch in for general housekeeping is a general part of good parenting. (I don't want to raise kids who are totally unprepared to be decent college roommates at age 18). All the same, I didn't have the strong motivation to teach "basic chores" until I was pregnant with number 6.
Yesterday, we cleaned the girls room. I've got an almost 2 year old, 3 year old and 6 year old sharing the master bedroom in my Cape Cod. Even with pretty good toy organization, stuff gets messy quickly. In the past, I would have asked my three older kids to help clean their own bedrooms. I wouldn't have had the patience to sit quietly on the sidelines while they gained experience in sorting out the jumbled mess. I would have jumped in after a few moments, barking orders, feeding my own shame spiral, and feeling totally frustrated that this activity wasn't done quickly and efficiently.
Even the stuff I did to help the "not yelling during housecleaning" were only on the surface. For example, I'd try to play fun music while we cleaned. Or I'd try to artificially keep calm and give compliments. It's was better than losing my temper. But it wasn't great. It was like a "white knuckle fix."
It's wild to think that pregnancy has just fixed that problem. Instantaneous grace! When we cleaned the bedrooms this past week, I laid on my toddler's tiny bed in exhaustion. I had to point to things and kindly ask them to be moved. The difference was my own heart. I was completely grateful for my kid's help. I was in a position where I wanted this room cleaned up due to my own agitation (anxiety) but I absolutely was not in a position to do it alone. I was in a position were I was asking for help, instead of demanding it. Surprise, that one interior shift made the whole job so much more comfortable for everyone. My three kids cleaned two bedrooms and a second floor bathroom in record time with almost no fuss.
I'm really encouraged this Lent to heal my inner crazy when it comes to housecleaning. I invested in some green housecleaners that have a really nice scent. I usually use simple, cheap things to clean: vinegar, baking soda, lemons and water. This month I wanted something commercial that was a little stronger and yet still safe for pregnancy. I picked up two bottles of Mrs. Meyers. This product has some cool scents like Basil, Radish, and Honeysuckle. The scent alone calms me down whenever I clean. It's like aromatherapy. When I start to get tense, I can focus on the smell. That kind of awareness of the present tense is enough to stop the anxiety cycle.
I'm so grateful to be in recovery. I'm so grateful to be a Mom. I could have spent my whole life living this big important public life--when I gave to community service and won important trophies at work. Inside, I would have still felt so broken and so afraid. Someone in my recovery group once described themselves as "incongruent" --a big shot at work and but feeling like a failure inside.
Before I was a Mother, I had this fear that I was too broken to raise a child. I believed in my hear that kids were so important. I never, ever wanted to hurt a child the way I had been hurt as a kid. I cared about children, but I didn't believe I had the capacity to do right by them. So it seemed safer to just not have my own child. I'd just spend my life gazing at the sidelines as a volunteer soccer coach and Sunday School teacher.
Now I know in my bones that I'm not worthy to raise a child. I am not a good enough human being to be such a powerful influence on a brand new human life. At the exact same time that I distrust myself, I have this supreme confidence that God can still use me--broken as I am. It's exciting to wake up in the morning and see "Wow, this little unborn baby is already making our life better!" The house is cleaner. Mom has better coping skills. The siblings have age-appropriate responsibilities without being overwhelmed. Tess and Abigail are getting more hugs and kisses because Mom is sitting down more during the day, rather than off doing her own projects.
Babies make life better! God is amazing! Praise to the Author of All Life!
Then there is the nurture part. I grew up with several members of my family of origin having a form of OCD. As a young kid, I have repeated experiences of different people "going flip out crazy" over one of my minor cleaning mistakes. At the time, I didn't know that there was a neat line between "their issue" and "my issue." In my head, my incompetence at cleaning caused their reaction. I started to associate house-cleaning with extreme danger.
Still today as a 39 year old adult, I have what I can only describe as minor PTSD symptoms whenever I start to clean my house. There's this intense anxiety that flares up. I start taking shallow breaths and feel a tightness in my chest. There's this shame spiral that starts. "This mess is overwhelming! I'll never be able to catch up. I'm such a loser for letting it get this bad." If I don't stop that intense shame experience, I can easily flare up into anger. "Why doesn't anyone in this house pick up stuff besides me!"
(I'm probably the only person in America who has deep shame associated with three day old dried oatmeal stuck to my kitchen floor but I share my personal weirdness in case it's helpful to someone else with a similar handicap in another area of their life).
So God has a great sense of humor. He takes a women who is terrified and incompetent at housecleaning, and makes her the mother of six children!
I started out Lent this year finding out that I was 6 weeks pregnant! Yeah! For the first few days, I was really happy about the new baby. We picked out a name. I have my little cheerleaders in my life who are jumping up and down in support of this new life. I took the slogan from my recovery "One Day at a Time!" I don't know how long I'm going to get to mother this little one, but I'm going to celebrate everyday she (or he) is here.
Then the fear started. And the fatigue. I'm sure its inner-related. Once my body gets tired from normal first trimester pregnancy stuff, my mind starts to weaken in the fight against anxiety. The fatigue and sickness is hard. The mental stuff is super hard.
One of the things that helps me cope with my anxiety is to "nest." I want to fix up our house. I want to paint the blank walls I've been looking at for 3 years. I want to finish our taxes. I want to organize the kids' rooms. I have this new human being that is coming into our family. I know I'm going to be out of commission for a while, so there's is this focus to "get things ready" for a new baby.
I've had the "nesting urge" in the second and third trimester of pregnancy. I've never had it in the first trimester before. I don't know if that's because I lost a baby in the second trimester last year, so my head's picking up in the middle. Or if I'm worried we could be having a second funeral in a few months. Whatever it is. I really want to nest. At the same time, that I'm weak.
God uses everything for good. The thing I realized is that I really have to seek more help from my family. I have to heal my inner crazy.
It's Lent. My number one resolution is to not yell. Ever! For the whole six weeks. Prior to pregnancy that would have seemed pretty hard not to yell during cleaning session. To avoid snapping at my kids, I either did the major cleaning tasks myself. Or skipped all the cleaning jobs I didn't think were critical.
Now I've got that combo of fastidiousness with cleaning combined with great fatigue. It's weird. But things are actually easier. I have to enlist my kids help. At ages 10, 9, and 6 asking kids to pitch in for general housekeeping is a general part of good parenting. (I don't want to raise kids who are totally unprepared to be decent college roommates at age 18). All the same, I didn't have the strong motivation to teach "basic chores" until I was pregnant with number 6.
Yesterday, we cleaned the girls room. I've got an almost 2 year old, 3 year old and 6 year old sharing the master bedroom in my Cape Cod. Even with pretty good toy organization, stuff gets messy quickly. In the past, I would have asked my three older kids to help clean their own bedrooms. I wouldn't have had the patience to sit quietly on the sidelines while they gained experience in sorting out the jumbled mess. I would have jumped in after a few moments, barking orders, feeding my own shame spiral, and feeling totally frustrated that this activity wasn't done quickly and efficiently.
Even the stuff I did to help the "not yelling during housecleaning" were only on the surface. For example, I'd try to play fun music while we cleaned. Or I'd try to artificially keep calm and give compliments. It's was better than losing my temper. But it wasn't great. It was like a "white knuckle fix."
It's wild to think that pregnancy has just fixed that problem. Instantaneous grace! When we cleaned the bedrooms this past week, I laid on my toddler's tiny bed in exhaustion. I had to point to things and kindly ask them to be moved. The difference was my own heart. I was completely grateful for my kid's help. I was in a position where I wanted this room cleaned up due to my own agitation (anxiety) but I absolutely was not in a position to do it alone. I was in a position were I was asking for help, instead of demanding it. Surprise, that one interior shift made the whole job so much more comfortable for everyone. My three kids cleaned two bedrooms and a second floor bathroom in record time with almost no fuss.
I'm really encouraged this Lent to heal my inner crazy when it comes to housecleaning. I invested in some green housecleaners that have a really nice scent. I usually use simple, cheap things to clean: vinegar, baking soda, lemons and water. This month I wanted something commercial that was a little stronger and yet still safe for pregnancy. I picked up two bottles of Mrs. Meyers. This product has some cool scents like Basil, Radish, and Honeysuckle. The scent alone calms me down whenever I clean. It's like aromatherapy. When I start to get tense, I can focus on the smell. That kind of awareness of the present tense is enough to stop the anxiety cycle.
I'm so grateful to be in recovery. I'm so grateful to be a Mom. I could have spent my whole life living this big important public life--when I gave to community service and won important trophies at work. Inside, I would have still felt so broken and so afraid. Someone in my recovery group once described themselves as "incongruent" --a big shot at work and but feeling like a failure inside.
Before I was a Mother, I had this fear that I was too broken to raise a child. I believed in my hear that kids were so important. I never, ever wanted to hurt a child the way I had been hurt as a kid. I cared about children, but I didn't believe I had the capacity to do right by them. So it seemed safer to just not have my own child. I'd just spend my life gazing at the sidelines as a volunteer soccer coach and Sunday School teacher.
Now I know in my bones that I'm not worthy to raise a child. I am not a good enough human being to be such a powerful influence on a brand new human life. At the exact same time that I distrust myself, I have this supreme confidence that God can still use me--broken as I am. It's exciting to wake up in the morning and see "Wow, this little unborn baby is already making our life better!" The house is cleaner. Mom has better coping skills. The siblings have age-appropriate responsibilities without being overwhelmed. Tess and Abigail are getting more hugs and kisses because Mom is sitting down more during the day, rather than off doing her own projects.
Babies make life better! God is amazing! Praise to the Author of All Life!
My Ash Wednesday
alec vanderboom
I took all four of my daughters ages 1 to 10 to an 8:30 AM Ash Wednesday Mass with me as the solo parent. (I left my 9 year old son sleeping in his bed, I wasn't up for the struggle to get him out the door on time). My husband was highly skeptical. Little Abigail has not made it through a Sunday Mass once in over 6 months. Yet she was great during Mass. She was a little talkative, which is problematic because her natural tone of voice is ALL CAPITALS. I kept saying "whisper, whisper" in her ear.
All considering however, Daily Mass was super easy. Way easier than Sunday Mass. I don't know if the difference was less people? Earlier time of Day? Or just a shorter time frame altogether? Anyway, I'm really encouraged to try to get back to going to Daily Mass once a week during Lent.
Because of Abigail's relative peacefulness, I got to hear the homily! A rare event for me in this stage of my life. Father Francisco was so sweet and encouraging. He's ideas for sacrifices during Lent were so creative and easy. Here are some that I remember
--instead of looking for the closest parking space, park far away. More exercise for you, kindness to other people in a hurry.
--instead of texting a friend, pick up the phone and call them
--if you are a young girl, offer free babysitting during Lent
--no TV or Computer after dinner, to make sure that you wake up more refreshed in the morning (I also thought it would make it easier to do a family game night during Lent without TV)
--Wear only 4 outfits during Lent
--Pick out a complete outfit from your closet (clothes and shoes) and give it away to the poor
--Use Lent as a time to introduce yourself to your Neighbors. Make sure you know every person on your block.
I thought these ideas were so "easy does it." I liked thinking about Lent as a time for a gentle spiritual tune up, instead of a radical overhaul.
All considering however, Daily Mass was super easy. Way easier than Sunday Mass. I don't know if the difference was less people? Earlier time of Day? Or just a shorter time frame altogether? Anyway, I'm really encouraged to try to get back to going to Daily Mass once a week during Lent.
Because of Abigail's relative peacefulness, I got to hear the homily! A rare event for me in this stage of my life. Father Francisco was so sweet and encouraging. He's ideas for sacrifices during Lent were so creative and easy. Here are some that I remember
--instead of looking for the closest parking space, park far away. More exercise for you, kindness to other people in a hurry.
--instead of texting a friend, pick up the phone and call them
--if you are a young girl, offer free babysitting during Lent
--no TV or Computer after dinner, to make sure that you wake up more refreshed in the morning (I also thought it would make it easier to do a family game night during Lent without TV)
--Wear only 4 outfits during Lent
--Pick out a complete outfit from your closet (clothes and shoes) and give it away to the poor
--Use Lent as a time to introduce yourself to your Neighbors. Make sure you know every person on your block.
I thought these ideas were so "easy does it." I liked thinking about Lent as a time for a gentle spiritual tune up, instead of a radical overhaul.
"A Gateway to Other Mediocre 80s Pop" Portlandia - Shooting Star Preschool
alec vanderboom
For my Smith alumnae friends--Do you get comedic tears of recognition from seeing yourself lampooned with Portlandia? Honestly, I had the same conversation last week when I tried to explain to my local head librarian why it was a crime against literature for our library's most recent copy of Tennyson poems to be published in 1887!
Silence
alec vanderboom
In the past, I've been so nervous during Lent. Part of it is being an adult convert to Catholicism. Part of it is being Co-dependent. Part of this is this weird Modern Pressure among the faithful. It's really common for people who grow up Catholic not to remain in the pew as young adults. This might just be my perception, but I feel that there is a hysteria among Catholic parents that I never felt before as a Protestant. There is an opinion that if I don't educate my kids "right" in the Faith, then they will be lost forever.
This year, I've noticed an inner growth. I've hung out in the secular world of the 12 step programs and it's made me chill out about my husband and my children's faith journey. The people I love have their own connection to God. They will walk their own path. As a Mom, I can be a role model. I can be a support. But I can't do it for them.
Tomorrow isn't about being a super educator. I'm not looking up creative ideas on the blogs for how to teach young kids to pray. I'm going to trust that my kids already know how to pray. Prayer is friendship! (quoting my bff St. Teresa of Avila). My kids already rock at friendship. Why won't I trust them to grow into awesome friends with God?
Today and tomorrow, I'm going to take time to carve out silence in our day. I'm going to ask them to sit quietly and ask themselves what they want to do during Lent.
Prayer. Almsgiving. Fasting. These are generic tools to we Catholics focus on during Lent. Outside of the general guidelines for the entire church however, our individual faith journeys are so different. This Lent I feel really good being a leader who really trusts her family's ability to chart their own spiritual path.
This year, I've noticed an inner growth. I've hung out in the secular world of the 12 step programs and it's made me chill out about my husband and my children's faith journey. The people I love have their own connection to God. They will walk their own path. As a Mom, I can be a role model. I can be a support. But I can't do it for them.
Tomorrow isn't about being a super educator. I'm not looking up creative ideas on the blogs for how to teach young kids to pray. I'm going to trust that my kids already know how to pray. Prayer is friendship! (quoting my bff St. Teresa of Avila). My kids already rock at friendship. Why won't I trust them to grow into awesome friends with God?
Today and tomorrow, I'm going to take time to carve out silence in our day. I'm going to ask them to sit quietly and ask themselves what they want to do during Lent.
Prayer. Almsgiving. Fasting. These are generic tools to we Catholics focus on during Lent. Outside of the general guidelines for the entire church however, our individual faith journeys are so different. This Lent I feel really good being a leader who really trusts her family's ability to chart their own spiritual path.
How A Writer Celebrates Shrove Tuesday!
alec vanderboom
Forget the pancakes. Today I'm gorging on reading lots of great posts before I start my mild internet fast for Lent.
If your a Mom who struggles with insecurity please read this great post from Brianna.
You don't have to have the cross of infertility yourself to get tears of recognition from this joyful post about embracing Christ's plan for your life in this post by Karey.
If you are planning to hit more Daily Masses this Lent with little ones in tow, please remember to adjust your expectations. "Mass is not supposed to be a Day Spa Experience" to paraphrase the lovely, and ever funny, Dwija.
Fasting from reading is hard, but creating your own stuff is better! Get inspired to create more this Lent. Read this call to arms from Matching Moonheads.
As always, great thanks to Leila for gathering up all the good stuff for me on her ever amazing blog roll.
If your a Mom who struggles with insecurity please read this great post from Brianna.
You don't have to have the cross of infertility yourself to get tears of recognition from this joyful post about embracing Christ's plan for your life in this post by Karey.
If you are planning to hit more Daily Masses this Lent with little ones in tow, please remember to adjust your expectations. "Mass is not supposed to be a Day Spa Experience" to paraphrase the lovely, and ever funny, Dwija.
Fasting from reading is hard, but creating your own stuff is better! Get inspired to create more this Lent. Read this call to arms from Matching Moonheads.
As always, great thanks to Leila for gathering up all the good stuff for me on her ever amazing blog roll.
Inspiration At the Oscars
alec vanderboom
This documentary won an Oscar and sounds so charming, "The Lady in No. 6: How Music Saved My Life." Can't wait to check it out soon.
On Keeping a Better Sense of Humor During Lent
alec vanderboom
I'm taking inspiration from this visual artist and applying her concept to random misplaced objects around my own house during Lent. Creativity is more fun than my usual "Please put this away already!" Mom nag.