Pulling Up Our Roots

We reached a tipping point in crime incidents around my neighborhood. For a few years, I've had my head in the sand. I cancelled our subscription to our local paper two years ago because the crime stories were freaking me out.

This week, my husband asked me to stop going to the Downtown Library without him. "I'll return any books you want after work. Just don't go alone, especially with our kids. It's not safe anymore."

There is this invisible boundary line of mental safety that I didn't know was there until it got crossed. On these golden Spring Mornings, it's not safe for me to go to my church by myself. It's not safe to go to the library. Losing those two anchors, its like I lost my whole town overnight. It hurts so much to not be able to sit quietly by the Tabernacle when the entire church is quiet. We Carmelites affectionately call that precious prayer time "our Desert time."

We're moving. We picked out a new church in a new city twenty minutes north of us. There are so many pluses for moving. There is this amazing City Park with Trumpet Swans and a free Art Museum. Housing prices are similar to our current house. There are more educational and sport programs for my kids. My husband loses 30 minutes on his super long commute. It's a housing upgrade in every category.

The only sourpuss is me. I hate moving. I hate change. I hate the work of cleaning, packing, unpacking, and all the resettlement details. I hate the stress of finding a new dentist, a new vet, a new car mechanic. I hate the ugly parts of the new house poking me in the eye until I can get the time, energy, and finances to get the irritating problems fixed. I hate the stress of all the finances going in flux because you don't know how much the heat will be in winter and everything needs to be repaired at the same time.

It feels really good at age 39 to simply be honest about where I suck. I suck at change. My husband and I have reached the stage of marriage where we can be honest and loving and funny at the same time. We were talking about our feelings about this move and he started teasing me gently, "The kids and I are going to make this move regardless. You're welcome to rent this house yourself and sleep alone here each night." I started laughing at that image. I told him, "I'll have to drive the dog home with me every night. There is no way I'm sleeping in this high crime area without something for protection!" It was really funny to consider for a moment everyone changing houses in this family except for me.

I'm worth a move. That is what I'm telling myself this week. Yes, it's a pain to move. Yes, there will be unforeseen complications. Yes, we might do all this work to put the house on the market and have it not sell. Yet,  I'm worth a move.

If one day, we can sketch Trumpet Swans from real life as a free Home-school Art Lesson, that's a pretty big payoff for a few months of high anxiety and stress.

The Invisibility of Secondary Infertility: National Infertility Week

(For a full list of the blogger participating in this series please visit the Little Catholic Bubble. Special thanks to my friend Rebecca for her brilliant writing in this subject area.)

I came a little late to the joy of Motherhood at age 28. I became a Catholic one year after I married one. I got pregnant for the first time two weeks after I quit using birth control in obedience to my shiny new faith. My next conception followed nine months later. I had one sad miscarriage. Then I got pregnant six weeks later.

I was convinced I was in the "super fertile" club. We had a weird risk of losing babies in the second trimester. Staying pregnant might be a problem, but getting pregnant--no way.

We changed our life radically to better accommodate lots of little people. I quit my job. We moved from a slow economy to the then still bustling economy of Washington DC. My Art Professor husband quit Academia and found a better paying job in commercial art.

My life looked radically different from how I planned it out in college and I was happy. I was a Stay-at-Home Mom who shopped at Trader Joes, fed the toddlers gummy dinosaurs during trips to the Smithsonian, and read French novels on the couch during Nap Time. I made a circle of friends of Catholic Moms who were all intelligent, funny, and super fertile like me.

Then I hit secondary infertility at age 32.

For 2 1/2 years, my husband and I tried every single month to conceive and there was never a baby.

I think the hardest thing for me was having the loneliness. There was nobody to talk about my feelings with beside my husband. To the secular world we looked 'done'. To the Catholic world, it seemed normal to want to have a break after 3 kids under age 5. Even the good friends who know that I was so hopeful each month that "this would be it"--there was this distance. First they had one kid, while I was waiting. Then two. After a while, I felt like I ran out of words to bridge the gap between our lives.

The hard part of secondary infertility is that I really loved my kids. I loved my two girls. They were so different from each other. Totally sassy and spirited and fun. I wanted another girl. I wanted another boy. I wanted to watch my husband hug the newborn, and play Thomas the Train, and teach Molecular Biology in a ridiculous amount of detail to a pre-schooler. So many times, I watched my husband be cute with our kids and had the bittersweet thought "He's so good with them and he might never have this experience again."

When I was sad about getting my period again, I couldn't "opt out" of social events that contained kids. This was my life as a Mom. Playgrounds. Birthday Parties. Dinosaur Exhibits. I'd see little babies nestled in car seats and strollers and elaborate wraps. Sometimes I'd look at those newborn faces with such love and prayer. Sometimes I'd look away.

It's a weird thing to want more kids in a world that is full of birth control.

I have a beautiful small family of five kids, possibly six kids. (My youngest still has to travel through this dangerous period where I seem to lose babies in the second trimester) I think of my family as small. Jon and I married late. We've had miscarriages and secondary infertility and a rocky NICU stay. We're both in our 40s, so the window is rapidly closing.

Somedays I think "Small is mighty!" It's okay that no one else in America counts "six kids" as a small family. I do. I know how big my heart is. I don't have as many babies as I liked to have in my house. Two sons have died. Yet I'm okay. God and I are friends. I have hope every day that I get to serve him in ways that bring him joy.

Even An Atheist Can Teach the Catechism

I went to a new church for Easter Sunday. The homily I heard was so simple, and so inspiring. Each of us is called to a deep, personal friendship with Christ. Our Catholic faith isn't simply based on knowing a bunch of facts about Christ. As the priest said so eloquently, "The Catechism is important. Yet even an atheist can teach the catechism! We're called to be something more!"

He talked about how St. Peter and St. John heard about the empty tomb from St. Mary Magdalene. Yet they weren't content with learning about this facts second hand from another. They rushed to the tomb to see it for themselves. This priest told us that we all need to see for ourselves the truth of the Catholic church. Faith comes from a personal knowledge of Christ. We need to examine things ourselves and make our Faith, our very own thing.

I found all this so inspiring as a meek little Carmelite. I'm not an evangelist. I'm not an apologetic. I'm not a homeschool teacher extraordinaire.

I'm someone who is friends with Christ. I meet up with him in the Mass. I talk to him in prayer. I learn more about him in Scripture and the Catechism. Sometimes, I learn cool new things about him from the Pope and the Saints. I talked to Christ about my little daily problems. Sometimes, I take his advice about how to solve problems over the junk inside my own head.

I have a small, practical, "little" Faith. I really enjoyed hearing that the most amazing thing about our first Pope, St. Peter wasn't that he said something amazing and profound after the mystery of the Resurrection. This priest was most impress that St. Peter ran to the tomb to check things out for himself. I felt encouraged, like "I can do that too!"

Happy Easter!

I love Caravaggio! This painting is called "The Incredulity of St. Thomas." This Easter Morning, I'm
going to let myself bask in the "incredulity" of the Resurrection. It seem incredulous to a modern, scientific mind that Christ could rise from the dead. Yet I see proof of the Resurrection all around me. There is the addict who finally beats addiction. There's the skeptic who finds Faith. Cherry blossoms that are extra brilliant after an extremely harsh winter. So I'm letting myself wrestle with a deeper belief in the ultimate impossible act, a Resurrection of Life after Death.

Good Friday

(h/t Leila)

Here is a link to the Stations of the Cross Meditation that Pope Francis will use today in Rome.

Cool Commerical Art: MOVE Remixed | 1 Minute. 1 Man. 1 Epic Journey.

Refreshment At Carmel

I've had a rough Lent. Interior trials. Exterior Trials. I felt like I was walking around in muck. I noticed a real change in my approach to the Stations of the Cross. I'm emotionally sensitive. Usually when I pray the Stations of the Cross, I feel a little shaken up. I'm essentially walking through photographs of graphic torture. I feel the same visceral reactions when I pray as I do when I see those awful pictures from the Abu Ghraib prison scandal.

This Lent, I found praying the Stations of the Cross to feel strangely reassuring. "Yeah, Jesus. I got me a piece of that kind of pain too. Nice to know that I'm on the right path at least. Love you, brother. Good luck! See you down the road on Easter Sunday!" That part of identification with Jesus with the humiliation and the other gross stuff, rather than simply the happy part, is new. This spiritual journey is messy and confusing, but I am still growing.

By Sunday morning, I felt so low I wanted to skip my monthly Carmel meeting. I complained so much. "Seriously? After this hellacious weekend, I've got to go to yet another outside thing? I really want rest. I need rest!"

I came inches from skipping out of my meeting. I live in a rural area, so I need to drive 30 minutes to the next large town to attend my Carmel meetings. I drove past all these inviting places on the exit before my turn that I don't have in my small town. There was a Panera. A Chipotle. A Starbucks. Never had it looked more appealing to skip out of my meeting, sit down, put my feet up and sip a coffee. "Jon won't mind that I asked him to babysit while I went out for time alone, instead of to my Carmel Meeting. He knows how much I need this. I deserve this gift after the long,hard week I've had!" I don't even know how I decided to keep driving because that lure of 30 minutes alone inside a Panera was pretty strong. I think I probably decided that we didn't have enough money 2 days before pay day to support my trip.

Anyway, I pull up to my Carmel meeting a mess. My Palm Sunday Service went long, so despite my best efforts, I'm fifteen minutes late for my class. Our President saw me entire the room and her face lit up in a huge smile. "Abigail you look wonderful!" Everyone in my community is praying for this baby to make it and so they take such a special joy in seeing my round pregnant belly looking bigger than four weeks ago.

She gave me this huge, warm hug. I felt her arms around me and I started to cry. I choke out "The baby is fine, but I just had an awful experience this weekend that I need to talk to you about."  We went out to talk in the hallway. Within ten minutes she had me all straightened out. She told me to skip my class and go sit in on the Mass that was happening at the church next door. I sort of resisted. "I just came from Mass, it doesn't help." She was really bossy in that tender big sister way. She physically walked me to church and parked me in front of an open door.

I slipped into the middle of a Latin Mass. I never know in the least bit what is going on in these services. During that time of emotional upheaval, I felt even less hopefully about following along. Instead of following the brochure, I just knelt down and prayed. I'd taken the Eucharist about one hour earlier and I could feel myself getting calmer. "She was right to be so insistent that I come her," I thought after several moments.

I didn't even stay for the end of Mass. When I felt much better, I slunk back out of church. I went to the end of my formation class. We had our elections for a new officers. That part ran a little long, so we skipped my favorite part--our community discussion on the letters of my bff, St. Teresa of Avila. I left before Evening Prayer and made it back to my house by 4 PM. I still had time to visit with my family at the park and finish the grocery shopping before making pizza for dinner and cutting the grass while it was still light outside.

I figured out a lot of things during my Carmel meeting. A lot of things that were really confusing to me got sorted out. I don't mean in a general way--but in an individual, specific way. "Oh yeah, that's what I'm supposed to do now!"

I love Carmel because it looks so boring. It's a room with folding chairs and folding tables. There are fifteen people or less. It's so unassuming.  Yet, Carmel is my tribe! This is my "family of choice" as we like to say in the secular language of CODA. This is truly who I am and where I belong. It's so wonderful to touch base once a month and think "Oh right! This is who I am! This is what I'm supposed to be doing! This is my mission!" Its this intense feeling of reassurance and encouragement, at the same time a real call to action to be more zealous in following the Lord.

Early in my Carmel journey, I had a person in authority tell me a very wrong statement. "Mothers with young children should never join Carmel because they can't attend meetings every month." I thought about that comment made years ago as I drove home. The Mother that drove away from my children at 12:30 PM, was not the same Mother who came back at 4:00 PM. I came back to my vocation refreshed.

It's crazy to have something better than "Me time at Panera" as the pregnant Mother of six children. I'm so grateful for Carmel. I hope I get many years with my Carmel community to grow into the full person I'm supposed to become.

Thursdays With Thoreau

"One afternoon, near the end  of the first summer, when I went to the village to get a shoe from the cobbler's, I was seized and put into jail, because, as I have elsewhere related, I did not pay a tax to or recognize the authority of the state which buys and sells men, women, and children, like cattle, at the door of its senate house." --Henry David Thoreau

I'm a historian who lives in the South. I have ruined many a fine summer day at gorgeous Colonial historical sites by arguing about slavery with hysterical relativists. I will never forget the scrunched up, furious face, of an otherwise sedate Catholic mom, as she screamed at me during a field trip "You can not say negative things about Thomas Jefferson's position on slavery. You have to judge such a great man within the context of his times!"

I remember looking at her and saying calmly "Yes, I can. I'm a Catholic." There is truth. Truth is not something that is culturally specific. Slavery was wrong in Roman Times. Slavery was wrong during Colonial Times. Slavery is wrong now. The human trafficking situation within modern day America is a horrible sin.

It's so refreshing to me to read Thoreau's words from 1845. Some men "got it." Slavery was wrong. The most amazing thing is that Thoreau doesn't say "Negro Slavery" is wrong, using the contemporary language of the times. He says selling "men, women and children" is wrong. He gives Black Americans their full measure of human dignity. Selling men is wrong. Selling women is wrong. Selling children is wrong.

Thoreau's actions of resisting paying the poll tax out of his moral objections to slavery and paying the consequences by spending a night in jail--- that act was seemingly small and insignificant. He didn't leave the woods of Walden Pond and start conducting slaves out of the South aka Harriet Tubman. This was a protest that came out of his normal, daily life. The man got harassed on his way to the cobbler's shop to fix a hole in his shoe. Yet God uses small actions which are aligned with his will. The description of "Thoreau's Night in Jail" is what inspired both Gandhi and Martin Luther King, Jr.

I read Thoreau's matter of fact description of why slavery is wrong and I'm so inspired. I'm a woman with strong moral beliefs. I believe abortion is wrong. I believe capital punishment is wrong. I believe domestic violence is wrong. I believe that the physical and emotional abuse of children is wrong. I don't have to feel this compulsion to go join a bunch of committees just to prove my moral beliefs. Thoreau reminds me to stay little. It's enough to go through my ordinary daily life with my deepest held beliefs in tact and to cheerfully pay the penalties for swimming against the tide of popular opinion.

A Calm, "Doable" Standard of Mothering

Last Saturday I hung out with some monks. These are old school, still wear that funny haircut called a "tonsure", type of monks. They assume I can remember enough High School Latin to easily follow a 2 hour Mass. In general, their standards for religious life are pretty high.

During their Lenten lecture to Catholic Mothers, I found it a total shock that their description of my vocation as a mother was calm, clear and "doable." It was the perfect antidote to the anxiety that pervades secular parenting myths.

For the monks, I have three main responsibilities as a Mom--prayer, introduction to the sacraments, and education.

Prayer
The most important thing I do as a Mom is to pray for my children. The monks said that because of my position, my prayers for my kids are more effective (they used the fancy term "efficacious") than prayers for them by others. I know my children's needs the best. I also am in a position of responsibility over them.

As a Mom of a sick kid, that news really calmed me down. It's enough for me to be praying in the crib by the NICU. I don't have to worry that I'm not launching a major social media campaign at the same time to get others to pray for my kid also. (Though it's helpful to have encouragement from Facebook during lonely hours in the NICU, it's not a requirement for effective prayers).

At the same time, that point almost brought me to tears. We're used to thinking about the poor, malnourished, or educationally disadvantaged kid. How many kids have a Mother who actively prays for them every single day? Who has help from the Holy Spirit to look out for their needs, whether it be for a rare medical problem or an hidden athletic ability like in the movie "The Blind Side?" I really felt a strong commitment to pray for more kids around me.

Prayer is important because it also talks about humility. I have these kids for a specific period in their life--but they are going somewhere else. Whether God's ultimate plan is for them to teach school in Uganda or be the best darn horse doctor to ever graduate OSU vet school, those talents, abilities and desires started at conception. Each kid has their own vocation, their own career, their own unique relationship with God. My job isn't to impose my own wishes upon my children's futures. Prayer helps me remember that my children are always God's children first and foremost.

The Sacraments
Plenty of holy people are not Catholic. As a Catholic, however, we have plenty of spiritual riches. We have seven sacraments. We've got a treasure trove of spiritual help and healing. As a woman who is spiritually wealthy, it's up to me to teach my kids how to access Jesus easily. The most important thing is to be a good role model myself. I need to go to Confession once a month. I need to make once a week Daily Mass a goal for me and my kids. I need to make sure that my kids are prepared for First Communion and Confirmation.

The monks talked about having trust that the sacrament of Confession is working on our kids, even if we don't see results. They talked about the twin benefits of Confession. There is a psychological benefit of speaking the painful truths out loud to another human being, especially one in authority. There is also spiritual healing. When we take our kids to Confession we're helping them fix spiritual hurts. Confession is also tied to the Eucharist. We need to remember that we can't take the Eucharist without also partaking in this sacrament.

Education
There are two types of education that we need to be concerned about--- intellectual education and moral education. Neither can be neglected. Kids need intellectual stimulation. Kids need introduction to the beauty of math, science, literature, music, nature, and the Arts. All of these intellectual activities help us become fully human.

At the same time, pride can really screw up otherwise awesome intellectual activities. These monks are all scholars, but they talked about the importance of doing manual labor as the antidote to prideful thinking.

While never ignoring intellectual education--a child's moral education is more important. Kids do not naturally come out of the womb learning how to share or how to spread kind words to others. Mothers need to encourage their child's moral development. It's our responsibility to help form the best parts of their character.

Conclusion
While I listened to this lecture, Motherhood seemed so "doable." My job isn't to throw the best birthday party bash or to make sure my kid never experiences rejection. My job isn't to be a Pinterest Mom or to make sure my family never, ever runs out of clean laundry. My job is to pray for my kids, give them access to the Catholic church and educate both their minds and their hearts. That's the to do list for the day.

The second part of the lecture series gave us examples of heroic Catholic Mothers. The monks talked about detachment from the outcome. Our kids have free will. Saint Hedwig was an awesome Mom but all but one of her kids caused her major heartache as adults. (Two sons actually went to war with each other as adults which I thought makes the perfect saint to pray to during sibling rivalry disputes.) The monks also introduced me to Saint Margaret Clitherow, who was killed for harboring priests during the reign of Elizabeth I. Saint Margaret was pressed to death because she refused to speak at her trial. She didn't want her kids put in the position of having to testify against their Mother. I decided to adopt Saint Margaret as the saint to pray to whenever I feel pressure over all the competing demands of my life.

This Lent, I'm resolved to clean out the stupid stuff in my head regarding "what makes a good mother." I want a standard that is clean, focused, and realistic. I want to do my best everyday. Yet I want "my best" to be something fixed, rather than a constantly moving target based on the fads of my specific social milieu.

Hipsters Love Coffee

Laughing at myself. I've been a writer working in coffee shops for way to long.

Why I Have A Lot of Kids

I was so blessed to go on a Silent Retreat with some monks on Saturday. Silence is such a precious experience--especially for me. I'm an extrovert and a recovering Codependent. It's really nice to have a place to reflect and listen in public without the constant undercurrent of "Hi, my name is Abigail! How can I help you?"

 

One of the ideas that floated to the surface this Lent was a feeling of gratitude for my family. It's been a hard season. I'm constantly afraid I'm going to start miscarrying my baby. In the stillness of the monastery, I was able to let real gratitude float up to the surface.

 

As a young kid, I wanted to do something to help kids. I chose the career title "child advocate" to describe what I wanted to do at age 18. After Law School, I pictured doing something in a non-profit. I pictured spending my life helping hundreds of kids connected to the Juvenile Justice System in Boston or Chicago. 

 

I'm so grateful that God had a different plan for my life. Somehow it seems so much more hopeful, more hidden, more "me", to spend my life hanging out with five (or six) awesome human beings. Love heals!

Totally normal part of my family. Kid #1 age 11 and Kid #2 age 9.

Kid #3 age 6. Hope after my first miscarriage.

The extra beauties in my life. Kid #4 (age 3 1/2)  and Kid #5 (age 2). Notice the messy hot chocolate stain on Kid #4. This is posted because "authenticity" is my recovery word of the week. We spent all of this miserable cold winter getting hot chocolate stains on all of our outfits.

Kid #6.

 

I've got four more kids than the average American Family. I've got extra kids because God is awesome. He fixes the broken. He blesses the lowly. He loves the poor. He gives me quiet and rest. I love Lent!

Great Life Advice

I was feeling stuck in managing our new business today, so my husband sent me this link. This isn't just great business advice, it's great "life advice." I love learning new stuff everyday!

Ice-Skating

We went ice-skating on Jon's day off last week. So fun! I couldn't believe my 2 year old could stay up on skates!

Here's the girl who inspired our trip.

Family Photo on the Ice--not the easiest task to accomplish quickly.

Inside the penalty box.

The hilarious man who makes this family run.

Hannah is 11!

 

The Coolest Gamer & Poet on the planet got her first laptop today! I felt so old when I explained that I got my first laptop at age 22. I was a First Year Law Student and my laptop cost $3,000 in 1997! Hannah got a complete laptop bundle at Best Buy for $279.

 

I had to add this shopping cart photo to explain why my trips to Best Buy are crazy.

Farmer Jon

We're turning into Urban Farmers! This is our new potato field. Jon's dream is to grow his own bake potato lunch everyday for a year.

My Open Letter to Gwyneth Paltrow: My Take On Counscious Coupling

I like the movies. I like you. I will remember always how I felt when I watched you act in "Shakespeare in Love." That movie made me want to write.

I'm really sorry you are getting divorced. I make no judgments. You've go that Hollywood pressure thing going on. What average American can truly empathize with that experience? I'm blessed to be puny, insignificant, and poor. A lot of marital spats get solved when a family is too poor to put even a single night's hotel room stay on their credit card. The IKEA couch my living room is cold and bumpy. Whether it is 11 PM, or 1 AM, eventually one of us gives up and comes back to our normal bed. Things get solved.

Marriage is hard. I had no idea how poorly parented I was until I got into my marriage. I was fine while I was single. But at the same time, I wasn't fine. I didn't believe I was really worthy of love and of forgiveness. I didn't get emotional healing from my spouse. I got my healing from God. I felt God when I was silent in prayer. I felt God inside the supportive structure of my 12 step recovery group. I felt God in random posts from strangers on the internet.

Yet my husband's imperfect, human love helped me have confidence that God loved me too. My husband hung out with me 24/7. He was there having coffee with me in the morning after my stupidest, lowest, most vulnerable moments. When my husband told me "I love you" years into marriage, I started to believe him more than the mean voices inside my own head. My husband knew me. He gave me the strength to know, to love, and to accept myself.

It's totally not my business to judge whether you and Chris Martin should be getting a divorce. That's a private matter between you and God. Even my own religion (Roman Catholic) which is pretty pro-marriage, admits that there are times when it is morally appropriate for a husband and wife to separate. I can't ever pretend to know more than my main father figure, Pope Francis.

Yet as one community theater actress to one giant Hollywood starlet, please don't give up on the idea of marriage altogether. Please don't give up on God. You wrote in your "Counscious Uncoupling" post on your website Goop that the idea of "until death do us part" in marriage is a historic remnant of the Paleolithic Era. I've got to disagree. Marriage is both a process and an end goal. When it works, oh my goodness it is beautiful. A happy ending made up of ordinary moments of vulnerability and grace.

Wishing you all the best during this time of transition. I will lit a candle for you and your children in my small church in West Virginia today.

Your fan,

Abigail

Happy Annunciation Day!

So many glorious reasons to rejoice in today's Feast Day!

Divergent: The Movie Goer

I loved this movie! I guess I'm in the minority--but I saw this film as nothing but fun for the whole family. We're readers in my house. My husband read Divergent to the kids at bedtime. I fought to get my husband to agree to let our six year old attend a PG movie because I knew she would be brokenhearted if she had to stay home with the "little kids". I made the right call. This was not a scary or bloody movie. Way less violence than the Hunger Games.

This movie is really fun. The female heroine is compelling. Beatrice is complex--vulnerable and tough. My kids really enjoyed watching her succeed. I enjoyed the whole "test" process as reminding myself how ridiculously seriously I took the SAT at age 18.

I'd totally recommend taking your teenager to this movie. Go out for coffee afterwards and talk about which faction you'd join. It's a great jumping off movie to talk about the nebulous topic of "self identity." We need more coming of age stories that are easily relatable by both young women and young men.

Happy Second Birthday Abigail Clare!

You are a honey! You are our firecracker! It's a joy to hangout with you everyday. No one lights up a room like you do. Thanks for being my kid.

Facts about Abigail Clare: Total Social Butterfly who loves technology. There is not one piece of electrical equipment in our house that you have not investigated with curiosity. You love animals, especially cats and horses. You're favorite topics of conversation are "shoes" and "hair"-- interests you did not inherit from me. I love to watch you pretend to read the giant chapter books like the big kids. You love to make jokes. You are so spunky and determined. I love looking at you when you are being yourself--tap dancing on the flagstones at church or doing forward rolls on the Children's Library carpet and think of my college motto "Well behaved women rarely make history!" You have a great heart and a beautiful smile. Can't wait to watch you grow up even more next year.

Thursday With Thoreau

"It is not worth the while to go round the world to count the cats in Zanzibar."
                                   --Henry David Thoreau, Conclusion, Walden, pg. 346

Our culture is obsessed with traveling. New Adventures. New Experiences. New people to meet. Thoreau, like the French writer Proust, reminds us of the greater adventure we experience by staying still. By reexamining our common, ordinary life with fresh insight. Thoreau beckons us to the interior journey. Silence. Stillness. The vastness of the humble life. A Carmelite housewife can learn a lot from Thoreau!