Encouragement For The Parents of Young Children in Mass

Attending Mass at a new church means a new struggle to figure out the balance between teaching my young kids the faith, being courteous to strangers around me in the pew, and grabbing a few moments of quiet prayer for myself. Especially in new surroundings and in a new routine, it always feels like I get the balance wrong.

I found this letter from a priest in the Catholic Spirit really encouraging.

If the Mass is fundamentally a performance, not unlike a play or a movie, then we have every reason to glare at young children who make a scene at Mass, just as we would glare at the movie patron texting furiously in a darkened theater.

But the Mass is not a performance.  It is the total gift of self that Christ offers to the Father in love, an offering that we who are Christ’s body are invited to embrace and unite with our own sacrificial gift of self. The Mass is dangerous because it will change us if it is entered into fully and with conscious participation. It will make us one with Christ, willingly offering our own lives to the Father and in love to our brothers and sisters.

One of the remarkable features of grace is that God can inspire even within young children this generosity of Christ-like love. St. Maria Goretti stands as a shining example of this wondrous fact.

What is more, Christ speaks rather boldly and mysteriously of the need to acquire the heart of a child if one is to enter the kingdom of heaven.  


As the Mother of Six, I'm so over the "should we or shouldn't we bring young kids to Mass" divisiveness. St. Therese of Lisieux's parents kept her home until she was around age 7.  St. John Newman's Mama brought her bored son to Daily Mass with the bribe of a penny. The situation is complicated, highly personal, and likely to change week to week.

I like how the priest addresses this situation.

Now, to be sure, the question as to how to best handle the embarrassing difficulty of rambunctious children at Mass is not always an easy one. Nor is the question as to whether or not to even bring one’s very small child or children to Mass when those particular children are prone to disruptive behavior of some kind.

These are decisions that must be made with prudence, honesty and prayer, accompanied by candid conversation between spouses and perhaps with one’s pastor. The answer for one family will not be the same answer for another. 

But despite its difficulties or the various tactics utilized, it is, in fact, a grave duty of Christian parents to teach their children how to love with Christ-like love. And the absolute best way to do this is by bringing these children, including those who have not yet reached the age of reason, into contact with Jesus Christ at the holy sacrifice of the Mass, where Christ himself shows us how to love.

“Let the children come to me . . . ”  Christ calls out even today for the presence of young hearts to be filled with his love. Let us do everything we can to heed this call.

Teaching the Faith to children is not easy. It's not like having an Adult Sunday School class or a Carmelite meeting where a leader can hand out homework and expect class participation. Or introducing the Mass to an adult convert where even if a mind is distracted, confused, or bored silly, the body stays still so the person's inattentiveness is not telegraphed to the entire congregation.

Two year olds, are truth tellers. When my daughter is into reverence, with her hands folded neatly in prayer over her little yellow Gap dress, it shows. When she's distracted, it shows also. It's my job as her Mama to gradually increase the reverence she feels during the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. My final goal isn't "When can my daughter sit quietly for 60 minutes inside of church?"  My end goal is far higher. I want this princess of Christ to feel the comfort, the nourishment, and the challenge of participation in a Catholic Mass for her whole life. This Mass is her true home base, long after she leaves my house.

It's a project. Like any good projects--home renovations, education, the sacrament of marriage--sometimes I feel overwhelmed. On a hard day, it's good to remember the end goal. I appreciated this priest for articulating the end goal so clearly, while acknowledging the messy reality of the process itself.

How Catholics View The World Cup Final Game

 Pope Emeritus Benedict


vs.

Pope Francis


(I'm hoping for a photograph of these two prayer giants watching the match together at the Vatican, but will probably be disappointed. The real soccer fan we had in the papacy was Saint John the Great.)

I remember a photo of St. John the Great as young kid with his hair all ruffled holding a soccer ball in "Witness to Hope." That adorable image stayed in my heart. I didn't realize that his talent in soccer actually served God at a young age. Wikipedia states:

"Karol's youth was influenced by numerous contacts with the vibrant and prospering Jewish community of Wadowice. He often played football (soccer), as a goalkeeper, and was a supporter of Polish club Cracovia.^[5][6] School football games were often organised between teams of Jews and Catholics, and due to the anti-Jewish feelings of the time, there was a potential for events to sometimes turn "nasty." Karol, however, cheerfully offered himself as a substitute goalkeeper on the Jewish side if they were short of players.^[7]"

Soccer can be seen as "just a sport", unimportant in the larger context of world events and deep spirituality. Yet I love how God can use all things to his glory.

Prayer Request

Could you please say a prayer today for little Baby Terezia? She's the premature daughter of Courtney and Terry, two Lay Carmelites. Terezia was born at 28 weeks gestation on July 10th at 2 pounds, 11 ounces. This sweet little princess took a bad turn towards critical last night and now suffers from severe breathing problems.

Teresa of Avila, patroness of the sick, pray for her!

Update: Baby Terezia died yesterday in the NICU.

The Lord gives. The Lord takes. Blessed be the name of the Lord forever.

(This is the prayer we pray in Carmel whenever someone dies. I'm not sure that a sweet, newly baptized girl who did nothing but love during her months on earth needs a help getting out of purgatory and into the mercy of God, but lets give her the dignity of an adult send off. Being pro-life means that at the moment of death, all souls share an equal dignity before God--the little newborns and the long-living saints like St. John the Great.)

Eternal rest grant unto her, O Lord and let a perpetual light shine upon her. May the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.

St. Teresa of Avila, patroness of the sick, please pray for Courtney and Terry, and the siblings, family and friends baby Terezia left behind. Amen.

The Harder Parts of Being Pro-Life

On Thursday, I went for my second hour long sonogram in the inner hollows of seven story HMO. I bribed my older kids for patience in the waiting room with cheap games from Target. That way, my husband and my two year old could come into the appointment with me. The two year old actually fell asleep in her Daddy's arms. Miracle.

I started stressing a little at the beginning when the tech wrote "KNOT" on the bottom of one picture. The last ultrasound showed us that the baby in my womb already has a triple nuchal cord around his neck. Of course, it would be my feisty kiddo would could flip himself into a true umbilical cord knot at only 23 weeks. I voiced my fears out loud to the tech in a shaky voice, "That says knot, right?"

Except it didn't. She wrote RVOT or Right Ventricular Outflow Tract, a piece of the cardiac system. My darn nearsightedness!

After I started getting air into my lungs, Jon decided this was his cue to step it up as the calm presence in the room with the gift of distraction. He started talking about his detailed research on the historic context of the ISIS conflict in Irag and Syria. Both the tech and I found this extremely interesting and asked him all kinds of detailed questions. (My artistic husband entertains himself for his 3 hour daily commute by downloading different pod-casts on his ipod. Right now he's studying The History of Middle Eastern Politics for fun. This is yet another reason I'm on my eight pregnancy with this man. History is sexy!)

I got through another 75 minute session in The Room Where Leo Died, totally fine. I talked about history and State Department Politics. I don't know what it says about me that abstract Government Theory completely lowers my anxiety level, but I'm happy to find something that works. Two weeks ago, I thought I was horribly damaged by past childbirth experiences and would need massive medication to get me through my next c-section surgery date. Now I'm thinking a thick book by John Locke, my faithful husband, and a quick prayer to Mary could be enough.

I left that appointment feeling great. The tech said everything about the placenta looked great. The baby boy has huge feet. I went upstairs and picked out the first pair of new eye glasses I've had in 5 years. Self-care feels great.

I had a really relaxing Fourth of July celebration. We actually made it to Downtown DC and watched the Nations Fireworks in all their glory.

On Sunday night, I got an email from my OB. "The placenta is still low."

"How low?" I asked.

His next email named a number that was low. Lower than I thought I was at 2 weeks ago. My OB wants me to come back for another sonogram in 1 to 2 weeks.

Ahhh! I really suck at anxiety. I'm actually okay at functioning in the moment of a crisis. Believe or not, I was the calmer parent while Tess was closest to kicking the bucket in the NICU four years ago. It's the "before hand" or "afterwards" that mess me up. It feels like perpetual stage-fright some days.

Here's what I hate. I now have the special "call for emergency help when you are bleeding number" from my HMO. My HMO is huge. It's spreads across 15 states. It's all about protocol. There is one "triage" number that you call for assistance from an advice nurse whether you have an earache or labor pains. Have I mentioned that I've had 5 c-sections? Doctors told me "you can not push under any circumstances, call as soon as you start labor pains and state loudly that this is number X c-section for you!" I was supposed to call the normal advice line in this situation.

Now I have this special, secret number to call, an "emergency bleeding number." It feels like getting directions to the Bat Cave. I don't feel reassured that I have quality First World medical care with this information. I feel even more freaked out. "Wow, I'm at real risk! They don't even trust me to get myself to a local ER anymore."

So that is where I am today. I'm checking my underwear for blood. Which totally sucks eight months after a miscarriage. It's gross to explain just how heart-stopping it can be to do normal bathroom breaks when your newly pregnant after a miscarriage.  I'm so frustrated to be back here again.

I went to get supplies for Family Movie Night at the grocery store with my husband and two little girls last night. As he unbuckled my two year old from her car-seat, my husband told me "It's just not easy for us to be pro-life." He talked about how there were people who go down to the March for Life once a year and wave signs. We struggle with this deep belief all the time. There are two sons that we buried in a cemetery. We spent 4 weeks of our life with another newborn in the NICU. We've spent 23 weeks worried about this youngest kid making it past a miscarriage. Now we're going to worry for another 16 weeks if the baby can avoid a premature birth and I can stay off of bed rest.

I nodded my head and I talked about the lack of support we have for this pregnancy. This complication that I have isn't a result of multiple c-sections. It can happen in any pregnancy. If it happened with baby one or two, there would be all these friends and family who would tell us "Don't worry!" "Things will be okay!" "We're here for you whenever you need us!" Yet this complication happened with baby six. There this silent condemnation like "you were asking for trouble by getting knocked up again!" "This is what you get for tempting fate."

I tried to speak my incoherent thoughts out loud to my husband. "This diagnosis isn't even that serious. I think if I was pregnant for the first time, I sort of go with the idea that in 90% of all cases this problem clears up easily by the 32 week. I don't know why I'm so scared about it."

My husband told me gently, "We're not those people anymore." This isn't our first rodeo. We've seen stuff go bad. We've been on the wrong side of loop-sided statistics.

I shrugged my shoulders and we went inside to buy movie snacks for our family.

Sometimes I tell myself that it would be easier for the general public if I decided to donate a kidney to one of my older kids, rather than go through another c-section for a baby I haven't met yet. A kidney surgery carries way more risk, but it make more sense to strangers. There's this two year old with brown eyes and brown hair named Abby. She's so cute. I'm her Mother. Of course, it makes sense that I'd put myself on the line for her.

Baby Matthew is the kid I haven't met face to face. I don't have that gooshy, overwhelming love for him yet. He's a little abstract. I can still picture my family as complete without his physical presence. Because he's abstract, it's easier for me to get swamped by all the medical fears and think "This idea about becoming a Mother to yet another human being was really dumb. I should have cut my losses."

That's when I love my husband so much. He squeezes my hand inside our soon to be too small passenger van and says "That's why this situation is more pure an than impulse to donate a kidney an older kid. You're putting heart on the line for a stranger."

Because I'm a nerdy historian, I thought about the traditional new baby gifts of the early Puritans. In delicate pins the women would spell out "Welcome Stranger" on a frilly pin cushion. Back when big families were the norm, a new baby was seen as a stranger and someone who deserved hospitality. I don't really know this new baby yet. He's a male. He's got big feet. So far, it appears that all four chambers are working in his heart. He might be an easy pregnancy, or a hard one. He might have colic or he might be an easy sleeper.
Based on our track record, however, I'm pretty sure this kid will be a unique soul who steals my heart.

This morning, I woke up feeling better. "One day at a time!" My husband is home from work for another day. He and I have plans to fix up our house, to make it even more irresistible to potential buyers. We have a Swim Meet tonight at 6 PM. I want to linger in the bathtub and bake a Southern 7-UP bundt cake.

I logged on to my daily read of the Leilia's Little Catholic Bubble and got tears in my eyes. She has a lovely tribute to her new son-in-law on her blog. I'm reminded suddenly that this pregnancy which is so self-focused right now (my swollen ankles, my ever-lasting morning sickness, my fears about placenta problems) is really not about me at all. There is a new boy coming into the world! Maybe he'll look at his bride like this someday! Maybe that kind of intense spiritual love will come out in another way--the priesthood, creating an work of art, or restoring a piece of lost wetland. (Curiously, I'm having a hard time picturing your face being that joyful over writing an appellate appeal or finishing a tax return. Yet unconditional love, Baby Matthew. You do whatever floats your boat).

The thing I love about the pro-life cause is that its a special club of those who "get it". Some people get that life is a precious thing. I get inspiration from both mundane and unlikely places. Thank you everyone for writing about your journey. I feel stronger when I read encouraging stories on the internet.

Notes from a Nutty Summer

I'm scheduled for a repeat sonogram on Thursday. I'm praying the low-lying placenta will have moved. I've got a lot of restrictions to prevent a potential bleed, including not being able to lift my 2 year old. When I think about living with these rules for the next 10 to 18 weeks, I start to feel panic. If I think about a real bleed starting and having to go on full bed rest, my anxiety spikes higher. So it's all "One day at a time" (which is a CODA mantra) and "Focus on the Here and Now."

After the initial flurry of showings the first day we went on the market, there has been no interest in my house. We missed out on this great property which would have cut my husband's daily super commute down to 45 minutes (how sad is Washington DC traffic that this commute counts as "short?") and given us the option of one day having chickens. For now, I've cleaved our move into two parts.  We're going to sell our house first. Only after receiving a good offer will we start the search for a new house in Maryland. Our local housing market is horrible. We could be here for 2 more years, until we pay more down on our mortgage enough to seriously undercut the competition. I'm making peace that this is move is on God's timeline.

While I'm not looking for a new house, I am shopping around for new activities to do in Maryland. Why wait for our move to make new friends?

I had this super cool experience on Saturday. I went to the Boonsboro Library which financial backing of local romance writer, Nora Roberts. This library is incredible! It's small and intimate, yet so wonderfully designed. It's a reader's heaven.

 I realize I've lived in a serious Children's Library defect since leaving the Midwestern Friendliness of Madison, Wisconsin. My 3 year old and 2 year old were treated as treasures in this library. The librarians were happy to see them and talk to them. They had a kids movie playing with free popcorn and lemon aid. The children's books on display were new, relevant and inviting to pick up. I hadn't realized what a drought of positive library experiences as a Mother with young kids I was living in until last Saturday's visit.

Even though I don't live in Washington County, I could purchase a library card for $18 a year as a member of the tri-state area. I'm really excited to add a monthly field trip to take advantage of their Children's Programs.

If you haven't discovered Boonsboro, MD yet, it's a foodie paradise. Nora Roberts is a best-selling romance novelist and her family has single handedly made this small town a great place to visit. Her son owns the family friendly, delicious Vesta Pizzeria and the more grown-up Dan's Tap House. My favorite place is the nearby Kristi's Bakery. They make Georgetown quality pastries in the middle of rural Maryland. Good books and good food is my idea of the perfect summer pairing!

How Literature Saves My Life

Yesterday was a nuts. I logged on the internet at 7:30 AM and received an adverse diagnosis, "low-lying placenta" on email from my OB. "No sexual activity until your next sonogram in 2 to 3 weeks." I love how my OB flung those words in casually as though it is as easy as abstaining from sushi. Somedays, I feel like I'm the last woman in America who genuinely likes to make out with her husband even while knocked up with his child.

I wrote my OB back a list of questions--because I'm a Smithee and it's genuinely difficult not to remain a professional student. Feeling restless, I start researching my diagnosis on the internet under the general question of "Is this no-sex ban real?" I found out that it is real because it can detach the placenta and cause a life-threatening bleed for the baby. Exercise can do it too. In fact, some doctors tell their patients to not lift anything heavier than a gallon of milk.

Oh Crud! (My friend Rebecca will be so proud of me for genuinely being distressed about losing my exercise routine. Feeling like I can't live without my gym time is a new thing for me.)  Even though this isn't yet super bad news, it's serious.  It's suddenly back on the table that I could lose this precious kid. I won't know for sure until a sonogram at 32 weeks. That's 11 more  weeks of worry. Plus, I loose sex and exercise which are healthy ways for me to cope with my anxiety.  Wine is off the table while I'm pregnant. Shopping is out because I'm poor. I can't cook because I'm still sick with morning sickness. All I have left is prayer and my cello.

I should be all honored to grow in silent prayer with the Lord during this time. Instead, I am totally annoyed. "Seriously? This is why you have no friends!" I tell Jesus, paraphrasing my bff Teresa of Avila. As if Jesus owed me a perfect pregnancy after a miscarriage.

While I'm having my interior pity-party about having another three months of stress of losing this baby, my husband calls. We listed our House for Sale on Sunday. At 8 AM on Tuesday, Jon got an email from our realtor requesting two afternoon showings with two different agents. Our house, with five children, is a disaster because we spent most of the weekend at a Swim Meet and I spent the rest of the time in bed with horrible morning sickness. My husband expects me to cancel the showing. Instead, I thought maybe this was God trying to distract me from feeling miserable and fearful all day.

I accepted the challenge. Three floors of cleaning, in four hours, with 5 young children to babysit and a dog, while having actual puking morning sickness.

I did not successfully meet the challenge. It's really ironic that I chose to carefully homeschool my children for the past six years, because I taught them almost every single cuss word imaginable as I cleaned with them.  In those last frantic 50 minutes, all these cuss words just came out of me. At the end of the rush, my girls and I are hand scrubbing my kitchen floor with paper towels because I somehow managed to break our only mop five minutes earlier. I started apologizing. "Mom really said a lot of bad words today. It's really wrong. I'm so sorry."

My daughter, the one who might have a vocation to Religious Life, sticks her head up and said "Yeah, those words really stick in my mind. I'm sorry you said them to me."

"Oh great, I corrupted a future Nun. Double purgatory penalty" I thought.

I get into the car at 12:45 PM and it's crazy. We have the car crammed full of stuff for the pets--the things I'm supposed to hide during the house showings. We have the dog ped, the giant plastic container of dog food. I threw in a bunch of random stuff I couldn't fit into our narrow closets. We've got the 8 piece package of paper towels and the extra-large rolls of toilet paper. The two youngest girls are a mess. I'm trying to confirm that they at least have shoes on over their tears. I'm going over the Swim Team Check list with 3 older kids (Bathing Suit? Goggles? Swim Cap? Towel?) Our cocker spaniel is in the car, jumping over all the kids in an attempt to get his head out the van window.

I finally got myself into the driver's seat. I made another blanket apology. "I really screwed up this morning. I'm so sorry. I need confession. Let me just sit here a moment and say my Act of Contrition."

I felt so mixed up inside, I couldn't even remember the words. My 11 year old and my 9 year old jumped in to coach me with big smiles. They loved the role reversal of helping me. "Mom has to go to confession!" they all called out happily. I don't know why that decision made everyone so happy, but it totally changed the mood inside my van. Then they demanded "We deserve ice-cream!" I totally agreed and we drove to Wendy's for a frosty.

At 5:30 PM, I ran into my husband at the YMCA parking lot. Three kids were at Swim Team. The two youngest girls were napping in the back. It was a rare moment of quiet. I saw his handsome, sunburnt face and started crying.

My husband is great. I told him about how much I don't want to spend the next 11 to 19 weeks stressed out about having a hurt baby or an awful sixth c-section surgery. He said all the normal, soothing stuff. Then he told me about this quote from the Grapes of Wrath, by John Steinbeck. (Jon is listening to that audio book during his 3 hour daily commute to work.) Ma is stressing about all the problems that might await them in California. Her son, Tom tells her some of the guys went crazy in prison counting the long months until the end of their prison sentences. Tom said, "You can't think like that. You'll go crazy. You've got to take each day as it comes."

I felt so soothed by my husband's words. That idea fits so well into our Catholic Faith. I've got to figure out how to stay in the moment. Today, I have a baby. There is no bleeding. That means, it's a good day.

Thank you for everyone who is praying for me on the journey.

A Hard Day

I started crying during my ultrasound today. The baby is fine. He's really a boy. He's 20 weeks old. I'm fine. All of this is superb news. Amazing and unexpected. I still had some of the worse 75 minutes of my life inside that room.

I got a new tech. She was really bad at her job. She caused me so much physical pain. I can't even figure out how its possible to hurt someone that much during a belly ultrasound. Our interaction was so surreal that I'd say "This hurts me" and she'd grind the wand thing in my lower pelvic area harder. No apology or explanations or anything.

One of the first things she typed on my "snap shots" was the abbreviations for Placenta Previa. Of course, in my head, I immediately confused that with Placenta Accreta--this is the scary complication I don't want to happen with my five times cut open c-section scar.

Right after she types this, the tech stops talking. I spend 20 minutes on my back looking at increasingly ghoulish pictures of my non-moving son. The the tech starts redoing the painful stuff. It's right on the tip of my tongue to protest and demand a new tech when she voluntarily leaves to get someone more experienced to look at me.

She was gone for 10 minutes. During that time, I started silently crying. I felt like 'This is the start of the bad news." The baby is fine, but I'm going to have trouble. There's a possibility all of this could snowball and I could be dead in October after the delivery. I could picture how my OB hands wiggled in that creepy way as he described how the placenta worms through like octopus tentacles through 5 layers of solid muscle during an accreta. "If it's started at 20 weeks, there's no way to stop it from getting so much worse" I thought in fear.

Then a new tech comes back. It's night and day. The old tech is there making rude comments about my silent tears. The new tech is all lightness and comfort and reassuring. The first thing she tells me is that there is plenty of time for the Placenta Previa to move out of the way in the next four weeks. The new tech starts to finish the series and I start to trust her completely. The way she interacts with my belly is totally different. There is no pain. She takes the pictures quickly from multiple angles. There's just this gentle competence.

The new tech retakes the Placenta Previa shots. She tells the old tech "It's not even close." The previa isn't there. The new tech deletes the snapshot labeled Placenta Previa and resubmits with the simple label "cervix."

It's so crazy. Danger is there. Then it's not. Or like due to a mistake on my part--the thing I'm most afraid of-- mostly likely isn't even an issue at all.

Sometimes the hardest part about being an older mother is the simple problem of knowing to much, to soon.

I supposed to go back from another sonogram in 2 to 3 weeks. That's earlier than my next OB appointment. I don't know how I'm going to get myself back into that room. I'm telling myself to look at all the options for dealing with my anxiety--therapy, anti-anxiety meds, hiring a doula for the C-section. Yoga. Aromatherapy. Bringing my half my Carmelite community to sit in the waiting room with me.

There are Christians like St. Perpetua who were cheerfully eaten by wild animals in the Roman Colosseum. It's so embarrassing to admit that routine pregnancy check-ups are my mental Colosseum. There's so much past trauma. Two dead sons. An almost fatal NICU stay. Way too many conversations about Accretas than a non-med student should take.

It's always an honor to serve God even in the pathetic and humiliting ways.

Finding Our Family's Athletic Niche

I am not athletic. I have so many traumatic memories from gym class. There was my elementary gym teacher who split his pants in front of me while demonstrating a gymnastic move, my middle school track captain boyfriend who ran an "under 4 minute mile" and dumped me for my neighbor, my cross-country coach who coached us while high, and finally getting stress shamed in my college yoga class. Gym class sucked. I was left with Fencing and Sailing in college being my only empowering athletic memories. Try to get your kids in a Sailing School in the middle of Landlocked West Virginia! My kids are not at risk for living out their Mother's Olympic Sport fantasies.

Over the past few years, I've watched my kids stink at soccer. Somehow we've landed on a few Championship Teams where the coach really cares about his 6 year old kids winning the Season Trophy. It's miserable. I've been to elementary school soccer games where the intensity around the field from the coaches and the parents beats out the World Cup.

Now we are on Swim Team and its a new world. Maryland is the home of Michael Phillips and Katie Ledecky.  Swimming is an intense sport here. The coaches on my kid's Swim Team have been trained by the coaches in the Olympics. My kids are 7, 9, and 11. They are thriving in this new environment.

On Monday, we had our first Swim Meet. My daughter, Maria, is the shortest kid on the team. She's been 7 for all of two weeks. Last Monday, we weren't even sure she could swim the full length of the 25 meter pool in order to make the team. After one week of practice, she is full of confidence. She can jump off the blocks that are almost higher than her head. It felt so incredible to watch this short girl in her swim cap and swimming goggle calmly get through two races in front of more than 300 people.

I'm so grateful that female athletics is not where it was before Title 9. I was raised before Girls' Soccer Teams. There was a choice between Cheerleading and Track. I'm inspired to get back to the gym (Thank you for the affordable family rates YMCA) and find my sport. It might be dance, it might be Squash. I'm Maria's Mom. That same love of competition and athletic ability is buried inside of me too. I'm excited to erase 12 years of bad public school gym memories to find the real me.

Random Thoughts After a Miscarriage

I feel betrayed by my body. I'm distrustful. I have a foreign connection with lots of static to the most intimate parts of myself.

Leo died in October and I had no idea. There were no subtle feelings that something was wrong. There weren't any physical warnings. No blood. No cramps. A "missed miscarriage" is the official diagnosis. All I know, is that my body refused to believe that this 15 week fetus was dead. It took massive medical intervention during a 48 hour hospital stay for my body to finally let go of my son three weeks later.

I'm now at week 16 with a new baby. I think I can feel the new baby moving during quiet moments, but I don't trust myself. My stomach is round. I've got intense morning sickness. My husband and my eldest daughter--the careful watchers of this pregnancy-- finally feel relieved and happy. They are both so certain that this new baby is here to stay.

I don't share their confidence.

I trust a machine--a cold, blurry sonogram picture--over the feelings inside my own body.

I made an OB appointment for Tuesday.

I feel like such a different Christian woman than when I first start out with such blind optimism in this journey. I thought women knew their bodies best. I thought childbirth was easy. I thought God rewarded the just with easy answers and instant miracles.

I find comfort in weird mantras right now. Instead of telling myself "Of course, the new baby will live." I tell myself "This might be the stupidest thing you ever did! It could fail." I chose to get pregnant 6 months after a late miscarriage. I chose to get pregnant at age 39. I chose to get pregnant after already having 5 healthy kids in my house.

These are odds most women would not take.

I don't feel like a brave woman in this moment. Just a stubborn one. Death. The NICU. Colic. I don't want these past life experiences to dominate my thoughts about this pregnancy. I choose hope. Weatherbeaten. Realistic. Hard-won. Hope.

Keeping Up With the Benjamins

We've had a crazy, nutty, busy couple of last weeks. My kids passed their homeschool review! Yeah! We had 2 birthday family parties (ages 7 and 42) and my 13th wedding anniversary.

We went on a family beach vacation at Assateague Island in early June. Being Artists, Carmelites, and Totally Nuts, we camped out for three days on the beach with 5 kids ages 2 to 11. Ocean front campsites were only $30 a night! The scenery at this National Park was incredible! I don't think the Hamptons or Cape Cod could be this lovely.

All my kids adored the ocean. The waves were over 10 feet tall, even close to the shore. I saw my first person surfing in the East Coast. I loved getting up early at sunrise and watching that incredible light dance over the water.

Because this counted as "serious" camping, we were the only family among various couples in their 20s. One morning, I was headed towards the outdoor latrine and a 25 year rustic guy eyed my pregnant belly with total shock. It was as if I was as exotic as the wild turkey next to me in the marshland . I realize that he wasn't trying to pick-me up. He was genuinely shocked to see a pregnant woman standing in front of him. Pregnancy is rare in his world. How funny! I'm glad to be a silent witness that outdoor fun doesn't have to end when you start a family.

I had one totally terrifying moment during our trip. My husband woke up to sand being flung on our roof. The tent was shaking. There were grunts and hoof stamping sounds all around our tent. It was like being the Blair Witch Project--only with noises from multiple wild horse noises instead of ghosts.

The Russian couple behind us failed to put away any of their food. About 10 horses came into our camp ground and refused to leave for over 20 minutes. We've followed the park rules about keeping food inside our car. Yet a kid had dropped one single peanut butter cracker outside our tent. A horse found it, ate it, and call over his friends. We were totally surrounded by six horses for ten minutes.

This happened on June 2 at 6 AM, the morning of my wedding anniversary. My husband and I had this intense man/woman fight in whispers. With a cool head, Jon said "We're totally fine if we stay inside the tent. It's serves as a psychological barrier."

I'm fighting near hysteria listening to heavy hoof pawing noises six inches from my sleeping children's heads. My position was "You think FABRIC is going to stop these wild animals from stepping on my kids? Lets get out of here now! Cut a hole in the tent with your pocket knife!"

Finally, the horses gave up finding other tasty tidbits at our campsite and wandered off to harass another camper.

Our anniversary ended really beautifully with wine and smores and a campfire under the stars. It's good to have a little adventure in life.

This week we're working on selling the house, which is such an overwhelming project. Three of my kids made Swim Team at a pretty competitive place. I'm doing a daily 50 mile round trip to take them to a pool in Maryland.

 I think my pregnancy is going well. I've still got pretty intense nausea at week 16. Basically living with a 24 hour stomach flu for so long is starting to get to me mentally. I'm grateful to have a baby. I'm grateful to avoid needing to go the hospital over this. It's still hard.

I found this website that really helps.

 As a woman, you often have many roles and obligations. You may need to rethink your old habits. Learn to say "no." Give yourself permission to manage the stress that morning sickness can cause. It is smart, not selfish, to take care of yourself!  Ask yourself: Must this task be done so often? Is there a better way or time to do it? Who else can do it? Can we take turns? It helps to have support from your family and friends. Their encouragement may help you avoid  the depression and guilt that many women feel when they have morning sickness.

I can't believe my bff St. Teresa of Avila, actively prayed to be sick because of its spiritual benefits.  Seriously? Yet if I'm stuck in this nausea hell, I might as well use it to clean out my Co-dependent behaviors. This week I'm trying to learn the art of self-care. I'm working on prioritizing my needs and calming asking for help. It's never to late to learn how to act like a grown-up at age 39, even when I'm feeling yucky.

Thank you for all of your prayers. Hope each of you is having a restful and Happy Summer!

Book Review and Give Away: Scott Hahn's "Angels and Saints: A Biblical Guide to Friendship with God's Holy Ones"

Scott Hahn's new book, "Angels and Saints: A Biblical Guide to Friendship with God's Holy Ones" is a thrilling and brilliant read. This book is such a different experience from "Butler's Guide to the Saints." Hahn encourages us Catholics to not just learn a series of dry facts about well-known Angels and Saints. His focus is on  forming "friendships" with the Saints. Hahn teaches us intimate details that invite a reader to confidently pray to Saints for help. This is academia at its best. As a reader, I pictured Hahn throwing his arm around me and introducing me to all his favorite friends in heaven.

My favorite chapter in this book was Chapter 8--"Holy Moses." I thought I knew Moses well before I read Hahn's book. I love celebrating a Christian Seder with my kids every Spring. I could come close to reciting his sister's prayer by memory at Easter Vigil.

Hahn encouraged me to stop thinking about Moses as a great man of action, and instead see him as a man of intense prayer. Holiness is literally translated as being "set apart." Moses was a man who lived a busy, intense life. Yet Moses constantly found the ability to set aside time for God. It was the time Moses spent in prayer (face to face with God) that serves as the hidden engine behind all his dramatic leadership and radical social change.

Hahn reassures me that Moses is relevant to my modern life. Moses is a saint in heaven. (pg. 95 & 96). Since Moses is intensely real and alive, I can cultivate a friendship with him that is encouraging and real. In the Mystery of the Transfiguration, Jesus himself models an intense friendship with Moses. After reading Hahn's book, I'm excited to approach Moses in a more intimate manner this coming summer.

You have a chance to win a free copy of Scott Hahn's new book! Leave a comment below describing your favorite Saint from May 28, 2014 to May 30, 2014. One winner will be selected at random by Rafflecopter.

To read more reviews of "Angels and Saints" please look here. 


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Dr. Scott Hahn on his book Angels and Saints

Lets Fix The "Home Stress"

As a Smith College grad (read former radical feminist who only felt comfortable getting engaged to the man she loved after he said he loved to shampoo carpets), I read way to much into Sociologist Studies about Gender Roles and Housekeeping. I found this study interesting that said that most women are more stressed at home than at work.

In my own life, I want to fix "the home stress." I'm so far from a natural homemaker. I'm allergic to routine. I'm a party girl who will find the easiest excuse to skip doing laundry in order to blow bubbles in the backyard with my 2 year old.

As a Carmelite, we're trained to value the "physical ecology of space." Carmelite monks stay in their "cell", their individual room for most of the day. The cell is where they encounter "God in the raw."

This is my personal observation, but Carmelites tend to be incredibly spacy. It's like the "absent minded professor" situation. Carmelites are so focused on the big picture, they miss the details. There are misspellings in our official Journals. During our meetings, people forget to bring the right copies of our class assignments. My favorite story is from 15th Century Spain where the one of the first Carmelite Reform monks brought 5 clocks to the monastery he shared with St. John of the Cross, but no bed!

I truly feel like God has a great sense of humor because he matches pretty much the worse human being to a specific task and then expects them to do it well enough (with his help) to become a Saint. I'm convinced that Carmelites are such fans of order, routine, a clean & sparse living space--because by our innate nature, we do it so poorly.

I'm a Carmelite Feminist. I don't think I solve my own version of Female Home Stress Burden by asking for more telecommuting at work. (Sometimes,  I feel like sociologists and journalists do a great job of describing problems, but poor a job of proposing solutions.)

I think I'm supposed to solve my Home Stress Feelings, but making my home life more peaceful. That takes God's help. It's supernatural. I want less stuff inside my home. I want more routines. I want better food and more flowers. I want more Rest-- true rest. I want more time with people I love. I want to laugh my butt off with my friends.

I'm so grateful we are moving. It's super hard. It seems impossible to do while I'm still in the middle of heavy morning sickness. This move is like a Boot Camp, where I'm forced to get our domestic routine into better shape. I'm throwing out stuff that is broken. I'm packing stuff we won't need for 4 weeks. I'm making our physical space work for us--instead of simply being a random collection of objects.

St. Teresa of Avila, pray for me!

On Being To Old To Have A Baby

I visited my hometown over the weekend. I ran into a high school classmate who was totally horrified to see me pregnant at age 40. Her youngest is 14. There was this awkward conversation about why the hell would I do that to my body at our age.

Her shock sort of surprised me. I realized that I've lived in a sort of special bubble.  Among Catholics, it's totally normal to have a baby after age 40.  I also graduated from this ultra-liberal women's college. So many of my college friends are having their first baby at 40. It was funny to think of these two, totally different worlds overlapping in their support of this tiny baby.

Catholic. Feminist. It's all about respect and treasuring individual differences. I'm proud to be once again the total weirdo among my High School Class.

The Movie Goer: Moms' Night Out

This movie was so funny! Great actors engaged in crazy slapstick comedy. It reminded me of "Adventures in Babysitting" from the 1980s. I loved that the main character was a blogger! The writing in this comedy was awesome. There were so many inside jokes about the Christian life. 
Go see it in theaters with a best girlfriend this weekend.

Homeschool Update

I finished three elementary school portfolios today! It's a family record to get those suckers finished 10 days before our schedule review with a public school teacher. My first year, I was up until 1 AM the night before hand gluing type-written tags to each of my daughter's Kindergarten scribblings. How I've mellowed out with age!

Today, I was upfront in recruiting help. I asked for Jon to take a day off. He watched the little ones and gave Alex an oral reading comprehension quiz. I find it's usually okay to teach with interruptions from a 2 and 3 year old. Trying help students get stuff "brush up" for a final copy inside a portfolio, however, means that I need more focus. When I'm honest and vocal about my own limitations, everyone is happier in my house including me.

Tonight, I sent Jon to Swim Team with our kids. I'm going to meet some new friends and watch the movie "Mom's Night Out." The best part about teaching at home is that I get to choose all my own end of the school year rewards, instead of leaving with a bunch of stale cookies and apple magnets!

Reclaiming the Joy of Mother's Day--It's Not About Me

Thursday night I lead my CODA (Co-dependents Anonymous) Meeting. It's my one year anniversary of attending meetings. We call it our "CODA Birthday". I got this special "chip" a brass coin with the slogan "To Thine Own Self Be True" and a 1 on it.

I'm not really comfortable leading meetings yet. I signed up as a gift to my community. Mother's Day can be super hard emotionally. I was thankful that I'd gained so much in recovery. I wanted to give back.

For the first decade of my motherhood, Mother's Day used to be all about trauma. I was disconnected from my feelings, I didn't even know why I would often end up crying on Mother's Day. I just knew those feelings hurt and I wanted to avoid them at all cost. The more I would try to avoid Mother's Day, or tightly script Mother's Day events, the worse of a black hole I'd end up in by around 2 PM each Sunday.

Last Friday, I drove back most of my kids from Swim Team while my husband stayed to give our six year old "Homeschool Swimming Lessons" during Family Swim Time at the YMCA. I told my 9 year old son and 11 year old daughter that I'd like a homemade card for Mother's Day. Within minutes, they had rattled off so many of my "Mom Slogans" with such perfect accuracy that we all enjoyed full belly laughs. At one point, I worried that I should stop driving because I was laughing so hard that it was getting a little dangerous. It really feels great to laugh at myself.

In the middle of the jokes, I looked at my son in wonder. I would have never felt free enough to poke fun at my Mom for 20 minutes during a car ride as a kid. My relationship with her was tightly controlled. I didn't think that my husband would have felt comfortable teasing his Mom either. Yet, here Jon and I are--creating a family culture that is loving, and sweet and funny! My kid's humor was super accurate. (Mostly, they were making fun of my inability to talk clearly while I'm tired from pregnancy.) Their humor was also kind. I felt relaxed. I felt loved. I've had so many fears that I'm screwing up this Motherhood thing. Sometimes, God gives me a little glimpse of the parts that I'm doing well.

Mother's Day  is not about me. It's a chance for my husband and my kids to say "Thank you." The person they really are thanking is God. Carmelite's strive to make "God the main author of their story." I'm selfish and independent and fearful. I'm really miserable about following God's direction in all areas of my life--except for motherhood. That is clearly a God project. Even I can see that God's fully in charge in that area. Learning how to accept thank yous from my family with some grace, honors God.

A Happy Spring!

This year is so strange. There are these long, fallow period where if feels like nothing is happening. Lent felt insanely hard this year. Now that it's the Easter Season, I'm shocked by all the beautiful changes.

We're three weeks into attending a new church--20 minutes north and across state lines. In Catholic language, that means we are in a new Diocese--the Archdiocese of Baltimore, America's oldest. Our move back to Maryland feels like a move back into "Mary's Land." For the past three years, we've really felt her absence in church.

I've given away my entire collection of 50 or 60 plastic rosaries to adults that had never seen a rosary before.  I'm not good at sharing rosaries. (In Carmelite speech I'm "to attached" rather than "detached.") I like to pray best with cheap plastic rosaries for the same reason I carry cheap plastic Bic pens in my purse--I'm forgetful and prone to lose things. These plastic rosaries that I had, I "liked" them. I'd pick out a special one on retreat or at a prayer rally. I'd like their color, or the way the beads felt in my hands. The way some women match a certain pair of shoes to her outfit--I'd like to match a rosary to my prayer intention of the day. With five kids and a prayerful husband, I felt like I needed to have 50 rosaries inside my house.

Sometimes when I used my rosary in church, I'd see such a hunger in another adult or child's eyes. Often a person had never seen a rosary before. Not that they didn't remember the order of the rosary prayers, they had never seen one used before. People would ask me what I was doing and when I talked briefly about the rosary their eyes would light up. "This is how we talk to our Mother?" Even with all my attachments, I couldn't resist begrudgingly giving up my favorite rosary of the month.*

In my new church there are 10 plastic rosaries hanging up in every single pew!  I want to dance a jig. There is a statue of Mary inside the church! There are beautiful holy cards stacked casually on every surface. In three years of attending Mass, I received one new Holy Card when Pope Francis became pope. Teaching Religious Ed for two years almost wiped out my collection because my kids were so excited to have some choice in the matter of picking out their favorite image of Jesus, Mary, and the Saints.

I realize in retrospect that for the past 3 years, I've been living the hidden life of a Missionary. West Virginia is extremely religious, but only 5% Catholic. Mary is not talked about among most Catholics. Possibility this is a sort of a conscious thing the priests do to help evangelize to other Christians who often see Mary as a divisive element in our theology? Regardless, Mary is not celebrated in most churches around my area of the Eastern Panhandle. There are no May Crownings. Her feast days are not talked about in advance during Sunday Mass, even though many are required days of Holy Obligation. I almost missed some required Mass attendance days because it took so much personal research to find out when, where and what time those special Masses were celebrated.

I've even sat through some homilies that were uncomfortably heretical. "Um, no. The Mother of God is not a "female version of God." She's fully human. Mom, I can't believe I have to listen to such drivel during your Feast of the Assumption. This is making me miserable!" was a thought pattern I had during one unhappy Mass.

Now our church home is transferred back to Maryland, even if our physical address remains in West Virginia for a while. I feels really good to go back home. My husband said "If you asked me three years ago, I would have said nothing could have shaken my faith in Mary. She's my mother!" Yet the absence of seeing Mary outside the walls of our home affected us. She wasn't talked about much. She wasn't prayed to often. She was largely ignored in our church. Over time, my husband and I got more distant in our love for her.

May is the month of Mary! I'm so happy to be her daughter. I found my love for her late in life. My devotion to her is so much sweeter for going a long time without realizing that I was the cherished, beloved daughter of a Queen.


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*I'm so grateful to the readers who sent me two rosaries from the Holy Land.  They are all I have right now. Mom really knew I needed them because I was busy giving all mine away. Thank you!

Retreat Update--Looking At the Bigger Picture

I walked into this retreat feeling pretty lousy. Physically, I'm weak from my pregnancy. Emotionally, I felt low. I'm at 12 weeks. I've lost one son at 13 weeks and another son (less than 6 months ago) at 15 weeks. I felt like I kept asking myself "Who does this?" Who decides to have a baby only a few months after a loss? Who has 6 kids anymore? Even if some women do, I'm not the "together Mom" who finds pregnancy, childbirth, and post-partum nursing life easy. Why the heck am I trying to do this again at age 39?

I went to a retreat wit 50 Lay Carmelites from 4 different states. The experience was so amazing! I felt like God was backing me up and encouraging me to look at the bigger picture. I'd gotten so hung up in what felt like a "Y" in the road ahead of me. Either I was going to be adding another baby's name to the cemetery stone in a few weeks or I would go through many more weeks of uncertainty and end up with a newborn. I had zero control of this outcome and that feeling of being out of control was causing me so much anxiety.

The bigger picture is a reminder of why I was on this path in the first place. I had these vivid memories of being 21 and single as a college student in London. I used to hang out at the churches of Westminister and St. Paul's and listen to the choir sing Vespers. I loved it so much. To me it was like a free choir concert. I couldn't figure out why all the tourists weren't hanging out there at 5 PM like me. I know now that this was my first experience praying the Daily Office. Now that is my job as a Carmelite.

It was so beautiful to remember all these happy memories I had of praying in church when I was 5 and 21 and 32. In the Carmelite tradition, we talk about this notion of being "seized by God." Faith isn't something that is about "choice" or "reason." I didn't chose to be a Christian that same way I picked out what gym I wanted to belong to or what diet to feed my children.

In this retreat, I felt this clarity about what my mission is on earth. Everything sort of "fit." I figured out a better way to do homeschooling. I figured out why I was being asked to do this move. I felt community. I gained peace. I made a promise to better practice solitude, get to the gym more and eat better food.

The heart is a tricky muscle. I feel that once I get my heart clear, everything else becomes easier.

During the retreat we gave a lot of thought to Pope Francis' advice to our Carmelite Order. "Within your Rule is the heart of the Carmelite mission then and now. As you approach the eight centenary of the death of Albert, Patriarch of Jerusalem in 1214, you will recall that he formulated 'a way of life' a space that enables you to live a spirituality that is orientated towards Christ. he outlines both external and internal elements, a physical ecology of space and the spiritual armor needed in order to fulfill one's vocation and mission.

In a world that often misunderstands Christ, and in fact rejects him, you are invited to draw near and to unite yourselves more closely with him. It is a continuous call to follow Christ and be conformed to him. This is of vital importance in our world so disoriented, "for once the flame of faith dies out, all other lights begin to dim." (Lumen Fidei 4) Christ is present in your fraternity, your common worship and in the ministry entrusted to you; renew the allegiance of your whole life!"

The main theme of this retreat was the importance of Memory. Our retreat leader, Father Jim, said "Negative Memories kill! Positive Memories give us life and propel us forward!" He talked about the formation of our order in the 12th Century. Our order came out of the trauma of the Crusades. This is my modern words, but I think there were about 30 soldiers who probably had a form of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. They had gone to the Holy Land out of obedience to their Faith. They had seen such horrible bloodshed. They had seen their Christian leaders not act well. They were ordered to do acts that made them ashamed. Everything they held as a core belief now felt totally lost and mixed up.

When the army was told to pack up and go home to Europe, about 30 of these soldiers felt like they couldn't go home. They had these horrible, crippling, negative memories. Instead, they set up camp on the beautiful, garden like area of Mount Carmel. The monks wrote beautifully about how 30 years of watching sunrises on Mount Carmel cleansed every negative memory. Their positive memories on Mount Carmel gave them a new life. Over time, the monks got organized under a "way of life" set down by the Bishop of Jerusalem, Bishop Albert. We still follow the "Rule of St. Albert" today.

Then disaster happened. A hostile army came too Mount Carmel and started killing people. A lot of monks watched their good friends get beheaded on this peaceful mountain top. The few survivors had to go back to Europe after an absence of more than 30 years. The monks really started to panic. They felt like migrants inside their own country. They worried that everything they had built up on Mount Carmel would fall away.

Instead, they established an order that has lasted 800 years! These monks found that they could carry the peace of Mount Carmel inside themselves, as they went back into the modern world. They were "contemplatives in the world."

It's so amazing to be apart of something that is so old and yet so current. I could relate so well to this part of history so well. We're in the middle of a ten year war in Afghanistan. My sister is actually in Kabal right now. This same struggle of how to replace negative memories with positive memories is also happening every Thursday in my 12 step program.

I feel so energized. I feel really hopeful. I'm excited to be in this forgotten corner of earth doing hidden daily work that is going to matter far into the future. Go Carmel!

I'm Off On Retreat

God is so kind to me! I started whining because the problems were piling up just when it was hardest for me to get near the Tabernacle to pray. How does God reward my whiny complaints? I'm going on a three day silent retreat with my Carmelite community to visit the Benedictine Nuns of St. Emma Monastery this weekend. Better than a trip to a spa in Aruba! I get to delight in a little "smash up" of love between the Carmelites and the Benedictines. Belonging to a Third Order is the best!

I'll be spending lots of time in prayer. I'll be praying for all my readers. Thank you for encouraging me in my spiritual journey!