Small Things

Remembering September 11th

When I visited my husband in Hawaii this summer, we went to the Pearl Harbor Memorial. We watched a film depicting the massive attack, the sinking ships, and the warnings that were overlooked. I was not the only person there sniffling and wiping away tears. It's overwhelming to imagine it, especially for people who are used to seeing bays full of Navy ships every day.

On our drive out of Honolulu, I looked back at Pearl Harbor and could see three separate rainbows in the drizzly yet sunny sky, a daily norm in Hawaii. 

I said to Jamie, "You know, it's kind of symbolic that there are always rainbows over Pearl Harbor. God's sign that there wouldn't be another flood. Kind of a symbol that we will never let an attack like that happen again."

Without taking his eyes from the road, he replied, "Except we did."

Then we just drove in silence for awhile.

God bless America today, the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave.

 

On Mother Teresa's 100th Birthday

Blessed Teresa of Calcutta was born on August 26th, 1910, which makes today her 100th birthday.

I named this blog from one of my favorite quotes of hers. There is much about her life and her faith that is inspiring. Just a few days ago, as I examined my aging face in the mirror, tugging and squishing to see what a "lift" might do, it occurred to me that mounting a photo of Mother Teresa in my bathroom might help me to keep beauty in perspective.

Here is a poem that she hung on the wall of her childrens home in Calcutta, a revision of a poem attributed to Kent Keith:

"Do It Anyway"

People are often unreasonable, illogical, and self-centered;
Forgive them anyway.

If you are kind,
people may accuse you of selfish ulterior motives;
Be kind anyway.

If you are successful,
you will win some false friends and some true enemies;
Succeed anyway.

If you are honest and frank,
people may cheat you;
Be honest and frank anyway.

What you spend years building,
someone could destroy overnight.
Build anyway.

If you find serenity and happiness,
they may be jealous;
Be happy anyway.

The good you do today,
people will often forget tomorrow;
Do good anyway.

Give the world the best you have,
and it may never be enough;
Give the best you've got anyway.

You see, in the final analysis
it is between you and God;
it was never between you and them anyway.

My parents are celebrating 40 years of marriage!

I am celebrating it, too. Today marks forty years since they walked down the aisle at St. Ann's church, and I wonder how they pictured the life ahead of them on that day.

I wish I had their wedding picture to post, but I don't. I can picture it perfectly, the one that sat on my grandmother's living room shelf my whole life. Mom in her pillbox hat, bangs, long straightened hair falling over her shoulders. (She told me she had to fight my grandmother over having her hair down.) My Dad in his white tuxedo with the black lapel. Mom carried daisies. (It was 1970.)

Dad had recently been discharged from the Marines after two tours in Vietnam. Mom had waited for him, working office jobs while she tracked his letters on a map. It sounded very romantic to me as a kid. Once I had been through separation from my future husband, I realized it was much harder and rarer than I realized to keep faith in a love that is really just a memory studded with occassional letters.

I once asked my Dad how he knew that he wanted to marry my mom. He said that there came a time that he would drive her home at the end of a date, and it was too hard to say goodbye.

My mother claims that she knew she wanted to marry my Dad the day she met him. She was friends with his sister, who hoped to introduce them. He was home from boot camp and went to pick up his sister at my mom's house. He walked into my grandmother's kitchen, he asked her out, and after he left, my mother turned to her own sister and said she thought he was the man she would marry.

It goes without saying that 40th wedding anniversaries are pretty rare. I would say that they are lucky, but I've been married for 13 years myself, and I know that dedication and patience have as much, if not more, to do with it as luck.

I remember one Thanksgiving eve my Mom sent my Dad out to get a fresh turkey. He came back with one that he said was labeled fresh, Mom said it was frozen solid, and an exasperating circular argument ensued. Dad went back to the store. Muttering. But he was over it by the time Mom needed him to peel the turnips.

I remember another dinner, when I was much, much younger. Dad and my sisters and I were all at the table ready to eat, and Mom turned toward us from the stove, with a large casserole in her hands. It slipped and crashed to floor, shattering all over. Dad got up from the table and just put his arms around Mom and hugged her. I remember being completely stunned, because if my sisters or I had dropped that casserole, I didn't think we'd have been hugged.

They've set a solid example for me, and for all of my family, I have no doubt. Ron and Ruth, they just go together. I can't imagine one without the other. Their marriage has been the foundation for all my mine and my sisters' lives. They made a home where we had dinner around the table every night, our holidays were full of traditions, and our family had fun together. Board games, card games, charades--even as teenagers our best friends would play Balderdash with the Pelletiers.

I remember they could fight, but I don't really remember what they ever fight about. I do remember sitting in the backseat of our Buick Regal and seeing them holding hands on the frontseat armrest.

For years, my Dad has always gone to bed first, and he always kisses her goodnight first. Sometimes, she'll pull back and say, "Don't kiss me! I'll be there in a minute!" For some reason, I always find that funny, the way she snaps "Don't kiss me!"

For a long time now, they have a standing Friday night date, dinner and a movie. Now that I am deep in the child-raising years, I think of them on Friday nights and I'm so jealous. But I know that they did their time, they paid their dues. They waited many years to have their Friday nights to themselves.

I hope to get there myself one day!

Easter and Earthquakes

I love Easter. I love Christmas, too, but there is so much less production and expectation at Easter, that decorating and entertaining is much more stress-free. The Christmas story is lovely, about the birth of the baby Jesus, Mary, the manger, the star. But the Passion and the Resurrection are really the meat of what being Christian is, and I can use every reminder I can get that salvation and forgiveness are mine for the asking.

(I even have forgiveness for the family slurping a frappacino and crunching spicy potato chips behind me during mass--but are you really going up to receive the Host with jalapeno breath?)

We have a decent-sized bunny collection going, it grows a little every year. At first, as the grandmothers would send a couple of bunnies each Easter, I began to think, seriously, what do they expect us to do with more bunnies? Then I realized, they are a great way to decorate for spring, and isn't that what bunnies are supposed to do? Multiply? That's the whole they reason they are a symbol of spring and fertility. So I take them out each March, and then pack them away again after the Easter season.

(Which lasts 50 days, my friends, so when you see the egg wreath still on my door, it's not because I'm too lazy to take it down. Ok, not only because I'm lazy. But also because it's officially ok to leave it up until May, when I bring out my red, white, and blue stars wreath in preparation for Memorial Day, Flag Day, and 4th of July.)

So this Sunday, we hosted our 10th Annual Easter Ham and Lamb. We've been hosting Easter for friends, and occassionally visiting family, ever since our first military move to the West coast, and we always enjoy it.

It was just after our first guests arrived that the earthquake struck. "Struck" sounds very dramatic, and really, the shaking wasn't that bad, just rattled the house and made the trees and bushes sway back and forth. Though it did seem to go on for several minutes, which was unusual and a little exciting. We went on with the kids' egg hunt, and then our dinner. While we were eating I heard my cell phone ring, but I knew I wouldn't be able to extricate my self from the table in time to get it. I suspected it was my mother, because she has been fascinated by earthquakes since she felt a small one when she visited us here years ago. I wondered aloud if she had an iphone app for the usgs earthquake alerts. A minute later, my husband's cell phone rang, I figured I'd better get it so my parents wouldn't worry.

Good thing I did.

Back in Georgia, my parents were hosting their own Easter dinner, with my sister and my nephew, and my other sister and her husband. My younger sister just visited us here last week, and she was sharing her stories about San Diego, and wishing she'd had a chance to feel a little earthquake. They teased my Mom about all the email updates she receives about every little earthquake. She insisted it wasn't that many, not since she changed her settings so she only is alerted for 3.5 or above. While playing Scat (a card game) after dinner, my nephew was the first eliminated and went to the computer. He quickly called to the others that there'd been a seven-point-something quake in Southern California.

"What!?" shouted my Mom, jumping up from the table. Everyone tried to calm her, assuring her that it was probably fine. Mom rushed to her computer, looking over my nephew's shoulder as he clicked on different headlines and links. She told me later that it was all she could do to not physically throw him out of her chair so she could start checking for herself. Finally my sister suggested my nephew move, and Mom got more worried when she saw the giant red box over the Mexico/California border. That's when they started calling us, and worrying more when we didn't answer the home phone (the ringer is off) or my cell.

When I answered my husband's phone, it was my Dad, and he put me on speaker phone. I think they were all on the edge of their seats. I had to step outside so I could hear them, and reassure them that we were alright, that there was no damage here. He told me that I should post something on Facebook, and I distractedly said "OK" (I was distracted because all three of my kids had snuck out after me and were running down the street as though their very freedom was at stake).

"No, really, you should, Kristi, because people will be worried," added my older sister.

I assured them I would, then I chased down and caught the two-year-old, and went back inside. I wasn't about to chase the older ones, and we live in a small gated neighborhood anyway.  They'd come back when they realized that freedom, when you're under 8, is overrated.

So I updated my Facebook status, and went back to dessert. Soon the doorbell rang. "Who is it?" shouted my husband.

"US!" called out my son and daughter.

We let them back in. Maybe they finally realized it wasn't that smart to run away from a house full of Easter candy.

The first day of catechism

My first grade son started catechism classes yesterday, beginning to prepare for his first communion in two years.  He seemed to have a good time, when he walked in several kids he'd met at vacation bible school this summer called out called out his name, and they all started acting silly together.

All the parents gathered outside for a meeting with the director of religious education at our parish. The children's ministry building is new this year for our parish, it had previously been a preschool, but our church took it over and renovated it so our kids now have space for classes and activities. Sorely needed. Several years ago I volunteered to teach a 5th grade catechism class, and we met in what is now a storage closet.

So behind this new building is a big play area, with shade, and most importantly, fences. While the director addressed all the parents, our couple dozen preschoolers, too young for catechism, played 40 feet away on the playground, close enough to watch but far enough to not interrupt grownup conversation. Surrounded by fences, and supervised by a couple of confirmation students.

The director told us he'll be leading a bible study for parents here in the back yard of the ministry building during all classes, and plans for us all to bring our young ones to play just as they did yesterday. I know he's always led those bible studies before, but I never considered going because they were always crowded into some corner of the church, and I knew my two girls would not be able to sit and color or play quietly indoors like that.

But now! My girls were so happy playing, and I looked around at all the moms, and seriously, I was afraid I might start crying. I am so looking forward to Thursday evenings now. To have all of my kids happily engaged, while I get to be in basically the best Book club ever with other parents struggling with the same lifestyle as mine . . . what a blessing! What a bonus to bringing my kid to catechism!

Last night, I couldn't get Jimmy to tell me anything about what they talked about in his class. I tried, but he said he didn't really want to talk about it. I suspect he was still processing the new classroom, the new teacher, the kids, and the workbook. Maybe he is at a loss as to how to sum up the lesson for the day. (Also, he lost a tooth right at bedtime, and may have been preoccupied with thoughts of the tooth fairy coming.)

But I think he'll be happy to return next Thursday. I know I will be.

The Letterman/Palin Brouhaha

I saw the Letterman monologue joke about Sarah Palin's daughter and A-rod, and I didn't laugh. I just kind of shook my head in dismay.

When I heard Palin's public comments in response, I cringed a little for them. I feel their disgust, but I don't know that it helps to acknowledge or engage such a gross joke.

Letterman is an ass, and while many comedians say crasser, more offensive things than that, if Letterman was always like that, he wouldn't be on a network with the ratings he has. At least I hope he wouldn't.

I just think that there are some jokes that shouldn't be tolerated.

I do buy that the intended subject of the joke was Bristol and not the 14 year-old, but that just makes it inaccurate as well as offensive. And I don't care to discuss whether there is a double standard in how the media respects liberals versus conservatives.

I shook my head in dismay because I know there were likely at least a few pregnant 17-year-old, 18-year-old women watching that night who got the picture loud and clear that having a baby will make them a joke. That a pregant teenager loses all respect, and is called a slut to loud laughter and applause.

I've openly discussed my pro-life beliefs here before, and shared my skepticism of the usefulness of marches and placards and slogans in changing people's minds and influencing our cultural values.

Laughing at jokes like Letterman's absolutely influences our culture's values. What's worse is how that particular show may have directly influenced a pregnant teenage girl's choice this week.

I'll say it again and again, if pro-life advocates really want to save babies, they've got to help the mothers decide to keep their babies. And you do that with encouragement, with support, and with respect for the hard road young moms choose to walk, for the love of their babies.

Public and personal humiliation of teenage mothers? Is it really ok to laugh at that?

Thinking deeply (finally!) about Christmas

This has been a busy Christmas, and as usual, it has been in the days after that I've been able to spend some quality time with my kids, and my husband, just playing games, wrestling, dancing to the Jonas Brothers (Kid music that rocks! says Mary) and rocking my baby without feeling compelled to rush everything because there is too much to do.

After the kids were asleep tonight, I sat with some chocolate-covered Peppermint Joe-Joe's and a glass of wine and spent some quality time on the blogosphere. And it was while reading at Rocks in my Dryer that I think I finally had a moment to contemplate on Christmas. This post, Grace in a Manger, is an old one, from her archives while she takes a holiday break. I've got to share it, because it's sure to make you stop and think.

Christmas, I thought, was the cheery holiday that evoked images of a sweet baby Jesus, a manger full of fresh-smelling hay, joyful shepherds, a glorious star and a partridge in a pear tree.

The real theological meat was diced at Easter, I believed.  Easter was about blood, death, and victory won only through the harshest pain.  Easter was about sanctification and propitiation and all those other "-ation" words that my pastor is supposed to explain to me.And so, in my simple little head, Christmas was happy, Easter was hard. 

At Christmas, we could just sit back and not think too hard, sip our egg nog, and gaze at our happy little nativity scene in which Mary looks all clean and regal, not like a scared young teenager who just went through labor next to a cow.

It's easy to not think too hard about Mary, baby Jesus, and the manger. Even for those of us who go to church, and who teach our kids about the nativity, and who sing Silent Night. But thinking about Mary, in the hay, giving birth to a Savior . . . well, I am contemplating that tonight.

Mom's Top 5 Family Christmas Traditions

When couples marry, they face a lot of compromise, and holidays can be trickier to negotiate then congressional bailouts. Luckily, my husband and I have been together since we were embryos (ok, not really, that would make us twins). So we were introduced to each other's Christmas traditions while we were still living with our parents, enjoying the holiday from a kids' perspective. Once we went off to college, we took turns staying at each other's parents' houses for Christmas break, and came to appreciate the few differences in how our families "do" Christmas.

Once we married and had our own tree, hearth, and home, I was surprised at how much we still managed to find to argue about. The biggest fight was about colored lights vs. white lights, and I believe I actually cried in the Home Depot parking lot. (My husband, bull-headed? Me, over-emotional? Never!) I remember complaining to my Dad on the phone about how uncompromising Jamie was being, expecting to get some sympathy. Instead, Dad suggested that colored lights might mean a lot to Jamie, and that it would be a small sacrifice, and maybe we could switch next year. We had colored lights that year, and I am woman enough to admit the tree looked quite cheerful and festive.

Colored lights aside, as the wife and mom, I am certainly the primary Steward of Christmas. I oversee unloading the Christmas boxes, I do almost all the gift shopping, wrapping, and shipping, the cards, the decorating, the table setting, and it might be safe to say, ALL of the clean up. Jamie has taken over most of the cooking, which I miss doing, but haven't figured out how to make time for. Jamie is a good cook.

Now for the the list. My Top 5 Favorite Family Christmas Traditions:

1. Singing carols on Christmas Eve. My sisters have always been very musical, my younger sister is a music therapist and plays like 27 instruments. Her husband is a talented classical guitarist. While my talent is harder to pinpoint, I do like to sing, and we always do a lot of that at Christmas.

2. Christmas Eve mass. We dress up, and rush to get seats, and it's always overcrowded and overheated, but I love it. I love the candles, and the singing, and the feeling of anticipation, of impending happiness. We actually missed it this year. We arrived a half hour before the children's mass, to standing room only, which we just can't do with a baby, a preschooler, and a kindergartner. So we left, and went back the next morning at 10:30. (I cried a little over it, though.)

3. Noche Buena. The Cuban side of my husband's family always celebrates on Christmas Eve with a pork roast, black beans and rice, and fried plantains, among other things. We continued this traditional meal at our house the first time we hosted our own Christmas Eve, and now my family enjoys it too. Jamie cooks it all, pretty much, which works well because I am usually still busy with last minute gift wrapping, and getting the kids ready for church.

4. The Stockings. At my house, when we were growing up, our stockings were an important part of Christmas morning. They were handmade by my mother, and Santa always stuffed them to overflowing. We would all come downstairs and admire the pile of presents around the tree, and then head to the mantle to each take down our stocking and cradle it on our lap while Dad made coffee and Mom combed her hair, put on slippers, and whatever else she decided was worth making us wait in torture. We unwrapped the presents in the stocking first, things like paperback books, cassette tapes, inexpensive earrings, chocolates, candy canes, gum, and makeup. It was hard to get Jamie to accept the Stocking tradition. At his house, the stockings were kind of an afterthought. I was there one Christmas during college when his Mom had us all paint our names on fuzzy red stockings with glitter paint. (I guess she suspected I was probably a keeper.)  They still hang those stockings to this day, but they are not a major player. We've found lotto tickets, or a roll of film, in them before. When we are there for Christmas, I usually stuff a little something in them all. I have made Jamie do Stockings first every Christmas at our house, except this one, because the kids' toys were too big a lure for them. Who can ignore a 7x4 foot slotcar racetrack long enough to sit and dig through a stocking? So we did the tree first this year. But I plan to restore the proper order in the future.

5. Epiphany. We leave the tree and all the decorations up for the full twelve days of Christmas, until the Feast of Epiphany. Traditionally, that's when the three wise men reached the baby Jesus to give their gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh.

As always, please feel free to share your favorite traditions!

Mom's Top 5 Christmas Movies

One movie is conspicuously NOT on my list--I really don't get that excited about It's a Wonderful Life. Doesn't move me all that much, in fact, as things go from bad to worse, I dread watching the poor guy. My favorites may not even all be truly "Christmas" movies, but they are shown during the holiday season.

1. Elf. When it came out a few years ago, we all loved it, and it has stood the test of time not only each successive Christmas, but all through the year. My daughter and her friend have been watching it and acting out scenes since July. We know lines so well, we really should put it on as family entertainment.

2. The Bells of St. Mary's.  My family always watched this around Christmas when I was a kid, and I love both Bing Crosby and Ingrid Bergman. Plus, we're Catholic, so we like to laugh at boxing nuns. ;-) If you haven't seen it, rent it. Jamie bought me the DVD a couple of years ago.

3. The Sound of Music. I love to sing with Maria, the songs remind me of being twelve. After watching, I sing Edelweiss to my kids every night for a week.

4. A Charlie Brown Christmas. Isn't this a favorite to everyone over 30? It was such a big deal to stay up after 8 to watch it on TV. Kids these days aren't as impressed with Peanuts, and they can watch animated movies anytime they want. When we were kids, it was event.

5. A Christmas Story. I think this one seems a classic to any age group, even though it came out in the 80's and is set in 40's. My husband just told me you can buy the Christmas Story Leg Lamp online. He also just saw that it is directed by the same guy as Porky's. There's some trivia to share at your next Christmas Party.

 I've only watched Elf so far this year, and a portion of Charlie Brown. It's time to dig out the Bells of St. Mary's I think! Did I miss any of your favorites? Let me know!

Hope's fourth birthday

I know I have been scarce on the blogosphere lately. I am just tired of repeating the same old complaints about hating the stress and mess of moving, and until more boxes are out the door, my tune stays the same. But today I've managed to be be not so pre-occupied, enough to bake a cake in honor of my daughter, Hope's, birthday. She would have been four years old today.

Each year we celebrate, I realize how infrequently I think of her now compared to our first year after her birth. I suppose that's just how it is. What is very interesting is how Jimmy and Mary ask us about her, and force us to think hard to come up with answers to their questions. It's . . . comforting to find each time that the simplest and best answer is just the truth.

We tell them Hope is with God, and Jesus loves her very much, and she is happy. Yes, we miss her very much. Yes, she had a boo-boo on her head. No, doctors couldn't fix it. Yes, she would probably like cake. Yes, it's ok if we eat it all for her.

 Happy Birthday Hope!