Marriage

Just when it seems that our American culture cannot become more cynical towards marriage, I consistently find a unique piece of art, or a film, or a video that points out the way. Check out Google's website today!

Prayer: Blessed Virgin Mother, pray for us to love our spouses in your holy example, today and every day. Remind us what a priviledge it is to grow old together.

Mother Work

Mary Cassatt, Breakfast in Bed, American Impressionist

"It is the nightly custom of every good mother after her children are asleep to rummage in their minds and put things straight for the next morning, repacking into their proper place the many articles that have wandered during the day. If you could keep awake (but of course you can't) you would see your own mother doing this, and you would find it very interesting to watch her. It is quite like tidying up drawers. You would see her on her knees, I expect, lingering humorously over some of your contents, wondering where on earth you had picked this thing up, making discoveries sweet and not so sweet, pressing this to her cheek as if where as nice as a kitten, and hurriedly stowing that out of sight. When you wake in the morning, the naughtiness and evil passions with which you went to bed have been folded up and placed at the bottom of your mind; and on top, beautifully aired, are spread your prettier thoughts, ready for you to put on." (J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan, pg 12).

Prayer: Oh Blessed Virgin Mother, please clean the interior of our mind and our hearts tonight. Let our sin and evil passions be erased through the power of your prayer and your immaculate heart. May our heads and hearts be full of much "prettier thoughts" tomorrow.

Low Art / High Praise

"Hobo" Signs, 1930s, United States of America

Daily Mass Reading, Matthew 25: 31-46
"When the Son of man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on his glorious throne. Before him will be gathered all the nations, and he will separate them one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats, and he will place the sheep at his right hand, but the goats at the left. Then the King will say to those at his right hand, `Come, O blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me.' Then the righteous will answer him, `Lord, when did we see thee hungry and feed thee, or thirsty and give thee drink? And when did we see thee a stranger and welcome thee, or naked and clothe thee? And when did we see thee sick or in prison and visit thee?' And the King will answer them, `Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brethren, you did it to me.' Then he will say to those at his left hand, `Depart from me, you cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels;for I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me no drink, I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not clothe me, sick and in prison and you did not visit me.'"

My husband and I dragged three sleepy kids to 6:30 AM Mass this morning. Instead of the gentle homily on the 150 Jubilee of Our Lady of Lourdes, Father John’s homily was a bit more fire and brimstone. “Where are you going do be on that day?” he thundered. “Will you be with the sheep or with the goats?”

In years past, I’ve considered myself a community service junkie. My career as a poverty lawyer brought me into daily contact with Christ’s own. For extra measure, I loaded up on the various volunteer tasks and social justice committees. So when I hear the “what have you done to serve for Christ lately,” I’d mentally run down my latest task list and relax in my church pew.

My life changed dramatically in past four years. First, I kicked off the “do good/ feel good” career with baby number two. Now, with baby number three, my life is stretched so thin that every act of charity pinches. To sing in the church choir, I must skimp on sleep one night each week and my husband must mind three small kids alone in a church pew each Sunday. My husband's rare Friday night Knight's meetings, mean that I still feel the burn of going 17 hours of straight "mommy duty" well into the weekend. Meanwhile, our thin budget makes coming up with cash for the Archdiocese appeal a challenge.

For the first time this morning, I didn’t have a long list of tangible acts of charity to fall back upon during Father John’s passionate homily. It felt uncomfortable. I felt exposed. I would have probably fallen even more into despair if I hadn’t recently read the encouraging words from “Story of a Soul.” (I’ve recently figured out that my maturity level in regards to all spiritual matters about matches the physical development of my 9 month-old daughters, Maria.)

As Father John relentless questions grew more heated “Have you given Jesus your cloak? Have you visited our Savior in prison? Where will you be on that terrible Judgment day?” I looked at my little daughter and said a silent “No, I have not met the needs of the poor in any recent memory. Ave Maria! You are just going to have to carrying me on that awful day, because I’m to spiritually weak and pitiful to walk on my own yet!” Asking for help from our Blessed Mother soothed me in the moment.

The question kept coming back to me all day. In my life current life as an exhausted mother, where does charity to Christ poor fit in?

I can’t go back to the dizzy, emotional life as a poverty lawyer. In this season of my life, I can’t sign up for a dozen charity committees. At the same time, caring for three little ones doesn’t exempt me from living out Christ’s teachings. Nor would I even want it to! I find that my heart is split open as a new mother. Things that I intellectually cared about before: the homelessness of Katrina victims, the poverty in the inner-city, the spiritual dryness of many of my generation who where raised without faith; now fill my heart with overflowing compassion.

I do not have an answer yet. There is no "action plan for Lenten charity" in my household. However, the faint stirrings of an idea came to me tonight.

I remembered the words of my grandmother, who died of heart failure two years ago. Grandma Rupp described how her mother, Meade Buehrer, fed a long string of “hobos” during the 1930s. My great-grandmother evidently kept a pie pan next to the stove filled with extra servings of whatever food was currently cooking for dinner. Almost every night, an unknown male stranger would appear at her back door requesting scraps of food. Great-grandmother would say a few words, and hand over a fully prepared meal. My grandmother’s job was to retrieve the pie pan from the back yard after the stranger was done with his supper.

My grandmother said, “I never went more than two nights without having to go to the back yard in the dark to retrieve a dirty pie pan left behind by a hobo. It took me a few years, but I noticed that none of the other neighbor kids had to do this. I don’t know why the hobos always choose our house or how they always knew that my mother was both kind and a good cook.”

After her death, I stumbled on a likely explanation. “Hobos” had special signs that they left behind on the fence posts of kind women, signifying “good for a handout.” I’m sure the steady stream of out-of-work men coming through Archbold, Ohio did not come to my great-grandmother’s home by chance. There must have been some sort of sign left on her backyard gate. Imagine having such a mark outside your door! (Notice that the upper left-hand “hobo” mark also looks like the Eucharist, what a coincidence!)

This Lent, I’m praying to receive my own mark of charity. Like my great-grandmothers mark, it will have to be small and humble. A small deed done with a grateful heart, folded into the middle of my many mothering tasks.

St. Martin of Tours, St. Bernadette, hear our prayer to increase in deeds of charity.

A New Use For Earrings

Girl with a Pearl Earring, Vermeer
c. 1665-1666; Oil on canvas, 44.5 x 39 cm; Royal Cabinet of Paintings Mauritshuis, The Hague

"At all times women have been wont to wear pearls at their ears. Pliny assigns as a reason the pleasure that they take in their jingle one against the other. But I, when I remember how God's chosen servant Isaac sent earrings as the first pledge of his love to Rebecca, am inclined to believe rather that the mystical signification is that the first tribute of a husband, and that which a wife should watchfully preserve for him, is her ear, that no sound or language may enter therein, but the sweet music of pure and modest words, which are the pearls of great price of the Gospel; one should always remember that poison enters the soul by the ears, as it enters the body by the mouth."
St Francis de Sales, Introduction to the Devout Life, pg 230.

Conversion

The Conversion on the Way to Damascus (Conversione di San Paolo), by Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio, painted in 1601 for the Cerasi Chapel of the church of Santa Maria del Popolo, in Rome.

Acts 9 1-6
"Meanwhile Saul, still breathing threats and murder against the disciples of the Lord, went to the high priest and asked him for letter to the synagogues at Damascus, so that if he found any who belonged to the Way, men or women, he might bring them bound to Jerusalem. Now as he was going along and approaching Damascus, suddenly a light from heaven flashed around him. He fell to the ground and heard a voice saying to him, "Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?" He asked, "Who are you, Lord?" The reply came, "I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting. But get up and enter the city and you will be told what you are to do."

"The painting depicts the moment recounted in Chapter 9 of Acts of the Apostles when Saul, soon to be the apostle Paul, fell on the road to Damascus." . . .There are three figures in the painting. The commanding muscular horse dominates the canvas, yet it is oblivious to the divine light that defeated his rider's gravity. The aged groom is human, but gazes earthward, also ignorant of the moment of where God intervenes in human traffic. Only Saul, whose gravity and world has been overturned lies supine on the ground, but facing heaven, arms supplicating rescue. The groom can see his shuffling feet, and the horse can plod its hooves, measuring its steps; but both are blind to the miracle and way. They inhabit the unilluminated gloom of the upper canvas. Saul, physically blinded by the event for three days, suddenly sees the Christian message. For once, his soul can hear the voice of Jesus, asking, "Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?" His sword and his youthful sinews are powerless against this illuminating bolt of faith." (Wikipedia)

I loved studying Caravaggio in my Art 100 class in college. "The Conversion" is one of my all time favorites. I love the power that is conveyed by the perspective in this painting. Rather than focus on the subject of the painting, a giant muscular horse fills most of the space. As viewers, we have a sense of the great height that Saint Paul has been cast down, and his humility in the face of an overwhelming vision of truth.

Saint Paul is a good saint for me to pray to during the unique trials of being a convert. Saint Peter is more like a “cradle Catholic.” He had the blessings of his father to leave the fishing business to follow Jesus. Saint Peter got to take his brother Andrew with him on his journey.

In contrast, Saint Paul had to make a dramatic turn-around alone. He left old friends and familiar religious routines behind over-night. His greeting into the new Christian church was apprehensive at best. When I struggle to explain my complete change of heart, my stricter Lenten fasts, my desire for yet another baby, it helps me to remember Saint Paul. I pray for his help, his humility, his certainty that the true “Way” is worth any sacrifice.

Saint Paul, pray for us Catholics. Help us convert our hearts and follow the Way.

Inspiration

Antonello da Messina
Madonna and Child, c. 1475
National Gallery of Art

I'm the only girl in Washington who sooths the pain of a bad newborn latch by going to gaze at paintings of our Blessed Mother at the National Gallery. Not exactly a solution proposed by the Le Leche Handbook, yet this gorgous image by da Messina healed me. I was inspired to reach deeper into the sacrificial love well and take care of my little one with renewed energy. Keep close to your Blessed Mother today.

Mary, Mother of God, pray for us, that we might become worthy of the promises of Christ.

Adoration

Fra Angelico and Fra Filippo Lippi
The Adoration of the Magi, c. 1440/1460, Location, National Gallery of Art, Washington D.C.

(detail of the procession)

This painting takes up an entire gallery wall in the National Gallery of Art. I love tracing the rolling, roaring crowd. Everyone is eager to pay homage to Jesus. In reality, there couldn't have been such an adoring crowd at the time of Jesus' birth. His divine nature was hidden under the frality of a tiny baby boy. Only a few devote souls were called to witness the birth of the "Hope of the World."

Now is the time to turn back to the path of the Lord. Now is the time to wash your baptismal garment. Now is the time to fine too your manner of devotions. Now is the time to reach out and increase your prayers, your almsgiving and your fasting. Now is the time to pay homage to our risen Lord. Saint Peter, pray for us all to join the happy crowd of your Mother Church this Lenten Season.

Ash Wednesday

Caravaggio, The Inspiration of St. Matthew
1602, Contarelli Chapel, San Luigi dei Francesi, Rome

"Three days after my journey to Bayeux I started on a much longer one- to Rome. It was a journey which showed me the emptiness of all temporal things. But I saw spendid monuments and gazed at all the glory of art in the service of religion."

Saint Therese of Lisieux, "The Story of a Soul" (page 67).

Today is the day of Ashes and a fore-taste of death. All that we are, all whom we touch, all that we create, will soon turn to dust and return to the earth. Just for today, let everything your make: a sketch, a letter, a blog post, or a simple fasting supper be prompted by the Holy Spirit. May all our work during the Lenten season be completed in humility, rather than the all too familiar prompting of pride and glory-seeking. Saint Matthew, pray for us.

The Virtue of Obedience- Or the Post I Never Planned to Write

I used to listen to hour after hour of Christian radio programs while driving through the long, flat state of Indiana. My trip home from Madison, Wisconsin to Buckhannon, West Virginia ran ten hours. Except for the one time I listened to eight hours of Suze Ormon tapes, my mind was usually too frazzled from law school exams to remember to pack cassette tapes for the trip. The radio was a fun medley of new finds and old favorites until I left Chicago. From Southern Illinois to Ohio, there was nothing but talk Christian radio stations.

Somewhere in deep Indiana, during three years of cross-country trips from 1997-2000, is when I first heard this notion of “wives being obedient to their husbands”, and “fathers being head of their families”. I don’t mind telling you, that about five minutes into any discussion of this topic, I turn off my radio in disgust at such old-fashion drivel.

Like all virtues in my faith journey so far, my children have taught me the importance of “obedience.” I have hit the age where my eldest can now, we Southerners say, “sass her Mother.” It broke my heart the first time. By age four, I had gone from being hurt and shocked, to wondering out-loud to my husband “How can I get some positive reinforcement on this subject fast because the repeated time-outs in the naughty chair are just not cutting it!”

It was at that moment that I realized, “When did my daughter ever see me being obedient?” There were lots of things, such as table manners, that my husband and I were able to model for her. When we wanted the kids to sit still in their chairs or to chew with their mouth closed, we’d make an elaborate “thank you Daddy for sitting so still in your chair tonight” production during dinner. That system worked well for us. But how would I “teach” the virtue of obedience.

At first, my method was obvious and forced. Jon would ask me to pass the peas at dinner. I’d make a big, showy production “Look, I’m passing the peas to Daddy because I’m being OBEDIENT. I’m not saying, “I don’t want to!” or “Not now, maybe later.” I’m passing the peas, quickly and cheerfully because I liked to do what I’m asked.”

Then I started to slip “obedience” into our nightly rosary intensions. Each night since the beginning of Advent, I’ve prayed for the same things for my children. I pray for Hannah to become more obedient, Alex to finish potty training and Maria to stop her teething pain and start sleeping again. The virtue of obedience seemed to fit neatly into my own quest for increased meekness and humility. I didn’t know what I was praying for exactly, or who I wanted to become more obedient “too.” It was more a vague feeling that sort of stayed vague and undefined for a few weeks.

My first act of conscious obedience to my husband occurred over this hallway chair. As you can tell from this interior shot of my apartment’s front door, I don’t have much room. The hallway is less than three feet wide. There’s no entryway, screen porch or mudroom. Only a few feet of linoleum to handle two young kids, a baby, and a jumpy, nervous dog.

When my husband first moved a chair in the middle of the hallway, I disliked it. I thought it made the place look “cluttered.” I tripped over it. The kids kept dropping toys under it. It was hard to vacuum around it. For a few days, I moved the chair back to the living room each morning. Every night, my husband moved it back.

One day, I thought, “I guess I can leave the chair there. I’m trying to learn how to be obedient.” So that was my little silent gift to my husband. I chair, in a position I heartily disliked.

Nothing happened for a few more days. Then I noticed that it made a convenient place to sit a child down to put on his snow boots. It was a place to put the dog leash in between dog walks. I could place the baby carrier on it while sorting the mail. This chair, that totally violated my inner homemaker, was full of useful purposes.

About five days into “the chair as a gift” experiment, my husband started loudly praising me. “Thank you so much for letting me keep a chair here. It really helps me to have a comfortable place to change my shoes in the morning.” The praise, repeated night after night left me feeling a little sheepish. It was just one chair after all.

His repeated praised got me thinking. What say does my husband have at home? Sure we picked out the IKEA furniture together. Once we hung up the pictures together and found a place for the couch, I have made all future “home” decisions. For example, I handle all the grocery shopping. As a result, we eat peas for dinner most nights instead of corn. We use Colgate instead of Crest. We drink Coke instead of Pepsi. Multiply control of a dozen daily decisions over hundreds of days. Over time, my husband could easily feel that his home was as impersonal to him as hotel room.

Recognizing how powerful my role as a full time “home-maker” had become made it easier to cheerfully acquiesce to my husband few stated preferences.

Then came the kid rules. In the past, my husband has made bold pronouncements such as “no toys in Mom and Dad’s room.” I’ve usually argued against such sweeping changes with the rationalization that these rules will be impossible to enforce with a 4 & 3 year old. Since the burden of “enforcement” falls upon me, I should get to set the rules. This time, I let the “no toys in the parent’s bedroom” stand unchallenged.

The next morning, Alex and Hannah both tugged armfuls of toys into our room while I nursed the baby. “Remember Dad’s rule, no toys in here,” I said reluctantly. “But I want to,” went the familiar refrain. I sighed. This was going result in tears and multiple trips to the time out chair. “Remember what Dad said?”

Suddenly, I experienced the power that usually resides with used car salesmen who refer to fictitious managers. “Oh, okay.” The kids left the room trailing their toys wordlessly behind them. What happened? Because I wasn’t the one setting the rules, they couldn’t argue with me. Everyone in the house knew that Dad was fanatic about kicking the toys out of his room. I wasn’t the one deciding what would be and wouldn’t be permissible. I was simply the cop enforcing the rulebook.

It’s only been two months, but I can’t tell you how many arguments this has saved me. I don’t have to decide what the rules should be on the spot and under fire. Once I’ve figured out that the no toy rule can be enforced and makes life so much better, I’m more willing to take my husband’s other parenting advice. Alex should learn how to cut his own food and not rely always on Mom to do it. My soft-heart, and even more honestly, inability to stand loud crying, has stopped by from pushing my middle-child into ever increasing levels of independence.

I don’t live under Jon’s dictatorship. If one of his proposed family rules don’t work out, I’ll bring it to my husband’s attention. My level of input hasn’t change in regard to my home or my kids. Instead, my attitude have changed. When Jon makes a suggestion that I disagree with, I don’t instantly say “that isn’t going to work” and launch into Smith Debate President mode. Instead, I take a “wait and see” approach. If problems arise after trying a new project Jon’s way for five days or more, I’ll tell Jon about them in private. Together we brainstorm solutions. So far, the Mom as ‘loyal first-mate approach” has worked well.

By mid-January, I thought that was “all she wrote” on the subject. I figured out an easier way to make joint-decisions about the household and the raising of our kids. Then my husband made a thrilling announcement last week. Jon is currently working his way to a 3rd Degree in the Knights of Columbus. My husband is traditionally “not a joiner”. The skill that he used to avoid even the basic, mandatory promotions during ten years of Army Reserve Duty is legendary among his unit. So it was with complete surprise that I heard my husband say “I’m want to take this thing seriously and move up high in the ranks. The Knights need a leader who will take seriously his Catholic faith and complete the rituals with honor and respect.”

“Where did this change come from?” I asked bewildered, but pleased. “It came from you, I guess. You made room for me at the top of our household. I’m not naturally a leader, but having you defer to my decisions and respect my opinion has made me more confident, more clear-headed.”

Wow! Where this obedience trail is going, gentle readers, I have no idea. I’m just reporting the facts at this point. (I just told my headstrong daughter this morning that if she wants to become a nun, she’ll have to practice obedience to her Mother Superior. What better way to master that tricky virtue than to start now by cheerfully putting on her knee socks when asked by her actual Mother rather than whine “But it’s not snowing today!” By Jolly, did she now put on her knee socks in a flash.)

Do you have any thoughts on the obedience issue? Do you see any connection between how children mind their parents and how a wife cheerfully, and respectfully obeys her husband’s requests?

Blogs & Lent

Last year a number of the hip Catholic girls took down their blogs for Lent, or at least closed their comments. I'm actually thinking about doing the opposite. I'm hoping to compose a "40 days of Art + Prayer" thing. Anyone have ideas on how to make internet time a more focused and meaningful time with our Lord? What are your blogging rules during Lent?

Candlemass

If you are a novice to Candlemass, this is a lovely Catholic feast day to add to your week. There is something about this celebration that helps mark the transition of the "little Jesus" of Christmas to the "grown up Jesus" on the cross for Lent.

Here is a fantastic Candlemass Tea idea from the accomplished Mrs. Alice Gunther. Tonight, I picked up prezels for Simon, Marlomars for Anna, and candy hearts with some toothpicks for "the sorrowful news that pieced our Blessed Mother's Heart."

Alice's blog at "Cottage Blessings" has been a source of inspiration over the past year. I can't recommend enough how "living the Liturgical year" has help my family grow in our Catholic faith. Here is a piece of fan mail that I sent to Alice this past Advent.

"I had never heard of Candlemass before your post. I was a little nervous asking our parish priest to bless our
candles, but he did it with such joy that I figured I must be on to something great. We had a sweet little
tea with the maramells for Anna and pierced candy hearts for the sorrow of Mary. My husband was so happy
to be a part of this scene after a hetic day of work. He really urged me to do more celebrations like this.

This year has been such a delight-learning how to live the liturgical year in our own domestic church. I've
been inspire to get over my natural shyness and the shyness that comes from being a convert, and so in
unfamilar territory, and made friendships with Catholic mothers in my area. This week I'm hosting my
first St. Nicholas craft party, also inspired by your blog!

The most exciting thing is that this is the first December (I'm 32) that I've felt completely ready for the Advent season. "What is so different this year?" I've asked my husband. I finally realized, we are already "living the church calendar".

After all the happy Sundays of ordinary time, I'm ready for a little change. The things we are doing for Advent aren't foriegn things added into my family life. Acts of charity, Adoration, frequent confession, family prayer, special feast days, these are things we are already doing. This year Advent is a mere rededication of my domestic church, not inventing things from whole-cloth or uncovering duties covered by neglect and dust.

I really have your simple Candlemass idea to thank for our "clean hearts." I'm so grateful that you take time out of your busy, busy days to blog."

Okay, now that I've shared Candlemass with you, it's your turn to share your comments below. What are you doing to prepare for Lent?

Home School Experiment- Day Three

Pretty good day. Figured out how to get my daughter to practice handwriting lessons- I'm having her write letters to send to her cousin in London. My social butterfly is pretty excited to know that soon she can send all the mail she wants all by herself.

For Stina- Book Meme

I'm in my dining room, this is the on the nearest bookshelf: DADA, National Gallery of Art, Washington D.C., page 123

"George Grosz & John Heartfield, Der wildgewordene Spiesseer Heartfield, (the Middle-Class Philistine Heartfield Gone Wild) {Electro-Mechanical Tatlin Scuplture]), 1968 (reconstructed of 1920 original), tailor's dummy, revolver, doorbell, knife, fork, letter "C" and number "27" signs, plaster dentures, embroidered insignia for teh Black Eagle Order on horse blanket. Osram light bulb, Iron Cross, stand and other objects, overall, including base: 220 x 45 x 45, Berlin 1968."

It's a little wierd, but this statue is making a statement about the terrible casualties of WWI which left many veterns with amputations.

On the Bookshelf-Jean De Brunhoff

If you haven't yet experienced De Brunhoff, "Babar and his Children" is a great place to start. I found this review to be on the money. "First published in 1938, this delightful tale chornicles the thrills and trials of new parenthood. from Babar's restlessness as he awaits the impending birth and the surprise of triplets to the shock of a runaway baby carriage and the treat of a hungry crocodile, parenting is an exhausting exercise-but well worth the effort."

My favorite quote comes at the end of a hard day. Queen Celeste is just "beginning to wonder where the children can be" when it turns out that son Alexander has stolen a boat and is currently being chased by a hungry crocodile. Babar, thinking quickly, grabs a boat anchor and "hurls it into the monster's jaws." After calming down from these exciting events, Babar muses:

"Truly it is not easy to bring up a family," signs Babar. "But how nice the babies are! I wouldn't know how to get along without them any more." (Well said!)

Home School Experiment- Day Two

Despite lesson prep, this morning was a bit of a fiasco. Turns out Alex is the troublesome one in homeschooling, not baby Maria. He wants to be included, but doesn't stay on task as long as Hannah. When I give him a more entertaining & age appropriate task (like cutting out Spiderman tattoos) that distracts Hannah from her work.

I took all three kids to the "big" library in the afternoon. Hannah got her first library card, what a treat!

Home School Experiment- Day One

Hannah is due to start Kindergarten this September. (My lovely state has lowered the compulsory school attendance act to age five.) Since I can’t find a kindergarten program that I like, I’ve decided to start my own. I’m pretty nervous about the whole managing the three kids ages 4, 3, and 7 months. Between the round the clock teething nursing sessions, the 2 AM nightmares, the wet sheets, and the ever present “MOM I NEED YOU NOW” moments, there have been plenty of mornings that Mia Bean & I don’t get out of our pajamas until lunch.

I’ve spent the last two weeks freaked out that kindergarten was a no-win situation. It was impossible to imagine sending my athletic eldest daughter to a full day kindergarten (either Catholic or public) where she would be forced to sit at a desk for seven hours a day filling out worksheets. Whatever happened to “playing in the water table”, “doing show-and-tell” or even “taking naps”? What happened to “kindergarten”? You know, kids in an imaginary garden messing around with seeds grown in eggshells and reading books on carpet squares? (At least in my D.C. suburbia, those activities have been swept away by hourly phonics drills required for high stakes testing.)

As for the “answer”- home-schooling seemed even more terrifying than parent-teacher conferences where my kid may well receive multiple demerits for tapping her toes too loudly during math drills. I’ve got a knack for teaching. Trying to keep the house from being over-run with laundry, maintaining consistent discipline without loosing my temper, surviving sleepless nights with baby number three- those mothering matters are another story all together. I worried that adding “primary school teacher” to the mix would topple over the fragile peace on the home-front that I’ve constructed over the past two years.

After lots of fruitless worry, my husband came out with the obvious answer. “If you are so worried about making it work in September, when everyone, including the state of Maryland is looking over your shoulder, why not start practicing now?”

This Monday was day one of the experiment. I started the school day at 10:00 AM. Hannah enjoyed working on her new Kumon tracing workbook. I realize that I need to create a seperate lesson plan for Alex (age 3). After just twenty minutes, we took a break. We had lunch with Daddy. My major failure of the day was completely losing my temper while attempting to get three little ones into appropriate snow gear “for recess.” At one point, after apologizing four times to everyone, promising that I wouldn’t raise my voice anymore, and then promptly screaming when yet another kid did the opposite of my instructions- I just knelt on the floor in my bedroom and cried for Jesus to help me.

Somehow we all got outside in one piece. The day got radically better when Hannah found a pine tree with miniature pinecones. I conducted an impromptu science lesson. We got enough samples to make an identification using the Audubon Society Tree Guide. That prompted a detailed conversation of “conifers” versus “deciduous” trees. I had special reading time with each child. Alex and I mastered a silly song about dreaming of eating a marshmallow and waking to find that you’ve eaten your pillow before he went down for a nap. Hannah and I had another private handwriting session. She’s a lefty. I was so inspired to learn more about her special writing challenges that I called my sister to get more handwriting advice for left-handed people. By three, Alex was up from his nap. I let them watch Spiderman while I got dinner on the table.

Summary: For the most part, teaching is the “fun” part of parenting. I really enjoy getting one-on-one time with each kid. At one point, Alex and Hannah were happily playing in their room. I just sat down and played a silly game with Maria. (Usually, I’m trying to get housework done.) I like tailoring our program so minutely. We’re extremely “slow” in phonics and handwriting; extremely advance in science and social studies. Bad parts: the recess meltdown was pretty ugly. It’s hard to be needed in three places at once. I have no idea how to eventually fold in some housework into our routine.

I did have one really cool event. At the end of reading “Henny Penny”, I had to explain that the meaning behind "no one ever say Henny Penny again" meant that the fox ate Henny. This understandably upset Hannah and Alex. “Why did the fox eat her?” they asked with trembling lips. I thought for a moment. I started talking about the food chain. Then I got inspired to teach “the truth.” I talked about how when Jesus comes back creation will be healed and “the lion will lay down with the lamb.” That answer was infinitely more satisfying to all of us. I think that I’ll have a few more of these moments over time where I can pull our Catholic faith into traditionally secular academic subjects. That’s something that still feels wonderful and exciting as a recent convert to the true faith.

Et Tu Jen? -How I Became Pro-Life

Et Tu Jen?- who is also a convert to Catholicism and the pro-life message- has an awesome post on this subject today. Here's a brief quote:

"The message I'd heard loud and clear was that the purpose of sex was for pleasure and bonding, that its potential for creating life was purely tangential, almost to the point of being forgotten about altogether. This mindset laid the foundation of my views on abortion. Because I saw sex as being closed to the possibility to life by default, I thought of pregnancies that weren't planned as akin to being struck by lightning while walking down the street -- something totally unpredictable, undeserved, that happened to people living normal lives.

Being pro-choice for me (and I'd imagine with many others) was actually motivated out of love and caring: I just didn't want women to have to suffer, to have to devalue themselves by dealing with unwanted pregnancies. Because it was an inherent part of my worldview that everyone except people with "hang-ups" eventually has sex and sex is, under normal circumstances, only about the relationship between the two people involved, I got lured into one of the oldest, biggest, most tempting lies in human history: to dehumanize the enemy. Babies had become the enemy because of their tendencies to pop up and ruin everything; and just as societies are tempted to dehumanize the fellow human beings who are on the other side of the lines in wartime, so had I, and we as a society, dehumanized the enemy of sex."

Go check it out the full text in person and leave her a "that a girl" comment. Even better, write your own essay on the subject. (I'd be really interested to read some cradle Catholics trace how their families raised them to "always be Pro-Life")

The MovieGoer- Nowhere in Africa

If you have any patience for subtitles whatsoever, please add “Nowhere in Africa” to your Netflick’s queue. Visually, this German film is stunning. The image a little girl dancing on a weathered front porch with her father to a beat up radio, while the camera slowly pulls back to reveal the extent of their isolation in an African desert is one of many haunting images. These special effects are nothing compared to the intensity of inter-family drama and reconciliation.

Within moments the film sets up the central tension between a Father, a Mother and a Daughter. As a German Jewish lawyer in 1938, the father has fled to the remote British Protectorate of Kenya. Once he finds work at a remote sheep-farm, he writes to his wife “follow immediately on the next ship available. Trust no one, not even our closest friends. I dread what this news will do to your mother.” The wife is reluctant to leave their close-knit family and all the familar comforts of a rich life. As she says her goodbyes, her loving father-in-law states, “This is all so unnecessary. Why did my son leave? This unpleasantness will all blow over in a year or two.”

The tension between obedience to her husband, whose flight to rural Kenya seems extreme in the eyes of their family and practically negligent in regards to the safety of their four year old daughter, and the longing for the comfort of home sets the tone for dramatic tension over the family’s nine year exile. The father & child quickly adapt to their new life. They learn Swahili and befriend many Kukuri tribe members. The mother constantly longs for home: for former comforts and familiar faces.

One of the most amazing scenes occurs when the little girl tries out her new grasp of Swahili to point out a brush fire. The mother (understandably) freaks out that a wildfire is suddenly burning a few yards from their farmhouse. She says “I’m going back to Germany, with or without you. We can never live here. Besides, how is our daughter going to learn how to read if she can’t go to school?”

At that point, the Father starts screaming that no one realizes danger they faced in Germany. The Father admits to hearing about Kristallnacht that morning from a Swiss radio station. “We were lucky to get out of their with our lives!” he screams. “Don’t you see that it doesn’t matter if or when our daughter learns to read? She’s alive!” In a stunning movement of camera work, the audience follows the two parents gaze at their daughter, happily skipping beside the brush fire, unaware that she maybe the only remaining descendant of a large Jewish family.”

I don’t want to ruin the rest of the surprising plot twists. I will say that this film, based on a true memoir, is a beautiful anatomy of marriage. Not surprising, the husband and wife deal with their loss of their homeland and family in radically different ways. The husband describes the distance he feels with his wife. "I feel like we are two packages next to each other on a train. We've come a long way together, but we are all wrapped up. In the end, we don't really know what lies inside the other." The interior movement that each character has mades by the end of nine years, makes their geographic journey seem tame by comparison. (I am excited to pick this film apart with someone, so please leave a comment after you check it out) Happy viewing!

(Rated R- there are two extensive nude scenes between the husband & wife).

March For Life, IV

While the kids and I were scouting for sights of Dad during EWTN's live coverage of the March, I heard a fascinating talk by Dr. Mary-Joan Marron-Corwin, Head of Neonatal Medicine at Manhattan's St. Vincent’s Hospital Manhattan. You can still catch her entire interview by checking out the "March of Life" reruns on EWTN (also available on their website). She was the second speaker interviewed by EWTN, about fifteen minutes into the start of their program. If you miss her speech, here are some brief highlights:

1) The pressure for pre-natal testing has had devastating result. As Dr. Corwin says, "look around at our parishes and at our malls. There are many less young people with Down Syndrome. Where did they go? They have been aborted."

2)"Miscarriage is a real risk in pregnancy." We need to treat the result as "sacred remains of conception."

3) Dr. Marron-Corwin describes her first-hand experiences with the pro-life issue. As an OB doctor, she contracted a devastating virus while recessitating a baby. She was seven weeks pregnant herself at the time. The virus (I think it was called CVR) had terrible risks for the developing fetus-blindness, brain damage, etc. All her medical co-workers urged her to consider an abortion.

Dr. Marron-Corwin states, “I wish I could sit her and say that I was completely pious and was appalled at their suggestions. At these times, you are pulled out of yourself. And so, I as a devoted Catholic was considering having an abortion myself.”

Dr. Marron-Crowin said she walked around in a fog for about two weeks. As she was pulling down some Christmas wrapping paper from a high closet shelf, a book by Mother Theresa fell out and hit her on the head. There was a quote inside that said “what a great poverty it is for a child to die in order that I might live the way I wish.” Well, that sealed her mind against an abortion.

She said she went on to cry every day for the next nine months. Even with a supportive husband and supportive friends, she said she found the unknown during her pregnancy extremely scary. The happy end is that her second son, Timothy, was born perfectly healthy. He is now a cross-country runner, a good Catholic middle school student and is considering a vocation to the priesthood.

I was so impressed by Marron-Corwin’s deep sympathy and her medical knowledge in this field. It’s rare to find a doctor who urges one to “go to the daily Eucharist” as a source for strength in dealing with the cross of an adverse pregnancy diagnosis.

Happy Birthday Baby Jane

Stop by Maria's blog, Ordinary Time to wish her new baby girl a very Happy Birthday!