Caring for Him

A funny thing happened when my oldest son asked me to buy him deodorant. I stood in the pharmacy aisles looking over my options and I knew I would pay the higher price for a natural product. After all, this was my baby and I have been careful over the years not to expose him to chemicals or artificial additives of any kind. I'm not sure if the aluminum in antiperspirants causes Alzheimer's disease or not, but I've been inclined to shy away from any suspect ingredient when purchasing products for my son these last eleven years. It seemed the safer bet and I felt like a better mother paying a bit more for natural baby products.

The funny thing is, I buy my husband's deodorant, too, and I have for years. For him, I look for the strongest product and the cheapest price. That's what I've always done. I never even thought about Alzheimer's. But that day, when the products I buy for my husband and those I buy for my former baby somehow and suddenly converged, I realized the difference in my approach.

To my credit, I've had the same approach for myself. I'm not overly picky about the products I buy for myself either. It's like I've seen our marriage as a team of grown ups, laying our lives down, taking the cheap price for ourselves and absorbing all the chemicals so that others might live. It's a funny way of looking at things because Alzheimer's in either of us would be a problem for our kids.

That aside, this experience made me reconsider my approach in other areas of life. For example, if I think my kids would benefit from any book or affordable resource, I buy it. Similarly with extracurricular activities. If I think my kids will really benefit, I don't dwell on costs. I can see that they know this as they come to me freely expressing their interests in classes or materials of all kinds and at all times. It makes me happy when they do this. It's like they're saying to me, "I know you want what's good for me and are always looking to give me good things." I consider it a compliment of the highest degree.

But do I have the same approach for my husband? I've seen books here and there that I knew he'd enjoy and I've passed them up. They cost money, after all, and we need that money to pay for lessons for the kids. I know I'm educating my children at home and not my husband. He's already received an education, but what about him? Shouldn't I take that extra care with him, too? Shouldn't he feel, like my boys obviously do, that I'm always looking to supply him with good things?

Well, I haven't changed deodorant brands for my husband or myself and I probably won't, but I did buy my husband a book this week for no special reason other than I thought it would be good for him and that he'd enjoy it, and I didn't consider the cost.

Alex Cooks

Alex has always been interested in cooking. He even had a play "chef name" for himself when he was smaller. He went by Chef Wallette whenever he was busy creating something in the kitchen. This is the first time, though, that Alex made dinner for all of us.

A program my husband is participating in at work encourages healthy families and when he signed up they sent us a healthy cook book for kids. Alex loved it and asked to me to pick up some ingredients for the recipes he wanted to make. We made our list and tonight was the big night.

He made lamb kabobs with tomato dipping sauce. He needed some assistance from me, but not too much. He did a fantastic job and his meal was so well received by the others, I think we'll try this again next week.

Funny Bones

Micah has exactly two sets of pajamas. While I am almost always on schedule with the laundry and don't feel the need for more, it does happen on occasion that neither set of pajamas can be found. Tonight was one such night. On these nights, my husband usually puts him to sleep in his Halloween costume. It may sound odd, but his skeleton outfit isn't anything more than a pair of very comfortable pajamas with a glow in the dark print on the front.

We all had a laugh tonight when my husband was making the rounds having everyone say goodnight to Micah. Simeon kissed him on the head and said, "Rest in peace."

Little Tough Boys

Nicholas: I don't cry. I never have.

Zachary: Yes, you did. When you were a baby you cried.

Nicholas: That was a fake cry.

Nautical Flags

Our nautical flags from The Land of Nod finally arrived. I didn't like paying so much for shipping, I didn't like how long it was before they shipped, but now that they're here we're very happy.

According to the Dangerous Book for Boys they read from left to right: GOLF: I require a pilot, CHARLIE: I am on fire and have dangerous cargo, OSCAR: man overboard, WHISKEY: I require medical assistance, YANKEE: I am dragging anchor, FOXTROT: I am disabled; communicate with me, NOVEMBER: Negative, KILO: I wish to communicate with you, VICTOR: I require assistance.

So, basically, we're disabled, dragging anchor, on fire, in need of a pilot, medical assistance, and somebody is overboard. It's like Valentine's conversation hearts for boys.

Christianity is Not for the Faint of Heart

In the readings these last few weeks, we've witnessed Saul stepping into a cave to "relieve" himself, David killing a giant Philistine, and today we got John the Baptist's head on a platter.

These things have a way of getting the boys' attention and they've asked a lot of questions--a lot of tough questions like, Why didn't Jesus raise his cousin from the dead? And if this is what the world dealt John and later, Jesus, what does this mean for us, his followers? And, how were the saints happy if they suffered so much in this life?

I've had some really interesting conversations with my kids lately. This is relatively new for us, they are getting older and suddenly this new phase of life with older children that I thought might never come is on our horizon. So, while I still found it hard to put the pale blue outfit Micah is wearing in our header photo in storage today, I just want to go on record saying: I like having really interesting conversations with my kids. I like that they're growing up.

Hhhhot

Baby Micah learned the word "hot" early on. He loves food and would eat it right out of the cooking pot on the stove, but we hold him off, "Hhhot....hhhot." He likes the fire in the fireplace, too, but we caution, "Hhhot...hot."

When he started using the word himself, however, we discovered that it had a larger meaning for him than just, "This thing has a quality such that were you to touch it, you would be burned."

"Hhhhot...hhhot," he whispers in reverence before a computer screen he'd like to touch. "Hhhot, hhhot," he says touching a statue of Mary and the infant Jesus.

For Micah, "hot" means something more like, "This thing has a quality such that it makes me very excited and I really really want it, but I have to wait or stay back or be careful around it and I can't just take it, though I want to."

Prognosticating Punxsutawney

Snow days here in the south aren't anything like snow days up north. We got four, maybe five inches throughout Friday and Saturday. Up north, the plows would have come through and that would have been that.

Do you know what they use for snow plows down here? The sun. If the sun doesn't melt the snow away in short order, they have a back up plan--your car. If you're brave enough to go out on the roads, you're leaving tracks and if enough people do this, eventually, the roads will be clear(ish). Not many people do this though, and so four days after the storm school is still out and all extra curricular activities are canceled. Crazy.

I guess this gives us time to get some schoolwork done so we can take a break when the weather is nice again. I was hoping that would be sooner rather than later, but Furry Phil says we can expect more of the same for while yet.

Snow Day!

This snow actually showed up on Friday night and it's still here! Micah really didn't like the cold white stuff at first, but he warmed up to it in the end.

Facts and Figures

In the last week...

Simeon: Sixty percent of people mispronounce my name.

Alex: It is a little over two weeks until Ash Wednesday. Then, after that, it is forty days until Easter. So, it is forty days, two weeks, and a few more days until Easter, right?

Jacob: I'm turning eight in exactly sixty two days!

Zachary: Mom, why am I still in this car seat? I've had this car seat for like four years and two and a half months and three days.

Broken

I first posted this in March of 2007, before Micah was born. It appeared at Catholic Exchange the following September. I repost it here today in response to several Moms with little ones who have emailed me asking how I manage to keep things orderly.

Short answer: I don't.

Slightly longer answer: Well, it's a constant struggle, but not without its benefits, both material and spiritual. I must say, too, we've come long way since I posted this almost three years ago. The dynamics really do change in family life as children grow older and what seemed all consuming then is more of a side note now...


For me, one of the greatest challenges of having small children has been the sheer amount of damage they have done to our property and possessions. Based on experience and conversations I've had with other mothers, I think I've had to contend with this hardship more than most. Perhaps more than most too, however, these are sweet, loving, happy, and good natured boys. It hasn't been malicious behavior that caused the destruction, but simple carelessness and curiosity (think Curious George... suds, warped bike, loose swine and all. OK, now multiply by five). Five times the innocent cuteness--five times the destruction. Aye...aye...aye.

We have various motivational systems and teaching methods to help the boys develop better habits and the older they get the less of a problem this becomes, but we can't reasonably expect it all to change over night. This is a process, a long process, toward responsible and careful behavior.

In the meantime, I've had to learn to cope with the constant and repeated casualties. Just how many times will we repair the banister at the top of the stairs only to see it broken again? The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind.

And just how should I feel when my things are broken, fixed, then broken again? Desperate, angry, apathetic? None of these seem right. I have a tendency toward the desperate, and so at first I taught myself to look the other way...

From ashes were ye made and to ashes ye shall return.

You can't take it with you.

Build up your treasure in heaven.

I learned a certain detachment from material goods that I'd have never thought possible. It really pulled me away from seeing my worth in what I had to display. It was humbling and good, very good...to a certain point.

Soon, however, I began to suspect that my "detachment" from material goods had degenerated into a kind of stoic hardness that refused to acknowledge their true value. I would not invest myself in them, even in a healthy manner, for fear of the heartbreak at the inevitable loss.

I realized my hardness one day when I found an earring behind the couch. It was an earring that I had treasured because I had worn it on the day that I was betrothed long, long ago in a Spanish-style chapel far, far away. It was a worthless earring from a monetary perspective. It wasn't real gold and the diamonds weren't real, either. Still, I had treasured it, keeping the pair in a special box with a copy of the betrothal invitation and the music program, because they had hung from my ears when I had first heard the binding promise of a life-long love. Then there it was, this earring, suddenly behind the couch, warped and missing some of its fake diamonds... and I vacuumed it up... SSsccchlllurrrp.

So what? It wasn't worth anything, at all, at all.

Then, I sat on the couch remembering the dress I had worn that day and the shorter style of my hair as I had it then. I remembered the soloist chanting, Uxor tua sicut vitis fructifera... (Thy wife as a fruitful vine...) and the way his voice filled the tiny chapel. I remembered the cool stone floor, the stucco walls and sweet musty smell that hung in the air. It was to this same chapel that my betrothed and I had come many evenings and prayed a rosary together and walked the grounds around the hacienda, with its ponds and patios and citrus trees. It was on the way to this chapel one evening, when the air was thick with the sweet perfume of orange blossoms and the sky was bright with stars, that he first told me he wanted me to be his wife. I remembered his earnest face, his square jaw, his gentle way, "Come with me...Come..."

"Hu?" I replied, becoming aware again of the vacuum hose in my hand.

How could I be so cruel to memory just because it hurt too much to care? I needed to care, I realized, and to grieve in measure.

And as the boys get older and some of our motivational work starts to pay off, I can step back a little and see benefit to having learned to deal with the constantly broken things around our house. It has helped me to know how to approach a similar problem in my soul. You see, much is broken in there as well and breaks again every day, often the same things in the very same way...again and again and again.

How should I feel about this? Desperate, angry, apathetic? None of these seem right. It seems I need not be surprised when I fail, despite my best intentions, and a certain collected response to the smaller failings common to my state of life is required if I am to keep fighting the good fight, but I should also guard against apathy and hardness of heart.

I need to grieve and take my broken self to the confessional often because there, unlike material goods, my sorrow and the sacrament really do heal and restore to me what had been lost.

Two More

The opposite wall...

...and a close up of their lobster sheets.

I've Been Painting Again

This time it's been in the little boys' room. I'd need a wide angle lens to capture just how blessedly cheerful and inviting this room has become. The sun pours into this room every morning and this soft yellow compliments the blues of our nautical theme.

Then there's Nicholas' Mama cat nursing her little ones on the stuffed animal hamper all day. Now all that's left to do, is to hang some nautical flags.

Update on Zachary's Blanket: We've put it in storage for now and he is allowed to visit it whenever he likes. This seems to be working.

Did I Just Say That?

Sometimes the words I hear myself say to the children can frustrate me or make me angry. But it's nice to stop and realize, too, that at other times the words I hear myself say show just how lucky we are to live this family centered life of learning. Today, for example, when my oldest son should have been more focused on his math,

Me: Simeon, stop taking care of your little brother and focus on yourself for once.

Or later in the day, when I had enough of the random sounds coming from the living room and I thought white noise would be preferable.

Me: Boys, will you stop composing music on the piano and just watch something on the television, please?

Failed Negotiations

Me: Zachary, I know you're really attached to your white knit blanket, but now that you are getting a new bed, I thought maybe it would be time to put it away. Since...you know...it's all torn up and worn out, it really won't fit in with your nice new bedroom and nautical theme.

Zachary: Actually, I was thinking it DOES fit because it's all broken and junky like things you find in the sea.

Common Usage

Today, we were learning about Clara Barton, founder of the American Red Cross. When I explained how Clara nursed the wounded soldiers of the Civil War on the battlefields, my younger boys stared at me in disbelief.

"What is it?" I had time to ask before I understood the confusion.

There's only one way we've used the word "nurse" around here and they were right, that is NOT what Clara Barton was doing.

Raising Boys

Sally Thomas, whose writing I enjoy enormously, has written a wonderful article at First Things concerning raising boys, The Killer Instinct. Thomas' conclusion that the natural desire in boys to commit acts of violence is not the same as a desire to commit evil acts is something that we here at Temple Academy have come to learn, too.

The realization that boys are drawn by their very nature to violent or destructive play, to take risks and test their mettle against anything that offers resistance, and to act with less regard for social consequences than their female peers is at once relieving and daunting.

On the one hand, it is a relief to be done with the expectation that boys should change themselves fundamentally in these areas (even if we are never done with the necessary cautions). The acknowledgment that a desire for adventure and battle is a healthy aspect of a boy's nature, despite the forgetfulness of social and safety concerns that often accompany them is the first step.

The next, and somewhat daunting task is finding ways to direct masculine energy into healthy channels, allowing it expression while minimizing harm.

Joseph Susanka at Inside Catholic asks for practical advice in this regard. More on that tomorrow...

Alrighty Then

Zachary: I practiced extra on the piano today because I had a hard time learning that new thing in math this morning.

Me: ?

Zachary: Well, it says on the back of my piano book, " Kids who succeed in music also succeed in math."

New Light

Last week, when I read that this abortion mill is closing its doors and that this Gianna Center in NY opened, I felt as though a cloud had lifted and sunlight was pouring through the windows. There is much to hope for in a society that demands something more than what has passed for "women's rights" in the past. And women are demanding more as this article clearly demonstrates. However practical their concerns, a push against the prevailing tide of chemically and surgically induced "reproductive freedom" can only improve the landscape.

Openness to life is at the center of true development. When a society moves towards the denial or suppression of life, it ends up no longer finding the necessary motivation and energy to strive for the human good. The acceptance of life strengthens the moral fiber and makes people capable of mutual help. By cultivating openness to life, wealthy peoples can better understand the needs of the poor, they can avoid employing huge economic and intellectual resources to satisfy the selfish desires of their own citizens, and instead, they can promote virtuous action within the perspective of production that is morally sound and marked by solidarity, respecting the fundamental right to life of every people and individual.

--Pope Benedict XVI

For My Brother

The atmosphere is nice, modern and classy. It reminded us of an upscale microbrewery.

Here's Zachary enjoying the best peach Ice-cream ever (and a ginger bacon snap on the side). Amazing stuff.

Everything was delicious. We started out right with cheddar Jalapeno corn bread and fried Vidalia rings with mustard dipping sauce. Yum.

This kid LOVED everything. We knew he liked chilli and country music, but we now know he also likes collard greens, black eyed peas, hush puppies and authentic, whole hog BBQ.

And that BBQ? It's really good.

Thanks, brother, for this very yummy southern experience.
We give "The Pit" eight thumbs up.