The (Bad) Language of Free Will

My 7-year-old daughter came into my bedroom the other night about an hour after I’d put her to bed.  I knew she was upset because she was sucking her fingers, a habit that she has mostly kicked but sometimes creeps up when she is worried or sad. I put my arm around her little nightgown clad body and asked her what was wrong. “Sometimes I say bad words in my head,” she said as tears rolled down her cheeks, “and I am afraid that God will be mad at me since he knows what I am thinking.” I hugged her close and dried her tears and asked her if she would ever say those bad words out loud. “No way,” she exclaimed, half-laughing/half-crying. I asked her why. She answered, “because I know they’re bad and I can’t choose what I think but I can choose what I do.”

These kids, right?  Sometimes they can take the most difficult topic, in this case free-will, and make us see it in an entirely new dimension. My daughter’s dilemma is all of ours. All day long we have thoughts that drift in and out of our consciousness, some good, some bad and we have to constantly make decisions about which ones to act upon. As a Christian family, I try to make sure we are rooting our decision making in the teachings of our religion. This does not make life easy.

I often consider myself fortunate that I don’t struggle with the concept of religion. If I believe that there really is a God (I do) who imbued humans with an immortal soul (I do) it only makes sense that God might give us a primer on how to protect that gift. But without our immortal soul  – what are we? We are animals with instincts and desires and an inclination to do whatever it is that we want. Our bodies and our minds are these amazingly complicated tools with great capacities for good and evil. God, with his ultimate understanding of the nature of humanity, gave us the owner’s manual for our bodies and for our soul. That means having to sometimes choose the way that is difficult, but as our parish priest once said, “We should not confuse what is easy with what is true.”

Back in my bedroom, I confessed to my daughter that sometimes I say bad words in my head too. She giggled and used her spitty fingers to wipe away her tears. “What?!” she asked, incredulous. “You think bad things too?” I said I did. “Well, I can imagine that you think bad thoughts, but does Daddy?” I told her that, yes, even her beloved Daddy says bad words in his head sometimes. It’s normal. She hugged me and thanked me for talking to her, but if I’m honest she taught me just as much as I have ever taught her.

Lorde - With Outtakes

we tried "Team" but we don't know it very well and the choreography was a fail. The result is a little funny - - if you're my mom. 

Pictures of Light

Dear Diary,

April 10, 2014

Dear Diary,

Deciding to put the kids in school has seemed to work out well. Everyone is thriving and I have a lot more time to focus on getting things put away in the new house. I know I may have said this before, but this may very well be the happiest time of our lives.

Yesterday started out very promising. I signed up to chaperone a field trip to the Smithsonian Natural History Museum with Michael's class. Lucy was able to come along and I was very much looking forward to seeing the caveman exhibit I heard about on NPR. An artist/anthropologist has rethought how to reconstruct early man beginning at the bones and sculpting from the inside out. I was also pretty excited at the thought that I could put Michael back on the bus and go to the Cherry Blossom Festival with Lucy. I've never been in 15 years of living in DC and with homeschooling in our rear view mirror, this was the perfect time.

We got up early, packed a yummy lunch, put on our best walking shoes and got set to hit the town. That is when our plan unravelled.

First of all, I got separated from the school bus I was following, which if you know DC traffic you will understand that this spells disaster. As the bus sailed through a yellow light at a main thoroughfare and into the city of gridlock and tunnels, I felt like I was waving to the launching space shuttle from terra firma. Farewell. Hope to see you again someday.

I then employed the help of my frenemy (mostly enemy) Siri. I think I said something like this, "Siri, I know we have had our differences in the past but I really need you to get me to the Natural History Museum. The Smithsonian. In Washington DC." Apparently Siri hasn't forgiven me for all the times I have cursed her and wished her dead over the years, because what I heard back was, "Starting route to … Hayden Planetarium" the one in New Flipping York. I then screamed some obscenities at Siri and told her I really did wish her dead. And I do.

I used my very own homing skills to get us to the Natural History Museum and as I turned the corner I saw Michael's bus. Victory. That is when I heard Lucy in the back say, "Mommy, my tummy hurts….. blaaahhhhhhhh!" She vomited all over herself and the seat of the car. Game over. I called one of the moms that I knew on the bus and got the message to Michael that we had to go home. He was fine. He enjoyed the trip but never did get to see the cavemen.

Lucy and I took the long way home. She used one of Grant's old shirts to mop up the vomit and sucked her fingers as we drove the route of the cherry blossoms.

Someday I will make it to that festival, and when I do, I am sure that I will find myself wistful for the days of vomit and field trips. All in, I count myself very fortunate. Very fortunate indeed.

Apples and Trees

Apparently the aforementioned don't fall far from one another because of this:

An Ode to Jackie Robinson

Football, baseball, cross-country too

Jackie Robinson, which will you choose?

The Brooklyn Dodgers called your name

And you went down in the Hall of  Fame

 By Michael K. Steele

Fanciful wordplay must run in the family because I think Michael "hit a home run" with this little bit of poetic brilliance.

My girls

We're a long way from this,

aren't we?

Matrimony in Our Front Room

Im a sucker for a wedding and this one is no exception.  Please don't anyone tell her that she can't really marry Josh. I think she'll die.

A Stream of Consciousness

Today, I heard an advertisement on the radio for a casting call catering to young girls.  They asked if your daughter likes to "sing and dance," and has ever "dreamed of being on their favorite shows such as Wizards of Waverly Place or The Suite Life."  I wondered who falls for this load of bull anymore. Don't we have a collective awareness that turning our kids into commodities is dangerous - if not fatal?

A friend (who I've actually never met, in real life) posted the following video on Facebook.  I have to confess that I loved it.  Miley Cyrus strips down We Can’t Stop! And while I am a huge lover of the party anthem and dance music, if you look at the poor child who is at the literal center of the music, you will see an addicted, broken shell who needed protection about ten years ago.

I've had an uncharacteristically difficult time transitioning from Homeschooling-Mother-of-5-Kids to Public-Schooling-Mother-With-Only-One-At-Home.  You can hate me or think I am a baby when I confess to you in all humility that I don't know what to do with myself. This is not something that I think is cute or humblebragging.  I am wont for a purpose and those are difficult waters to navigate. So, in an effort to get out of the house, Lucy and I went to H&M where I purchased a pair of MC Hammer pants, or what the upstarts like to call harem pants. Here's the thing friends: they are hella fresh.  I am fairly certain that they will be my new uniform until such time that Doc Martins and prairie skirts come back "in" and then I WILL BE ALL OVER IT.

I am contemplating using natural deodorant.

This week, I joined Twitter because, I don't know.  My foray into the Twitter-verse has forced my sweet husband to shut his own account down.  Sometimes I feel like Pepe LePew and the Cat with him on the internet.  Good thing he loves the daylights out of me, IRL.

Sometimes I feel guilty if I don't blog for a long time.  Like, someday when my kids are poring over my writings after I have gone to Jesus, they will wish that I had continued my tribute-journal to our life together.  So, if that is indeed the case, dear children this is my contribution to our posterity.

On Paintbrushes and Coffee Cups

This morning as I was touching up paint in our house in preparation for it to go on the market, I got a little sentimental.  The brush glided a silky trail of ivory over the sill where Michael used to race his Matchbox cars. A sweet childhood memory is now forever hidden under a gilt of semi-gloss.  I thought about the next mother who will occupy this starter-family home.  It has been a perfect shelter to rock my babies to sleep and prepare nutritious meals for their growing bodies - and it will provide those same comforts to the next family.  I will paint my sills so she doesn't have to do it.

As one thought often gifts another, I then thought about the older mom who might be preparing her house for me. Perhaps her children are grown and out of the house.  Perhaps she and her husband are moving to Florida, or Alexandria, or a houseboat in St. Michaels. Is she painting her sills, too? 

My thoughts drifted to prayers for these imagined, romanticized women, their children, and their new adventures - and then back to thoughts -  and then back to chores.  It was then that I promptly dipped my paintbrush into my coffee cup instead of the paint bucket.

Back to work.

My Volunteer Career

That little cartoon up there would be funny - if only it weren't so true.  And while I relish being a trophy wife and all, sometimes I wish there was a little incentive/compensation for my efforts.

While writing this blog is my most favorite unpaid job of all, I have had my attentions diverted to my third favorite unpaid job of all - Costume Designer.  I am the designer for the Fiddler on the Roof this year and I have the most excellent responsibility for creating Fruma Sarah's head piece.

And at first I was going to go all traditional "Bride of Frankenstein" on her head, I saw this picture:

And I thought, that is kinda gorgeous. Which got me thinking, Why can't our Fruma Sarah be kinda gorgeous?

And then I thought, Who are the brides that are so decadent that they are almost hideous?
I present you my list:

#1 - Laura Spencer
Sooooo bad it's delicious.

#2 - Melania Knauss Trump
I love every ounce of this confection. That crap on her head? Genius.

#3 - Lady Diana

The dress was a wrinkled mess.  There.  I said it.

#4 - Lana Del Rey

Do you know how bad I want to hate Lana Del Rey? So bad. She bugs me with her weird, nightmarish face. But, damn it, she's pretty. And her flower crowns? They make me want to weep, I love them so much. So while technically not a bride, Lana Del Rey makes #4 with her hideous beauty.

So I got to cracking on my Sara/Spencer/Trump/Spencer/Del Rey creation.  I tried on the framework just to see what you think.  It needs some Spencerfying (of the Laura-type):

The Beauty in the Others

Yesterday, one of my very closest friends gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. We waited and watched and crowded around my phone when the first texts came through that this long beloved, long prayed for child took his first breaths of this life. He is the fifth child in a sequence of nearly spaced children of a Catholic family. When many other families may have stopped, my sweet friends greeted this unexpected new life - no less glorious than their first.

I have observed in my own life that while "4 is the new 2," five is officially crazy. For some reason, five children makes a statement: We are trying to prove something. Because nobody, nobody in their right mind would have five children, unless they were under some kind of mandate.

Here is where I come clean: we are under a mandate. My husband and I, of our own free will, decided to join a Church where we cannot limit the size of our families by unnatural means.  What does that mean to us? That means that by living as a normal man and wife, we will welcome the children that come as the fruit of this union. As I have witnessed in my everyday life, this comes as an assault to the public at large.

I don't want to tell you about how I am questioned in the library or even in the parking lot of my own church. I want to tell you about the intimate moments that reinforce the relevance of God's almighty plan for our family. Allow me to tell you about the good.

My youngest daughter likes to sleep. This comes as quite a thrill to my system because she takes after me in this affection. If there is an addiction to sleep, I am a willing participant. This morning as the older children and I were finishing breakfast and snuggling in to read a chapter of Redwall, my three-year old daughter toddled down, heavy with sleep. Her hair was a jumble with the lateness of the hour. I greeted her with open arms, and she smiled at me through her heavily sucked fingers, and turned towards her beloved sister. Annie, my daughter, wise and kind beyond her mere 6 years of age, silently allowed her sister into her arms. They held eachother as I read.

I look at these two some times and marvel, if I would have had only the two children that I had allowed in my mind, this miracle would have never happened. 

God's infinite plan never ceases to amaze me.

We have five children - 3 older boys and 2 younger girls. That means that there is an inevitable "middle" child. My almost-nine-year-old son is a marvel of in-betweenness. He is not quite as mature as my older boys but not quite a baby like the girls. My mom said that when he was born, I made the declaration that he was, "mine." While I can't specifically remember this proclamation, his soul and mine are most certainly made of the same material. He has my heart.

Tonight as  my youngest daughter climbed the stairs for bedtime, I heard the most blood-curdling scream, Miiiiiiiii-Chaeeeeeeeeeel!!!!" The little one wanted her brother. I ran up the stairs to find the two, locked in embrace, staring at the first nasty Stink Bug of the year. Michael had a plan to scoop up the stink bug with a dust pan and escort it outside to safety. He's like that, Michael. He's both protective and gentle. He figured out a way to both protect his sister and harm not the stink bug.  

Lucky little stink bug.  That sucker would have been dead, had I been in charge.

Here's the thing: I am not in charge. Since we surrendered our lives to the will of God, we have had to choke back the images of how we'd seen our lives in our mind's eye. I would have never expected that I would have ended up with 5 children - one of whom has chronic health problems. I would never have expected to have  3 boys in a row - when I so desperately longed for daughters. I would never have expected that I would leave my heart so vulnerable to the triumphs and heartbreaks of parenthood - but I am a better person for it. I am a more sympathetic, empathetic, humble person than I was before. I like to think that God Almighty had this life in His mind's eye when he planned it for me.

Organic Science

We have been quietly incubating chicken eggs here at the Steele Family Farm for the past several weeks. I say "quietly" because last year we were showoffily incubating eggs and out of 36ish fertilized eggs we hatched N-O-N-E.

To make matters worse, when we finally gave up the ghost and decided to bury the barren eggs, one exploded with the force of a hand grenade sending foul smelling shelly-schrapnel for yards around.  Upon perceiving the explosion, I screamed and hit the dirt as if an actual bomb was going off.  I digress.

You can imagine, after that ordeal, the children have been squealing with delight for the past few days as one of our precious eggs has been bouncing around the incubator like a Mexican Jumping Bean.  This morning when we went to check on the egg, the bouncing was accompanied by the sweetest little high pitched chirp one could imagine. All of this merriment was coming from the inside of a completely intact egg.

She bounced and chirped and squealed and rolled until late this morning when we found our long hoped for pip.  It was then we decided to name our pet Pippin: a nod to both the process of hatching and our dearly beloved Hobbits. Even though we technically completed our prescribed curriculum for the day, nobody could take their minds or their eyes off the incubator where Pippi was slowly tap-tap-tapping away at her little safe haven.

First pips

At noontime, we left Ben at home to keep watch over the incubator and we set out to purchase some last minute items to make the brooder super comfy for Pippi.  About halfway through our outing, I received a call from an ecstatically nervous Ben. The chick was hatching! She had one foot out! " Oh Mommy! I can see her head and her eyes," he exclaimed half-breathless. "Her feathers are a ginger color! She's breathing so hard!" I listened quietly to a boy discover the miracles of new life. His voice cracked, "Oh! Mommy! She's out! She made it! She is looking all around, she just looked straight at me! Oh I will always love her."

Pippin

On the other end of the phone I listened to a boy on the cusp of adolescence as he embraced the rugged fragility of new life. We congratulated one another, I promised to drive fast-but not too fast-to get home, and we hung up the phone.

We then arrived at the Southern States farm supply store. The younger children and I made our way through the sliding doors determined to bring home the finest amenities for our sweet hatchling.  It was then that we stumbled upon a large aluminum brooder filled with day-old baby chicks cheeping with joy to the delight of the passers-by.  With some degree of unanimity we all decided that in addition to bedding and medicated feed - sweet Pippi at home would be getting some new sisters. We couldn't think of anything more lovely to give to our long awaited chick than a large family.

The Sisters

Epilogue: The kids went ahead and decided that I could name one of the chicks and I named her Dorothy Day.

Dorothy Day (she's the cutest!)

Dipping toe back in the water

Having dealt with a crippling bout of anxiety a few years ago, I have become quite adept at identifying the warning signs that my mood is going to plummet. Once I identify them, it is easy to ride out and not panic.  Because panic is my special gift to the world.

Boredom, small things irritate me, frustration, feeling like I am on a hamster wheel - right.

Turns out, I was getting sick. And while the viruses were replicating inside my throat - they were wreaking havoc on my peace.  By the time that the telltale aches started in my back, I was in full-on hibernation mode.

This morning, about a week later, I woke up... drank a cup of coffee, checked on the seedlings that will be my vegetable garden, and marvelled at the beauty of the late winter sunshine.

I am pretty sure I am going to start feeling better.

****

I cut my hair very, very short. It has the magical effect of making me look both older and younger at the same time. I am still trying to "make it mine," as they might say on some style tv show that I don't watch.

****

Lucy is having a period of regression. She is talking like a baby, throwing tantrums and using one-word exclamations even though she has a very expansive vocabulary that she is guarding.

Lucy (Pointing to something): Mama! Pwetty!
(She can say her "R's" just fine. It is this thing she's doing.)

Now she even has the other kids fooled. Annie runs in this morning and says, "Mommy! Lucy went peepee on the pot-pot!" Well, that would be interesting if 1) Lucy hadn't been potty trained for the past 6 months and 2) Annie wasn't 6 years old - too old to say things like "pot-pot."

Looks like my bout with melancholy set everyone back a few paces.
Here's to getting back up and doing it right.

I'm Pretty Sure I'm Going Through Something.

Yesterday I applied to beauty school. I filled out an online questionnaire (or so I thought) and submitted it by text. No big, I thought. I just want to know how to do a serious blowout and then maybe later get serious about my next phase as aesthetician.

Today I got a phone call telling me that I was "accepted." "What?" I asked. "I am just interested in what you have to offer." She said, (in the vocal fry - which automatically makes me discredit any amount of intellect one may possess) "well, you've been accepted. When do you want to come in and take a tour?"

"First I need to ask you about schedules. I would need to take about one class at a time. I am on a very tight schedule as it is."

"Well, our part-time program goes from 4-9 pm Monday through Friday."

"That's part time?"

"Yes."

"What if I wanted to take fewer courses than that?"

"You totally couldn't handle it. It's, like, an amazing amount of information and there is no way that someone could remember all of it."

"No way?"

"Totally."
#########
I received a package in the mail today with clothes I ordered from Forever 21.

Forever 21? Who in the hell wants to be 21 Forever anyway, with no money, unable to handle her liquor, wearing cheap, skanky looking clothes that will be out of style by a week from now? I digress.

I ordered a skirt that looked kind of conservative/funky online. When I received it today, I realized that it is more thinly-veiled-slutty than anything else. Peep:

Seriously? Who wears something like that? And that was the beginning and the end of my shopping at anywhere other than my good old standbys. (Read: Costco.)

###########

I went to the runners store today to find out why my knees hurt when I am running, when they never used to before. I told him all about my new shoes, where my knees hurt and where and when I run. Basically the only thing that has changed is my shoes - and my age.

"Sometimes people can't run forever," he said.

Right.

I get it.

Part 5 - You are my Fave

You guys? You've read this far? You are the best.

Tonight I have shipped my children off to their Aunt and Uncle's house for a spend the night.

I was debating whether or not I was going to have my glass of wine in a water bottle next to me so that the very instant that I pulled in the driveway I could sip away. (I didn't do that, just so you know.)

I am very sure that when I pick them up in the morning I will love them again - but as of right now? They are safely tucked about 60 miles away and I am here... alone... with a glass of wine and Winnie. Grant will be home shortly. What children?

I can't decide whether I want to take off my slippers and put on shoes or whether or not the slippers are here to stay.

We are thinking about going to Les Miserables. I have always wanted to read the book. Perhaps I will.

Tomorrow, Grant and I are getting up early and going running together. Alone. This is only the second time since I starting running that that will have happened. I am looking forward to it very much.

Thanks for reading about then and now. I only lend my voice to interpret the things I see and hear. These experiences are not mine alone. This blog is not about me - only the way that I see this life that has been given to me. I hope that you will come back and watch along with me.

Grant is walking through the door.  Goodnight.

Family Photo Gone O So Wrong

Tonight we went to get our
Christmas Tree.

It went just fine, thank you for asking.

But when we got home and I was looking at the picture that the kind lady took of our "family", I noticed 

2 huge problems.

First, where is Lucy? No really. Where is she? Because I swear to goodness she was standing right in front of Josh and Michael. I even smoothed her hair down for the picture.

Second, who is that guy photobombing our family picture? (The one in the red rectangle.) Somehow we traded an adorable blonde little gal for a smart A teenage boy. Not a fair trade, friends and family. Not fair at all.

Not to worry. We came home with the girl and not Mr. Smartypants. oh, yeah, and one boss of a Christmas tree. Photos I am sure will be forthcoming.

Nothin' Left to Do But Smile, Smile, Smile

I was in line today at the Starbucks kiosk at Target. I had to mighty fortune to be immediately behind a gent I will call "Conversation Boss." You will see why.

Bewildered Barista: (In the most totally amazing vocal fry) Welcome to Starbucks. May I take your order?
Conversation Boss: Is that a begonia in your hair?
Bewildered Barista: (Fingering said flower and looking embarrassed/confused, using vocal fry again) Umm, no. It's just a flower.
Conversation Boss: Because I saw your flower and it made me think about scarlet begonias which got me thinking about the Grateful Dead. Well, but then again, lots of things get me thinking about the Grateful Dead.
Bewildered Barista: Can I take your order?
Conversation Boss: Yeah. I'll have a medium coffee.
Bewildered Barista: Would you like the Christmas Blend?
Conversation Boss: Oh, I don't give a crap. The way I always see it is that this place...

wait for it...

is the Dairy Queen of coffee.

I give Conversation Boss the As I See It High 5 of the Week for not only ordering a medium in Starbucks (what, what!) but aptly recognizing the 'Bux as the DQ of coffee.

Keep Truckin', Conversation Boss.

It's ON!

Here is what I've done today:

Drank 2 cups of Pumpkin Spice Coffee

Made Pumpkin Bread

Eaten 2 spoonfuls of Marshmallow Fluff

Read It's a Hunt Life

Read Design Mom

Read Hairdresser on Fire

Motivated Josh to do his Book Report

Made smoothie with hidden Vitamins and Probiotics

Let the kids watch too much Noggin

And now we are going to CRUSH this day!! It is on!!

Ben....... I am your Mother!

Ben: Hey Mommy?
Me: Yes?
Ben: I heard they're making Star Wars 7.
Me: I heard that too. Except it's Disney not George Lucas.
Ben: Right! I just hope they don't mess it up.
Me: You and all the rest of the dorks out there.

BOOOOOM!

Happy Monday.

Funny Girl

My girl. Feisty as a grizzly bear.