Sharon Steele As it seems that this discussion is coming to a close, I will thank you all for a thoughtful discourse. For us, parenthood has been a constant evaluation and reevaluation of what is working and what is broken. This article reinforced my firm resolve that corporal punishment is an outdated form of discipline. Would we spank an Altzheimer's patient for wandering? Never. Why? Because our elderly have an intrinsic right to feel safe. Our children are entitled to the same respect. It seems to me that in an effort to go back to a simpler time (larger families, backyard gardens, bike riding, drinking from the hose, etc. ) we have thrown the baby out with the bathwater, so to speak. We know so much more about the psyche and the dignity of the human person now. Is the objective in parenting solely "obedience?" If so, spank on. I am quite sure that spanking will produce obedient children. If the objective is a deference out of respect and love? There are other ways to achieve that end.
Showing posts with label Choose Life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Choose Life. Show all posts
Monday, June 9, 2014
Mah Blog
If I were posting on here, I would have made a few more vitriolic statements about my vile disgust for spanking. But I wasn't. I think I did a fairly decent job of gilding my disdain.
Friday, May 2, 2014
What it is to be Ben...
Today my eldest son is 13. Let me profile the things I know about him.
Ben is sophisticated
Ben is mature
Ben is serious
and he makes me a better person every day. My boy. He stole my heart, this one. And he's never given it back.
(Secret: I don't want it anyway.)
Linkaroo:
Ben's Defunct Blog
http://bensmag.blogspot.com
Ben's 7 Year-old Birthday Pictures
http://sharonksteele.blogspot.com/2008/05/happy-birthday-darlin.html
Ben is sophisticated
Linkaroo:
Ben's Defunct Blog
http://bensmag.blogspot.com
Ben's 7 Year-old Birthday Pictures
http://sharonksteele.blogspot.com/2008/05/happy-birthday-darlin.html
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
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.
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.
Monday, April 22, 2013
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.
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.
Epilogue: The kids went ahead and decided that I could name one of the chicks and I named her Dorothy Day.
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!) |
Friday, April 19, 2013
Observation
April 19, 2013
Dear Diary,
Today in Boston two suspects have been identified in the bombings that happened earlier this week at the Boston Marathon. The suspects, legally in the United States and Chechen citizens, happen to be brothers.
Never mind the commentary on where our world seems to be heading. Never mind the reality of terrorism seems to have crept into the American reality like Ireland and Israel, there is one aspect of this particular crime that seems to haunt me: Their family is in utter shock. They refuse to believe that two smart, accomplished, ambitious young men could possibly be involved with something so sinister and heinous.
The father was interviewed by a Boston radio station and stated that his children 'hated terrorism.' They hated guns and violence. He was so proud of them and believed so much in their capacity for good. They had aspirations to become physicians. He called to check on them in the wake of the bombings to make sure they were ok and they assured him and their sister that they were safe. Dear God! How? Why?
I grieve with America for the loss of innocent life. I think of Martin Richard and his family who will never have their little boy again. I pray for the wellness of the people who were privy to the carnage and their future emotional stability. I pray that they will be able to identify with Christ crucified and his capacity for understanding of the people who called for His brutal death. This is a fallen world. A fallen, desperate world.
While we grieve with the Americans, please friends, remember that father in Chechnya. Remember that man who held his sons as babies and encouraged them to pursue their dreams. He, too, was deceived. He believed so passionately in the capacity of his sons who disgraced him so completely. He is a victim, too. I pray, as well, for all victims of deceit. The emotional wounds run deep and leave scars that will never heal.
Live in the light, my friends. Let your yeas be yeas and let your neighs be neighs.
We will stand back up. We will rise again; but now? Now is the time for grief.
Yours truly, Sharon
PS. Tomorrow I will review the Mandarin Spinach Salad. I was too sad today.
Dear Diary,
 |
| Photo Credit |
Never mind the commentary on where our world seems to be heading. Never mind the reality of terrorism seems to have crept into the American reality like Ireland and Israel, there is one aspect of this particular crime that seems to haunt me: Their family is in utter shock. They refuse to believe that two smart, accomplished, ambitious young men could possibly be involved with something so sinister and heinous.
The father was interviewed by a Boston radio station and stated that his children 'hated terrorism.' They hated guns and violence. He was so proud of them and believed so much in their capacity for good. They had aspirations to become physicians. He called to check on them in the wake of the bombings to make sure they were ok and they assured him and their sister that they were safe. Dear God! How? Why?
I grieve with America for the loss of innocent life. I think of Martin Richard and his family who will never have their little boy again. I pray for the wellness of the people who were privy to the carnage and their future emotional stability. I pray that they will be able to identify with Christ crucified and his capacity for understanding of the people who called for His brutal death. This is a fallen world. A fallen, desperate world.
While we grieve with the Americans, please friends, remember that father in Chechnya. Remember that man who held his sons as babies and encouraged them to pursue their dreams. He, too, was deceived. He believed so passionately in the capacity of his sons who disgraced him so completely. He is a victim, too. I pray, as well, for all victims of deceit. The emotional wounds run deep and leave scars that will never heal.
Live in the light, my friends. Let your yeas be yeas and let your neighs be neighs.
We will stand back up. We will rise again; but now? Now is the time for grief.
Yours truly, Sharon
PS. Tomorrow I will review the Mandarin Spinach Salad. I was too sad today.
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
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