Wordless Wednesday-We had SO much fun this summer!

7 Links because Dweej says I *have* to...

No, seriously, Dweej, I love you to bits! And, I love your blog, "HouseUnseen. Life Unscripted" almost as much! So, that's why I'm doing this MEME (which seriously needs a better acronym, or whatevs) wherein I have to link back to 7 posts from my own blog, THEN (here comes the revenge part! moooo-haaa-haaa!) tag 7 other bloggers to do the same.


Most Beautiful Post
Honestly? This is like asking me to decide which outfit makes me look the hottest (um, none), but I'll try. I choose this one because it was nice to remember my 4 year old son when he was the baby.

Most popular post
For the life of my I cannot figure out why this post about my mother's journal (not my mother, rather my journal about being a mother) is the most popular. Must be in the tags....

Most Controversial Post
Me? Controversy? Whachoo talkin' 'bout, Willis? Probably due to the fact that I don't have a very popular blog, enough people haven't had the chance to be offended by yours truly, but if I had to choose I'd pick this one.

Most Helpful Post
Assuming that people find anything I say helpful, I would have to choose my post about chores as being the most helpful post. Actually, it was probably only helpful to me as it keeps me somewhat honest.

Post whose success surprised you
This one, definitely this one surprised me. Which made me feel less upset and more "normal". Thanks, everybody!

A post you feel didn’t get the attention it deserved
Because none of my posts are worthy of attention, I will do a shameless plug for my husband's awesome Vlog! He makes me laugh so hard, and he is my biggest supporter. Go check him out!!!

The Post You are the Most Proud of
It's not the post of which I most proud. It is the saint in Heaven who belongs to me, as well as all of us that makes me proud.



OK, now instead of choosing 7 of you, I would rather you just pick up on this MEME and let me know what you said, OK? ALL of you, GO POST NOW!!!

Growing Pains

As I sat in Mass on Sunday, it occurred to me that the younger version of myself would probably marvel at my calm demeanor. The younger version who had "only" 3 or 4 kids and would sweat bullets as soon as one of her kids spoke above a whisper during Mass, or dropped a cracker under the pew in front of us, or yelled out "I DON'T WANT TO BE AT JESUS' HOUSE!" during the homily. *oh, it happened. More than once.


My kids still do all of these things (OK, maybe not the older kids... Maybe), but my feelings -- therefore, my reactions -- are very different. But, how did I get here? And, is it a good thing?

Once upon a time, I had one, perfectly-behaved child. During Sunday Mass he would sit quietly on the pew, eating his snack and looking at picture books with titles such as, "Mary, Our Mother" or "Let's Pray the Rosary!". If he needed to get my attention, he would place his chubby hand on my back and wait for me to bend down to listen to his lisping whispers. He was mortified if he accidentally tripped on the kneeler when he entered/exited the pew. I don't really know if he looked forward to going to Mass, but I can't recall a time when he gave us any trouble about it. Do you know what I thought? I thought it was due to my husband's and my superior parenting skills. Yes, we were such calm and genteel people, who understood the psyches of small children and knew that if you just remained calm and expected model behavior that you would receive it. I would demurely smile and thank the senior citizens who would compliment me on his behavior after Mass. Gosh, I don't know whether to hug or slap the younger version of ourselves.

Enter children #2 and #3, or as I lovingly refer to them: The Too-Touchy-Titus Twins (no, they're not actually twins). These two gave us a run for our money, folks. They loved to touch everything, test things out, see how far they could throw objects, see how loudly they could make their voices echo. The fed off of one another. I used to tell people that #2 was digging my grave and #3 was pushing me into it. Even with these two, I could still use the fear of embarrassment and The Stink-Eye to keep them in check. "Hey, buddy, if you keep banging the hymnal on the pew, the usher is going to escort you to the back of church and keep you there until the end of Mass. Do you want to sit quietly with us, or do you want to sit in the back with the usher?". That ALWAYS worked with 2 and 3. And, so I would sit back in the pew with a smug look on my face and still accept the compliments on my parenting skills after Mass. After all, I deserved them, didn't I?

With the advent of #4's toddlerhood, I began to see that God maybe thought I needed a HUGE smackdown. This was the child who would call all of my bluffs (heck, he walked himself back to the usher one day. Poor, confused usher.), demand "MORE SNACKS! NO! NOT CHEERIOS!" at ear-piercing decibel levels, and generally make his parents' lives a living Hell for 1 hour every week. All before the age of 4. At one point, I asked one of our priests if Baptism "took" every time, and maybe this one need to be re-christened.


With #5 and #6, we've seemed to hit our stride. Yes, we know you little guys are going to be absolute stinkers in Mass for a few years. Yes, we know you are going to test all the limits and make us crazy. But, we also know that we've done this before and we will survive (cue Gloria Gaynor music!). So, I sit with a smile that is not-so-smug these days.

"BUT, WHY?" you moms with 2 and 3 little ones ask, "WHY? HOW?".

No, not this kind of growing pains!

Growing pains.

Lois, how I adore your mad parenting skillz!

Every time one of our kids went through his/her particular growing pains. We grew right alongside with him/her. We learned to come up with new ways to cope and deal with each phase for each child. We adapted our schedules and our lives to help that child. We didn't always like it, but we grew from it.

But, here's the real shocker: we went through our own growing pains as parents and as people, INDEPENDENT of our kids' phases.

Yeah. I KNOW! It took me by surprise, too!

There are certain seasons of our lives when we (as parents, spouses, and adult humans!) need to flex our developmental muscles in order to grow and change. Hopefully, we are able to discern things like mid-life crises from the true yearning to become better people * here's a clue: becoming a better person rarely involves sports-cars and a change in spouse!


And, much like our kids' growing pains, the process of going through our "adult-onset" growing pains is often, well... painful.

So, at the very least, I can offer this to all you mothers of 2, 3, and 4 kids: Wipe the sweat from your brows, take a deep breath, and smile a tiny smile. Enjoy all the crazy behavior during Mass, or whenever, and know that you AND your kids are experiencing some growing pains and it will bring all of you to a better place. And that grumpy old biddy who is glowering at you from the next pew? Smile at her, too. She should thank her lucky stars that she's still here and able to experience some growing pains of her own!

Thank your Mama!

More than two years ago, I wrote a post about how my son communicated his love to me through the few words in his baby vocabulary. It took a while before I caught on, but eventually I began to understand and my heart melted. Isn't that always the way with little ones and their mamas?

Lately, I've been faced with a new language barrier. This one comes in the form of my oldest child who will be sixteen next week. Right now, he's a man of little words and even less visible emotion. Although he doesn't believe me or his father when we tell him that we can easily remember being his age, it's the gosh-honest truth; I really can.

I can remember coming home from school and speeding as quickly as I could to my bedroom to do two things:

1. check that none of my stuff had been destroyed by a younger sibling, and
2. avoid getting entrenched in a conversation with my mother about my day.

It wasn't that my day had gone particularly badly, it was simply that for some hormone-y reason, I couldn't stand hearing those questions... AGAIN.

"How was your day? How did the math test go? Did you eat all of your lunch?"

You know, "MOM Questions". Ugh. Why did she care so much? Why does she have to know RIGHT NOW? How the heck do I know HOW I did on my math test when I haven't seen the grade yet? GAR!

At least, that's what my little self-absorbed, easily-annoyed, teenage brain thought. I couldn't (wouldn't is closer to the truth) see that my interactions with my parents were all one-sided. I couldn't see that they wanted to get to know who I was and who I was becoming. I couldn't see that they actually enjoyed my personality (well, not the snotty parts) and wanted to spend time with me. I couldn't see that they had loved me from the time before I was born and that they still loved me. When you love someone, you want to spend time with that person.

Let me say that again...

When you love someone, you want to spend time with that person.




Despite the fact that he/she is sharing little-to-no information about his/her life with you, you still feel the need to ask the questions. Despite the fact that he/she is behaving erratically in mood and behavior, you still feel the need to connect with him/her. Despite the fact that your repeated attempts to grow closer are rudely rebuffed, you still try to find common ground.

Because you love that person. Your child. The flesh of your flesh.

The baby you carried inside of you all of those months, who bruised your ribs with his almost 10-pound posterior. The baby who refused to turn from a transverse position, causing you a 57 hour labor, with the last 7 hours were spent trying to push him into this world. The baby who had to be surgically removed from your body because he didn't want to leave his Mama. The baby who made direct, unblinking eye contact with you the first time you nursed him. The baby who cried minimally unless you put him down, so you held him all the time. The toddler who wouldn't leave your side in public because he was so shy. The toddler who cried for you every morning for the first year of school. The little boy who told you that you were a "good makery, Mom", when you cooked his favorite meals. The sturdy 1st-grader who jumped into your arms from the mini-van EVERY afternoon after school in the driveway. The anxious and happy 7 year old who received the Body of Jesus for the first time.The brave 11 year old who, with tear-stained face, held the lifeless body of his baby sister and said goodbye so sweetly. The impish 13 year old who made his Confirmation and wrote his parents a beautiful letter about why he was blessed to be a Catholic.

This is what I see every time my taller-then-me son looks so annoyed when I ask to talk about any (even ONE?!) of his friends. These are the memories written on my heart, along with so many others, that play out like a movie in my head every time he says hurtful things to my, or his dad, or one of his siblings.

It's not because I see him as a baby or young child, although this is what he accuses me of doing, It's not because I don't want him to grow up. In actuality, nothing could be further from the truth.

I see the strong, tall, muscular, and very handsome MAN he is becoming.
I see the bright future in front of him, and I am so excited for him.

*not us. I wish I were that "sporty"!

No, it's that I can see the entirety, the whole process that is him from before he was to right now and I know most of the things that are possible for his future. A future that his father and I worked and prayed for unceasingly.

It is for all of these reasons that I bother him so much. Because I have my love and my eternity invested in him. He won't understand this for a long time. I don't expect him to understand. I know that it's only finally and completely dawning on me. So, until then...

To my own parents, especially to my Mom (because I am a mom, and I "get" it): I am sorry. Please forgive my teenage self. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

Thank you for not giving up on me. For always asking questions. For trying to see the goodness and sweetness in me, even when there really was none. Thank you for trusting me and believing in me. Thank you for being my mom.

What Makes You So Sure?

*I have 6 children, so I must be a fertility goddess. What makes you so sure?

*Having 6 kids means that I have easy pregnancies and uncomplicated births. What makes you so sure?

*My 6 kids are all healthy, so I must have never experienced loss. What makes you so sure?

*Being able to raise 6 kids means that we are wealthy. What makes you so sure?

*Having 6 kids means that your house is a mess all the time. What makes you so sure?

*My kids attend a Montessori grade school, so we must be new-age weirdos who aren't that interested in education. What makes you so sure?

*My mother is the administrator of my kids' grade school, so that must mean I know everything that goes on there and my kids get a "free ride". What makes you so sure?

*I'm overweight, so I don't eat healthy foods or exercise. What makes you so sure?

*Being a Catholic only means you have to be good person; the "rules" are optional. What makes you so sure?

*I will tell you the truth even if it means I disagree with you or it makes you "feel bad", so I must be an insensitive and intolerant jerk. What makes you so sure?

I smile a lot and always make jokes, so it's OK if you dismiss me or take me lightly. What makes you so sure?

*I am a stay-at-home mom, so I am available to do all of the volunteer jobs at school/church because I have so much more free time than working moms. What makes you so sure?

*I have a passel of children, I don't work, I practice my faith, and I like to make my own decisions regarding my health and the health of my kids, so I must be an ignorant Bible-thumper who bases all her decisions on religion and emotion. What makes you so sure?

I fit the particular mold of who you think I am, so you can assume a lot facts about me and treat me accordingly. WHAT MAKES YOU SO SURE?

*The above statements are ALL actual statements/questions that have been spoken to me by other people and, usually, on more than one occasion.