ROCKport

Monday I'm off on a camping trip with my sisters. We're going up to Camden, ME with our tents, tarps and... laptops. Come on, it's the OTs! There's no need to camp like barbarians!
Anyway. So we're heading up to Maine for the week, and the weather forecast is looking good. I am really looking forward to book-reading time, to racking up a bit of a tan (finally- despite my best efforts this Summer I still look Norwegian) and eating great camp food (and some restaurant meals, yes...).
I haven't been to the Camden/Rockport area in years- we used to go up there for basketball games when I was a cheerleader for the Mt. Ararat Eagles basketball team. But my most significant visit to the area was when I was in 6th grade. My parents took my brother and me there on a day trip to see the foliage- it was Fall... did I mention that? No.
We visited the transportation museum at Owl's Head, then went to a rest area for lunch. I remember that I had theeeee most delicious tuna fish sandwich for lunch, then I zipped up my coat, grabbed my dessert (a twinkie) and went to jump on the big boulders that lined the walkway there.
After taking my last bite, I put my hands in the pockets of my jacket and went to take the next jump- but I tripped. Instead of a graceful leap, I fell face-first into the next boulder, and my hands were in my pockets, so I couldn't break my fall.
I broke my nose, bit through my tongue, fattened both lips and blackened both eyes. After calming me down and mopping up the blood we went to the emergency room (the very same one that the Chief Justice visited just this week after his seizure!) where they fixed me up. I ate ice cream (melted) for every meal for a couple of days, and wore a splint.
I'm expecting (hoping!) for a much less exciting trip to the area this time around. Hey, maybe there will be internet access at the campground, and I can blog about the whole-lotta-nothing I'm doing!

Did you know...

...that the Germans have a word for when songs get stuck in your head? It's ohrwurm... and it translates to "ear worm". Fascinating, huh? Find out more here.

It's what I've always suspected...

I always kind of thought of myself as an exotic chick, and now it's confirmed.

Volunteers of Faith

I spent most of the day volunteering at the (what's it called now? Something Garden) in Boston with my friend Noelle, for the Women of Faith Conference. We're both attending for free this weekend, because we volunteered. (Great seats! It pays to volunteer!)
I don't know much about this conference, except that people who know the people I know say it's Amaaaaaaazing. The other women who volunteered today said it would be Amaaaaaaaaaaaazing, too. On one hand I'm encouraged/intrigued, and on the other, I'm alllllll "go ahead, impress me." So we shall see what the (as my Uncle Bud used to call them) the PRODS have up their sleeves for me and the True Christians in attendance.
There were about 40-50 women there this morning to volunteer. The excitement started with a back-door entrance to the Garden (the employee entrance! I was so excited to be able to see the bowels of the stadium.) Then, after checking in, showing our ID, passing in our consent form, getting our official badges and wrist bands, we sat down in the arena seats to wait for the programs to be delivered. Our job, you see, was to put the program bags on all the reserved seats. Apparently the truck with the programs in it was lost in Boston somewhere, so we had about an hour to sit around.
When the program bags arrived, the young man who was coordinating the volunteers rallied us to action. Our job was hampered by the fact that the chairs in this arena are all of the type where the seats flip up when not in use. This was a perplexing and challenging situation for the extra- earnest, Christian-t-shirt-clad volunteers. They JUMPED to work, trading tips on how to place the bags so they'd stay and jumping ahead to the next section. Noelle and I couldn't help but laugh at how GRAVELY SERIOUSLY they took their charge, shouting out helpful tips to everyone when they thought they'd found the BEST way to place the bags. They often had to be pulled back from bagging further sections, their enthusiasm was so boundless.
We couldn't help it! We laughed whenever anyone shouted out a tip, and laughed when one would yell at another "NOOO!!! You don't DO that section! He SAID!!!!" We just couldn't help ourselves. At one point, after having been given the direction to move to section 20 oh..... 4-5 times, and everyone yelling to each other, "he said SECTION 20!!!" I turned to Noelle dryly to say "what section now?" and three earnest Christian ladies said to me "TWENTY!!!"
Okay, maybe you had to be there, but I just think it's shades of things to come for this weekend. Such earnest-ness, such Christianity, and all women. Should be interesting.

Here's the thing about Tammy Faye

I was so thrilled to find this video tribute to TF online, because it was through the Surreal World series, and in particular the episode featured at the end of this video, that I became an admirer of her. Her story here and the passion and sincerity with which she tells it really made an impression on me.
The thing about Tammy Faye is, for all her un-real-ness (the makeup and crazy teased hair and giant shoulder pads) her Christianity is for-freakin-real. I wish I had the kind of Christianity she had, and I would love to have the ministry skills she had.
God bless her.

Okay, a little more about Milestone Ministry

So you want to know more about faith stages ministry? The idea is for the Church to connect with people at the milestone points that everyone has. Imagine a church that celebrates the first day of school of their parishioners... the 18th birthday... college graduation... engagement... wedding anniversaries... retirement......... One example of how I've seen Milestone Ministry done by parishes is the celebration of teenagers' getting their drivers licenses. Parishes might have kids stand for a blessing, or have their car keys blessed, or be given a key chain... you see how this works. It's celebrating what people naturally celebrate, but also using those moments as opportunities to teach and to reach out to people.
Here's a link to a ministry focused on milestones like this- scroll down to the link to see "Daily Milestone Blessings Bowls" for an example of this. S'cool!
http://www.youthandfamilyinstitute.org/conferences/milestones.asp

days 3 and 4, with pleasant stuff between

On day three, we talked about learning styles- multiple intelligences and similar type-ing, and then learned a technique for writing lesson plans in a way that will feature the major learning styles, giving learners opportunities to have their style featured at least once in the lessons we teach. The structure, called 4Mat, which maybe all teachers already know about, but which sort of blew our minds. We analyzed lesson plans from published texts to see how well they used (or didn't use) the structure, and then made some adaptations to their plans to make it all fit and work better.
Last night, our office manager at my new parish had us all over to dinner at her house. We spent hours at the table, eating great food and laughing and telling tales and teasing each other. Already I feel like a family surrounds me, and I feel comfortable and not only welcome, but vital. And I haven't even done anything yet. At the end of the night my new pastor gave me a hug, and said "I love you, we love you, and I'm so glad you're here with us!" I thought, I am going to work HARD for this guy.
Then today we talked about teachers, their heart and souls- we talked about Great Teachers We Have Known, and I thought about my new pastor and how he is poised to bring out the best in me. He expects greatness from me and I expect to give it.
I love these weeks. Weeks like this have been important and formative in every stage of my career. I love all this new information that makes my head swell with new information, ideas, and possibilities. John Roberto is one of those Great Teachers I have Known, to be sure. I am anxious to get back to work and try my new skills.

Day 2, briefly because I'm tired.

Today we finished up the Discipleship practices, and started looking at personal and family milestones as opportunities for catechesis and evangelization. We divided up the life stages of a person and looked at how we could program in our ministries to help people connect these stages and milestones to their faith life and God's presence and action in their lives. We worked hard on that all day, and came up with some pretty brilliant (if I may say so) ideas for programming.
But one other important thing I learned today was that if I had to drive to work like that every day, through traffic like I do to get to the Institute, I would seriously consider destitution and homelessness as a viable alternative. I want the names and numbers of whoever coordinates the traffic lights in the Cambridge area, because they should be forced to sit in traffic there daily until they rectify the situation. The institute is around 30 miles from my home, and it took me an hour and a half to get there on Monday. Today I left 15 minutes earlier and got there 15 minutes LATER than yesterday. Egad.

ILFF: Facilitating Lifelong Learning and Faith Growth

Remember last year when I went on and on about the Institute for Lifelong Faith Formation? Today I started part-2. This one is about tuning in to the different stages and needs of our parishioners across the generations. We know what we want to do: we want to lead our families in the formation of faith- we want to help them experience conversion and transformation. How do we do that? John Roberto, our facilitator and guru, said today (and I reckon he's quoting someone), "Learning is change- if it hasn't changed you, you haven't learned it." He's making a distinction between being taught and really learning- this, he points out, is how some people you may know can get through years and years of quality education and still be stupid. And it is how you and I got through years of religious education without becoming better Catholic Christians.
We talked about the four longings of the people we serve (including us!);
the Longing for Justice
the Quest for Spirituality
the Hunger for Relationships
and Delight in Beauty
... the best example I can think of as to why it is important to know these things is this: when I was in high school, I remember learning for the 3rd time how to write my name in hieroglyphics. I wondered why we never talked about things I thought were more interesting and more important, like WWII? In our catechetical programs, do we spend our time teaching and re-teaching the basics to people who long for depth? With significant longings like these in people's lives, what more do we need to know when we start to look at how to serve our parishioners?
It proves to be a thought-provoking week. The homework readings are deep and full of statistics and buzz words and head-spinning detail, but the discussions and activities at the course are fruitful and challenging. Are you still reading? :) I'll keep you posted.

New Job, fresh start

I've started my new job, which promises to be wonderful. Everyone so far has been so friendly and helpful- I share a kind of office suite with two other women, lovely women who are very professional and friendly and helpful. We've all been moving and sorting this week, because not only am I moving in, but the other two have been displaced from their offices because of an asbestos removal project in the basement of the rectory, which is where our offices are. I've noticed that we share this quality- we want to be helpful, but we don't want any help. We have been sneaking past each other with our boxes so as not to incite a helpful gesture from each other. "noo no, I've got it!"
In fact most of my first week has been hunting for furniture, dusting and unpacking. My computer is now set up and I have email and the internet and all the accouterments.
(yes, I did need spell check for that.)
Next week I'm off to part two of the Institute for Lifelong Faith Formation, the first week of which I loved and raved about here on TBIR last year. I can't wait!
Tonight on my way home, I took a detour that led me all over a new town, past a water main break, through a neighborhood, by a man wearing a large sign that said "GOD HAS A PLAN FOR YOUR BABY" (hmmm...) and over the river and through the woods. It was a nice little side route. I'm all about new routes these days, and stepping off the trail. Let's go!

Three new posts

There is this limbo day- between when one hears the news that you're carrying a non-alive baby in ones womb, and the end of the process. Some women, I guess, choose to go ahead and pass the baby naturally- I have had that experience (although MUCH earlier in a pregnancy it was still very traumatic) and no-thank-you. The good thing about a d/c is that I know from experience that I will feel better, physically, almost instantly. That in and of itself helps with the grief side of things.
So, on the Limbo days, we distracted ourselves. Tuesday night we went to see Evan Almighty (weirdly we were handed tickets at the counter for "knocked up", but decided to go with our original choice. Couldn't a whole blog entry be written on that alone?)
Evan Almighty was good- we had heard it was going to be lousy so our expectations were helpfully low and that worked I guess, because we really enjoyed it. One great take-away was a conversation between God and Evan about prayer- I'll let you check it out on your own because I don't want to wreck it- good stuff.
MINI-SPOILER HERE:
The other was a conversation between Evan and his wife, where he is frustrated because what he thought was God's plan wasn't quite lining up to what was happening in the moment. Here he had put everything on the line to be obedient to God, and where was the promised end product? His wife told him that indeed he HAD been obedient- had done exactly what God had asked. Now he needed to go ahead and let God take over. Miscarriage is a guilty situation for me, because of my well-known and deep-seated ambivalence. But like Lauren Graham said (and my spir. director before her), I did do my job- what I was asked to do. Even if I fought God all the way through it.
S'good, and it was a good distraction for the night.
Last night we went into Boston (after a gourmet meal of hot dogs at Kelly's....mmmmm) to see Riverdance at the Schubert theater. We got to see my former assistant Pam and her family, which made me happy and sad, missing her so much, brand-newly. But the show was amazing and Scott loved it which doubled my enjoyment- it was a great way to spend the night before the surgery out doing something positive and fun together.
At home last night it was boiling hot and I was tired but couldn't sleep. Scott and I are good at taking care of each other, and loving each other (i don't mean in this case, in a dirty way...) and we hunkered down for the night to keep cool and wait for morning.

okay, so maybe you don't want to know...

Lotsa details below on the undoings of baby Morin (Matthew Christopher). I mean, I did leave stuff out, some, so maybe it's not as bad as it could be- but if you're interested at all, read on. It was cathartic for me to write, because re-reading my journal entries (a paper and pen book format! Old fashioned-like!) was a very comforting guide through this time around. I am very glad I made notes about how I felt then, physically and emotionally, and look at it from this distance now. I am the kinda person who researches- I want to know what other people know and say about the things I am considering and the decisions I'm making. I have read the miscarriage sites and the questions I had weren't really answered there- so reading my own log of it has been a very, very good thing for me. Maybe not for you. You know, skim, I guess. Anywhoo...

somewhere between an olive and a lime

We heard, and then saw, no heartbeat. The ultrasound reader estimated that the baby's heart had stopped two weeks ago. This was the 11-12 week appointment, the one where everything fell apart in our first go-round, two or three years ago. In fact, the whole day was eerily familiar, withe the same failure to hear a heartbeat with the fetal heart monitor, the quick referral for an ultrasound, to ease everyone's fears. I tried to stress to everyone we met that this was a very stressful appointment for us, and wished they would just get to the damn ultrasound to see if there was any point in all the other talking we were doing- "any surgeries? smoker? any genetic abnormalities in your families? Let's get your blood pressure..........." all of which only served to raise my blood pressure. Just cut to the chase!
The appointment to hear the heartbeat was at 10, and they scheduled our ultrasound for 12:30- we went to the cafeteria to have a bite and read the ever-growing pile of information booklets and flyers and warnings about what not to eat. At 12:45 they apologized for running late and asked us to come back at 2, which blessedly meant I could empty my bladder. (they make you chug water so as to inflate your bladder, so as to lift your uterus closer to the surface for easier viewing. But, my uterus is tipped back- wayyyyy back, almost completely backward from where it's supposed to be, so I didn't exactly see the reasoning for all the hyperhydration. ) Anyway, we went to grab a starbucks and then again went back.
The ultrasound tech, a lovely girl named Shannon, was so sweet and when there was no heartbeat to see in the regular ultrasound, she said an internal one would have to be done.
I stepped out to change and prayed in the bathroom. Okay, God, if this is going to happen, I am all in. You show me what you want from me and I will- I will throw myself all into it, one hundredy-twody percent. Help us handle whatever you send our way.
The baby was clearly there, much more detailed than the last one, the one with the heartbeat... but Scott and I know what a heartbeat looks like now, and we didn't see one. Shannon checked every which way and stayed calm-looking when I searched her face, but we knew. I looked at Scott and shook my head- no- it's not there. Shannon said "I'm so sorry" and Scott said "are you sure?" and she said "yes, I'm sorry". She left us to cry.
I was stunned- really, I just couldn't believe it for a while there. I said I was sorry so many times to Scott, not even exactly knowing if I was apologizing or just saying I-am-so-sorry. He told me that his prayers, while I was in the bathroom, were the same as mine. Help us handle what you give us.
After another meeting with the nurse/midwife, we were finally able to head home.
This morning was the D&C, and I feel physically better already, just like last time. I don't know if it's purely psychological but I feel ready to eat meat again, I have very little cramping, and I'm hungry as all get out. I'm groggy from the lovely anesthesia they gave me, but otherwise ready to roll. I have another week of vacation to shake it all off, thanks to my already wonderful new boss/pastor.
There are flowers on the coffee table, one for each nap I took today- a nice thing to wake up to. Maybe I'll take another nap and see if another bunch of flowers appears when I wake up this time!

vaca views

Here are some shots of the vacation-doings up here on the hill, for your viewing enjoyment
and perhaps, jealousy...

my neighbor's peonies, in full bloom!

Pip is vacationing too- but who can tell?














this little guy paid us a visit today, chirping loudly and choosing a dangerous spot in the
middle of the road, before finding a nice safe spot in the yard. He disappeared before noon,
and I'm going to assume he learned to fly and headed home safely and without incident.














Tomorrow we're off on a little weekend camping trip to Maine. Then back for more relaxing! Happy weekend, everyone!

ahhhhhh (except at 7)

So this is vacation! I could easily get used to this- I have been doing some housework, lots of lounging around, and lots of snacking- my new strategy is to eat something every two hours or so, because throwing up nothing is not fun.
My "morning" sickness has settled into a predictable, yet miserable and inconvenient, pattern. I race to the toaster in the morning to something to stuff in my gob, and that chases away morning nausea. Then I'm free and clear until just about 7:00, at which I can no longer think about food, although I am hungry. Scott has had to take over all dinner duty while I hide in the living room because I just can't have food in my head- I can eat pretty much anything but just don't talk to me about it- just serve it and I'll eat.
So at 7 I hit the bathroom, and then quickly feed myself again- then I'm mildly nauseous for the rest of the night. The later I stay up, the sicker I feel, so I have been trying to call it a night a bit early.
What's been the greatest part of this vacation is the detox from my former job. I got an SOS call from my former assistants today, about the latest asinine move by my former supervisor, (really, it's ridiculous, and more of the same baloney that I had to deal with there) and I had simultaneous feelings of guilt for leaving my friends there, and wondrous joy at being finally away from all that.
Leaving a parish feels like a divorce, to me- maybe I've said that here before- but knowing that I'm making a move that's best for me doesn't undo the guilt of leaving everyone else in a bad situation, and fear that the new Mother is going to make changes and do things I'd never do... it brings out the territorial-ism in me, I guess. But I remind myself that the work I did counted, and that even if I'm not there, the Holy Spirit is, for crying out loud...
Tomorrow I'm getting a haircut and all the silly ends will be gone, cut off in a nice clean clip. My now droopy curls will get new life for the removal of all that old growth, weighing it down. I can't wait to wash my hair and feel all that new gone-ness!

just to get things straight.

I love getting your comments! But I should say straight out that I reject any comments that smack even remotely of criticism. After all, I blog for self-aggrandizement and vainglory, not to find out what people think about what I think. Unless it's full agreement or something on par with that.
So keep those comments coming. What the heck?

If one more person...

...tells me how GOOD! it is that I'm miserable with Morning Sickness, I will punch them in the head.

two new posts

Today was my last day at my old job. It was a sad and sweet day- lots of well-wishers came by and we had a lovely casual lunch with all my favorites. Yesterday was the "official" good-bye luncheon, with most of the staff there. They had fancy food, cake, and tributes in the tradition of this parish. I got lovely group gifts, with a theme: a PEACE plant, and a framed print of St. Francis' PEACE prayer. What's the message here?
But today was the REAL party- the cats were away for the day and we got fun food and joked about the cats and about the fun we've had, and gossiped and laughed. I got a bunch of cool presents!! GREAT cards, warm hugs, and a couple tears. All the good people were there, and my send-off was just lovely.
I left feeling good, and sad, and hopeful and appreciated. I can't wait to start my something new, but first ... two lovely weeks of vacation. I've already taken one nap!

You can go home again, but it's weird.

So, my high school reunion. 20 years since I cried and cried and vowed never to forget one single person in my class. I did forget some of them, I must confess. But as we stood in the back of the room, watching the Class of 1987 Senior Slide Show, the names started to really come back to me.
I was nervous, and in the parking lot said to Scott "oooooolet's not go in." But he convinced me and I was glad to see straight away that I was not the fattest person in the room. I had new spanx and they made me look even pregnant-er, so Scott and I decided to tell everyone I was farther along than I am- "oh, around 4 months... or so..."
We found a few people and exchanged where-are-you-and-what-are-you-doings, then found my dear old friend Dave. Dave looks eerily like he did in high school- even his voice is the same- and his wonderful personality hasn't changed, either. We stuck together with him and his wife for the duration. Then a happy surprise- our friend Mike showed up! Dave and Mike were the best of friends, thick as thieves, true friends like you could count on being friends forever. They were a pair through high school and beyond, until a girl came between them- a girl neither ended up with- and it was heartbreaking and traumatic for me that they split, even from far away where I was. To see them together was so satisfying for me, even if it didn't mean that the rift was healed. So many memories of them both rushed back, and it felt good, having the three of us there, together, at least for that night.
I also saw my childhood friend Laura, one of my first friends- we found each other in the sand pits in first grade, I think- and played together for a series of recesses (We weren't in each other's class, so it was providence that brought us together). Then, we would meet again and again through the elementary school years until we finally were in the same class and could begin our best-friend-ness in earnest. It was such a warm feeling, seeing her again, and remembering her from so long ago- so many images in my mind, of us having sleepovers and broken hearts and first periods and mischief.
There was some weirdness to be sure- to see everyone had gotten so much older was really a shock. My brother told me, after his 10th year reunion, that what was satisfying about the experience was that everyone seemed to have "gotten what they deserved". I wonder what some old schoolmate of mine is blogging about me right now...

T-minus 1 day

After a long week, tomorrow is a big day- we head up to celebrate my sister's birthday with my family, then on to the dreaded 20th high school reunion. The good news is, the website that's been put up for the reunion has a list of who's coming, so I can cheat and check my yearbook ahead of time and try to put faces with names. Plus, now I have advanced knowledge that my high school boyfriend will be there with "guest".
Scott, who seriously is the best person ever, took me out to Target to find me something nice to wear, plus some accouterments and necessary stuff. Then he coughed loudly and blocked me from view as I threw up in the Target parking lot, holding my hair and assuring me that no one was looking.
THEN, he drove all over town getting me a chocolate shake AND the bacon pizza I suddenly had to have.
I asked him tonight how long he'll be this patient with my ridiculousness. He is the most patient man I know. I am the luckiest girl I know. (except for all the throwing up)

I need a vacation... like nooooobody's business...

(does anyone remember that commercial? I can still hear the tune in my head.)
I am exhausted. This is my next-to-last week at my old job and that means the good-bye-ing has begun in earnest.
Tuesday night (a day that started with a gut-wrenching and vital session with my spir. director) was my last night at our youth group. We were celebrating senior week and the end of the year with a little party- we had pizza and a campfire- s'mores for everyone! (except me, because all thoughts of food just make me vomit.)
After the fire we went to the meeting room for our usual gathering, and I gave my last talk- a teary thing about, well, how much I value these kids and how much I will miss them. Then, they treated me to a dvd of a bunch of my kids, kind of like a wedding video- they sat and gave me messages of love and appreciation and how much they'll miss me. It was just absolutely wonderful. Afterward, those who didn't get to be in the video gave me love live. They presented me with a big pillow ( a tradition of mine that I brought to this parish, and which really "took"). The closing prayer was wonderful and we closed with hugs all around.
I felt satisfied- like I'd said what I could say, like I'd honored God in my going and in my good-bye-ing, and that my work there had been fruitful and will still bear fruit after I go.
I came home and threw up in my driveway and then for the rest of the evening...
I'm just wiped. This is the longest week ever.

pregnancy sucks.

I am not one of those blissful, happy women who glow joyfully through their pregnancies. I am miserable. I am trying as hard as I can not to make everyone around me miserable, but it's not easy!
I'm sick. Often. When I'm not throwing up (prob. 2 sessions a day) I am just nauseous. I'm exhausted. I miss food. I can't eat anything normal, like meat of any kind. The other night at a party I eschewed the burgers, couldn't eat the hot dogs, and had to avoid the salad because it has gorgonzola in it- that's a no-no. I ate chips and dip, watermelon, and pasta salad. Maybe God wants me to appreciate the plight of vegetarians?
My two-week vacation lies ahead of me like golden gates- I can't waaaaaiiiit. It will be so nice to relax and not worry about finding clothes to wear that don't make me look pregnant, about having to throw up while I'm doing public speaking, having to no-thank-you coffee or wine... I just want to fast-forward two weeks and start fresh. Not to mention, two weeks from now I'll either be two weeks farther in the pregnancy, or... not. It will be nice to know, either way.

11 new posts!

The "radio silence" period is over now, I reckon- so feel free to catch up, starting below at "mother's day" and read up. Let's not get too excited now.

heartbeat, it's a love-beat...

Yesterday we saw the little blinking light on the ultrasound screen that was our baby's heartbeat. It was a pretty awesome experience, awesome as in awe-some, full of awe. Scott was right beside me holding my hand and grabbing tissues for me when I started to cry. He was wide-eyed and thrilled, and I was blown away- falling ever and ever deeper in love with Scott.
We stared and stared at the screen- I wanted to memorize the moment, the beats, the blob that supposedly was a baby, supposedly an umbilical cord.
And there we have it, a real live baby with a real live beating heart. How about that?

ultra-ultrasound

Tomorrow's a big day- our first ultrasound. The baby is at just the right "age" that we should be able to see a heartbeat, if there is one. I know I sound negative, and I know my friends who are so into that book "the Secret" would chide me for this kind of "if" talk, but it's self-preservation. Scot and I are saying things like "wow, tomorrow is going to be weird". What we really are dealing with though, is fear and ambivalence- we both know that the good news, in this situation, is MUCH scarier than the bad news- so how do you prepare for something like that?
We've not had good experiences with ultrasounds- it was there that we learned our first baby was heartbeat-less. It was tragic and horrifying, a moment that I know we'll never forget- and that makes it hard to look forward to tomorrow's events.
But we'll see. Either way. We'll know something more by this time tomorrow.

but it's not morning!

I was this close to going in today. It's our newly-ordained priest's first Mass, and I was actually invited. I really like this new priest, and would have liked to be there.
But, I just dooooon't feel good.
I've been psyching myself out all week about morning sickness. In my first pregnancy, the one that made it almost 3 months, I was sooo sick- three times a day, even past the point when the baby's heart had stopped beating. THAT didn't seem fair. But anyway, I have been dreading the point where I start to get sick like that again. Every day I find myself thinking "ooh is that nausea I feel?" But I think I've really been talking myself into sickness, rather than relishing this time that I have now to eat what I want (rather than the constant diet of cheerios I ate back then).
When I first found out I was pregnant, I set out to eat all my favorite foods while I still could- except for those with soft cheese or luncheon meat in them, because they are verboten- so I've been eating pretty well over the past couple of weeks.
But today, I feel a bit yucky. So I'm going to take advantage of the holiday weekend and stay close to home. Maybe I'll venture out for another tub of cottage cheese, though...

nap time

I'm at an odd juncture with this pregnancy- it's so new that it doesn't show, and of course the news isn't out generally (nor can it be out... not yet...) so there's none of that sympathy that pregnant women historically get (Oh no, don't lift that can of soda! Let me get that for you!). But the thing is, I feel like HELL! I can barely muster the strength to lift the can of coke that I am Ca-RAVING so badly. If I weren't pregnant, I'd be worried about my mental health- all I want to do is sit around, eat/drink, and take naps. I'm kind of in-hiding anyway, because of the Secret of Baby Dumpling, but also, I just don't feel like going anywhere or seeing anyone anyway.
I can't even describe how I'm feeling physically, outside of the stabbing breast pain- that's easy to describe. But otherwise, I feel... well, I just feel... weird! I am completely sluggish- almost energy-free. I'm hungry, actually hungry now, like one feels when one hasn't eaten in a long time. Of course, I HAVE eaten, so without this tapeworm-like energy sucker in my belly, I wouldn't be hungry like this. And I'm not just tired, I'm sleepy... drowsy... yawning and eyes watering and just wanting to curl up with the cats and doze.
I ate an entire tub of cottage cheese today, and strangely everything else I've eaten I've thought "mmm, this would be so good with cottage cheese!"
Apparently the second trimester is tons of fun and bliss, according to the press on it. Just when you really look pregnant, you feel better- doesn't seem fair. But already my pants are fitting... less well... so maybe I'll be able to launch early into that stage. Maternity wear is actually something I'm looking forward to, if it comes to that, because I've always had the kind of body that was better suited to maternity clothes anyway. Finally I'll be able to find clothes that fit around my belly!
I wish I'd bought some more cottage cheese this afternoon.

betwixt

Today I met with my team to strategize. Our supervisor has been asking to meet with us to talk about what next year will look like. We are troubled by the fact that no one has mentioned hiring yet- and with all the planning that we've put in place for next year, we can't feel confident that the leadership won't jump in and try to change it rather than just letting this fabulous team do what they know how to do.
When I took this job, I looked for the "successor file" from the former youth minister- you know, the lists and calendars and maps and info the departing YM had left for me. I found that the former YM had done NO planning for the upcoming year (set to start a few weeks after my first day) - had not put together a schedule, had not hired speakers for the speaker series that was their faith formation program for high school- had not left any lists of teachers, volunteers, or even kids involved in Peer Ministry. The notes she did leave were scant, and useless. One suggestion she left me was that I should have a parent meeting at the beginning of the year, and that I should start that meeting by introducing myself to the parents. Now THAT'S helpful advice.
I started putting together my successor file a year ago- I had no solid plans to leave at that time, but I thought it would be a good idea to have a hard-copy, actual set of information to describe what we've done in my tenure there. I don't use published curricula as-is, so it is good to have something solid to point to when people ask what we're doing. I took pains to show the catechetical sources and direction that influenced all our programming, and put in a lot of supporting reference material.
Everything is all set, ready to go- the main missing parts with me gone will be emceeing-type duties, leader training, and lots of presence. I just hope they'll let it ride for the year, until whoever they hire (whenever they get around to that!) can get their feet underneath them.
It has been hard, getting ready to leave my kids and the great people I've worked with there- and I feel guilty leaving them, knowing it's not going to be easy and they are not supported from "above". But that frustration is exactly why I know I have to leave.

14,269

That's my HCG level. That means things are progressing well, right on schedule for a 6-weeks-pregnant person. Next comes the ultrasound, a week from today. I feel some relief at hearing the numbers, because with pregnancy #2 my numbers at this point were hovering around 50. Big difference.
The ultrasound is a big benchmark because I've only ever experienced one, and it was to say the least, unpleasant. (To say the most, it was traumatic.) So I think I'll be feeling pretty anxious leading up to that day.
Now the question of telling is zipping around my head- I've held off telling mostly everybody, because I wasn't convinced it was really going to happen... to continue... to...take. But now with encouraging numbers, things look, well, encouraging. But to tell the truth, I'm still not convinced, which makes me still unsure about broadcasting the news.
But, the longer I wait, the more awkward the situation feels. Not only because I hate the whole secret thing, but also because there is a real hierarchy as to who should know what, and when- in what order.
I saw a bunch of my family members this weekend and didn't tell them- they'll probably want to know why... and I brushed off two more for fear of having to tell them- silly. But, the more people I tell, then the more I may have to un-tell, and the un-telling sucks.
So, maybe one more week- after the ultrasound. Or, maybe this weekend. I don't know.
But in the meantime, the numbers are good.

Confirmation

Last night was Confirmation at my parish- the third of three, as we Confirmed almost 200 kids this year. It was also, I realized, my 16th or 17th Confirmation as a youth minister. After 15 or so, running Confirmations became less anxiety-provoking and more joyful, for me. I know the drill, I know enough about the process that I can skip over the silly stuff (like making the candidates march in order of height, age, alphabet, or social security number...) and just focus (and hopefully help the candidates and sponsors focus) on the good stuff.
I love the Sacrament of Confirmation- it is the red-headed step-child of Sacraments. It has been given a nasty reputation, un-earned, and so much badness has been heaped upon it that many people have no idea what it really is. I love the job of teaching people the real meaning of the sacrament, of re-educating parishes as to what Confirmation is and isn't, I love the shock in people's faces when they hear the history of it. I know, it's a niche-joy, but it's mine.
Last night was my last Confirmation, at least for a while. In my new job, coordinating Confirmation won't be my job. So I tried to soak it all in last night. The nervousness of the kids, the excitement and pride of the parents, the great music, the pageantry. Even the homily was pretty great.
So here we go, on to the next adventure. I guess I never would have thought, when I started in YM, that I'd fall in love with this poor little Sacrament, and spend so much time fighting for its honor. I wonder what new love awaits me in the new job?

My Hero

Did I mention yet that I am a hormonal, emotional wreck-then-nasty crazy bitch then weeping uncontrollably? I suppose it is mostly hormones, but it's definitely compounded by the scariness and complexity of this whole situation.
Also, my boobs hurt. I don't remember them hurting like this last time(s).
Anyway, like I was saying, I go from placid to raging pretty quickly, which is really not my usual way. I'm pretty even-keeled overall, calm and sedate- I'm no android, but... pretty even.
Yesterday I got a raging headache and Scott was whistling along with some sound on the tv, and I thought seriously about stabbing him, repeatedly, with my crochet needle. Okay, not really. But when he brought me Aleve to take, which I can not take because I'm pregnant, it was all I could do not to throw the bottle at him.
But he is my hero. He drove me straight to the drug store for preg-friendly Tylenol, let me wait in the car, and brought out not only the medicine but water to take it with, two bags of cheetos (crunchy AND puffs) and a huge Symphony bar!
He said "Ohh, is it this one that you like, the milk chocolate one? Or was it the one with toffee in it? I couldn't remember.... but I remember that you told me once you used to eat these candy bars in college, when you were having a tough time." (Yes, we called them Sympathy bars.)
I am blessed. He is amazingly patient with my limbo-ness, he holds the burden of being the joyful, hopeful one of the couple. He thinks I'm pretty when I feel the ugliest, and he doesn't ever ever tell me to just get over it.
He's even trying really really hard not to touch my boobs.

Limbo

Every time I go to the bathroom, I steel my nerves, ready to see the tell-tale red... but it's not there. I keep feeling that familiar monthly "whoosh" the cues me to "Aunt Flo" and her monthly visit... but, no.
I have an appointment for Monday- it'll be all the usual intake stuff, plus, the blood test for the HCG level.
I can't go... anywhere... emotionally, until Monday. And, Monday's not even much of anything like a sure bet, since the first pregnancy was apparently (or probably) fine at this point. But, it's a marker of hope, or desperation.
Who to tell? I wanted in all my pessimism to keep things to us, a secrety secret, just for us to hold. Not because it's romantic and special, but because the less people we tell, the less times I have to admit to this possibility myself- and the more people we tell, that means the more people we might have to un-tell. And the un-telling was one of the worst parts.
But since this has happened, this potential-ness, opportunities to tell have been cropping up like our lives are an episode of LOST. Suddenly there are all these social opportunities, where I can't drink- and dinners at restaurants where all my favorite blue-cheese-smothered dishes are no longer an option. And my PARENTS even come to visit! Oh for crying out loud. So, I have to either tell, against my will and wish, or lie.
Scott wants to tell it on the mountain! He, in his goodness and strong faith, wants to share the good news and let people pray for us. I tried for a bit to keep him quiet, which 1) is impossible and b) is unfair. Why let my doominess win out in this situation? It is, after all, his baby- his news too. So he is telling, or not telling, depending on his desires, and I am trying desperately to keep my cards close to my chest. Today I weirdly (I'm sure it seemed!) declined an invitation to meet up with two of my favorite people, because I knew I wouldn't be able to not tell them, and I want to not tell them. Until Monday.
Like I've mentioned before, neither of us are good at keeping secrets. But, I just want to make it till Monday.

Mother's Day

On Mother's Day, I tried it on the sly- pretty late at night, so the results were due to be iffy- you know, you're supposed to take it with first morning urine. The line was there, the second pink line, but it was the palest pink. I wrapped it securely in its packaging and in toilet tissue, and buried it in the bathroom trash.
The next morning was test #2, and a much clearer pink line. Tuesday, the same. Or was it slightly paler?
Scott has already picked out a name, which is just what he's done every time- the first time I waved one of these sticks in front of him he said "ahhh! Hannah!" and the second almost-baby was Max. Scott is the picture of hope- a perfectly-weighted counter-balance to my pessimism.
I guess I'd better call the doctor. The first time I was pregnant, and apparently this is true for all first-timers, they said "hey congratulations! Call us in 3 months!" After the first miscarriage, it was very different- "Can you come in today? Tomorrow?" There were blood tests and vitamins and more blood tests. It seems like it should be the opposite- the first timers, who are freaking out, and need lots and lots of support, are left on their own with only scary websites to read. Veterans get the red-carpet treatment.
So, just as I get to unload my mouth-wrecking secret, another one plops into my womb.

Keeping Secrets

For the past month or so I've had a secret. Neither Scott nor I are good at keeping secrets, not at all. Like money burns holes in people's pockets, secrets explode from our mouths at the slightest provocation. Not OTHER people's secrets, mind you- we're great at keeping others' news under wraps, but any news in our lives gets broadcast pretty quickly. Good news or bad news, we MUST share.
But this news had its own parameters and limits, and if we wanted things to work out the way we wanted, we had to keep things under wraps. See, I'd been offered a job- a brand-new position at the parish where Scott works- doing parish-wide faith formation. It's hard to describe, and I'm not even sure what my title might be... but it's VERY exciting, a GREAT opportunity, not the least part of which is that I'll be working alongside my beloved. It's going to be great.
But there was a wait involved, and a lining up of ducks that had to happen before we could really go and tell anyone. Scott, of course, could do no such thing, and each day he told more and more people, imploring them to promise to keep the news to themselves!!! (which they did, thankfully!) But since I had to time things right at my job, and wait to give notice, and make sure those ducks were in their row before I could even totally plan on this new job, I had to keep my mouth shut.
My spiritual director advised me that it wasn't LYING -which is what it felt like every time a kid asked about Summer plans or something we would be doing next year- but rather, something God and I were "cooking up", and while we were cooking, no one else could be in the kitchen. She urged me to be patient and trust that everything would unravel as it was supposed to.
Curiously, during this time of secret-keeping, I developed a bunch of odd mouth afflictions- canker sores, inflamed gums, a little spot on my cheek that I kept crunching down on when I ate... and I feel like it was all so related to keeping this secret in my mouth for so long.
So this week, the secret's finally out- the ducks are in their happy row, the future looks bright (and not just the job, I get two weeks vacation betwixt!). I gave my notice, and that was a pretty fascinating process (maybe I'll write more about that later) and told a bunch of co-workers, and last night, told the kids- and that went pretty okay too (see "Petition for Margo not to leave St. Mikes YM" group on Facebook...).
So, Ahhhhhhhhhh. It's great to let go of the burden of this secret. Oh wait, I actually do have one more secret. But I can't tell you that, yet... where did I put my Anbesol?

'87, Seventh Heaven!!

In a month, my high school graduating class will be gathering for our 20th reunion. I'm absolutely ambivalent about the whole thing. I'd love to go and watch, say, through a one-way mirror or on closed-circuit tv from a nearby bar. But walking in there is daunting to me.
I'm proud of my life, so happy- (the other night, preparing for Bible Study, the question was "what change are you longing for in your heart?" and really, all I could come up with was, I'd like to develop the ability to eat and eat and eat and never gain weight.) My life is that good- even the one thing I have wanted, is about to happen now, so I am left with nothing to complain about, or certainly nothing to be ashamed to tell my old friends about at the reunion.
But I am several pounds heavier than I was in high school and, well, what if NOBODY ELSE GOT FAT?? I think I'd be fine if I could at least know ahead of time that most (or at least several specific people) of my peers got fat too- then I could walk in and feel okay about my current state.
Funny what havoc one's past can do to one's confidence. I wear this body every day and don't feel particularly ashamed, even among friends who knew me when I was slimmer. But to have to step back in time 20 years and let the time warp happen in an instant, well, that's intimidating!
A couple of weeks ago I woke up early thinking, "what if my happy memories of High school are all wrong?? What if I thought everyone liked me, but they really didn't?" I had to go fetch my yearbook and read the notes my peers had written in the front and back pages. Yes, they seemed to like me all right. That was a relief.
I am assured that there will probably be a couple people, out of the 200+ that I graduated with who have gained weight, and hey, maybe a chunk of them live in squalid conditions with ugly children, or have developed nasty habits, or lost most of their teeth, or gone bald, or lost their fashion sense, ordeveloped some kind of nasty wart condition, or turned funny colors in some chemical accident... that would certainly make me feel better.

We have new tenants!

They moved in today, first with a quick look at the place,












Then a tour of the back part of the house...














then it was off to meet with the realtors to sign papers!

Ch-ch-ch-changes

I just don't know how I feel about it. I know, one could look at it as perfect timing- I mean, Rory didn't get the internship at the NYT, and her options look slim (which is because she over-confidently narrowed her own options on the bet that she'd get that internship) but she's Rory Gilmore! She can find something, for sure! But like Lorelai said, she's used to getting what she wants, and hanging out with the uber-rich and snooty at Yale can't have helped but obscure her priorities.
But, marriage? Right out of college? To LOGAN? I mean, first of all, what kind of a name is Logan. Were they really naming kids things like Logan 21 years ago? I never ran into one. I'm just sayin'. And it's not like he has a stellar reputation for putting her first, you know- to move clear out to CA and follow him around like a puppy girlfriend is one thing, but MARRIAGE. I just don't know.
But the good news is, Luke knows Lorelai will allllllllwwwaaaaaaaaayyyyyyys love him, and he loves her too. It's allllll falling into place. Ahhhh.

yeah, I know

I know it's been a while since I have posted. But NOT AS LONG AS PAULA!!! Thanks Paula! :)

Anticipate/Participate

When I was little, we lived close enough that we could walk to and from the elementary school. No buses for us, until junior high. I used to take forever to get home, I'd dawdle all the way because I was so interested in all the leaves and flowers and rocks- I really liked rocks- and neighborhood pets that I would visit along my route. But when I was in trouble...
When I was in trouble- say, on report card day, or I had been spoken to in school or told to "go stand on the wall" at recess- when I knew I was going to GET IT, I would practically RUN home! On those days, the days that I should have really avoided going to my doom, I rushed toward the trouble.
It's still true now, I guess. When something difficult is on my horizon, I don't want to wait to address it- I don't want to wait at all- I want to rush toward it, dive in, and get it over with.
Now I'm in this time of mad transition, and I just want to get to the punch line already! But this change, from the moment it became a possibility, to the process of its evolution, to its still-future resolution, has been all about "slow and steady". S-l-o-o-w.
I hate it- it feels like dishonesty to hold on to this news- I want to tell everyone! I dread the process of transitioning, I want to do it fast! Like ripping off a band-aid!
But God has taken control of this process, which I know is leading me to a place which He has chosen for me, a situation that is right and good, and God-sent- and I can see that He is making me feel and be present in every step and minute of it. Which I hate, but I am starting to understand the value of it. I guess He knows that letting it all tumble by in a blur is not the most useful way for me to face this change.
At my Search retreat in high school, there was a saying: "don't anticipate, PARticipate". I reckon that's my mission now.

My vacation forecast:

Sunday:





Monday:





Tuesday:





Wednesday:





Thursday:





Friday:





Saturday:





Could be worse, right?

perks

This weekend I got to take one of the perks of my job; I got to tell a parent how wonderful his kid is. We had both volunteered to do some of the set-up for the Easter Masses, and since his son wasn't there, he grabbed the opportunity to ask me... what is the deal with my kid being so involved in Youth Ministry? Is it the Holy Spirit, or is it the girls?
Although I had to admit that it was probably the girls who drew him to YM, but somewhere along the way the Holy Spirit had stepped in. I told him about how he reached out to the kids on retreats this year, about a great, insightful talk he gave at youth group one night... I told him how I had sat with his son at Mass and watched him seek out every kid from the Sophomore class who was present there, and made a real effort to touch base with all of them for the sign of peace. With every great thing I got to tell this Dad, he looked up at the sky with an amazed expression. He rubbed his chin and said "wo-o-o-owww". His eyebrows arched and he said "huh!" It was pretty cool.
It's such a blessing to be on the outside of families. I get to see the very best of kids, even while their parents suffer through the grunts and moans and whines and other frustrations of living together with their kids. I wish parents could see what I can see. It's a blessing to see it, and to tell the good news.

Easter is Holy here

We have a very special and unbreakable policy at our house- we hold Easter to be family-holy. We both work hard all during Lent, and harder during Holy Week, with both of us at our own parishes, basically saying "see ya!" on Holy Thursday and reuniting after 10:00pm on Saturday night, after our parish Vigils.
So when Easter Sunday comes around, we stay home. We put on our pajamas and have a late night snack and then head to bed to sleep it all off. Then, Easter Sunday, we do.... nothing.
We sleep late, stay in those pajamas for the whole day, don't shower, don't go anywhere, don't talk to anyone. We have a great, greasy breakfast, sit around till the afternoon, then have a nice dinner (roast beef, bernaise sauce, rolls, peas, mashed potatoes, a lovely wine today) and then head back to the living room to "sit it off". And that's about it for Easter Sunday. I try not to think about work, I try not to do any churchy reading, and I steer our tv viewing to old movies and Simpsons episodes. It is pure heaven, and surely makes Easter something we look forward to all during Lent. We are so blessed.
K, now I've worked too hard. Must go back to my chocolate and wine. Happy Easter everyone!

cinders on the porch

So last night was Scott's "24 hour fast-a-thon" at his parish, which is basically a lock-in with a ton of kids who go without food for- well, yes, 24 hours, to raise money for Catholic Relief Services. Anyway, I went down to visit them and stayed 'till the amazingly late hour of 2:00 am.
Passing through the Wakefield area on 95, I noticed that the sky was pink- I thought maybe from the North Shore Mall or something, but it was really pink-er than I thought that should look. Then I noticed smoke and light wayyyy off- I thought it MUST be a fire, and a big one, and I fought the urge to go off looking for it. But as I traveled farther up 95 and then to route 1, the light got brighter and I realized I was headed straight toward it.
It was the old Danvers State Hospital grounds, and the fire was RAGING. Many of us drivers pulled over to take a look and I luckily had my camera...



























It's hard to take good pictures of fire... but I hope you can tell from these how wild the fire was. The grey-ish one above shows the big burning cinders that were floating down onto Route 1, where a bunch of us were pulled over to gawk. I got what I thought was the most brilliant and original idea to go up to the supermarket parking lot on the opposite side of the highways from DS... when I got there I saw I was not alone in this plan! It was like a drive-in movie theater!














Okay, one more- I was surprised to see how well the fire could be seen from all around- I never had known that from the medical center near my house, you could see the state hospital. Here's a view of how the fire looked from that parking lot:














Today there is soot in the air, and we have black cinders on the porch. And the worst part is, Scott's too tired to wake up and look at my pictures!!!

Holy Thursday

This morning I rolled out of bed seriously grumpy. That word sounds too cute for the mood I was in, really- I was mad because I had to get up early and drive in to work for staff meeting. Not "regular" staff meeting, though, but "touchy-feely" staff meeting, which is a new invention at our parish meant to foster loving feelings between the staff and leadership. I suspect I'm not the only one who usually views these meetings as a waste of time- we're supposed to use this time to share and support each other but no one does- there is a general understanding that the less is said, the sooner we can all get out of there and back to our busy days.
Today was different because our pastors thought it "would be good" for us to meet for the Liturgy of the Hours before the meeting. And to boot- on this particular morning there was an additional blessing of an inch of messy, slushy snow... sigh.
Anyway, I took my seat in the church with my fellow staff members and a few parishioners, and I knelt to pray briefly. I asked God to help me find meaning and direction in Jesus' story this week, this Holy week, and to help me pay attention and receive his direction willingly, eeeeeeven if what He wants of me is not what I want.
I decided to really focus on the readings and prayers, each word- and I did. I heard about freedom from persecution, and I read that if we just will do what God leads us to do, He will stand behind us. Okay.
Ten minutes in to the prayer service, three of "my kids", high school seniors, walked in wearing sweatpants and sneakers and sat down in the pew ahead of us- one of the front pews in the church. I noticed that the staff members around me sort of sat up straighter, taking on "role model" mode. The kids settled in and figured out the prayer sheet, reading along with the Left side in the call and response. I was at once affirmed and convicted.
After the service we went off to TFSM and the kids went back to school. Now I'm here at home for the shower I never took this morning and a do-over for the day.
Happy Holy Thursday.

aw shucks.

Here, HV, does this make you feel any better?

the first blooms

They're here! Our first Iris blossoms. Apparently they couldn't wait to get tall before displaying their gorgeous blooms. That's okay with me!

new picture posts:

the buds on the lilac get greener and bigger every day- hurray!













chives















see the hopeful bit of green?












snowdrops- our mystery plants last year have
finally been named. They're the first flower anywhere!

Spring is come!

newsletter article

Sue says I can use other writing (like this article I wrote for our parish newsletter) as blog entries, and that counts... so here goes:

When I was young, every time I got into the car with my parents, they turned on their favorite radio station. It proudly proclaimed to play “The Music of Your Life”- which for my parents was the dreaded Big Band Jazz. I hated it, and whined and complained every time, but every time we would ride along listening to Benny Goodman and Glenn Miller and the Andrews Sisters. I seethed along to the music, vowing that someday I would have my own car with its own radio and I’d never listen to the Chattanooga Choo-Choo song again.
I grew up some and went off to college, and did finally get my own car and radio, and set all the buttons to my favorite stations. But somewhere in my 20’s, I was flipping through the radio dial and heard one of those Big Band songs that I had hated so much. I found that I remembered all the words, and before I knew it, I was singing along with this really great music. I must admit (although don’t tell my parents please!) that I now have a big band station programmed into my radio, and I just love that music, the songs that have now become the Music of MY Life.
Studies have been done over the past several years to figure out how we can raise our kids to be Catholic adults. They came back with so many suggestions and ideas for programs to use, and lots of interesting data. But the overwhelming conclusion to this challenge of keeping kids Catholic was this: parental involvement. Specifically, families who attend Mass together regularly (that is, weekly) create young people with strong faith and Catholic identities.
I have related that fact to many parents at speaking engagements, and am always met with looks of dread. Parents say to me “my kids won’t go”, or “my kids are too busy”. Some parents say “I’m too busy to go to Mass every week with my kids”. They ask, “How am I supposed to get my kids to go to Mass?” They worry that if they haven’t been to Mass with their children since First Communion, they won’t be able to start again, and get their kids on board.
But the reality is this: it is vital for kids to see and know what is important to their parents. If you are not attending Mass regularly, your kids know that, and understand that it is not a priority for you. If you are attending Mass regularly, your kids know and understand that too. And even if they grumble about going, you can have faith that they are absorbing something each and every time your family joins the community in prayer- much the same way that I was memorizing the words to those songs years ago. Kids will have their own phases and stages in their faith development, and may celebrate their first week at college by sleeping late and skipping Mass. But your example will stick with them, and will come to them again at surprising moments in their adulthood- just like my parents’ big band music did for me.
If you haven’t been going in years, come on back. Your kids may give you a TON of grief for adding this habit to your life- they may call you a hypocrite- they may refuse to go with you- but because you know that your actions affect the faith of your kids, keep on going, and keep on inviting them to go with you. It’s a one-hour-a-week investment in your child’s faith.

baaaad Catholic

Lent is a busy time for Youth Ministers- there's something about the season of Lent that lets people feel okay, even righteous, about adding on some spiritual focus and discipline to their lives. We YM's grab the chance to offer great ways for kids and families to do just that, and in my case, that has meant a constant rush, full-on run from Ash Wednesday to Holy Week. I've had something every night, and have been even double-booked, home late and dying to sleep in mornings. But I promised for Lent that I would get up every morning and walk to Mass at my local parish. Okay, Mass is at 9- not really all that early- but in the throes of Lenten exhaustion, it's darned near dawn.
So, I have done a terrible job at this promise this year- I skip when it's too cold (it's been below FREEZING!), or there's a funeral at the parish (which really is only kindness to the poor mourners, as I look like hell in pajamas at AM Mass), or I am just too flat- out tired (did I mention I've been tired lately?), or I have an early morning meeting (hey, what can I do about that?). And as if it isn't hard enough to be disciplined for myself, this year Scott has joined me and we've been terrible influences on each other.
My OTHER Lenten promise, which was giving up flour and sugar, has also been a dismal failure. And the worst part about that is, it's JESUS' fault! Well, here's what happened. For Lent, I offered a study of the Gospel of Mark for my adult leaders. The study has been fascinating, and really rewarding, and one of the themes I've glommed onto is Jesus' confrontation of the leaders for missing the point- for focusing more on the rules than on the relationship with God- like here: "The sabbath was made for man, not man for the sabbath." (Mark 2: 27) See? He says the fasting and the rules are not the point to dwell on. Concentrate your efforts on your faith and relationship, not on trying to lock-step in time with the rules. And because I am such a good Christian, I have definitely NOT focused on the rules.
I was planning to get back on the horse tomorrow and walk to Mass, but I hear it's going to be wicked cold. Maybe I'll do an Easter devotion of walking to Mass. That would be nice...

I hate Lent.

This is the talk I gave at our youth group night a couple of weeks ago.

I hate Lent.

I used to really enjoy Lent, and there are still some things about it that are really special for me- I love how it makes me pay attention, I love how Spring comes with Lent, how the days get longer and brighter and warmer. ForLent every year I walk to daily Mass near my house and in the first week Iwalk across snow and ice and think about how, when Easter comes, everything
along this mile will look different- the snow will melt, the ice will start to turn white and bubbly and crack when I step on it, and then little rivers will form on the sides of the street- tiny shoots of green will poke up from the ground, crocuses, and tulips- the trees will start to bud out and everything will start to smell greener, even. I love that!

But like I said, although there are some special and great things about Lent (it is really the only time of year I can be disciplined about ANYTHING) I really feel differently about it from how I used to feel.

I used to look forward to it at Church, too- the drama of the telling of Jesus’ story- you know- from Ash Wednesday’s reminder that we’re sinful… to the story every weekend at Mass of Jesus’ ministry and miracles- to the emotions and drama of Holy Week. I really used to get into the flow of it.

But, three years ago, things changed pretty dramatically for me. At Christmas time that year, I was pregnant- just a month or so- not yet showing or anything, but definitely THROWING. I was a sick sick sick pregnant lady. Christmas was different for me that year because I could relate to Mary’s story in a whole new way- I was going to be a mother like her, as bewildered as she sounded in the story- “What? ME?” See, I had not been “trying” to get pregnant- I never did want to have a baby or be a mother- but here I was, with an unexpected miracle. My emotions were mixed- sort of excited but mostly scared and… freaked out!

As Lent started, I was really relating to Jesus, facing his DOOM- I felt a little doomed myself, to be honest. But, I was trusting God- if he thought I could handle this then I guessed he was probably right. I started to get “on board” and looked forward to my ultrasound. That day, though, we saw no heartbeat. The technician said she was sorry and showed us what looked like a little gummy bear, just drifting there with no movement.

Two months later, I was unexpectedly pregnant AGAIN. I was so mad! It was
the beginning of Holy Week, and now I could REALLY relate to Jesus’ story in
a whole new, and unwelcome way. Like Jesus in the garden, I pled with God:
“please, take this cup away from me- but not what I will, but what you
will.”

And when, on Wednesday of Holy week came, I was right there with Jesus, calling out to God “ My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?”

After a dark 40 days of ups and downs and a difficult sort of “recovery” from these experiences, Easter came to me- the “greening” came back, I felt better (no more throwing up), my marriage was- believe it or not- stronger than ever. It was truly tested and Scott was like an angel for me- better than I could have dreamed.

Why am I telling you all this? I guess because I really want you to pay attention during this season- there is something here, in these stories at Mass every week, in the drama, in the changing of the season. The message may not be as deep or earth-shattering as it was for me that year, but there is something for you.

And I want you to know, too, that Easter Always Comes. That’s a mantra of mine… EASTER ALWAYS COMES. Even for Jesus, who literally met his doom. God always has hope in store for you.

Jeremiah 29:11
"For I know the plans I have for you," says the LORD. "They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.”

I'm rich

Today my spiritual director gave me the shocking news that not only does God want the best FROM me, He wants the best FOR me. This is something I should have known. I reckon it's a case of "physician, heal thyself"...
Last month when we met, she gave me the scripture (really, she seems to pluck these things out of the air. Well, that's what it looks like but it is clearly NOT random) about the rich young man with many possessions. (that's Mark 10:17-22) I put off reading up on it because I knew it would... well, I knew it had a message for me. And, so, being the eager learner and communer-with-God-that I am, I stalled.
In the story, Jesus tells the young man to sell off his possessions in order to follow him. The young man turns away, sad because he has a lot of bitchen stuff. I always thought that this particular scripture was a gimme for me, because I don't make a lot of money, and don't have all that much stuff. (I recently updated from a Daewoo to a Ford station wagon, for crying out loud!)
But when I finally did look into my assigned scripture, I realized that the money and possessions weren't the point. The point was, Jesus asked the young man to sacrifice the things that he valued over God's plan for him. So the question is, when God asks me to go, to do, to move, to act- what am I holding on to instead? What is God asking me to let go of in order to fulfill His call to me?

for the love of pod

Just in case you're wondering, here are the podcasts I download regularly onto my ipod:
*60 Second Science, a daily one that really does last 60 seconds, is fascinating, and starts with a bitchen comet-sound that seems like it's orbiting your head.
*A Prairie Home Companion's News from Lake Wobegone- just his news monologue, without all the silly music they play on the show. Okay, sometimes I like the music, but really I'm in it for the plays and the News.
*Weekend America- good one! It's two hours long so I never do get to hear all of it on the radio.
*Grammar Girl's Quick and Dirty Tips for Better Writing- this is a new one for me, brief and to the point, and always grammatically correct.
*Car Talk's Call of the Week- One good call. I like that! I don't download Cartalk because it is ubiquitous, playing constantly on the 3-5 PR stations that I have access to, so that by the end of any given weekend I've heard pretty much the whole show.
*NPR's Driveway Moments- they're the stories that you sit in your driveway to hear the end of, they're so good. I once sat in my car before work listening to one about how octopus (...pi?) can learn to open the screw tops on jars. Can you believe that??
*NPR Playback- brand new, I haven't even listened to one yet- they're stories from the archives, and the first 6 I downloaded are from the early 80's. Should be interesting, no?
*NPR Story of the Day- "the one story NPR's editors think you won't want to miss!" So far, they've been right!
*This I believe- quick little essays written by everybodies, about what they believe, or believe in.
*Wait Wait...Don't Tell Me! NPR's news quiz and my absolute favorite NPR show.
*Slate Explainer Podcasts- explaining interesting things like "How do clothes wrinkle?" and "was Britney's hair full of drugs?"
*This American Life- my other absolute favorite NPR show.
* WNYC's Radio Lab- best science show EVER!!!! Very, VERY cool. New season coming up soon, and I can't wait!
Happy listening!

sleep-deprived theology

...I am. Sorry about the scant posting, but Lent is upon me and I am sta-raight out. Just glancing at my calendar makes me feel tired, and this week was one of the worst, with a retreat at the beginning and a 13-hour day at the end.
Tonight I went to a meeting for a young person who I am "mentoring" in preparation for a mission trip she's making in the Summer with the Episcopal Diocese of MA. I was speaking to a man at the coffee table, who told me he is the "token protestant" at our parish's Men's Group. I said "I know how you feel, being the token Catholic here tonight" and he said "no, we're all catholic, you're just the only Roman Catholic."
ahhh, right. Nice little faux pas. I also had chicken at the dinner they served. On Friday night, IN AN EPISCOPAL CHURCH.
I was like a rebel without a cause tonight.
I've been doing a Bible Study with some of the teachers from high school faith formation program. We're doing the Gospel of Mark- the shortest one. It's been kind of fascinating, actually- we're looking at each story with a new eye, and reading lots of little study books to help us understand. One story that really caught my eye, this being Lent, was Mark 2:23-27. Jesus and his buddies are walking along, plucking wheat, and they are accused of breaking the sabbath. Jesus tells them that "The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath."
I remember hearing in college that what was so radical about Jesus was that he told the Jews that the rules were not the point. That the Jews of that time had become so caught up in and dependent on their rules and regulations, that they had lost touch with the point of it all. The conversation that they have with Jesus, asking him "which is the most important commandment?" is an illustration of that. They don't ask him "what does God want of us?" but instead, they focused on the rule- wanting to know which rule they should follow even more than they follow the others.
Now here we are in the season of Lent, being careful not to eat meat when we're not supposed to, give up something and stick with it, color inside the lines. Is it silly?
The girlies in my OTHER Bible Study group, who are mostly of the protestanty type, asked me to explain Lent to them last year. I told them that Lent can be thought of like a wedding anniversary. On our anniversaries, we remember just what we fell in love for- we celebrate all the things we love about each other. We try to be the best spouse we can- loving and kind and generous. Just like we should be every day. Lent, for Catholics, is the same kinda thing (imho)- we remember why we are Christians, why God loves us, and try to be the best Catholics we can be. It's not about the rules, it's about wanting to return in love, the love we've been given.
At least I hope that's what it is all about, or I'm going to burn in hell for eating overcooked, mushy chicken in a flourescent-lit Episcopal Church hall on a Friday. Yikes.