Life in the Dog House

I know we're only a few days in,  but I am honestly surprised at how well things are going with our new pup. We've been waking up earlier as a family to make sure she has a good routine for walks. It's been tough crawling out of bed for me, but the kids love it. We're using those extra hours in the morning to do more school work on full tummies. When big girl gets frustrated or tired, we can stop and know she can start up again later. I'm already seeing improvements in her spelling and sentence structure from her early morning composition practice.

We've always built in some special bonding time with the kids because of our pooch. My husband is doing all her walks, and he's taking a different kid for her pre supper walk each day. The kids are over the moon about their turn to walk with Sadie and Daddy. They're completely in love with her, but are also giving her the space she needs. When she comes to them, they beam with pride that Sadie loves them. She is truly adored by them and, because she's such a sweet lazy bum, she's not adding to my work load at all. Hubby is the boss of walks and feeding.  The kids and I are the ones who get to enjoy watching her nap and give her treats.

When we adopted our gal, we were warned there would be an adjustment period. She might not eat, she might have (to be polite) digestive problems, she might be jittery with the kids, etc. I can say in all honesty the only problem we have had was a little whimpering in her crate at night because she was lonely. Even that was cleared up with some firm words from upstairs. Just enough to know we were there and she was safe.

I know things won't always be this easy, but I am convinced our Sadie is a perfect fit for our family.  This morning when she playfully nuzzled up to me, tail wagging and ears flopping, I got the sense she feels the same way too.

Day in the Life

When you are pregnant and have four kids ages 5 and under, your days are hectic. That`s the polite word for it anyway. Some days are pure, unmitigated awesome. Everyone`s happy, sharing, hugging, and helpful. They`re so exhausted from being so awesome that they ASK to nap and then actually lay down and sleep for 2 hours. They wake up refreshed and go about playing together, and even clean up the toys they`ve scattered on the floor on the first request. These beautiful little gifts, who are clean, have no tangles in their hair, and haven`t spilled even a drop of water on their well-fitting clothes coo at your belly, and say how much they love their baby brother. They eat whatever you made for supper and say it`s the `best supper ever` without even requesting ketchup. When they`re done eating they ask to leave the table (please) and then put their own dishes neatly on the counter. They read stories together, play a little more, then ask for bed time because clearly there`s no more energy left after a day filled with fun. After taking themselves to go potty one more time and getting in their pjs (the oldest two anyway) they saunter off to their room, giving big hugs and kisses to Mom and Dad and each other, close their doors, and go to sleep on their own.

I`ve had a few of those days. Well, maybe one. Maybe that`s mostly the odds and ends of good moments cobbled together. Either way, there are days when I see them off to bed that the smile on my face is not from exhausted delight that for five seconds I may have quiet time. This is not one of those days. And it`s only noon.

It all started last night. The kids went to bed at their usual hour (upon their request), but instead of playing in their rooms or even going to bed (ha!). There was clearly a full moon because literally every 2 minutes both sets of kids were opening their doors asking for something. Or complaining. Or having to pee. I know your bladder is tiny little man, but there ain`t no way you need to pee every five minutes. They were testing my patience for sure. I was on the phone so I couldn`t exactly exercise my full parenting authority, so instead I ran up the stairs (yes, ran. Even at almost 33 weeks Mama`s still got some cheetah speed), gave them the darkest, scariest look I could, and closed their doors. I took toys away. I put a gate in front of the boys` room. I pulled out some of my hair. Good times. Finally, at 10pm I went in, tucked them all into bed one last time, and had a chat with the  boys about the consequences of getting out of bed that they would not soon forget. I am mean Mama. Fear me.

 So they finally slept and importantly let baby girl sleep. I was pretty wound up but I fell asleep after another hour or two (or three). All was well with the world. Until I was awoken by the shrill cry of the oldest boy. He had wet the bed again. It was just a little, but it was the third day in a row (routine change clearly in order). And he woke up 5 minutes before the alarm went off for the start of my husband`s day. There was changing, soothing, throwing a towel on the bed, then the dream of temporary peace. Smarty pants boy waited until 10 minutes after his Daddy left to start his usual routine of coming out into the hallway 100 times until he had successfully woken up the entire clan at least an hour sooner than they`d normally get up by themselves. Thanks kiddo.

So we got up. Had some breakfast. Put a smile on. The first few hours of the day went remarkably well all things considered. They was cuddling, quiet playing, and some laughter all around. Thinking I`d take advantage of the communal good mood, I set up to give the boys their haircuts for Easter. They were starting to look pretty shaggy around the ears and the clock was ticking, so I went for it. For the first few minutes big boy was pleased. It tickled even. Then, for less than a millisecond the clippers slowed down on a thick patch of hair. Drama. Screaming. Kicking. Tears. Unfortunately we`d reached the point that if I didn`t continue he`d look ridiculous, so I had to sit down behind him and lock my legs around him while I did my best to finish quickly. Big girl wanted her bangs cut next. Quick. Easy. Perfect. Baby girl wanted a hair cut too, which not only did she not need, but might have been a disaster. Cue baby drama from her. Moving on. Little boy gets his hair cut. Again he thinks it`s fun to start, but for no particular reason melts down within a few minutes. He`s smaller so a little tougher to hold still but I somehow manage to get it done. Getting kicked is not my favourite. But I got it done. Victory.

After all was said and done the boys were giddy. They love the results if not the method. While admiring my handiwork I noticed all four of them had claws like baby wolverines. Normally I`d just let it go, but with all the hitting the average toddler racks up, I knew they`d be slicing each other to shreds in their mini battle royales. I don`t know how things work in your house, but my kids seem to be convinced that fingernail clippers are tools of torture and that I am using them solely for the purpose of gleefully causing their slow, painful demise. It took far longer than it should have, but I managed to cut the nails on 40 fingers and 40 toes.

I`m sure my neighbours and any passersby are convinced I am a serial child abuser based solely on the volume level of my house this morning. And that was just the morning. Praying the day turns around a little, but in the end I can`t help but smile at my life. Sure, there are days when I feel like I`m never going to win a single parenting battle with them, but that`s not so bad. I get to spend every day loving them in their littleness, and helping them grow into the men and women I`ll always be proud of. I just hope I can continue to grow with them and be someone they`re always proud to call Mom (or even Mommy. I`d be okay with that). I`ll keep clutching to that while they`re clutching to me.

Community for Children

I grew up going to a Church that had a crying room. I have more than a few memories of my parents sneaking us to the little side room that was supposed to be sound proof, but really only dulled our screams a little. With the large glass window separating us from the congregation, anyone who was so inclined could still see my two older brothers brawling (because I was clearly perfect, the trip to the crying room rarely had anything to do with me) while my Mother's face did a fairly good impersonation of a teapot coming to a boil. Looking back, I'm pretty impressed my parents kept bringing us to Church. The crying room at my Church also had a little box of toys, which seemed a helpful tool to distract the toddler crowd, but when you had more than one little kid in the room, caused Mass to become the scene of an impromptu playdate, arguing over toys included.

When we got married and had our first child, one of the things we looked for in a Church was somewhere with a crying room, because I didn't like the idea of our baby disturbing anyone else's prayerful experience of Mass. So we tucked ourselves into the crying room every time she so much as squawked, making the awkward and I'm sure disruptive trek to the back with our overstuffed diaper bag, stroller and big carseat. (I laugh at all the gear I brought to Mass in retrospect. Nowadays I bring my diminutive purse with one solitary cloth prefold and a facecloth). I was still fighting my way through breastfeeding, so I liked the added protection of a separate room while I struggled with getting her to latch under a big heavy blanket (I had yet to discover nursing covers). The crying room was my own security blanket that I held on to, even later one when she was bottle fed and was very calm through the hour or so of Mass. I remember so clearly that one day as my husband and I left Mass, we realized that neither of us had heard the readings or the homily, and had only been a part of the congregation itself when we lined up to receive the Eucharist. The crying room had made it easy to let our attention wander, to get distracted by the goings on of all the other families (for better or for worse) and I for one had taken to chatting with the other frazzled mothers finding refuge in the crying room with us. We had created our own little community in the crying room, but it was nothing more than a playgroup. We had lost the point of why we were at Mass in the first place.

As we wandered from Church to Church after that, we found ourselves gradually edging our way into the community. If a Church didn't have a crying room, we'd sit at the very back so we could make a quick escape if one of the kids started acting wild. As our kids started getting used to the rhythm of Mass, which by the way got easier when the newest babies were right in the community from day one (well, day two, we had to be released from the hospital first), we starting slowly picking our pew further towards the front. When we joined our new parish community, we spent a few Masses at the back before we took the bold move to sit in one of the front pews (still conveniently located by the door to the hallway where the bathrooms are, because potty training waits for no one). At first it was hair raising for my husband and I. I couldn't help but feel like everyone was watching, and was very aware of the echo each little squeal from our kids made. Turns out, those watching eyes weren't judging. They were smiling with joy. Who doesn't love seeing a young family at Mass? And as for the noise, it turns out that even if everyone could hear the random things my kids would shout, the worst we'd get would be a chuckle from a parent who had graduated from this stage of parenthood.

As the months have passed, other families have started to sit around us, with their toddlers and babies. To some extent I think there's safety in numbers. When a kid loses their cool, there are so many of them in our part of the Church that no one besides us can tell who it is. Unlike the little community we made in the crying room almost 5 years ago, we are all sitting together trying to enjoy Mass, singing our hearts out, pointing our children to the action on the altar, and growing in faith together. Sure, there are times when the kids are goofing at each other or all the babies (and a few toddlers) start crying all at once, but instead of running away from the community of the Mass, we have solidarity as our kids become their own choir. We exchange our desperate looks, soothe them, soothe each other, and get back to the business of loving Jesus and giving that witness of love and devotion to our kids. Our kids are part of the community as much as we are, and while they may never remember when they joined the community, I pray they'll always feel safe and secure that they belong and that they are wanted. I know as a parent I've come a long way to realize that the kids weren't bothering anyone, and that we don't need to separate ourselves from the community, and that doing that was a disservice to us as parents, our children, and the great community who love seeing kids at Mass too. After all, Jesus said "let the little children come", He didn't say they had to be quiet once they got there, or that if they cried they should be put to the side in a little windowed room. He just say, let them come. The great commandment for us as parents is to bring them to Jesus and then teach them to love Him.

Baby 5: Week 24

How Far Along: 24 Weeks (16 weeks to go!)

How I'm Feeling: I'm feeling good! A little tired for general kick related night-time hijinks (what's up almost 4 year old??? Why all the waking at night, kiddo?), but surprisingly energetic. I was thinking back to not too many weeks ago, when all I wanted to do was sleep. Sleep and eat a little, and sleep some more. I'm finding eating isn't the highest on my list (I'm still eating, just not in all-day snack mode), nor is sleeping (except at night, obviously). During the day I'm up and buzzing about. The TV has been turned off all day for 4 days, and I've been baking muffins, playing with the kids, and simply enjoying them!

What I'm Thinking: My brain has been working double time. We got the results of our ultrasound on Friday, and everything was great. Apparently this baby is a very energetic, healthy baby growing nicely (not unlike my waist-line). We also decided for the first time to find out the gender, and have been spending the last few days passing names back and forth. We were SO sure we were having a girl that we had a perfectly beautiful girl's name picked, so when our doctor said this little munchkin will be our third BOYYYYYYYYYYY, we were stumped. We had a name, but the second it became so real that this is in fact a boy, we ditched it. We have a new name in mind, but we'll be praying hard about it before we make anything official.
 

What I've Done This Week: Besides baking, I also went nuts cleaning in the kitchen. It's not pristine by any stretch of the word, but as of right now there are no dirty dishes. Rejoice! This shouldn't be a big deal, but it totally is. I've also been busy with things at Church, like our Moms' group, the Welcoming Committee, Baptism Formation sessions, and some odds and sods. I've also gotten a pretty cool gig transcribing some audio files of my parish priest's talks down at a conference. He's writing a book based on some work he's done giving presentations on the New Evangelization in the Catholic Church. I've been doing that in the quiet times and enjoying it all.
 

What I Hope To Do Next Week: I hope to finish the bulk of my transcription, and then, (ha, how many times have I said this?) clean up baby boy's bedroom so we can lay the flooring. We're so close to getting it done, but as that room has become a kind of a drop zone it'll take some doing.

They're Watching

For anyone who's ever tried to sneak a snack or take a bathroom break, this will come as no surprise: Your kids, both big, small, and tiny, they're watching you. All the time. And listening too. Heaven help us. Don't believe me, watch their pretend games. How often have I seen my sons pretend to be cabinetmakers, or my daughters pretend to be cooking, and vice versa. Or less pleasant mimicking like... sitting on their behinds watching TV eating popcorn, repeating less than pleasant phrases, or whatnot.

It's not news that our kids are little sponges. We rely on that when we're trying to teach them new words, how to walk, and how to act. The tricky thing is that they're sponges even when we're not in teaching mode. That time you road raged. Yeah, they saw that. That time you only brushed your teeth for 2 seconds before walking out the door. Their eyes were glued to you. When you wore the same outfit for an entire week because you didn't want to do laundry. They noticed. They may have been grossed out. That book you were reading. They're going to check it out when you're not looking. When you turned on Dr. Phil and stared with rapt attention regardless of what was going on. They watched you. Then they watched him. When you complained about your friend/parent/spouse/in-law/stranger to a friend over coffee while you had that playdate. They stored up those words, that facial expression, and your feelings.

If you're like me, the very thought of this makes you want to run in terror, and go buy your kids some industrial quality earmuffs and blinders. Just a tip, that would be weird looking, and probably still wouldn't work. So, while I'm busy sheltering my kids from all the evils of the world, I'm sitting here pounding my head on the desk remembering that I can't shelter them from me. The truth is that I shouldn't have to shelter them from who I am. They're going to see the cracks in my Momhood if there's a different me for when I'm talking just to them and this other, strange woman I show the rest of the world. Or maybe like me you're nicer out in public than you are behind closed doors. You know what I mean. We all have that super sweet way of dealing with the usual insanity of toddlers when we're out. When we're home, they're right in time out, no nice voice, not much patience, and more than a few heavy sighs.

So what can I do with these thinking, feeling, loving little sponges? I can use them as inspiration to be a better person, when I think no one's looking and when everyone's looking. Because if you have kids, they're always watching, listening and learning. They're the same wherever they are, so maybe I can be too. Maybe I can learn to be a woman I'd be proud to call my friend all the time. I want to give my kids the best model I can so that they don't have to ever hear me say "do as I say, not as I do". Some day they're going to leave my house, and I don't have to just pray they'll be good, responsible people, I can teach them through my daily example.

Husband, Kids and Pregnancy

A busy week here in our house. For one, my husband has started adding, at the request of his boss, an extra hour or hour and a half to every work day for the foreseeable future. That's about ten and a half hours a day, averaging 52.5 hours a week. I know this won't last forever, and that since the whole shop is taking a week and a half off around Christmas, it's a financial boon. With how busy things have been at the shop lately, I'm not entirely surprised everyone at the shop is adding hours to their week. It's part of how they work together to be one of if not the best cabinetmaking shop in our city. They want the extra time to install their kitchens right, so the customer is pleased with the results. It's obviously working well, because they have about as any kitchens scheduled for the next two months as they have all summer, and they're finishing them with the same flawless skill and efficiency. I'm really proud of my husband for working so hard for our family so we can have a little extra. Extra for the kids and extra to share with others as we can.

And then there's the kids. They've been a mix between lovely and mind-boggling. I got my hair cut short last month, so it's a little harder to pull all my hair out, thank God. I love each and every one of my precious little blessings, but there are days, people, there are days. I won't regale you with all the details, but it has involved crayons on wall, potty training mishaps (every night for several weeks), diapers being removed and used for "art" projects, nasty coughs and runny noses, vicious angry (poor baby!), fighting between big and small and just general chaos. The funny thing is that most of the bad stuff only lasts a few minutes, and then we're back to hugging, cuddling, laughing, and general silliness. I have to remind myself that I can't let a few minutes ruin my whole day, but it can be tough when I'm scrubbing the walls and changing sheets while trying to break up fights. Because we had the kids so close together, we get the upside of them being the best of friends, but with that comes the complication of them being toddlers and preschoolers all at the same time. Looking back, I really wouldn't change anything, because I think the benefits outweigh the pee-soaked sheets. That's what I have to remind myself when I'm down in the trenches. The fact is that with one or two kids, I'd probably be just as stressed out by teething, potty training or whatnot, but I wouldn't have each of these beautiful little people to love and to inspire me to keep getting up every day to be everything to them.

With another pregnancy I'm looking forward to adding this new baby to the mix. Yes, it'll be another baby's worth of diapers and sleepless nights, but this baby will be one more reason to fight through my own selfishness and laziness to become a better person for the kids and my husband. Each of them love me so much, I can't help but want to love them right back and then some. I've often joked that life with toddlers must be some kind of purgatory, but every day I get big ole slices of heaven tucked in there to keep me going. I'm trying every day to embrace what I've been given, and to always have gratitude on my heart, no matter what the kids throw at me, or the walls.

Patience is a Virtue

How many times have we heard the phrase "Patience is a Virtue"? When my first daughter was born, patience was certainly not a virtue I had. Not even remotely. This led to some pretty massive failures in my attempts to breastfeed. She was having trouble latching so she was hungry all the time and spent a lot of her first few weeks working on the most pitiful, heart-breaking mewl of a cry that would drive me to tears. I recall one night in those early weeks when I just couldn't get her to latch (yes, I know I should have called a lactation consultant!), that I sat in my rocking chair and lost it. She was crying, I was crying, it was chaos. The only person not crying was my husband. He gently picked her up out of my arms and rocked her until she was calm, burped her, and handed her back. After that desperate night, my husband went out and bought me a little hand pump so we could try to bottle feed her. To this day I've never figured out how to use it quickly and effectively, which led to more frustrated tears, and then finally a trip to the store for some formula. I recall when we finally got her on solids, how easily I would lose my cool when she'd throw her dishes and her food on the floor. Another case of tears over what is really not that big of a deal. Babies throwing stuff is just what babies do. It's kind of their gig. I just couldn't handle the waste, the mess, and the fact that she wasn't eating when I thought she would DIE of malnutrition if she didn't eat EVERY bite of her oatmeal. When I look back I can laugh at myself for being so dramatic.

The more kids we had, the less I had these problems. Breastfeeding stayed hard. It was only with our 4th child that I managed to make it past the 4 month mark. As for the feeding, we switched out to Baby Led Weaning, which made life way easier anyway. I found tricks to avoid the stress that would send me over the edge. It also helps that I don't have 4 tiny babies. Just one baby at a time makes it all easier. My big kids still try my patience. A LOT. But I give in way less than I did with one, or even two. I still find my eye twitching every once in a while when I come in and see the little big brother has drawn ALL OVER the walls of his ENTIRE room with crayon that WILL NOT wash off (How did he even get those crayons??? The sneaky little monkey brought them up while I wasn't looking!). I mean really. When his older sister did that I lost my mind, and she only coloured on one little corner with a crayon that washed off easily. There was yelling, tears, drama, and then a ban on crayons for at least a month. Maybe more. With little big brother I sat him down and talked it through with him. Showed him how hard it was to clean. Told him that the walls were not for colouring on. Gave him a colouring book to exercise his artistic desires. Inside, my brain was screaming, but I managed to keep my cool with him.

So I guess patience really is a virtue. Like every other virtue you don't just wake up one day feeling patient. It's something you learn with great effort, by building up a habit of self-control and gentleness. Some days I still lose my cool. My boys are amazing, loving this wonders, but there are times when the two of them are going nuts in their room at night, waking up their baby sister in the next room that I want to come in their room and let loose the dogs of war on them. If I can't resist, I do my best to send in my husband instead. If he's too overwhelmed then I go in. We need to be firm, set rules and boundaries, and dole out punishments when necessary. That doesn't mean I want to spend my life yelling myself hoarse and crying. With 4 kids filling the day with their individual wildness, that's a real possibility. I have to make a daily choice to be the Mom they need. I may use the crazy eyes once in a while to calm the scene, but I'd rather that than the crazy voice or crying.

I think most importantly for any parents with only one baby, or even a few, is that no one is a perfect parent straight out of the gate. We parents with lots of kids may seem more patient, but that's because we've had time and LOTS of practice. I get to test my patience in fire every morning when the kids wake up screaming for everything. It's a conscious choice we make in every moment to be the Mom they need, even when what we really want is to hide in the bathroom until they quiet themselves down. When you have one kid or even two, you're still learning how to be a parent, so let that be your focus. Don't worry about comparing yourself to other parents, even though it may be tempting. Even with 4 kids (and one on the way) there's always another Mom whose doing it all with more kids. I have a particular Mom I look up to, who has a few more kids than I do, is homeschooling them, making delicious healthy meals, helping out at her Church, and all of that with a smile on her face. There are days that I look at her and think how much better she's doing with all of this than I am and with more kids. Then I remember that I can make her a model of virtue without putting her on too high of a pedestal, especially when that pedestal is built at the cost of my own confidence. So, instead I try to use her example as an inspiration rather than an accusation. When I don't let myself bogged down with raising other people above myself, it's a lot easier to find the joy in all the small things in my own life.

Creamy Asparagus Soup

As we quickly approach my husband's surgery date, I'm working hard to keep this soup business exciting and delicious. This has been tough with the kids, who, although they LOVE soup, prefer thick, creamy soups. My attempt at cream of mushroom was ridiculously delicious. As in, go back and scrape the bottom of the pot for another bite. It tasted like buttery mushroom gravy soup. I kid you not! The only down side of this surprisingly gourmet soup was that my oldest son wanted nothing to do with it. He calmy sipped at the broth, while ignoring the mushrooms and meat I'd included. In retrospect I really should have blended the soup. I think the consistency would have been very pleasing and a little more like the canned soup I'm so fond of. I made a variation of this Broccoli and Three Cheese soup the other day and blended everything at the end. That soup was a huge hit! Going on the theory that creamy blended soups are easy favourites for my kids, our recipe for today is a creamy asparagus soup.

2 bunches of asparagus
8 medium potatoes
Bacon (I used bacon ends from the butcher, but you could use 8 rashers of cooked bacon, cut up)
4 cups soup stock or  broth
Salt and pepper to taste
1 cup cream (optional)

This recipe is ridiculously easy! First up I fried up my bacon ends and when they were cooked on all sides I tossed then in my crockpot with the pan drippings. Then I trimmed the ends of the asparagus and tossed off the stalky ends and then cut the asparagus into 1 inch pieces. I then peeled and diced the potatoes. After all that was in I mixed it around with my hands to make sure it was all even distributed in the pot. I added my salt and pepper and then poured the stock on top. Cook on low for 6-8 hours or on high for 4-6 hours. At the end you can add a cup of cream or milk to add a milky flavour, but I feel that that's not necessary. The creaminess of the soup really derives from the potatoes. When you're all done either (really really carefully!) use an immersion blender and mix it up, or do it in the small batches in your regular blender. This would taste perfect with some grated old cheddar sprinkled on top.

Novena for Expectant Families

In my group of friends, there seems to be an annual wave of babies. For the first time in almost 6 years, I am not part of that wave. As a thank you for all the prayers I have been blessed with over my four pregnancies, I had the inspiration to say a Novena for the nine days before each family's due date. After I hatched the plan, I got to the business of picking 9 different Saints (or pairs of Saints where that made sense) that I found myself drawn to and wrote out a special prayer beseeching their intercession. Each day, I will start off with an Our Father, then say the prayer for that specific day, then end with a Hail Mary and a Glory Be. I have included below the prayers that I wrote in the order in which I intend to pray them. The only prayer that I didn't write was the prayer for St. Gerard Majella, who had a beautiful one already!

1. St. Gerard Majella

O great Saint Gerard, beloved servant of Jesus Christ, perfect imitator of your meek and humble Savior, and devoted child of Mother of God, kindle within (mother's name) heart one spark of that heavenly fire of charity which glowed in your heart and made you an angel of love.

O glorious Saint Gerard, because when falsely accused of crime, you did bear, like your Divine Master, without murmur or complaint, the calumnies of wicked men, you have been raised up by God as the patron and protector of expectant mothers. Preserve (Mother’s name) from danger and from the excessive pains accompanying childbirth, and shield the child which she now carries, that it may see the light of day and receive the purifying and life-giving waters of baptism through Jesus Christ

We humbly pray through Christ our Lord. Amen.

2. St. Anne and St. Joachim

St. Anne and St. Joachim, who were chosen to raise her who was to become the Mother of God, we come to place (parents names/family’s name) under your special care. We entrust them and their unborn child to you. Look upon this growing family with the abundant love of a Grandparent and place them in the care of your Grandson, our Lord Jesus Christ. Just as you raised Mary to be a faithful woman and worthy Mother of our Lord, teach (parents names) the virtues of godly parenthood and faithful service.

We ask all this through Christ our Lord. Amen.

3. St. Joseph

St. Joseph, adoptive Father of our Saviour, guide and teach (father's name) to model his life after yours. Help him as he supports (mother's name) through her pregnancy and delivery. Just as you quietly supported Mary and Jesus through your daily devotion, let him be the foundation on which his family can always rely. May God, through your intercession, teach him how to lead his family into greater holiness by his example of prayer, devotion, and selflessness. Bless (father's name) as he prepares to welcome this child with great joy and love. Help him to always recognise that every child is a gift granted from God who we are charged to care for as dutifully as St. Joseph and Our Lady cared for the Word who became flesh before their eyes in the stable in Bethlehem.

We make this prayer through Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns forever and ever. Amen.

4. St. Gianna Beretta Molla
 

St. Gianna, you gave your life for the sake of your child and became for all who hear your story a model of the sacrificing love of true parenthood. Draw (mother’s name) close to your motherly heart and whisper in her ear the wisdom of your abundant and endless love for your child. Embolden her heart to love her child without fear and to serve God through her witness of the daily love of her motherhood. Beseech our Heavenly Father, we pray, to bless (mother’s name) during this pregnancy and grant her a safe and healthy delivery.

We ask all this through Christ, who is Lord forever and ever. Amen.

5. St. Monica

St. Monica, mother of a great Saint, St. Augustine, help us to follow your example of constant motherly love and care. May God grant that the prayers we beseech for our children may, like yours, bring our precious and beloved children closer to the unending love of God. Draw this expectant mother into your heart and imbue her with the motherly virtues you lived unceasingly in your own life. Let her learn to rely fully on God in all her cares and concerns for her children throughout the years. We beseech you bring our pleas for (mother’s name) before the throne of God with the same devotion with which you prayed for your own child.

We ask all this through Christ our Lord. Amen.

6. Blessed John Paul II

Blessed John Paul II, we pray that through your intercession God will help (parents names) to teach their child about God’s love and salvation with the same fervour and humility that you did. We know you have a special care for all young people and their families, and so we entrust this young family to you, knowing you will intercede for them before our Holy Mother Mary and her Son, our Saviour.

We ask all this through Christ our Lord. Amen.

7. Blessed Zelie and Louis Martin

Blessed Zelie and Louis Martin, parents of the Little Flower, St. Therese de Lisieux, through your intercession may God grant (parents names) the patience and holiness to raise up their child(ren) to love God without reserve. Help (parents names) to follow your example of parenthood so that they may see their vocation as a married couple and as parents as an opportunity to grow closer to each other and to God. Help them to become an earthly image of Heavenly Love that their children will always desire to emulate in their own lives.

We ask this through our Lord Jesus Christ, who lives and reigns forever and ever. Amen.

8. Saint Elizabeth

St. Elizabeth, who against all odds became pregnant with a son in  your old age, John the Baptist, we beseech you to intercede on behalf of (mother's name). May her child, like your son, know from within the womb God's love and presence and once born become a messenger of God's Salvation. Fill (mother's name) with faith in God's Providence and trust in God's Will as she comes closer to meeting her new baby, now resting safely in her womb.

We ask this through Christ our Lord. Amen.

9. Our Lady

O Mary, who was born to be the living tabernacle of our Lord's flesh, give (mother’s name) the desire to grow in the virtues of the motherhood you demonstrated so perfectly for us. Sweet Mother, who was chosen as the earthen vessel into which God poured His Divinity and became Man, aid (mother's name) to repeat your “Yes” as she accepts her call to motherhood. Help her to imitate your quiet devotion as she works every day to protect and grow the life growing within her womb. Mother most dear, we give (mother’s name) unto your care, trusting you will draw her up into your arms and lay all her cares before your Beloved Son.
 

We ask for your intercession in the name of your Son, Jesus Christ, Our Lord. Amen.

Raising Saints

I wrote a post a little while ago about the growing faith of my three oldest children. Knowing that they're our kids, my husband and I are rarely shocked by the sweet and faithful kids our things say. The truth of the matter is that their lives are deeply soaked in the stories of their faith, and everyday problems and duties are framed in light of service. (Or at least we're trying). Even now, the three oldest kids are watching the biographical film Therese, about one of my favourite Saints, St. Therese de Lisieux. They haven't yet asked to watch any of their other favourites, mostly from the Disney catalogue. My oldest daughter is especially in love with this movie, and keeps putting blankets on her head like a veil. The life of her faith, and that of her younger brothers, is growing before my eyes. We've started going to daily mass as we can, and I see through my own struggle to keep 4 little ones even mildly calm that somehow, some of this is getting through the fog of princesses and cowboys to have a firm place in their hearts.
This weekend was the first time my Dad was the Deacon at our regular Mass. He was ordained to the diaconate on the 8th at our Basilica, and even though it was a day of great spiritual joy, the Mass was later in the evening and the kids were tired and very cranky. A few days after his ordination, my eldest son was having a rough night, so I came in and cuddled with him in his bed for a few minutes in hopes of helping him relax. He and I got to talking, and something we ended up talking about Heaven. He really liked this idea and wanted to know what Heaven was. I told him that it was the place where we go when we die so we can be with Jesus. We talked about the fact that the people we loved who had died were in Heaven with Jesus. When I asked him what he thought Heaven was like, part of me expected him to say that it was like being on the playground all day or something sweet and childlike. To my surprise, he said: "Like Church for Poppi's ordination. (A pretty big word for a 3 year old!) We would have Jesus and our family. We would be happy. And we would eat cake and I would smile." This really warmed my heart. Of all the kids, he had been the wildest during the ordination, but through all his tiredness and crankiness, he had seen our time at the "big church" as something special, beautiful, and worth experiencing again. It was wonderful to see too that he felt Jesus was an important part of his Poppi's ordination.

Fast forward to this past weekend, we're sitting together, all in a good mood (shocking I know), attending my Dad's first Mass as a Deacon at our regular Sunday morning Mass. Even though I knew they didn't quite understand what Poppi was up to in the Sanctuary in that big green cape (aka dalmatic, haha), their eyes were on all the action more than ever before. While they were preparing the wine and bread to be consecrated, our oldest girl was watching intently. She turned and asked me what her Poppi was doing. I did my best to explain that he was helping prepare the wine and bread so that God could make it into his Body and Blood. She nodded sagely, noting that when Jesus was crucified he bled and it was sad. A few moments later, when the priest elevated the cup and recalled the words of Christ that before us was His blood given for us and our salvation, my sweet little 4 year old daughter turned to me in all earnestness and whispered: "Mommy, look at the cross. Look how Jesus is bleeding into the cup!" She then turned and stared intensely at the crucifix at the back of Sanctuary, which from her perspective was right above the uplifted chalice. I felt a shiver go through my whole body  and tears spring to my eyes. I wished in that moment I could see so clearly what she was seeing, that my faith was as innocent and fearless as hers. I know that if I saw what it was she was seeing, I might be nervous to share it with anyone, but with her childlike faith, she assumed this was normal, and needed to be shared. The rest of the Mass went on as normal, which its share of giggling, pushing, smiles and tears, but I was struck by the depth of her words. Even now I'm still in shock at what she said.

I know as my children get older, they faith will grow in some ways, and possibly wither in other ways. They will be taught by others to suppress their innocent belief in favour of greater understanding. In some ways, it will be wonderful to watch them grow in knowledge about the facts of their faith, but I pray that they will be the lucky ones who will be able to maintain their complete trust, innocence, and vision.

Motherhood

Mother's Day is coming up this weekend. This will be my 5th Mother's Day. My first Mother's Day I was pregnant with our oldest child, and I had no real idea what motherhood meant for me. I was about 5 months pregnant, and was just starting to realise that motherhood was going to be a big part of my new. I was just starting to show (oh the miracle of first pregnancies... I started to show around 2 weeks pregnant every pregnancy since) and my little bump was already making it awkward for me to walk without bumping into things. The nausea had subsided (thank heavens I had it all while working an office job and not my labour intensive job I had from about 5 months on), but they had been replaced with weird food and smell aversions (hilarious now when you think of the half-chewed food I've eaten and the smelly diapers I've changed), exhaustion, and a wardrobe that wasn't expanding as fast as my belly.

In the 5 years since that first Mother's Day, I've learned so much that I couldn't have imagined in those endless days of pregnancy. I've let a lot of worries go, but also have become more militant about others. I've learned it's worth getting smeared in peanut butter (or tomato sauce, or paint) to get a hug or a kiss from my kids. I've learned that giving them every physical they want in no way comes close to a moment of my full attention. I've learned how very aware they are of everything I do. I've been reading articles about this for years, but there's something about the first time your child repeats something you've been saying without thinking that it hits you like a ton of bricks. ("Baby girl is chillin', Mommy. Not illin'." Oh Lord, why did I ever talk like that in the first place??) I've learned that who I choose to share a playdate with can make a big difference in their lives. Friends who are excited to see them, even when they don't know how to play together yet, gives them a sense of self-confidence a million Mom hugs can't. (Also, they can learn cool expressions from their friend's Moms, like "Oh Snap!". True story!) I've learned that you can find out so much about a child by listening to them, even when it sounds like nonsense at first. I've learned TV can be your best friend or your greatest enemy, depending on the day of the week. I've learned the difference between a whine, scream, shrill laugh, moan and straight out purple cry, and how to manage each (most of the times). I've learned that I'm often not right, but that my kids are very forgiving as I figure things out with them. I've learned that love always has room to grow.

I think the thing that surprised me the most is that love, which I've always considered as a kind of abstract concept for me, really is something tangible. Now that I have kids, I realise in a way I never could have imagined that love has a face, well, 4 little faces. There are days when my patience is wearing thing and I lose my temper, but the second I look into their big wide eyes, it melts my heart. I would do anything to make each one of my kids happy and safe. When I hear one of them cry out in the middle of the night, my heart still leaps into my throat, living in a flash a million possibilities of what could be the problem (Did she have a nightmare? Did he fall out of bed? Are her legs twisted out of the crib? Is his blood sugar low? Or something worse...?). They have taught me what real, unconditional, endless love is all about. Love that started before I even had a positive pregnancy test. Love that keeps me up at night. Love that makes me want to be a better person so that when they look at me, they see someone they can love too.

I love the idea that on Mother's Day we chose to celebrate Moms. I'm right there with the world wanting to say my thanks to my own Mom who is, without a doubt, my personal hero for so many reasons. That being said, when it comes to my own family, I think of Mother's Day as a time to be grateful for my children. Thank them for challenging me, inspiring me, and teaching what love looks like.

School

Our oldest child is about to enjoy the last summer of her life before summer is associated primarily as the vacation from school. This September, at the impossibly young age of 4, my big girl will be old enough to enter her first year of school. I have been dreading this moment for the past 5 years (I'm including pregnancy, folks). I'm not sure she's ready to go. I'm not sure I'm ready for her to go. To me she still seems so little, so young, and simply not ready for that level of all-day learning required at the school she would be attending. Four months seems like too short of a time for her to suddenly become a morning person, and additionally to gain an attention span of more than twenty minutes. She is distractible at best, easily frustrated at worst, when faced with any attempt to learn new things. I look at her face and know that sending her to school doesn't feel right. Doesn't feel fair. I can see in her all the necessary ingredients for the same false ADHD diagnosis we hear is being levelled upon so many young elementary school students. I fear her being bullied as she is small for her age, and in so many ways still very innocent and naive about the cruelty of others.

I don't think I should have to change her, to crush what I love best about her, so that I can prepare her for a school system that is woefully underfunded, understaffed, and overflowing with students at the youngest levels. Through the years I have watched so many of my friends become teachers, working hard to enlighten and inspire the generation entrusted to them. I love these teachers for their enthusiasm, dedication, and fortitude. I respect them for trying to do what they can with what little they are given, making gold out of straw in so many cases. That being said, I look at my daughter and wonder if I can give her more attention here at home. While her teacher could have something nearer to 30 students, I would have just her (plus the distraction of 3 other little monkeys who, fortunately, take naps). I am a university educated woman, and although I don't have a BEd I'm relatively sure I can figure out how to teach my daughter what she needs to know (and some things she doesn't need to know too). I've already taught her about letters, numbers, shapes, colours, phonics, spelling, some french vocabulary, and music. Her reading is coming along slowly, but primarily because she is only 4 and still has a very short attention span. I can see that she knows how to sound out her words, but doesn't have the patience to sit and do it with every word. So we read short simple books, but we do read.

The one thing that had kept me dedicated to the idea of sending our daughter to public school has been that we would send her to French Immersion. Both my husband and I had our schooling primarily in French, and I do feel like it served me in the long run. My paternal Grandpapa was also French, so it was important that my kids learn the language as well. We recently discovered there's a good chance that due to budget cuts the school that our daughter would be attending might be losing its French program over the next few years. There have also been lots of talks of school closures in surrounding regions which I'm sure will be coming to our part of the city too, when you consider the number of schools close to us with the declining enrolment, not to mention the declining education budget.

As we reflected on all this information, we came to the conclusion that, for us, homeschooling was the right path for at least this year. I don't know how many years we'll be able to keep this up, but as long as it's what's best for her (and later on her younger siblings), our home will also be their school. With a bit of guidance from some other homeschooling parents I'm going to dive in head first and do everything I can to give my daughter the best possible educational experience.

Schedules and Joy

As I see the way my baby girl is growing and changing, I can't deny that I'm growing and changing too. As she crawls (well more like drags right now) I can't help but reflect on the fact that I'm finally, truly dragging myself out of the haze of new motherhood. It's usually a new pregnancy that jolts me out of the baby haze (I have wonderful pregnancies, not a ton of baby brain, although I'm pretty prone to random naps), but for the first time in a long time I'm finding my energy again. I knew this was the case when I woke up and saw the rain and actually regretted that the ugly weather would be keeping me in.

For the past 8 months, I've only left my house under duress. I was too tired, too busy, and just too unfocused to deal with to deal with the requirements of managing four kids in public. At home, where life is familiar, I'd developed a rhythm centred entirely around our new baby girl. Necessity was the name of the game. I would do anything I could to make sure that the most I'd have to do was clean my main level to have friends over, and at the beginning I tried to restrict that to one or at most two days a week. On the weekends when my husband was home things were a bit more social, but even then it was mostly just to visit either my folks or his. The only new friends I made was through our young parents Alpha group.

As I looked at my schedule this week (shocking enough that I have a schedule), I realised I only have one solitary day to spend at home being anti-social in my yoga pants. I've managed to integrate two regular playdates every week (one is a follow-up to our Alpha group that's a playdate with an opportunity for us to discuss the struggles of living our faith in the world) and a standing playdate I have with a friend I met at our Alpha group. Every Thursday we either go to meet my husband at work or spend the afternoon with my Mom. This week I have two extra playdates thrown into the mix and I must say I'm very pleased with this arrangement. Add to that the fact that I've been walking down to the store to pick up all our groceries lately and have made a concerted effort to take them out to the field for a run around and I'm pretty sure the TV is feeling pretty lonely. At night I've even found myself energetic enough to read through a few books that were on my list.

I don't know how long I can keep up with this level of energy, but for now I'm going to relish in it. The juggling it takes to manage so many kids in public can be pretty stressful (please big boy, stop running away in parking lots, I'm going to lose my mind), but it's worth it. As I feel the fog lifting from my mind and the lead melt out of my bones, I feel refreshed, ready and want to make the most of life with my four precious blessings. It took me 8 long, dark months to get to this point, but I'm grateful for the journey and the destination.

Can't Say It Enough

Sometimes I think I get so wrapped up in parenting, I can't see the forest for the trees. There are days when every time I open my mouth, it's only to tell someone to stop standing on something, stop fighting, stop whining, or to do something like clean up, eat, or sit. Time after time there are only corrections and instructions. With four kids, I find myself talking at them pretty much all day. I know that because they're toddlers this is part of the deal. They need boundaries. They need guidance. Still, there are times when I sit back and go over my day and I can't help but wonder what makes me so different from a daycare or a babysitter. Nothing about what I've done all day is so much different from what we could pay a stranger to do instead.

It's in those times of reflection that I realise I need to make time for more cuddles, more laughter, and I need to remember to say more than the "do"s and "don't"s to my kids. Over the past week I've tried to make a conscious effort to interrupt my own constant stream of instructions to pause, take each child aside, and to simply say "I love you" and "I'm so glad you're my child". I'm sure this seems obvious to everyone, but it's something I struggle with. I do love my kids. If anything ever happened to one of them, part of my life would end there and then. Everything I do every day is for them. I gave up my chance to have a career outside the home to be able to be with them, to give them everything they needed.

All my instructions and guidance comes from that place of deep love, and wanting to help them be safe and also to learn and grow, but I know feeling this love for them isn't enough to let them know I feel it. I'm sure when they're older they'll be able to look back and see that all of this is coming from a place of love, but until then I need to say it, as often as I can, when they're being good and when they're being bad. I want them to know that I love them no matter what, and always have. I can't stop setting limits for their safety, but I never want to set a limit on my love for them.

After about a week of spontaneous "I love you"s, I'm still finding the kids crazy, wonderful, a little out of control, and hilarious. They haven't changed much, although my oldest son has started spontaneously saying "I love you" too every once in a while. I really wasn't looking for a change in them, I was looking for a change in me. I know I needed to do this so I could appreciate again my special role in this family, that I'm more than a housekeeper or babysitter. Whether we're at home or working, I think every parent teaches one great lesson to their children: that no matter what, there is someone who loves them unconditionally, deeply and constantly.

St. Joseph's Day

While much of the English speaking world is recovering from the green haze that is St. Patrick's Day (and God Bless that blue wearing Welshman, who was dragged in chains as a slave to Ireland, escaped back to Wales to return later as a Roman Catholic Bishop), we are celebrating the feast of St. Joseph, a favourite patron in our family for so many reasons. First of all, we have a son named Joseph. Secondly, my husband is a cabinetmaker and of course a father. St. Joseph is the patron of woodworkers and fathers. For many years my husband has felt a growing closeness to St. Joseph. With that in mind, I thought I'd share a few reflections on this Saint who is a daily example for our lives.

How can you not feel some love and affinity for this man? He was a hard-working man, the breadwinner for his small family. Carpentry is no easy trade. It can be back-breaking, and requires attention to both the big and the small picture. I love the idea of Joseph leaning over his work with the child Jesus watching on, probably playing amongst the curls of wood falling to the floor as Joseph's well-worn plane glides across the wood. A small act of creation and re-creation, patiently achieved under the watchful eyes of the Creator. I wonder too at what beautiful work Joseph and Jesus made together as the father taught his adopted son his trade. Something so ordinary in those days, but so extraordinary in the light of the Incarnation, the Creator putting a hand to shaping things anew.
God chose Mary for His Mother, and created her, immaculate and without sin. Her 'yes' allowed God to do His saving work from her womb, to the manger, to the Cross. She is there in the background of so many stories in the bible. Meanwhile Joseph is only prominently featured in the story of the Nativity. He is Mary's betrothed. Despite the fact that he could have cast Mary off and had her stoned, Joseph trusts the message of the Angel and joins her with a second 'yes', a 'yes' which protected her and the Child who would be born King of Kings, but brought public shame on himself. After carrying Mary and Christ child off to Egypt to protect them from Herod's murder of innocent children, Joseph fades from view, taking a backseat to his adopted son. The childhood of Christ is known more or less in the few moments shared in the Gospels. Joseph is there, like any father, supporting, loving and teaching, but asking no credit. I believe that just as He chose Mary, God chose Joseph as part of his plan for Salvation. Not every man could take on faith that Mary was carrying the Son of God, and ignore the appearance of scandal Mary's pregnancy brought to their lives. God chose a man who would trust in Him, and then after one great 'yes', spend the rest of his life saying a daily 'yes' to the duties of being a father to his adopted Son.

I'm sure it was no easy task raising Jesus, hearing Him declare He was in His Father's temple, after Joseph and Mary had spent several frantic hours racing around Jerusalem, trying to find Him. I'm sure, like any adoptive parent who hears "you're not my REAL father!", this simple phrase must have been hard for Joseph to hear. Still, he stood by his little family, and continued with devotion to raise up the Son entrusted to him. I think there's a lesson for all of us parents in the works of St. Joseph. Every child, be they are our own flesh and blood or adopted, are a precious gift to be cherished, nurtured, and protected. Be they the Christ child, or our own child, God has asked us to say 'yes' to being parents every day. I hope, like St. Joseph, I can do it quietly, knowing that my true reward at the end of my days will be seeing the wonderful people my children will hopefully become, and that they too will choose to love and serve the God who gave them to us.

St. Joseph, pray for us!

Faith to Grow With

In case it wasn't obvious by the former nun and former monk getting hitched business that is our life, and our 4 kids in 5 years, we are Catholic. Because our faith is so important to us, we are trying our best to teach our children about the faith they are inheriting from us. Our TV stand has an earthen tone Nativity (it doesn't look Christmas-y as it is in muted colours, so I don't feel ridiculous having it out year round. Plus, I loves me my baby Jesus!), a statue of St. Francis with a deer (a gift from the Franciscans for our baby girl's baptism. A nice replacement for our old statue we bought on our honeymoon that got knocked over and decapitated by oldest boy), and a small statue of Our Lady of Guadaloupe (bought when I was preggers with baby girl. She was with us in the delivery room and was a great focal point). Our house is also littered with a few pictures of our favourite saints (St. Mary, St. Joseph, St. Monica and St. Augustine, St. Padre Pio, and Blessed JPII) and a cross-stitch of the Prayer of St. Francis made by hubby's Mom. Thanks to both sets of grandparents and our friends, the kids also have a large collection of books related to the life of Christ and various Saints. When he was about 20 months old, our oldest son started to ask if he could take a rosary to bed with him, so he could have "his" Jesus with him. I'm not here to give you an inventory of our home, or trying to look holy or whatnot. I'm just trying to give a sense of the daily normalcy of our Catholicism.

To some people who don't share our values or our particular faith, this may look like brainwashing. You might see our statues, relics, rosaries and stash of Christian books, and think that we're forcing our beliefs on their young minds on a consistent basis. From the perspect of faith, of any faith mind you, not just Christian, a faith worth believing in is a gift that is worth sharing. Belief in a benevolent Creator, who has knows us in every way, is a great comfort as we go through our lives.

As those of you with small children know, everything they do feels like life or death to them, including whether or not they get to have another cookie. Given the fact that we as parents are not perfect, I find it important to be able to point them to a holy Mother and perfect Father to give comfort to them in their darkest hour, even if that darkness seems a little, well, melodramatic to us. We need to realise God made them, knowing that they'd be children, and then even in their littleness He knows them and wants to comfort them in all their struggles. Having the presence of God be real to them from birth can be a true gift that can help them in their frustrations and fears. God's Fatherhood can stand alongside our parenthood without getting in the way. His Fatherhood supports us, and makes good of our parenting when our children are small and we're still learning what it means to be a parent.

By the time they are teenagers it may already be too late to start introducing them to God in the authentic way we can introduce Him to a child who is still full of awe and wonder. In my experience with teenagers, their ability to have perspective on their lives is arrested by the thick fog of hormones, peer pressure, and the isolated life of junior high and high school. How many of us spent our teen years filled with anxiety and writing dramatic poetry about what we would consider now to be small problems? While I felt like I was being swallowed up by the drama in my life, I felt I couldn't talk to my parents because they simply didn't, wouldn't, or couldn't understand. I can see now that wasn't true, but as a teenager that's how I felt. It was in those times that my faith grew from the firm foundation of my childhood into something more personal. I was able to take the lessons of my childhood and use them in my own life. It was about this time that I started reading the Psalms. Nobody does drama quite like King David. I joined him in crying out to God in the depths of my despair, wanting so badly to trust that He would carry me through. And carry me He did. If my parents hadn't taught me about our faith, or spoke of God's love and faithfulness, I'm not sure where I would have turned.

I'm not saying that teaching our children about our faith is going to automatically help them face every problem with great fortitude and grace. I just know that some day, one of them will have a problem they are struggling with, a problem they think is bigger than them and than us. When they're faced with that problem I want to know that we've given them every resource we can to get them through it. The first time they need to utter a prayer not of thanksgiving, but of despair and hopelessness, I hope that praying to the God who they already know loves them, cherishes them, and protects them, will make it a little easier for them. If they know and trust in God, perhaps those troubles that come to them won't seem so great. I want to teach my children about God, because I want them to know they are never forgotten. There is a plan for them even greater than they can imagine. They are always loved. If that faith can start as a child, and stay with them through their teenage years and then into adulthood, I will be able to face them knowing that if I failed in all else, I can be sure I gave them one great gift that will be a testament of my love for them.

Ladies Night Out

I should preface this by saying that I don't get out often. Pretty close to never in fact. I'm lucky enough to have a lady friend who knows the value of time as a woman, instead of just as Mommy, and this lovely lady has been so kind as to encourage me to get out. She adds kindness upon kindness by organizing outings and even coming to get me to make it as easy as possible for me to take a night for myself. I even blogged about the sweet freedom of getting out with her before. She is a true blessing, and a saint in disguise (though barely disguised, her holiness emanates like the rays of the sun!).

Before she and I became good friends I literally never got out without the kids. I'm definitely an emotionally attached mother. I find it incredibly hard to leave the house, even when they're all asleep. The world can get really insulated when you let your kids become your everything and don't allow yourself the freedom to take time for yourself. For the past four or so years I've been that woman, the one who's %100 Mom. I thank God for bringing a friend into my life who could lead me by her fine example to become more than a Mom. If not, I can only imagine where I'd be now. Probably a lonely, burnt-out Mama without any energy to give to my children, let alone my sweet husband, anymore. I was nearly there when my dear friend started dragging me out of the house. Now, I'm actually attracting compliments for how easy I make it look to have four kids, which is thanks in no small part to the fact that I've re-discovered the woman who is the foundation of the wife and mother with the help and encouragement of my friend.

As little as an hour at night doing something for myself reminds me that under the spit-up, cooking splatter, and possibly funky smell, there is a woman worth fighting for. If I can show my children that I value myself enough to take care of myself, then hopefully they'll follow that example and remember to pursue their passions and interests even in the middle of life's important duties. I don't want my kids to look at me in 10 years and think that I gave up my entire life for them. I want them to look and see that getting married and having my children enriched my life, gave me purpose, but didn't swallow up all my dreams and potential. If I lose myself in my desire to be everything for my children, I'm afraid when they leave to live their own lives, I won't know how to define myself outside of them. I'm afraid I'll be grasping after the little birds as they try to fly, rather than lifting them up and teaching them to soar. The knowledge that I have a future without them makes me want to make the most of this time with them, because it truly is fleeting, even with four children to enjoy. While I nuture my little blessings, I plan to continue to follow the good example of my friend and I will nuture myself too so I can continue to grow into the woman God intends me to become.

Perks of 4 Kids

It's easy to talk about the challenges of having a lot of kids all at once. There's the expense, the diapers, the noise, the odd smells in every corner of our house, the crying, the arguing, the terrible twos coming one after another for 4 years, the business of never having personal space, either on a piece of furniture or in the bathroom, the fact that once one kid cries at night, suddenly everyone is crying (Mommy too), and the list goes on. All of this and more is part of the daily struggle of having a family full to the brim with a baby, a few toddlers, and a preschooler. Intense drama, though momentary, is par for the course in our house.

I'm not sure that I would have it any other way. Sure, I'd love to take my bathroom breaks solo. Let me correct that, I'd love time to actually take regular bathroom breaks well before I'm doing the potty dance, running through a crowd of children to the nearest bathroom. All that being said, there are a lot of perks to having four little kids. Here's a list of my 5 favourite perks:

1. I rarely need a blanket as the body heat from four kids keeps me cozy even on the frostiest of winter mornings. These same little hot water bottles I call children are always ready to warm up my heart with genuine outburts of "I love you, Mommy!" and "You're so pretty, Mommy!", a light in the darkest of times.

2. I don't need to wake up to a loud beeping alarm clock. Most mornings I get to wake up to the sound of our boys playing in their bedroom or our girl singing loudly to the music on her radio. Even the soft whimpers of a hungry baby is music to my ears compared to the angry siren of our alarm.

3. I'm never lacking in helpers. If big sister isn't in the mood to help Mommy pick up the diaper wipes when I'm busy with baby girl, I have my two little boys on hand, begging to get involved. I'm also never without a helper in the kitchen, which makes every attempt to cook an adventure.

4. My house can look like a bomb hit it, and no one would dare to question my housekeeping skills. They know as well as I do that I could have scrubbed every inch of it, and within 5 minutes my own squad of aspiring tasmanian devils could have it back in its normal post-apocalyptic splendor. If, by chance or design, my house looks even halfway clean, I suddenly appear to be some kind of Martha Stewart-styled domestic goddess. Equally, if I manage a successful meal for guests, I am a modern day Julia Child, ignoring of course that I just dumped a pile of ingredients in the crockpot. Lastly, along the same train of thought, my personal hygiene and attire are never questioned. As long as I'm not in a robe, people seem to think I've gone out of my way for them. Fair enough. Pajamas and sweatshirts are my usual uniform when we don't have guests around. So long as the kids are dressed and clean, I've won my victory for the day.

5. This one may be my favourite. I love watching my kids becoming best friends. Sure they fight, just like any other kids, but they also take care of each other. There's nothing in the world better than coming into the livingroom to see the three older kids huddled around baby girl's exersaucer, doing everything they can to make her smile and giggle. If our youngest boy trips, the first one by his side is his big brother, giving him a hug and telling him he's okay. Our oldest girl can often be seen teaching her 3 year old brother, his letters. They do everything together by choice. I feel so blessed to witness their evolutions from roommates to friends, and from friends to best friends.

Having what is rapidly approaching a bus full of kids has its downs, but those are nothing compared to the ups. It's hard to ignore how blessed I am each day. As we finished off our long, busy, exhausting day I was so very ready to see their little heads dissappear behind closed doors. At the same time, I couldn't help but be reminded of my four little blessings when I heard them wishing each other goodnight through their joining wall. No matter how rough the day, or how rough the night ahead, that little ritual is a moment of peace and perspective that centers my day. I wouldn't trade that for all the coffee, peace, silence or sleep in the world.

Calm After the Storm

I love Saturdays. Always have. This particular Saturday, I must say, might be in my all time top ten list. We've had a rough couple of weeks in our family. Besides Hubby's persistent, painful stomach issues (which are oh so gradually getting better), my father has been struggling with his own health concerns for a few weeks. He's had kidney stones, and after weeks of fruitless attempts to pass them, he finally had to have surgery. My father is a larger man, and I must confess I was more than a little concerned about the fact that they had to give him a general anesthetic for his surgery. By God's grace he came through in great shape and is recovering at home under the care of my mother, who happens to be a nurse. Besides all the health drama, I've been cheering on the sidelines as my mother interviewed for 3 jobs as a teacher this week. I don't know why, but I think I get more nervous and excited about it than she does. I want her to be happy and doing something she enjoys, so I find myself getting wrapped up in it all. I've also been busy having playdates and organising playgroups, which has been so rewarding for the kids and myself, but leaves me exhausted by week's end.

Suffice it to say, it's been busy, and even a little stressful around here. So as I sit lazily on my couch while the kids have their snacks, watching the snow drift down from the sky in fluffy clumps, I'm at peace. This is the gift of Saturday. This is the calm after the storm. There's nothing to do in this moment but enjoy my children and husband without worrying about the rest of the week. Our oldest girl is doing cute pirouettes to her favourite song, Cinderella by Stephen Curtis Chapman, as her Daddy watches on with a wistful smile, our oldest son is making up a story to go along with a book he can't yet read, our youngest son is snuggled next to me, eating a whole apple with a level of dedication and seriousness only he could muster, and our baby girl is on the floor getting good practice for crawling, which she seems only days away from doing (AHHHH!). My coffee is still warm and sweet. Life is enfolding before my eyes, and I'm just happy to sit back and enjoy it.

Thank God for today. A Saturday like this is just the right remedy for 100 Mondays.

Just Another Wednesday

I can see the snow blowing around in whispy clouds out my back window. Oldest girl is drawing at the table. The boys are packing toys in their little ottoman style chairs. Baby girl is bouncing peacefully in her excersaucer. Light and cheerful music drifts through the air. The coffee is drunk. The dishwasher is full and running. (Relative) quiet. (Acceptable level of) peace. Supper is already made for tonight.

I realise that I could go down and start some more laundry. Or even fold the enormous pile of laundry in my bedroom that's growing faster than baby girl. But not yet. Not in this moment. There could be a million pressing tasks begging for my time in the moment, but I am not letting the voice of duty have a say in this moment. The only duty I have right now is to sit back and savour the miracle that is four children, existing in something that one could approximate as harmony. Everyone is clean, fed and occupied...

Oh wait, I see a brawl starting and baby girl is starting up her hungry cry... It was nice while it lasted.