Pro-Life Advocacy

There are days when Pro-Life advocacy is hard. The days when I'm overwhelmed by the real, human tragedy being played out constantly all across the globe. The sheer magnitude of all the lost, the injured, the unwanted... It can crush the heart. None of the days I've experienced so far come close to the days I feel like I've failed in my work to care for women in crisis. Failed to give all the support needed to enable someone to make the choice they want most, but are pressured to deny. Days like that I do the only thing I can: pray and love. Love unconditionally and endlessly. There is no room for me to judge, but there is always room for more support and more love.

Our culture is so hostile to life that it clouds the view of intelligent, educated and loving women and men. It teaches them to avoid parenthood at any cost. It teaches that our sexuality is only a tool for our pleasure. It teaches that our inability to scientifically measure personhood in the womb gives us license to strip our children of their humanity. It teaches us that our children are commodities that can be refused or sought after, again, at any cost. Our society, which accuses me of being too "faith-based" in my opinions, has been busy, quietly selling its own narrative and set of values. People have been sold the lie that they have no dignity unless they are independent and in a position of power. They have been taught to believe that their position of power over another being gives them moral impunity. They have been taught that their bodily autonomy trumps the bodily autonomy of the life they participated in creating.

The truth of the matter, the truth that science hints at but can't fully explain, is that each life is precious from conception to natural death. The innate dignity of each child, a gift we cannot demand but are blessed to welcome, exists from the start. The sad juxtaposition is that our culture is happy to see each born child as the unique and beautiful beings they are, but denies that uniqueness and beauty because of geography and dependence on an unwilling parent. Our culture is struggling to hold apart this opposite vision and it is so incongruous for those of us with eyes to see. On the one side, we see Tiger Moms, Helicopter parents, pinterest parents. Parents so convinced that their children are incredibly special and worth every excess imaginable. On the other side, we see our culture convinced that babies are only worth our effort and a future of bento box lunches, themed parties, expensive photo shoots, if we decide to ascribe dignity arbitrarily.

I have been blessed with 5 pregnancies and in turn 5 incredible children. I know so deeply how difficult pregnancy can be either through my own breadth of experience or through that of many friends. I can't begin to imagine the taunting and cruelty some young women carrying unplanned pregnancies endure on top of physical symptoms. A young pregnant woman I know was physically assaulted at her school and also endures constant insistence from grandparents to abort. She stands tall and brave, guarding her pregnancy with enough love to break a thousand hardened hearts. I can understand the temptation to run away from that pain. When I asked her how she reacts to people telling her to abort, she told me that she focuses on the fact that Mom's protect their children. Period.  Our society is broken. Many are too busy judging these women to give them what they need: support to endure the 9 months of loving sacrifice while being constantly pressured and insulted.

If you need to see the face of Christ, look in the eyes of one of these brave mothers. Look at her face and see the truth: Life is sacred. Sacrifice has purpose. Those who make brave, life-giving choices are often fighting a battle every moment of their pregnancy. And if they do give in to the immense pressure to escape it and choose an abortion, don't leave your love at the door of the clinic. Don't ever stop loving these women. Say yes to their innate dignity and keep supporting and loving them.

Acts of Love

Am I the only one who finds cooking for others therapeutic? I cooked up a big batch of butternut squash soup for my Mom today. It was ready at lunch so I gave my 4 favourite taste testers a bowl (and saved some for my lovely husband because,  well, I love him and he loves soup). It was a big hit. Baby girl gobbled every bite down without a complaint.  A nice lift for me considering how fussy she can be. Adding shredded cheese makes everything amazing I guess. I was able to bring a few days worth of the soup for my Mom when we visited today so Dad could go to some appointments.

We stayed with her for 4 hours today. Mostly she slept, but the kids and I hung out in her bedroom and watched random Netflix while she faded in and out. She has hospital bed in their bedroom, plus a nice love seat for visitors and their big king sized bed facing her hospital bed. Even though she was too tired to chat like old times, she watched joyfully as the big kids bounced on the big bed across from her and baby boy played in his exersaucer. Once she fell asleep we just stayed with her. The kids didn't want to leave her room. I caught their eyes watching her rest, and they were happy.  They have been asking to visit her, just to be around her. As we got ready to leave they all got their cuddles. I cooked, they cuddled.

Dad sent me home with the ingredients for beef barley soup my Mom never got around to making. I can't do much,  but I can do this for them. Cancer can work its quiet evil, but the kids will give their love and I'll give my time and love, a little thank you for 30 years of motherhood. This time in the form of food and company.  It's funny this feeling of wanting to do something.  We all get it. We can't control the situation or take away the pain, so we do what we can. We do small tasks to take a little pressure off for others. We move our pebbles, praying for the strength to move mountains. We hope our little acts will be seen for what they are, love and gratitude.

Love Letter: Baby Boy

Baby boy, I want you to be able to look back after you're born and all grown up and know how loved you were before we'd ever seen your face. You haven't had the chance to make us love you with your sweet face, beautiful eyes, and new baby smells. But we already love you. We've loved you since the second we knew you were going to join our family. When we told your brothers and sisters they were really excited too. Ever since they've been asking how much longer until you will be born. They want so badly to meet you, baby boy. Don't let their impatience (or mine) sway you, precious child. I know that whether you come tomorrow or two weeks after you're due, you will have been worth the wait.

I want you to know how wanted you are. Before you took up residence in my ever expanding belly, your Daddy and I weren't sure we'd ever have another baby. We wanted another baby. We prayed hard that God would bless us more if that was His will. We already have your amazing brothers and sisters, but still felt there was something missing. That something was obviously you. We weren't sure last summer if we'd ever be lucky enough to hold another baby in our arms, but God surprised us again. You see, Daddy had to have a special surgery to help his stomach work better (the jury's out on if it actually worked) and the Doctor told us there was a chance that it would mean we wouldn't be able to have more babies. When we decided to check if we were pregnant (on a whim) and saw those two pink lines on the test, we were absolutely overjoyed. We told your brothers and sisters and they started to clap and jump around because they were so happy that you were coming. Mere seconds after the test was positive we called everyone we could think of to tell them the good news that you were coming. I remember that night after I got home (I had a date with some of my Mommy friends) I cried because I was so happy that God was giving you to us. I had wanted you so badly, with my whole heart. You were a wish I was almost too afraid to make out loud. Who was I to ask for more blessings when God had already given me 4 beautiful babies? But I knew and trusted that you belonged in my heart.

I still remember the first time I saw your beautiful face. Daddy and I watched together as you jumped around, showing off how vivacious and truly alive you already were at a mere twelve and a half weeks old. When you slowed down for a few seconds and we finally saw your little face I wanted to kiss the screen on the ultrasound, because you were so perfect and beautiful. You were jumping and waving and mugging for the ultrasound wand. Just what I'd expect from one of my little ones.

Here we are about 25 weeks later. You've been so busy growing this last little while. You went from barely making a bump on me to feeling crammed tightly in my belly. I love feeling your little knees and feet rolling across my belly. You're so big now even Daddy and your brothers and sisters can feel you pushing and kicking. Every day your big brothers and sisters run up to me to hug and kiss my belly, sing you songs, and cuddle with you. I find myself singing little songs to you all day too, because I can tell you like to dance in what little room you have left. When we have a quiet moment together it's almost like I can feel your heart beating, your own special rhythm that makes you so unique while being so much still a part of me right now. I dream of the little drummer beat of your heart moving closer and closer to me as we get closer to seeing each other face to face. I also keep trying to imagine your face, to flesh out the cute little black and white picture from your ultrasound. You've had a lot of time to grow since we saw you at 20 weeks. I wonder if you're a chunky monkey like your oldest brother, or long and lean like your biggest sister. I wonder too about your personality. Each of your siblings is so unique, and were since birth. I wonder what new twist you'll bring to our family.

Whoever you are, whatever you look like, I know that you've already changed our family forever. You are a precious gift, the answer to a whispered prayer and many tears. I know when you come you're going to make our hearts a little bigger and show us a little more about what true love looks like. You're going to pour your own special brand of love and wildness into our overflowing house and we'll all know that you belong because you'll fit in from the moment we bring you through the door. You'll share our name and our arms and our hearts. And we'll keep loving you and growing with you and rejoicing in you. And we'll spend every day adding your name to our prayers because we feel like the luckiest family in the world for each moment we've had to spend with you.

I love you, baby boy. I can't wait to meet you and introduce you to your family in person. For now, I'm so happy I get to enjoy just a little bit long holding you close, cuddling with you all day, and feeling your heart beat so strong and wild.

Love Letter: Baby Girl

You're not going to be my baby for much longer, but because the newest baby is a boy, can you stay my baby girl for just a little while longer? I don't know how much long you'll let me call you my baby. For a while now you've been calling all dolls Mimi (as in Me! Me!), but this month you started calling them baby instead. You're already creating space between yourself and the idea of babyhood. Your walk (or dare I say strut) is already turning into a run. Your few words have suddenly turned into full sentences, filled with emotion, affection, and passion. You have always been my clingy baby. Not in a bad way, you must know. You, unlike your darling siblings, are a Mama's girl. You co-slept the longest, breastfed the longest, and you almost stayed in my womb the longest. Until recently, you have only wanted me to hold you and comfort you. Even this afternoon you demanded to have your spot on my ever decreasing lap so we could cuddle while you chatted away at me.

But change is a-brewing. I'm not sure when it started, but quietly, gently, you're putting away your baby habits in favour of being a big girl. First it was your bed. We weren't sure if we wanted to try it, but when we set it up in your room, you took right too it, and were utterly done with your crib. No begging to go back. No tears. You got your big girl bed and then slept in it like it was the most natural thing. Then it was potty training. I want you to know that I personally don't believe in making little kids potty train until they're much older than you were when you started. But you asked for it. You held your pees all morning and watched jealously while your siblings took their turns in the bathroom. So we took you up on your insistence and you embraced the experience. You're down to diapers at nap and bedtime (and the naptime one is really for my peace of mind, as it's nearly always dry). You're petite, and still look to me like such a wee baby, but in your own mind, you're already one of the big kids. You're demanding your place at the big table. Playing with the big kids. Leading the pack whenever you can. You don't mind that I call you my baby, because that's just a word. You're a big girl in your own mind.

The biggest change I noticed was the day you became a Daddy's girl. Not that I mind. I honestly love this part of you. You've always loved your Daddy in a way so precious, but he has always come second to me. Before you knew what it meant, you would mimic your siblings and slur your own version of "I love you, Daddy!!!" as he left for work. Now you want to chat with him on the phone, snuggle with him in his chair, and wait for him by the door all day. Just the other day you wept and begged for him to "Take me! Daddy, take me too!". When Daddy's here, I'm still special, but I'm no Daddy. Part of me wants to be so happy and appreciate how timely your sudden switch to Daddy's girl was. I don't want you to be so jealous of your baby brother because he's going to steal your Mommy. Still, there's a part of me that misses being your number one. I get to be a little bit of that for you still when Daddy goes to work, but it's just another part of your grown up girl independence.

You're still growing, changing, and finding your own way to express the personality I've seen in you since birth. You're still my sweet, shy little girl, but I can see when we're out your humour and affection are starting to shine through to others. Those lucky enough to really get to know are already blessed by you. You've already managed to make a best friend (and got Mommy one too, thanks girlie) despite your shyness. I'm so glad to see other people falling in love with you too. I feel so blessed to be walking with you through these years, even though I find myself grasping at the last remnants of your fleeting babyhood. Just like you were clinging to me as a baby, I want to spend a lifetime clinging to you. You came into our lives in a moment full of prayer and grace, and have spent every second of your life pouring more of that grace into our hearts. I am so grateful that God gave you to me, and for almost two years I've been able to watch you grow into this incredible little person. From the second I knew you were in my womb, I knew I couldn't live without you. You are my sweetheart. You are my baby girl. You are in your own way the love of my life. I pray that I can be more like you, more loving, more gentle and yet more boisterous. I pray I can sing my heart out even if I don't know the words. I pray that I can give my heart fearlessly to those who love me most. I pray that you will always feel as loved as you truly are as our beloved child and as a daughter of God. I love you for who you were, who you are, and who you will be. Always and forever.

Love Letter: Monkey Boy

It seems silly to call you my Monkey Boy, but that's really what you are in my head. And you'd like that, knowing that I think of you as my Monkey Boy. Much better than calling you my baby boy. You hate being called a baby (well, most of the time). That's your sister's job. You're a big boy now, and in my own mind, so suddenly I can barely catch my breath. You've always been small for your age. You were even the smallest of all our babies at birth. I remember when you were born you came out so tiny (although you were just about the same size as your oldest sister, but after your big brother who had 7oz on you, you seemed tiny) and crying. You cried so hard for such a little baby. Those tears didn't last long though. You became quickly a very calm, serene baby. You were so calm I rarely knew when you needed anything. I had to guess a lot of the time and over time became in touch with your subtle cues. I remember so vividly how you were the delight of your brother and sister. They weren't jealous of you because, just like your Daddy and I, they were completely taken in by your charm. Your eyes were so big and such a deep blue. All of us were drawn into your sweet silence. Unlike your big brother, who was all rolls and chunkiness, you were a slim baby. When I held you I could barely feel the weight. I hated putting you down as I was so drawn to be near you in your calm silence and littleness.

Now that you're about to turn 3, I'm not sure that the word calm can be applied. Except for when you're asleep I suppose. You grew from a tiny little baby into a little man what feels like overnight. You waited so long to walk, clearly not feeling any necessity to get up and run with the big kids, as they were more than likely to stop and sit with you instead. You changed so fast I missed it. I went in to the hospital to have your baby sister and you were crawling, and I came home two days later to my little man, walking and owning the room. When I expressed my surprise and joy, you gave me a look that said "Well of course I can walk. I just didn't feel like it!". My baby disappeared and I came home to a big kid. You've done that to me a few times, my wild child. You managed to keep your code of silence for so long (with a few breaks for the usual Dadas and Mamas) and then one day, out of the blue, you started speaking in full sentences like it was the most natural thing in the world. There's no room for awe as you skipped past milestones at whatever pace you liked. In another flash I lost a little more of my baby, and found him replaced by this walking, talking, little man. I never had time to kiss my baby goodbye. He was replaced by a sticky, funny, noisy, running toddler.

So here were are now, and you're a toddler. Practically a preschooler really. You refused to be held back by anyone and have such a mind of your own. Inside your still small frame is all the force of a dragon. You'd like that too, me calling you a dragon. Don't worry, I know you're a friendly dragon. Some moments I see you and you're so quiet, the picture of the little baby who would lay in my arms all day and just smile. Then, all of a sudden, you're running, roaring, fighting, yelling and making sure everyone knows you're there. I say yelling, but I'm not quite sure you've mastered that yet. You have a voice and know how to use it when you're standing up to your big brother (who you can and do take in a living room brawl any day of the week), but when you want to talk to us, your voice is an earnest whisper, so quiet it's almost not a sound. The sweet, almost shy side of you comes out as you open your mouth wide enough to scream but then only squeak out a whisper. It's worth all the frustration trying to figure out what you're almost saying out loud when we do get it right and you dazzle us with your toothy grin before running off.

When you look back, I suspect you'll wonder why I think of you as my little monkey boy. Perhaps as you get older you'll forget what a hilariously sneaky toddler you were. We're getting ready to welcome our 5th child, and I've never met a child quite so hilarious and mischievous as you are. Besides your earlier (and thankfully now ended) penchant for wall art featuring the contents of your diaper, you have found a way to use your natural stealth to get in all sorts of messes. Just the other day I found you "baking" in the kitchen, which is to say I found you with a ridiculous amount of packages from the pantry broken open and poured haphazardly in a bowl on the floor. I'm still finding chili flakes around the kitchen. Besides your actual acts of mischief (and I could go on), you have quite a way of making the most serious conversation positively hilarious. You seem to have figured out that dramatic hand gestures as well as a few goofy facial expressions can get you out of most of the trouble in the world. For a boy with a talent for trouble, this is an important skill. You can pull faces that can make me laugh even when what I really wanted to do two seconds before was scream my head off. It really is a gift to me to have you there to clown around with me. You make me a better Mama by embracing your irresistible silly side whenever possible.

None of your goofiness gets in the way of how cuddly you still manage to be (even dragons and monkeys need their Mama sometimes). There's nothing you like better than when I sing you "your dragon song" (which for those who haven't watched the Robert Munsch Christmas special on Netflix is the song from "Love you Forever"). When you have a bad dream and you ask me to sing it to you, it reminds me that even though I feel like I've lost my baby, he's still in there somewhere, needing to know that his Mama hasn't forgotten him. Part of me hopes that that never goes away. Part of me hopes you never forget that being in the middle doesn't mean you only get a medium amount of love. I know that there are times when big sister needs help with school and baby sister (and soon baby brother) needs extra attention, but that doesn't mean that you are any less special than you were the moment I first held you in my womb. I'll never stop wanting to scoop you up when you're hurt, sing you your favourite song when you're sad, and hold you close for one more second before you run off on the fast road to being a big boy and then a man. Even if we have 100 babies, not one of them can take your place in my heart and in my arms. You will always be my baby, my little boy, my big man. And I will always be your Mama. I am so grateful that God gave you to me. He must have known how much I needed you, and how little my heart still was before I had you in my life. Since the moment I've had you, you've made me a better person because you taught me a lot more about what true love is. I'm so thankful that I get to spend the rest of my life knowing you, and learning from you. I love you more each day than I knew was possible. Thank you for being my boy.

I'll love you forever. I'll like you for always. As long as I'm living, my baby you'll be.

~ Robert Munsch

Love Letter: Biggest Boy

I've decided that with a new baby coming, it would be a good idea to write a little letter to my older kids so that they can look back and know that regardless how many kids we have, each of them is precious and beloved. This is the second in my four part series, focusing on my second born child.

I often wonder how I should think about you. You're my big boy. My little man. My first born son. My easy baby. Finally a preschooler. We escaped your terrible twos (and dare I say more terrible threes) relatively unscathed. In my head you're still that chubby baby with a grown-up name, even though you're sprouting up in size and wisdom. I can still remember the first time I held you, and your eyes were exactly the same last night when you begged again to cuddle in bed with your Dad and I to watch a special about hockey. As much as you're like your siblings, you're also unique. Your eyes are blue, just like everyone else's, but they aren't an almond shape like theirs. Yours are a little bigger, a little more expressive, and they turn down at the corners, lending you a thoughtful expression. When you smile, your eyes turn into sweet little crescent moons, guaranteed to lift me out of any fog.

I love that you always have such a sparkle in your eyes, I find it hard to keep a straight face. You lift your eyebrows so high in surprise, joy, and laughter. I know it seems silly to talk so much about you physically, but you are so much your body. You own every part of your physical being. You have such incredible command of your body. You are like a force of nature. When you get up in the middle of the night, we can hear you coming from a mile away. Your presence is palpable, even when you think you're sneaking. And your sweet abandon with your body is so engaging and disarming, I find it hard to be firm with you as much as I should.

As much as you are physically in command of yourself, you're also very in touch with your spirituality and emotions. Your emotions come over you at lightning speed. As quickly as tears come to you, you can be soothed into a smile or even a laugh. You feel everything so deeply and love so intensely. You have an ability to love and show your love that is beyond my comprehension. You are quick to forgive, which is helpful since so often I am not the Mama you deserve. Because of your abiding capacity for love, you are rarely taken in by jealous thoughts. You would happily treat your sisters like princesses even if it means you're their servant and squire. Your brother is your friend, not a baby. He is your partner in crime, not your sidekick. You have never made either your brother or your baby sister feel too little or too slow to play with you. You'd happily play an easier game so that they can be included. Your personality is so strong and forceful, but you'd gladly push down your own needs for those around you. I have seen you gladly take the back seat so your siblings can have their moment. That being said, when it's your turn, you shine so brightly. You always have a story to tell, a dance to show us, or a song to sing. You wait patiently, but once it's your turn you demand the spotlight.

You, my son, are an incredible little man. You are curious, bold, fearless, and loving. You have taught me that no child is too young to dream big, love big, and live up to their potential as a child of God. You know as well as you know your own name that you love God and He loves you right back. Faith is a matter of fact for you. When you pray, you are chatting with your friend. When you sing, it's for the praise of God. No alleluia was ever so joyful as yours because you truly think being loved by God is something worth celebrating. You remind me daily how important it is to give my heart to God, because the rewards of peace and joy are greater than I could image.

Even though you are only four years old, I can see so much of the man you will become once you grow up. I can see a lot of your Daddy in you, and I don't think that will change as you get older. You already want to be just like him (you tell me every day) and you are his little mimic. You trail behind him, watching him and following his example of spirituality, generosity, and strength. As much as you drive me crazy some days with your wildness, energy and passion, it's those exact same qualities that make it impossible not to love you. You teach me so much in your openness and innocence. You have taught me the value of simple acts of love done quietly. That a smile or funny face can change the entire course of someone's day. Even in the womb you had a way of making people smile. I still remember when we took a recording of your heartbeat to share with your Godfather as a Christmas present to him. He couldn't tell what it was at first, but when we explained that the sound of the drum he was hearing was your strong little heart, he was as overwhelmed with love for you as we were. He was moved to tears and so were we. Even in the womb, you were breaking our hearts and making them new again. And I love you for every moment of glorious heart-breaking love you have shown me and those around you.

I love you for who you were the moment I knew I was pregnant. Even in the womb you were wild and joyful. The day you were born you already were looking to your Daddy more than anyone in the world. I love you for what you made of my heart the moment I was privileged to hold you and feel your love radiating towards me like an unquenchable flame. You made a place for yourself in my womb and my heart. You've known since birth how to push my buttons. I love you for who you are today, in this moment. The world hasn't touched your heart yet. You are entirely yourself, without care for what the world would like to make of you. You are unbroken and fearless passion. You are a walking emotion. I love you for the man I know you will become. You are too boldly yourself to ever fit into someone else's mold. You will become the type of man who will defy attempts to change your spirit, while still being the type of man that others will try to model themselves after.

I pray that as you grow, you continue to grow in the loving kindness so natural to you as you leave behind your child-like ways. I pray that you keep your joys, your faith, and your boldness. I pray too that no matter how big you get, you never get too big to love me with reckless abandon, in spite of my failings. I promise I will try to be an even better Mommy for you every day. No matter what, I will love you. Always and forever.

Love Letter: Big Girl

I've decided that with a new baby coming, it would be a good idea to write a little letter to my older kids so that they can look back and know that regardless how many kids we have, each of them is precious and beloved.

Dear Big Girl,

You and I, we have a long history. It all started around 8 years ago. I know you're only 5 right now, but I promise this will make sense. Before your Daddy and I were married or even dating, you were already a part of my heart. You see, one day in an uncommonly warm October, I was praying in a little chapel in a convent. I was sitting in front of Jesus, doing my best to give my heart to Him. For the first time in my life, God put a perfect picture in my head. I could see this vision with such abundant clarity and I still remember it today. What I saw was you, little girl. You were about 9 or 10 months old, sitting up on my lap. Your hair had that beautiful orangey-red tint it had when you were very little (I still see it in the summer light). I was sitting in our brown wooden rocking chair Nana and Granddad loaned to us and your Daddy was standing behind me smiling. We weren't sitting still, we were reacting to things around us. At the time, your Daddy didn't know, but ever since I told him I know it's given him lots of joy to know that God planned you before He had brought Daddy and I together. It took God another few years before that moment came to be, but I remember the day we were sitting together just like my vision, and I was so grateful. That's how, when I found out you were growing in my tummy, I knew you were a girl without any doctor having to tell me. Daddy and I even picked out your name before you were in my tummy because we both trusted God was going to bring you, our little dream girl, to us once we were married.

Since you've been born, you've given me so much joy. You have been the source of so many firsts for me. You made me a Mommy and through you I've learned so much more about love, caring, and compassion that I could ever have dreamed of knowing. You have always been a joyful, thoughtful and loving little lady. When I feel like I'm failing you as your Mum, you find a new way to show me that even though I'm not perfect, you keep turning out beautifully despite me. I love everything about you, from head to toe and all the in-betweens. If I had to pick one thing about you to say was my favourite part, I'd probably say how loving you are. You love your little brothers and your sister, your Daddy and I with a love I can only hope to emulate. You love yourself in a way that is completely unselfish and not at all vain. You demand of others the same unselfish love and respect. I also love how fierce you are in the face of injustice. When something doesn't make sense to you, or when someone is trying to hurt you, your gentle exterior melts away and you are so brave. You don't scream or hit, you use your words and stand your ground. Sometimes you even do this with your Daddy and I if you feel so strongly that we're being too hard on you. In the moment that may be difficult to deal with, but in the end I love so much how much you respect yourself that you won't face what you see as an injustice with quietude. As you get older, please don't lose this part of yourself. I promise I will nurture it as best as I can. I also love your faith. Jesus isn't just an idea to you, He's your comfort and friend. When you're sad or afraid, I often hear you alone in your room, turning to God to give you strength. Your faith is so natural, so unassuming. It's part of who you are at your core.

I could spend the rest of my life telling you everything about you that I love, but for today just let me say that I love you. I love you for everything you are to me and our family and our friends. I love you for the way you love others. I love you for the way you love yourself. As you get older, I can only hope that these beautiful parts of you that shine through even at the age of 5 keep getting brighter and stronger. I can already tell you're going to be an incredible woman. The kind of woman who takes the whole world on and challenges everyone around you to be a little better than just good enough.

Thank you for making me a Mummy. Thank you for teaching me what motherhood really means. Thank you for being my precious daughter, my collaborator, my co-conspirator, and my friend. Thank you for loving me, even through my worst days.

I love you, little lady. Always and forever.

St. Valentine and his Day

I know a lot of people who have a beef with the commercialization of Christmas. Every holiday season we're inundated with images of a jolly old chap selling us Coca-Cola, every product imaginable, as well as an array of toys that defies my imagination. To some extent I expect it at Christmas these days. And if the birth of Christ is open game, I shouldn't be surprised by the sickeningly sweet shades of pink and red that are washing over the local stores. Not that they're just starting to spread. Most retail outlets had at least one Valentine's Day aisle while Christmas shopping was still in full force. It feels like a slow-spread disease, the symptoms of which are forced displays of affection, a blindness to any colour not in the family of red or pink, and high blood sugars from excessive chocolate consumption. While I'm sure a lot of folks aren't just making displays of affection for Valentine's Day and are daily making their significant others feel beloved, I wonder why it feels like the message is to absolutely spoil your partner or spouse for the one day, but not to focus on the other 364 days. Even if you are a spontaneous person who spoils your loved ones in unexpected ways and on any day, the expectations behind this singular day are so huge, how can even the most loving person manage to keep up? It seems, according to the media and consumer stores, that I'm supposed to be expecting spa packages, special meals, cards, gifts, special mementos and so much more from my husband. Apparently all that is required of me is that I show up to be loved, maybe get him a card, and watch some hockey. I feel like something's been lost in translation.

St. Valentine must be rolling his eyes up in Heaven. Here a was a man, a priest, who gave his life to God and to God's Church every day of his life up until the moment he was brutally martyred. He was a man of daily charity to those who relied on him to give them the Sacraments. St. Valentine is associated with romantic love because he risked his life to help couples celebrate the Sacrament of Marriage at a time when Christianity was prohibited in the Roman Empire. At any point he could have given up his clandestine works of devotion to his flock, but he continued on until he was arrested and martyred. To me, this seems so much at odds with the current incarnation of his feast day. Here's a man, a beautiful image of sacrificial love, whose feast day is being used for indulgence, selfish expectations, and excess. The couples for whom he risked his life to witness the Sacrament of their Marriage, must be up there in Heaven rolling their eyes too. They had to gather in secret locations away from the eyes of the Roman law to sanctify their union. I'm pretty sure the idea of chocolates and spa treatments seem empty next to the freedom to celebrate their faith in peace. I may be speaking out of turn, but I'm pretty sure these couples would be at Mass on February 14th, giving thanks to God for the priest who gave everything to God and to them.

All of this leads me to reflect that if we're going to set St. Valentine's day apart as a special day, it shouldn't be a day to celebrate saccharine emotional displays. It should be a day to emulate that sacrificial love that St. Valentine lived unto his own death. And like St. Valentine, it shouldn't just be on one day, it should be the act of every day. While I think it's always great to remind people around us that we love them, I think we should go well past just saying it, and prove it year round, by devoting small duties and prayers to ease their path and bring them closer to God. Through the daily administering of his duties, St. Valentine brought Christ to those around him. This St. Valentine's Day, perhaps what we could do for those we loved would be to pray for them, offer Mass, and instead of handing over our money to the stores for the sake of trinkets and foods, give our loved ones the gift of ourselves. Maybe that means sitting down and taking extra time to listen to them, or pray with them, or even letting them go and take a nap when they get home after a long day. All the things that society tells us will express our love will only last a day or two. The flowers will wilt, the chocolates will be eaten, the cards will find their way into the recycling, but the gift of yourself will build up your relationship in a truly lasting way that could snowball and improve your relationship for the rest of your lives together.

A Matter of the Heart

I remember the day I found out I was pregnant with my first child. In the mix of all the emotions was a fear. A tiny, unsettling, and lasting fear. Not fear of the daily duties of motherhood, or how it would change our young marriage. Not even fear that our baby wouldn't be healthy. I was afraid that although I might love our baby, that it wouldn't be enough. That I wouldn't be able to make room in my heart for another person, a person I could barely imagine. I did love the idea of our sweet little baby. Those two pink lines on the test somehow represented her heartbeat and mine, beating within my body. I  just couldn't imagine, in that first flush of life as a mess of symptoms how I would learn to love this little person. That fear persisted, a quiet bit of unrest in the back of my mind, until the day our baby girl was born.
The second she was born those fears were washing away in a flood of her tears and mine. She came out pink, crying, and more beautiful than I could have imagine. I wanted nothing more in that moment than to sit quietly and hold her forever while I memorized every part of her. I wanted to drown in the ocean of her bright blue eyes, that searched my face for comfort in this new world she'd be thrust into. I loved her. So deeply and truely. There is nothing like the love you have for your child in those first moments. It's so tangible you can breathe it in. My months of fear seemed laughable in the face of my overflowing joy.

When I saw the two lines on the pregnancy test for our second child, I was surprised to feel that same nagging fear come back. A little voice whispered in my ear that there couldn't be enough love for another. That the amount of love I had for our first child could never find its equal. I feared I would either forget my love for our first child in my overwhelming awe of a newborn, or simply feel nothing or not enough love for this new little life. This new version of my old fear haunted me, woke me up at night, and perused me by day over my entire pregnancy. When I was in labour, I was able to reach down and touch the top of his head while he was crowning. In that moment of life in waiting, I knew like a bolt of lightning that this child I hadn't even seen yet had a place in my heart, and I easily love him as much as I'd loved our daughter the moment I first saw her. When I was finally able to see my two children together the last vestiges of my doubt fell away. I knew, absolutely, without a doubt, that I loved them both deeply and equally. There was no second best. I had simply found love multiplied, not divided.

Today as I held my 4th child in my arms, finally quietly sleeping after a very busy morning, I was reminded again of my old fears. I'm finally starting to understand that the heart isn't made of stone. Just like our womb, the heart has the ability to stretch beyond our comprehension to make room for love enough for however many children we have. There are days that my attention span or even my patience may not be overflowing, but through all of it I never for a second could stop loving any one of my children. I truly believe that even if I had another 10 kids I would make room in my heart to love each of them with the same overhwelming, intense, and personal love.

Fabric of Our Lives

I'm one of those people that wants to capture the essence of my children, at every age, so that when I'm older I can look back and reflect on their childhood that I was too busy trying to survive to enjoy as fully as I wanted. There are times that I can sit and drink in the delights of their youthful exuberance, wonder, and simple beauty, but those moments are scattered between laundry, cooking and breaking up fights.

I remember when we were waiting for our newest baby, I brought up the boxes of boys and girls clothes to be sorted and prepared. We didn't know which we were having so I wanted a small collection ready because I knew in the haze of new baby I wouldn't have time to sort things out. Two other times I had brought out that box of newborn girls clothes, and two other times I'd quietly tucked them away. This time, however, I couldn't help myself. I unconsciously unpacked every item, nesting it in the little dresser that had only ever been used by our eldest daughter. As I took out all the little, impossibly small items, I was overwhelmed by the joyful memories I attached to each of them. Her newborn scent, which lingered in my memory like the perfume of my Nonna, a familiar friend long gone, rose up from each memory laden garment I pulled out of the box. I felt so silly, grasping on so tightly to the memories of the baby my big girl used to be. She was my first, the child who made me a mother. She was a dream child, the promise of a vision fulfilled in flesh before my eyes, always growing beyond what I could have imagined.

Today I was poring over baby pictures of our newest baby, our sweet and calm little girl. The day we took her home from the hospital, I had dressed her in one of those little dresses her big sister had worn as a baby. A pretty checkered dress that was a little too big for her, which highlighted her littleness. She was a full pound bigger than her sister had been at birth, but still managed to look tiny and helpless. My heart cried out as her scent mingled with the latent scent her sister had imprinted on the dress. There was a newness and an oldness in that moment. I was no longer a first time mother. I had three other beautiful children I longed to return home to. As I held my newest blessing and miracle close, I was still anxious as I had been with each of my three older children, wanting to do right by this little person entrusted to me.

It's funny how something so simple as a dress can trigger those memories. I guess I can't bottle these moments, but in the end the most important moments are woven carefully into the fabric of our lives, in items and photos scattered as guideposts to remind us where we have been, and how far we've come.

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.

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.

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.

In the Eye of the Beholder

This morning instead of her usual request for Disney princesses or fairies, my eldest daughter asked if we could watch a VeggieTales movie called "Sweetpea Beauty". I couldn't resist this request as it's a very short DVD and has a message I would gladly spend every day for the rest of her life drilling in. The theme is on beauty, but not in the way you'd expect. They take two classic princess fairy tales, Cinderella and Snow White, and revamp them to be about true beauty instead of society's image of what physical beauty should look like. As I watched my daughter (and her two very obliging brothers who love the movie too) enraptured by the cute animated vegetables retelling her favourite stories I couldn't help but wonder if any of it was sinking in.

She's only 4 and all of her little lady friends are still completely unconcerned about their looks. Or better yet, they're still at that age where everyone is beautiful and fabulous because they haven't been told to think otherwise. Their parents are just as careful as we are to instill the belief that true inner beauty radiates out. Like her friends, her true belief right now is that everyone and everything is beautiful unless she's told otherwise. I wonder how long I can protect her like this and how hard I will have to work to always keep a sense that she is truly beautiful, both inside and out. I know we don't focus on physical beauty too much in our house, but once she goes to school I can't control what others say. It was in elementary school that I recall that brand of bullying starting. Part of me is already beginning to grieve the idea that some day she will look at herself and see some imperfection or flaw. Or worse that one of her school mates will make the leap for her and point out some area of her appearance that will cause her to doubt her whole self. Our society has become so obsessed with the idea of perfectly symmetrical, stick thin women. Will she believe that she measures up to this standard?

My hope in all of this is that if we work hard with her now to understand that beauty isn't just about the physical part, but also about her heart, intelligence and talents, she will learn not to measure herself against airbrushed pictures and starved starlets. I pray that she will see herself with the same joy and wonder I did the day I first held her. There are no imperfections, only variations that make her special and wonderful. My beautiful child and not just a mass produced doll. With whose eyes will she see? The eyes of society or the eyes unconditional of love? I know, just like the rest of us, she'll struggle and have bad days, but in those moments I can only pray she hears the still small voice reminding her she was planned, her creation already known by her Creator before there was time. She is wonderfully made and loved by her family and the Father who wrote her name on the palm of his hand. She is worth loving. She is beautiful.

4 Under 4

For about three weeks after we had our 4th baby we were in the special parenting bracket of 4 kids under age 4. Just to be clear we are not one of those families blessed with multiples. We don't even have the fabled Irish Twins. Each of our babies came one at a time, no less than 15 months apart. I was reflecting as I ran another load of dirty cloth diapers that clustered families like ours have special challenges and gifts. So, in honour of the past 4 years of or being parents I give you this list:

Signs that You Have 4 Kids Under 4

1. You find yourself pregnant and one of your first discussions is whether your infant car seat can handle another baby before it expires.

2. You determine that after 3 excitable and bouncy kids, you need to retire your old crib.

3. You have one kid potty trained, one in progress, and two entirely in diapers.

4. You know how to take the cover off of your toddler car seats (yes, seatS. We have three!), wash and reassemble them with your eyes closed. You or your spouse has mastered the art of squeezing three full sized car seats in the back row of your van.

5. Speaking of vehicles, you've already long since upgraded to a mini-van and started researching the price of a Dodge Sprinter.

6. You cry when you get a dishwasher, but only for a second before you promptly fill it with sippy cups.

7. Not only do you have sippy cups in every shape and size, but the quantity of plastic dishes and utensils rivals your regular dishes.

8. Your bathroom has three toilets and only one of them flushes.

9. You didn't buy cloth diapers for the sake of the environment, but because it was financial common sense.

10. It's not unusual that you have three crockpots going at once (Yes we have three. Two are full-sized and one is small. We gave our second small one away)

For all the things that become common place, from spit up to minor illnesses to poop, there are some things that never get old. I still had tears in my eyes the first time our newest baby smiled at me. I'm also taking just as many pictures as I can each day and showing them off like there's never been a group of kids so darn cute. I'm tired of laundry, dishes and no sleep, but I will never get tired of being a Mommy. So bring on the adventure!