A Mother’s Fiat – Elizabeth’s Birth Story

It wasn’t the birth experience I was hoping for. In fact, it was downright disappointing.

 I blame the hospital tour where I saw a re-designed postpartum unit, complete with its color light therapy over the large Jacuzzi bathtub and a full-sized memory foam bed.  It somehow convinced me I was going on a spa vacation. I actually started looking forward to my hospital stay.  Sure, I had to actually go through the whole labor, delivery and pushing out the baby part before my husband and I got our “spa” vacation.  But, I’ve done that three times before; it wouldn’t be my first rodeo.

Looking back on it now, I’m going to go out on a limb and say anytime you’ve looking forward to a hospital stay because it’s the closest you’ll get to a vacation - you’ll be disappointed.

A nasty flu outbreak and the especially frozen tundra-like conditions of another Wisconsin winter

 filled our local hospitals and gave this mother-to-be a serious case of paranoia. Worried one member of this family or another would catch the “death flu,” I put everyone on lockdown. It was almost a war crime, really. I forced those I love to stay in the house for days on end with my nine-month pregnant self and I was in the worst mood of my life.

I ended up being induced. That involved an IV of what is basically poison trying to convince my brain to go into labor. Yes, it can be a good thing when mama and baby need an induction for medical reasons, which this mama and baby did. Overall, the stuff is evil. With the first contractions I knew this labor wasn’t going to go well. One medical intervention lead to another, and then another.  My body doesn’t do well with drugs and I had one negative reaction after another – all while being stuck at 4cm for hours and hours. Some of my veins boycotted and decided to walk off the job by collapsing. I spent the day feeling like a pincushion – and wondering why this baby hated me.

 My doctor’s opinion was that a fourth baby should come quickly. His readiness to wheal me into the OR for a section like I was a car going through the carwash stole the last bit of sanity I was clinging to. My husband is as supportive and sensitive as they come, but I could see the worry start to wash over his face. We begged for one more chance and I spent those painful minutes praying a silent rosary and mentally solidifying that this little girl’s name would be Elizabeth. I then invoked her patron saint. 

The baby cooperated by moving down ever so slightly and convincing my doctor that she too was just a seven pounder with a normal size head that would indeed fit where it needed to fit, just as those who came before her had. I progressed rapidly and within the hour our fourth daughter came. A sigh of relief did not come with her.

Her arrival was a silent one. When she was placed on my chest I didn’t have time to look at her face or smell her in before she was snatched away and the NICU nurse was called. I spent well over an hour unable to see her or know what was going on in the corner of our hospital room. I was paralyzed from the cocktail of drugs that came with my labor experience.  The poor little love had somehow almost drowned herself on the way out. Her little lungs and tummy were full of fluid. When the fluid came out an hour later, so did her first cry.

 

By the time we checked into the postpartum room my delusions of a restful vacation snuggling a baby had all but vanished.  Little Miss Elizabeth had come on the very day of my monthly work deadline.  I had planned on working after I delivered. She had other plans. When the pediatrician came to give Elizabeth a once-over she began choking on more fluid and my husband and I agreed it was best she be taken for the night. My restful recuperation in a spa turned into stress-filled, sleepless nights.

 

A few days after we returned home with our new little lady my initial fear was realized; I had caught the flu in the hospital. My fever spiked at 103.5, the highest fever I’ve had in my adult life. As I tossed and turned in my bed I cried and cried. There were tears of disappointment for the birth and initial bonding experience that had been lost. There were tears of fear and feelings of being overwhelmed with having four daughters five years old and under. Here I was, not even a week in and I was unable to care for my children. With no family around and no live-in nanny, how would I ever do this when I can’t even get past day three without dropping the ball?

 

I wish I could recall the time leading up to welcoming our Elizabeth as exciting. A time filled with joy, hope and anticipation for the new life that was being gifted to our family. But that’s not my truth. I longed for those feelings I felt as a first time mom, but they never came.

What did come was our daughter.

The first of four to look just like me.

A baby sister that will sanctify and bless our “big” girls.

Another little soul entrusted to our care.

A challenge I say “yes” to, just as Mary did with her fiat.

How fitting for my feelings of disappointment and fear that Mary sought counsel and went in haste to Elizabeth, whose excitement and support blessed her with strength. My Elizabeth too will bless my “yes” each and every day- starting with day one.

Day one of any journey begins with a “yes.”

That yes may be all I have, so it’s a good thing life happens one day at a time.

We Get What We Get And We Don’t Complain

Anyone with young ones at home knows it can, at times, be like living with instant play-back. Got a nugget of wisdom or lesson they need to learn? Chances are they’ll throw it right back at you with an innocent face and a big ZING. 

 
Children tend to remember these life gems at the most inconvenient times such as in front of the in-laws, the parish priest or when I’m already teetering on the very edge of sanity - which these days is pretty much any day of the week ending in Y.

  “We don’t say that word in our family, mama!”

“That’s not very loving to our family or to JESUS!”

“Dishes go in the sink RIGHT after we’re done eating.”

“Mama, is your shirt modest?”

 I’ve been caught talking out of both sides of my month more than once by a four-year-old girl with what I consider to be a super-human memory. It wasn’t until the latest Rutchik family phrase was thrown back at me that I actually saw the mirror being held up to my face. I’m usually too busy wanting to stick a piece of tape over the family parrot/eldest daughter’s mouth to bother looking in the mirror to correct physical or hypocritical aspects of my reflection.

 “We get what we get and we don’t complain, right mama?”

 The phrase entered our parental play-book when we found ourselves breaking up one too many fights over who gets to drink out of/play with/wear what under the reasoning of it being one little girl or another’s favorite color.

 Not-so-secretly holding onto hope that baby number four could be our first son; I had slapped down a $50 bill and marched myself into an elective ultrasound room.

 It took me all of three seconds to identify the sex of the little one we’ve all grown to call “baby bubo.”

 Girl.

All girl.

 I’m surprised her eldest sister didn’t barge in the room and reprimand her for her lack of modesty.

 A good mom would lie and say that seeing the life within in her wiggle around on the screen was an experience she’ll never forget or some other sappy, lame and cheesy thing like that. But this mom already has three girls waiting in an embarrassingly messy mini-van with their father. One’s sippy cup of milk lay forgotten on the kitchen counter at home and another’s shoes buried in the sand-box, left intentionally due to laziness on said mother’s part.

 I was disappointed. Not surprised, but disappointed.

 “I hate to tell you this, but its girl number four,” The technician said. “Sorry to break it to you, that’s too bad.”

 I abandoned my pity party and scowled at him.

 “Hey, that’s my baby,” I said. “Don’t talk like that about my daughter!”

 With a scowl on my face and annoyed eyes I became little girl number four’s mother.

 I thought of the phrase I’d been barking at little lady number four’s older sisters all week:

 “We get what we get and we don’t complain!”

 Our children aren’t the only ones who throw fits, whine and complain about the stupidest things.

(shhh! We don’t say the word stupid in our house!).

 Most of the time, we’re upset because we can’t have things we don’t really even want or need and we defiantly shouldn’t care about.

 So, I was wrong and I’m embarrassed.  Big shocker, like that’s never happened before around here.  I don’t know what is best for us – or even what I want. Yes, I shed a few tears that night as I let go of my life-long dream of being a mom to boys.

Funny how dreams can change.  It hasn’t even been a week and I’m already excited that we don’t have to buy anything, that our girls can all share rooms, and that I can give my children the one thing I didn’t have and always longed for – sisters.

 Most of all, I’m giddy that we will continue to be “that family with all the girls.”

It’s special.

It’s odd.

It’s so very us.

 "We get what we get and we don’t complain.” 

We’ve having a FOURTH baby girl!

 

There's always room for one more in our family!

 

Laney Bugs Turns ONE!

Elena’s first birthday brought more tears than laughter for this mother. Much like the day of her birth one year ago, there was no time for fanfare. There was simply a red and white checkered ladybug dress and cupcakes to match.  A small homage in honor of the only “bug” in the world I love; our “Laney Bug.”

Her daddy and I knew the moment she was born that regardless of if there will be any more children for our family or not, she will always be “the baby.”

When she entered the world, things were a little dark for our family. Daddy was on the computer writing his thesis right up until mama was ready to push. We didn’t know where we would live, when daddy would graduate or if there would be a job for him.

“Every baby is born with a loaf of bread under their arm” the old saying goes, and our Laney was no exception. Her birth was the first in a domino effect of things falling into place for our family.

Over the first year of her life, she has gifted me with a new motherhood role - that of mothering a child with health concerns. The experience has been quite different than being the wife of a man with health concerns. It has been hard, brought many tears and sleepless nights. It has also taught me to love in the moment and to examine the evil that breads in fear and anxiety. She has reminded me that no moment of life is too small to celebrate.

She’s only now able to eat and she isn’t able to support her weight on her little LDS legs (YET!)

She is a strong one though, and with her carries the brightest light. She is my beacon, and I am blessed and so very humbled to share that for this year at least, I am her brightest light. Yes, we’re got a mama’s gal on our hands, and I am delighted. 

Her presence in our home over the past year has been a conduit of only good and holy things. I’ve fallen deeper in love with her daddy and her sisters as I witness what is good in them spark alive with love for her, the smallest member of this family.

Her eyes are bright and reflective. Her laugh is reserved only for when it has true meaning.  We prayed and prayed for her. It was suggested to us by several people during our discernment that we conceive her in a lab instead of in our marriage. The LDS gene could have been taken out, and she could have been made a he – since we don’t have one of those around here.

How blessed we’ve been by deciding to trust that our family would be given what was perfect for us. We were given another girl, one that does have LDS. And we smile with the knowledge that we were given God’s perfection.


One day just wasn’t enough to celebrate the perfect gift that is you, Laney Bug. There wasn’t a party, but there were tears of happiness, thankfulness and mourning of the passage of time – a reminder that we can’t control the life God has created for us. There were those lady bug cupcakes, and that little red and white checkered lady bug dress which you wore for three days. Daddy washed it twice because mama couldn’t bear to take you out of it, or for the birthday weekend to end too soon.

My dreams for you are big, sweat Laney Bug. You’ve taught me so much over this past year. I know someday you’ll be called to touch others in a big way, so for now I’ll snuggle you and save you for our little family here.  On this birthday you want only to be held and snuggled and to blow raspberries on your sisters’ bellies. 

On this birthday we celebrate your good health, your gentle temperament and the possibility your life holds. 

Happy first birthday, Laney Bug!

Girlfriends In God

“Who can find a woman of worth? Far beyond jewels is her value.”
Proverbs 31:10

Who can find a woman of worth? Let me tell you, holy women are alive and well in the Diocese of Green Bay.  I was honored to spend the morning with 100+ of these holy women this past weekend at Girlfriends in God – A Women’s Day of Reflection.

It was my privilege to serve on the core team for the first of what may just be an annual event here in my home diocese.

We were blessed to start our morning with mass offered by a young and prophetic priest. He took the time to tailor his homily to women and the theme of our event. Listening to the symphony of women lift their voices heavenward in our beautiful cathedral was stirring. It was as if I could feel our collective, feminine heart unfolding for the blessings of the day.

I left my last speaking engagement with one great tip: bring tissues when speaking to women! As an afterthought I threw them into the bags I had prepared for each table and am I ever glad I did.
The day was full of laughter, tears, new and renewed friendships with one another and our faith. I was inspired by the diverse group of women who came to spend the morning together and honored to have the opportunity to speak.

As women, we tend to flock to those who we can relate to. This often means those in a similar life stage. There is nothing wrong with this; women need someone else who “gets it” in order to share our hearts. However, we can get really caught up in our life stage and lose sight of the importance of shared vocation and giftedness as woman.

It was this that truly touched me about the Girlfriends in God event. Yes, the food was fabulous, we avoided too many time and technology crises and the talks went well (thank goodness, I was a bit nervous for this one!) but the most inspiring aspect of the event for myself was the teenager and 75 year old grandma I witnessed introducing themselves to each other at a pink donned table.

It was a diverse group of women in every aspect, from age to place on the faith journey. This, I believe, is what made the event a blessing for all the women in attendance. 

We’ve got so much to learn from one another. From the wisdom to gain from those more advanced in age and life experience than we are to the fresh face of hope in the young woman that can spark a renewal in our own lives.

Ok, and the top notch gift bags didn’t hurt the experience either. Pink pajama pants, CDs, chocolate roses? There was a haul in those gift bags!

I’m overjoyed the day was inspiring for myself and others but must admit, after crashing for 13 hours to sleep when I got home, I was a little sad to cross it off my calendar.

All that is left to do for this year is to file away the papers and memories and wait for the seeds planted to bear fruits in my heart. Serving on the core team and preparing to speak was that crazy kind of wonderful stress. The kind that makes you pull your hair out and then not only ask for more, but look forward to it.

I had the privilege of working with three professionals in ministry who I learned so much from, and more importantly, grew in friendship with. I’ll miss our hopeful and entertaining brainstorming sessions and of course, the fabulous desserts we ate while dreaming up an event that would build women up and bring them together. Whoever said dessert is bad for you hasn’t met these women. We truly became “Girlfriends in God,” and I am so thankful.

Girlfriends in God Core Team

The Hermit Life: Saying Goodbye to February’s Darkness



I live, write and mother from “God’s County.” There’s even signage on our back road one-lane highways to prove it.
Yes, I’m a cheese eating, Packers and Brewers cheering, God-fearing Wisconsin girl through and through.

While I’ll likely never leave the great Badger state, here’s the thing: February in Wisconsin is the table by the kitchen in the darkest corner hell.

 February and I are not friends. It’s been cold for too many consecutive weeks and people haven’t seen hide nor hair of a human being not covered in marshmallow shaped coats or fur skinned hoods since Christmas. The icing on top of that lovely cake is the fact that there’s only light for about 2 minutes a day in February.
This February my four-year-old assigned animals that have the same likeness to each of our family members. I was given bear.

“Why bear?” I asked.

“There are mama bears in stories that get mad when others bother their family. Plus, you like to sleep.” She said.

There’s a burn, four-year-old style.

My overly-observant daughter has a point. In fact, if I’m going to survive a Wisconsin winter it would ideally be spend hibernating with my bear cubs. Unfortunately, people don’t take well to shut-ins and society expects me to change the children out of their pajamas for Mass and company.

Therefore, until I’m rich and famous and can snow bird on out of here for 8 weeks every winter - February is about surviving.

I can’t imagine life without the four seasons. Plus, having the cold tundra of winter keeps many creepy-crawling bugs out of our state by a deep freeze that kills them all off once a year.

However, the pros just don’t outweigh the cons when it comes to a Wisconsin winter. By the time Lent rolls around every year I often feel like if there’s another doom and gloom day in my soul I just may roll over and play dead until spring. Things are always the worst at the darkest hour of the night (or in this case, year). Thankfully, hope rises with the March sun. There may be snow/sleet/rain and hail, but there’s hope.

Last weekend my husband and I took a late-winter trip to Door County, sans kids. We hiked through the freshly fallen snow and bare trees to a violent and spitting Lake Michigan.

The trees were heavy and bent with the wet, sticking snow of a late-season storm.

They were my peers, the bent trees. Hunched over, naked and frail from a winter of coldness and little light.

A tree doesn’t turn from its source of light as we humans do. Trees search for the light and chose to grow toward what they know sustains them. They grow heavenward. In the cold bitterness of the darkest times they may bend downward but they survive because spring will come and they will bloom again.

With gratitude, I too know the story doesn’t end in February. Just when so many of my branches are on the brink of snapping, Lent comes and the pain is reigned in and re-focused heavenward. This carries me until the bloom of spring - when we are all resurrected.

This winter I’ve put my hermit like behavior to good use. You may have noticed my absence in the social media words. It’s been deliberate. When I’m not changing a diaper or crying into the reproducing laundry pile I’ve been wading knee-deep through the messy dream of writing a book with my dear friend and fellow writer/speaker Woman at the Inkwell. It’s funny how our dreams tend to bend us ever so slightly and look a bit messy.

It’s March and I’m ready to do just that, march forth. God willing, beauty will bloom in the chaos. At least it will be spring, and there will be light.

Winter Trees, Door County, WI

Budget Woes: Is Vacation a Necessity?

With the start of another year, many are reflecting on personal and familial habits that may need to be re-examined. For families, the top slot on this list is often the family budget.

The budget tends to burst at the seams comes January. December can bring, “It’s a little much, but it’s such a perfect gift for ----,” and, “We can’t stick to the grocery budget, it’s the holidays and we’ve got things to bake/cook and memories to make.”

Every January we sit down with the budget and cut the fat. It’s not that difficult of a job. We know what we’re comfortable spending in each category and it’s easy to see where we are falling short. We look at the numbers and plan out the next year for our family. We think about each month and what our needs will be and everything runs smoothly - until we get to the summer months and one budget category jumps out.

That category: Vacation.

Should we take a family vacation?

No matter how much (or little) money there is, we’re frugal. It’s just how we live. What we have we save because we know there’ll be a time of need. There are student loans that could be paid or a home that could be saved for. Do we spend a large chunk of money over the course of one week in the summer?

The answer for this family is a resounding YES! For us, a vacation is a necessity and something that needs to be budgeted into our lives.

A few years ago my husband, who struggles with a chronic health issue, had a complication after a surgery and I had to rush him to the hospital. There was a serious question as to if he would live or die. I called a few friends to sit and pray with me as the doctors worked and I waited. During that time I didn’t think of our budget, the student loans or if I’d gone over on cell phone minutes. Instead, I was haunted by something my husband had recently shared with me,

“My favorite thing in this world is when we’re traveling and you all fall asleep in the van. I love to drive my sleeping family.”

This memory was interrupted when the doctors came to tell me they had found the problem and that my husband would make it. My friends smiled and looked at me for tears or leaps of joy.

There were tears, but the only thing I could think of to say was:

 “I want to go on vacation for our anniversary.”

Our favorite things are important, especially if they help bond us as a family unit. For us, it's vacations. They are the thoughts that haunt us when we are reminded that this life is temporary and they are the first memories of our very young children.

There is something to be said about cramming five people into a mini-van and living out of a cooler for five days every summer – if it’s done together.

We’re not millionaires over here, so vacations mean other sacrifices throughout the year. We can do vacation on a dime. My husband and I even play “fun games and challenges” to help ensure vacation is possible for our family. You can make dinner for five out of a cooler for consecutive nights and those “free weekend if you take our timeshare tour” trips are actually really fun - and they serve lunch.

Taking his three daughters to Disney World is my husband’s dream. Old age isn’t likely for him, so I’m determined to make it happen sooner rather than later. We even have a code phrase for the dream in our home. “Someday, when we go to the Mouse’s House” we say as we dream while attempting to not tip off the children. It’s a bit early to share our dream with them. We’ll wait until the vacation category in the budget can grow. Until that time, vacation will always have a place in our budget, even if it is a small one.

Does your family have a “Mouse’s House” dream vacation? Does your family have a favorite vacation spot you want to recommend?

Vacation: taking time to climb rocks

Mind your Own Motherhood

If there’s one thing we have as women, its opinions. I’d like to issue a friendly reminder to Catholic wives and mothers that personal opinions on motherhood and issues of morality are two different things.

In other words: mind your own motherhood!

A holy mother has many faces, friends. She may wear different hats. They may be hats you don’t think look good on her.

A holy mother may not breastfeed, use cloth diapers or co-sleep. Or she may. A holy mother may make the baby cry it out. Or not. She may send six kids to public school or stay home full-time and home school one.

There are some popular phrases that some women have been using as weapons on fellow mothers:

“We are the first and primary educators of our children” is slug like mud at mothers who send children to school.

We are the first and primary educators of our children. Education is an important and private discernment process where God may reveal his will in differing ways.

“I could NEVER leave MY kids,” is casually said to mothers who leave the home for work, implying they love their children less than mothers who stay home.

That mother may not be able to leave her kids because she may be called to be home. This does not make her calling superior or her children “better off” then those of a mother who leaves.

I’ve recently been noticing an elitist attitude from stay-at-home (and some school-at -home) mothers in my life and in the media and blog world.

It is only “acceptable” for a mother to be called to work outside of the home if it is financially necessary for her family. When that time passes she can go home, where she “should” be.

Mother’s who leave the home to work even though she doesn’t need to financially may indeed be called to a mission in the world in addition to her vocation at home.

A holy mother may set her college degrees aside and stay home with her children full-time. She may make her husband lunch and have dinner ready when he returns home. A holy mother may have a husband who does laundry and cleans the kitchen.

A holy mother may work outside the home – whether or not her family needs the money.

A holy mother discerns her life putting her vocation as wife and mother first. Her discernment is between herself, her husband and the Lord. A holy mother will do so with a formed conscience. What she is called to is divinely perfect.

Who are we to question how and why God calls anyone, mother or not?

Our thoughts of each other are so disordered they’ve been exploited and are used as entertainment in the blogs and media sources.

Stop it! We’re making Christian motherhood look bad – as if we can’t handle our vocation. It’s embarrassing and shameful.

Mind your own motherhood.

Let’s stop tearing each other down and looking down our noses at those God has called to our same vocation. We’ve got the same goal, friends! Let’s serve each other in the absence of judgment with encouragement and support so we can best serve our vocations.

Mind your own motherhood. I’ll try to do the same.

Mama and bottle-fed baby

Are You a "Santa Family?"

We’re a “Santa” family. I understand the reasons behind some families choice to keep Santa out of their Christmas celebrations, but for us, it’s important to include him.

There is beauty in the “magic” of Santa. In the innocence in the heart of a child that can believe a man can make it around the world in just one night, solely to bless the lives of children everywhere. The story is appreciated and loved because of its wonder, sans the syndical and bitter questioning that sneaks its way into our hearts with age.

We use the Santa story to teach our children about the unconditional love that can be found in a gift that is given out of love, not earned like a sticker on a responsibility chart. Once a year, for just a few years, they will wake with the type of anticipation that only lives within a child. They’ll know that awaiting them under the Christmas tree decorated with holy cards will be humble presents, right next to the manger that’s present all through Advent. The gifts won’t be there because they have earned them or they deserve them, just because they are loved - similar to the baby Jesus who will be placed in the manger that sits under that Christmas tree.

Accepting unconditional love and unearned reward may be difficult later in their lives depending on their temperament. The “Santa years” are great practice for them to accept that they are loved just because. They are loved by us, by each other and ultimately, by Christ. They did nothing to earn this love, can do nothing to lose the love and need only accept it – like a gift on Christmas morning.

There is no “naughty” or “nice” list and Santa works in his workshop year-round making toys for boys and girls because St. Nicholas inspired him to be loving and kind to children out of the goodness of his heart.

There is no danger of our children learning one day about Santa and drawing a parallel to Christ -  thus dismissing the resurrection as a fable, myth or moral story. We talk about Santa from December 7th to December 25th every year. We talk about the baby Jesus everyday.

My biggest concern that comes along with being a “Santa family” is not a spiritual one. We’ve got three daughters in this home. Teaching them to sit on an old man’s lap, tell him their secret desires and then take candy from him doesn't really coincide with what we generally teach our daughters about strange, odd looking older men! Then, on Christmas Eve, we’ll celebrate Jesus’ birthday and while we are sleeping he’ll sneak into our home and we’ll leave him a snack? It is rather amusing when you think about the details.

Seems my girls feel the same way, judging from the Santa pictures we’ve taken the past few years.

A blessed feast of St. Nicholas! May his goodness and generosity inspire our Advent and Christmas season in whatever way is best for our families.

Gold chocolate coins, an ornament to celebrate the year in the life of our family and a new book of stories of the Saints have appeared on our fireplace! 3 little gals are going to be so blessed by St. Nicholas' visit in the morning.

Take Cover! Christmas Bells are Ringin’

The only people who think about Christmas in October are St. Nicholas, people who work in retail and sprinkle Halloween in one aisle and Christmas in the next and, of course, moms.

Although fall is by far my favorite season, a tiny bit of my autumn joy has been stolen since I got married and had kids. My fall to-do list has multiplied since becoming a mom. “Check out new fall TV line-ups” has now been replaced with less “fun” chores.

These tasks are dreaded all year by most moms I know. They include:

The “whose family are we going to for what holiday so everyone we’re related to can be happy and we can be miserable” traditional seasonal fight with your husband:

To be fair, we’ve got the cutest daughters in the world. Unfortunately, they are the only grandchildren in both mine and my husband’s family. So, we’re in high demand. And, of course, by ‘we’ I clearly mean the children. It’s very common for my husband and I to stay up all night packing everything we own so we can crisscross the state through a snow storm in the middle of the night with screaming children. We do this only to arrive at our destination and have our children snatched from our hands and swooned over while we collapse onto the couch without so much as a hello. Once we’re acknowledged it is with a well-meaning “You look awful. You really need to take better care of yourselves. You should get more rest.”

All this is done, of course, so that we can spend the night (if five hours counts as a night), wake up to share a meal with said family and then pack it all up, stuff it back into the mini-van and head out to a dinner hosted by the other side of the family—four hours away.

I have a friend who, in negotiations with her husband, traded every single major holiday of the year just so that Christmas could be spent in her hometown and she and her husband would never have to have this fight again. She should take that poker face to Vegas. I would’ve folded.

In order to please everyone and ensure you’ll still be married by Christmas, negotiations really need to start in the fall. Recently, our discussions on the matter took an interesting turn as we found we were each advocating for the other’s family to ‘get us.”

Shopping:

If there is ever a test of faith, it’s preparing for Christ’s birth in your heart while trying to find a parking spot at the mall. This is done to the soundtrack of car horns honking and people swearing at each other. Once in the mall, you can’t make a purchase without giving out your e-mail, phone number and zip code to the sales person, so you can be harassed and reminded of this experience all year long with ill-timed phone calls.

And there’s always those super uplifting human interest stories about humanity at its finest on TV. The one where people are willing to stampede each other for a $40 toy. Let’s not forget our favorite holiday dance: stretching that family budget to include buying gifts for people because they bought one for you/your kid last year and you were mortified they were not on your list and you were empty-handed.

The Christmas Card Picture:

Please tell me I’m not the only mother who turns into an insane beast of a woman when it comes time to take the photo for the family Christmas card. If I had to pick the worst four hours of my year, it would be taking the Christmas card picture. And, yes, it does take four hours. It is also the hardest workout I do all year, and for what? To capture the fact that my kids refuse to smile for a picture, someone is shoving their finger up their nose, the baby is crying and my make-up is dripping down my face with beads of sweat?

Between takes I scream, “Everyone shut their mouths, stop crying and smile or I’m canceling Christmas!” All of this just so we look like a big happy family in the photo card that has “Christmas blessings” scrolled across it. Last year, I attempted running this marathon while pregnant, and the whole thing actually put me into contractions. We’d already received cards form more successful friends who got their cards out the first week of December. Card after card made me wonder if all of our friends’ children had become catalog models or the face of dental offices.

If you look closely at our card from last year you can see me digging my fingernails into my husband’s leg because we were going on photo shoot hour three, and I was realizing that our photo wasn’t going to have the same fate as every other family we’d ever met. I was going off the edge. Nothing says “Merry Christmas” like a nervous breakdown over a photo card.

Enjoy the Season

This year I’m putting this on my list. Amid all of the stresses the holiday season brings to motherhood, our Church gifts us with the season of Advent. When everything around us defines Christmas by slapping a manufacturer’s label and price tag on it, our liturgical year builds in time for us to prepare our hearts for the real gift of Christmas, Jesus. We’re asked to quite our hearts and our mouths and prayerfully reflect on what this gift means to us.

We’ve decided that this year, no one is going to “get us” for Christmas Eve. You don’t have to travel to meet Baby Jesus. We’ll celebrate in our home and invite others to join us here. They can drive.

We’re not above bribes. We’ll use the kids to lure our families to our side of the state. We won’t tell them they’ll be sleeping on pink and purple twin sized beds in little girl rooms. They’ll also have to get up in the middle of the night to go out in the cold and create reindeer tracks in the snow to enhance the Christmas morning experience for our daughters.

Our daughters will receive three gifts from us. Because if it’s good enough for the baby Jesus, it’s good enough for us.

As for the Christmas card, maybe if I attempt to do a funny ‘out takes” type card we’ll finally get that Norman Rockwell family Christmas photo. It is baby Jesus’ birthday. If our Blessed Mother can ride a camel across her country while nine months pregnant, I think I can pack my kids into a mini-van and drive across the state to see family over the holiday season. I believe in Christmas miracles.

Now Thanksgiving, that’s another story. We’re still trying to work that one out……

Baptism by Fire

**This post first apeared on Catholicmom.com last week. Elena's baptism was the most beautiful sacrament I've even seen. I'll share part II later this week.***

Part I

In making the preparations for our third daughter’s baptism my husband and I were challenged on our beliefs about the sacrament and necessity for infant baptism.

Our baby’s baptism brought with it the culmination of several manageable, but timely, stresses in our lives. Since Easter we’ve had a baby, moved to another city, joined a new parish and my husband wrote and defended his graduate thesis, received his master’s degree and started a new job. Also in that time we did some genetic testing on our newest family member and learned she shares the same genetic condition as her daddy.

Although thriving, it is necessary for our little “Laney Bug” to have some testing this week at the Children’s Hospital involving putting her under. For us, this meant she must be baptized before her testing and the clock began ticking on getting a baptism on the books.

We were met with some opposition and questions about why she had to receive the sacrament before her tests.

At first, I was extremely bothered. In fact we were outright angry someone dare question our wishes for our child. We are the parents of this beautiful child and thus all spiritual intentions for her are our responsibility, which we accept with joy.

Ironically, that’s a big part of baptizing an infant – renewing our own baptismal promises and committing to our community, and our Lord, that we will do our very best for our child to carry the light of Christ in her heart and be a faithful member of the body of Christ. It’s why I cry like a baby whenever I witness a baptism.

I expressed these views and was asked to just admit that this was an “emotional issue” for my husband and I, not a sacramental issue. In the end, it boiled down to me being asked this question:

“Do you, in your heart of hearts, really believe that your beautiful, innocent baby girl would not be welcomed into God’s kingdom if she were not yet baptized upon her death?”

I skirted past the question and we gave our reasoning for our intentions. We shared Church teachings and decided to disregard the opinions of others and set up the baptism. However, just because something is right doesn’t make it easy.

We struggled with the disappointment in how our third daughter would not have the same baptism experience as our first two. There was no party. In fact, there was no family. We were given an 8am mass baptism a week in advance and both of our families live over 3 hours away. We decided not to invite anyone or throw together a party. The whole thing had already been too stressful.

Amid this disappointment it was difficult to look forward to our daughter’s baptism this week. That question I had been asked was haunting me. It had struck a chord deep in my heart.

The truth is, I don’t really know what I believe would happen to my daughter were she to die before she were baptized. I know what my Church teaches me, but I also know I am a mother and my love for my daughters goes to ends of the earth. Doesn’t God’s fatherly love for us goes even further?

One may be baptized by blood, water or even intent is some cases. And, as long as someone is baptized in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, they’ve been claimed for Christ.

I however, feel as if I’ve just been baptized by fire. I’ve been baptized into a renewal of my own faith and baptismal vows. My mama bear instinct kicked in. In protecting my young I was forced to question my Father. Would He protect me as a mother and offer me comfort by welcoming my child?

Through much prayer and discussion with my husband I came to this:

I don’t know what would happen to my daughter should she die before she was baptized. Just as I don’t know what happens to anyone who does not live their earthly life as a member of the body of Christ.

But, I DO KNOW what WILL happen to her if she is baptized into the faith. Our daughter will be re-claimed for Christ and welcomed into Christ’s kingdom.

Because, even when she’s not with me, I need to know where she is. I am a mother.

Daybook – Thursday September 22, 2011

Outside My Window ... The leaves on the trees are starting to change colors and fall is knocking on the door. There is something about fall in Wisconsin that warms my heart. Sometimes I think God gives us this brief, but beautiful, season right before the long winters just so we won’t all pack up and leave. Fall and the Packers – that’s what we’ve got here in the north.
***
I am listening to...
Tessa and Anna are playing dolls and Laney is under the sound board batting at buttons and playing music. I can’t believe my big girls are old enough to fight over dolls (sigh) and the baby is already playing. This home is full of noise, and it is good.
***

 To Live the Liturgy…
We’ve finally got the details of Laney’s baptism figured out. It’s been a long road. We had to cancel the original baptism date due to the fact that we had scheduled it at the parish I was going to be working. When we decided I would not accept the position we also decided not to join that parish as it is far from our home. We joined a new parish and then got in contact with their pastoral associate and asked to have Elena baptized before her medical testing on Oct. 4th. She will have to be put under for her echo and we do not want to do that without her being baptized. It turned out to be more of an issue than we thought .

Apparently believing in the sacrament of baptism is an “emotional issue.” There is no such thing as original sin, Adam and Eve are a myth created by early Church Fathers and we couldn’t possibly believe that a sacrament can completely wash away all sins. Joseph and I struggled through this conversation in a baptism prep class last night. This class was given by a nun who is the pastoral associate at a parish - a CATHOLIC parish. We were not angry, just really sad. She was gracious to us. She offered us a private session because we could not make the scheduled class. She also allowed us to share our complete disagreement with her and she even bit her lip and didn’t say anything when we mentioned the Magisterium believes otherwise and she is representing the Catholic Church. She did however mention that she hadn’t heard the word Magisterium in 30 years. She really was a very nice women who is very misinformed and calling her misinformation Catholicism. But alas, the baby will be baptized before she is put under so we genuinely thanked this nun for her extra effort.
***

To be Fit and Happy….
I’ve cut out (ok, really cut down) on my drug of choice: coke. It is really, really hard. I don’t like coffee and I NEED that caffeine.
***
I am thankful for...
Space and order. Two things I have avoided my whole life, but much needed over here these days. I'm also grateful things have settled down a bit class wise for Joseph and he is working a more manageable amount of hours. It’s nice to have daddy home a tad more often.
***
We are teaching the girls…
Tessa has grasped the “letters together create words” concept and now wants to be able to read books. It is awesome to see her fall in love with books. Anna is working on a few colors yet and on above/below/next to/under/over.
***
From the kitchen ...
We were gifted with garden and freezer surplus from a few people and have been busy putting other people’s abundance to good use. We’ve been baking and cooking and spending many more of our daily hours in the kitchen. This makes me so happy. I’m also working on being creative in order to allow for less waste.
***

I am creating ...
Lists, lists and more lists. There is much to do and I’m working on not letting it consume me with anxiety.
***
I am working on...
The hubby and I are working on our holiday season plans. Our big girls both have November birthdays and then there is Thanksgiving and Christmas. We live 3 hours from both of our families and our families live across the state and 4 hours from each other. Plus, my parents are divorced. There is a lot of places to fit into a short amount of time and a lot of unrealistic expectations. We don’t want to spend the season pleasing others and not serving our immediate family. Last year there was major drama from some folks who don’t know what that situation is like with little kids – so we’re trying to be proactive this year so we can define them and be upfront about what our family will be doing. It’s really hard for families of origin to come to terms with now being extended family and extended family now being extra-extended family now that we have our own immediate family. We think that in order to cut down on some driving and fit everyone in we would like to host something here in our home. We have the space for the first time and I would love to host a holiday! How do you handle the holidays with extended family?
***
I am reading….
A ton of NFP info. Wow. I feel like I am in grad school again.
***
Towards a real education ...
This evening I will leave for my first NFP (natural family planning) teacher certification course. It will be 5 days of intense study. I almost didn’t share this as I am really nervous. I know there is a test and I’m a “test anxiety” type of person. But, I’ve read so much about our bodies and how our cycles work. I also like to offer advice to friends looking to conceive or trying to figure out fertility issues. Joseph really felt called to have me go and be certified, so here I go!
***
Bringing beauty to my home ...
Curtains and finally being hung thanks to a 30% off coupon code from Kohl’s and a 50% off hardware sale at Shopko. Things are finally coming together in our new place and it really feels like home. I love to decorate and we still have some blank spaces due to my lack of time and decision making abilities. We are close though.
***
I am hoping and praying….
For the stress level of my husband. He’s got a lot in his mind.
***
On my mind…
How fast life seems to be going. It’s sad to watch Tessa and Anna turn from toddlers into “kids,” but it is also really wonderful. I was cuddling with Tessa last week because she wasn’t feeling well and we had this conversation:
Mama: "I’m sorry you don’t feel good, Sugar Plum."
Tessa: "That’s ok, mama. It’s not your fault, you don’t have to say sorry.”
Ahhh, when did my baby become so smart?
***

Around the house ...
The big girls are working on “lady charts.” Each column has an area of life they need to work on in becoming little ladies. We have prayer, control of self and temper, being loving and so on. There are certain rows full of stinkers and other rows that are still empty. When the charts are full, the gals get to pick something fun to do. Tessa has chosen going to the movies with daddy AND eating popcorn and Anna has chosen riding a horse. I’m not entirely sure a stable is going to let an almost 3-year-old ride a horse and I’m a little worried certain rows in her chart (like controlling her temper and staying by mama and daddy in public) will be filled before the snow files. That being said, it is really nice to have then clearing their dishes from the table after meals and bringing things to mama when asked because they want to earn stickers.
***
One of my favorite things ...
My family in the fall. We have some great family traditions to celebrate our favorite season. On the list for next week is apple picking and then some baking and following that is a visit to the pumpkin farm.
***
For the rest of the week....
Joseph will be home with the girls and I will be at NFP teacher certification. There is still much to do around here and we both still have work to be done. They will be long, stressful days. Joseph really felt like this was something I should do, so we will find a way. Still, a family date needs to be set for the next week.

Won’t You Be My Neighbor

I grew up on Mr. Rogers. His button-up cardigans, house shoes and use of puppets teaching the best of humanity in their imaginary world was a staple in my afternoon.

Mr. Rodger’s loving singing voice and being raised in a small town went hand-in-hand in teaching me how wonderful a local community can be.

In the five years since my husband and I said “yes” to the Lord and began this family we’ve been apartment dwellers. We don’t like to maintain (or pay for) more than we need and the lifestyle suited us just fine – until the babies came.

Having children is an apartment these days makes you public enemy number one. Children are to be seen and not heard, or so our culture promotes.

We’ve had upstairs neighbors who play NASCAR races on repeat in surround sound, neighbors who push their cats in strollers onto our patio, neighbors who walk in circles around the stop-light at 3am and neighbors with obsessively loud extra-curricular activities, shall we shay.

Our first two babies were “lulled” to sleep by unintelligible heavy metal music that my husband and I swore was a playlist created by the devil himself.

It wasn’t until an upstairs neighbor lost his mind and went on a stomping, screaming, swearing rampage and threatened the life of our colicky baby that enough was enough.

“Neighbor” became a swear word in our home.

The apartment living with babies experience made me want to pack up my family, make a pit stop at a mega bulk foods store and disappear into the country. We could live in a cave where we could parent as we wish without neighborly interference. I’d never have to speak to a “friendly” neighbor again. Too bad that if this family had to “live off the land” such as this lifestyle calls for, we’d parish. I have a black thumb, after all.

This spring we had our third daughter in as many years. At the time we were living in a two bedroom, 800 square foot condo type apartment. We brought our buddle of joy home, took one look around and decided it was time for this family to upgrade.

Not being ready or having the time to purchase a home made us leery of what we could find to accommodate our always growing family (in number and decibel level).

We landed in a beautiful, two story duplex. The home is on the end of a quiet cul-de-sac and the proximity to the highway is perfect for my husband’s commute. With only 1 shared wall and a garage between us, we thought we’d be safe from neighbor issues. We packed the moving truck and prayed for good neighbors.

The Lord provided, tenfold. We now call a beautiful Greek Orthodox family neighbor.

They are gracious to our girls, who often wander into their yard and may or may not swipe things off their patio.

Last week I caught the mother outside to share with her that one of our daughters had come down with the chicken pox. With three boys in their home I thought they should know.

A few days later I found her teenage boy mowing our neglected lawn. Sadly, I was confused by the kind, neighborly gesture.

I went over to speak with his mother, who was on her patio.

“What’s he doing,” I asked.

“Teenage boy help,” she said in broken English.

“Well thank you so much,” I responded. “I’ll have my husband stop over and pay him when he gets home from work.”

“No,” she said. “To help good for a teenage boy.”

I was awe-struck. What an amazing mother, to instill service and generosity into her sons and teach them to share of themselves because it is good, not because they expect something in return.

The next afternoon found me in the kitchen with my girls. With the baby in the Bumbo and the toddlers’ dirty feet crossed-legged on my counter we baked cookies for our new neighbors and talked about the importance of gratitude.

We walked over to our neighbor’s shoeless and as is, with mama in sweat pants wearing a baby and a 2-year-old dressed solely in a diaper.

A 3-year-old little girl with curls in her face handed the young boy and his mother a batch of cookies that may have been made with licked fingers.

“You didn’t have to do that,” they said.

“Yes we did,” I said. “Recognizing generosity and being appreciative is good for little girls.”

She smiled, thanked me and said we were welcome in her home any time.

This beautiful new neighbor was a witness of mothering with faith. Although she speaks two languages, her witness came without words. Instead, I identified their family as faithful by the crucifixes hidden under their collars and the way they define “neighbor” in their family’s actions.

A neighbor is not simply someone living in close proximity. It’s someone who walks not only next to us, but with us. And hopefully, we’ll help each other on our journeys to the same final destination.

Share with Me: Are you blessed with neighbors? How are you a neighbor in this world?

No Extraordinary Anniversary

This past weekend marked our fifth wedding anniversary.

Five years ago we married, and then canceled our honeymoon to Rome. Instead, our “honeymoon” was spent in the hospital. My husband had his first heart surgery a week into our marriage.

I wasn’t too fazed by the canceled honeymoon. There were bigger issues at hand, clearly. Plus, we’re dreamers. It’s how the Holy Spirit drew us together to begin with.

So, as young love goes, naive promises were made as we held hands in an ICU and glanced into our future to get through our rough present.

On our fifth anniversary there’d be a vacation, a ring upgrade, a new dress. Maybe even a little one to shuffle off to grandma and grandpa’s house before heading off to somewhere luxurious.

And here we are. Five years, a job loss, four moves, another heart surgery, three kids, a miscarriage, a graduate degree, a broken leg and two broken mini-vans later.

You may be surprised, but I’m not writing this from an island resort.

I woke up this morning to find two toddlers had crawled into our bed, and my husband had crawled out. He had stayed up late working, gotten up in the middle of the night with the baby, and was zonked out on the couch.

That’s romance, friends.

There’s defiantly not a vacation anywhere in our near future and I’m fairly certain my wedding ring is chipped. We’ll have to put that on the list of things to look into.

The real life version of our ocean-view five year anniversary was an afternoon in the backyard. The kids were in swimsuits and daddy was playing with the settings on the hose sprayer. Our daughters shrieked in delight and scurried back and forth between daddy and the fence. Chubby toddler toes on wet grass is close to perfection - until it’s time to come in the house.

I watched this weekend from the lawn chair as I fed the baby. I certainly wasn’t wearing a new dress. The shorts and tank top I had on were on their third day of wear, and covered in baby-spit up.

Thoughts of vacations were pushed from my mind as I returned to reality and added “make sure rug is out before letting the girls back inside” to my mental “to –do” list. I returned to my daydream and began fanaticizing about purchasing a washer and dryer. We’ll have to put that on the list of things to look into.

Anniversary gifts haven’t been exchanged yet – mostly because the checkbook hasn’t been balanced for the month and we don’t like to make extra purchases until we’ve got the month figured out. We’ll have to add the banking and budget to the list of things to do before Monday.

Once the little ones were hosed off, we headed in-doors to make heart cupcakes. Fingers were dipped, an egg shell was dug out of the garbage and licked and pink sprinkles tumbled across my newly-cleaned kitchen floors. The big girls decorated cupcakes and sang “happy birthday” to mama and daddy’s marriage.

The weekend was nothing extraordinary.

There are big decisions being made over here this weekend. There are career opportunities to be weighed, new schedules to be sorted out.

At first, the dreamer in me was slightly disappointed. But then I followed the dripping sound coming from the bathroom to find three pint sized ruffled swimsuits hanging from the showerhead to dry.

I recalled my dream of married life and motherhood is much older than my dream of a fancy five year anniversary trip.

I adjusted the bathmat to catch the wet droplets of a simple, joy-filled afternoon and returned to the sun-kissed cheeks of my “Irish twins” who were sitting cross-legged on my kitchen counter.

They both wore frosting-covered grins because to them, playing in the backyard with mama and daddy and eating cupcakes in the same day is living in a fantasy.

We canceled the babysitter we had lined up for an anniversary dinner out. We got news of a fire we’ll have to put out and my husband has too much work to do. An evening out this particular weekend would have led to no sleep for him and too much stress on the both of us this week. It was hard to do, and not ideal. There is far too much “working” around here. Something we’ll have to look into in the next five years.

I dreamt of going on a cruise for our ten-year as my husband and I spent the evening talking about a big problem that we’ll have to face this week.

I remind myself the only cruise I’d be going on in the near future is bound to have Mickey Mouse captioning the ship.

I guess we’ll bring that dream back to reality during the romantic budget meeting we’ll have tonight.

Everyone is peacefully sleeping now as I reflect on the anniversary weekend. My husband will get up early to work and the baby will wake to take her medicine soon. I’ll have to add refilling her prescriptions to the list of things to look into this week.

For the first time today the only sound in my home is the ticking of the clock. It reminds me although I’m slightly disappointed that time, finances and a full plate didn’t allow for the anniversary celebration I had planned, I’ll never wish these hard days away. In fact, I desperately grasp every stress-filled minute for fear they’re too quickly slipping away.

Maybe by our ten year anniversary we’ll be vacationing. Just because we didn’t get there in these five years doesn’t mean we won’t in the next. We’re dreamers after all.

Happy five-year anniversary, Joseph.

You are (in jest) “the love and demise of my life.” You truly do sanctify me.

Enjoy the little things, for one day you may look back and realize they were the big things." --Robert Brault