Finding Gratitude While Shopping for Diapers

The logistics of parading twins in retail stores is more complicated than it seems.  A small thing like the type of entry at a particular store can require a significant amount of creative and critical thinking skills.  I usually chauffeur the twins around in a fantastic double stroller (this thing is an engineering marvel!), but despite it being easy to push and turn, it is awkwardly wide.  It can fit through most doors, but occasionally I discover mid-way through the doorway that it is about one inch too narrow.  Consequently I have memorized the locations of stores with double automatic doors.  The stroller has plenty of cargo space underneath the seats, which is how I manage to do the grocery shopping.  I always try to make each trip a quick in-and-out procedure, just in case we have a double meltdown. 

There is one exception to this near perfect system I have: shopping for diapers.  The bulky boxes can’t fit in the stroller’s cargo space, and one box is too heavy to comfortably carry in one hand while I steer the stroller in the other.  Recently when I took the twins diaper shopping I came up with the crazy idea of abandoning the stroller.  I took a regular shopping cart for Margaret, and carried Elisabeth in a front carrier.  Thus I had plenty of space for several boxes of diapers in the cart, and as an extra bonus, the girls could face each other.  They were loving every minute of it!  I paraded around the store with an air of confidence and pride.  I even grew brave enough to leisurely walk around the store, since I clearly had everything under control.  I picked up a door gate and gently laid it on top of the boxes of diapers.  Not to worry, everything was under control.  Shall we check out the latest summer clothing?  Sure, because everything is under control.  Margaret enjoyed the different perspective and was curiously looking behind her as we passed a couple aisles.  She even pulled one knee to her chest so that her foot was innocently resting on the seat of the shopping cart.  And then my sense of control crashed and burned as Margaret managed to stand up in the shopping cart seat.  I realized too late that I had stupidly chosen a shopping cart with a broken safety belt.  As I sat her back down, the door gate teetered off the boxes of diapers onto the floor.  Now I had to pick it up with a baby strapped in to a front carrier, while holding onto Margaret in case she stood up again.  I got the safety gate on top of the diaper boxes and the leisurely stroll through the store turned into a panic-driven race to the checkout.  One hand balanced the items in the cart, my other hand firmly held Margaret’s shoulder, and the whole time my back was in a very awkward position and the muscles strained from Elisabeth’s weight in the front carrier.  I don’t remember how I was able to get out my debit card and get through the checkout, but I’m sure a few guardian angels had a role in it.

As I was reflecting on this latest episode of our real-life sitcom, I thought I would use it to describe how the unexpected can suddenly ruin our perfectly planned and controlled life.  But Greg suggested another perspective: how often do we unwisely decide to stand up in the shopping cart, because we want to see more, we become over confident, or perhaps because we think we know it all.  God sees the dangers we put ourselves in, but we react because we impulsively want.  This is not to suggest that God becomes a panicked and frazzled mom trying to fix our problems.  On the contrary, God is always in control, even when we are dangerously close to a fall.  What I am pointing out here is that we have the power of changing a good environment to a dangerous situation because we think we know better. 

Which leads to the thought that has also been in the forefront of my mind lately: being contentedly grateful.  Let me explain the context of my recent reflections.

Now that both babies have discovered the excitement of mobility, it is becoming increasing more difficult to help them settle (and stay settled) in their crib at night.  Everything will seem fine as I leave the room, only to hear Elisabeth screaming after two minutes.  Margaret’s idea of fun is to corner her younger twin into the corner of the crib, usually leaving poor Elisabeth with her face smashed against a crib slat, and sometimes even getting her hair yanked into Margaret’s mouth.  The simple solution would be to get a second crib.  Unfortunately, our small apartment leaves us few options.  Every time I walk into the baby’s room, I cringe.  The closet seems to be “oozing” baby gear and clothes.  The car seats create a barrier in front of the bottom drawers of the babies’ dresser.  It will take a room-rearranging genius to be able to fit that second crib in the room.  I put it off because I know how much more cluttered the room will seem, and quite frankly, I become too frustrated to think clearly.

For the past couple of months I have been skimming the advertisements on Craig’s List for 2-3 bedroom apartments in the area, and whenever I take the babies out for a walk, it becomes a compulsive and neurotic examination of every house we walk by with a “for sale” sign.  The conclusion is always the same: we simply can’t afford to buy a house right now.  We have quietly decided to stick it out one more year in our 2-bedroom condo in order to save up.  It has been a huge struggle for me not to give in to the sins of covetousness and ingratitude, but I remind myself that renting a bigger apartment or even purchasing a small house would be like standing up unrestrained in our financial shopping cart.   

One recent morning I prayed the prayer of abandonment to God’s Providence.  If you don’t know it, it reads:

My Lord and my God: into your hands I abandon the past and the present and the future, what is small and what is great, what amounts to a little and what amounts to a lot, things temporal and things eternal.  Amen.

During nap time that same day I sat down to read a magazine, and in it contained an article about real families who get their food from a food pantry.  These are educated and hard-working families who have run into hard times, whether it be a lay-off, an unexpected medical issue, or some other unplanned hardship.  One family in the article was a husband who, even though he has a Master’s degree, had been underemployed for over two years.  Ashamedly, I exited out of Craig’s List and peeked in the babies’ bedroom.  I gazed at the two sleeping beauties who are daily growing strong, healthy, and happy.  Even though it can be a struggle to make ends meet, I realized I don’t need to choose between food for my babies and paying the electric bill.  I don’t have to visit my children in the cancer wing at the hospital.  My obsession for a bigger space seemed so trivial, and I started to count the many graces I have been given.  Instead of complaining about the low salaries of teachers, I thank God to have a job, and one that I love.  Instead of getting annoyed with my husband for leaving his wet towel on the bed, I am thankful that he is truly a team player when it comes to taking care of the kids.  Instead of becoming frustrated about the size of our small condo, I am truly grateful that I have enough food to cook in our tiny kitchen.  I realized that during my morning prayer I had abandoned my desire for a bigger place (which now seems to be "what amounts to a little"), but I had also had not thanked Him for "what amounts to a lot".  Lord, have mercy. 

There are days when I still get frustrated by our overstuffed closets.  I know there are plenty of families out there who much more than we have.  However, I also know there are a lot of families out there who have much less than we have.  It’s going to take some time to save for a down payment on a house, but I am going to remain seated in the shopping cart God has for me.  Just like the babies, our limited perspective prevents us from seeing the bigger picture.  What we immediately want, even if we think it is good, may be detrimental to our souls.  Fortunately our heavenly Father knows what is best, and I must trust His protective hand to direct my path. 

And whether I live in a mansion or a one-bedroom studio, I can always be grateful for His eternal love, the greatest grace of all.  

Finding Gratitude While Shopping for Diapers

The logistics of parading twins in retail stores is more complicated than it seems.  A small thing like the type of entry at a particular store can require a significant amount of creative and critical thinking skills.  I usually chauffeur the twins around in a fantastic double stroller (this thing is an engineering marvel!), but despite it being easy to push and turn, it is awkwardly wide.  It can fit through most doors, but occasionally I discover mid-way through the doorway that it is about one inch too narrow.  Consequently I have memorized the locations of stores with double automatic doors.  The stroller has plenty of cargo space underneath the seats, which is how I manage to do the grocery shopping.  I always try to make each trip a quick in-and-out procedure, just in case we have a double meltdown. 

There is one exception to this near perfect system I have: shopping for diapers.  The bulky boxes can’t fit in the stroller’s cargo space, and one box is too heavy to comfortably carry in one hand while I steer the stroller in the other.  Recently when I took the twins diaper shopping I came up with the crazy idea of abandoning the stroller.  I took a regular shopping cart for Margaret, and carried Elisabeth in a front carrier.  Thus I had plenty of space for several boxes of diapers in the cart, and as an extra bonus, the girls could face each other.  They were loving every minute of it!  I paraded around the store with an air of confidence and pride.  I even grew brave enough to leisurely walk around the store, since I clearly had everything under control.  I picked up a door gate and gently laid it on top of the boxes of diapers.  Not to worry, everything was under control.  Shall we check out the latest summer clothing?  Sure, because everything is under control.  Margaret enjoyed the different perspective and was curiously looking behind her as we passed a couple aisles.  She even pulled one knee to her chest so that her foot was innocently resting on the seat of the shopping cart.  And then my sense of control crashed and burned as Margaret managed to stand up in the shopping cart seat.  I realized too late that I had stupidly chosen a shopping cart with a broken safety belt.  As I sat her back down, the door gate teetered off the boxes of diapers onto the floor.  Now I had to pick it up with a baby strapped in to a front carrier, while holding onto Margaret in case she stood up again.  I got the safety gate on top of the diaper boxes and the leisurely stroll through the store turned into a panic-driven race to the checkout.  One hand balanced the items in the cart, my other hand firmly held Margaret’s shoulder, and the whole time my back was in a very awkward position and the muscles strained from Elisabeth’s weight in the front carrier.  I don’t remember how I was able to get out my debit card and get through the checkout, but I’m sure a few guardian angels had a role in it.

As I was reflecting on this latest episode of our real-life sitcom, I thought I would use it to describe how the unexpected can suddenly ruin our perfectly planned and controlled life.  But Greg suggested another perspective: how often do we unwisely decide to stand up in the shopping cart, because we want to see more, we become over confident, or perhaps because we think we know it all.  God sees the dangers we put ourselves in, but we react because we impulsively want.  This is not to suggest that God becomes a panicked and frazzled mom trying to fix our problems.  On the contrary, God is always in control, even when we are dangerously close to a fall.  What I am pointing out here is that we have the power of changing a good environment to a dangerous situation because we think we know better. 

Which leads to the thought that has also been in the forefront of my mind lately: being contentedly grateful.  Let me explain the context of my recent reflections.

Now that both babies have discovered the excitement of mobility, it is becoming increasing more difficult to help them settle (and stay settled) in their crib at night.  Everything will seem fine as I leave the room, only to hear Elisabeth screaming after two minutes.  Margaret’s idea of fun is to corner her younger twin into the corner of the crib, usually leaving poor Elisabeth with her face smashed against a crib slat, and sometimes even getting her hair yanked into Margaret’s mouth.  The simple solution would be to get a second crib.  Unfortunately, our small apartment leaves us few options.  Every time I walk into the baby’s room, I cringe.  The closet seems to be “oozing” baby gear and clothes.  The car seats create a barrier in front of the bottom drawers of the babies’ dresser.  It will take a room-rearranging genius to be able to fit that second crib in the room.  I put it off because I know how much more cluttered the room will seem, and quite frankly, I become too frustrated to think clearly.

For the past couple of months I have been skimming the advertisements on Craig’s List for 2-3 bedroom apartments in the area, and whenever I take the babies out for a walk, it becomes a compulsive and neurotic examination of every house we walk by with a “for sale” sign.  The conclusion is always the same: we simply can’t afford to buy a house right now.  We have quietly decided to stick it out one more year in our 2-bedroom condo in order to save up.  It has been a huge struggle for me not to give in to the sins of covetousness and ingratitude, but I remind myself that renting a bigger apartment or even purchasing a small house would be like standing up unrestrained in our financial shopping cart.   

One recent morning I prayed the prayer of abandonment to God’s Providence.  If you don’t know it, it reads:

My Lord and my God: into your hands I abandon the past and the present and the future, what is small and what is great, what amounts to a little and what amounts to a lot, things temporal and things eternal.  Amen.

During nap time that same day I sat down to read a magazine, and in it contained an article about real families who get their food from a food pantry.  These are educated and hard-working families who have run into hard times, whether it be a lay-off, an unexpected medical issue, or some other unplanned hardship.  One family in the article was a husband who, even though he has a Master’s degree, had been underemployed for over two years.  Ashamedly, I exited out of Craig’s List and peeked in the babies’ bedroom.  I gazed at the two sleeping beauties who are daily growing strong, healthy, and happy.  Even though it can be a struggle to make ends meet, I realized I don’t need to choose between food for my babies and paying the electric bill.  I don’t have to visit my children in the cancer wing at the hospital.  My obsession for a bigger space seemed so trivial, and I started to count the many graces I have been given.  Instead of complaining about the low salaries of teachers, I thank God to have a job, and one that I love.  Instead of getting annoyed with my husband for leaving his wet towel on the bed, I am thankful that he is truly a team player when it comes to taking care of the kids.  Instead of becoming frustrated about the size of our small condo, I am truly grateful that I have enough food to cook in our tiny kitchen.  I realized that during my morning prayer I had abandoned my desire for a bigger place (which now seems to be "what amounts to a little"), but I had also had not thanked Him for "what amounts to a lot".  Lord, have mercy. 

There are days when I still get frustrated by our overstuffed closets.  I know there are plenty of families out there who much more than we have.  However, I also know there are a lot of families out there who have much less than we have.  It’s going to take some time to save for a down payment on a house, but I am going to remain seated in the shopping cart God has for me.  Just like the babies, our limited perspective prevents us from seeing the bigger picture.  What we immediately want, even if we think it is good, may be detrimental to our souls.  Fortunately our heavenly Father knows what is best, and I must trust His protective hand to direct my path. 

And whether I live in a mansion or a one-bedroom studio, I can always be grateful for His eternal love, the greatest grace of all.  

Summertime Adjustments

The babies are on the move.  Three weeks ago Elisabeth showed off her new tricks from just rocking on hands and knees to tentatively sliding one knee forward.  And during that same evening, she sneakily managed to pull herself up to a standing position using a coffee table.  Mom and Dad beamed with pride and glowed with excitement.

That was three weeks ago.  Since then, both babies are crawling wherever there is enough room for their small bodies, reaching at everything, and Elisabeth is practically scaling up walls.  She is even so bold as to hold onto furniture one-handed.  All this in three weeks?  Yikes.  Makes me nervously wonder where we will be at in a month from now.  Is there an age minimum for a little kids’ road race? 

Coincidentally, school got out for the summer three weeks ago.  Thus I have been fortunate to witness this exponential development while being home.  Nevertheless, there have been a lot of adjustments.  Not only the obvious baby-proofing adjustments (which often is hard to foresee until a baby tries to do crazy acrobatics on a piece of furniture), but also adjusting from being a working mom to stay-at-home mom.  One might think that suddenly life has gotten so much easier for me now that I am home full-time, but it’s actually been much more complicated.  As abruptly as the school year ended, there were still loose ends that needed to be tied off after the students left.  The responsibilities are as diverse as my students: janitorial work (cleaning off my desk and bookshelf), bookkeeper (documenting the lesson plans so that the curriculum is up-to-date), and project managing (writing up a summer workout plan for next fall’s cross-country team).  All this took up most of the first week of my summer vacation, and it certainly took longer than I planned with two little ones making me aware of unsafe areas in our small condo. 

However, once I finished up the teacher duties, I still had to mentally switch to full-time-mommy-mode.   It took at least a week for me to realize that summer vacation does not mean I can just sleep in, but rather that my day starts even earlier than a school day (babies wake at 6:00 and…they’re off!).  It’s not an easier or harder job than teaching, it’s just different.  Perhaps caring for twin infants is not as intellectually challenging as say, planning a lesson about medieval French literature to a group of 18-year-olds.  But on the other hand, it does require much more quick decision-making skills (two babies are crying, who do you attend to first?) and deductive reasoning (why is she still crying?).   Both jobs require an immense amount of energy and patience, even if for different reasons.

Being at home also demands prioritization skills and discipline.  When the babies nap (although since they are discovering so much these days, it is becoming harder and harder for them to settle), I have to decide which household duty needs my attention the most AND follow through.  I would love to sip my coffee and read a good book, maybe even take a nap myself, but I should really attack that laundry monster that is starting to creep out of the hamper and spread across the floor of the bedroom.  

I’m sure there are some year-round stay-at-home-moms rolling their eyes at my lamenting household chores, and probably some year-round working moms muttering that they don’t get an “adjustment period” for the summer.  My intention is not to highlight my own struggles, but to attempt to describe how complicated a mom’s job can be.  My good friend just told me over the phone last night that she had read how moms develop their leadership skills greatly because their role demands so many decision-making and executive skills.

One strategy I am learning is to offer up my day every morning.  No matter how mundane or icky a task is during my day, it can be a prayer to God.  When I don’t feel like folding clothes, I remind myself of those families who can’t afford to clothe their children properly, or those families who don’t even have access to clean water so they can even wash clothes.  Admittedly I sometimes choose comfort over holiness (i.e. I flip through a magazine while the dirty dishes sit in the sink), but I do find purpose in the household chores when I offer them up, and a greater motivation to be disciplined. 

Offering work as a prayer is a concept I never really learned in the Evangelical Church growing up, and in retrospect, it made my everyday work feel separate from my faith life.  Ironically as an Evangelical I was warned not to keep God in a box, but by ignoring God in the simple things and building my faith life mostly out of isolated prayer times and devotionals, that is exactly where I placed Him.  Obviously prayer and spiritual reading are still as important to me now as a Catholic, but my relationship with God is intertwined in my daily activities more than ever.  I know that there are Evangelicals out there who understand the lessons I have been learning as a Catholic, who can say that their relationship with God is evident in everything they do, but since my conversion, I am finally beginning to understand that concept in a much deeper way.  In becoming a Catholic, these teachings have finally begun to click (and that adjustment has certainly taken more than three weeks). 

Always dynamic and never static: ongoing adjustment and growth is the beauty of our life in Christ.

If you don’t know the morning offering prayer, here it is:

O Jesus, through the Immaculate Heart of Mary, I offer you my prayers, works, joys, and sufferings of this day for all the intentions of your Sacred Heart, in union with the holy sacrifice of the Mass throughout the world, in thanksgiving for your favors, in reparation for my sins, for the intentions of all my relatives and friends, and in particular for the intentions of the Holy Father.  Amen.

I also sometimes recite the “Prayer Before a Day’s Work”:

Direct, we beg you, O Lord, our actions by your holy inspirations, and grant that we may carry them out with your gracious assistance, that every prayer and work of ours may begin always with you, and through you be happily ended.  Amen.

Now back to beating that laundry monster into submission…

Summertime Adjustments

The babies are on the move.  Three weeks ago Elisabeth showed off her new tricks from just rocking on hands and knees to tentatively sliding one knee forward.  And during that same evening, she sneakily managed to pull herself up to a standing position using a coffee table.  Mom and Dad beamed with pride and glowed with excitement.

That was three weeks ago.  Since then, both babies are crawling wherever there is enough room for their small bodies, reaching at everything, and Elisabeth is practically scaling up walls.  She is even so bold as to hold onto furniture one-handed.  All this in three weeks?  Yikes.  Makes me nervously wonder where we will be at in a month from now.  Is there an age minimum for a little kids’ road race? 

Coincidentally, school got out for the summer three weeks ago.  Thus I have been fortunate to witness this exponential development while being home.  Nevertheless, there have been a lot of adjustments.  Not only the obvious baby-proofing adjustments (which often is hard to foresee until a baby tries to do crazy acrobatics on a piece of furniture), but also adjusting from being a working mom to stay-at-home mom.  One might think that suddenly life has gotten so much easier for me now that I am home full-time, but it’s actually been much more complicated.  As abruptly as the school year ended, there were still loose ends that needed to be tied off after the students left.  The responsibilities are as diverse as my students: janitorial work (cleaning off my desk and bookshelf), bookkeeper (documenting the lesson plans so that the curriculum is up-to-date), and project managing (writing up a summer workout plan for next fall’s cross-country team).  All this took up most of the first week of my summer vacation, and it certainly took longer than I planned with two little ones making me aware of unsafe areas in our small condo. 

However, once I finished up the teacher duties, I still had to mentally switch to full-time-mommy-mode.   It took at least a week for me to realize that summer vacation does not mean I can just sleep in, but rather that my day starts even earlier than a school day (babies wake at 6:00 and…they’re off!).  It’s not an easier or harder job than teaching, it’s just different.  Perhaps caring for twin infants is not as intellectually challenging as say, planning a lesson about medieval French literature to a group of 18-year-olds.  But on the other hand, it does require much more quick decision-making skills (two babies are crying, who do you attend to first?) and deductive reasoning (why is she still crying?).   Both jobs require an immense amount of energy and patience, even if for different reasons.

Being at home also demands prioritization skills and discipline.  When the babies nap (although since they are discovering so much these days, it is becoming harder and harder for them to settle), I have to decide which household duty needs my attention the most AND follow through.  I would love to sip my coffee and read a good book, maybe even take a nap myself, but I should really attack that laundry monster that is starting to creep out of the hamper and spread across the floor of the bedroom.  

I’m sure there are some year-round stay-at-home-moms rolling their eyes at my lamenting household chores, and probably some year-round working moms muttering that they don’t get an “adjustment period” for the summer.  My intention is not to highlight my own struggles, but to attempt to describe how complicated a mom’s job can be.  My good friend just told me over the phone last night that she had read how moms develop their leadership skills greatly because their role demands so many decision-making and executive skills.

One strategy I am learning is to offer up my day every morning.  No matter how mundane or icky a task is during my day, it can be a prayer to God.  When I don’t feel like folding clothes, I remind myself of those families who can’t afford to clothe their children properly, or those families who don’t even have access to clean water so they can even wash clothes.  Admittedly I sometimes choose comfort over holiness (i.e. I flip through a magazine while the dirty dishes sit in the sink), but I do find purpose in the household chores when I offer them up, and a greater motivation to be disciplined. 

Offering work as a prayer is a concept I never really learned in the Evangelical Church growing up, and in retrospect, it made my everyday work feel separate from my faith life.  Ironically as an Evangelical I was warned not to keep God in a box, but by ignoring God in the simple things and building my faith life mostly out of isolated prayer times and devotionals, that is exactly where I placed Him.  Obviously prayer and spiritual reading are still as important to me now as a Catholic, but my relationship with God is intertwined in my daily activities more than ever.  I know that there are Evangelicals out there who understand the lessons I have been learning as a Catholic, who can say that their relationship with God is evident in everything they do, but since my conversion, I am finally beginning to understand that concept in a much deeper way.  In becoming a Catholic, these teachings have finally begun to click (and that adjustment has certainly taken more than three weeks). 

Always dynamic and never static: ongoing adjustment and growth is the beauty of our life in Christ.

If you don’t know the morning offering prayer, here it is:

O Jesus, through the Immaculate Heart of Mary, I offer you my prayers, works, joys, and sufferings of this day for all the intentions of your Sacred Heart, in union with the holy sacrifice of the Mass throughout the world, in thanksgiving for your favors, in reparation for my sins, for the intentions of all my relatives and friends, and in particular for the intentions of the Holy Father.  Amen.

I also sometimes recite the “Prayer Before a Day’s Work”:

Direct, we beg you, O Lord, our actions by your holy inspirations, and grant that we may carry them out with your gracious assistance, that every prayer and work of ours may begin always with you, and through you be happily ended.  Amen.

Now back to beating that laundry monster into submission…

Easter Evening Lullaby

Transitions are difficult for both the parents and the babies.  I noticed this today especially, after coming home from a joyous Easter celebration at my in-law's.  The girls were showing off their newly-found skill-- babbling-- to all who were interested in listening.  It's amazing how the simple repetition of dadada in various high-pitched tones and squeals can captivate a whole room full of adults.  For several afternoon hours, the girls were passed from adoring arms and held up to bright and cheerful faces: constant stimulation in both sight and sound.  At one point, as a sort of second Easter miracle, the girls actually fell asleep for a nap at the same time.  (Not for long, of course; THAT would've been truly miraculous.)  In any case, the girls were up for many hours, and amidst lots of action.  So it was not that surprising to see them fuss as we packed them up in their car seats and drove back home.  The vibration of the car motor helped them to fall asleep, as it usually does.  We entered through the door of our dark and quiet apartment, set down the infant carriers and unclipped the harnesses, all the while hoping they would remain in the very precise state of ZONKED OUT.  No such luck.  When we gently put Margaret down in the crib, her eyes popped open and looked at each of us in desperation.  She held up hands and shook them the way she does when she is truly upset.  Elisabeth needed a diaper change and new pj's, and although she seemed to appreciate the fresh diaper, she too looked grumpy.  It was undeniably a transition thing.  I took Margaret to nurse, as she was the more vocal one, and Greg did his best to console Elisabeth (and teach her the virtue of patience).  And as it was a warm spring evening (it has been a very cool spring; the balmy temperatures today were appropriately welcome) he stepped onto the balcony humming the German folksong "Du, du liegst mir im Herzen" with our little Elisabeth.  The poor girl was clearly challenged by the uncomfortable transition of busy social interaction to quiet, settle-down-before-bed time.  The following scene will be imprinted in my heart forever.  It was quite possibly the most beautiful scene I have ever witnessed:

Greg had propped Elisabeth up on his right arm, and gently swayed to the simple tune he was humming.  Elisabeth was distracted by the fresh air and Greg's low voice, and hushed as she looked across the yard and the silhouettes of the neighbor's yard across the street.  Her tiny hand lay on Greg's bulky shoulder, as his thick fingers gently held her miniature torso.  The swaying became a sweet, sweet dance that only a father and daughter can know.  The dusk showed deep purple and blue lines that outlined the figures of Greg's football shoulders and Elisabeth's teeny body.  The birds complemented the low humming.  A soothing breeze kissed Elisabeth's soft and fluffy hair.  As she sucked on her two middle fingers, I sensed her relax, as if she had taken a calming deep breath.  Just as she had not understood why she felt discomfort in her fatigue, she did not understand how her caring father soothed her.  She only understood his gentle and protective hold.  Pure magic.

Having children has demonstrated to me, in countless ways, how little and helpless we are next to our Heavenly Father.  As I watched Elisabeth settle in Greg's right arm and absorb the spring evening, I thought of how often we, as Children of God, do not understand why we feel discomfort when the over-stimulation of the day comes to an end.  It is so important for our bodies and souls to take the time to transition, just as a baby needs to settle before going to sleep for the night.  And like little babes, we do not understand how to handle the quietness.  Yet if we allow Him to rock us, we too can experience the peace of an Easter evening.  All we need to know is the soothing refuge of our Father's arms.  I've found prayer and meditation to serve as that gentle swaying.  The rhythmic reciting of the Rosary resembles a low voice humming in tune with the swaying.  And just like my little Elisabeth, I may not understand how it works, but I trust anyway. 

The beauty of Catholicism is that there are prayers and methods of mediation that have been passed on to us from centuries of practice.  If we follow the examples of the Saints before us, we can come to understand deeper ways of loving God and hearing His voice.  Our religion is not vain repetition of prayer, or man-made decrees that we blindly follow; it is a spiritual game plan that gives us insight to a fruitful relationship with God and others.  We have the traditions from the apostles themselves, and the wisdom of holy men and women from countless cultures and historical time periods to guide us.  What I have come to realize in my personal conversion experience is that the Catholic Church, when compared to other Christian churches, is not more RIGHT than the others, but more COMPLETE.  There is a depth to Catholicism that I appreciate more and more each day. 

And similar to a little baby finding comfort of her daddy's presence, I too will remain close to my Father.  I look forward to developing a relationship that only a Father and daughter can know.

I hope you and yours had a blessed Easter.  Christ is risen!  Alleluia!

Easter Evening Lullaby

Transitions are difficult for both the parents and the babies.  I noticed this today especially, after coming home from a joyous Easter celebration at my in-law's.  The girls were showing off their newly-found skill-- babbling-- to all who were interested in listening.  It's amazing how the simple repetition of dadada in various high-pitched tones and squeals can captivate a whole room full of adults.  For several afternoon hours, the girls were passed from adoring arms and held up to bright and cheerful faces: constant stimulation in both sight and sound.  At one point, as a sort of second Easter miracle, the girls actually fell asleep for a nap at the same time.  (Not for long, of course; THAT would've been truly miraculous.)  In any case, the girls were up for many hours, and amidst lots of action.  So it was not that surprising to see them fuss as we packed them up in their car seats and drove back home.  The vibration of the car motor helped them to fall asleep, as it usually does.  We entered through the door of our dark and quiet apartment, set down the infant carriers and unclipped the harnesses, all the while hoping they would remain in the very precise state of ZONKED OUT.  No such luck.  When we gently put Margaret down in the crib, her eyes popped open and looked at each of us in desperation.  She held up hands and shook them the way she does when she is truly upset.  Elisabeth needed a diaper change and new pj's, and although she seemed to appreciate the fresh diaper, she too looked grumpy.  It was undeniably a transition thing.  I took Margaret to nurse, as she was the more vocal one, and Greg did his best to console Elisabeth (and teach her the virtue of patience).  And as it was a warm spring evening (it has been a very cool spring; the balmy temperatures today were appropriately welcome) he stepped onto the balcony humming the German folksong "Du, du liegst mir im Herzen" with our little Elisabeth.  The poor girl was clearly challenged by the uncomfortable transition of busy social interaction to quiet, settle-down-before-bed time.  The following scene will be imprinted in my heart forever.  It was quite possibly the most beautiful scene I have ever witnessed:

Greg had propped Elisabeth up on his right arm, and gently swayed to the simple tune he was humming.  Elisabeth was distracted by the fresh air and Greg's low voice, and hushed as she looked across the yard and the silhouettes of the neighbor's yard across the street.  Her tiny hand lay on Greg's bulky shoulder, as his thick fingers gently held her miniature torso.  The swaying became a sweet, sweet dance that only a father and daughter can know.  The dusk showed deep purple and blue lines that outlined the figures of Greg's football shoulders and Elisabeth's teeny body.  The birds complemented the low humming.  A soothing breeze kissed Elisabeth's soft and fluffy hair.  As she sucked on her two middle fingers, I sensed her relax, as if she had taken a calming deep breath.  Just as she had not understood why she felt discomfort in her fatigue, she did not understand how her caring father soothed her.  She only understood his gentle and protective hold.  Pure magic.

Having children has demonstrated to me, in countless ways, how little and helpless we are next to our Heavenly Father.  As I watched Elisabeth settle in Greg's right arm and absorb the spring evening, I thought of how often we, as Children of God, do not understand why we feel discomfort when the over-stimulation of the day comes to an end.  It is so important for our bodies and souls to take the time to transition, just as a baby needs to settle before going to sleep for the night.  And like little babes, we do not understand how to handle the quietness.  Yet if we allow Him to rock us, we too can experience the peace of an Easter evening.  All we need to know is the soothing refuge of our Father's arms.  I've found prayer and meditation to serve as that gentle swaying.  The rhythmic reciting of the Rosary resembles a low voice humming in tune with the swaying.  And just like my little Elisabeth, I may not understand how it works, but I trust anyway. 

The beauty of Catholicism is that there are prayers and methods of mediation that have been passed on to us from centuries of practice.  If we follow the examples of the Saints before us, we can come to understand deeper ways of loving God and hearing His voice.  Our religion is not vain repetition of prayer, or man-made decrees that we blindly follow; it is a spiritual game plan that gives us insight to a fruitful relationship with God and others.  We have the traditions from the apostles themselves, and the wisdom of holy men and women from countless cultures and historical time periods to guide us.  What I have come to realize in my personal conversion experience is that the Catholic Church, when compared to other Christian churches, is not more RIGHT than the others, but more COMPLETE.  There is a depth to Catholicism that I appreciate more and more each day. 

And similar to a little baby finding comfort of her daddy's presence, I too will remain close to my Father.  I look forward to developing a relationship that only a Father and daughter can know.

I hope you and yours had a blessed Easter.  Christ is risen!  Alleluia!

Transitions

When I used to coach nordic skiing in Maine, I would spend a lot of time with the kids working on transitions: from a flat to an uphill, from the crest of the hill to a downhill, from a tight tuck position on a downhill onto a flat plain.  No matter how fast you were going up to the transition point in a race, a poor transition could be costly. 

It's been a couple years since I've coached nordic skiing, but the concept of transitions has been on my mind ever since my return to work after my maternity leave.  It seems as though I am constantly in a state of transition.  The two greatest transitions in my day are in the morning and afternoon, going from mom to working woman, and the reverse.  Then there are the other smaller transitions throughout the day, and as a French teacher at a all girls' Catholic school, they are numerous: switching from English to French, engaging in the daily Mass and then back to the hustle and bustle of the school day, going from firm and demanding instructor to the compassionate advisor.  And just like many sports, no matter how hard you are working up to the transition point, you could lose all your steam in the transition. 

But unlike sports, which often allow time for breaks and recovery, it seems as though being a working mom is all transition with no water break.  Not even Gatorade. 

A baby's whine at 5:00 is the gun shot that starts my race everyday.  Get the babies dressed, give them a bottle, quick shower, grab some breakfast.  A poop-through, a big spit-up, and now I need a new shirt.  Of course, finding a shirt takes twice as long as it used to, with my oddly shaped post-partum belly.  Driving the short way to the day care provider's house gives me a moment to take a deep breath, and dropping off the babies at her house sometimes feels like halftime: it's a snuggle, a kiss, and a minute to watch them get comfortable in their surroundings.  Another deep breath.  OK.  Babies are OK.  I'm OK.  We're doing OK.  And....gotta get to work!  Halftime's over, and I jump back in the car to make it to class on time.  And since I have a class right at 8:00 almost every day of the week, I run up to my classroom in order to beat the students and try my best to look calm and collected.  When first period is over, I find my way back to the office and finally feel (somewhat) sane again.  That was just a four hour sprint.  And no Gatorade. 

Nevertheless, a transition can also be the moment when an athlete passes the competition.  Likewise there are transitions in my morning routine that give me a quick refuel.  The first transition is probably my favorite part of the day: the few moments when I can cuddle and snuggle with the babies right after I take them out of the crib at 5:00.  Another great transition moment is right after I have dropped the babies off, and I can pray a rosary while dodging yellow traffic lights.  And finally, I cherish the transition into teacher mode for my 8:00 class, as we always start with a prayer.  All of these moments are not only a chance to pause and breathe, but they also remind me why I run this crazy race every day.  We are called to love God and to serve others.  Period.  In the short prayers and quick baby hugs, I also have chance to ask God for more of His grace so that I can continue to carry out my vocations.  And on days when I didn't have a chance to put on two darling outfits that match, or days when my explanation of French grammar is less-than-exciting, I am reminded in the transitions that we are not called to be perfect, nor are our imperfections any reason to wallow in self-pity.  St. Paul writes to the Hebrews: "Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us rid ourselves of every burden and sin that clings to us and persevere in running the race that lies before us while keeping our eyes fixed on Jesus, the leader and perfecter of faith. For the sake of the joy that lay before him he endured the cross, despising its shame, and has taken his seat at the right of the throne of God.  Consider how he endured such opposition from sinners, in order that you may not grow weary and lose heart." 

The way to make a smooth transition in a ski race is to constantly focus on the next step, to know where and when exactly the skier will change his tempo and body position on the skis to maximize momentum and minimize exertion of energy.  Similarly, every transition of my day requires my intent focus on Jesus and the very simple purpose He has for me.  "For the sake of joy..."

Thank heavens for God's grace given during all those transitional moments everyday.