Advent Thoughts

Our wonderful local Catholic homeschooling group has members sharing reflections for each day of Advent.  Today was my turn, and a couple of the moms I am privileged to know suggested that I share these thoughts beyond our group, so I'm just going to leave this here:

Not only am I not a cradle Catholic, although I was raised in a sometimes-churchgoing Lutheran family, I was pretty close to atheism for a number of years.  And even after my conversion, although I believed in the Eucharist intellectually, part of me still felt that it was strange and off-putting for a few more years yet.  From the outside looking in, it is admittedly an odd thing to do, to ritually consume the flesh and blood of another.  I grappled with understanding it spiritually and emotionally, with being comfortable with understanding it, for quite some time.

And the thing that brought me closest to the Eucharist, that led to me understanding it on a visceral level, was becoming a mother.  From the backaches and headaches and nausea, there were tiny feet kicking in my belly.  From the pain of labor, there was life in my arms, vibrant and crying.  This is my body, given up for you.

I wondered if I was strong enough to do this thing, to take on the enormous task that had been entrusted to me.  And I rocked and nursed and cried through mastitis and cracked nipples and uterine infections and all the months of sleepless nights that left me dazed.  This is my blood, poured out for you.

And I think that as mothers, we are entrusted with a unique understanding of Christ, not just in His creative power, but in His suffering.  Because it is in His suffering that life is created and sustained.  He gives up His body that we may be fed, He suffers physically that we may have life.  And like a mother, I imagine that this burden was heavy for Christ.  And like a mother, I imagine that there were times when He was afraid, overwhelmed, exhausted, drained.

So when we nurse babies or rock sick little ones to sleep or lay awake with third-trimester heartburn or stay up to go over math worksheets, we offer ourselves to our children, creating and sustaining their lives with our bodies.  Becoming a mother means laying yourself down, submitting yourself to the beauty of a divine creation that tears you apart, both literally and figuratively.  And as much as standing in line to receive the Eucharist, we do this work of motherhood in memory of Christ, as well: do this in memory of me.

Advent is a time of waiting for Christ and the redemption He brings us all, but the first Advent was Mary’s journey to motherhood.  Our redemption was in her aching back and swollen ankles and labor pains.  Our redemption, our nearness to Christ, is in our own work of motherhood.  If in Lent we watch Christ lay down His life for us, in Advent we watch Mary lay down hers for Christ.  Mary was strong, and the difficulty of the circumstances of her motherhood is unfathomable to me.  And so in Advent I prepare for Christ, but I also try to deepen my self-giving in motherhood, as well: the self-donative, self-effacing, self-rendering, redemptive work that we all do, like Mary, in our task of raising little souls for Christ.

Be with us, Lord, in our daily work as mothers.  You have given us both Christ and Mary as models of self-giving love; help us to understand and follow their example.  In the footsteps of Christ and Mary, allow us this Advent to say "yes"  to our vocation without fear.

Changing Seasons

I have not chained myself to the computer to blog all summer.  I have all sorts of excuses – a new wee one keeping me busy, a funk of post-partum baby blues that left me tired and not wanting to do much of anything for a while, going back to work, the never-ending blur of kids’ summer camps, playground playdates, and trips to the pool, the fact that the carpet in my house is barely identifiable underneath all the coloring pages and toys.  Really, though, it’s been nice to take a break.  But since I promised myself that I would start up again with the new school year, and since I just printed out my first week’s worth of lesson plans – then here we are!

We had some great fun this summer.  Sprout went to his first sleep-away camp, half of it with SSHH and half alone, with the Cub Scouts.  SweetPea did her own day camp, and all the kids rocked out at Vacation Bible School.  We went on a week-long family camping trip and got cold and hot and dirty and bruised and scraped and too full of s’mores.  We did some summer reading but no math or grammar or Latin or geography and it was really just very, very nice.

But I’m approaching school with a bit of a deep breath this year, as we also spent the summer doing some very conscious, planned regrouping as a family.  A new baby always shakes things up a bit, but beyond that there was a general level of chaos and crisis that needed to be sorted out.  We like the free-wheeling nature of our homeschool, work-at-home life, but there’s a line between “loosely structured” and “stay in your pajamas until dinner” – and we were starting to cross it.  After a few false starts, we found a chore structure that is working well for us and WOW, is it ever helping.  It’s not perfect – you could still lose a small child in the clean laundry pile (and we routinely do) – but everyone knows what they need to do every day and how to do it, and the bathrooms are (relatively) clean, beds are made, and the kids have even taken over most of the pet care.  SweetPea can fold all her clothes and the baby’s, too, Sprout can Swiffer the kitchen floor like nobody’s business, and SweetPotato is an expert wastebasket-dumper on trash night (although being the smart worker that she is, she’s trying to train up Doodle so she can delegate this chore to her unsuspecting little sister).

We also needed to work with Sprout.  He’s smart as a whip and knows it, and we were encountering increasingly difficult power struggles with him.  He’d refuse to do something – anything, really, from picking up a book off the floor to finishing his math – and then things would get started.  He’d turn on the obstinacy, the volume would escalate, occasionally he’d lash out physically, and we’d end the day barely wanting to look at each other.  Things were getting worse, not better, and we just didn’t know how to change.  We knew he was a loving, kind, caring, respectful kid – the other adults in his life just couldn’t say enough about how respectful and helpful he was, and he was still always the first to volunteer to play with TaterTot or read a book to Doodle.  His goals in life at the moment are to be an Altar Server and Eagle Scout.  But when it came to good ol’ mom and dad – it seemed like every day was the beginning of a new war.

In desperation, we bought a stack of parenting books that seemed to fit with our general outlook and started reading, because we clearly needed to up our game.  And we did a lot of talking, and a lot of praying, and a lot of begging God to not let our beloved kiddo turn into a juvenile delinquent.  And we went back to the drawing board in terms of how we interact with our children, and tried to treat them more Catholically.  Because if we’re going to talk about the inherent dignity and worth of every person, and how we are each fearfully and wonderfully made in the image and likeness of God, then every encounter should lead with respect, kindness, and openness.  And if we’re to treat them more Catholically, then we needed to be focused not just on their challenges as individuals, but on how those challenges affect their role in the family – for in Catholicism, contrary to secular society, the fundamental unit of society is not the individual but the family.

And we hadn’t been doing very well on that front.  It’s hard, admittedly, to respond calmly and respectfully to a kid who is yelling at you at the top of his lungs about how awful you are, and who has just shredded his grammar worksheet on the floor and thrown his pencil across the room.  We certainly aren’t any kind of mean parents, but the frustration level with these outbursts was building quickly, and we’d clearly soon be in over our heads.  We’d decided at the beginning of this parenting gig that we weren’t going to spank our kids, and we’ve stuck to that, but it turns out there’s more than one way to injure a child.  Yelling, demanding, not stopping to listen to them – those can be just as harsh.  It’s not my job, I’ve learned, to control my kids, or to have them “do what they’re told.”  It’s my job to teach them to make responsible choices on their own without coercion, to be their coach, to help them navigate the thousands of decisions that are made in the course of every day, respectfully, thoughtfully, and all the while preserving the freedom of will that is so integral to their inherent dignity. 

And how that’s played out in practice in our house is that when Sprout starts to tip off the deep end – we step back.  Most adults I know don’t have perfect control of their emotions all the time, and it’s certainly unreasonable to expect that of a nine year-old.  So when he starts to boil and taking a deep breath doesn’t cut it, he can take a moment and head to his room.  If he needs to punch something, he can beat up his pillow.  If he needs to scream, that’s okay, too.  If he just needs to sit in quiet, away from everyone, fine.  When he’s ready, then it’s time to face the issue again.  We’re trying to ask for things from our kids, and not tell them what to do.  My litmus test for myself is that if I wouldn’t speak to SSHH that way, then I probably shouldn’t be speaking that way to my kids, either.  “Sprout, clear your place at the table please” is not impolite, but it’s authoritarian.  I’d never speak to another adult that way, because it would be insulting.  Yet somehow I had been repeating that phrase, and hundreds of others like it, every day.  “I’d appreciate it if you would scrape your plate and put it on the counter now so we can do the dishes” is respectful.  It offers a choice and a reason.  It offers a conversation if it’s needed, and asks for rather than demands obedience.

It sounds like the recipe for chaos and disobeyed rules right and left.  But the beautiful thing is that it’s working.  Chores are getting done, we’re so much more peaceful, and I no longer feel like I’m walking on eggshells with my son.  This past Sunday he’d been playing chess (the new obsession among the kids) with SweetPotato.  She, being four, was frustrated by the loss of one of her pieces and Sprout’s insistence that she follow every miniscule and incomprehensible rule of chess and tipped the board over, scattering the pieces.  Sprout yelled, she yelled back, they both ran out of the room.  I asked them to work together to pick up the game – and Sprout started to lose it.  He got louder and louder, insisting that he wasn’t going to touch it because it wasn’t his mess.  And while I was in mid-sentence, he turned and walked out of the room.  I found him in his bedroom, and (stupidly) continued the conversation, insisting that he help since the argument over the game was due to both of them.  And then, since we were just going ‘round in circles, I quit.  It really annoyed my immature self to let a nine year-old have the last word in the argument, but we were both getting angrier by the minute.  So I quietly asked him to do whatever he needed to do to calm down and then when he was ready I would appreciate talking with him, and I left.  And you know what?  Not three minutes later he trotted up the stairs, beaming, telling me not to look because he was going to give me a great surprise – and he cleaned up not just the chess set, but all the toys and flotsam and jetsam in the living room, all by himself and entirely of his own volition (and got a big hug and a high-five for it, too).  Given the opportunity to exercise his choice to comply, and treated with respect as an independent person whose feelings and opinions matter, he couldn’t wait to not only restore the status quo in our war-zone of a living room, but make a contribution of value.

I’ve learned so much through all this.  I’ve learned that being a “nonviolent parent” doesn’t just mean “don’t spank your kids.”  It means treating them as persons who, while they may still be “in training,” have dignity, worth, and value equal to that of their parents.  They are not offshoots or appendages of me.  Their opinions and voices matter.  Their interests and time matter.  I don’t care one whit about computer programming, but to Sprout, this is vitally important – so when he’s reading a book about the history of the internet and I ask him to pick up his stinky socks, I have to realize that although the socks shouldn’t be on the floor, I am asking him to change focus in a way that would be hard for an adult, let alone a child – and that I have no right to expect compliance solely because I am “the parent.”  Compliance comes from respect, respect comes from love, and love is hard work.  The necessity of getting through the day means that the kids don’t always get what they want, but the necessity of stewarding little souls means that they always need to be heard.

As Catholics, we spend a lot of time yammering about the inherent worth and dignity and value of every person, whether we’re talking about the unborn or the elderly or the disabled or the Third World.  Among all that, it was easy to lose sight of the fact that the dignity of every person starts with those people closest to us.  And while we’re not perfect, and while I do still lose my temper and more often than I’d like, and while my house is still appallingly messy, we’re getting there.  School is going to be a test for us, because the demands on everyone’s time and attention and energy are going to increase dramatically next week, and that’s going to breed more opportunities for conflict.  But I like my kids.  I love my kids.  And even though this parenting thing is really, really hard, every minute of every day, I feel like I’m on the road to being the kind of parent that I want to be for them.

But as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.

Our house was filled with joy yesterday, as our sweet little TaterTot was baptised.

Since we were having friends and family over afterwards, it was preceded by a flurry of shopping and cleaning and snapping at the big kids (seriously, how hard is it to pick up your stinkin' room?!).  I lost my cool more than once over the disastrous state of the house and the kids reluctance to help.  I bought a trunkful of food, and saw an entire trayful of sandwiches inexplicably slide right out of the van door when I opened it and onto the driveway.  I may have taught the kids some new vocabulary - SSHH, bless him, just picked up a grass-encrusted sandwich and took a bite, and went out to buy replacement sandwiches.

And as we prepared for the baptism of our fifth child, I thought about preparing for our wedding.  We were adamant - sometimes to the chagrin of our families, I think - that we wanted the focus of our wedding day to be the Mass, and not the party.  We spent more hours choosing the readings than the menu and flowers.  Because marriage, like baptism, is first and foremost a sacrament.

I have a friend who was raised in a Catholic family but no longer practices her faith.  She was asked to be the godmother to her cousin's son.  Her cousin is also no longer a practicing Catholic.  And you know what I really admire?  She said no.  She said that it would be dishonest for her to stand up and say that she would support  this child in learning the faith, and that it was dishonest of the parents to do the same thing.  She told her cousin that the promises made by parents and godparents at a baptism mean something, and are to be taken absolutely seriously, and that she would not support them if they planned to use the baptism just as an opportunity to dress up the baby and take pictures. I thanked her for saying that, because even though it's not a faith she practices, she was respecting the need to take the sacrament seriously.  It's not a family tradition or a pretty ceremony or photo opportunity or way to pacify insistent grandparents.  It's not cute or sweet. It's a sacrament - it is self- and life-altering for the people involved.  To treat a sacrament as less than that is demeaning to those who wholly believe it.

The baptisms of our children have all been joyful events, of course, but they've also been just a little bit frightening as well.  Those promises made to God at a baptism are enormous, and raising a faith-filled child is a task only accomplished through patience and persistence and tears and grace.  It feels like a Sisyphean task more often than not.  We are so absolutely blessed to be surrounded by loving, prayerful friends and family, many of whom came yesterday to worship and celebrate with us.  We are humbled by their example of God's love.  And we continue to be lifted and supported by their prayers and friendship as we take on the work of keeping those promises we made yesterday.

On Mother's Day

So it's Mother's Day.  It might be the penultimate Hallmark holiday, eclipsed only by Valentine's Day.  I've been getting advertising emails all week, claiming to have What Mom Really Wants, from Tiffany jewelry to laminate flooring.  They are heavy on sentiment, telling buyers that "Mom deserves it!" and "Remember all she's done for you!"

And many of the moms I know have been beaming over the demonstrations of love they've received from their families, smiling as they share birthstone necklaces and chocolates and flowers and sweet handmade cards.  And it's wonderful that they are loved and appreciated by their spouses and children.

And all of that is lovely, truly, and every woman, myself included, would love new floors and new bling and cards decorated with sweet child's art.  But at Mass this morning, I started to think about why Mother's Day has always felt a bit hollow for me, why it's always left me cringing just a bit.  And I think it's not just because it's been so very commercialized, but that he focus is on thanking mom.

In the Christian context, motherhood is not a choice or a lifestyle or a job.  It's a vocation.  The calling lies with God, and the choice of the mother is simply whether or not to answer it.  And like most things God calls us to do, it is both a blessing and a burden.  In the case of motherhood, this has been clear since Eve.  There's the gift of co-creating life, the warmth of baby snuggles (being enjoyed right now at the keyboard, actually), the joy of watching children learn, the pride of seeing them grow in understanding and independence.  But there is a cross to be carried, too.  Carrying and birthing children rips apart a mother's body; mornings begun all too early after sleepless nights with a toddler screaming "MOMMY UP NOW!!!" can bring one to tears. It can be oh-so-lonely, with days spent with snot- and spit-up-covered clothes and little adult conversation.  Job opportunities passed by, meals made and thrown on the floor, diapers and clothes changed and changed again, toothpaste cleaned from sinks.

That's part of mom-world whatever your religious convictions may be, but the secular Mother's Day industry would have one believe that this should prompt thanks - shown, of course, by expensive gifts, cards, and brunches.  I'd argue that, in the Christian context, thanks is less appropriate than empathy.  You don't thank someone for their vocation - that comes from God.  You can, however, support them in living that vocation - you can help them carry their cross.  Even Christ recognized his cross as a blessing and a burden, and even he had help carrying it.  And I don't think that talking about the sacrifice or cross of motherhood is ungrateful or that it takes away from the tremendous gift and blessing that it is.  God's calling is always a gift, but it is never easy.  And sometimes, no matter what the calling it, one needs help to live that calling.  I read a terrific post this week in which a young mother speaks very honestly about the spiritual struggle of motherhood, and how it is impossible to carry the cross alone.

In the case of Mother's Day, maybe that doesn't look much different than celebrating a secular Mother's Day.  Maybe some women find their burden lightened by jewelry - and that's cool.  But overall, the context looks different: a young father gets up early to help with the get-everyone-breakfast-and-out-the-door madness - his wife's burden is lightened.  A friend takes a birthmother out to lunch - and shoulders some of her cross on that day.  A sister takes her niece or nephew to lunch - giving a single mother time to refresh herself before picking up her cross again.  A grown daughter calls her lonely mother to chat for an hour - easing the weight of someone away from her children.  A friend offers a hug to a woman suffering through miscarriages or infertility - showing love to the mother of children unborn.  Kids pitch in to clean up their things or fold the laundry - for that day, they carry the cross with their mother, and she carries it less.

Motherhood is joyful.  It is a blessing.  It is a gift.  My heart feels like it might explode every time I look at one of my dear, sweet, amazing children.  But motherhood is also heavy, exhausting, and terrifying.  It is lonely, and feels like drowning more than flying much of the time.  And so if, as Christians and Catholics, we are to do something "appropriate" on Mother's Day, it might be not to say "thanks" or to "celebrate," but to help mothers carry the wonderful, awesome, heavy cross of their vocation in some way.  In doing that we help carry Eve's cross, Sarah's cross, Rachel's cross, Elizabeth's cross, Mary's cross - Christ's cross.  And to carry the cross - whatever it looks like - is the calling of every Christian.

My own grandma - a wonderful Christian who carried her cross and helped others carry theirs (and who received an awful lot of handmade Mother's Day cards).

Why I Don't Teach My Kids

So one of the most common questions we get from families whose kids go to "away school," as we call it (seems better than "traditional school" or "regular school" or what have you), and who are familiar with our stay-at-home-dad and work-at-home-mom life, is "so who does most of the teaching?" And the answer is usually a brief blank stare, followed by "well, um, they mostly teach themselves."

Given that we have little-littles around, who are prone do making messes or yelling or needing to be changed or nursed every five minutes, and given that I work from home and need to focus on that, "teaching" just isn't going to happen.  And that's not a bad thing. It forces the kids to learn how to learn, and to recognize when they need help and how to get it.  Once they become independent readers and can get through material on their own - they're off to the races, and I just sit and watch and keep them on track and answer questions as they come up.

SweetPea is, age-wise, in kindergarten, but she's got a thing for math, so we've let her work ahead at her own pace, keeping an eye on things to make sure they don't go off the rails.  She's midway through the second grade books now, and yesterday she started to learn addition with carrying.  As she started her work and I was getting snacks for the littler ones, I called downstairs that she should come and get me when she started math, so I could help explain it to her.  "Oh, I started already," came the reply, "everything is fine, mommy."

I trotted down and looked  through the work she had done - and darned if she didn't have it right.  I asked her to talk me through a couple of problems as she did them - and she clearly "got it."  "I told you it was fine," she said, rolling her eyes as she sat back down at her desk.  And the lovely thing isn't that she can carry and add, it's that she was able to pick up the book, read the explanation, follow along with an example - and presto, she was in charge of her learning.  Easier for me, empowering for her, and far more useful out there in the world than listening to me ramble on about arithmetic.

If SweetPea is picking up steam, we're slowing down with Sprout.  He is so bright, and such a thinker, that we've unwittingly been pushing him too hard.  He can do the work - but being challenged in every subject, every day, is starting to get to him.  So we're backing off a bit.  He loves robots and engineering and building things - so playing with his build-a-robot kit might be plenty of science.  He just came back from a "STEM Engineering Challenge" night at the local community center, beaming ear-to-ear about building boats from straws and tape.  Maybe we'll ditch the books  sometimes and do more of that.  Playing SushiMonster, an app designed too get nine year old boys to practice their times tables by making monsters explode when they get a problem wrong (genius!), might be better than speeding through the next grade's math.  He could - but if the choice is a stressed-out kid who is working way ahead of his age, or a happy kid who enjoys learning?  I'll take the latter.

The second-most common question is what grade the kids are in, and I honestly don't know at this point,  Sprout's books range from third through sixth grade, SweetPea's from kindergarten through second.  They work where they are challenged but happy.  They did their state-mandated testing at their chronological grade-level, because the tests really are a formality and just part of the requirements to legally homeschool - but they are hardly a reflection of the work we do every day.  So I have no idea how to honestly answer that question, and usually say "K and third," and then one of the kids starts a long digression about how their grammar book is really for grade X, and the question-asker leaves very confused and probably wondering what we're doing at home, anyway, that we can't come up with a united front on such a simple question as "what grade is he in?"

So we're continuing to fumble our way along - much more comfortable and confident than last year, and feeling much more at home in homeschool-land.  I'm listening better to the kids and what they need, and I'm far less terrified at the thought of throwing something out when it's just not working.  We're counting down  the days until the end of school (22 more days, people!) and figuring it out and actually looking forward to next year already when we get to start it all over again.  At this point last year, I certainly never thought I'd say that - and that, more than tests or books or grade levels, means we're probably on the right path.

Bringing Home Baby

We were blessed last week with the safe arrival of our newest little one - a little brother, at long last, says Sprout!

He's a pretty chill little guy, and is usually happy to watch life going on as he's toted around.  I mentioned this to a relative, and their response completely threw me for a loop.  "Of course he's laid back," they said, "with everyone else competing for you all the time, he has to be!"

I wondered if they understood anything at all about a family's love.  That it's not a finite pie, with each addition to the family meaning less love, time, and attention in everyone else's "slice."  That each new addition multiplies the love, instead of dividing it.  That I truly feel bad for Sprout, who as the oldest by nearly three years had no little playmates to entertain and dote on him when he was younger.  The poor guy was stuck watching clueless mom and dad try to amuse him, unable to come up with stuff that subsequent children have been privileged to enjoy like "turn Costco box into a racecar and push the toddler around the house as fast as you can go" or "create obscenely loud, impromptu marching band and tour the living room to entertain the baby."

I suppose I don't really care what everyone else thinks of our little family, though - it's what SSHH and I and the kids think that matters.  And they are genuinely overjoyed to have a new little brother - despite mom's time and lap being occupied with a nursing newborn right now, and despite the general upheaval that always comes with a new baby.  Even little Doodle, not yet two years old and at times a bit confounded by her new "big girl" status, will sit on my knee for an hour, beaming and patting her sleeping brother and saying "Nice bay-bee!  Nice bay-bee!" over and over again.

The kids get it - every life is cause for celebration.  When we told them that we were expecting another baby, Sprout's response was "I'm really lucky to have so many people to love me!"  The idea that a new sibling might somehow be taking something away from them is completely foreign to them,  They see their little brother for who he is, a tiny person fearfully and wonderfully made by God as we all are, and they love him unconditionally and infinitely.  And they've welcomed him with joyfully open arms.  I learn so much from them, always.  May we follow their example and do the same for all of God's children.

Onward and Upward

Easter Break is here (can I tell you how happy I am?) and the newest wee one is due to arrive any day now.  It would be just too easy to have the little squish show up when the kids are on a break from school, but they're excited by the possibility of a few unscheduled days off after Easter, too.

We wrapped up the third quarter of our school year last week, too.  We do quarters, and at the beginning of the year I set a calendar showing the kids when the quarters are and which days they'll get off of school.  It's a little artificial, but they like getting "holidays" and knowing exactly how close they are to finishing up with school.  If we didn't have a schedule we'd get nothing done, so it works well for us.

And with third quarter we wrapped up a few other things, too.  SweetPea - technically in kindergarten - finished first grade math and grammar.  We've been careful not to push her through the work, but she's enjoying it, and so she just marched right through the textbooks and did just fine, and we're not about to hold her back because of the grade numbers on the books.  After Easter she'll start the second grade books, and we'll keep a close eye on how she's doing and go as slowly - or quickly - as she's ready for.  She's loved being in Daisy Scouts this year and at a recent meeting the girls had to write down one thing they were afraid of.  She wrote that she was "scared of first grade" - until we pointed out that she was almost finished with it, and hadn't even noticed.  She wrote her first-ever book report this spring, and loved writing about a horse book - and celebrated with a ride on her much-loved pony buddy.

SweetPea has been racing ahead academically, and we appreciate that homeschooling is letting her move at the right pace for her, but I think it's Sprout who has really benefitted from learning at home this year.  Last year was so, so hard in many ways.  We were all adjusting to our new roles, and we were all at odds with each other a bit.  The learning curve was steep, expectations were (perhaps too) high, and the nuts-and-bolts of getting through the work sometimes seemed impossibly hard.

This year we've been able to relax a bit, in part because Sprout knows his job - and is less likely to blow up when his lack of focus means that he's still working on math problems at dinnertime.  I'm also more flexible.  He needs more work on his multiplication tables and grumbles about how dumb, and stupid, and hard, and awful they are - but he happily practiced them for almost an hour today as he tried to get a high score on some eyeroll-inducing math app called "SushiMonster."  I've also been less hesitant to ditch what isn't working for us.  He started reading The Black Cauldron and it was over his head - so we switched gears and did Harry Potter instead.  Neither one of us was frustrated, neither one of us felt like we'd failed - we just set the book aside for another day or year and went 

.about our learning

And as Sprout approaches the pre-teen year, I'm more happy than ever that SSHH and I are the primary educators in his life.  He's encountering and noticing hard things that weren't on his horizon before, and I'm glad that we are the people he's coming to with questions - not his teachers, not his friends - his parents.  Whether it's moving from "how will the baby come out of there?" to the much harder "how did the baby get in there?" (and yes, his nine year-old self got a straight answer to that), or "why did someone post a comment on this computer game that it "is so gay it makes my f&*^ing eyes bleed?" - and what does that mean?" or "I read a Garfield comic and someone said Jon dances like a retard.  What's that?" or  "what's an abortion?" - we have been able to navigate the answers with him.

Sprout just finished reading Maniac Magee and put together a short but pretty incisive paper, for a nine year-old, on the portrayal of race in the book.  We had a lot of talks about it, and about how people form opinions of each other, and what things are important about people and what things aren't, and how to form respectful friendships across differences.  He read, and answered comprehension questions, and learned about topic sentences and finding quotes in a book - but it was full of little life-lessons, too, and I'm glad that those happened around the dining room table and not in a classroom.

When we started homeschooling I read a lot about the "growing up" aspects of it.  I was concerned that our kids not be "sheltered," that they not be limited to our sometimes-insulated Catholic homeschooling group, that they learn about the diversity of people and beliefs in the world and how to encounter them respectfully and openly while still maintaining their own faith and identity and not succumbing to relativism.  And I think that we're accomplishing that, in a small way.  But that involves running up against hard questions, and navigating hard answers, and while I trust many people to teach my kids math and writing and geography, I don't trust them to guide my kids through those questions when they are prompted by a book or article or conversation read in the context of school.  I don't trust that when those hard questions come up, that a kid who spends most of their waking hours and most of their learning time with other people will automatically turn to their parents first for advice and answers.  And so I'm glad that while Sprout is out there getting his feet wet in the big wide world, he's able to stay grounded and connected to the moral compass that his family and faith should be for him.

Leaning Out

So the next wee one is due to arrive in just a few weeks and yesterday was my last day in the office - I'll be working from home until baby arrives, and on twelve weeks of maternity leave after that.  I'm thrilled.  Ecstatic.  Did I mention happy?  I work from home about 70% of the time anyway, so it really shouldn't make that much of a difference, but dropping the mental burden of having to get dressed up, drive into the office (Washington DC traffic is fun), and smile and generally be pleasant and "on" all day is huge.

I am blessed and grateful to have my situation.  I work in an extremely family-friendly place, and while folks are generally a bit confuzzled by the fact that I'm having a fifth child, they are mostly supportive and happy for me.  But I do get crabby when people tell me that I'm "lucky" to be in this sort of situation - because luck has absolutely nothing to do with it.

Working where I work with the family-friendly options I have was a choice, and one which required (and still requires) sacrifices of other nice "job things," and one which I worked darned hard for.  I work from home, have a very flexible schedule, and a lot of freedom to spend time with my kids and schedule my day the way it works best for me - but I also carry my work phone/e-mail with me wherever I go, 24/7/365 and if I'm awake - I'm never more than a few minutes behind on my e-mail.  I make a fraction of the money I would in the private sector.  I'm using a PhD I worked darned hard for in a non-traditional way well outside of the field I studied in.

And it took a few years of hard work before I reached the point of having proven my competency, trustworthiness, and availability to my coworkers so that they didn't turn me down when I asked to start working from home part-time.  And to be honest, I've turned down and passed by multiple promotions in the years I've been with this group, because the increase in pay and status would have meant less time at home.  Right now - it's a job.  Maybe later there will be time for a career.  Maybe later I'll want one.

I've been told I'm being "mommy tracked." And I'm cool with that.  I've read some articles lately about how we're all supposed to be "leaning in" and being driven and focused, and how women can have a stimulating career and a great family life.  And maybe they can - but I can't.  I know that I couldn't be the mother I want and need to be if I spent any more time and energy on my work.  I can only lean in one direction at once - and that's my family.

Which is fine, and if other women can manage both, then that's super.  But being open to life as we feel called to be, and believing that it's important to be the "primary educators of our children," and heck, just being there for breakfast-lunch-and-dinner, means that I am going to stay firmly on that mommy track, if that's what it is.  If I needed to be in an office away from home every day, or if I needed to travel for work, or if I needed to work late more than once or twice a year - those things that are so important to us would suffer.  And we're not about to let that happen.

So our family operates a little differently than some do.  I have this nifty job where I've traded some money and some prestige for a lot of flexibility and a bunch of nice folks to be around - my boss, actually, turned down a promotion last year because it would have meant he couldn't find the time to coach high school football and his daughter's soccer team.  SSHH (and all the fancy letters after his name, too) is at home with the kids, giving me the ability to sprint to the home office for a conference call in the middle of making sandwiches or reading a story.  We may not ever be able to afford a vacation to Disney - but we feel like the choices we've made are the right ones for us and reflect our faith and our values.

Last summer a prominent female CEO made waves in the media when she said that she was a lousy mother because she was a CEO.  And you know what?  I think it took a lot of courage for her to say that and not pretend like she "had it all."  She was very honest about how many piano recitals and soccer games she'd missed, and how her kids had to go through her secretary if they had a question about homework, and how she didn't see them most days because she was at work.  The feminism of the 1970s and 1980s undoubtedly made great strides for women's ability to find equal footing in the workplace - but it also fed women a line about "having it all."  Maybe some women out there really have found a way to do that, but for most of us mortals, it's a balance.  You can't have it all and do it all equally well - at least, I can't.  That maligned CEO decided to tip the balance towards her career.  I've decided to tip the balance towards home.

So I'm going to spend the foreseeable future leaning out, not in.  I'll work from home, I'll snuggle my sweet new little squish, I'll take my kids to the playground.  I'll spend my evenings going through math worksheets and making lesson plans, not prepping the next day's briefings.  I'll continue to tell my bosses that I'm not getting on a plane to fly around the country to conferences, and I'll continue to be home every night for dinner and baths and bedtime stories - and most days, for breakfast muffins and lunchtime sandwiches, too.  And if that means that I end up with a less than astonishing career when all is said and done?  Well, that's just fine with me.

Deep Conversations

So we were finishing up dinner earlier this week, and as usual, Sprout was asking all sorts of random, off-the-wall questions like "if I programmed a computer with really good voice-recognition software, would it recognize the dog's barks?" and "why do you eat more Oreos than I do?" and "why was Jesus laid in a manger when he was born?"

And that last one actually led to a really long, really good discussion.  'Cause that manger wasn't just convenient, it solidified Christ's role as food - and humble food at that - for the world, right from his birth.  We talked about the difference between the Old Testament covenant and that of the New Testament, and what a covenant even is in the first place.

Sprout is such a perceptive kid.  He thinks things through; even when it seems like no one is home in there, his brain is always working on some problem.  So he asked about that manger, and then jumped right in, asking question after question as we talked through dessert and the dishes.  And predictably, the conversation turned to marriage and how the covenant is lived out in the family.

And it seemed that our little talk with Sprout was actually a pretty good summary of the Catholic concept of marriage and family; one which unfortunately is often reduced to a few soundbytes that distort and distill reality beyond recognition.  I can't lay claim to any enlightenment on the subject - ten years ago as I walked down that church aisle, I had no idea about any of this.  I thought I did - I was a nice churchgoing person, I was taking it seriously, SSHH and I had spent a lot of time talking about all sorts of married-people-things and we were both adamant that the day was not a wedding but the commencement of a marriage.  But really, I had no clue.  And I'm quite sure that even now, ten years and a basketball team of kids later, I still have no clue.  Maybe in another fifty years.  But I'll get on my soapbox anyway.

Because a Catholic marriage is a reflection of God's covenant through Christ.  A Catholic marriage has nothing to do with being in love and gazing into each other's eyes and getting all fluttery.  Being in love and gazing into each other's eyes and getting all fluttery are undoubtedly fun and wonderful and Very Good Things, but they have nothing to do with the validity of a marriage.  They might make marriage easier - but they don't fundamentally have anything to do with marriage.

If a Catholic marriage is a reflection of Christ's love for us, then in a Catholic marriage one is called to love their spouse even when that spouse is being pretty darned unlovable.  Even if that unlovable-state is permanent.  Even when you aren't loved in return.  "For better or for worse" doesn't just imply job losses, or moves to faraway places, or illness, or "tough times."  It means that you commit to loving your spouse completely, wholly, and singularly, no matter what, because Christ loves us whether or not we are lovable, and whether or not we love Him.  It's no accident that Scripture refers to the Church as Christ's bride - it's a marital relationship, and the model for our marital relationships.

And then Sprout asked, "well, then, what's divorce?" And I took a deep breath, because among other lovely people in our lives, my own parents are divorced, and one remarried, and while we want to make our beliefs crystal clear, we also don't want to say anything that would harm the respect and love he has for the people he knows.  And so we talked about how many people see marriage as something that happens between two people who are in love, and how they see being in love as one of the most important things in a marriage.  That if they stop being in love, then they don't believe there's a reason for the marriage anymore - since the promise to love as Christ loved isn't there, and the reflection of the covenant isn't there.

And then the conversation turned to different things, which was just as well, because I was really struggling with how to explain some very adult ideas to a nine year-old, but it got me thinking about how annoyed I get when I hear a remark like "Catholics don't believe in divorce," because that's reductionist to the point of absurdity.  It's not about divorce - it's about an entirely different foundation for marriage.  It's about making the promise to God - despite all of our imperfections - to try to love just one other person as Christ loved us.  Whether that person gets sick, or "becomes a different person," or you "grow apart," or even if they just plain walk out - you have made that promise to God to love them, singularly and uniquely, as Christ loves.  And there are no take-backs on that.  The marriage isn't dependent on them - it's only dependent on you.  A good, healthy, successful Catholic marriage will have two partners equally committed to the marriage, and to helping their spouses grow and love and be loved and be happy.  But your job and responsibility in a Catholic marriage is quite simply to love.  Love returned is a gift, not an entitlement.

It's the same complete, unquestioning, all-encompassing gift of self that God made of Himself in Christ.  It's why Catholics "don't believe in birth control," either, and believe that having children, or at least being open to them, is fundamental to marriage - if you are making an entire gift of yourself, then holding back the ability to create life is incompatible with that.  Creating new life is one of the most God-like things a couple can do when they give of themselves, and to block that capacity is not a part of the complete self-gift required in marriage.  It's a radical way of living and a radical way of loving, and it's often very, very difficult.  I'm blessed to be in a marriage where love, respect, and care are given from both sides, and it's still difficult.  Every day requires becoming less you and more them.  It requires consciously practicing love in every word and action.

There are plenty of marriages between non-Catholics that are all of these things, and are wonderful, blessed, holy marriages.  There are plenty of marriages between people who are Catholic that are none of these things.  And I'm realizing now that I've probably made Catholic marriage sound like a pretty miserable proposition, and not at all like something that any sane person would enter into.  But the wonderful thing is that by the grace of God, it can be - and is - filled with joy.  The more you empty yourself of yourself, the more you become open to being filled with His love - by God through your spouse.  It's not a partnership, or a relationship, or a friendship, or a parenting endeavor - it's more than any or all of those things.  Done well, it's a mirror, in a small way, of God's love.  And that's pretty cool.

Lent

As usual, I'm struggling with how to observe Lent with a bunch of wee rugrats.  We do all of the usual Lenten things - the kids decide to "give something up" and then either struggle mightily with it and fall two days into Lent, or they get cunning with their choices ("I will give up broccoli because it's gross anyway"); we go to Confession and take the big kids to pray the Stations of the Cross; we talk about prayer, fasting, and almsgiving - but that all often seems to fly right over the heads of little ones.

The alternative, which we've also tried, is a sort of nebulous, vacuous understanding of what Lent is.  I've found lists of activities for kids to do during Lent that include things like "give someone a hug" and "play nicely," but that doesn't really get one any closer to God than they should be doing on a daily basis anyway.  God is hard, faith is hard, and it's important that they understand that - but really difficult to get there without the journey seeming punitive.

So this year we have a plan.  As a convert, I didn't exactly grow up being aware that liturgical seasons were even a thing, so I do much better when I have a plan.  I've found a super Lenten calendar that has something to do for each of the days of Lent, with each day marked for either prayer, fasting, or service.  It's things that will actually require some effort from the kids - they're aghast at the thought of having no screen time at all tomorrow, although they came up with the idea of praying together instead all on their own.

We'll help pick up litter in our neighborhood, buy supplies for the local animal shelter, and invite a friend to dinner.  We'll write our own prayers on a theme for the day, and learn about a different culture, and drink water instead of milk or juice for a day in solidarity with the poor.

We're also making more of a concerted effort to pray together as a family.  We always have, at least at the start of school, meals, and bedtime, and we've been reading a Psalm at dinner on Sundays - but we're going to try praying the Rosary together and getting to daily Mass and adoration more often.  The more we're able to work prayer into our life, we've found, the easier it becomes to do.

And all of that is really a trial run for next year's school.  We had found a religion curriculum that we really liked - and then our parish religious education program, which the kids attend, started to use the same one.  This was a great thing, as they'd been using a pretty empty, feel-good curriculum before, but it left us in the lurch, finding this out the same week we were starting school!  Not knowing how in-depth they were going to go with it, we decided to plow ahead with using the same texts at home this year - which has resulted in some duplication and frustration.  Homeschool fail.  Since the parish program is doing a pretty decent job with the nuts-and-bolts of religious ed, I think next year we're going to drop a "formal" religion curriculum from our homeschool altogether.  Instead we'll learn about the saints, we'll pray more together as part of school - maybe even starting the day with morning prayer together - and we'll make volunteering and service a regular part of our week.  Ultimately, we decided, we're more comfortable "outsourcing" religious education than we are with not being very hands-on in how they live their faith.

So please pray for and with us as we start this season of growth.  Pray that the kids enjoy the journey - little Doodle was delighted this morning that everyone was "getting messy" at Mass together, and it was really okay with mom and dad - and that they are able to focus on building their relationship with God more than the sacrifices.  Pray that SweetPotato finally consents to take a bite of fish, any fish, really.  Pray that we grow closer as we pray and serve together.  Pray that I do not strangle the kids on days of no screen time or no snacks.  And pray that as we go through the next forty days, trying and stumbling and falling and getting back up and learning together, that we may be, in some small way, a reflection of Christ and the Church in the world.

So it was Catholic Schools Week

Last week, so our parish tells us, was Catholic Schools Week.  First, I'll say that I love our Catholic schools.  Sprout went to our parish school for two years and had a great time.  Catholic schools offer options for solid academics in many areas where public schools are lacking, and for many families are a good option for a faith-based education.  They're awesome.

My quibble is with the way this was all presented in our parish.  Well-spoken young men and women stood up after Mass and talked about their wonderful experiences at our parish school, and the pastor extolled the virtues of "Catholic education" and how great the school was for anyone looking for said "Catholic education" for their children.

But it was Catholic Schools Week, not Catholic Education Week, and those are two very different things.  It is entirely possible to have a great Catholic education without attending a Catholic school.  There are an awful lot of Catholic families providing a great homeschooled Catholic education to their children, and an awful lot providing a great Catholic education to their children at home and through other avenues while their kids go to public or secular private schools.  Catholic school is not an option for many, and that doesn't mean at all that those children aren't receiving a Catholic education.

Now I realize that these two options don't bring money into the school or the parish, and at the end of the day the parish school needs students to help pay the bills.  But Catholic school ain't cheap - not at the elementary level, and it's beyond the reach of most in high school.  One or two students are a stretch - and when you have a large family, it's nearly always cost-prohibitive.  And many Catholic schools don't have resources for students with special needs, or gifted students, or students who speak English as a second language, which makes them not a viable option for many families.

I wish that parishes (okay, our parish) would reach out to these families.  They're trying their darndest to give their kids a Catholic education - whatever form that might take - and they're often shuttled to the back of the line because they're not writing big checks or taking the "usual route."  Our parish has no homeschool group or ministry - we're invisible.  I didn't even know we had any homeschooling families until we could no longer afford the parish school and I started asking around about homeschooling.  The kids in religious education classes on evenings and weekends, or the public/homeschool kids who do scouts or volunteer work through the parish don't get recognized in the parish community for their contributions - not the way the school's basketball team did, or the middle school kids did during Catholic Schools Week.  And that makes it hard not to be cynical sometimes.

And this causes, I think, a disconnect between parish life and raising a Catholic family.  The fact is that there are myriad ways to raise and educate Catholic children, and to do it well, and not every family is able or wants to go the Catholic school route, for many reasons.  That doesn't mean that those families aren't contributing, valuable members of the parish and Catholic community.  But when "excellent, life-changing Catholic education" is made out to be synonymous with "parish school," it sure feels like we're second-class citizens.

But putting my griping aside, our little homeschool itself is just wonderful right now.  SweetPotato can write all her letters and numbers.   Our kindergartener SweetPea is finishing up first grade math, grammar, and writing right now, and will start second grade work next month.  She decided she wanted to do Latin and geography like her big brother, so, well, she is - and she's enjoying it.  Third-grader Sprout just finished fourth grade grammar and writing, and he's finally internalizing the concept that if he gets his work done early - he can have fun all afternoon.  For a nine year-old boy who often has the attention span of a gnat (unless he's reading about computers; then you can't stop him), that's huge.

Last year at this time we were in a major slump - the kids were bored, we were stuck inside because of the winter weather, and the daily grind was getting on everyone's nerves.  This year, while we are a bit stir-crazy since the backyard and playgrounds are either frozen solid or muddy swamps, everyone is still plugging away cheerfully and making good progress.  Which is great, because I don't want to have to feel guilty about slacking off for a week or two when WeeOne #5 arrives this spring.  Maybe it's better organization (I can't believe how much of a difference our new schoolroom makes when it comes to getting work done and lesson plans organized), maybe we're finding more time for field trips (great fun at the Maryland Science center!), maybe we're just finding our way, or maybe the kids are discovering more that interests them in this year's work.  Whatever it is, we're having fun, learning together, praying together, and walking together with God - and that, I think, is a pretty fair Catholic education.

Today I Am Angry at the Pope

Yes, I sure am.  He’s a wonderful, holy man.  He’s doing wonderful things for the Church.  He’s bringing people of all faiths together in a way that was overdue.  But the Holy Father needs some discretion with the media.

I’m talking about his recent comment that Catholics don’t need to “breed like rabbits” in having children.  He was speaking of a mother he’d met, one who had seven children and, after being told that it was dangerous to her health, was pregnant with an eighth.  I get it, I really do.  There are cases – plenty of them – where having more children is unwise and should be avoided.  But rabbits, really?  I don’t know any Catholic parent – especially parents of large families – who doesn’t enter into the responsibility of each child with a tremendous amount of prayer, thought, consideration, and discussion with their spouse.

Rabbits plays right into the hands of an anti-Catholic mainstream media.  It backs up their erroneous claim that this Pope represents a culture change within the Church, and not just in the way the Church presents Herself to the world.  The Church has never said that Catholics should breed like rabbits, despite the world's misconceptions.  Folks on the outside have looked at large Catholic families and made remarks like “wow, those people breed like rabbits” – but that’s not Catholic, that’s just a disparaging flippant remark.

And there are some Catholics who think that large families = good Catholics, and small families = bad Catholics, but they’re just not right.  That’s missing the whole discernment part of parenthood, and is awfully judgmental of people they probably know little about.

In fact, the Church – in documents that are far more authoritative than the Pope’s media interview – has time and time again written that people should not breed like rabbits.  That every month couples should discern, prayerfully and with great thought, whether they have a serious reason to avoid pregnancy.  That couples carrying the awful cross of infertility should not use all of what medicine has come up with to produce a biological child.  That parenthood goes far, far beyond having children and encompasses a lifetime of raising them – in hands-on, deeply involved ways that go beyond what other, more “mainstream” religions espouse.

The key – and what doesn’t come across in a soundbyte, and what isn’t being said here – is that while Catholics (the practicing ones, that is) are supposed to discern parenthood, the default position is that children are always to be welcomed.  A practicing Catholic couple does not enter into marriage deciding how many children they’d like to have, or thinking about when a good time is to have children.  Rather, one discerns when it is a poor time to have children – and the reasons for that need to go beyond convenience and wants centered on the self.  If it’s not a poor time to have children, then they are to be welcomed.  Since most middle-class practicing Catholic families don’t really have serious reasons to avoid having children – they are in decent health, aren’t in danger of not having enough to eat, and can educate their kids – then most middle-class practicing Catholic families are larger than average.    That’s hardly breeding like rabbits.

And although you don’t hear a lot about it at Sunday Mass, Catholics who are using artificial birth control, or who are using NFP with a “contraceptive mentality,” or to prevent pregnancy without “serious reasons,” are sinning.  That’s not popular, and if priests started talking about it they’d probably lose a lot of people who don’t like it.  But it’s what the Church teaches, it’s the truth, and being Catholic means you don’t get to pick and choose what you follow.  Since no one hears about it on Sundays, I’d guess that the majority of American Catholics, at least, are largely ill-informed about what their Church teaches.  If they get all of their information from the mainstream media and “what Father says,” then how on Earth are they supposed to know any different? 

We need more Catholics who are engaged.  More who have read Humanae vitae and Gaudium et spes and Theology of the Body.  More who realize that there is a difference between Church teaching and pastoral decisions made by their local priest to emphasize – or not – certain elements of that teaching.  The Church is run by human beings, who are ministering to human beings, and who are all going to make a lot of human mistakes.

And the Pope knows that, of course, and knows the difference between being pastoral and being theological, and in his longer writings and statements – one the very next day after his unfortunate comment, in fact – has shown himself to be a champion of those large families that were the target of his offhand remark.  As he should be, as that is the teaching of the Church – one which won’t change.  But the problem isn’t Church teaching, it’s that it isn’t being taught at all in many cases.  And a flip comment about rabbits isn’t helping. 

Jesus showed mercy to the woman caught in adultery.  He saved her life.  But he didn’t then give her a hug and ask how she was doing, and tell her it’s okay, she’s trying to be a nice person.  He said go and sin no more.  Get outta here, and don’t let me catch you doing that again.  There was mercy, but there was also tough love.  Maybe the Church needs more tough love.

In the long run, it’s not Earth-shattering.  But as someone who is trying their hardest – and admittedly often failing – to live those encyclicals, to live the teaching, I cringe to hear an offhand remark made to the media, by the Pope no less, knowing it will be picked up and repeated thousands of times, and increase the gleeful finger-pointing at those rabbit-breeding Catholics, and form the basis of millions of Catholics justifying their decision to not follow Church teaching on what is one of Her biggest and hardest issues.

It ultimately comes down to the responsibility that every Catholic, parent or not, married, single, or religious, has to let go of the control that we cling to so tenaciously.  That, ultimately, is what we admire about Mary – she was the handmaid of the Lord, she let go of all the control she had in her life in order to do His will.  And that’s incredibly terrifying, and means letting go of the dreams and ambitions that we have for ourselves and being open to following what God is calling us to do.  But once you let go of that control, it’s amazing how much lighter you feel.  You’re still responsible for your choices – but the direction doesn’t need to come from you.

If you had asked me 15 years ago what I thought my life would look like, I never in a million years would have said that I would be a mother of a large family.  I never would have told you I’d be Catholic, either – I was a pretty committed agnostic.  I even taught courses on Nietzsche – Mr. “God is dead” himself - at a major university.   And I would have laughed at the thought that either of those things would be an improvement on the happy, independent, intellectual, self-sufficient life I was living.  But those things have brought incredible graces and blessings to my life.  And I am 1000% happier now than I was then.  And so, whether or not people out there think we’re breeding like rabbits, we will continue to remain open to life throughout our marriage, prayerfully discerning whether at any particular time we have serious reasons to not welcome a new child to our family.  And quite honestly – and I would have been astonished at this fifteen years ago, too – I hope that we never decide that the time is not right to joyfully welcome a new life.