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.