Mission: Possible

"Shoot For the Moon, Even If You Miss You'll Land Among the Stars." 

- Les Brown

There have been times when I've used this blog as tool of self-motivation. I've written about goals that I set forth to accomplish with hopes that, in fear of appearing a failure, I'd accomplish them. I've written about getting healthier by giving up sugar, about my goal to live a contented life by starting the Happiness Project and about all the things I planned on doing the summer of 2012. To be honest, I eat sweets like it's no body's business, I followed through with 3 or 4 months of the given outlines of the Happiness Project and I only went on 1 of 6 adventures I planned last year.

The outcome? I still want to eat healthier, I am happy, last summer was great and another one is just around the corner with new adventures waiting. Do I consider myself a failure because I didn't accomplish all my goals? Absolutely not. I consider myself better off for having made them in the first place because had I not made them, I never would have done the things I did end up doing.

There is one mission, however, that has been given to me that is non-negotiable. It began nearly eleven years ago this June. This mission, which I chose whole-heartily to accept, is where I find my entire purpose in life. The details of this mission weren't entirely clear to me when I accepted it and as I took it on its level of difficulty became clear.  At times, throughout this mission, I felt fear, fear that it was beyond me, that I was far from qualified. I felt inadequate to perform the tasks involved. I felt I was a failure already with so many goals still to accomplish. Then, I realized, I was inadequate, I wasn't meant to fulfill this mission alone.

It is the mission of raising my five children. Not just raising them, for people raise chickens all the time, no problem. They are born small, you feed them and they become full grown. Anybody can raise a chicken or a child for that matter. My mission is to form the souls of my children to "do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with their God." (Micheas 6:8) so that they will grow into like-minded adults.

I have a long way to go. When I had one child run in crying because her brother 'hit her on her back' and another child angry that her sister 'wouldn't play with her,' I thought to myself, 'do my children love kindness?' And again, the only thoughts towards justice I've heard lately are along the lines of, "Finder's Keepers!" and "That isn't FAIR!" And do they seem to be walking humbly with God? HA! Is any child truly humble?

But the truth is, where my inadequacies come into play, God's grace suffices to fill in the gaps.  In this I am entirely confident that my children will grow to retain the same great loves I am teaching them now: love for God, love for family, love for life itself, and love for truth. I believe that they will become what Christ called all of us to be, "wise as serpents, and innocent as doves." Are these lofty goals? Impossible? Not if my expectations of them remain high. I have seen first-hand that children will either grow up to our expectations or down to them, and so I plan on keeping them high.

The next 14 weeks we will be undertaking an intensive immersion of learning about and practicing the following virtues: faith, hope, charity, prudence, justice, fortitude and temperance. I will spend approximately two weeks on each virtue until they become part of the makeup of who we are as a family and as individuals. This will be our summer's spiritual adventure that will accompany all of the physical ones we will have together.

I plan on documenting our goals, and the means by which we put the virtues into practice. I am still fine-tuning the details so we will begin this Monday, May 13th. I pray for God's guidance in this mission, because in and of myself, I can do nothing.

I wish I wrote this on Saturday, National Star Wars day, so I could end by saying May the 4th be with you, but I will stick with gist of today's post and say simply, 'May the grace of God be with us all.' Good Night.

Gina.

A Life Worth Living

"What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes." - St. James 4:15

Lately, I have been lost in this adventure I call life. My mind and body have been so occupied by the tasks of daily living that I have neglected to take time for quiet reflection. I haven't even had the time to worry or stress, which, I guess, is a good thing. The truth is, I haven't given myself time to think.

I don't stress or worry about much, because that requires thinking. It's almost as though I've been on auto-pilot just going through the motions of life. If there is ever a free moment to relax, I quickly drift off into sleep to recharge for the next busy hours of the day. I've decided enough is enough. Although I am enjoying life; our new house perfectly suits our needs, I frequently enjoy the company of good friends and family, I love my job as a Kindergarten teacher, I find a desire to live my life with more intention and more attention.

That desire, no doubt, comes from God. As soon as He wants something of us, He sends us help. Today, I received that help in a book I was reading called, Anchor: God's Promises of Hope to Parents by James B. Stenson. The sentences I read in the first five minutes felt like they had the power to change my life. Now, interestingly, I have read this book before. I have even highlighted in yellow highlighter pen certain paragraphs that I wanted to remember. When I read those paragraphs now, however, they didn't mean a whole lot. I believe God gives us certain insight or inspirations exactly when we need them and what I needed years ago was different from what I need now. I wish to copy what it was I read and what I got from it so it will stick with me and help me to live a life worth living, because, as Socrates put it, "The unexamined life is not worth living."

"As we lift our eyes to the heavens on a clear, cloudless night, we see the swirl of stars God flung across the endless expanse of the universe. And if we have eyes illumined by faith, we can look on this divine array the way our Christian forebears have done for centuries: With faith's insight, we know that God set these sparkling gems against the black velvet of night to delight each of us, His beloved children, and to show us His splendid might and mystery.
You, with the eyes of a Christian parent, can perceive even deeper meaning. As you sweep your gaze across the heavens, let your mind thrill with this wondrous idea: Countless ages ago, before those stars took fire, God placed you - you, personally, by name - within His eternal plan. It was then that He called you to your divine life's mission.
God knew then, and knows now, everything about you: all the great and small events of your life, your childhood and upbringing, your gifts and flaws and sins, the destiny of your whole life throughout this slip of human history in which he placed you. He knew all those souls whose lives intertwine with your own, including your parents and friends, spouse and children, from the moment of your conception to the appointed hour of your passage to eternity.
St. James wondered at this mystery with these words to the early Christians: "...what is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes" (4:14) Every life, though brief and fleeting, has a destined part in God's eternal will."
 

 The highlighted sentences are what I find myself reflecting on tonight. Through every trial of my life, as well as every moment of true happiness, God was there. He gave me those moments, both good and bad, to shape the life He wanted me to live. From before the creation of the world, He knew what my faults would be and what gifts He wanted to give me. He knew exactly what people He would send into my life and at which moments, to influence me and I them in just the way He planned. There are no coincidences. I pray that I can approach each moment of my life with the awareness that whatever is going on, God destined for that event to occur...He destined that event before the creation of the stars!

 

Life's Lessons in Action

There are times in life that I can look back and remember a very distinct moment where a very valuable lesson was learned. Other times, I believe lessons are learned gradually with the help of mistakes and age. This week two opportunities to came up for me to put into practice one lesson I learned from my mother in one instant many years ago.

When I was in my early teenage years, I was sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter talking on the phone. I leaned back and knocked one of my mother's wedding glasses off of a shelf on the wall. They were the glasses her and my dad gave their first toast with, crystal, probably one-of-a-kind from Ireland or something like that. I knew they were special to her because they were arranged on a shelf in front of a picture of her and my dad, arms entwined, drinking champagne on their wedding day (it might have been sparkling cider since neither of  them were of age ;) The picture was a pencil drawing of my dad's.

When the glass fell and shattered, my heart sank. I felt horrible about doing it and feared the wrath of my mother. She was present when it happened and as soon as our eyes met, she said, "It's okay." Two simple words spoken over twenty years ago that have changed the way I deal with similar situations now. I tried to tell her how sorry I was and that I knew the glass was special to her and so on and so on. But she said this, "It's only a thing, don't worry about it." Her calm attitude left such an impression, that for someone who admittedly doesn't have a great memory, I can remember that moment like it was yesterday.

This week, in my household, I discovered two things that were meaningful to me, broken. In my last post, I mentioned how I am not a very sentimental person and I don't have many things that I consider precious to me. Well, I guess I did have a few things. One was my wooden St. Francis statue that we picked up in Assisi on our honeymoon, and another was an oval wooden box that locked/unlocked in a secret way. I got the box from the original carver when spending two weeks in New Mexico while on a fire assignment with the Department of Natural Resources. The things themselves weren't valuable, but the memories attached were priceless.

St. Francis, (almost) as good as new.

While dusting, St. Francis' head fell off because it had been balanced there mysteriously well like I'd never notice it. Samuel was standing nearby and he heard the disappointment in my voice upon the discovery. I felt his guilt like sticky humidity on a hot August day. My first instinct was to separately interrogate each child until the guilty party tearfully announced his shame and begged my forgiveness on hands and knees. But that memory of my own mother sprang instantly to mind. I put it aside and figured I could glue it back together.

Today, while cleaning the girls room, I discovered the box, also put nicely back together as though I'd never discover it (my kids must think I am quite the idiot). I did announce my disappointment and instantly Benjamin announced his guilt (kudos to him for his honesty). It was harder to bite my tongue this time, since it was the second time in two days, but I managed. (By the way, Ben's excuse was..."Well I couldn't open it!", I wanted to smack my head on a wall).

My dad always told me that if something can be destroyed, kids will find a way to do it. He was right. But my mom taught me that people are more precious than any worldly possession and the words we choose to use can make a difference in the lives of others. She was right too.

Side Note: The move I mentioned in my last post....it's going to happen, wish us luck :)

Greener Grass??

It has been so long since I logged in to write a post that I had forgotten my password and had to go through the ever so annoying process of setting up a new one. The truth is, I haven't written in so long because living hasn't left me room in my life to contemplate or reflect. I have missed that. However, with the Lenten time upon us, due to activities I have given up for the next 30 days, I have some time to "catch up".

I guess I thought that I no longer had an audience since my blog had become stagnant, but according to Blogger, people are still checking in, so I thank you for that.

I feel like my life is on the brink of change. My family is on the fence about something that would change our lives dramatically. Actually, my family, is not on the fence...I am. Everybody else has hopped the fence and is running free where the grass appears greener. I am standing there, sceptically looking at that green grass and wondering if it was sprayed with green chemicals to make it look luscious and inviting.

A few months back, my mom brought to mind the idea of finding a multi-family house to rent that would be big enough for the kids and I and her and my dad. I thought it over and the more I looked online at available houses, the more it seemed this was a plausible possibility. Those houses included; two kitchens, multi-levels, separate entrances, many bathrooms and a nice big fenced-in back yard with puppy possibilities.

Then my mother found a house, fell in love, and all but packed the moving vans! The only thing is...we haven't been in this house yet, and some of the things I thought would be necessary for it to work, aren't there.

There are so many concrete pros to moving into this house (at least if it is laid out exactly as it was described to me) that it almost doesn't make sense not to do it. The kids and I would have four bedrooms instead of three allowing for Samuel to finally have his own room, the backyard is HUGE with get this: a tree fort and a playhouse (boys vs. girls), the kitchen, though not separate, is supposedly large and newly remodeled, it's just as close to school/work as we are now, and I would be saving quite a bit of money a month. Seems like a no-brainer, right?

So why is it weighing so heavily on my heart? The answer is two part, and it lies within my past.

When I moved out to be on my own at 19, I discovered my love of anonymity, liberty and independence. Nobody had to know where I was at all times, I had the liberty to come and go as I pleased...wherever that was, and I had the independence to chose whether or not I would do the dishes at night, what color curtains I put up and how loud and frequently I listened to the soundtrack of O Brother Where Art Thou.

When I got married, I gladly gave up some of that in exchange for the duties of my chosen vocation.

When I was on my own again, I rediscovered that love of freedom, though it was a different kind of freedom. "Popcorn for dinner?" "YAY!!", "We are going camping today!", "YAY!" "Go outside and play so I can have some peace and quiet." "YAY!" "We're going to Mass in 30 minutes." "But it's Saturday, why do we have to go to Mass today?" "BECAUSE I SAID SO".

The choices that need to be made are mine to make and I haven't had to share that responsibility for almost 5 years. That, although sometimes burdensome, is freedom to me.

The second part of the answer has to do with the house we live in now. I had no idea about this part until I spoke to my mother about my reservations about moving and in one sentence she almost had me in tears. She spoke about how it might be difficult to move on account of my sentimental attachment to our house. Every fiber of my being wanted to refute this idea. I never considered myself a very sentimental person. I love getting rid of stuff and there isn't much that I own that I would be sorry to lose. I have no desire to own my own house because I never want to be so attached to anything or anyplace.

I left that conversation with a heaviness on my heart. When I got home that day, I walked through my front door and suddenly my house seemed to give me one of those big understanding sympathetic hugs that break down the floodgates and force the waterworks to flow freely. I sat down and so many memories came pouring into my conscience mind, memories that I didn't realize I associated with our home.

This house was here to greet us on the sunny morning of July 1, 2008. It's doors opened wide like welcoming arms. It was as though it was saying, "I know you are broken and imperfect, but so am I, we will do just fine together." My four kids and I moved in and the house kept us all together at a time when I felt I was falling apart. A month later, I brought Cecelia home from the hospital to this house and the six of us settled into our new life.

The furniture has been rearranged so many times in hopes to find the most space efficient arrangement and the scratches in the hardwood floors have stories to tell. The walls have literally been climbed, and every square inch has been lived in to the fullest. So many times I have cursed this house for its cramped quarters, it's noisy furnace or the persistent moles that have mansions under the lawn. But the truth is, this house has been good to us. It has been good for us.

As of right now, I don't know if we are moving soon or not. It will take some adjustment in my way of thinking, and acceptance of the sacrifices that will have to be made. The grass may be greener on the other side, but at what cost?

 

Not much from the outside...but with the love of a family, it's home.

"How Was Your Christmas?"

"How was your Christmas?"

It must be the most asked question in the days following the beloved holy day. An inquiry so simple, so generic, it is akin to asking, "How are you doing?" But this year, it was a question I wanted to avoid. Telling the truth is more than most people want to hear, and to say what most people expect to hear feels like a betrayal to myself.

Looking back now, I can say in all honesty, "It was good." However, remembering the emotions that I felt this Christmas, the holiday will go down as one of the most difficult of recent days.

This was an even year, 2012. On even years the kids are to be with their dad on Christmas. This, I had no choice in the matter. I never would have dreamed in the years of building my family that in the growing up years, I would spend every other Christmas without my children. It isn't natural....it isn't right.

After two-and-a-half months of not seeing their dad, though, they were ready to go (and with the full moon just around the corner, I'll admit, I was ready to send them). I thought I was doing such a good job of tricking my mind into thinking that our Christmas was just taking place on another day this year, after all, Christmas isn't just a day, it's a season, right? So after their school Christmas program, I cheerfully kissed them goodbye and sent them on their merry way.

The next day, I got out of bed just long enough to take some non-aspirin for a splitting headache and drink some 7-up to help the symptoms of an unexpected stomach flu. My plans to clean the heck out of my house had to be delayed. I had been around sick kids in the classroom for months now and was able to stay healthy, so I wasn't surprised that at its first opportunity, my immune system decided to take a break from all its hard work.

The next day, Saturday, I was privileged to be able to help several others decorate the church for the up-coming holy day. It took most of the day and was a great distraction from my empty messy home. That evening my parents had a Christmas party for the family at their house. With six out of ten of their children present, three in-laws, sixteen grandchildren, and several friends...it was a full house. Surrounded by so many people, especially so many kids, I never felt lonelier. Even being a part of a very close, very large family, nothing could fill the voids that were left by my children's absence. That day I would have felt less alone at home by myself.

I had a good time the next day watching the Seahawks beat the 49ers. My dad was at home by himself with a pot of homemade bean and ham soup. I showed up for dinner just as the game began. Now, my dad isn't even a football fan, but this game had him yelling/cheering at the TV with the rest of us fans watching the game in the dry comfort of our living rooms.

Christmas Eve came quickly and I found myself, as I always do, no matter how earnestly I promise myself I won't ever do it again... at the mall. Maybe it was the fact that I could take my time and didn't have to worry about losing anyone, or maybe it was the distraction aspect, but I actually enjoyed it.

That evening, I had dinner with the priest and nuns of St. Mary's who have become some pretty amazing friends of mine. We enjoyed a homemade meal and watched the musical Scrooge. It was an evening of fun and laughter and before I knew it, it was time to head home and get ready for Midnight Mass. I had tried to reach the kids by phone several times throughout the day but it was to no avail. In fact, it was only after several days of many texts that I heard that they had made it safely over the snowy pass to Spokane where they were spending the holiday at their grandmother's house.

The fact that I couldn't even talk to them before bed that night was like a domino set in motion. I left my quiet house at 11:00 pm on Christmas Eve and three minutes into my nine minute drive to the church, the tears that had been welling up inside let loose. I ugly cried for the next six minutes until I reached the church parking lot. I begged God to help me pull myself together so nobody would ask me if I was okay....once those words are spoken, it's all over from there.

I managed to wipe away the tears and make it to my seat without making eye contact with anybody. First, however, I snuck up to the choir loft and borrowed a huge wad of Kleenex. I sat all the way up front, so nobody could see my face, and, as far as I know, nobody knew that I cried halfway through Mass. Before the carols began, I lit five candles by the Nativity scene, one for each of my children. Seeing those candles lit, I felt as though they were there with me in spirit.

My heart was heaviest after four unanswered calls to the kids Christmas morning. Finally, when I had just about given up, I received a call from them. On hearing that they didn't get to celebrate Christ's birth by being near him at Mass my heart nearly broke. I held back tears until I had wished the last one, Cecelia, a Merry Christmas. With the floodgates near bursting, I asked her what she got, told her I missed her and listened as she asked how many more sleeps until she gets to come home. As the phone call ended, the tears fell uncontrollably and I didn't know how I could make it to breakfast at my parents house without being a complete downer.

The truth is, I couldn't. As soon as I walked in the house all the hurt I tried to hide swelled to the surface and overflowed. I took comfort in the arms of my grandmother and mother who understood the tears without any spoken words.

Through the heartache that accompanied me this Christmas, there were a lot of highlights that couldn't have happened had I had the kids with me, and for those I am truly grateful. The opportunity to see Les Miserables with my sister on Christmas was a memory I will treasure always, as well as an invitation to a couple of games of evening bowling from an intuitive friend who sensed my hidden sorrows. Game Night at my (clean) house was a fun way to carry Christmas through the season that it is meant to be.

My "Christmas" with the kids was held on the evening of the 29th of December. It began by placing Jesus in his manger and singing a few carols. It ended with a once clean living room hidden under a mountain of wrapping paper. I welcomed the kids home with a light heart as I bid farewell to neatness.

As to "How was my Christmas?" Since, in my heart, it is still ongoing, I must say it has been wonderful. It had its 'moments', for sure, but that's life....that's my life, and I am learning little by little to adjust. A Blessed Christmas season to all of you,

With love,


Gina.

Why Is My Lip So Fat!!??

Some tortures are physical
And some are mental,
But the one that is both
Is dental.
~Ogden Nash

Just as any parent, I absolutely hate seeing my child in pain, emotional or physical. It tears me apart and breaks my heart. There have been many times where I wish I could just bear the pain for them so they wouldn't have to....but not this time.

Benjamin and Hunter each had to get one cavity filled at the dentist today. In my opinion, the dentist is perhaps the scariest person on earth, or at least, what the dentist does is the scariest thing I can imagine. Sticking a needle into your gums, propping your mouth open so unnaturally wide, drilling with a metal tool into what feels like a perfectly fine tooth, it's just so wrong. Yet, like eating your vegetables, it's a necessary evil.

My poor boys had to endure this anguish today, and I had to endure the agony of standing by and trying to comfort them even though I knew my words were empty. "You're doing so good" and "It's almost over" do little to calm a nervous soul, let alone soothe dried out lips and stretched out jaws.

They were each set up at the same time in two rooms right next door to each other. So I had to wander from one to the other to take turns holding their hands and giving them my (probably annoying) sympathetic mother smile.

Hunter was stoic, silent and brave. I could tell he was uncomfortable as they were working in his mouth, but he never uttered a sound. So I spent much time in Ben's room. He did okay, until he felt like he suffering an intense case of lock jaw and thought he was about to drown in his own spit. His arms and legs wriggled with unease and the kind dentist said she would let him take a break. When she took all the stuff out of his mouth and Ben felt his face for the first time, he became very fearful that he looked like this:

I could see the anxiety in his eyes and the confusion in his mind as he kept feeling for the face he once knew. I'm going to risk sounding like a bad parent here, but I had a very hard time hiding my amusement over the whole ordeal. Inwardly, I was cracking up. Having been there myself, I knew exactly what he was experiencing. To witness that first moment of, 'Wait a minute...'WHERE IS MY FACE?!!!' was priceless. Nonetheless, I pitied him and stood at his side, holding his hand and doing my best to keep him calm, reassure him that he still looked the same and it would all return to normal in a little while. I even fished a mirror out of my purse to show him, he was still my handsome boy.

When they were done, the boys received a Popsicle and a coin to place in the toy dispenser as they left the building. By the time we got to the van, my seven year old's Popsicle was dribbling down his chin and he didn't even know it. For the next hour I heard whines and cries of when will it feel normal again, and for my own merriment I got them each a cup of water to drink....with a straw. They are right, I am a mean mom.

The good thing is they don't ever want to do that again and they both brushed their teeth tonight....without me asking them to.

Wishing you all a lifetime of healthy teeth,

Gina.

A Boost From the Ghost of Christmas Present

Two days before the beginning of the third week of Advent I had the opportunity to go shopping for our Christmas tree. I wasn't sure if I wanted a pre-lit artificial tree with is re-use ability and convenience or a real one with it's fresh pine smell and nostalgic memories. After talking with my cousin, however, about the necessity to water, and the constant need to vacuum up the needles of a real tree, I chose to find one I can retrieve with great ease from my garage year after year.

Thanks to our neighbors giant fir tree that hangs over my driveway, I am already sweeping up pine needles several times a day, I didn't need any more. So a trip to a nearby Kmart brought us an unexpected delight. As the kids and I browsed through the Christmas trees that were on display at the store we agreed that one in particular was not only very nice looking, but it fit our budget and the slim style would fit our little home. I looked for the box with the coordinating tree number on it and to our dismay, they were sold out.

I asked the customer service worker if there were any stored in another area and she informed me that the one on display was the only one left. She did say, however, that they would sell me that one, without of the box. I hesitated because it was heavily decorated and I didn't want to wait around as they removed all the beautiful ornaments and ribbons. As I stood there, indecisive, hemming and hawing about what to do, the sales associate simply said, "You can have everything that is on the tree as well." I asked how much they would charge for that, but to my utmost surprise she said, "No extra charge." What?!!! How could this be?

And so, I watched as several employees wrapped the tree, ornaments and all, in Saran wrap and loaded it up to take it to the back of the store until I could get my dad to come and pick it up in his truck. I couldn't really believe what I just did....bought a tree fully decorated. All I would have to do is get it home, unwrap it, and plug it in!

Now, I have always enjoyed taking my time and meticulously deciding where each ornament should go to look perfectly asymmetrical, all the while listening to Christmas music and sipping hot cocoa. But the reality is this: once my kids got old enough to want to 'help', it became an event that brought something close to dread in my heart. The bickering, the broken ornaments, the bickering and the bickering were just something that could put a damper on the best intended plans. So, this was perfect!

I did put Christmas music on, and we gathered around to ceremoniously unwrap the tree. Each kid took a turn holding the plastic wrap and making one lap around the tree, then they passed it off to the next one until our first Christmas present was 'opened'. They were so excited and really felt like they were helping decorate. We straightened out a few branches, cleaned up one shattered bulb that fell off and plugged in it! Waaaaaa-laaaah!!

They even gave us the shiny red tree skirt. It was the most fun I'd had putting up our tree in years, and the kids enjoyed it too. I even had energy to put lights on the house outside and after it was all over, Sam told me, "Thanks for all the hard work you did to make our house Christmassy." That brought a smile to my face.

Then we watched 'The Christmas Story'. Is it just me or does that movie get funnier every year? I was literally laughing so hard I had tears and my kids were like, 'What's so funny, mom?'

I truly sympathized with Ralphy when he had his "Oh Fuuuuuuuuuudge" moment. When I was taking out the porch light to install an outlet adapter for the Christmas lights, in slow motion the light bulb dropped to the concrete stairs and out of my mouth came a very loud "S#!t!!" with Samuel standing right next to me. I'm not one to swear, especially in front of my kids, so I don't know why such a word would  instinctively escape without effort.  It must have been the fear that arose due to the fact that those newfangled energy saving light bulbs that you cant throw away and contain deadly amounts of mercury was falling out of my control to the hard ground below....ya, that must have been it.

Merry Christmas and Happy Decorating.

Gina.

Supermom is out of Reach

"I'd like to be the ideal mother, but I'm too busy raising my kids." - Unknown.

Sitting in the lobby of the chiropractor's office the other day, waiting to be adjusted by Dr. Mike, I took a deep breath and was so happy to just be...waiting. It was so peaceful to have one and only one task to do...sit. I secretly hoped that the doctor would be running late and I would get to wait a really long time. That didn't happen, but I still relished the short reprieve from the break-neck pace that life has been lately. I've realized that I need to make the best use of every spare moment like this. What I actually realized is I need to create more moments like this rather than wait for them to come to me.

I had a crushingly humble moment a few weeks ago. I was feeling satisfied in knowing that all the tasks that had been filling my mind with unease had been accomplished and, finally, I could relax knowing that I had gotten through another year of costume and presentation preparations that accompanied Halloween and All Saints Day. My moment of humility came when I turned on my computer and, seeing pictures posted on Facebook, I realized I had just missed Benjamin's den's tour of the fire department; a requirement for the Wolf year of scouting.

Seeing the pictures of the other scouts' huge smiles as they climbed on the big red truck and getting to 'rescue' a firefighter, I felt like I had let Ben down in a big way. He would have loved that. I also felt an internal temper tantrum begin to rage from deep within me. "How can I do ALL of this by myself??!!" I took a deep breath and before the anger bubbled to the surface, I realized, I simply cannot do it ALL.

I feel like for the past four years, I have been compromising my sanity by trying to keep up with those damned 'Joneses', for my children's sake, so they wouldn't feel the pain of living in a single parent home. But I finally realized that if we don't feel the pain of living then when will we really learn to live? Yes, my kids go without. They go without making it to every fun event, they go without joining every team, without the latest video games, and sometimes they even go a couple days without a bath or shower because I am too tired to deal with the hassle, but they never go without love. They never go to sleep without me tucking them in to bed at night with a blessing and a kiss goodnight.

I pray that where I fail them, God will pick up the slack and fill in the gaps.

Love and prayers,

Gina.

 

Giving Thanks...Still.

"All whatsoever you do in word or in work, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, giving thanks to God and the Father by him." Colosians 3:17

 

We are right in the thick of the holiday season. Commercially, it may as well of been Christmas for about a month now, but socially, it is perfectly legit to put your Christmas tree up now. After all, the turkey left-overs are in the fridge and the good China has finally been put away. As for us, we will wait at least until the first Sunday of Advent to get a tree this year. Usually, we decorate it on Gaudete Sunday, the third Sunday of Advent, but since the kids will be at their dad's this year for Christmas, I plan on enjoying it with them for as long as I can.

For now, I will linger awhile on the things that I am truly grateful for.

Yesterday, Saturday, (yes, while we were all in our pj's and the house was less than inviting) my Jehovah's Witness friend and one of her companions made a surprise 'pop-in' visit. I figured around three years ago that I would not attempt to improve my appearance when I answered the door, in hopes that I would scare them away...but it didn't work. They have been back nearly every other Saturday for the past four years. I gave her a warm hug and asked if she had a nice Thanksgiving. I said it without thinking, I knew they didn't celebrate holidays. She graciously said she had a nice day, even though they don't celebrate the holiday because they believe in being thankful every day. My temperamental nature wanted to argue: "Of course we are thankful every day, but what is wrong with uniting as a country to give thanks to God as a whole?!" but I knew it was pointless. She showed me the latest Watchtower printout, asked me a question and read me a verse from her Bible to 'prove' her point, as she always does, then we said goodbye until next time.

As she walked back to her car, I felt grateful for her. There have been times in my life where I felt my faith growing stagnant, or rather, my emotional connection to my faith weaken. However, every time she comes, our conversations eventually lead me to my Bible to reassure my faith in the one true Church. I wonder if she would continue to come here if she knew her visits only strengthened my own faith. I also wonder what the conversation will be when she comes next time to see my Christmas tree up and my Nativity scene front and center.

I apologize for the digression. This year, I am thankful for many things; a new job that I couldn't be happier with at  St. Mary's Academy, that practically mirrors my children's schedule, and allows me to be home with them when they are out of school. I am grateful for the surprising and wonderful friendships that have developed as a result of working here.

I am truly grateful for my family who continue to take care of Cecelia, the only one not in school. She is practically as 'at home' with her aunt, her grandpa, and her great-grandmother as she is at her own house!

I am thankful for God's continued guidance in my life. In 2008, when my life turned upside-down, after many temper tantrums, bouts of anger and despair, and the realization that I am not the author of my own life, as I always thought I was, I finally surrendered. I placed my life in God's hands with full confidence that He would take care of everything, and I meant EVERYTHING. My surrender to Him was almost demanding and defiant. I literally told Him, "Fine! You took it all away, You take care of me now!!" And He has...in the most amazing of ways. I am most thankful to my heavenly Father who cares for me like one who has a soft spot in his heart for animals, and seeing one in such a pitiful state of helplessness He has taken me in and snipped off the dingleberries of my life.

Of course, I am thankful for the fabulous five. In good times and bad, they make me who I am. They help me to realize my abilities and my limits, both very valuable.

My hope is that everyone can find something to be thankful for this season, that they will cherish those things and be grateful always, not just on Thanksgiving, but the whole year long.


I am also thankful for YOU!!

love and prayers,

Gina.

Thanksgiving
 

Are You Normal?

My post titled, 'Six Confessions of a Single Mother' has scored more views than any other post. In fact the second most popular post has less than 30% of the audience of my 'Confessions' post. When I discovered this last night, I wondered what about that post draws the most readers, and why would I want to read that post more than any of the others?

I thought of two possible reasons. One, people love gossip, and a 'confession' is a good place to find some. Or two, people are looking to see if some of the things they feel guilty for are included, which would justify in their own mind, that they are at least as normal as me (no comment). Truth be told, I am as nosy as anyone else, and I too, would want to know if someone else out there is guilty of the same 'sins' as myself. After discovering what people are curious about I decided to amass a list of things I consider oddities about myself and my family, that way my loving readers can decide for themselves whether or not they are 'normal' ;) (or rather, whether or not I am).

• Saturday is our family's day to be as lazy as we want. While we try to observe Sunday as a day set aside for God and family, Saturday is a day to sleep in, do laundry in our pajamas....actually, we frequently do everything in our pajamas on this day. However, this is also the day that random people tend to spring surprise visits on us. Picture this: we are all in our pajamas and the house is a wreck because everyone is busy doing their own thing. Our house is too small to have a room that is always clean and ready for visitors, every room in our castle is lived in profusely. A knock is heard on the door. My children are brainwashed trained to be silent, no sudden movements until I decide whether we 'are home' or not. Everyone is huddled in the hallway as I check the peephole in the door. If I do decide to open the door, it is either someone we know, or because my pajamas could double as casual wear and my hairs are all pointing in acceptable directions. If I don't answer the door, we all hunker down in the hallway until they give up and drive away.
• I have to start this paragraph off with a disclaimer: boys are weird, they just are. There are several days of the week when we aren't home from the time we leave for school until long after the sun has gone down. We have one bathroom. Six people. One throne. Oftentimes nature calls all of us at the exact same time, as soon as we get home! That's a problem. In cases of urgency, I give my boys permission to make good use of the thin strip of our property located behind the garage where the tall weeds grow. Shhhhh!!!
• I have a few legs and the smudged remains (not the fat body, that's just gross!) of a spider I killed in my room....over a year ago. It's partial corpse is located on one wall near the ceiling. I seriously believe that it will scare away other spiders who don't want to share in that spider's fate....so far, it's worked :)
• I want to imitate the virtues of Jesus and Mary, but I'm afraid to pray for patience for fear one of my children will come down with ADHD; and I'm afraid to pray for humility for fear that I will grow a goiter. There I've said it. So, I've become very specific...."Please, God, help me to be patient when my child still can't spell 'necessary' no matter how many times I go over it with him, and when so-and-so commits the ultimate crime at the breakfast table and looks at so-and-so, please grant me patience then, as well." Also, "Please grant me humility to NOT say "I told you so" when one of my children falls out of her chair and bumps her elbow right after I told her not to sit on the chair that way."
• This one is really weird. Sometimes, I worry that I don't worry. Did you get that? My grandmother (whom I love with my whole heart), worries when she doesn't have something to worry about, which is the exact opposite. I worry that I never worry because I wonder if that means I don't care.  I don't think it does, so I won't worry about it.
• I sleep very well. So well, in fact, that it seems like a mere second from the time I fall asleep to the time my alarm goes off telling me to rise and shine. Most mornings I wake in the exact same position that I fell asleep in, sore and stiff. Tonight, I am going to set my alarm for the middle of the night so when I wake up and see that I still have three hours until morning, I can roll over with a smile on my face and thank God for the 'extra' sleep.

Tomorrow is All Hallows Eve, because I have stayed up too late as it is, I will be walking in a zombie-like state after I step out of bed and I will probably look and feel that way all day long....at least I won't have to dress up.

Happy Trick-or-Treating,

Gina

Scrappy Happers

An unexpected reprieve came my way this past weekend. Through the generosity of a good friend and the prompting of my sister, I was gifted with two nights at the Berachah Ministries cabin at Buck Creek, WA. for a weekend of scrapbooking in the company of friends, old and new. It almost didn't happen on account of the difficulty of finding sitters for the fabulous five, but after my brother-in-law offered to take the boys, and my other sister and a friend offered to take the girls, I was good to go.

My limited supplies and pictures were already packed from the last night of scrapbooking at Ben Franklin several months ago. Truth be told, I probably would never get any work on my books done anymore if it weren't for my sister. In days past, I was an avid scrapbooker and have Samuel and Hunter's baby books complete to their first year, in addition to multiple family albums. Benjamin's book is about half-way complete, Isabelle's book had a few pages that I did while at Ben Franklin's, and poor Cecelia's book is completely absent of pictures. Period.

The girls are getting to an age where they'd love to pour over the concrete memories of their babyhood, and seeing the look on their faces when I tell them I haven't started their books yet is enough to prompt me into action. The time came after school on Friday for the kids to leave with their weekend caregivers and for me to take off.

It would take and hour to get there, but I welcomed the solitude. Stopping at a drive-up espresso shop, I ordered a pumpkin chai latte. Coffee in hand, I cranked up a Gaelic Storm song and sang along as the sky darkened with the inevitable sinking of the hidden sun. Humility aside, I am an amazingly good singer when (and only when) I am by myself and the music is really loud. 

The cabin was located at Buck Creek, the same place where we camped this summer. However, a little further up the dirt road, were several hidden buildings that I had never seen before. It was dark by the time I arrived and the rain was coming down in a fury. The ground looked as though it were boiling the water that had just fallen from the sky. I parked near other cars and sat in the van for a few minutes. There was nobody in site and I wasn't exactly sure where to go. In fact, I wasn't exactly sure I wanted to get out of the warmth and shelter of my van. After coming to terms with the fact that I was going to get wet, I got out, left my belongings in the van, and went searching for the others.

What I found inside was a comfort to my soul. Warmth, familiar faces, and a dinner of pasta and garlic bread just about to be served. (This was perfect since it was Friday and, as Catholics, Tina and I wouldn't be eating meat) The atmosphere was upbeat and exciting. Everyone was happy to be away from the doldrums of daily affairs; no dishes, no cooking, no attending to the needs of others. For once there were others, attending to our needs. It was refreshing.

After dinner, I unpacked my van, assisted by my sister and an incredibly caring and generous friend (one of the women who made it possible for me to attend the weekend, free of charge), we carried my suitcase and bedding into the lodge that seven of us would be sharing for the next couple of days. Then they helped me get my scrapbooking supplies into the main building. The scrapbooking room was unlike anything I had ever seen before. A large room with floor-to-ceiling windows facing the forest, was crowded with numerous tables where papers, scissors, ribbons, stickers, letter and shape cutting machines, laptops and printers, and all sorts of tools I had never used before were spread out among treasured pictures, with the intention of capturing memories in a glorified format.

I felt welcomed by all, and was excited to greet old friend and meet new ones. My sister already had a table prepared for me directly across from her and right next to the fire place. Unloading my supplies, I got to work. It was about 7 pm. Around 2 am, we called it a night.

Morning came early, but with a hot breakfast being served at 8:30 we were enticed to get up and get ready. The only problem was we had one bathroom to share with seven women. I'll just say...it was a hat day for me.....

The highlight of the day for me was when we took a break from scrapbooking and walked down to a nearby field to go zip-lining. This has been on my bucket list since I first heard about it! Yes, it was still raining, but with this opportunity getting soaked wasn't an issue... hair dries, and clothes can be changed. We harnessed up, and put on our helmets. It was cold and wet but nobody seemed to mind. Without hesitation, I climbed the stairs that had been carved out of the hillside. On top of the hill was a pole, it looked much like the telephone poles near our house except it had spikes sticking out on both sides. We had to use these to get up the pole to the platform that we would be jumping off. So far, no fear.

Up the pole, I went. It was wet, muddy from the climbers before me, but still no fear. I stood on the platform on top of the pole and my heart began racing. I wasn't sure if it was from the climb or from adrenaline setting in. I came to realize it was adrenaline, mixed with something just short of uncertainty. Uncertainty over whether or not I could make the leap of faith. When you jumped, it was in a downward direction something similar to free falling until the wire caught your weight and carried you off. I've gone skydiving twice before, but both times it was tandem with the instructor. I didn't have a moment to think whether or not to jump, it was; One...Two...Three...and we were out of the plane falling with nothing connecting us to the earth.

With this, it had to be my decision. I even asked the man who was on the platform with me if he would push me, but I guess that is against regulations. It was up to me to make the jump.  My own stubborn temperament and the thought, "If that lady can do it, so can I" was, in the end, what got me off of the platform. Once I took the leap of faith, and I realized that I was flying without the fear of dying, I thoroughly enjoyed speeding through the air as the rain poured down. I let go of the rope with my hands and leaned back actually pretending I was a character from Peter Pan who, with the help of Pixy Dust and Happy Thoughts, was able to fly....who says kids get all the the fun?!

Something about flying in the rain absolutely wore me out. When we got back to the scrapbooking hall, I could barely keep my eyes open. Trying to make a page that was worthwhile was fruitless as I kept zoning out and finally I realized my creative juices were all dried up. I decided to go back to my bed and take a nap.....oh wonderful sleep! My sister, Tina, followed me and we slept for a good hour. Refreshed and rejuvenated, we headed back to the other building for another night of scrapbooking.

Friday, at school, I was having a difficult time with Isabelle. Being her mother and teacher has proven to be trying, both for her and I. While we both love it, we both also find it difficult to separate the relationship of mother/daughter from teacher/student. By the time the end of the school-day came, I wanted to throw my hands up and shout a giant "Hallelujah! See ya Sunday!" But while scrapbooking her baby book, I looked over pictures of her past five years. They brought me back to moments of joy, tenderness, and laughter and reminded me of why I love being her mother. That is where the real worth of creating scrapbook lies, it helps you to treasure the ones you love by remembering the loving moments.

I am grateful to Maribelle who made all the arrangements for me to come, to my sister for prompting me to complete my children's baby books, to Trina for the fleece shirts she brought for each of us, to those who volunteered to take care of my children, and to the crew of Berachah Ministries who made it all special.

Happy Days to all from the Scrappy Happer:

Gina.

On a completely unrelated side note: this creepy, nasty giant was in a pan I pulled out of my cupboard as I was going to start dinner. I just about died....really. Luckily, Samuel has come into manhood and saved the day without a blink of the eye. (he sure doesn't take after his dad in this regards...oops, did I just type that?)

Simple-minded Pleasures

“All the great things are simple, and many can be expressed in a single word: freedom; justice; honor; duty; mercy; hope, coffee" - Winston Churchill....I just completed the quote...perfected it, really.

I woke up this morning after four and a half hours of sleep, and forced myself to get up and prepare for the day that was coming, ready or not. Tired and sluggish...I stumbled to the kitchen where I naturally march in a zombie state every morning after I've accepted the fact that time won't stop and allow myself a few more hours in my cozy, warm bed. Then, as I was making my morning mojo juice, known to the common folk as coffee, I realized there are certain pleasures that make my day worthwhile regardless of any other pitfall. Simpleminded pleasures, I guess you could say.

These aren't the big ones; kids, God's grace, friends, family etc., etc. These are even simpler pleasures.

1. After the teapot screams at me to announce my water is ready, I remove the teapot and stand at the coil burner that is burning red hot, I place my cold fingers over it like it's a campfire on a foggy fall morning and relish the warmth it gives.
2. Monday mornings, if my children's clothes are still in the dryer, after having a weekend to be cleaned and ironed, I turn on the clothes dryer, not only to iron their uniforms, but to be able to give them to them all nice and warm and comfy; hopefully enticing them to get dressed quickly before the warmth fades away.
3. Listening to the sound of silence pierced with the rumble of buttons hitting the sides of the dryer as the clothes tumble around and around in the hot air.
4. The peace that comes from knowing that all of us showered the night before...and the morning won't be so hectic (why don't we do this every night?!)
5. This one has become a simple pleasure, but it used to torment me; waking up before the sun. Now, when I get up and outside my home is still dark as night, I feel like we are enveloped by a soft blanket and the light in our home is the warmth.

Well, there you have it, five simpleminded pleasures that I get to enjoy in the mornings when I wake before the crack of dawn. Happy Monday everyone!

Gina.

Letting Go of the Monkey

“Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it.” ― Mark Twain

There has been a 'monkey' on my back and it's been weighing me down for over four years now. This 'monkey' is not the cute Curious George type and neither is it my kids as they hang on me like I am the steel bars at a local park.

If I could put an image to this metaphorical monkey, it would be more like the baboon pictured here:

Now if that doesn't send chills down your spine, I don't know what would. Most of the time this monkey closes it's freaky mouth and hangs silently, so after four and a half years of carrying this 'monkey' around on my back, I have almost forgotten it is there. But then there were times when the 'monkey' would open wide and bellow it's unworldly screech that only I could hear in the depths of my heart. This monkey has a name, it is Resentment.

Today I took a stand against Resentment. I looked it straight in it's cold dark eyes and told it to "Go to H***!" because if I didn't, there is a very real possibility that I would go there right along with it. Jesus said we should pray "...forgive us our trespasses AS we forgive those who trespass against us." How could I expect God to forgive me for all I have done against His infinite Majesty if I could not forgive something someone has done to me...a small and insignificant part of God's creation?

 

I have allowed Resentment to hang on for so long because my weak and silly self thought that if I let it go, I would condone the wrong that has been done. The funny thing is, NO ONE EVEN CARES! The only thing that hanging on to Resentment has really accomplished is, it has weakened me and kept me from moving forward, closer to my God.

 

Today I freed myself from the 'monkey' on my back. It wasn't easy. It was like its fleshy fingers gripped tightly, unwilling to let me go. At first, I felt a loss, even loneliness. What would I cling onto now? Who would I speak of when I needed to vent about the past, again and again? My release of Resentment did not feel like a load off my shoulders like I expected it to. It felt like a void.

 

But now, there is nothing holding me back. There is nothing preventing me from spiritual growth. I will learn to fill that void with Goodness Himself and will be able to soar to higher heights and grander ideals.

 

I know, however, that having carried Resentment around for so long, I may feel it there even though we have been separated. I asked God today to help me lose the memory of my 'monkey' and, in time, I know I will.

 

May we all have the grace to forgive,

 

love, Gina.

 

'

Finding My Way

"It takes little talent to see what lies under one's nose, a good deal to know in what direction to point that organ." - W.H. Auden

I don't have a GPS gadget in my van, and God thought it would be funny to make me without my internal GPS gadget. It almost goes without saying that, if I am going somewhere, my route takes about 3-4 more turns than the average human being (it's pretty bad when you leave a store at the mall with the intention of going back the way you came, and your four-year-old is more likely to start heading in the right direction than you are).

So, before I left for Spokane, I printed out three sets of directions from Google that went; home to the hotel, hotel to Grandma's house, Grandma's house to the church.  Sometimes, even Google maps make me get lost, however, this time they were successful at getting me from point A to point B.

After waking up early at the hotel, I rounded up the kids and carted them over to their grandmother's house. They were as excited about being there as I was about not having to worry about how they were doing while I was away during the day.

Friday's schedule for the conference started with Mass at 8:15...I arrived at 8:26. After Mass was breakfast and I headed downstairs like a fish out of water. I wandered around having not the slightest idea of what to do or where to go. It never felt so good to see the familiar faces of other participating members from our parish in Tacoma.

The talks were informative and uplifting and strengthened my Catholic faith in a deep way. I met many new people that I know I will most likely see next year, and with whom I will continue to build upon the bond that is there when something as significant as faith is shared. The highlight of the event was the candlelit Rosary walk. With a statue of Our Lady of Fatima held high, the faithful lined up before and after her with candles held in a specially made wind guard that had on it the verses of the song we sang at the end of each decade of the Rosary. Most of us had to have our candles re-lit as the wind kicked up pretty hard. When the procession came to an end, we gathered in the church where the young girls proceeded to bring bouquets of flowers to Mary's shrine.

Afterward, when the evenings events were over and most people had dispersed, I knelt down before the shrine to have a heart to heart with our Blessed Mother. I don't know why, but even having been a wife and mother myself, I've always had a hard time going to our Lady in prayer as most Catholics naturally do. I have wanted to have a devotion to her, as I see the logic in going to God's Mother to ask for her loving intercession, after all, from the cross, Jesus gave her to all of us to be our own spiritual Mother, as He gave us to her.

In my prayer, I told her that if she wanted me to have a greater devotion to her, show me the way. I told her I was sorry that I didn't try harder in the past, and I asked her for a second chance. In the midst of my prayer, I felt comforted, and tears swelled in my eyes. The only other person in the church was a young nun that I didn't know very well. She was kneeling in silent prayer. After a few moments she got up from her position a few pews behind me, went up to the shrine and took a beautiful pink rose from one of the vases that were just recently filled with the fragrant buds. I wondered in my mind what she was doing, thinking she was going to place it in front of another shrine in the church. She walked toward me and asked me, "It's Gina, right?" I replied almost as a question, "Yes." "This is from Mary." she said, handing me the rose.... I was floored.

Without thinking, I said incredulously, "Why did you just say that?!"

"Because it's okay. It's going to be fine." she answered as she hugged me and walked out of the chapel. Tears flowed freely now. I was overwhelmed by the love of my Mother. I understood that she was showing me the direction to her Son, and it was through Her. I certainly don't have to give up my relationship with Jesus by having a devotion to His Mother, that relationship will grow by the guidance of the one who loved Him best.

Most likely, I will continue to get lost trying to get from Point A to Point B, but getting to the Sacred Heart of Jesus is a straight path...directly through the Immaculate Heart of His Mother.


Our Lady of Fatima, pray for us.

Road trip: 10/11/12

My day began at 2:46 am. I stumbled into the bathroom like a zombie, answered natures call, and stumbled back into bed still half asleep. Eight minutes later Cecelia found my bed in the dark and helped herself to my pillow and blankets. Usually, when this happens, I go right back to sleep, but the night of 10/11/12 my poor brain couldn't stop thinking about what I needed to do before the kids and I headed to Spokane, WA for the annual Fatima Conference at Mt. St. Michael's Church. According to the website the conference is:

"A gathering of Traditional Catholics from around the country for five days of Latin Masses, spiritual exercises, inspiring lectures and sermons, in the beautiful Pacific Northwest."

I could only attend from Friday thru Sunday, but I looked forward to getting away and attending to my spiritual needs. My mother-in-law lives in Spokane and was more than happy to have the kids with her during the day, and even offered to allow all of us to stay at her house. After an hour of thinking...not voluntarily, about everything I needed to accomplish before our departure, fed up and tired, I got up and wrote down what I felt was most important:

• put chicken in freezer
• get oil change
• laundry
• hotel room
• fruit
• put in new headlight
• lunch duty at school
• computer with cord

This was what was written on my list. Really!? I can see putting in a new headlight, but everything else definitely could have waited until morning. I went back to bed and fell right to sleep, only to wake to my 5:45 am alarm an instant later. After pressing snooze literally six times I must have finally turned it off...thinking I would get up. However, in my sleep deprived state, I fell fast asleep only to wake up an HOUR later after dreaming that my alarm was going off (even though it didn't).

No need to go into the doldrums of my busy day, but we ended up leaving at 3:45, an hour and a half later than I planned. It was a long five hours, but the setting sun enhanced the fall scenery all around us. From the golden aspens and the rocky peaks of Snoqualmie Pass, to the violet and rose background to the Columbia River Gorge, I appreciated everything I saw. We were amazed at the vast wasteland of charred acres that still smoldered with smoky hot spots from this summers wildfires. Much sooner than I anticipated darkness surrounded us. By seven o'clock, the sky was black and the stars arrived.

It wasn't all poetic. Twice we had to pull over at the most inconvenient places so several kids could use the "restroom". There are stretches of I-90 where all you see is dry brown brushy acreage...for quite sometime, no rest stops, no gas stations. Darkness became our friend at these times.

I answered the question, "How much longer?" twenty-three times, we sang about 99 Bottles of Beer...the whole song, and we repeated the song "Down to the River" seven times...in a row. The best was when Cecelia told me most profoundly, "If God is big...then God is big." So smart, that girl.

The worst was when another child told me, "Um....um.....what if.....if..if, um, the star, the stars, stars...what if the stars...um....what if......what if the stars, um... ...." I gave up at this point. It's not that this kid's a stutterer, he just doesn't think about what he wants to say, and demands everyone's attention as he tries to think of something to say. It is a painful thing to try to hang onto someone's words when they are going nowhere.

Once at the hotel where we plan on staying one night, a serious round of jumping from one bed to the other began. This is only allowed at hotels :)

As for now, I am "the best mom in the world" for letting the four of them (Sam is hunting with his uncle and cousins) eat candy, and jump on beds and watch TV while I type on the 'puter. If that's all it takes....!


Sweet Dreams,

Gina

Taking Charge...Again

In the movie "We Were Soldiers" a character asks Mel Gibson's character "Can you be a soldier and a father?" Gibson's reply was, "I believe that being good at one makes me better at the other."

I think that is starting to happen to me. I'm not a soldier in the military sense, but I am a soldier fighting the moral war that society is waging on children. Today, I put to use a discipline practice that we use at school. When the kids get in trouble they are expected to write an essay containing four major points:

1. What did I do wrong
2. Why should I not do it again
3. What rule did I break or what virtue do I need to work on, and,
4. My apology

I had one particular child who got in trouble today for not doing his work....and then throwing a major fit when he was forced to give up his recess time to complete what should have already been done. Because of the trouble he gave his teacher, I insisted he write her an apology letter that contained these four parts. He had to do this last week and I told his teacher that I wanted to know every incident where his behavior was out of line, so I could reinforce the lessons that are being taught at school.

Of course, this did not sit well with him. He dawdled, fiddle-farted and boondoggled until I informed him that he now had to write a letter to me, as well, for disobeying. That got the water works started! I sat with him and helped him with his letter to his teacher. When his jaw tightened, and his lower lip hung in floppy defiance, I took the few words he had written down and crumpled up the paper. Having been forewarned that if his attitude was bad, he would have to start over, I was forced to follow through with his consequence. Now he knew I was serious. Over time, I believe, my own lack of consistency has led my children to think that they can push me to a point where I give up and eventually ease off the consequence, but I am resolving to persevere from this point forward....again.

His handwriting had to be neat and his attitude had to be good. He got it done without further ado and without my help (but with my prompting) he began the letter to me, which went as follows:

Sorry Mom I bisodabe you and I had a bad adutood. I will work on having a good adutood, love XXXXX.

(Looks like he still needs work on his B's and D's) What this does, is make him think about not only what he did, but what he needs to do differently in the future. When he finished, he gave me a big hug, and was in the best of moods during dinner.

Later, another child was being mean to this child and was made to write him an apology letter; it went as follows:

Dear XXXXX,
I kicked you in the stomach. I won't do it again because it's not being nice. I was disobeying the rule, hands, feet and objects to myself. I am so sorry.
From, XXXXX
 

As you can see, we had a wonderful evening..... Anyway, soon homework was completed and everyone was getting along marvelously.  I am encouraged to persevere in these types of disciplines at home because I have to enforce them at school as well, and because of this, I believe that being a teacher is making me a better mom.  I saw an old teacher of mine at the school the other day and she handed me an article she had printed off from a newspaper clipping. It was about how mothers used to be in control of their children but how, nowadays, the children seem to rule the roost. I think maybe she was trying to tell me something....I'm not sure. I don't want my children to fear me...I just want to be able to give them "the look" and get an immediate shift in behavior.

 I think I'm on my way....however....last night I experienced one of those weird twilight zone moments where a memory of my childhood was reenacted only I was the parent and my children took the place I held long ago. As I was in the girls' room, reading to them on Cecelia's bed, the boys kept sneaking into the room, thinking I didn't see them. This had them thinking that they were the funniest things since sliced bread (when was sliced bread ever funny?). I yelled at them a couple times to "knock it off and get in bed!!" That didn't work. They kept sneaking in and laughing their annoying "I'm doing something naughty hahaha" laugh. After the story was over and the girls were tucked into bed for the night, I went into the boys' room and swatted each one on their behinds. They all began howling like they were about to die. I sat and stared at them thinking, "I know I didn't smack them that hard...why in the world are they crying?" Then, one by one, the fake cries turned into laughter and I sat there with my 'trying-hard-not-to-smile' mouth twitching spontaneously until it gave way to the real thing. Defeat. It tasted bad.

Cheers to life, through trials and triumphs!

Gina.

This is what I wanted to do today....before I took control. 

 

a

Lease on Life

"For we know, if our earthly house of this habitation be dissolved, that we have a building of God, a house not made with hands, eternal in heaven." - 2 Corinthians 5:1  

I'm living in a house I do not own, decorating walls that will not always carry the touches of my life.
Hammering in nails only to have to fill the hole when my tenancy has ended.

The paint is not chosen by me, nor are the tiles or hardwood floors
I can merely furnish, and polish and rearrange.

One day we will live in our forever house.
We will be content with every nook and cranny because they will be ours to keep.

But until I cross over to what belongs to me, I will cherish that which is rented
It is what gives me shelter, warmth and daily storage of all my needs.

This place we call home is not made of walls, and doors, and fixtures
It is made with love, and perseverance and fortitude.

In the house beyond the horizon, perseverance and fortitude will no longer be needed,
but love will always be.

An Apointment With THE Mountain

"There's a certain amount of risk in life. When it comes down to dying I want to know what it's like to have really lived." - Lou Whittaker.
 

Mount Rainier has a powerful grasp on my heart. I think about her every day...really. Just thinking about her brings peace and calm to my mind. On a clear day, when her rocky blue and snowy white presence is visible, I feel secure in knowing that she is close and I can visit when needed. On Saturday, I needed to.

It had been a month since the kids had been to their dad's and I longed for the serenity that comes along with silence and lack of obligation. Finally, I had one and a half days to do with as I saw fit. Having hiked up to Camp Muir the past two years, it was definitely on my summer bucket list of things I wanted to accomplish this year. However, life throws curve balls and it hadn't happened yet, so this was how I was going to spend the first day of fall.

Friday, after school let out, the kids got picked up by their dad. I kissed them each farewell and breathed a relaxing breath of freedom. After cleaning up my classroom, my house, and my backpack, I went to the movies with my sister, Emily, and then to Safeway to by light, packable food for the climb.

By the time I got home it was after 10 pm. I packed up and laid out my clothes for the hike and fell into bed knowing it may be difficult to wake up early enough to be at my parents at 7 am to meet my fellow hikers. I am fighting a head cold, but my stubborn temperament was determined not to let it get in the way of my plans.

My 5:30 alarm came awfully early. Struggling to get out of bed, I text Emily to bid her Good Morning (actually I text her to make sure she was still coming, I worried she would back out of our plans due to her own worsening cold). She, however, was already drinking her first cup of coffee and motivated me to get out of bed and make a cup of my own. Barely able to breathe out of my nose and ignoring the nagging beginning of a sore throat, I got dressed, drank my coffee while reading a book written by legendary mountaineer, Lou Whittaker (whom I met last week). This both energized me and filled me with excitement for the day ahead of us.

The climbers today would be Emily, Aaron (to my surprise due to his cold also), and Maura, a family friend that goes back to my infancy. Maura has inspired me more than she knows. Originally from Ireland, she is a healthy and active grandmother, and the neatest lady you'll ever meet. I never tire of hearing her talk and listening to stories of her adventures both near and abroad. She is a true inspiration.

I drove my trusty van, which has become the adventure bus. The way up to Paradise, on Mt. Rainier, we listened to Maura tell of her ghostly experiences and hiking with Sherpas in Kathmandu. The hour-long drive went by quickly but our anticipation morphed ever so slightly to hesitation as the fog became thicker and thicker the higher we drove. About half a mile from the parking lot, we could barely see the road. It hasn't rained in over sixty days, but my windshield wipers were needed. We figured we'd hike what we could, but not push it.

Much to our delight, no more than three minutes after we parked the van, the fog cleared and the sun shone through on the mountain. We all stood in awe of the beauty that surrounded us.

The shock of the colder air had us piling on layers of clothing, and soon we were loaded up and ready to go; but only five minutes into the hike we were shedding the layers like a dog in the summer sun. The first 100 yards of the 4.5 mile hike is oftentimes one of the most difficult parts. Not only did our lungs have to get used to thinner air, but the paved trail that leads to the rocky trail further up is just so darn steep we were all panting like we had just ran a marathon!!

Before long our bodies adjusted to the altitude enough so that our hearts calmed down and our breathing slowed. Each one of us hiked to his/her own pace. Nobody minded that although we came together, it was as though we were on a solo hike. Every now and then we'd regroup and see how everyone was doing. About half-way up to Camp Muir at Pebble Creek right before the rocky climb turned to a snowy/slushy walk straight uphill, Maura decided she had gone as far as her body would allow. She was smart to know and respect her limits.

The rest of us chugged along. We had reached the Muir Snowfield and, being late in the season, all of the clean white and packed snow was melted and what remained was slushy, dirty, and wet snow that gave way to large and small crevasses here and there. All around we could see water running in little rivulets that will eventually form crevasses if the snow doesn't start falling. When we reached the point where we could hear water flowing directly below the ice under our feet, Emily decided she didn't want to go any further. That, and having forgotten her asthma inhaler, she was feeling the effects of high altitude more than Aaron and myself were. She insisted we continue and decided to rest on the warm rocks and wait for us to return.

By this point the landscape around us was other-worldly. It looked more like something you'd imagine on the moon than anything you'd normally come in contact with on Earth. The trees were gone, all you could see was ice, craggy rock walls and snow. The mountain grade was so steep that you could not see further than the white ridge above us; and beyond that ridge awaited.....another ridge. I remember thinking to myself. "Ok, I know I'm out of shape...but I don't remember it being this far!"  When one gets up that far on the mountain, their strides become incredibly short and the pace slows way down. A technique call "rest steps" is used, and that is basically focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. It didn't help that with the snow so slushy, many steps forward slid backward half a step. We were moving in slow motion.

As slow as I felt we were going, we kept pace with a crew that was climbing to the summit of Rainier. The nine person team left minutes before us and we actually beat them up by a few minutes, so I guess, we went at an average pace. The distance between Aaron and I increased as my legs seemed to acquire a hundred pounds each. Once I reached the dirt that surrounds the actual camp. I was so tired I could barely lift one foot in front of the other. I had to call on every last ounce of energy I had to climb the stairs to the top where I collapsed on the warm rocks and laid down. My body was spent. Nothing was clear to me and I couldn't focus on anything. Lying down I could have fallen asleep right there amidst the other climbers, but I knew, if I did, I could possibly be there for quite some time. I tried to sit up to feed and water myself and as I did, I could hear Aaron snoring nearby. I woke him up and we sat in silence for awhile...too tired to speak. The thought of standing up and making it the whole way down was more than I could dare think about. After awhile, however, we knew we should be leaving and our energy slowly returned.

Less than in years past, but in several spots, the snow was cooperative enough to make great glissading chutes. We simply sit down, shove off and away we'd go!!!!

 

What took us about six hours to go up, took only about two hours to descend. We reached Paradise by 6:45 pm....exhausted beyond words. My legs felt like rubber, like at any moment they would buckle from my own weight. My clothes were damp, my toes were wet and my fingers were numb, but I never felt better. The process of climbing Camp Muir when you are out of shape and fighting a sinus infection isn't exactly what I'd call fun, but the feeling of accomplishment is so worth it.

The day was a delight to my senses....well most of them. My sense of smell was a little disapointed. There is some wild weed that grows in the mountain that gives off a disagreeable scent. It is reminiscent to the smell of stale laundry....when you've forgotten to take the wet clothes out of the washer and they end up sitting in there a couple days (come on now, I know I'm not the only one who has done this....right?). Yes, I didn't take pleasure to the mountain smells. However, after you get above a certain altitude, there are no smells...and your other senses take over. The sound of rocks or ice falling on the other side of steep ridges, the water bubbling under the snow, the cool alpine breeze on my face as I reach the top of a new ridge, the sight of the summit...so close; all these things added to the enjoyment of the day. Above all, knowing I pushed myself to my limit, and that now, my limit has expanded....

I plan on climbing Mt. Rainier, my only hesitation is my children. When I told Isabelle I plan to climb the mountain, she burst into tears, fearing I would never return. Many people have attempted it and never returned, and yet, many more have climbed it many times. How easy it is to risk your life when you have only yours to look out for, but my children came to mind many times the day I climbed to Camp Muir. There are many risks I would have taken if their little faces hadn't entered into the forefront of my conscience mind. My life holds more value now than it did in my past so I plan on exploring my mountain with caution.

There will be a time to ascend it's icy ridges and look out at the world from its crystal clear heights, but for now, the only mountain I will be climbing is the mountain of laundry that threatens to turn stale if I don't attend to it soon.

Happy Fall Everybody,

love,

Gina.

P.S. I had to add the picture of the kids and I with Lou Whittaker taken the week before at the Rainier Mountain Fest. He was an amazing climber and is the nicest guy. I asked him if he does any climbling anymore and he responded, "Til the day I die....in and out of bed!"