7 Quick Takes: The Missed Opportunity & More Edition
Yesterday afternoon someone from Time magazine contacted me about participating in a “conceptual” photo shoot about attachment parenting. They had read some of my posts on the subject and wanted to see if might be able to fly up to New York City with some of my kiddos (my two youngest probably) for a one to two hour photo shoot. The only problem was they were working under a very tight deadline and needed us this coming Monday or Tuesday. As a homeschooling mama, our days are fairly flexible, but next Monday and Tuesday were out of the question for reasons I’m not at liberty to disclose just yet. (It really is a very good reason, so don’t feel too sorry for me!)
I was so bummed. This just seemed like an incredible opportunity to not only spread awareness about extended breastfeeding, babywearing, etc., but it was just plain cool to think about getting paid to go to the Big Apple (a favorite place of mine) and then having some of my family featured on the pages of a glossy.
It felt like one heck of a missed opportunity, but then I talked to my wise dad and he pointed out that the fact that it was kind of crazy that I couldn’t make it happen when usually our days are fairly fluid probably meant I wasn’t supposed to be a part of the photo shoot. “Maybe they would have portrayed you as a freak or your picture would have turned out really bad.”
Thanks, Dad.
Seriously, he’s probably right about me accepting that it just wasn’t meant to be. (He almost always is about that kind of stuff.)
The contact at Time asked me to forward her request to any other moms I might know who fit the qualifications she’d listed and so I did. I’m hoping someone I know might be able to seize the opportunity.
I also recognize that I may have not been the best fit. Yes, I mostly practice attachment parenting. Yes, I’m a big proponent of many of the principles of this style of parenting, but my parenting style really has simply evolved from the desires to #1 parent out of love or at least to try to and #2 become the kind of mom God calls me to be by using the tools He has blessed me with to mother my children and by tools I mean breasts, my skin, but also my temperament, my talents, and even my weaknesses. I’d rather follow God’s purpose for me than some parenting ideology.
But. Still. Time magazine. It would have been pretty cool.
The theme for this week seems to be missed opportunities. Our elderly neighbor passed away this week. Every time I look over at his empty house, I’m gripped with sadness tinged with a tad of regret. We were good to him. The girls and I frequently baked him treats. We invited him over for dinner a few times, but he was lonely and I could have done more. I hid behind the busy excuse. I got caught up in my spinning world. I could have paused more, visited more, and now he’s gone. If I could consider rearranging my schedule and disrupting the rhythm of my family life for a photo shoot, then certainly I could have cleared my calendar more frequently to just sit and talk with someone who was lonely. His nurse came by after he’d passed away, and I teared up and told her this. “You can’t do that,” she said. “He loved having you as neighbors.”
I think he did. When Thomas was born, he gave us the most meaningful gift. With wet eyes he handed us a gift bag. I pulled out a bowl with a network of cracks in the bottom. The bowl was old. That’s because it was the very same bowl our neighbor, who was approaching 90, used to eat out of. “I was waiting for the perfect baby to give it to,” he said. I took it with trembling hands. How do you thank someone for a gift like that?
I was always worried about the noise we made, but he seemed to enjoy the children’s squeals (and screeches, too). One rainy afternoon the girls were outside jumping in puddles. The next day he told me he loved looking out his window and seeing kids having old-fashioned fun. “Kids don’t jump in puddles anymore,” he said.
We’ll have to keep on making a splash in rain puddles in his honor.
I’m still processing his death. We knew it was imminent, but it’s still been more difficult for me than I imagined. My husband was the last person to see him (besides medical personnel). He had been at the hospice house for a little over a week, and my husband went a few times just to sit with him. On the evening before he passed away, my husband took him pictures the girls had drawn for him. They were in view when he slipped from this world (his nurse told me she saw them when she went to collect his belongings after he’d died).
His body simply lost the war to old age; his heart was weak and he’d been struggling since Christmas. He’d said he wasn’t afraid of dying, but he was afraid of dying alone. I hope he felt the love from afar. I hope he remembered Dave sitting beside him just listening to his ragged breathing, just being there. I hope he saw my girls’ crayon rainbows and knew that he wouldn’t be forgotten.
On a lighter note, my 3-year-old is constantly making me laugh (and crazy) these days. Recently, she announced, “I have a crush on ME!” Ah, wouldn’t it be nice to be so grounded in self-assurance to have crush on yourself?
I just may have a crush on her, too, especially when she’s rocking sunglasses and a tutu.
Thomas remains the happiest, little guy, but everyone is entitled to a bad day.
I assure you he is very well-fed.
So I shared some of the lovely details of Madeline’s First Communion earlier this week. Now for some funny, behind-the-scenes anecdotes.
Father shared a story about a little boy who wet his pants in school and was mortified. Before the rest of the class noticed his soiled pants, one of his classmates tripped and “accidentally” spilled a fish bowl all over the boys pants to hide the fact that he’d wet himself. Father went on to say each of the children were about to be little tabernacles and that they would have many opportunities to reveal God’s love to others – maybe by sticking up for someone or for helping out a classmate.
That night when I was tucking in Madeline, we talked about Father’s story and I mentioned something she had done that day that was kind. Madeline beamed, but then she grew serious.
“Mommy, why was there a fish bowl there?” she asked.
“Well, some classrooms have things like that in them so the children can learn about animals and stuff,” I said.
“It was nice to do that for the little boy, but what about the fish? They were just flapping around thinking, ‘Man, what happened?’”
I chuckled. I believe Father, a Franciscan, would appreciate my daughter’s concern for the hapless fish.
Also, when Madeline was in her room changing from her dress, she told my mom it felt good to have her tights off. “I kept telling my friend they would not stay over my butt.”
“Oh,” my mom said, “What friend?”
“The boy sitting next to me in church.”
I can just imagine the poor boy squirming in his seat having to hear about my daughter’s uncooperative undergarments when he was probably already nervous about making his First Communion.
Since I mentioned attachment parenting above, a dear friend of mine is contributing to a new site that focuses on attachment parenting from the Catholic perspective. (The site is a great source of support and information for parents. Do check it out even if you don’t follow all of the “rules” of AP.)
In my friend’s inaugural post she writes,
Every morning, despite the events or turmoil of the previous day, I greet my children with simple gestures of affection. The form of expression varies from child to child, from one day to the next. The eldest may hear subtle whispers of “good morning” in her ear, while the youngest might be smothered in hugs. My aim is to acknowledge the presence of the individual, genuinely and warmly welcoming each child into the fold. Quite naturally, it allows hearts to soften, opens dialogue, and fosters the hope of a fresh beginning.
I admit I’ve been what we refer to around here as a grumpster on several mornings this week. It’s not entirely my fault. Would you be all smiles if your 3-year-old had gotten into the habit of starting off the day throwing an epic tantrum because you weren’t going to give her mama’s milk right away? It kind of dampens your spirit, especially when she wakes up the baby you just nursed back to sleep. So does trying to revive a limp lump of a 7-year-old who stayed up way too late (again) reading. I never thought I’d have to take away books as a form of punishment, but my oldest continually sneaks in more reading after I’ve told her it’s time to go to bed. She doesn’t need as much sleep as the average kid, but I can tell she’s been tired lately.
Still, I have a responsibility to set the tone in the morning. More hugs. More smiles. As well as some more prayers (and coffee) would probably give us all a better start to our day.
This photo makes me smile. I hope it does the same for you.
Have a wonderful weekend!
Be sure to stop by Jen’s place for more QTs.
A Lovely Lenten Lunch
Yesterday we decided to take school and lunch outside. It was a quintessential spring day here. We sat under the canopy of a big and very old dogwood tree. White petals from the blossoms swirled in the breeze.
Mary Elizabeth, who is incapable of sitting long enough to ever finish an entire meal even a sparse Lenten one, spun around in midst of the whirling blossoms, enchanted. I felt like I was watching her dance in a snow globe – only the snow was velvety-soft petals.
Before venturing outside, we made our traditional Lenten pretzels. This year, however, I used a recipe from A Continual Feast: A Cookbook to Celebrate the Joys of Family and Faith Throughout the Christian Year
Behold
Thanks to Nancy Piccione for sending along this photo of some of the bloggers at Behold
I just want to extend a heartfelt thanks to all the dedicated volunteers for the Behold Conference. My mom and I both felt so incredibly welcome.
The applause, the generous tweets, the kindness of strangers after I gave my speech this weekend, which was part (very) personal testimony, filled my soul. More than a handful of women I’d never met before came to me, hugged me, and shared their tears and heart with me.
One moment in particular stands out. A young woman – probably in her late teens – approached me and said she was struggling with an eating disorder but that she felt more hopeful now.
Another woman emailed me and said she went to Behold on a whim but that she knew why she was there when I started talking since she had struggled with an eating disorder, and it was returning to her Catholic faith that healed her and now allowed her to be a healer for others working as a dietitian.
I also met a mom who poured her heart and hurt out to me because she has a daughter who is convinced she is ugly and has nothing to offer the world. I want to dedicate an entire post to mamas like this to give them hope. For now I’m praying for this mom and her beautiful daughter. It was a privilege meeting people like this.
Likewise, meeting all the amazing volunteers who put the conference together, the beautiful Sister Mary Elizabeth from the Sisters of Life, the talented and funny Marie Miller, and my special, personal helpers for the weekend like Amy and Sarah (if you’re reading, you two rock and made my weekend effortless) was a such a gift. I was welcomed and embraced, and it was a beautiful weekend. I only wish I’d had more time to socialize and catch up with old and new friends. I did have the opportunity to talk at great length with Sister Mary Elizabeth. What a gentle spirit. Sister was funny, too, and she possessed an ageless beauty. I’d never had the chance to have dinner with a Sister, and I consider it a gift that we shared food and conversation on Saturday evening after the conference.
On Facebook, I said the weekend was like a spiritual Red Bull – just the kind of fuel I need to forge ahead on my Lenten journey.
My mom and I returned home feeling tired yet spiritually renewed. We also each came home with the wrong suitcase. I took hers home, and she had mine. She joked that a mistaken bag identity really wasn’t all that surprising considering I’m a “mombie” (a phrase I used at the conference to describe my altered mental state due to chronic sleep deprivation), and she just had brain surgery. When my mom forgot something this weekend or thought we were in Cincinnati when we were really in Detroit, she simply blamed her mental gaffe on her brain surgery. She’s got a great sense of humor.
I did call my mom a bit choked up yesterday. I’m not sure why, but I’ve felt overwhelmed since Monday morning. All weekend long I experienced an almost supernatural calm. Now back in the trenches, it’s been hard. My elevated stress levels probably had something to do with a child throwing up all over our minivan after soccer practice. Fortunately, it appears she was just car sick and that we’re not dealing with a stomach bug around here.
Like I talked about during the conference, sometimes it’s difficult to recognize the loveliness all around us and within us when we’ve distanced ourselves from Beauty itself found in the Eucharist. Or when we’re just too monopolized by all that needs to be done to find God in the mundane details of domesticity and daily living. Re-entry can be tough.
Not that my homecoming wasn’t perfect.
I had a long day of traveling on Sunday after my soulful weekend, but my mom, Thomas, and I survived making not one but two rushed connections and landed in the A-T-L around dinner time. My husband was at the airport waiting for me. He’d dropped the girls off at his parents’ house. We headed there next and when I stepped out of the van, three squealing girls ran down the grandparents’ front steps shouting, “Mommy! Mommy!”
I’ve been jealous of my husband on occasion when he returns from work because he gets such a big reception. I’m always around, so there’s nothing to celebrate. It was good to leave because leaving meant returning home.
I was greeted with dancing girls, flowers, congratulatory balloons, chocolate silk pie (it was Sunday after all), and handmade signs. There were also made-up little ditties. “We love you, Mommy. Congratulations, Mommy. La-la-la.”
I asked Madeline, “Did you guys write those songs just for me?”
“Nope. We just had them in our heads,” she replied. Read more
