Waves

This is the month of deciding on summer vacations. I swear, if you are not booked by the end of February, all of the good, affordable beach condos are wiped out until next year. I have one I love; it's probably already spoken for. And the added benefit is that the owner is super amazingly nice. She even used some of my photographs on her travel brochure! Woop, woop!

So now here we are in the midst of mid-term chaos, and I've got the beach on my mind. For sure.

It's probably one of my most favorite trips (note I said "trips"). A whole week of nothing but relaxing by the waterside, listening to the waves crash, and taking moonlit walks. le sigh...

HA HA HA HA. Nope, not with a family. That's something we did before kids, though. And it was nice. Super nice, and we could not WAIT to bring them when we had the chance.

And that chance came. Now that we have our precious children, vacations have turned into something a tad bit different. The romantic story of a simple beach vacation has taken a slight detour. Though still amazing, there seems to be a shift in ideals - there is now the absolute madness of packing and preparing. That plethora of beach crap that I have to Tetris my way into the minivan is an art form all on its own.

Then the drive. Honestly, no one ever said, "Are we there yet?" until the littlest one. I'm not sure why, but that's just the way it went. I think she might be a touch carsick, but like a champ, she powers through. We stop about every 2-3 hours for something. You see, convenience stores are enchanted meccas the kids rarely see, except on road trips. So every chance they get to go, it's like heaven to them. These stores beckon to them - sirens with candy, junk food, drinks, frozen treats, and of course...

the bathroom.

The absolutely disgusting public restroom we have all grown to adore. I never noticed how gross they were until we began potty training. But that's a story for another time. (note to self - add sanitizer to packing list.)

When we finally get there, my artfully stuffed suitcase puzzle has certainly shifted because no one can keep their hands out of my masterpiece for the entire trip. So it typically tumbles out like a mudslide when we pop the hatch, which is most certainly acting like a cap on a shaken soda bottle. And we unload. And unload. And unload.

Side note - I have learned that if you arrive on anytime during the day, don't hit the grocery store. It's chaos. Just go enjoy what you came for and sneak out early the next morning. The stores are empty, and everything has been neatly restocked. Give it a shot. You're probably up anyway. ;)

Then we're settled, and so begins the daily lathering of the highest SPF humanly possible, even though all of them have that amazing never-burn skin. I'm just saving them wrinkles and skin cancer,  y'all. You're welcome, old kids. You'll really thank me one day. ;) Anyway, I swear you'd think I was applying poison. Everyone hates it and backs up as far as they can, but within arm's reach of Elastigirl. My back hurts so badly by the time we're done because I have to isometrically hold up my arms while slapping on sunscreen for about 45 minutes straight. It's torture for all of us.

And the hubs is never there for this party because he is lugging all. the. things. out to the beach. Every day. Every day, Every day. By the time this happens, it's probably lunch time, so we're all back in again, or someone is tired, someone forgot something, someone's goggles are leaking, someone wants to go back, or someone just wants to go to the pool. Seriously? You drive 15 hours to get to the beach, and you're looking for the pool? WHO are these offspring of ours? Have they lost their minds?

So I'm thinking about going back. I'm a glutton for punishment. And as I was about to plan this year's celebration, my morning offering pops up and lands in my inbox. I smile as I read this:

"In her voyage across the ocean of this world, the Church is like a great ship being pounded by the waves of life's different stresses. Our duty is not to abandon ship but to keep her on her course."

– St. Boniface

Clearly God wants me to go to the beach this year. I know this isn't what St. Boniface meant when he wrote those words, but this is how it applies to me today in my dreams of beach wonderfulness.

Yes, yes, yes it's hard. Yes, there are definitely times when we've lost our cool. Yes, we compromise and make tough decisions on who gets to do their favorite thing, which surely is not the favorite thing of someone else. But traveling with kids brought us new adventures, good ones, and we are still on course. And that brings me to this:

I would have never been crab hunting at night. Seeing the little flashlights dance on the moonlit beach and hearing squeals of laughter has become one of our most favorite family traditions. It's a rite of passage for the kids. I love the fact that most of the times, it's super dark, and the stars are so vivid. When the kids were little, it was scary for them to step out onto the sand, knowing full well that these tiny crabs could pinch their toes at any given moment. But they dug deep and ventured out. And they enjoyed every second and made a memory. As they aged, no one was scared any longer, which is great, because carrying a child while running through sand is no easy task. ;)

Yes, they were pinched. No, it didn't hurt. And yes, they will go again next time. Sometimes Lilly & I would take a little break and sit down to look at the stars or the reflection of the moon on the waves. I don't recall the conversations, but I do cherish the moments together. 

We were in the still of the dark with the entire world in chaos around us, but we were just fine. We had each other, and those midnight moments outside gave us the opportunity to see the stars. 

Steady the course. And definitely don't blink. Soon they'll be carrying their own littles through the sand, and we will surely help them Tetris their minivan. 

Words with friends. Or not.

What, me, evil? Seriously? Oh, man...I am. Yikes, how awful is that?

Last week, we were invited to our son's weekly faith formation class. I was curious what in the world they actually do in there, so I went. And of course, I wanted to support him because, well, I love him with everything I have. So off we went. When we got there, we were separated into two different rooms - one for parents, one for kids. Aw man, I wanted to sit with him!

At exactly 7:00, the first man began speaking. He prayed with us and explained all of the exciting things that were happening with the kids, and I felt so charged that they were doing so much with these children in ways that were interesting to them. They spoke their language, things were clicking, and our son looked forward to going every week. Yay, Edge!!

Then up it pops, the story of the Prodigal Son. I admit, I am a little tired of seeing this parable used at just about every church function there is. I know - it's a powerful tale of the infinite mercy and love of The Father, and I get it...I get it, I even get the lesson to the brother who didn't understand why the wayward son was welcomed back with open arms, and I embrace that with all of my heart. And I'm super grateful for it. So I admit, I kindof thought (well at first) here we go again. And my mind began to wander because the know-it-all inside of me felt like she knew what was coming.

But then, out of nowhere, a tiny little voice nudged me, "Pay attention."

Alright, alright. I will. I promise I will listen to what this guy has to say about it. Maybe he can reveal a different perspective I haven't yet heard. I sat up a little straighter and leaned in.

They projected a small summary of the story on the screen in front of us. They read through it once, then paused and said we would read it again. On the second time, they asked us to pick the words that stood out. And of course, like any super awkward gathering of people that don't really know each other, they called on parents to say what exact words seemed to jump out at them. I heard, "love, forgiveness, celebration, etc., etc." and that's exactly what the moderator was looking for.

But nope, not one of those words stood out for me. And I was dying to raise my hand. But I didn't. And I usually don't because I know better than to express my awkward viewpoint. It really throws people off and is a total conversation buzzkill. That's just me, and I embrace my insanely off-kilter social lot in life. And I knew that what I saw wouldn't have been what they were looking for that day. I was in a room full of parents who surely were limited on time, probably had to get back to their other children at home (we're like rabbits), and just kindof wanted the basics. But the word and phrase that stood out to me made me question my very being.

It was "wicked." The line in the summary said something along the lines of "if you, who are wicked can forgive, then imagine what the Father's forgiveness is." I really don't remember exactly what it said. I'm sure I could contact them, and they'd send it to me. But it just stuck out. I didn't realize I was wicked.

Dang. And ouch.

But I suppose any sinner is. I was pretty remorseful at that point and felt for certain that I had to be a better mom. And I checked myself for green skin and hairy moles.

We are "wicked." We make mistakes, we make decisions that unintentionally and intentionally hurt others. And we can't help it. But with His help and guidance, we can certainly try.

After all, we who are wicked are capable of love and forgiveness. Thank goodness - it sure has been a  remarkable gift. 

Footprints

When I was a little girl, my mama had the Footprints poem on our fridge. If you have never read it, like Joe says, "search it up." I looked at it all of the time, and I think I even had it memorized at one point. The beautiful words always reminded me that I was not alone, no matter what. And it made me realize that God would carry me through anything.

But then one day I heard Monsignor DeBlanc tell us a very different footprints story. I am sure I'm butchering his finely woven tale, but it involved how two men were following Jesus along the beach.

One man struggled, he walked slowly while carefully placing his foot in the sand-outlined path of Jesus. But he could never quite line up his foot with the prints. The other man ran behind Jesus with joy, and his feet so perfectly fit into every print that Jesus left on the beach, without even trying. It left me perplexed as a little girl. I imagine that I didn't listen to what Monsignor said after he told the story. I'm sure I got stuck on wondering why on earth the man who so carefully tried to follow Jesus just couldn't line things up. I knew that I tried really hard to follow Jesus, so I most certainly must be that first man, and it really really bothered me. I diligently tried to figure it out on my own. For probably thirty years.

I assumed that maybe that the first man wasn't fit to walk in the footsteps of Jesus, that perhaps Jesus was the only one who could walk that path. Then I wondered why on earth the joyful man could just run and fit so perfectly into the way of Jesus. Every time I ever tried to do something quickly, it surely failed. Well, except those stellar mama moments when I am just on my game. But I haven't seen many of those in quite some time, again, I digress.

In my adult life, I was still thinking about that story. It never left me. As I walked through my journey, I always worried about that poor man, trying to hard to line things up, and absolutely failing. I fell into his same path. I struggled internally, and I wondered why things were so difficult. I could completely relate to his frustration.

But one glorious day, I just got the story. It was one of my most favorite eureka moments yet. And I had to figure it out on my own. I wasn't paying full attention when I heard it, and even if I was, I don't know if it would have been something that would sink in until I lived the path of the first man.

I got trapped in humanity and the desires of the mortal heart. And of course, they were not all bad, there is some super great stuff out there. A simple sunrise is one of them, and I've seen my blessed share when rocking babies in the wee morning hours. So certainly, God gave me plenty of graces along the way.

But I didn't always put God first.

I thought lots of other things were just as important, so fitting God into my life was just something else on the calendar. Sunday mass. Check. Sunday mass - well, my family is in town. No check. Sunday mass, we're traveling. No check. Sunday mass - we had a late night, no check. I was robbing all of us by taking the wayside, and trying to fit those big God moments into my daily life.

Well, when I could.

When you raise a family, it's a lot. If I would have landed at this stage of motherhood first, well, Lord help us all! But in the last few years, I suppose aging takes its toll on a mind. Losing a slew of close people in your life really puts things into a perspective I've sortof understood, but not really.

So my calendar changed. I was no longer fitting God into my life.

I was opening my life to God.

I decided that He is, and should be, first in everything. I don't know why I had to make this decision. It should never have been a question. I've been a pretty decent person my whole life, and Lord, I've loved me some Jesus. I don't even know if it was a decision, I'd probably say it was more of an awakening within me. An aha moment of truly, fully, deeply realizing what is beyond important.

And I finally understand the footsteps story. When I decided that I would joyfully follow Him, well, those footsteps need not such careful attention. They have become a path that is clear and certain, and so incredibly easy to follow.

And the joy it has brought is beyond measure.

Woman

This post is a little untimely. Last Sunday was one of my most favorite Gospel readings. I mean, of course, it involved a wedding celebration and wine - some of my very most favorite things. What's not to love?

But there was also a miracle. The first public miracle in Jesus' adult life. And He chose to perform this amazing task. We all know how much preparation goes into making wine - it's not an easy thing to do. It starts with a seed, my friends. We're talking years and years and years. And for the good stuff - even more years. But Jesus, that day, He just, well - BAM - God's time.

Mike drop and out.

My mom says this often, "What's time to a duck?" And it's typically when my kids are dragging their boohonkasses when we've got somewhere to be. Like five minutes ago, and we are beyond late.

We very often get caught up in schedules that make our lives so crazy. If you look at my calendar on my computer, that's synced to my phone, that's synced to my children's school calendars, that's synced to Google's holidays, and on and on, it's crazy full. I mean, there's not even enough room on most days to add one. more. thing. And it's insane. The days drag, but the weeks fly, and soon, my good-night kisses will lessen by one, two, then three. And it breaks my heart more than anyone can imagine. And all of this - this absolute whirlwind of raising a family - is just a blink of an eye in God's time.

I find that when I have a glass of wine on the weekends, though - time slows down for a minute. I sip it slowly. And I stop at one, that's all I need. Ok, so maybe sometimes I'll get a refill, but like I said before - I only have so many of those goodnight kisses left, and the time with my kids during those sweet goodnights is something I will infinitely treasure. We talk about lots of things. And we talk about nothing. It keeps me in check with them, and we each get a few minutes of uninterrupted moments. Just one and me. And I love it.

And our time - it's soaring faster than I want it to, but I have been given these little glimpses of a beautiful eternity along the way. I sometimes force myself to stop and try to etch into my mind the way my children's little hands feel in mine. I bless them nightly, the little cross I trace on their foreheads is a reminder of who they belong to and my responsibility for their care in the direction toward Him. It is also a sweet nod to their Baptism - knowing they are perfectly imperfect and human, just as I am. And for a little while each night, all the world seems right.

Life is great. We have lots of hiccups. But it really is great. And that wine at the wedding - the head waiter said that the wedding party had saved the best for last. Perhaps it's just a little bit of foreshadowing that beyond this blessed life, beyond this exquisite chaos is something far greater than we could ever imagine. And it's tough for me to think that it can get any better than this. I love my simple, complicated, beautiful life.

I hope that I can give the kids my faith. I hope they can get through whatever is thrown their way. Everyone has struggles, but it's simply amazing. And amid the hate that is so rampant in our current world, beyond the comments and condescending words spread on social media, past the judgmental calls based upon misunderstanding and misguidance, I wish the world would just follow some of the very few words recorded by Mary, and just

Do as He says. The best is yet to come.

Small Doses

Still sick. Still battling the "blessed" flu. Or whatever it is I have. I'm in my room in bed working and decided to watch daytime television, which I honestly never do. Oh, it's so gross, and I actually feel dumber because I'm watching it.

Except for this little nugget: two slices of bacon and a hot dog increases your chance for diabetes by 51%. Bacon? NOOOOOOO!!!!!! Hot dogs, no problem. They're nasty anyway. The kids love them, though - and I admit that a hot dog off of the grill is kindof an indulgence I secretly love. Especially if you add all of the good stuff like chili, cheese, sauerkraut, mustard, and a side of Lay's Potato Chips. That just screams a great summer for a kid.

In small doses, those little indulgences are so appreciated. And I suppose that is why we are given them in that manner. Most mornings are tough at the Warehouse, and with three children, one is bound to be grumpy. And this morning was extra hard because we had a chipper middle child whistling at 5:30 am, and an older one who wakes up early to get quiet time to focus before the day. Thank goodness the youngest wasn't grumpy today - it was my saving grace.

You see, Wednesdays are special at our house. It's a "W" day. Which means that the kids get electronics time after school. We only let them have their devices (anything that has a plug - tv included) on Wednesdays & Weekends, so it's a really important day for our son, who is a video game / new meme explorer junkie. And if we didn't limit it, he'd probably jump into the screen like that video from the 80s. I can't remember the song; I'm not gonna Google it either. Take On Me maybe? I dunno.

But they look forward to this day when I say, "Yes." And it's a glorious day. I think it's so special because it's limited. Otherwise, I'm sure video games would be old news, dare I say that perhaps they wouldn't even want to play them, but I'm sure that isn't the case.

So thank You, today, for the tiny "Yes" moments in my life. I pray that I have the wisdom to recognize and appreciate them.

Jazz Fest

The New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival is one of my most favorite things ever. It brings back fond memories of when we were in college and lived a carefree sort of new grown up life. It brings me back to when minimum wage was enough, and our whole lives were ahead of us. The last time we went in college, we sat near an "older" couple. Thinking back, they were probably about my age now at that time. She was in a lawn chair, and he was sitting on the ground and had his head resting in her lap. I remember thinking how sweet they were, and naturally I took a photo. I don't know why they stood out in the crowd of 20-somethings who were dancing, eating, laughing, and having a good time.

But they just seemed settled, content with where they were.

I have no idea who they were, I didn't even talk to them, but they seemed like a glimpse into my future, and I knew that's where I wanted to be. Just sitting in a lawn chair on a hot spring New Orleans Day, listening to music and soaking in the atmosphere. Little did I know that it would be our last trip down there for a very long time.

In the meantime, we graduated college, got married, turned out a few AMAZING children (I'm partial, of course), and kindof lost our way. We treaded water, just like everyone else - how does it go, Mama? Be like a duck - calm on the surface, but paddling like crazy underneath? Yeah, that's me.

Fast forward to two years ago, the kids are all in school, and it's nuts at my house. All of the time. My favorite band was going to Jazz Fest, so my sweet parents agreed to watch the kids, and the hubs and I took off.

We kissed the kids good-bye, & drove through an incredible lightning storm - I was terrified the whole time. But we got there, and Jazz Fest was everything I remembered and more. I've always loved New Orleans, the people, the atmosphere, the food - GOD the food (that's probably one of my most favorite parts of Jazz Fest - just sampling whatever you can in a few short hours - yum.), and just being alone with the hubs for a weekend of uninterrupted conversations (What? That still exists?!). There he was, good ol' Zac. The one I remembered. Carefree, in our old grown up life, just like he used to be. But way better.

So the good folks at the Jazz Fest make the artist announcement soon. I can't wait to see who is going. Whether we can go is still up in the air, but maybe my favorite band will be there. I've really got my fingers crossed, my hopes that my parents can watch the kids, and that the ones I want to see won't be on my son's birthday. Parents for life. ;)

And maybe some starry-eyed new grown up will see us there, settled in who we are.

We're far from perfect. But we work on it every day. We've still got a lot of growing up to do. We've still got a lot of questions that are unanswered for us. And that's ok. I think I'm finally content with where I am. And I have a great little lawn chair all ready to go. 

Cupcake Surprise

Staring at the mini cupcakes at the local bakery, one caught my eye. It was a plain little cupcake - nothing more than a pink frosted vanilla next to the other festive selections available. The title read, "Birthday Surprise." I was curious because our littlest is really into those LOL dolls right now - the gift that keeps unwrapping and reveals some little toy that is "ultra rare" or whatever the latest gimmick is.

So I asked the lady behind the counter, "What is the Birthday Surprise? Does it is have something special inside of it?"

She grinned and said, "Well, it does now. It used to have nothing, but the kids were disappointed, so we revised it to offer M&Ms mixed into the batter."

We went back and forth joking about how the former (sans M&M's) birthday surprise cupcake prepared the kids for life - teaching them that the surprise wasn't really anything, how they got all excited about some promised something or other, but ultimately were disappointed.

We laughed about it a bit, then she paused and said, "But they still get the cupcake."

I don't know why that stuck with me, but it did. It spoke loud and clear about how we wish for so much in our short lives, sometimes we get m&ms, and sometimes we get just the cupcake.

Just the cupcake?

Goodness - what if we said we get "just" life? When I was a little girl, I used to thank God that he made me a person instead of an ant. Silly, I know, but there I was, a small child, just grateful for the opportunity, the GIFT, of being. Oh, I wish for lots of things, we all do. But when I close my eyes at night, no matter what surprises I'm given,

I got the cupcake. And it's wonderful.  

Point A to Point B

Home again, home again, jiggity jig. I woke up this morning late. Actually, my dad woke me up because my alarm was set to 6:00 am, weekdays only. And it's Saturday - oops. I had it set so that I could get Joe somewhere for 8, and it took 30 minutes to get there.  Because my parents came in for Maggie's First Reconciliation, they were here, and Daddy came and got me. And thinking back to that moment, all I remember saying was, "Coffee? Is there coffee?" And Daddy said, "No." I threw on a poncho over my pajamas, smeared some makeup across my face, and ran down the steps as fast as I could. Daddy (oh thank you so much, Daddy) started coffee, and we tag-teamed making Joe a lunch. I just threw bread and peanut butter on the counter, and Daddy robotically made the meanest PB&J sandwich that any man has ever made in six seconds flat. Joe, thankfully, was dressed & ready to go (aside tooth brushing, naturally), and we honestly were out of the door at 7:35. I typed the address into my GPS, and we were off.

I took the GPS directions with a grain of salt and went a little off the wayside of what they were advising. Y'all, I saved exactly 2 minutes.

Booyah.

Because, well, when your baby only falls asleep riding in a car, you tend to learn the area around you way better than any dumb computer. Take that, Maps. You ain't got nothing on me.

At least for today.

So it's now 6:45 pm. And I still have my poncho over my pajamas. But I also have the satisfaction that I beat the GPS. I don't know why I am enjoying that so much. It's the little victories that get me sometimes. I mean, we have to celebrate every given day, don't we? But that GPS know-it-all did NOT know it all today.

And neither do we. I watched as the GPS rerouted it's certain directions to follow mine, and we got there sooner. I honestly celebrated as it learned my way, and realized that my route was the better one. I suppose it's how The Father feels when we turn and follow Him. But way better. He sees our struggles and the paths we stumble down, all the while knowing what is the best one for us. And when we turn to His, when we find our timing and His are the same, how beautiful of a moment is this for us all.

So to that GPS, I suppose I owe you an apology. Thanks for bending so I can see how much joy a tiny sliver of straighter path can bring us all.

Time arrived at destination: 8:04. Nope, we didn't make it. But I never felt so great about trash talking my GPS. We could have been there at 8:06. But those blessed two minutes - and that killer parking space that had my name written all over it, surely were Divine.

Rose Colored Glasses

I can still hear my sweet Grandmother singing "Rose Colored Glasses" in the back of my mind. In fact, every time I hear that song, I think of her. As I grew older, her life was revealed to me more, piece by piece. I always knew she had strong faith, but until I learned about her hardships. I had no idea how strong she was. I know she influenced my faith - there is no doubt. But I honestly did not know how much she influenced my personal family life until I learned of her struggles. They just don't make them like they used to, do they? Well, maybe it's time we did.

I read this morning something along the lines of seeing God through a dark glass, or at least that's my interpretation - it's probably wrong, but what else is new? Yes, I can understand that, but I think I'm going to change that dark glass to a rose-colored one. (or rosé because it's a Friday!)

Our youngest celebrates her First Confession tonight. We were shopping online looking at little dresses for the occasion. I love to let them pick out their clothes. I honestly would not typically choose what they do, but I think it's important for them to feel confident in their decisions and know that I support them. For something as tiny as clothes, I don't think it really hurts much. Oh I do step in with the big guns for the big stuff, don't get me wrong, but for this special occasion I asked her what color dress she would like to find. Without hesitation, she said, "Black." So we looked for black dresses for a little while, and then I asked her, "Why black, Mags - you love bright colors?"

She mentioned that it was a sad event.

"Oh honey," I said, "Confession isn't a sad thing - it's a celebration!" I thought back to our lessons, and wondered if maybe I missed something big. Confession is scary, y'all. I'm not gonna sugar-coat it. For a common person like me, sitting down and telling a priest EVERYTHING you did wrong isn't easy. I'd love to say I was an awesome Catholic who didn't have a problem plopping down face to face & letting it all go, but it still gets to me. Those sins of omission - oh man (see my blog's title??!)

I think sometimes we are so hard on ourselves for our sins. To think an eight year old was so sad about the tiny little sins she had committed just broke my heart. If I could tell her mine - she'd wear neon pink, hold a balloon, and have a party that towers over any New Year's Eve celebration because anything she's done pales in comparison to my 42 years of being um, well, human.

God calls some of the greatest sinners to become examples. Humble me now, but I feel like they're just more relatable sometimes. We're all a bunch of screw-ups after all. I can't get through one single day without a snide comment running through my head. And I feel awful when I say them out loud, and I do say them, especially in traffic or in any check out line. But forever is a long time, and I've got to let that go. I try really hard, but I just get so caught up in the daily grind, that those little thoughts run through my head about being impatient with the faults of others, that I certainly neglect my own. But dangit - it's HARD.

I digress. Confession - back to Confession. I am looking forward to tonight, I have a heavy heart, as it is our last little one's First Confession. I don't think the big, heavy door closes behind them louder on any other day once they enter the confessional for the first time. It's honestly my favorite part - seeing them look back at me, fearful (gosh I wish I could hold their hands through this one), then coming out of the room with the sweetest smile - a sigh of relief, and a fresh start of a continued friendship with God, full of His infinite Mercy. She will see the world in a new way, with a happy heart, wearing those rose colored glasses, which we all should look through every now & then.

That said, I am about to go pick up cupcakes from Maggie's favorite bakery. She found a pretty little green dress, her father's favorite color. I thought it was such a sweet choice, so thoughtful. The house is clean, and some of our favorite company is coming to support her.

And her shoes will be a bright shade of the color rose, a little nod to someone who kept the faith and inspired an entire family to do the same.

Miss you, Sammie. More then you'll ever know.

I Get By with a Little Help

There was a piece of trash on the sidewalk in California that I couldn't just step over. So I bent over, picked it up, and disposed of it in the nearest appropriate bin. Because it's California. And everyone in California takes good care of their state. Well, apparently not everyone, because I'm there picking up trash!

But no, I didn't do that because it's California - I do that in Texas, Louisiana, Florida (except Disneyworld - y'all are amazingly cleanly!) anywhere I go. Always, no - not always. Some things are too gross to touch, like cigarette butts and full diapers - ew (and I really should dispose of those as well). But those little eyes are watching me. Constantly. They watch everything I do, hear everything I say, and experience everything I feel. Even as they get older, I still catch our 15 year old studying me. Albeit, probably waiting for me to mess up (and it's a great day in the Warehouse when I do mess up!), but still - they watch. My house isn't perfectly clean, but I try. I'll swoop up the pile on the stairway as I walk up, or tidy the countertops as I prepare dinner. But with three children, we are outnumbered. It's a two-step dance trying to manage a tidy home while they're still inside.

One of my friends said it's like "shoveling snow while it's still snowing." Amen, sista! But it's got to be done. After all, doing a little bit along the way, leads to a lot of work accomplished in the end. And there we go again, the end...

One of my most favorite times in mass is feeling their gaze on me. The Catholic Mass is so full of tradition, every bow, every kneel, every gesture, everything that is done has meaning. I am sure I don't know all of them, but I really try. And I love whispering what I do know to my children while it's being done. Why? Because it reminds me of watching my grandmother and my parents. I still can hear their sweet little voices singing the beautiful hymns. In fact, I tear up when I hear one of their favorites. But I was always watching them.

Mass becomes deeper as I get older. It is not only the gift of being present in Christ. But the precious reminders of the people that have held it up. When we hear the babies cry, we know that it will carry on. The traditions, the examples set by the people there, they will remain a constant in this ever-changing world, which is something I have always admired about this Church. It has not changed according to the ways of this earth. It is the ultimate example that we, as children, should follow. It is far beyond picking up trash on a sidewalk. It is cleaning out the worldly desires of our heart so that we have a direct path to God.

The Flu and Other Blessings

My busted refrigerator,
littered with sweet memories!

The joy of travel is something we absolutely love in our family. We will take any kind of vacation there is. I feel like it makes us and the kids better people by subjecting them to the world around them, hoping to instill some sort of understanding of cultures different than ours, and giving them a chance to see the world through the eyes of those who live and care for the beauty around them. Oh, it's never easy toting three children around. There's the list-making, the packing, the transporting, taking the trip and all of its glory, then the travel home, unpacking, washing, and coming home head-first to life as we knew it before stepping out into our grand adventures. Like last week. 

We took off the day after a whirlwind Christmas of celebrating with everyone we could manage to see. I don't even know if we cleaned up the massive piles of gift wrap and careful packaging that surrounded the gifts on everyone's wish list. We left the tree up, but the hubs took down our lights in a sped-up frenzy like I've never seen before. Because we would be gone for 12, yes 12 days. I felt like we were part of the Wise Men's caravan - we would be home on the Epiphany. So, I suppose it was certainly something a little shy of what they experienced, but with modern conveniences like indoor plumbing - oh I am soooo incredibly thankful that I was born in this era. 

We had air travel delays that were probably unmatched, but certainly matched by the 4 rescheduled flights that left plenty of other folks stranded like us. We spent two hours in a hotel and slept for every second that we could. We lost a pre-paid night at a hotel. We were flown to an airport that was not our intended one and rented a car, at our expense, to get our luggage that was flown to our intended destination. We had motion sickness driving through Nothingland to get to Yosemite, a virus (presumably the flu) that slowly crept its way through the children and landed on me. Our last flight had a 40 minute layover that ended up around 20 minutes (and you know they close those gates at 10 minutes prior to take-off), so my poor flu-stricken family ran as fast as we could and made it! And when we got home, our refrigerator was busted. (Once I came home to a dead rat in our toilet -poor baby drowned, and it was our only bathroom! It was the worst!) But you know, the kids did great. They were joking about things the very next day. They came through the sludge and honestly, they just remembered the good stuff. It was another "Griswold" family vacation. Gosh I love those shows. So painfully real!!! 

They were given opportunities to grow. They were given times of trying situations that gave them a certain appreciation of the simple things that DID go their way. They're still battling stuffy noses as this virus crawls out of their little systems, but it's crawling out. And we all know how good we feel after a cold has run its course. And we are blessed to be better, inside and out.

But you know what? We were given the opportunity to travel. We were able to see places that not many have seen. We were given gifts far beyond measure in the simple things. You know what our youngest remembers most about Yosemite? A ladybug. There we were among the most majestic of marvels my simple eyes had ever seen - we were wandering near waterfalls and pristine streams, high above the world as we know it. And Maggie found a ladybug. A tiny little ladybug at the bottom of Yosemite Falls. We were taking a rest while the bigs climbed up the rocks, and there it was, perfectly imperfect - right in the heart of the Valley. And had we not taken a break, we would have missed one of the tiniest, yet just as beautiful, creations of the Father. 

My reflection today - man, I don't know where I'm even going - but perhaps that is the sum of it all. We don't know where we are going. And that's ok.  We had hiccups, but despite all of them, we still managed to find a sweet little ladybug. And then we made it home, where we all had a new-found appreciation of our amazing ordinary lives. 

And guess who got a new refrigerator!!!! Aw, yeah!  

Surrender

The day I bought a minivan I surrendered all. Seriously. I've never been super cool. But man, after a lifetime of working hard, a fancy car would have been great. That sleek, head-turner, smooth vehicle that just oozes style and luxury - the one I would feel great driving that handled like nothing else. Something with all of the bells and whistles, latest tech, not even the best milage - who cares!! I wanted something cool. I'd step out at the mall, look around, and receive my silent nods & accolades for a lifetime of work well done.

But I got a minivan. And another one. And another one. I can't get enough of that super uncool TotRod we have all grown to love. I surrendered my dream car to the van.

And I love the van. I love the sliding doors that don't ding the other cars when my three beautiful haphazard children open them. I love the way we can comfortably travel together. I love that I can throw nuggets to my kids and send back whipped cream topped milkshakes and not worry about damaging the precious interior. I love the sand that got trapped in the doorways from countless trips to the beach and the tiny rocks they collected in the mountains that are still stuffed in the chair backs. If you peek inside my windows, you'll see stickers slapped on anything solid and random toys, jackets, sketchbooks, water bottles, and kids meal trash - probably always. Kids!!!

But what's inside the van, my living, breathing, cargo is more precious than any of that stuff. And the surrender wasn't really a surrender. It was an invitation to a life worth living.

Which brings me to the end of my first post. The day you surrender yourself to God - the day you make that "Aha" moment and dive into the TotRod. That's the first day of your best life. That's the ultimate means of transportation to the finish line.

I read something the other day about how much time and effort we put into living, all knowing that the end will come. How tragic we are that we place so little preparation into caring for our souls, for our children's souls, and for the souls around us - lost or found, ALSO knowing that the end will come.

Our youngest is going through Sacramental Prep at our church. It's beautiful. And I love the time I spend with her teaching her about the faith, and in turn learning more myself. We go off of the cuff a lot, and I love to hear her little questions. While I absolutely adore this time, I just wish I could give what I've given to her to more. How much more beautiful would the world be if we all had those precious moments with our precious ones. As the beautiful words of Mother Teresa state, "If you want to change the world, go home and love your family." What greater gift can we give them than that? And it costs nothing but your God-given time.

On a final note - I'm massively imperfect - (duh, aren't we all?) I do have a Vespa-type scooter. A pearl white Honda Metropolitan that my hubs gave me for my 40th birthday. I adore it. I think God knew I needed some of those "me" times, and this does the trick. It's a one-seater, designed for when mama just needs to feel the wind in her hair at a maxed out 35 mph.

But I always go back to the van.

And happy 19th anniversary to the hubs. Love you.

xoxo