Monthly Archives: November 2013

Grateful for Strange Moments of Grace: Days 9-17 (30 Days of Thanks)

17 Sunday Nov 2013

Posted by in 30 Days of Thanks, Catholicism, Change, Fathers & Daughters, Memories, Past, Peace, Prayers, Siblings/Sisters, Travel

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In hours of weariness, sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart; And passing even into my purer mind, With tranquil restoration:—feelings, too, Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps, As have no slight or trivial influence On that best portion of a good man’s life, His little, nameless, unremembered acts Of kindness and of love…. ~William Wordsworth, 1798

Fate, Chance, God’s Will – we all try to account for our lives somehow.  What are the chances that two raindrops, flung from the heavens, will merge on a windowpane?  Gotta be Fate.  ~Robert Brault

Have you ever been given a mesmerizing glimpse of the past? Perhaps, you had a chance encounter  in your dreams that upon waking you felt like you had experienced the hand of the Divine working through your mind and in your heart? Have you ever seen the past in someone else’s eyes?  Well, I have. Something so wonderful and unexplainable happened during my vacation on Martha’s Vineyard in September. It is still one of the strangest moments of my life. And ever since, I can’t seem to put the encounter out of my mind or figure out the meaning for why it happened.

My mother, younger sister, and I attended Saturday evening mass together at the charming and quaint Our Lady Star of the Sea Church in Oak Bluffs. It was not a packed crowd that evening, so we had plenty of space in our pew. It was a beautiful night, and my mom and I were both so pleased we had made it to Confession right before the beginning of mass. It is still one of the most profound, memorable sacramental moments of my life. Nonetheless, the Confession was mild compared to what was about to transpire about halfway through mass.

As the congregation stood together in prayer, I noticed my younger sister bow her head down and let out a sigh. As I glanced her way, she opened her eyes wide and whispered, “Look over there,” jilting her head to the right.

“Do you see that man over there? Do you see him?” she asked with in a panicky voice. “He looks just like dad! Look at his profile. And his nose!”

Be still my heart, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. She was right! It was our dad. It couldn’t be, truly, since he had died from small cell lung cancer eight-and-a-half years prior to our vacation. We stood with eyes transfixed on this man, this spitting image of our father. It was unreal and seeing him felt so strange.

As we continued to steal glances at this stranger, we realized that not only was the man the exact likeness of our father, but he seemed to embody all of our father’s gestures and quirky traits. He was exactly what I envisioned my father would have looked like if he could have lived beyond his fifty-seven young years and be with us on the Vineyard that very night. Tears begun to sting my eyes. It really was that profound.

It’s strangely emotional to feel such affinity for a complete stranger. For a brief moment during this incredible mass, I felt a pang of jealousy toward the woman sitting next to my father’s doppelganger. Obviously, it was his loving wife, but I did not like her sitting there next to “my father.”

It was a confusing mass. I couldn’t stop staring at this man. I studied every mark of his freckled, wrinkled face. His eyes—oh my goodness!—his eyes were the same shade of brown! The same almond shape, even! When the man turned to the left, I could see that he had the same droopy skin fold over his eye that my father had! His hairline, the largely pointed nose, the thinner lips–all of his physical traits–right down to his attire–was my dad to a tee. If this wasn’t enough, I about passed out when he rested his face in his hand with the pointer finger up near his temple—the same restful stance my father had for as long as I can remember.

When the strange man arose stiffly from the knees to make his way to the altar to receive the Eucharist, I was startled furthermore. His posture was as my father’s had been—a rather tall gait, slightly bent shoulders, longer arms than you would have expected on such a build, with a walk that seemed more like a glide as he set about on his way toward receiving the Lord in Communion.

Was I imagining all of this? Surely not, if my sister saw it, too. She was the one who first noticed the man. And my sister is lovely, but not one to spark with emotion even over strange encounters such as these.

Trying to get myself to pay attention to what was going on during mass, to prepare myself to accept Communion with reverence, to stop staring like a fool, I shook my head and willed myself to look away. I couldn’t. All I wanted to do was catch another glimpse of this stranger who took on my dad’s physical body—and to somehow meet him, touch him, even. It was clear I was having some kind of bizarre overtaking of my faculties in the presence of God and this stranger.

All of a sudden, appalling feelings of anger overtook me. Horrifying thoughts passed through my clouded mind–thoughts that convinced me my father had never died years ago. In fact, I let myself venture that what really had occurred was that my father was truly sitting in that pew in front of us, that he was attending mass, too, but ignoring his real wife and two of his children! Because instead of dying, I said to myself, my dad had actually left us all to mourn his death while he has enjoyed a leisurely life on Martha’s Vineyard for all these years gone! I was enraged!

I have no idea how I thought my dad would have pulled off this kind of illusion, but for a moment, I was convinced. Convinced! The audacity! See, there was no other explanation to the phenomenon of the man sitting ahead of us at mass, the one who looked so much like my father.

Trying to get a grip on my emotions before I stood up for Communion, I came to my senses, realizing that my ill thoughts were nothing but the result of purely wishful thinking on my part. How easy it would be to forgive my father for such betrayal if only it meant he was still alive and well and that we could embrace and talk once again. Forgiveness would be easy if only I could have my father back in the flesh.

After Communion was over, I wanted nothing more than the rest of mass to end–and swiftly.  I have never wanted or needed to rush through a mass before. But this was no ordinary mass. Once the priest gave the blessing, and after he and the altar servers made their way down the middle aisle toward the front of the church, I left my belongings where they lay in the pew and headed straight toward the familiar stranger. I needed to talk to him, ask his name, find out for myself if he knew me, too. If I didn’t take the opportunity to approach him then, it would feel to me like the entire moment never happened. And I could not take that chance.

I’m not sure if my sister and mom were beside me when I went up to the man, or if they held back in our pew to watch their crazy sister and daughter take a chance charged only by pure emotion. However, I walked right up to that strange man, and gently touched his arm if only to get his attention. When he turned to me he, of course, smiled my father’s smile with my dad’s teeth!

Being that close to the man overwhelmed me like nothing ever has. With my right hand over my heart and choking back the tears that were pouring from my eyes, I managed to say, “Excuse me sir. Uh. Hi. I’m so sorry, but I must ask you your name? It’s not John is it?”

“No, dear, it’s not,” he replied, a little confused by my asking.

“Oh, well, I have to tell you,” I continued, convinced I was staring in the eyes of my aged father, “you are the spitting image of my late father. It’s overwhelming, really” And this is when the trembling began.

“Oh, your poor thing,” said his kind wife as she placed her wrinkled hands over mine. I could not believe I was carrying on like this before a set of strangers!

“My sister, mom and I saw you a few pews in front of us and we haven’t been able to keep our eyes off of you since. We can’t get over how much you look like our dad. It’s unbelievable!” I managed to tell him through tears that were borderline deep sobs by this point. I was completely beside myself with emotion.

“Ah, thank you, thank you,” he said to me with a tear in his eye. “He must’ve been a wonderful man.”

“He was, he was,” I agreed as I wiped my tears away and managed a smile. “Thank you.”

“God bless you dear,” his wife said before they were on their way. The man looked back at me once more and smiled my father’s smile. What a gift.

Still with hand over my heart, I let the water works flow and took this chance meeting as a sign that my dad was with us in spirit on that trip. So, I wrote his name in the memorial book at the front of church before my mom, sister and I headed out to enjoy our last night on the island along with my older sister who was waiting for us outside and had her own bizarre encounter story to share.

Maybe my dad needed our prayers that night. Maybe God wanted to unite us all in a divine moment. Maybe it was purely coincidence without any deep meaning attached to it. Who knows? What I do know is that in some fateful way, we met my father once again in the face of a stranger and it was a moment filled with sadness and joy–one I hope to never forget. Strangely, it may have been the best part of the vacation.

Has fate ever touched you so deeply? When have you been overcome with emotion by a chance encounter?

Grateful for Family, Friends, and Faith: Days 8-10 (30 Days of Thanks)

10 Sunday Nov 2013

Posted by in 30 Days of Thanks, Blessings, Change, Friendship, Lifelong friends, Love, Past, Perspective, Prayers

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In everyone’s life, at some time, our inner fire goes out. It is then burst into flame by an encounter with another human being. We should all be thankful for those people who rekindle the inner spirit. ~ Albert Schweitzer

The weekend was full of great and wonderful things, and for this reason, I gladly stepped away from the computer for a couple of days. My Friday through Saturday was spent enjoying time with out-of-town guests—some friends of mine who have always felt like family to me since our first encounter one fall day many years ago. That day would prove to be a fateful one for all of us involved. They came into my life at a time when they needed someone to help them out in enormous ways due to an unfortunate health crisis that they neither expected nor would be prepared to face alone.

Fresh out of college, I had a couple of going-nowhere jobs, was deeply discouraged, and felt lost in the world–stuck, really. Facing rapid burn-out and the dying-out of out of my idealistic nature, I yearned for a gap year. I needed the time to think and plan out how I was going to refocus my career efforts to match my personal goals. At the time, I knew I could always earn money as bookseller or in a café position at the local Barnes and Noble, perhaps pick up a server job on the side as I embarked on this necessary quest to utilize my degree in a meaningful way. When I took the time to ask myself and pray about what I was seeking, my answer was always the same: truth, meaningful experiences, significant internal change, love, and to make a difference in someone else’s life.

After mass one Sunday, I scoured the want ads and came across a job posting for a nanny position. Because I had worked as a mother’s helper between my junior and senior years of college, held plenty of babysitting jobs back home, and thought it might be just the type of work that could be equal parts fulfilling and fun for the year, I phoned the agency and landed an interview with this family on the spot. Soon thereafter, I was employed as their full-time nanny and fully immersed in their life as it was back then–a mix of crisis and relief, ongoing medical and therapeutic interventions, and the everyday happenings of a family trying to balance out normal during a shocking and trying time. Immediately, they enveloped me with their characteristically loving way and I soon became one of them. Quickly, I felt nothing but gratitude and love each day as I set about helping them to maintain some kind of normalcy while they focused on reviving the health and well-being of their young girls. At the time, I didn’t know just how much my heart, mind, and spirit would be stretched; how I would grow as a person and how greatly my perspective would change just by living among this one, incredible family. Nor, did I have any idea that fourteen years later this family would remain such a large part of my life.

If we are lucky enough in life, we will meet one person who will be the catalyst to our personal growth. Their impact will leave indelible marks on our hearts, perhaps change our behaviors, even increase our faith in love and God. These are the types of people who stick with us for always–whether they continue to share in our life or not. Some people can shape and mold us into who we’re meant to become. These friends of mine who came in for a visit this past weekend helped change my life and perspective years ago by living out their lives with integrity and care. They worked hard at putting their family and love above all else during an especially difficult time in their lives. They are friends who became like a second family to me and I’ll always consider them such.

Fourteen  years ago, I was seeking out an intense life-changing experience, one that would lead me out of the depths of my despair and into the light of life, turning me toward the path I was meant to take. My prayers were answered in the form of this one family seeking a trustworthy helper while they faced an uncertain, desperate time. I’m not sure if they knew it then or have figured it out since, but I needed them that year just as much as they needed me. My gratitude today is for their enduring friendship and all the lessons they etched on my heart, mind, and soul.

In Gratitude for Books: Giving Thanks Day Seven (30 Days of Thanks)

08 Friday Nov 2013

Posted by in 30 Days of Thanks, Books, Memories, Reading, Writing

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Lord! When you sell a man a book you don’t sell just twelve ounces of paper and ink and glue—you sell him a whole new life. Love and friendship and humour and ships as sea by night—there’s all heaven and earth in a book, a real book. ~ Christopher Morley

Medicine for the soul ~ Inscription over the door of the Library at Thebes

“She is too fond of books, and it has turned her brain.” ~ Louisa May Alcott, Work: A Story of Experience

The earliest memory I have of being able to read by myself is when I was sitting aside a twin sized bed in my grandparent’s home. My aunt/godmother was there beside me as I read to her without flaw the entire text from The Three Billy Goat’s Gruff. Upon closing the hardbound book between my tiny, porcelain white hands, my aunt/godmother just looked at me with a mix of utter astonishment and pride gleaming from the twinkle in her eyes. With arms folded around my petite shoulders, she whispered, “I am so proud of you!” then sent me on my way. I later overheard her exclaim to my parents the genius of my reading ability. I was four years old.

For as far back as I can remember, probably before that reading encounter with my aunt/godmother, I carried a book in one hand and writing utensil in the other. As I read and referenced, I copied diligently the words from the books and tried my best to memorize prose. Often, I would max out the renewal time period for the books I had borrowed each week from the library. It was often painful for me to part with a book after I fell so hard for its words. It dawned on me one day to record my favorite parts of the books in order to savor the words of my new literary friends. This way, I could read them whenever I chose and recite them in my heart and mind. So, I kept notebooks full of the sentences that were most compelling to me, the words that struck my heart so deeply, and the passages that haunted my mind as I tried to fall asleep at night. This is probably how my love of literary quotations was born. I have found wisdom and delight, and heartbreak and hope in just about every book I have read.

When my family moved to Ohio, we bought a brick cape cod in the country set on about three acres of wooded property. Other than the haven of my bedroom, my favorite spot at my childhood home was within the comfort of my dad’s sun-faded crocheted hammock set under the shade of twin white birch trees planted on the front side of our lawn. Often, I could be found there among gathered library books, covered with a soft blanket, and a refreshment beside me as I sought to be lost in a new world, eager to encounter different literary friends or foes. To this day, I find nothing more inviting than a shaded spot in nature from where to encounter an innovative tale. The library and any bookstore around remain a close second to my nature spots, especially in the cold winter months. I could gladly lose hours of my life among the stacks of any library or between the shelves of a bookstore.

On social media, I expressed gratitude for books and their authors, libraries and bookstores, and for the lasting treasures that books bring into lives. In the spirit of literary love, I am curious to know: What are you reading today? And, what is your favorite book from childhood? 

 

In Gratitude for Adoption: Giving Thanks Day Six (30 Days of Thanks)

06 Wednesday Nov 2013

Posted by in 30 Days of Thanks, Adoption, Blessings, Infertility, Love, Miscarriage, Motherhood, Mothers & Daughters, Parenting, Personal health, Prayers

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However motherhood comes to you, it’s a miracle. ~ Valerie Harper, Adoptive parent

About nine months after my husband and I were married, we felt ready to begin a family. Unfortunately, our journey to parenthood came with unexpected struggle, a litany of infertility issues and repeat miscarriages. (We lost our first four children in that time: Agnes Elizabeth, April 2004; Julian Olivia, June 2005; Max Kolbe, April 2006; and Catherine Teresa, December 2006.) During these years of trying to conceive again and again in hopes of finally carrying a child to term, I went through the ringer to become a mother.

During those trying years, my arms became permanently black and blue with bruises from the countless multiple blood draws I endured to check hormone levels and to rule out other serious health issues. I became an NFP charting expert and obsessed with the healthiest, most natural ways to eat, take care of my body, and become pregnant.  I had laparoscopic surgery and was diagnosed with Stage III Endometriosis. Soon thereafter, I started a regime of Clomid and trigger shots of hCG to boost my body’s ability to ovulate and produce the hormones it was lacking to sustain a pregnancy. During those cycles I swallowed ovulation-inducing medicines and became a pro at hormone injections, I gained weight and felt ill most of the time. Down went the pills and painful injections were endured–graciously, in fact–all for the sake of becoming a mother.

Because I reached the maximum dosage without a successful pregnancy, I had to stop the Clomid and trigger shots of hCG. Shortly thereafter is when I found a disturbingly large lump on my right breast. After seeing my doctor, I was sent to the women’s clinic for a full work-up of tests and procedures which ultimately resulted in a biopsy of the lump. Not only was I dealing with infertility and losing babies, I now had my first breast cancer scare. (Thankfully it was only a cyst, but even the surgeon who operated on me was seriously concerned. In the years since, I have found two more lumps.)

To compound the pain and the struggle we were experiencing for the sake of parenthood, my immediate and extended family were suffering greatly, too. In the span of three years, we lost my father to his sixteen-month long battle with small-cell lung cancer, and said our good-byes to two uncles, and my maternal grandparents, as well. It was a somber time.

Through it all, The Husband and I kept hoping and praying for children. We certainly discussed adoption, but had not explored it until one fateful September day when the answer to our prayers came in the form of an evening phone call. A familiar voice spoke to us on the other line. A child needed a loving home and were we open to adoption? Miracle of all miracles, our answer was an exuberant, “Yes!” Nine months from that incredible phone call, we would be fostering to adopt The Girl. We were full of gratitude and joy to be given this chance, and to open our hearts and home to this child in need.

The first Thanksgiving with The Girl in our home was a memorable one for obvious reasons. However, our joy increased a few days later when I discovered that I was, miraculously, pregnant again! A little over nine months later, we welcomed home The Boy. The Girl had a sibling! We had a son! Eight months after his birth, The Girl’s adoption was finalized. We felt blessed beyond compare to have witnessed two miracles in our lifetime, and that we were finally parents as we’d always hoped to be.

I touted over social media today that I was grateful for adopting my oldest child. She has stretched my heart and spirit by her love and many challenges. It’s not always “rainbows and butterflies” around here, but the trying times are the ones that increase our hearts, minds, and spirits tenfold. Adoption is a blessing despite the many challenges it brings. I would not have it any other way.

Honestly, I would go through the struggle over and over again—for her, for us—to start my family by fostering then finally adopting this amazingly complex, beautiful and gifted person–this daughter of mine–who herself makes me a better mom and better person, truly. If you ever had an inkling to foster or adopt, I urge you to look into welcoming a child into your home. Adoption can change lives for the better.

Giving Thanks Despite Not Wanting To: Giving Thanks Day Five (30 Days of Thanks)

05 Tuesday Nov 2013

Posted by in 30 Days of Thanks, Blessings, Perspective, Tough days

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The sun shines and warms and lights us and we have no curiosity to know why this is so; but we ask the reason of all evil, of pain, and hunger, and mosquitoes and silly people. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

This morning, I arose with a burdened mind and saddened heart. It was tough getting up to face the day. It is why I posted on social media that on days like today, I am thankful to be participating in a challenge to be mindful of my efforts to have a greater focus on growing in gratitude and grace. On the toughest days, the ones that feel like I am trudging along desperately wading through muddy emotional waters with a mucky attitude at best, it’s close to impossible to cultivate gratitude from within.

My faith and life experience have saved me time and again in moments such as these—the unfortunate days, the emotional hours, the moments in which I wished I did not have to face anyone or anything.  On these exceptionally trying days, like today, I find for gratitude’s sake, it’s best to have a mental time-out. By closing my eyes and calmly focusing on the blessings swirling around me, by taking a few moments to just stop, be still, and let go, I find there is always good to be noticed—so much goodness all around me.

An intentional, handwritten note of blessings for which I want to give thanks is good practice, too. Here is today’s list:

  • snuggle time with the kids before getting the morning started
  • a refrigerator full of fresh, wholesome food
  • good friends and neighbors
  • tea time while the kids happily play together in the toy room
  • a working van with a half-full tank of gas
  • that the kids attend safe, attentive, proactive schools filled with caring, intelligent teachers
  • a delicious lunch of a Greek salad and Hearth-Roasted Veggie Sandwich (both made without the cheese, because I’m weird like that!)

Practicing intentional gratitude comes easily to me with daily practice. It is only in combination with prayer and grace, the advice of a skilled therapist, and the love of my husband and family that I can climb out of the deep to acknowledge there is always something to be thankful for—anything–if even just to notice the clearness of the blue sky above, the sweetness found in an unprompted smile of a child, or the incomprehensible fact that I am given this messy, real life to live. Realizing all that I have in this life, in spite of the hardships I face, is more than enough reason for me to express gratitude and continue about my imperfectly blessed life living it out loud in the name of love and thanksgiving.

Grateful for the Words: Giving Thanks Day Four (30 Days of Thanks)

04 Monday Nov 2013

Posted by in 30 Days of Thanks, Writing, Writing routine

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“Writers live twice.”
—Natalie Goldberg

 

It’s not an easy story to tell, this life of mine, this journey I am living out now and the paths I have crossed long ago. Despite the trials, I’m surviving and often, I think, thriving even with new challenges thrown my way. This intricate, complex life of mine makes for a great story to tell. At the very least, I’m determined to try to make sense of it all on paper.

Some won’t like what I have to say—not one bit. Others won’t care what I have to say—not at all. Actually, the point of all my writing is not for the approval or praise, but for purpose–my own. Publication one day is a goal, of course. Though, I keep my current focus on building writer discipline and refining my creative skills in order to make up for all the years I wasted on other frivolous pastimes while ignoring the call to write. The point is that I’m writing all the time now and I can’t seem to stop. That’s real passion.

I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention here that I have the amazingly talented author and writing teacher, Kate Hopper to thank for helping me gain back the confidence I lost years ago after I put my writing aside. Last fall, I took a chance on myself and signed up for the first writing class I have taken in over a decade, an online section of Kate’s course Motherhood and Words. Her phenomenal writer’s guidebook in conjunction with the online class helped me to discover my own writer’s voice–the one I have been searching for all these years.

On social media today, I expressed my gratitude for the writing passion burning from deep inside me; for the catharsis and enjoyment I garner from writing that keeps me intact and makes me whole. Writing is such a release, and tremendously fulfilling. Last autumn, I promised myself that as long as I am given new days ahead, I will spend them writing. So far, I’m making good on that promise.

Making Time for Each Other: Giving Thanks Day Three (30 Days of Thanks)

04 Monday Nov 2013

Posted by in 30 Days of Thanks, Attachment parenting, Blessings, Love, Memories, Motherhood, Mothers & Daughters, Mothers & Sons

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Don’t wait to make your son a great man – make him a great boy. ~ Author Unknown

And mothers are their daughter’s role model, their biological and emotional road map, the arbiter of all their relationships. ~ Victoria Secunda

This morning, I wanted nothing more than to linger under the white feather down comforter covering my always-too-cold body. My morning-tangled strawberry-blonde tresses were sprawled all over the pillows three in a line across the width of the queen sized bed that I share with my husband, and most nights with Baby Girl snuggled in between us. Daylight Savings Time did not allow for a grand morning sleep-in, unfortunately. Even with an extra hour on the clock, I was sluggish in starting the day. Commitments of Sunday Mass and Sunday school class for The Boy were calling out to The Husband and me to get our act together. All I really wanted to do, truth be told, was spend the chilly day in my pajamas, drink tea, and read from my Kindle.

Because I’m not a member of the Crawley family, I returned to reality and willed myself to get a move on. It helped that The Kids brought up breakfast to me (as is their sweet custom on Sunday mornings) before rushing through the rest of my get-ready-and-be-somewhat-presentable-about-it routine involving a lightning-quick shower and changing clothes a few times before comfort won over and I felt just alright about my appearance. By the time my menial transformation was complete, I felt equipped to manage The Kids’ dressing and grooming routines while The Husband stole a few moments to himself.

It’s becoming easier, the Sunday routine. For the less-hectic pace, I am thankful. More often than I would like to admit, however, I kind of long for the time I spent a few years ago sacrificing my own set beautifying pattern for nursing an infant just one more time before heading out the door to church. On Sunday mornings, I feel my arms at their emptiest.

For years now, The Girl no longer needs my help with dressing or self-care. She only looks to me now for verification that her outfit and hair are presentable. Lately, the only reason The Boy comes to me for any kind of help is because he’s been operating without the use of his right arm due to a bad fall off of his bike while I was away in Martha’s Vineyard. Next Friday, he gets the full arm cast removed and will be back to regulation speed in no time and needing my help less and less. The most assistance Baby Girl wants anymore is in wrestling on her always-pink patterned tights, or untangling the mess of a knot in the back of her curly, blonde tresses. She’s mastering buttoning, zipping, brushing teeth, and all other bathroom situations. Where does the time go?  It’s a scary thought–frightening, honestly–to think that one day I might need my kids more than they need me. Is that even possible?

Being that I’m a mom of three children of various ages and stages, it’s difficult to find time for myself, but even trickier to carve out time to spend with each child separately. Presently, Baby Girl gets the most individual time with me for the very fact that she is in school for only a couple of hours on Friday mornings. (I am more in love with my kids every single new day, but having two hours to myself every week has been life-altering. A huge change for me. No joke.) Anyway, when the complaints start rolling in that they need some “special mommy time”—complaints heard mostly from The Girl and The Boy—I remind them that I had daily alone time with both of them before the other was born. The Girl had a straight run of fifteen months with me all to herself between the time she was permanently placed with us and before her baby brother was born. And, since The Girl was in preschool most days by the time he was born, The Boy actually enjoyed twenty-seven months of mommy-son time before becoming a big brother. Now, I tell them, it’s Baby Girl’s time to have own succession of mommy-daughter time. When the grievances become prevalent, though, spoken loud and clear without mistake, I abruptly tune in and take note that now is the time to start making more of an effort to ensure that each of them gets a few minutes of my undivided attention daily.

Special, daily alone time with each of my three children is fantastic—even if it’s just for a few minutes to talk about their day, read a chapter from a book, or complete a puzzle together. What’s even better, though? Extra-special “dates” with each them.  Ever since the school year started, Baby Girl and I share a weekly lunch at a neighborhood Asian-fusion restaurant so she can eat her favorite dish, “Broccoli and rice, please. No chicken. Just broccoli and rice” as I enjoy a delicious cup of wonton soup and side dish of steamed mixed vegetables. The Girl and I have our time together monthly on a Friday when we make our way home from one of her routine doctor appointments. We’ll stop for a treat—a dairy-free fruit smoothie in the warmer months and hot teas when the weather chills—and we just talk and talk in the van as I fight against the traffic from downtown to our home. (Or–confession time–sometimes we just crank up the music on her One Direction album to pass the time away.)

A couple of weeks ago, I started volunteering in The Boy’s Kindergarten Sunday School class. Ever since, we have started a new trend of sharing lunch together while The Husband and the girls have their own lunch together at home. It’s a win-win. Today was an especially good date with my only living son. He pulled out all his charms, asked for many hugs, even held my hand a few times! I’m not naïve, I know that these “dates” might one day too soon become more of a treat only for me and more of a chore for The Kids to attend. But just for today, I am grateful for them whether we are just spending an ordinary day together or heading out for an extra-special treat.

Today, I posted on social media that “I am grateful for weekly Sunday afternoon dates with my son. His sweet nature and joyful disposition are contagious.”  My hope is that my children never doubt how much I admire each one of them and appreciate their interesting company. I hope they never–not for one day–question the joy that their lives bring to mine.

For the Man That I Love: Giving Thanks Day Two (30 Days of Thanks)

03 Sunday Nov 2013

Posted by in 30 Days of Thanks, Love, Marriage, The Husband

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“I know what it is to live entirely for and with what I love best on earth. I hold myself supremely blest — blest beyond what language can express; because I am my husband’s life as fully as he is mine.”
― Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

If it were not for my husband, the laundry would pile up too high, the bills would never get paid, and the tone about our house would be constantly set to serious. My husband brings an unmatched amount of love, light and laughter into our marriage, family, and home. He’s a crazy ultra-marathoner fool, but I love him nonetheless. (He unselfishly finds the time to train for his marathons during work lunch breaks and early morning weekend running sessions as to not disturb our family togetherness, nor my precious need for sleep!)

As a loving spouse, he bestows upon me the frequent mental, physical, emotional and spiritual mini-breaks he knows I need and that are detrimental to my health as a stay-at-home-mother of three children, one with multiple exceptional needs. He makes it possible for me to have ample time to write, read, exercise, and get lost for a few hours if ever the need arises. He gives me all the time that I need, really—whether it be for solitude, to fuel my literary passions, or to fit in just a tiny bit of pampering.  If it were not for him–my husband, my partner, my best friend–I would never have found or felt the love I always dreamed of and prayed for before our fateful reunion one early summer night twelve years ago.

Our life is not perfect, our marriage has and continues to be tested, and our family life is definitely not what some would consider ideal. However, we choose love, each other, and this life together with every new day we’re given–in an unbroken fashion–as a team. He’s far from perfect, and I realize I’m even farther from it. Nonetheless, we’re perfect together.

For choosing to love me despite my litany of unloveable traits and qualities, I profess my gratitude for the man who I love–an incredibly loving, exceedingly hard-working, extraordinarily attractive husband who knows what it means to live out his sacrament of marriage.

Beautiful November Days: Giving Thanks Day One (30 Days of Thanks)

02 Saturday Nov 2013

Posted by in 30 Days of Thanks, Blessings, Prayers, Praying the Rosary, Seasons, Walking & Hiking

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“There is music in the meadows, in the air —
Autumn is here;
Skies are gray, but hearts are mellow,
Leaves are crimson, brown, and yellow;
Pines are soughing, birches stir,
And the Gipsy trail is fresh beneath the fir.

There is rhythm in the woods, and in the fields,
Nature yields:
And the harvest voices crying,
Blend with Autumn zephyrs sighing;
Tone and color, frost and fire,
Wings the nocturne Nature plays upon her lyre.”
~ William Stanley Braithwaite, Lyric of Autumn

After a blustery, rainy All Hallows Eve, we central Ohioans awoke to such splendor and surprise when we tied curtains back and pulled up window shades to witness a glorious first day of November. What a sight!  Although my sleep was interrupted all through the night by three wee ones who had too much excitement the night before trick-or-treating in the pouring, cold rain, I decided to make the best of the magnificent morning before me. What better way to invigorate a tired, sleep-deprived body than with a lively walk outdoors?

On social media, I declared that I was “grateful for the brisk, sunny weather that beckoned me to go outside for an early exercise session and recite my morning prayers.” After taking the three kids to school, I felt compelled to an extra-long walk along the bike path surrounding the neighborhood in which I live. The trees were in their most glorious splendor glistening in the sunlight. (My one regret during that hour-long walk in solitude? Leaving my Nikon behind!)

Bundling up to meet November’s sky is something I never regret doing. Heading into nature to walk and pray simultaneously was the perfect way to get a handle on what would prove to be a rather hectic day as the hours progressed. In the spirit of gratitude and finding blessings all around me, I’m hoping for more days like these to spend outdoors and enjoy November’s chilly air, inhaling the crispness of the season, all the while bearing greater witness to the beauty of God’s design–especially the trees bursting a brilliant palette before their leaves succumb to the coming winter wind.