These Forty Days of Lent (previous post)

Previously posted 2/6/08

Growing up, I tended to dread Lent because it usually meant 40 days of no sweets, or dessert, or television. I was expected to pray more, be nicer to my siblings, or stop being such a procrastinator. It was never fun, and I counted down the days until Easter Sunday.

Only in the last few years have I really begun to understand what this liturgical season offers. Just like I appreciate January 1st and the promise of a New Year, I like how Lent offers me the gift of spiritual renewal. I realize that we should strive for spiritual growth on a daily basis, but on a basic human level I need the emphasis and reminder that Lent provides.

During Lent I am more aware of trying to pray more, or attending daily mass, or spending some time in the adoration chapel. And yes, observing Lent also means offering up little sacrifices.

Why sacrifice? In today's world of instant gratification, giving up a luxury or a meal is a reminder of our many blessings. When we fast--from food or a certain behavior--the deprivation keeps us grounded and helps us not become too attached to worldly things. It also serves to reminds us that what we do without for just these forty days is, in fact, a way of life for many.

Offering up a sacrifice is also an excellent means of learning self-discipline...especially for children. It's good to learn that we can't have everything we want anytime we want. And by learning to say "no" to the little things, maybe it will help with bigger temptations.

During Advent we witnessed the joy of Christ's birth, but during the Lenten Season we are called to actively participate in Christ's life.

"If anyone wishes to come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me" (Luke 9:23). With those words we are called to walk in His ways, and our little sacrifices enable us to participate (in a very teeny, tiny way) in Christ's suffering as he headed to that cross on Calvary.

Easy? Not for me. But Christ's ultimate sacrifice led to His glorious resurrection, and I know that by participating in these 40 days of Lent I can better appreciate the fullness of the celebration on Easter morning.

Giddy over SNOW!

Yes, Virginia, it does (occasionally) snow in Georgia!



Living in the south . . . and we actually owned some
snow pants!



Snowball fights + wrestling in the snow =
fun, fun, fun!



He may be small . . . but he was mighty and held his own!

Meet Mr. Snowman (not an original name, but the

little guy insisted!)



And the great thing about living in the south? The snow comes, we enjoy it, and in 36 hours it's gone.

Really, I had forgotten how much work a snowfall can generate: getting dressed to go outside; losing and searching . . . and losing and searching . . . for five pairs of mittens; getting wet, coming in to dry off and take a hot shower, then going back out later to begin the cycle again; dripping puddles and puddles of water on the laundry room floor; and feeding hearty appetites resulting from all that outdoor air and exercise.

Sigh. It was so much fun. And I can launch a snowball with the best of them!

Arrivederci Ronald McDonald!

How about a McItaly for supper?

The new burger, introduced at a McDonald's restaurant in Rome near the historic Piazza di Spagna, features Italian beef, Asiago cheese, and an artichoke spread.

But I'll have to take their word for it. Going to Italy to eat at McDonald's...why, that's sacriligeous.



BTW, this very same McDonald's restaurant, with its columns, marble floors, and Roman statues, was voted the most beautiful McDonald's in the world by the Travel Channel.

Forty-One Days after Christmas

Okay. My loving, kind, dear sweet zia Tiziana is going to kill me. She is, really.

Every time my sister and I visit, we insist on looking at her and zio Luciano's wedding album. She hates her wedding photos, and here I am posting them on my blog.

And what's really annoying is that I am doing so to honor her birthday...except that it isn't her birthday.

Huh?!

You see, last year I wrote birthday posts to honor my zia Paola, my zio Silvio, and my zio Luciano. Tiziana did not get a birthday post because her birthday very inconveniently falls on the day after Christmas. I don't know what my Nonna was thinking.

Tiziana probably thought I forgot but, being the quiet person that she is, was probably also somewhat relieved.

But, fair's fair and this is her birthday post.

It is a well-known fact that I have hair issues, and as a little girl I was always envious of Paola's Cleopatra hair and Tizi's hair, which was a delicious strawberry blond...something my sister and I liked to point out to her all the time.

Us: Do you know what color your hair is? It's...
Tizi, interrupting with a sigh: Yes, yes I know. Strawberry blond.

And then we would sing Strawberry Fields, Forever to her, which was terribly annoying.

When I was pregnant with our first child (Nonna's first great-grandchild), my husband and I visited Italy during one of the hottest summers in history. We stayed with my aunt who, in spite of the tremendous heat wave, cooked us the most delicious meals. Later, we found out that during the entire time of our visit, my aunt also was pregnant...and she never said a word.

Today, I have a cousin that is my son's age. Pretty neat.

The most interesting thing about Tiziana, one that you don't at first notice because she is, after all, married to crazy zio Luciano, is that she has a wonderful sense of humor; really, she leaves me the funniest comments like this, this, and this. She even wrote a fantastic poem about Nutella.

Buon Compleanno, Tiziana! Next time you come, I'll show you our wedding album...bleck, ick, patooey.



And to make it up to you, I am also posting a photo of me...with you on your wedding day, which is cheating, I know. To be clear, the fashionable bride is my aunt, the cute blond is my sister, and I am the terribly awkward-looking one with the dark hair.

What's the lesson here . . .

for the young athlete who shows up for each and every basketball practice, but doesn't get noticed?

for the parents who cheer from the stands, clapping at each and every basket . . . none of them the young athlete's because he's sitting on the bench?

for the young athlete who sits on the bench, high fiving subs as they come in and out of the game?

for the parents who smile, painfully aware that the young athlete only played a minute in the first quarter, four minutes the entire game, or not at all?

for the young athlete who really is quite good but, for whatever reason, is never allowed to prove himself?

for the parents who contribute to the coach's gift, despite the fact he never gives the young athlete a chance?

for the young athlete who, after celebrating with the team, gets into the car discouraged and feeling inadequate?

for the parents who don't know what to say to him?

What's the lesson here?

If you have one, tell me, because I surely don't know.

Tuesdays with Nonna (part 2)

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Tonight is Jonathan's turn.

Breakfast in a Cup

Last Sunday we stopped to get gas on the way home from church. My sons noticed an advertisement for breakfast in a cup, and they thought it the coolest idea ever.

Now, let me say right here and now that we are a cereal-granola-yougurt-fruit for breakfast kind of family. On weekends we might have muffins, but for the most part we get a good portion of our fruit, whole grains, and dairy servings for the day with this one meal.

The thought of breakfast in a cup -- scrambled eggs mixed with sausage pieces, all served in a leeching styrofoam cup with a plastic spoon -- made my skin crawl. And the fact that it was cooked and served in a gas station gave me indigestion.

I mean, ewwwww. Yuck.

But the boys talked about breakfast in a cup all. day. long. At noon, they suggested returning to the gas station and having breakfast in a cup for lunch. The subject came up again at dinner. Really, I was starting to feel like a mean, bad mommy.

So, this morning the boys came down to this...

Breakfast in a Cup, (the Mom version)