Jesse

A few weeks ago I attended a funeral Mass held at our lovely church, St. Mary-on-the-Hill. Four priests were in attendance, one of whom had driven several hours to be there. There were four altar servers, and music filled the church.

We gathered to honor someone
who wasn't famous,
who didn't accomplish anything great or mighty,
who never gave a famous speech,
but who, nonetheless, left a mark in this world.

You see, Baby Jesse never walked on this earth; he died in his mother's womb during the fifth month of pregnancy.

With trembling voices we sang the hymn, "On Eagle's Wings", and although it was heartwrenching to see that teeny, tiny casket in front of the altar, we also felt God's loving presence as all of us - priests, mothers, fathers, teachers, Catholics, non-Catholics - came together to celebrate a life . . . not a life that had been lived in full, but one just as important that had barely begun.

(Thanks, mg, for sharing.)

Taking Care of Business (because I'm not at my blogging best)

After a very hectic week, I am behind in everything: blogging, commenting, memes, awards . . . really, lately I have not been my blogging best. So, I need to catch up.

Laura and SuzyQ tagged me with this meme about blogging some time ago. I won't admit how long ago it was because it's too embarrassing.

What 5 things have I learned from blogging?

1. That on our faith journey, we are not alone. Oh, I go to church, I am a member of Familia, and I attend a weekly Bible Study, but it wasn't until I started blogging that I realized what a common bond our faith can be in the world. It is no coincidence that our family nights began around the time I started blogging as I began to get so many ideas on how our family can practice and live our faith. Blogging helped me see my faith on a larger scale; it has helped me realize how much more I can grow spiritually; it is a wonderful tool to share faith ideas and practices.

2. That blogging is a wonderful way to preserve the every day ordinariness of our lives. Writing about wonderful vacations or profound thoughts is fine, but sometimes it's the small things, the very ordinary things, that make life special. Writing about Daddy's ability to make a silly monkey face or about a dead car battery stranding us in the middle of the carpool lane helps keep these seemingly insignificant details about day-to-day life alive.

3. That I like writing . . . I really, really do. Ever since I was a little girl and wrote lengthy "Little House on the Prairie" stories, writing has always been a part of who I am. I majored in English, wrote for my college newspaper, reviewed plays and had a poem published here and there. But because it was something I always did naturally, I never took my writing seriously. Blogging has reminded me to nurture this side of me that I have taken for granted.

4. That it's a small, small world. There is something exciting about getting an email or a comment from someone you've never met; blogging is like having a pen pal with the entire world.

5. That I have met some wonderful blogging friends. When I mention your names at the dinner table, my family knows who you are. (In fact, I don't think my sons realize that I know you through blogging; they think that you are my friends at church, or something.)

Also, since I am taking care of business, SuzyQ passed on the "I Love Your Blog Award" to me because she is kind that way, and Laura gave me the "Super Commenter Award" because it makes her mother happy when I leave comments. Grandmak also gave me this last award . . . two people giving me this award . . . OH! the pressure to leave good comments!

Also, speaking of Grandmak, she passed on a "Holy Card Meme" in which I had to come up with a holy card for myself if I should ever make it to sainthood. Which brings me to this question: as a mother, am I not already there? See. That settles it. I am not humble enough and I procrastinate too much to ever be a candidate for sainthood. (I made the mistake of asking my husband this question an hour ago, and he hasn't stopped laughing. Well, then. He'll never make it to sainthood, either.)

Now, I can't tag anyone because everyone I know has already received these awards and done these memes . . . I told you I was waaaaay behind in everything.

Italian 101

As a mother of all boys, there are certain things I have perfected when I mean business.

One, is the look. My mother is Italian, so I have generations of Italian women in my blood who know how to do the look. Even my husband recognizes the look. I wouldn't go so far as to call it the evil eye . . . but there you go, it does have power.

Two, is the art of peppering my speech with two key Italian phrases when I am in no mood to be messed with:

~Basta! = Enough. Stop.

(As in, the boys are arguing, but when I yell BASTA! there is complete and total silence . . . instantly.)

~Punto e basta! = End of discussion, period.

(As in, the boys keep begging for a Wii; every day they complain until we finally say: No, you do not need a Wii, punto e basta. Go play outside. This signals the end of the discussion. Nothing further needs to be said.)

Now shhhh!, I'll let you in on a little secret: these are my secret weapons; I hoard them and whip them out only when absolutely necessary . . . like today.

It's been one of those days.

Remember when . . .

A is for apple . . . I think

After a shaky start, our little one is learning (albeit begrudgingly) to like preschool . . . that is, he's gone from crying and clinging to my leg to shedding only a tear or two when he waves goodbye to me. So, we are making progress.

I'm just not sure what he's learning . . .

Our Preschooler: "D" is for Daddy, "J" is for Jonathan, and "N" is for Nicholas.

Me: Excellent!

I wait a second or two, then ask: And what does "M" stand for?

He thinks, and thinks some more, then declares: McDonalds!

Er, would you like some fries with that?

The Wonders of Nature...who knew?

Me, to my four-year-old: "How do you make mud?"

His reply: "First you dig a hole, then you put water and chocolate in it."

That's it. Next time I go hiking after a rainfall I am taking a spoon.

La Bella Luna

Lisa has a wonderful post over at Are We There Yet announcing the next Harvest Moon September 15th (go visit...she has some fun trivia about the moon). Coincidentally, last night I took our little one (already in his pj's) outside to look at the full moon through the trees in our backyard. So in honor of the Harvest Moon, in celebration of the fact that autumn is just around the corner, and in reverence for the moon's majesty here is a post from the past.


I admit that I have a quirky trait: I love looking at the moon. On a clear night, with no clouds, there have been many times I have dragged my family to a window (and, yes, even outside in their pj's) to look at the beautiful moon. "La bella luna" , in Italian.

Last night, when the full moon was hanging low and heavy right over our house, I found myself again calling to my family to come and see. I enthusiastically pointed out how serene it made everything look. I challenged everyone to think of as many songs as they could that mention the moon. I even made up this corny poem: "The man in the moon smiled as he looked down on the mother and child."

Then I noticed everyone looking at me as if I were, well, loony (from the root word "luna"; lunatic also comes from "luna"), and realized that I was turning into my mom...and my Nonna.

In the early nineties, when we were vacationing in Florida with my parents and my Nonna, we were told that the space shuttle launch from Cape Canaveral could be viewed from our second story balcony. The fact that it would take place at 3 a.m. didn't stop us because we knew that it would be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, especially for Nonna who was visiting from Italy.

At 3 a.m. we gathered on the balcony, listening to the shuttle countdown on the radio and watching the horizon. When the shuttle launched, and we could follow the shuttle's ascent, my Mom and Nonna couldn't contain their enthusiasm:

Mom: OH! Lord bless them. Bless them. Keep them safe!! At 3 a.m. she shouted this 550 times from our balcony.
Nonna: Maria Santissima! Cielo santo! Che bello! Dio mio! Again, it was 3 a.m., and this was also shouted repeatedly.

With the mixture of English and Italian being hurled towards the heavens, the rest of us cringed (did I mention that it was 3 a.m.?).

So, last night as I was extolling the virtues of "la bella luna", the reality that I was becoming just like my Mom and Nonna hit me. Yikes!

Cielo Santo! Maria Santissma!
I'm not sure if I should be terrified or not. (wink! wink!)

A Nightmare on Our Street

My oldest son, whispering: "Mom, I had a really bad dream."

Me: "Hmm. What was it about?"

Son: "There was this man holding a hammer and he was chasing me."

Me: "Well, you had the nails...he needed some."

Son: "Oh. Okay, then.

He goes back to bed...all is right with the world.