Behind the Easter ham that had developed a funk,
behind the crust of rye bread required for a St Paddy's day meal,
behind a small chocolate heart from Valentine's day,
I found a beer, well actually 3, left from New Years Eve.
I discarded the ham and rye.
I ate the chocolate.
I drank the beer.
I love the holidays.
Sunday, April 30, 2006
Friday, April 28, 2006
102,000 pizzas vs 1 bit of spinach
"Please E, eat your spinach. Just this one bite." I pleaded.
He had taken a bite of salmon and was not repulsed. I thought maybe he was being a bit more adventurous and open minded this evening. He chewed that fish like a cow chews a cud. It seemed endless.
"Spinach makes you big and strong!" he told me as he flexed his arms and scrunched up his face.
I began to sing the Popeye theme song and he sang along, the cud still in his mouth.
"Don't you want to grow up big and strong? Eat your spinach and you will."
"I'll grow strong when I eat 102,000 pizzas," he told me. "When I'm 8 I'm going to Chuck E. Cheese's."
I've been to Chuck E. Cheese's and he's been saying he's going to go there when he'’s 8 for a while now.
I'm holding him to it, no Chuck E. Cheese’s until you're 8.
He had taken a bite of salmon and was not repulsed. I thought maybe he was being a bit more adventurous and open minded this evening. He chewed that fish like a cow chews a cud. It seemed endless.
"Spinach makes you big and strong!" he told me as he flexed his arms and scrunched up his face.
I began to sing the Popeye theme song and he sang along, the cud still in his mouth.
"Don't you want to grow up big and strong? Eat your spinach and you will."
"I'll grow strong when I eat 102,000 pizzas," he told me. "When I'm 8 I'm going to Chuck E. Cheese's."
I've been to Chuck E. Cheese's and he's been saying he's going to go there when he'’s 8 for a while now.
I'm holding him to it, no Chuck E. Cheese’s until you're 8.
Thursday, April 27, 2006
Shaken from my own little world
"Money always helps," Oprah said on her show the other day when talking about the tragedies in Africa. The stories presented were heartbreaking and I'll admit it my eyes welled up with tears. The genocide in Darfur and the plight of child soldiers and the night walkers trying to remain free in Northern Uganda and an other story about Africa that I can't remember now were the topics of the day. (Oprah is on at midnight here so I was a tired when it came on and don't remember all the details - forgive the memory lapse
Send money to organizations doing work in these areas. They need money to fund the programs rebuilding lives. George Clooney wants us to write our congressmen and urge them to send the US military in to stop the violence against the civilian population. Footage of dead bodies, especially children's bodies, really spurs a body to action. I've already sent the online postcard to my congressman who I know is already on board. As a member of the Senate Foreign Relations subcommittee on African Affairs, Barack Obama is well aware of the tragedies on that continent and will be joining Clooney at a rally this weekend in Washington about Darfur.
I will send some money to one of the charities Oprah suggested to help a little and ease the guilt of seldom knowing and rarely doing. My question is how much is Ms. Oprah going to be sending. Yes, she is a philanthropist and gives a lot of money to different charities, but she is wealthy. Does she really need so many houses when their are people who don't even have tents to shelter them from the desert sun? My father would say I'm sounding like a Democrat, "If everyone can't be happy then no one should be happy" but that isn't my intention. I just want to know that it's not just the dimes and nickels of the homebound, unemployed and insomniacs that are going to these worthy causes. Knowing that George Clooney, Lucy Liu and Oprah are interested and are doing something for these people is great. Now what about the average Joe and Jane who work all day, make a decent wage and sleep well at night. How are these people being reached? Do they know about the tragedies or the charities founded to help.
I am 40 years old and live in my own world filled with amusements for a 3 year old. I don't watch the news or read the paper, my schedule is too tight, I'm too tired or it's too depressing — you pick. Honestly I don't like feeling helpless or hopeless. But this show really was a kick in the face of reality. There are children who walk miles each night under a clear African sky with little more than stars to guide them to a cage to sleep in. Being locked up each night is the only way they can avoid being killed or kidnapped and forced to be soldiers or sex slaves for the rebels. I lock the doors each night because it's what you do, but I have never feared for my life.
My personal (not E related) worries include not having enough memory on my computer and having too much fat stored on my backside, not whether I will be killed or raped tonight. I don't want to change places by any means but I want to do something to help. Since watching this show I've begun to think I am just playing at life. It's all a bit surreal. There is no struggle or pain nor is there great joy or pleasure in my life. I was talking to an old friend who is now married and has 3 kids. When she answered the phone she and her husband were doing landscaping and her oldest was working on his homework. When I hung up I felt like she and I were playing at house. We were little girls pretending.
I used to give things 110%. I was passionate about things. I had causes. I was a leader. Now I am not. I have no passions but a list of passing interests. I can't even give a regular book for grown ups enough attention to finish it in a matter of months. I have shelves full of books that I haven't read that I bought because of one passion or another. The Green Team. Museum MA. I have too many daily life things to deal with to be actively living.
I would love to go to participate in the Global Night Commute this weekend but I don't know how I would do that with a 3 year old. He is too young to understand why Mommy is forcing him to be out in the cold of a late April night. If he were 7 or 8 he might be able to get it a little bit but not now.
When he is old enough to go to Chuck E Cheese's he will be old enough to become an activist. Hopefully he won't have to.
Sunday, April 23, 2006
The power of numbers
When I was 13 years old I remember sitting on the floor at my father's feet, looking at him and thinking he was some kind of wonderful. He was 36 and seemed perfect. All my girlfriends at school thought my dad was cool and "cute". I never thought about it until then but my dad was an attractive guy. I decided 36 must be the perfect age.
Shortly after that I had a strong feeling that something life changing would happen to me at 36. That feeling didn't go away in the 23 years between those ages. I thought it may be marriage, a new job, or a disfiguring accident but in March of my 36th year I found out I was pregnant. Talk about life changing. Motherhood is wonderful, except when it is not, and I'm glad the Lord's punishment for my sin was my son.
God has put that feeling about life altering events at a certain age back in my head/heart. 42 is the new number something life changing may be happening then. When I turned 36 I became more aware of what was happening in my life not knowing what was going to happen or when. I wanted to be prepared for anything.
I just read "Are You There God, It's Me Margaret" by Judy Blume. (For a class on children's writing) The sense of anticipation for growing really brought me back. I remember waiting 2 years from the time I learn about menstration until the day it began. Most of my 36th year was spent with that same sense of anticipation. It was compounded of course by the not knowing what the change would be.
I hope the changes coming at 42 don't have me so freaked out. I hope there is some warning, some proposal of change before I am hit with it. You may say that ther eis 9 months of warning for motherhood but there was no warning for pregnancy, which is life changing as well.
Well I must get ready for church. We are going to Holy Family Catholic Church in Inverness. It's an evangelical Catholic Church that was written up in the Chicago Tribune on April 15th. It's the Catholic answer to Willow Creek Community Church the mega-nondenominational-church near our house.
Now that I am going to church each week again I want to find the best fit for us. I showed E the website for Holy Family - they have a nursery with a lot of toys and he is excited about going there for the play time. I am excited about getting to go to mass BY MYSELF. I love the kid but I don't get as much out of the service when he is there. Too much of my time is taken up with "Come back." with the finger countdown. "No kicking the seats!" "Shhhh!" "Quietly please." and trying to keep his hands out of my shirt. When he gets tired he likes to touch my bare neck or arms or tummy. We will be trying several different options in the area. St. Hubert's has been our church (we are not yet affiliated with a parish) because it is close.
When I called about confession a woman who is really active in all areas of the parish watched E for me and said welcome to the parish. Other than that no one person has said hello. No one has spoken to us beyond the sign of the peace and it feels so stiff there. Maybe Holy Family will be different.
Well really must go.
God Bless
Kalyber
Shortly after that I had a strong feeling that something life changing would happen to me at 36. That feeling didn't go away in the 23 years between those ages. I thought it may be marriage, a new job, or a disfiguring accident but in March of my 36th year I found out I was pregnant. Talk about life changing. Motherhood is wonderful, except when it is not, and I'm glad the Lord's punishment for my sin was my son.
God has put that feeling about life altering events at a certain age back in my head/heart. 42 is the new number something life changing may be happening then. When I turned 36 I became more aware of what was happening in my life not knowing what was going to happen or when. I wanted to be prepared for anything.
I just read "Are You There God, It's Me Margaret" by Judy Blume. (For a class on children's writing) The sense of anticipation for growing really brought me back. I remember waiting 2 years from the time I learn about menstration until the day it began. Most of my 36th year was spent with that same sense of anticipation. It was compounded of course by the not knowing what the change would be.
I hope the changes coming at 42 don't have me so freaked out. I hope there is some warning, some proposal of change before I am hit with it. You may say that ther eis 9 months of warning for motherhood but there was no warning for pregnancy, which is life changing as well.
Well I must get ready for church. We are going to Holy Family Catholic Church in Inverness. It's an evangelical Catholic Church that was written up in the Chicago Tribune on April 15th. It's the Catholic answer to Willow Creek Community Church the mega-nondenominational-church near our house.
Now that I am going to church each week again I want to find the best fit for us. I showed E the website for Holy Family - they have a nursery with a lot of toys and he is excited about going there for the play time. I am excited about getting to go to mass BY MYSELF. I love the kid but I don't get as much out of the service when he is there. Too much of my time is taken up with "Come back." with the finger countdown. "No kicking the seats!" "Shhhh!" "Quietly please." and trying to keep his hands out of my shirt. When he gets tired he likes to touch my bare neck or arms or tummy. We will be trying several different options in the area. St. Hubert's has been our church (we are not yet affiliated with a parish) because it is close.
When I called about confession a woman who is really active in all areas of the parish watched E for me and said welcome to the parish. Other than that no one person has said hello. No one has spoken to us beyond the sign of the peace and it feels so stiff there. Maybe Holy Family will be different.
Well really must go.
God Bless
Kalyber
Monday, April 10, 2006
Boy Bonus
There is one clear advantage to having boys. A walk in the woods is not cut short by cries of, "I have to go potty!"
We went for a walk this Sunday after Mass (actually after changing our clothes after Mass) in the forest preserve near our house. It's too far to walk so we drove and then headed for the woods. We didn't use the paved trail but the slightly beaten path through the trees and grass and bushes. "Watch out for the poops!" dominates our conversation.
We wandered to a field filled with dry, yellow grass. If it had been green and standing at attention it would have been about 2 feet tall. About 4 steps into the field E says, "I gotta go potty."
I reached down and started unzipping his pants, "It's a good thing you're a boy and can stand up to go pee pee," I tell him. The look of surprise is priceless. Cars pass on the street just beyond a jagged row of leafless trees. I pull down his underwear, hoping no one can actually see us and tell him to lean forward a bit so he doesn't get his pants wet. I hold his shoulders. He really had to go!
"The animals are gonna come here and say P. U." he tells me. I bite my lip trying not to laugh.
"Yeah they probably will." I reply. I get out a tissue from my backpack and he wipes the 3 remaining drops of urine from his penis. I don't want to litter. I don't want this in my backpack. I tuck it into his underwear as we pull them up . Up with the pants and on with the show. We walk to the street and follow it to on of the paved walkways and head back to the car.
He wants his picnic. Bottles of water and small bags of peanuts are retrieved from my backpack. We drink, we walk, we open the peanuts and have a few, we walk, we drink and then he starts to fall behind. He tried to get the peanuts out of the long skinny bag with his short fingers and it commanded a lot more attention than walking. He was just too preoccupied with getting his snack to care about getting to the car.
Every bicyclist, rollerblader and runner was greated with a big, "Hi!" as he meandered along the trail. So many smiles, it was a nice walk.
There were a lot of cans, stray plastic bags and other garbage among the bushes and trees along the paved trail. I want to help clean this mess up but what do I do with E. If he were older he could help, but at 3 he is so easily distracted. I looked up the Forest Preserve District of Cook County on a break today. They have a cleanup at this forest preserve on Earth Day, April 22. I have to find a way to make this work. I asked a "greeny" at work if she would be interested in joining us. Thinking 'she will entertain, and I will work, then she will work and I will entertain.'
We went for a walk this Sunday after Mass (actually after changing our clothes after Mass) in the forest preserve near our house. It's too far to walk so we drove and then headed for the woods. We didn't use the paved trail but the slightly beaten path through the trees and grass and bushes. "Watch out for the poops!" dominates our conversation.
We wandered to a field filled with dry, yellow grass. If it had been green and standing at attention it would have been about 2 feet tall. About 4 steps into the field E says, "I gotta go potty."
I reached down and started unzipping his pants, "It's a good thing you're a boy and can stand up to go pee pee," I tell him. The look of surprise is priceless. Cars pass on the street just beyond a jagged row of leafless trees. I pull down his underwear, hoping no one can actually see us and tell him to lean forward a bit so he doesn't get his pants wet. I hold his shoulders. He really had to go!
"The animals are gonna come here and say P. U." he tells me. I bite my lip trying not to laugh.
"Yeah they probably will." I reply. I get out a tissue from my backpack and he wipes the 3 remaining drops of urine from his penis. I don't want to litter. I don't want this in my backpack. I tuck it into his underwear as we pull them up . Up with the pants and on with the show. We walk to the street and follow it to on of the paved walkways and head back to the car.
He wants his picnic. Bottles of water and small bags of peanuts are retrieved from my backpack. We drink, we walk, we open the peanuts and have a few, we walk, we drink and then he starts to fall behind. He tried to get the peanuts out of the long skinny bag with his short fingers and it commanded a lot more attention than walking. He was just too preoccupied with getting his snack to care about getting to the car.
Every bicyclist, rollerblader and runner was greated with a big, "Hi!" as he meandered along the trail. So many smiles, it was a nice walk.
There were a lot of cans, stray plastic bags and other garbage among the bushes and trees along the paved trail. I want to help clean this mess up but what do I do with E. If he were older he could help, but at 3 he is so easily distracted. I looked up the Forest Preserve District of Cook County on a break today. They have a cleanup at this forest preserve on Earth Day, April 22. I have to find a way to make this work. I asked a "greeny" at work if she would be interested in joining us. Thinking 'she will entertain, and I will work, then she will work and I will entertain.'
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Things are looking up
Someone read my blog! Sparki is the first person to actually post a comment, the first to admit publicly that she's read it. Thank you. To see the story that fit the search criteria "Catholic, parenting" and got me in touch with Sparki, see fonticulus fides.
Well things are looking up. I have an appointment with the priest after the 9 am Mass Sunday and someone from the liturgical committee will watch my son. I really don't want to confess in front of my son, especially when we will be talking about him as he is proof of my sinfulness. I've decided to write my sins down before I go so as not to waste too much of the priest's, or the wonderful volunteer's, time. I'm a little concerned about the length of the Palm Sunday Mass as compared with the attention span of a 3-year-old. It was a bit longer this last weekend and he was incredibly restless by the Eucharist. When I tried to explain what was going on he pointed to the sky and said "God is up there!" When I tried to explain the bread and wine become body and blood he started to whimper the idea was so horrible. Small children and non-Catholics don't understand the Eucharist, "You Swallow the Leader?"
On Catholic Answers Live (see yesterday's entry) this week they were talking about confession and someone mentioned that no one ever confesses to gluttony but most of us are guilty of it. Of course few of us hearty folks are heartily sorry for that extra piece of cake or the pint of Haagen-Dazs we ate in one sitting because we were upset or worse yet bored. The sins we confess before we go in for bypass surgery (heart or gastric) may finally include gluttony. With this deadly sin in mind I decided to look up what the rest were, I could remember/guess most of them but not all. See Deadly Sins.com. After thinking about it I'm guilty of all of these at one time or another in varying degrees.
Another reason things are looking up, I got an email from someone who read the profile I posted on a dating service. My son said I should find love on the computer after seeing an ad on TV at Christmas time. I've procrastinated for months and finally
signed up afewe weeks ago. This is the first time anyone has shown any interest.
As for the suburb question Sparki raised we are in Hoffman Estates and go to St Hubert's, when we go. We have been to St. Matthew's in Schaumburg but I didn't like the church layout/set up too round-barn-like for my tastes. They have a wonderful stations of the cross though and I hope to get over there next Friday -- going to see if I can swing a long lunch.
Well things are looking up. I have an appointment with the priest after the 9 am Mass Sunday and someone from the liturgical committee will watch my son. I really don't want to confess in front of my son, especially when we will be talking about him as he is proof of my sinfulness. I've decided to write my sins down before I go so as not to waste too much of the priest's, or the wonderful volunteer's, time. I'm a little concerned about the length of the Palm Sunday Mass as compared with the attention span of a 3-year-old. It was a bit longer this last weekend and he was incredibly restless by the Eucharist. When I tried to explain what was going on he pointed to the sky and said "God is up there!" When I tried to explain the bread and wine become body and blood he started to whimper the idea was so horrible. Small children and non-Catholics don't understand the Eucharist, "You Swallow the Leader?"
On Catholic Answers Live (see yesterday's entry) this week they were talking about confession and someone mentioned that no one ever confesses to gluttony but most of us are guilty of it. Of course few of us hearty folks are heartily sorry for that extra piece of cake or the pint of Haagen-Dazs we ate in one sitting because we were upset or worse yet bored. The sins we confess before we go in for bypass surgery (heart or gastric) may finally include gluttony. With this deadly sin in mind I decided to look up what the rest were, I could remember/guess most of them but not all. See Deadly Sins.com. After thinking about it I'm guilty of all of these at one time or another in varying degrees.
Another reason things are looking up, I got an email from someone who read the profile I posted on a dating service. My son said I should find love on the computer after seeing an ad on TV at Christmas time. I've procrastinated for months and finally
signed up afewe weeks ago. This is the first time anyone has shown any interest.
As for the suburb question Sparki raised we are in Hoffman Estates and go to St Hubert's, when we go. We have been to St. Matthew's in Schaumburg but I didn't like the church layout/set up too round-barn-like for my tastes. They have a wonderful stations of the cross though and I hope to get over there next Friday -- going to see if I can swing a long lunch.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Built for Guilt and Sadness
Perhaps it is my Catholicism, perhaps it is part of my perfectionist nature, but I seem to be built for guilt.
I feel guilty when religion is discussed. I have been asked several times by both Catholics and non-Catholics to act as an apologist, and I am not necessarily up to the task. I am not that well versed in the scriptual verses. (As a comedian once said, "I'm Catholic, I take their word for it.") I'm also not that good of a Catholic, I don't even go to Mass every week. I don't even know how to pray properly. Catholics have set prayers we are all supposed to memorize. I have the Mass down. I never need a missal (book) for the prayers we say at Mass. I even do the priest's parts in my head or in a whisper. But my other prayers are either rote memorization or feel like wishful thinking.
I have been listening to the Catholic Answers Live podcast daily since the beginning of Lent and I'm not that much better at getting to Mass. Though I am trying to recommit to that portion of my faith. I am interested in finding a Catholic Bible study group but haven't found one yet. When I would go is also a problem. A 3 year old may not be that welcomed, and where should E go when I find one. The radio show has pointed me to several books that I want to read. I will post these later, the list is at work.
Of course if I do get these books I may not read them and I will feel guilty about this. It's the curse of a perfectionist's nature. I have an image of how the perfect woman's life is supposed to go and, well, my life is far from that image. I don't read often enough, fast enough, or well enough. I don't clean well enough or often enough. I don't exercise -- at all. I don't eat properly.
From Guilt to Sadness. The fact that I am single and, now that I am in the suburbs, alone is a great source of sadness. I don't have someone to talk to each night after E is asleep, I don't have someone to share my life with. I don't have a helper, a sitter, a lover, a friend.
I have found myself near tears several times a day lately perhaps it's hormonal but it is generally when I think about my own sins and the Passion of Christ. I want to go to confession before Easter but again the question of what do you do with a 3 year old while you're in "the box".
I feel guilty when religion is discussed. I have been asked several times by both Catholics and non-Catholics to act as an apologist, and I am not necessarily up to the task. I am not that well versed in the scriptual verses. (As a comedian once said, "I'm Catholic, I take their word for it.") I'm also not that good of a Catholic, I don't even go to Mass every week. I don't even know how to pray properly. Catholics have set prayers we are all supposed to memorize. I have the Mass down. I never need a missal (book) for the prayers we say at Mass. I even do the priest's parts in my head or in a whisper. But my other prayers are either rote memorization or feel like wishful thinking.
I have been listening to the Catholic Answers Live podcast daily since the beginning of Lent and I'm not that much better at getting to Mass. Though I am trying to recommit to that portion of my faith. I am interested in finding a Catholic Bible study group but haven't found one yet. When I would go is also a problem. A 3 year old may not be that welcomed, and where should E go when I find one. The radio show has pointed me to several books that I want to read. I will post these later, the list is at work.
Of course if I do get these books I may not read them and I will feel guilty about this. It's the curse of a perfectionist's nature. I have an image of how the perfect woman's life is supposed to go and, well, my life is far from that image. I don't read often enough, fast enough, or well enough. I don't clean well enough or often enough. I don't exercise -- at all. I don't eat properly.
From Guilt to Sadness. The fact that I am single and, now that I am in the suburbs, alone is a great source of sadness. I don't have someone to talk to each night after E is asleep, I don't have someone to share my life with. I don't have a helper, a sitter, a lover, a friend.
I have found myself near tears several times a day lately perhaps it's hormonal but it is generally when I think about my own sins and the Passion of Christ. I want to go to confession before Easter but again the question of what do you do with a 3 year old while you're in "the box".
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