Prepare the Way (by guest blogger Diane Gallagher)

A girlfriend recently texted me to ask for ideas for family prayer as she felt her routine with her kids had become stale and humdrum.  My reply was “what family prayer?”  As we giggled about my response the next time I saw her, I admitted that I was not kidding.  We pray before meals, when we hear an ambulance (thanks to my 3 year old’s reminders) and before bed with the little ones as we tuck them in, but we have lost our commitment to designated family prayer time beyond these moments.  Oh, the aspirations and ideas I used to have! I could have compiled a book with all of my creative concoctions for celebrating the saints or acknowledging important feast days in the Church.  Unfortunately, I put very few into action.  Life gets so busy.  The evenings are chock full of homework, lessons, practices, dinner, baths, and packing lunches.  Prayers are muttered here and there, but often are sadly not prioritized.  There are two times of the year that we actually do a decent job of special family prayer:  Advent and Lent.  We just bought a beautiful new Advent wreath (50% off at Michael’s!) that I was excited to set up in the center of our kitchen table last weekend.  One of our favorite Advent traditions (thanks, Steph!) is to put an empty manger in the middle of our wreath.  Every night after we light our candles and sing “O Come, O Come Emmanuel,” each child shares a good deed they performed that day and puts a piece of yarn or cotton into the crib to make it more comfortable for Jesus after He is born.  I have toyed with the idea of removing a piece for every bad deed they do but decided that Advent is a good time to stay positive.  Sometimes my kids are excited to highlight a plethora of good deeds that they have done that day -- or even better, that they witnessed their siblings doing.  Other times, they struggle to even identify one.  “Did you help anyone today?” “No.” Have a good attitude?” “No.” “Share with anyone?” “No.” “Ok, did you have a nice thought about someone?”  Once in a while, they simply do not get to add to the “mattress pad” for Jesus.  I felt badly on Sunday when one of my children would not contribute a good deed because he did not feel he had done anything worthy of it.  I also was glad to see that he had a conscience and took it seriously.  Fortunately, they all usually have something to add or this exercise would get a little depressing.  Needless to say, it has become a helpful daily reminder for all of us. In fact, it is really something we should be doing all year.  It might even be beneficial if we only identified good deeds done with a positive attitude.  I admit, I don’t usually have a shortage of good deeds.  That is what most of my day consists of – doing acts of service for my family.  But I often don’t perform them with a cheerful heart.  This year, as we await the celebration of the birth of Emmanuel, hopefully we can fill our manger with an abundance of comfy cotton.  Even better?  That as the Christmas season fades into Ordinary Time, we keep that Advent Spirit alive – good deeds, focused prayer time and all.  

It's a Marvelous night for a Moondance...

  I just got back from a mad-dash to the video store.  I may be the only person on the face of the earth still kowtowing to the almighty late-fee.  I was dreading this particular run because it was dark...and cold.  When it came time to face the dastardly time-crunch trek I ended up crouched over in the drivers-seat peering through a 1"x3" portal view of the road.  Of course tonight  would be frost's perfectly timed first appearance on my windshield this season. 

  It only took 3/4 of the trip there for the defroster to work it's magic and I was sitting tall again.  The cool temperature mixed with the elated surge of success I experienced as I launched the DVD through the return slot with one full minute to go sent me on my merry way wishing good will to all men.  As a matter of fact, I suddenly was not ready to rush right home.  I by-passed my Avenue and headed to the nearest convenience store for a late-night half cappuccino mixed with house blend coffee.  I don't know what I was thinking- except that the dread of the cold-night air had dissipated and left a holiday flare of anticipation.  I sipped my coffee while waiting for the red-light to change when low and behold the time-honored "Frosty the Snowman" began to play on my radio. Now I had the defroster, the coffee and visions of my kids building snowmen and sipping hot chocolate to warm me as I headed for home.

  This had been the perfect ten-minute fresh-aired adventure.  It gave me a whole new perspective from the haze I was in as I tucked my kids in then flew the coop to return the rented video.  Not bad return on an errand run.  I think I would have missed out on more than the $3.59 late fee had I skipped this dash from the ordinary into the chilled-wonder that seeps into our world the week before Thanksgiving.  As I prepare to head into the week making sure I have two pumpkin pies made for dessert at brother Stephen's house and two desserts ready for our feast at Bushia's (hubby's side) house...it's nice to know there is STILL so much to be thankful for in the seemingly ordinary--if I just take the time to breathe in and acknowledge my surroundings. +

HUG (by Diane Ghallager)

 (Guest Blogger Wednesday :)   My 1 yr old’s favorite book right now (thank you Aunt Chris!) is titled “Hug” – and that is the only word in the entire book.  It is an endearing story told mostly through illustrations about a little monkey named Bobo who watches the other jungle babies hugging their Mommies but can’t find his.  You can imagine his joy when he is reunited with his mother at the end.  A very simple yet real message.  We all need hugs and affection, probably more than lots of words.  I am not a big hugger by nature.  I have deep feelings for people but am not always comfortable expressing it externally.  That coupled with the craziness of life sometimes inhibits me from reaching out to my husband, children, family and friends in this physical display of affection.  Fortunately, my kids take after their Dad and are big snugglers.  I am so often in business mode and focus more on logistics when I am interacting with people instead of physically reaching out.  This may sound completely pathetic to some of you more touchy/feely types, but I have to sometimes mentally remind myself to hug my older children before I run out the door or stop my dinner prep to go greet my husband.  I will admit, my hugs come more naturally with my little ones who are so cuddly.  Though it is not my strong suit, I do believe in the importance of hugs and think they can often be the best medicine… and worth a thousand words.  After a recent Diocesan football championship game (we lost by 1 pt!), there was a poignant moment when the starting quarterback for our team walked over to his mother on the sidelines and simply hugged her.  I don’t know if words were exchanged, but they didn’t need to be.  He was deflated, and she comforted him with the best remedy a mother can offer… a hug. 

I wonder if this is why some people can find it more challenging to develop a more personal relationship with Jesus.  We like to hug flesh and blood which we cannot do with God in the ways we humans know and appreciate best.  Yes, we know He loves us.  He sends us signs and answers our prayers.  He speaks to us through others, and we receive Him in the Eucharist, but we can’t literally hug Him like we can those among us on earth.  My pastor encourages us after we receive communion to close our eyes and allow Jesus to hug us.  He does this at every Mass.  As a result, I try to do this with my kids – I ask them to sit and close their eyes and imagine Jesus hugging them.  With my 3 yr old, I will even take her upon my lap and suggest that she pretend I am Jesus who is hugging her…to help make it real and tangible and comforting.  I need to be able to hug Jesus, not talk at Him or complain or ask or thank.  Just hug.  And I need to allow Jesus to hug others through me, not just my 3 yr old sitting on my lap after communion.  Big, tough football players need hugs and little monkeys like the one in Elly’s favorite book do too.  Simple act and simple message with big results.  Just hug. :)

"HOLLAAA" FOR MOMS IN PICTURES!

  Susan is back!

  Hollaaa!  --slang for Holler...which is slang for "That's what I'm talkin bout!" ...which is the old "I know, right?  All of these statements represent the whole idea of a SHOUT OUT!  And for those of you who are still utilizing your ninth grade grammar books to comprise your English vocabulary...I don't know if I can help you...(now you're thinkin' WHATEV....which used to be Whatever!  See, I'm trying to be compassionate here.) 

  In the words of my two-year-old, "Mama, I was cryin' for you!"  And in similar words of my five-year-old "Where have you been, Mama?" 

  My answer---I honestly don't know.  I think somewhere between baby number one and baby number seven I spread myself too thin but refused to let go--Thank the good Lord!  These sentiments are coming from last nights experience of looking at past photos with my ten-year-old, eight-year-old, and five-year-old.  Of course their stall tactics of happening upon their manila folders of themselves worked.  How could I possibly resist the crooning of "Oh, look how chubby I was"?  It was much more darling coming from my son viewing himself as a baby than if I were reflecting on my ample figure after giving birth to said baby.  Laughing to myself at the innocent pleasure of viewing his roly-poly arms and dimpled smiles, I began to notice how few photos held my image.  I knew full-well the lack of my full-bodied existence was intentional--on my prideful part.  But as my son held up one professional picture wherein I was lifting him up and smiling an open-mouthed grin of selfless joy while I peered into his baby face he giggled and uttered, "Aaaaaaw!" 

  That said it all.

  He was seeing his Mama hold and love him.  He did not see the roundish arms that I could clearly recall being self-conscious about during the photographic sitting.  My eight-year old's eyes scanned the photo and his grin was evidence that he was taking in every single detail as his five-year-old brother was pouting aloud, "where are my baby pictures like that?"  That's a whole other story...

  I just read another mother's article about "staying in the picture" and tears rolled down my cheeks as I related to her words and emotions about embarrassment over unkempt hair and drooled on shirts that led to a desire to stay out of pictures in favor of letting the "cuter subjects" be photographed.  How ironic to look at these photos last evening and then have this mother, unknown to me,  reach across cyber space to affirm the importance of allowing our Love to be photographed throughout the years.

  Like slang, which has the ability to morph overnight, our bodies, as mothers,  can dramatically shape-shift over the years-- perhaps this is our superhero "gift".  Superman flew, Spiderman shot web and slung himself from towering heights, and  Batman--well, he had a cool car and an awesome toolbelt (Wham!).  A mother's body can stretch to accomodate a new human life and "pillow" that young life with a soft and curvy comfort to soothe away hunger, scrapes, and hurt feelings.  I know there are other female superheros out there...though currentlyt I can only envision Wonder Woman in her tight corset and high-heeled boots..."WHATEV.."!  I didn't have a cape on in the photo when I held up my son and smiled my love into his sweetie, kissy, lubby baby face...but I did have my Mama heart pinned on my sleeve...and all was good in his world as he viewed that seven-years later.  His mama loved him then, loves him still.  I think I'll go find my daughter and kiss her in front of the camera in all my mismatched sock, frizzy-haired glory--I know, right?!?

You Can't Always Get What You Want (by Diane Gallagher)

 (Guest Blogger Wednesday :) I want to get a massage.  I need to get my hair cut.  Both require money (in varying amounts), babysitting arrangements and planning (pitiful to say that it takes planning for me to get my haircut, but that is my reality) but the former is something I can live without while the latter is a necessity for me. These are obvious examples, but sometimes it can be a little trickier to distinguish between a want and a need.  I remember a friend of mine from years gone by who used to challenge me if I would use the word “need” incorrectly. “I NEED to go shopping for a new bathing suit.”  He would reply, “You NEED a new bathing suit?  Or do you WANT one?”  Needless to say, that would annoy the heck out of me sometimes, but it did make me stop and think.  I would like to do a better job for myself and my children in distinguishing between the two on a daily basis … And maybe only fulfilling the wants when it is peaceful, financially and physically.  If we refer to the tried and true “Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs,” we all know what it is we really need:  food, shelter, security, love.  Not a ski club membership, splash lagoon birthday party, or an ipod touch.  It is a wonderful perk when we can give our children something that they want beyond what they need, but it can actually be a helpful tool in growing up to be told “no” and learn how to accept it gracefully.  I detest saying “no” to my kids when it is something I know they really want. Not a strong suit of mine.  I will admit, however, that when I do find I have to deny them, you may hear me singing the refrain to “You Can’t Always Get What You Want” while they are whining about the unfairness of life or how depressed they are.  Like I have reiterated in past blogs, the best I can do is try to pray that God will help me to know when prudence and denial are the answer or when a “want” can be fulfilled.  My husband has a tendency to respond with a quick “no” while I swing to the other side of the pendulum with a hearty “yes”… and then we find the right answer (I hope) somewhere in between.

As I mentioned above, I sometimes have a similar struggle in determining my personal wants and needs, not just those of my children.   What do I need each day and what do I want?  The other afternoon, I had an hour before children came home from school and my two “babies” at home were sleeping.  AWWWW …. What to do during this time of peace and quiet?  I could play “Words with Friends”, exercise, do laundry,  start calling room parents (one of my new PTO duties) OR make dinner.  Bummer.  I have to make dinner.  That is what absolutely has to happen right now.  That fulfills a need for my family.  It is not fun.  I can even get irritated that this is how I have to spend my quiet time when there are so many alternatives.  But by doing this mundane task now, I will be better prepared to enter into homework, football preparation, and taxiing my children around this evening, knowing we have a substantial meal at home (that they can scarf down and complain about) in between.  God is so good at meeting my needs as well, but not always my wants.  My youngest was napping and I was making meatballs (a different scenario from aforementioned one).  I muttered under my breath that I hoped Elly slept until I was done because my hands were covered in raw hamburger, and I wanted to get the meatballs cooking. As soon as I finished, I began the arduous task of cleaning up the kitchen when I heard the baby begin to cry.  One of my sons was in the kitchen with me.  When I sighed and said, “I wanted to get these dishes washed before she woke,” he smirked and said “Mom, you can’t always get what you want.  But you got what you needed.”  He was right.  Dinner was cooking on the stove.  Yes, the kitchen was not cleaned but it didn’t need to be…. yet.  All in good time.  All in God’s time.  I do believe He cares about the little things.  I am not saying He reaches down and makes my baby sleep longer or wake up early just to test me (though He can)… He does allow nature to take its course.  But I believe He might nudge me to make a choice or perform a task that He knows would be most peaceful for my family and myself if I allow Him to be part of my daily life.  And I definitely believe that He gives me just what I need whether it is a sleeping baby or the grace to accept disruptions.  The Israelites got manna in the desert though they probably would have preferred a gourmet lamb. My kids want a trip to Disney but just might have to accept a week of camping in Cook Forest.  No, we can’t always get what we want.  Thank goodness. 

TRIUMPH (The book formerly known as Great Is Thy Faithfulness)

  Wanted to address the name change of my book.  The title: formerly, Great Is Thy Faithfulness, is now Triumph (play on the Tri from Trisomy 18). 

  What an amazing journey this writing and publishing process has been.  I feel I've metamorphosed from a woman viewing the world from my broken hearted perch...waaay up in the trees somewhere to a woman fully engaged in getting the story right while interacting with humanity again.  I am not only desiring the transition from my place of brokenness to the healed heart offering learned insights,  I am actively involved---holding a blazing torch these days.  My goal is to ignite an understanding that HOPE can be found in the seemingly darkest moments if there is a will to seek a greater meaning...and there is much to be gained from the pain that was formerly paralyzing.

 The update on this whole process:  I've met, fell in love with, and accepted the cover design!!  So excited for the big reveal (stay tuned)!  The guts of the book are in the very capable hands of the page-layout designer.  She had been waiting very patiently while amazing folk were at work editing and re-editing, and re-editing, and then re-editi..on and on---the good news is the FINAL edit has been received and accepted.  This is PROGRESS, people!  Totally rejoicing over here..invite you to do the same.  I will let you know the status of TRIUMPH as further progress is made!

Thanks for all the prayers---Please keep 'em coming! 

Football and Family (by Diane Gallagher)

(Guest Blogger Wednesday:) In the Gallagher house, Fall means football (participating, watching and Fantasy leagues), closing the pool, a return to homework, raking leaves, picking apples, Octoberfest at St. Joseph’s, cross country and Halloween.  As we near summer’s official end and prepare for one of my favorite seasons, I look at my calendar and shudder…not just from the cooler temperatures.  Our schedule is insane (I know many of you can relate).  Even though we only allow the kids to be in one organized event at a time, we still have 7 children.  Take my word for it – it adds up to many games, practices, rehearsals, lessons and functions.  I have heard experienced parents express that they feel like a taxi or bus, but I can officially declare the same sentiment for the first time.  My husband and I can truly be like ships passing in the night.  Where are we supposed to find family time in the midst of all this craziness?  In our house, it demands a lot of give and take AND a little creativity.

My boys and husband are big football fans.  As a result, a couple of years ago they all participated in a fantasy football league which has now expanded into a lively group composed of good friends and even myself!  I was hesitant to take a team, but my husband encouraged me to, and I have been pleasantly surprised.   It has become a bonding experience with my boys as we conduct the draft together (they give their uneducated mother some helpful hints) and then have to set our teams each week.  More often than not, one of my boys is sitting at the computer asking me who I want to put into the lineup each week while I wash dishes or sweep the kitchen floor.  Prior to my participation in Fantasy Football, I would not have surmised that this activity would be in my future, but I am glad I was willing to put aside my own ideas of how I would like to spend family time and be open to new adventures.  My girls, on the other hand, are not interested in football in the least bit unless it involves attending a game where they can play with friends and dine at the concession stand.  To foster their excitement in the sport, we planned a little party for just our family on Sunday.  The girls helped me prepare a smorgasbord of processed, unhealthy appetizers for the afternoon that they then served to the “men” who were glued to the TV screen.  Once all appetites were satiated, the girls’ excitement wore off and we had to resort to a game of Life until the end of the Brown’s game… but it was a nice family moment until then.  I admit that we have not been faithful to conducting family nights on a weekly or even biweekly basis….and our monthly events are not on any set schedule.  We can sometimes feel like failures in this area when we witness those families who are more disciplined.  But we do attempt to have dinner as a family whenever possible, attend Sunday Mass as a unit and try to find some events that all members enjoy on various levels like our Fantasy Football League and football party.  The boys will make their compromise when we all (sans the little ones) attend Les Miserables at the Playhouse in a couple weeks or when we go apple picking and can our apple sauce sometime in October.   Believe me, they will complain and say they do not want to participate, but I assert with 90% certainty that they will enjoy it and be grateful for these memories in the years to come.  When we are willing to compromise and be creative as a family, all sorts of new possibilities arise -- through football or the French Revolution. :)   

It Takes A Village (by Diane Gallagher)

(Guest Blogger Wednesday :)  In writing these reflections each week,  I take you with me on my journey of life which largely focuses on family and parenting these days. Today, I could not resist following up on a story from a previous blog. If you recall, I shared about my desire for my eldest son to develop an interest in Christian music.  I had scoured iTunes with him, sent him with my husband to a Christian music festival called Creation, and purchased some CDs all to wet his appetite.  Unfortunately, for as much as he enjoyed the festival and attempted to be open, he was not discovering a group or style that satisfied his musical tastes.  You can imagine my delight when he came home from school yesterday and excitedly told me to come to the computer with him.  He logged into YouTube and played a song for me called “God is Enough” by Lecrae.  He admitted that he was even considering downloading the song to his iPod.  I actually got choked up as I listened ... not because the song moved me to that extent but because God had reached out to my son in His own way and time.  And He did this through someone other than my husband or myself.  Ok, this might sound a bit extreme.  After all, it was just one song.  I am not saying Joseph went through a major conversion or anything that dramatic, but it was a good reminder for me that Joe is not just my son, but that he is even more importantly God’s son.  While I think that I have to be the one to influence my children in every area, I realized (once again) that it takes a village to raise a child.  Yes, my husband and I are going to play a big part in that, but God will use different people and situations as well to feed and form their souls.  I am so grateful to my son’s religion teacher who shared this song in class, and I am going to be sure to let her know that. 

Another reminder of this village concept occurred last week when my second oldest quoted something that his youth minister had said at a gathering the week before.  Not only did this assure me that he was listening but that he would actually apply what was said.   I can also remember times my children have mentioned the homily from their school Mass, a lesson from Vacation Bible School or a little gem they heard from their Grandparents.  This can be scary if our children are under the wrong influence, but when we are putting them in good hands, it is reassuring to know that we are not in this alone.  It is actually a great comfort for me as I continue to battle my inadequacies as a parent and recognize my limits and humanness.  As I have said before, I am more aware of my sinfulness now, as a parent, than ever before (that is if you overlook that period of time in high school and college when I went a little astray:) It is so good to be reminded that my children’s future is not just in my hands.  What a relief!  I do not mean to let parents off the hook here, but merely to provide some encouragement.  Whether it is through a religion teacher, a coach, a song or an experience, God will reach out to our children in His time.  The one thing I have been successful at in my parenting is continuing to pray for my children.  I might not do it as much as I want, but I attempt to lift each one of them up to God every day… praying for a litany of things including their teachers, their friends and anyone they encounter.   And always, always asking the Lord to have mercy on me when I fail in my parenting, and to make up (whatever I am not giving them that they need) where I lack.  I must be diligent in paying attention to whom my children are encountering on a daily basis, but then I pray and allow God to complete the mighty work He is doing in each of them, which will continue until the day they die.  A heartfelt thanks goes out to each of you reading this who have contributed to my children’s formation… by your words, your example and your interactions with them.  Be assured that I will do my best to “raise” your children as well.  Thank you, my village!

Dust Bunnies??? You Got Nothin' on Me...

My husband is a contractor.  We gutted our current house WHILE we moved into it (still shuddering).  This was five years ago and we are still under construction.  Therefore it shouldn't surprise anyone that a dumpster appeared in our driveway six days ago and our kitchen disappeared from our home two days ago.  Well, most of it...there IS still a bit of ceiling and lathe and horsehair plaster waiting patiently to make their swan-dive into said dumpster.

  While my cupboards are gone and my dishes have been relocated to the dining room buffet...my dining room table is GROANING, "Why me???"  Because this poor, piled piece of furniture has taken the brunt of kitchen utensil refugees needing to be re-settled.  I feel like defending the state of my home by asking "Doesn't everybody have to step over a toaster oven on the way to the bathroom?" but that's just silly...I do really think the Tupperware shoved into the black soup pot does kind of make the desk "POP." Brings out the lustrous shine of oak patina...maybe I'm on to something...or not.

  Yesterday,our hometown's humidity was heavy enough to make even the anti-winter die-hards pray for a blizzard.  Stress doesn't begin to label the "irritable, grouchy, heavy-sweating, over-crowded dining and living rooms, no kitchen, can't find the stupid toaster-oven" mood that had covered our "haven."  My husband, Steve, and I had just finished an uncharacteristic "snarky" loud exchange (in front of kids...I know-so ashamed) before I walked out on the porch to escape with my morning breakfast of oatmeal, coffee, and a book.  I crossed to the patio table thankful to have a fenced in yard so I didn't have to do an army-man-crawl to avoid the neighbors catching glimpse of my pink nightie at 11a.m.  Everyone that knows me well, knows that I do not operate well in extreme heat.  Add humidity to the heat and we have an emotional "Perfect Storm."  I was grumbling about Steve going dove hunting with the boys while we were surrounded by demolition fall-out so I didn't hear the first high-pitched "Hellllllooooooo" that accompanied an unfamiliar silver car pulling in the driveway.  I was the epitome of the deer in headlights.  I know I've mentioned our 15 passenger blue van in previous posts...well, I wanted to hug or dive for cover behind it for the dignity it would save while the silver car did a turn around then kept moving.  I prayed this friendly lost soul would just need directions for a destination unknown.  I was caught...I was a glistening, red-faced, jammie cladden woman escaping a war zone.  I had been spotted...but I could still justify throwing my oatmeal and scurrying back inside to get Steve to deal with this.  With my hand on the door handle I heard the unmistakable voice of my mother..."Helllooooooo Suuusie!  Do you have tea?"  Uh..I stammered.  We..my..ther... "Mom, is that you?" was all I could manage to the woman hanging with waving arms out of the passenger door.  Kids appeared from the lathe and plaster destruction inside to yell, "Gramma's here!"

  I disappeared inside for a moment then returned with a feeble hello and an explanation we had just ripped our kitchen out...so our house wasn't exactly presentable.  I instantly felt bad that my mother and her friend from church looked uncomfortable...though maybe the look was about my paisley green and blue robe I had ran for while kids circled Gramma.  There was a bit of chit chat while they suggested I stand in the shade from the large van.  Hmmm, was my glistening forehead that apparent...or maybe it was the scent of an overheated woman about to go over the edge??  She's gonna blooow....like a hot potato that hasn't been pierced with a fork to let the steam out.  My mother and her friend were wonderfully kind in their desire to put me at ease and after all, they had no idea what space I had been in.

  Either way...they didn't stay long...and I managed to eat my oatmeal without grossing myself out to much worrying about if a fly had landed on it. As I ate my "brunch" I thought of how Mother Teresa had visited a woman's hut of a home.  The woman was all smiles as she welcomed her guest into her dirt floored abode.  Mother Teresa learned from that and shared that we never have to apologize for our house..it is our home!  I can't imagine what I would have done if Mother Teresa had pulled in my driveway yesterday morning (besides for obvious reasons) but my own mother arriving unannounced with a guest was enough of a challenge.  I suppose it's a lesson for me to remember it's all about the smile that welcomes...not the house. I went back in the house and joined the social media avenue of apologizing to Steve- via texts- kinda fun without the emotional drama...we were able to be silly with each other (smiley faces can work magic). 

  Today, I'm sitting in my home..not a whole lot has changed...humidity still has me sweating...but there is a Peace, that might have a little to do with six children being in school, but mostly due to accepting that this too shall pass...and double bonus: I get to make you feel VERY GOOD about the state of your own home!!

GLAMOUR-ish...

  I've learned a thing or two about style and chic "expression of self" with clothing.  Pretty much that thing or two I've learned boils down to one fact: that style and chic-ness have no place in my current lifestyle.  Now wait, all of you jumping to the conclusion that I'm a fan of the "letting myself go" ensemble---this simply is not so.  I have merely learned that as a mother of seven it is, ummmmm...impractical shall we say, to shop with a mother of one child who is over the age of seven and listen to her advice on what is "cute and sassy."

  One example of my sister's (did I just nark on her?...oh YES I DID!) fashionista advice is when she held up a royal purple (jewel tones were ALL the rage of the season) tank top with GLAMOUR emblazoned across the chest in rhinestones.  "Oh Sus," she gushed, "this is soooo cute!  You could totally dress this up or wear it casual.  You have to get this!"  I could see the red-carpet version of me sashaying up to all of my Cosmopolitan friends (other Mom's with humongous vans and enormous grocery lists) in this sparkly top.  Yes!  This jewel of a shirt was created for me...I must own this glamorous tank!  And so I did.  Yes sir, I whipped out my credit card and purchased my very own slice of Vogue!  I am woman...hear me roar...or at least watch me glitter!

  One month and a few errant attempts at dressing up my high-fashion tank later, I was sitting on our back deck while wearing my precious purchase in the high noon sun.  I was sweltering in the summer heat while watching my kids ride bikes, run their Popsicle sugar-high off , and have no-nap melt-downs (Warning: this type of melt-down is enough to make a grown man cry...ask my husband .)  I could feel the perspiration beading on my nose while my bangs had slowly become plastered to my forehead.  I was irritable, tired from chasing children and putting out argumentative fires.  I hung my head to shield my face from the cruel solar-rays unhindered by my shadeless yard.  It must have been the 100 watt glare of reflected sunshine off my classy rhinestones that drew my attention to the irony of my un-ironed shirt...GLAMOUR.  My shoulders slumped and then slowly began to shake from my laughter as I thought, "Oh yeah baby- I'm livin' the high life!  Especially with that particular smattering of baby food on my midsection:
 I  WAS:  G L A M O U R O U S!!!"

  I went in and changed my shirt and thought "That does it!  It is time to trust myself.  I will no longer listen to the voice that tells me a Hawaiian print tankini is a good fit for my annual Cook Forest tube down the river!"  I probably should have had the foresight to guess that I would be catapulted from my tube by a rapid which would have the tankini (which should have been a TANK-MUMU!) top exposing my  midsection, which is never pretty when bordered by Hawaii's tropical flowers in bright reds with puce colored leaves...I know...I should have known.  No, I will not bow to the pressure that black patent-leather shoes with three inch heels and chains across the top are not only fashionable to wear at the mall, but will also be a good staple for "nights out."  I truly felt my toes were being stabbed by staples during one date night...which tragically ended up with hubby and I strolling the local aisles at Wegman's grocery market...eventually with me in my bare feet.  And who wants to wear heels while pushing a double stroller and wearing a baby in a sling? Not me...not anymore.

  Sorry, sis, I can no longer deny my favorite athletic shoe aisle.  I won't cower in shame when you leap out from behind the track-suit rack and shout, "A-ha!"  I WILL own my non-Cosmo, must-be-comfy, stretchy due to the slightest bit of spandex, cotton fabric with a powerful sigh of relief!  And maybe...just maybe...I will slip that Glamour tank on under my sweatshirt just to remember what was...and giggle at the contrast to what has become of my life-STYLE ;)
 

Peace In the Chaos (by Diane Gallagher)

Guest Blogger Wednesday. :) Baby is napping.  3 yr. old home from first day of preschool and watching Leap Frog.  It is quiet.  Wow!  I have not experienced this sensation at 1:40 pm in 3 months!  I must admit that I like it!  Don’t get me wrong:  I love my kids, and they each make me smile in different ways (and they each can make me crazy in different ways, too), but the chaos gets to me after a while.  Friends in and out the door, constant questions being asked or injuries being tended to.  Dirty clothes lying  on top of food wrappers, empty plates and cups (and some not so empty). Football games in the front yard and swim parties in the back.  Waldameer, the Zoo, the beach, family vacations, sleepovers and camp outs.  Extended family reunions and tennis lessons. Vacation Bible Schools, cookouts, Camp Notre Dame.  Soccer games (lots of them) , trips to the park and trips to Nana’s or Papa’s in Cleveland.  Ok, just writing all of that makes me feel a little better about the level of exhaustion my husband and I are both experiencing going into the school year.  Time to take a deep breath.  And so I find myself saying….”what next?”  I almost feel guilty that I don’t have a big agenda today.  My house is a big, post-summer disaster.  My laundry piles are the biggest they have ever been.  My grocery list is getting longer.  And I am sitting in my house writing my blog and enjoying the peace.  My big plan for today is washing my boys’ muddy football uniforms and making cookies for a nice after school treat in honor of their first day.  I guess I will make some dinner, too.  While I can feel guilty about not getting more done today, I know that it is good for me to slow down once in a while. 

My husband and I just had a lengthy conversation last night about what we can do to achieve more peace in our daily lives.  We have had many of these discussions over the past 14 years and don’t often see much change, but darn it, we will keep trying.  One concrete initiative we are making is to designate Wednesday evenings as our personal days.  We are going to take turns having time for whatever we want.  On my weeks, I can go grocery shopping, have coffee with friends, or go on a walk.  It is my choice, and I will not feel guilty about leaving.  Likewise, Jim will have the alternating weeks to do what he wants, guilt-free.  We are both craving quiet and peace… things that are not running rampant in the Gallagher household.  Having 7 kids, we need to accept the fact that quiet and peace are not going to be common at this stage in our life, but that doesn’t mean we can’t try to give each other little snippets of this now and then.  I need to get back into my early morning routine of waking before the kids and taking some quiet time with God and my cup of coffee.  Those quiet moments before the kids arise are so important to my sanity for the day. 

Both of these efforts in finding peace are helpful, but I realize that what I also need to be better at is finding peace “in the chaos,” to quote a good friend of mine with 6 kids herself.  So often, I think I need to make changes or find time for myself … “and then I will be more peaceful.”  Yeah, that’s good and nice if I can get out twice a month, but wouldn’t it be even better if I could figure out how to bring peace right into the here and now?  Not just at 6 am or every other Wednesday?  My spiritual director has reminded that to have internal peace inside does not mean that everything is peaceful around me.  Taking deep breaths, muttering Hail Mary’s at a moment I might explode, turning on the music (see last week’s blog), taking the kids for a walk, tickling the ivories just for fun (that’s playing piano for those of you not in tune with musical jargon;), attending daily Mass,.  Peace is something we certainly all desire … in our hearts, in our families, in our world.  The more I can achieve internal peace, the better I will handle the turmoil around me.  Wouldn’t it be great if I could actually bring peace to those around me instead of contributing to the commotion with my high-spirited yelling and intense reactions.?  If I truly want our family to have a more peaceful home, I need to work on myself first… and hope that will have a ripple effect.  Yes, another character flaw to work on.  In the meantime, I think I will enjoy my final moments of external peace before the bus empties and my rambunctious students pour through the door with their overflowing folders, big appetites, busy agendas and eager expectations.  I will have that cup of coffee and pray that Hail Mary…. and be ready to be the most peaceful Mom on the bus route.  Here’s to a great… and peaceful… school year!

Blessed Relief

The humidity was oppressive.  My clothing felt heavy and damp with perspiration.  Every inch of my hair was pulled back with elastic and bobby pin but even those attempts to stop the beads of sweat covering my forehead were weak at best.  My sole companion of the blistering weekend was a spry Sister of Mercy in her seventies.  She wore a veil, blouse, and skirt without the hint of a grimace as she led me in conversation and meditations to ponder during our times apart.  One highlight of our time together keeps returning to my mind: we were walking through one of the rooms in the Mercy mother house when an unexpected breeze came through the open screened doors.  "Oh Blessed relief!" was Sister's simple comment.  This phrase accompanied my gasp of delight and pretty much summed up the short-lived removal of our moisture-laden circumstance.  I don't even think Sister was aware she uttered the words...maybe she was.

  That day was a few weeks ago and that very moment comes to my mind now as I struggle with an inability to fall back asleep...yes, note the time of 5:15...awake since 3:20 a.m.  I first tossed and turned trying to return to that unencumbered state of sleep.  Then I simply lay and stared at the shadows made by the ceiling fan on the ceiling.  "What are these?" I asked of the slow rambling incoherent rivers coursing through my mind.  "These are your thoughts," I answered "let me introduce you to them."  It was then I was reminded of the "Blessed relief" moment.  There I lay in complete silence able to hear and explore thoughts as they burst then faded and dimmed into my consciousness- "Oh blessed relief!"  This was a stark contrast from a snapshot minute in our home earlier this evening: my 11-year-old daughter changing her two-year-old sister's diaper asking "did you lick your hand, why did you lick your hand?"  while our 10-year-old daughter tapped danced on a sheet of bubble wrap to the music of our five-year-old and eight-year-old sons disagreement on whose lacrosse stick was stronger, my husband was vocally searching for his new reading glasses that he had JUST bought and lay down RIGHT THERE!, while our 12-year old son continued to adjust to his new medication and moaned and whimpered for the "sicky bucket" (poor kid...I hate nausea too.) 

  As I pondered this contrast between the lively exchanges and the current state of our homes stillness, a breeze rustled through the window eye-level to the head of my bed.  I merely had to roll over and look out the window to witness the tranquility of the trickling waterfall-pond my husband created to be heard where I lay.  There was a gentleness to the soft brass wind chimes that occasionally rang while the breeze lifted the monstrous leaves of the sunflower plants which had surprised us with their stalky height where they sprouted up around of our water feature...good pond water I guess.  I figure you'll think I'm making up the fact that the solar flowers placed amidst the beach wood and river rocks were still doing their own lighted glow-dim-fade dance...but I'm not.  I couldn't stand the beauty of the moment without being able to share it---so I slipped from my bed to write and share it with you.  And now after type-type-typing, "yaaaaawn," I am tired again and ready to fall back asleep---"Oh Blessed relief!"

The Power of Music (by Diane Gallagher)

Guest Blogger Wednesday. :)

“Dearly Beloved, We are gathered here today to get through this thing called life.  Electric word, life.  It means forever, and that’s a mighty long time.”  So began the words of my brother’s homily at the wedding of our other brother.  Only the Prince fans in the congregation knew what the heck was happening.  The others just thought that Fr. Rich had completely lost it, especially when he loudly proclaimed, “and if de elevator tries to bring you down, go crazy – punch a higher floor.” Rich was making a connection between the marriage ceremony and my brother Jim’s fondness for Prince during his high school years.  It was a fun connection and certainly grabbed all of our attention.  Music has a way of doing that.  It stirs emotions, sparks memories, forms bonds, communicates ideas.   I have always been affected by music.  From my earliest days as a piano student to my junior high years in youth theater and my young adult attempts at leading music at Mass with my husband.  My tastes have spanned from Broadway Hits to Bobby Darrin, Loverboy to Billy Joel, Andrea Bocelli to Jason Mraz, and Newsboys to Toby Mac.  I have cried with my high school classmates at Prom while singing “The Greatest Love of All,” laughed to my husband and his good friend’s rendition of “If I Had a Million Dollars,” jumped and jammed to “Shine” with my fellow Net teammates (my ND friends could tell you about some other tunes by Modern English or the B52s that sure made me dance).  Just writing this brings a smile to my face. 

Why the sudden interest in music? The other day I was having one of my pity parties at the washing machine – feeling exhausted, overwhelmed, unheard, out of control.  I was carrying my iPhone with me after my workout and decided to continue to let the music play while I went on with my daily routine.  There I was, pouring my detergent, and “Pie Jesu”(pronounced “pee ay yay zoo”) by Sarah Brightman began to play.  This song gives me the chills from head to toe.  We’ve been going through some challenging transitions lately that have resulted in some bottled up emotions.  The haunting melody and powerful message of that song spoke to my soul and the cork came off.  I cried my eyes out – and it felt so good.  Therapeutic, really.  I continued to listen to my mix of secular and Christian hits and found myself smiling, tapping my feet…and in one of the best moods I had experienced in quite some time.  It dawned on me that I needed to make the effort to bring music into my life on a more regular basis.  Heck, it sure helped the bitter Captain Von Trapp in the Sound of Music (not so much, The Phantom “of the Opera”).  God has given us so many different ways of expressing ourselves and finding beauty.  St. Augustine says that “singing is praying twice.”  Powerful stuff.  I often don’t take the time to turn on the iPod or CD player and let the music work its magic.  It can do wonders for my grumpy soul.  It lifts me up, helps me commune with God, motivates me in my workouts and facilitates memorable family moments dancing in our kitchen, gathering around the bonfire, or lulling our babies to sleep.  I feel like God gave me a gentle reminder the other day of the ways He can comfort me and connect with me through music.  I am so grateful for that gift.  So don’t be surprised if you see me cruising the neighborhood in our 12 passenger van with the windows wide open and some heavy bass or opera pouring out.  It just means I probably heard one too many “Moooooooom”s that day or my toddler got silly putty on my new capris.  Sometimes I just need to turn up the volume and “go crazy!” (Though Prince would not be the artist of choice I would be listening to these days. :)

I'm Meeeelltiiing!

Yep...the very observant words of the Wicked Witch on The Wizard of Oz signaled her collapse under the powers of H2O.  I'm more than a little curious why my five year old son couldn't be that concise during his most recent "melt-down" at Waldameer (local amusement park) today.  "I'm hot," followed by thrashing and pulling on the stroller which caused me to feel a few beads of sweat of my own were his words of choice during one stressful wait for a ride.  Then there was the "I waaant to plaaaay the dart game," which would have been my cue to signal the flying monkeys to carry him off as he kicked at my leg and tugged at my shirt.  But, truly I was so busy avoiding any possible eye contact with the overcrowded population circling the Steel Dragon I probably would have mixed up my primate language and ended up with King Kong...and I was way to cranky to be hoisted up the Empire State building anyway...

  Today was our parish picnic at the park and though I should have found comfort in the throngs of people being "cut of the same cloth" I found the thought of being "in the spotlight" to be a little overwhelming as my son challenged my every directive.  So, I guess this is me taking to the "electronic pen" to explain my son---and myself.  We have recently received the second diagnosis of Autism disorder within the ranks of our seven children.  There may be more coming.  We've been hot on the trail of what has been causing so much discord within our home.  Let me be clear that both of our children who hold this diagnosis are VERY high functioning so that to the unaware eye they would appear as a bratty, mean spirited child.  The reality I'm discovering is that autistic children often do not have the tools to communicate what is bothering them so they react in unexpected ways to get the message across they are not happy, comfortable, feeling secure, etc.  Though I'm ecstatic that my kids appear "normal" there is little about them to signal the WHY behind the tantrums, panic, screams, or fits of rage.  Shoot, I gave birth to and lived with my boys for years without understanding this, being completely baffled by their responses- so I get it.  I am just a little at a loss on how I should behave when I'm feeling a bit judged or my children are misunderstood.  I refuse to label them---though a huge white sign on the back just might have people nodding their heads and saying "Ahaa- that explains it."  There is still much I need to learn to survive these years while my family and I educate ourselves... but in the meantime- please- if you see a parent interacting with/or ignoring a full-blown melt-down think twice before dousing with water (unless ruby slippers are involved) but perhaps do offer that nod of "I understand."  You just might be the sanity that brings Peace and saves the day...feel free to carry red cape with you!

Terrible Twos (by Diane Gallagher)

Guest Blogger Wednesday. :) My freshly-turned 3-year-old is going through a delayed version of the terrible twos.  It’s possible that these frequent meltdowns can be partially attributed to the fact that we took her pacifier away at the beginning of the summer so she no longer has her instant calming aid to take the edge off.  Or it might just be her feisty personality which isn’t so very different from her Mommy’s and Daddy’s.  Whatever the case, it is exhausting me!  She gets upset about everything:  if her shorts are crooked or I select the wrong show on Netflix or I put the wrong floaty on her at the pool and so on and so on.  One never knows what will tip her over the edge.  As I slumped on the couch during her most recent tirade, I was struck by the fact that God must get so tired of MY constant tantrums. I get so easily annoyed, angry, frustrated or stressed out.  I was watching the movie Crash for the second time (thought-provoking movie…well done) and found myself relating to Sandra Bullock’s character when she was admitting to her friend that she is always angry at someone or something. 

My husband laughs at me when I get angry because I mutter under my breath as I am chucking laundry into the washing machine or slamming silverware into the dishwasher.  Just like my 3-year- old, one never knows what will set me off:  ungrateful kids, a messy room, a classmate who makes fun of my child, a coach who doesn’t tap into my child’s potential, a family member with different standards of disciplining, a neighbor who wants us to  move our basketball hoop, a teacher who gives too much homework, a priest who does not make me feel welcome, a TV station that shows inappropriate ads, a government that prohibits religious freedom, a husband who doesn’t unroll his shirt sleeves when he throws them in the hamper.  Oh, there are so very many things that have the potential to irritate me.  So I slosh my dishes and slam my washer and whine to no one in particular.  In fact, I try not to complain to others.  I know better than to spread the negative poison so I convince myself that my irritations are justified, and I am only verbalizing them to my husband or a friend/family member here and there.  No big deal.  Ohhhhh, but it is.  I am allowing these negative thoughts to take root. 

I remember hearing an analogy once about impure thoughts: they are like birds and we should just let them fly over our heads.  It’s only if we allow the bird to build a nest in our hair that the thoughts become a problem.  The same can be said for negativity.  When I get angry or annoyed and allow myself to stay that way, feeling quite justified, it’s like I am putting up a sign on my forehead that says “hey, bird, build your nest here!”  I need to start heeding the advice I so freely give my 3-year-old (and 9 yr. old and 12 yr. old):  “If you can’t say something nice, (or positive or edifying) don’t say anything at all.”  That’s one of my Dad’s gems.  Next time I have a tantrum, I should put myself in timeout.  No, that sounds too relaxing.  Maybe I should just lose a privilege.  Or keep it really basic and simply say a prayer…right then and there…for the irritating person or frustrating situation.  Give it to God and then move on.  Let the bird fly right over my head.  I would feel much lighter without all this negativity weighing me down…. And I would certainly smell better too.

From The Desire of Being Loved (by Diane Gallagher)

Guest Blogger Wednesday :)
Pride.  One of the Seven Deadly Sins.  Often the root of many other sins.  Also, one of the easiest temptations to succumb to.  I have always been a prideful person, I am embarrassed to admit.  Internally, that is.  My parents did an excellent job teaching us to not be outwardly prideful. “Don’t flaunt your grades.” “Don’t toot your own horn. If someone else does the tooting, be humble and gracious in your response.”  But I confess that while I am quick to admit my weaknesses and failure, I do find pleasure in the things I do well.  In the past, I would have prided myself in achieving good grades, having a lot of friends, or winning student government elections.  Now I tend to take pride in my commitment to mothering (notice I didn’t say ‘being a good mother’) or in the positive traits my children may exhibit.  Even writing this blog can become a prideful temptation.  Of course, in God’s great wisdom, parenting is also the source of greatest humility for me, as I tend to take it personally whenever one of my children behaves in a less than noble manner in a public setting (see previous blog re: kids climbing on the roof).  The bickering, meanness, disobedience or whininess can all be sources of frustration for my husband and I who are working so hard to raise them in a Godly manner.  Letting go and allowing them to experience growing pains, make poor choices and learn from their mistakes is a real challenge for this prideful mother. 

I also struggle with my pride when I am not given credit for something good I may have done, or on the flip side, am possibly thought ill of for something I did not do.  I worry far too much about what other people think.  One silly but real example occurred after my two littlest ones spent some time away at my in-laws.  They were so unselfish and compassionate to give this gift of babysitting, and at one point were excitedly sharing how they had taught my 1 yr. old to go backwards down the stairs.  This was a skill I had been working on with Elly in the weeks prior to the journey to Nana’s.  Instead of swallowing my pride and allowing my in-laws a tiny bit of pleasure in their accomplishment, I had to blurt out that I had already been teaching her to do this.  I was completely annoyed with myself as the words were spitting forth from my mouth.  Pride, pride, pride.  Small incidents but great opportunities for humility … or pride … to surface depending on how we handle it.  Of course, the ultimate irony is being victorious in a moment and not allowing pride to rear its ugly head, only to find myself feeling prideful that I was so humble!

The point is that I desire to be a humble person, doing what I am called to do without need for affirmation and acknowledgement.  Part of being truly humble also means recognizing my gifts and talents and thanking God for them.  My spiritual director recently gave me a prayer that I have not uttered for a long time titled “Litany of Humility.”  It includes such lines as “From the desire of being praised, deliver me Jesus…. That in the opinion of the world, others may increase and I may decrease.”  Difficult words to say let alone to really mean.  All I can do is try.  So I will embrace the moments when my boys are openly calling each other names and fighting in the front yard as a result of heated neighborhood football game or when my family doesn't notice my efforts to clean their rooms or unpack their suitcases.  God knows the good and the bad and loves me even when others may not.  That is ultimately all that matters.

Eucharist (by Diane Gallagher)

(Guest blogger Wednesday:) We just returned from a wonderful family vacation with my parents, most of my siblings, and their families in the breathtaking Smokey Mountains.  What a week – lots of giggles tubing down the river, lots of exercise hiking in the mountains and biking through the coves, lots of sights to behold from waterfalls to bears.  There was zip-lining and white water rafting, go carting and dance parties (an impromptu music fest in the basement of our 35 person house). So much fun was had, but if I was going to be perfectly honest, one of the activities that I enjoyed / appreciated / looked forward to the most each day was daily Mass on the deck overlooking the mountains celebrated by my brother, Fr. Rich Toohey. I think one of the reasons this was such a treasured gift for me is because I don’t get to daily Mass at home these days.  This used to be part of my regular routine when I was single and even in the early days of my marriage.  It became a bigger challenge when I first had babies, but I would still get there a couple times a week.  Now I am lucky if I attend the Friday school liturgies in addition to Sunday Mass.  My attempts to get there were causing stress and tension so I realized a couple years ago that it may not be the season for this.  But I miss it.  There is something about the simplicity of daily Mass that I love…the smaller crowds, the quiet.  Most importantly, I miss receiving the daily Eucharist that nourishes my weary soul. 

I turn to so many other things to refresh me or keep me centered including good, old fashioned prayer,  exercise, fellowship, coffee, “the Voice,”J , but I don’t prioritize the Eucharist on a more frequent basis any more because it has become too hard.  Whatever happened to the ole “no pain, no gain” mentality?  It applies for my physical AND spiritual well being.  Our Tennessee vacation reminded me of this truth.  Receiving the Eucharist is absolutely the closest I can be to Jesus.  The more I receive Him, the more I can become like Him – and heaven knows (and my family knows) I need this transformation. 

I remember a friend of mine sharing that he had been in a state of depression.  He was a tough guy who did not seem prone to tears, but he admitted that he would be sitting on his bed staring at the wall and sobbing.  He didn't know why.  I can’t remember how long he suffered in this way or how he came to the next step… I just remember what he finally did that helped him crawl out of this hole.  He began to attend daily Mass.  Now I am not suggesting that Mass is a good luck charm that will outwardly solve all of our problems.  I do realize, however, that only the Lord who created me can truly give my heart what it needs for true peace and joy.  St. Augustine asserted that “my heart is restless until it rests in God.”  Sure, a glass of wine can be a nice balm at the end of a stressful day and a challenging workout on the elliptical can relieve my physical stress but nothing will bring me the long lasting peace and strength that Jesus gives me in the Eucharist.  I NEED to make this a priority in my life again.  Hopefully, by making this public, I will feel more accountable and actually make this a reality.  Being a huge fan of the Olympics, I enjoyed watching an interview with Michael Phelps yesterday after he broke the record for the number of Olympic medals received.  The newsman was focusing on the fact that Phelps did not train as hard these past 4 years and was consequently not receiving all gold medals as he had done in the past.  This struck me as I reflected on the Eucharist in preparing this blog.  I say that I want to be a good and holy wife and mother…but I don’t want to put the effort into the things that will allow me to do this.   I am grateful my brother gave me the gift of the daily Eucharist last week, and I hope that I can have the dedication to my vocation as those Olympic athletes have to theirs…..and do whatever I need to do, primarily to receive the Eucharist as often as possible, so that I can be the wife and mother God has created me to be.  No pain, no gain.

Into the wee hours of the night...

  Crickets chirping, fireflies floating, full moons hanging low over silhouetted trees, bonfires, campfires, marshmallows on fire- (yup...like mine black), these are just some of the treasures of a summer night.

  This summer has seen my eldest son teaching himself to play the guitar (acoustic- but just bought an electric...with an amp).  I have no complaints there- actually it's AWESOME to have music permeating the house, porch, and even the side yard on occasion.  And what's really a bonus is that he's very good;)  And I don't think that's just the "Mama Love" talkin'.

  Yesterday, my son revealed the result of a bunch of wadded up paper balls littering his bedroom floor- his first COMPOSITION (that was actually written out and planned.)  I loved it!!  I had seen his sample titles and knew he was going for a "Summer" kind of feel...so I, being the good mother and lover of words, immediately began to string a few lines together.  I was halfway through my second rendition, trying to demonstrate how cool it was to sing about our recent vacation to Cook Forest, when he said, "Mom, don't waste your breath.  I'm not trying to be mean but have you noticed most of your songs are for old people.  They kinda sound like John Denver."  Well, he couldn't have paid me a better compliment.  "John Denver is a total inspiration to me!" I responded, thrilled he had picked up a similar vibe between Mr. D and me.  "Yeah, Mom- uh, I know- that's what I mean."

  Whatever... He thinks I write like John Denver!! 

  Ok, I am well aware the general population won't admit their absolute respect and admiration for Mr. Denver's lyrical genius- I can handle that.  I don't mind being brave in my proclamation that J.D. (God rest His soul) was AWESOME, uplifting, and created a peaceful haven that allowed the beauty of nature to inspire listeners.  And THAT my friends is the essence of simplicity: to experience beauty then write about it.  Let the music flow to give background to what inspired the words.  Or write words to express the beauty that flows out through the lilting chords- it's all good!

  Back to my opening paragraph about the crickets etc... the simple joys and sounds of summer have been a balm for my soul during my hiatus from this blog.  Sure there's the distinct chaotic "music" that echos from our windows letting the neighbors know summer is here--that music being the bellows resembling a tuba, followed by loud clashes that could nearly sound like cymbals...yes, my children are not in school.  Yet, all symphonies need their orchestra Maestro.  And that being me- I've decided to treat that position with prestige.  Time to plan trips to the local nature center, bike rides through the park, lounging at the pool, and watermelon feasts to treat the sweet tooth.  I've been reconnecting with what my family needs- FUN!  And even as I'm writing into the wee hours of the night here...with the hum of the dishwasher vying for a seat in the cricket symphony I'm reflecting on this recent evening of "Game Night".  Tonight we had Aunts, Uncles, Cousins, and Siblings gathered round our large, oval, oak table playing the new game, PIT,  discovered during our week in Cook Forest.  If you are fond of games I recommend you go online and order this now- seriously- it's addictive- BUT I wasn't singing about it in my son's song...even I have boundaries. 

So, let me know:
                      1. If you are a John Denver fan (openly or secretive)
                      2.  Have you ever played Pit--do you LOVE it?
                   

Pilgrimage (by Diane Gallagher)

Guest Blogger Wednesday!  I’ve been reading this awesome book called To The Field of Stars by Fr. Kevin Codd.  It is about this man’s pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela in Spain where, legend has it, that the bones of St. James the Greater are buried.  Pilgrims from every walk of life, age, ethnic background and religion journey together through mountains and wheat fields, blazing sun and torrential rain, with blisters and pulled tendons and back aches to reach the tomb of St. James.  It is a book that has really moved me as I am a big fan of travel and new adventures, especially in the name of spiritual growth.  As I’ve been reading, I’ve begun to mentally plan my trip to Spain:  when will I go?  With whom?  It has stirred up the ole “wanderlust” spirit within, and I have gotten excited about the potential trip. 

Yesterday, I was having an emotionally challenging day.  I was exhausted and having a little pity party for myself.  As I was rocking my fussy, fidgety 1 yr. old in an attempt to lull her to sleep, I began to daydream about this pilgrimage to Spain.  I was rudely brought back to reality when a couple of my supposedly sleeping children began to cry for me down the hall.  “Moooooommmy….I’m scared!”  “My toe hurts!”  We were already getting them all to bed later than we like (that dang summer schedule!) so my patience was worn thin.  I began to have an internal temper tantrum.  I just wanted them to all go to sleep so I could wash the dishes and clean up the kitchen that had been left in a whirlwind as we ran off to pick boys 2 and 3 up from camp (see footnote).  “I can’t do this,” I internally cried to myself, when I heard a whisper deep in my soul – reminding me, challenging me – that THIS was my pilgrimage.  Ugh.  Spain is so much more exciting!  But a true pilgrim perseveres when the going gets tough and endures all kinds of adverse conditions that others would look at and ask “why would any sane person want to go through that?”  I imagine people look at my husband and I with our 7 kids and have the same thoughts.  Pilgrims travel because they believe in the journey…and so do I.  I have days that are so challenging I want to crawl into a hole and escape.  Then there are days that are rewarding and remind me it’s all worth the pain.  I may not get blisters and pulled tendons, but my back certainly aches from carting the baby and laundry and groceries around.  I do have the aches and pains of a pilgrim mother who is journeying toward heaven, and hoping her kids follow.  It may not be as glamorous as Spain, but I believe that this destination will be more worthwhileJ 

As I reflected on all of this, I paged through the dictionary to find the official definition of pilgrimage:  “journey of a pilgrim to a sacred place” and “the course of life on earth.”  I had never thought of my life as a pilgrimage before.  Guess I was wrong.  Bring on the blisters and blazing sun… bring on the crying babies and messy kitchen.  I’m a pilgrim on one exciting journey right here in Erie, PA!

Footnote:  In his book, Fr. Codd shares about the struggles and crosses of the pilgrimage and how refreshing it is when a fellow pilgrim or a kind outsider performs an act of kindness toward you – massaging your feet or tending to a nasty blister, for example.  That night, my husband was that kind fellow pilgrim.  He, too, had an exhausting day but was downstairs doing the dishes and cleaning the kitchen while I put the kids to sleep.  Indeed, a very welcome and pleasant surprise for my weary bonesJ