My Life is Perfect...on Facebook

I love Facebook...yet it is a book of faces and what those faces are doing.  Admittedly, I get sucked in and during my weaker moments, it's for hours at a time. 

  Why?  I suppose the reason varies.  It's good to see what others are up to.  It's a curious itch that seeks to be scratched.  Scrolling uses mindless muscles that aren't linked to any type of time-awareness faculties.  Sometimes I just want a good laugh for the day.  Occasionally I want to mindlessly escape the realities of life that of course would never show up on my timeline. 

  I've witnessed beautiful displays of tantalizingly arranged dinners...would you want to see my overflowing sink of crusty dishes?  Now that's just silly, and gross.  Why would I, wife and mother of seven, have cups and plates jam-packed in a 13"x10" space, competing for room with a chili encrusted, two gallon soup pot to see which can jettison more tap water onto the kitchen floor?  Puhleez!  I can't run fast enough to wash dishes since my little angels race to do this task and fight for the privilege.  Yes, MY children should be role models for the U.N. in the  manner they get along so amiably.  If you saw my FB you'd see them gathered round the table for a wholesome game of Bingo.  On a more raucous evening it might be Monopoly.  You'd detect no sibling rivalry like the children "I heard about" who tore each other's homework to shreds in a fit of revenge--how beastly.  If I could master technology I'd probably post videos of my children volunteering at our Church's fundraising Oktoberfest.  There'd be no hint of neighbors closing windows against offensive bickering...nor air conditioners being turned on to further diffuse our...I mean, some families...clamor.   If you were to look through the history of my photos you'd notice that it took me a bit of time to get the gist of what is meant by "camera friendly."  Of course now, my hair-do is ALWAYS on point (see how trendy my language is ;) ) and professionally enhanced.  Isn't everyone's?  Why wouldn't it be?  We have hordes of money.  Simply boatloads, tons, kajillions of dollars!  Why would I sneak away to Sally's Beauty Supply, under cover of darkness, with my 14 year-old daughter and grill the once upon a time beautician now turned clerk about coloring?  Don't be ridiculous!  Why would I accept her offer to write instructions on scrap paper about how to put hair into sections and have my daughter google the steps to balance out dark roots?  Honey, Please!  Remember..."On Point"- that's me!  If I ever sobbed into my bathroom mirror at 1 A.M. after my daughter begged-off and went to bed because it was the first day of school and I was left to rinse my orange tinged hair on my own and attempt a few snips to get rid of frizz...you would NEVER know about it!  Of course...never happened.  There are no pictures.  You can't prove a thing. 

For whatever reason I sign on to Facebook, I typically read through the top of my News Feed to see what's what.  I keep going to see what's been missed- til I realize the current time and grasp that what's been missed is a chunk of my day! 

  This isn't a rant about social media...for heaven's sake I'm typing on a blog in real time here.  It's just a notion that perhaps it's a good thing to set boundaries for how much of my own life I'm willing to spend on the pictures and captions of family, old classmates, mentors, strangers, and friends of friends.  The currency used is seconds, minutes, hours.  The hitch is there is no refund.  You can't get time back...ever.

 Besides,  what your currency is spent on perhaps is an illusion.  Except on MY timeline- where all is authentic as it's intended to seem ;) 



 

Silent Night...sort of

"Giiiiirls," I want to roar to my daughters and niece loudly giggling upstairs, "go to SLEEP!"  But I don't.  I just sit here on the couch, tucked under my new Christmas gift- a heated fleece blanket, and listen to the symphony of gently competitive snores composed by my husband and chocolate lab pup.  I watch what was once a roaring fire simmer down to winking embers and cast a lazy glance at the frozen screen on my t.v.  Why, I wonder, would anyone want to watch the next episode of Shark Week on Netflix?  Especially during the Christmas octave...what happened to all the sweet Holiday movies which accompanied the wee hours filled with wrapping and baking a mere week ago?  I will keep this question to myself and allow my tired husband to peacefully snooze away lest he defend why he chose this as night time viewing pleasure to begin with.
 However, on this particular night...at 11:45 p.m. when all is finally reaching a near state of calm in our home which houses 9 of us (plus said niece for the night) I prefer to sit and take in the sound of the furnace softly whirring, hear the water that runs as our soon to be 17 year-old brushes his teeth.  I look over at the dangling foot of our ten-year old curled up, fast- asleep on the recliner (hey, it's vacation...and three of his siblings were allowed to fall asleep in our bed), and I am grateful for the ordinary moments.

  This has been a holiday of the glorious mundane.  I did not go out much.  I did a gazillion loads of laundry and loaded the dishwasher countless times.  I made several pots of hot chocolate to warm fingers that were numbed in soaked mittens now littering every inch of heater vent on the first floor...maybe the second floor as well.  I picked up dozens of candy wrappers from now-flattened stockings and swept up more than a few broken ornaments- and I am Peaceful.  I am content.  I do not feel short-changed by viewing smiling faces from the Bahamas on Facebook and I can not even claim to feel ashamed that I did not get out family photos in Christmas cards...well, hope springs eternal...I still have a bit of time.  I AM thankful for every card and photo that arrived in our mail- they put a smile on my face as I walked to the washing machine for the umpteenth time.  I am happy to "just be" these days.
  I am simply grateful that in my life, which feels precarious right now with my oldest sister fighting for her life against an incredibly progressed state of cancer and a brother-in-law battling to breathe due to cancer...I can have these rare moments that feel normal and PEACE-full.  I know tomorrow is a new day with new beauties and different challenges...but THIS moment...this quiet time...is for reveling in.  Even the giggling upstairs has mellowed to an occasional muffled "sshhh" above me.
 Well, hello...what's this?  My eldest son, done brushing his teeth pokes his head around the corner "Good night Mom."  "Good night son, I love you."  "So," he asks, "Have you given any thought to my birthday request?" Uuuum, I feel a bit like a deer in the headlights as I honestly cast around in my weary memory-bank but come up empty-handed.  "Sorry honey, I'm drawing a blank here." He casts a glance toward his sleeping father and bravely reminds me, "about the tattoo? Ok...good night then, I'd like to talk with you and Dad together...soon."  Siiigh...I was wise to revel in the Peace while I could.  Well, perhaps I'm to realize in the scope of issues out there...this is small.  And if he is the first of seven children...this will one day feel mundane.  One day.
  My faded fire has found it's second wind...the heater has kicked on again.  I figure I must have strength and composure stored up in me somewhere.  I'm sure my sister would give anything for a son's tattoo to to be the most dramatic thing she could imagine as opposed to her markers being "off the charts."  I'd be willing to bet my heated fleece that my other sister would gladly tattoo "Alleluia" across her forehead if her husband could heal from this dreaded disease.
  It is quiet again.  Silent Night.
 I am Peaceful. Holy Night. 
I am grateful for the many blessings of this moment and for every grace I've been given to help me slow down and appreciate these very moments...where at present...All is Calm.

     

"Pace Yourself"

  Recently, I thanked a friend for her support during my painfully slow progress with posting~ I'm working on getting more regular (just don't go back and review post dates...).  She responded with more encouragement.  She reminded me that we are all busy during this holiday season.  "Sus,"  she said, "celebrate what you have accomplished and pace yourself- you'll get there."  It was nice to have a voice of reason soothing my temptation to beat myself up and offering encouragement to keep plodding along.

 I began to apply this logic to where I was in this very holy season.  I had launched myself and household into garlands and twinkle lights at supersonic warp speed.  It proved to be a "warped" speed because I had led a frenzied pace to decorate the entire house, familiarize myself with most Christmas tunes, and urge the kids toward being on the "NICE" list all before December 1st.  Indeed, this was a first for me.  I grew up in a home where the Church's Advent calendar led the season.  We lit the advent candles and did a daily spiritual reflection at dinner time.  My Mom was adamant in having us wait until the very eve of Christmas to decorate the tree.  I'm sure there is a happy medium in all of this timing.  But I will say that my childhood tradition of "waiting" certainly built the anticipation to a near fevered pitch for us kids.  We were also building a true understanding of Christmas and the Reason we were celebrating. I began to realize the wisdom in the advice to Pace Myself.  True, Christ had already been born 2011 years ago.  This wasn't a true birthday celebration.  Advent is technically about helping us ready ourselves in preparation for the second coming of Christ.  It was not a bad thing to place baby Jesus in the manger early in the season~ it was a nice reminder of how He came as a vulnerable child.  Yet, my preoccupation with "festivities" had felt a little hollow without remembering to work "on the inside" alongside decorating the outward appearances.  In doing so, I had nearly reached burnout prematurely and allowed the secular jingling bells to drown out the Silent Night. 

  I found healing and restoration in remembering the importance on pacing oneself...this season is a journey...Mary and Joseph certainly didn't reach Bethlehem on the donkey overnight.  It was with one step at a time. 

  Perhaps cliche, but always true, life is often about what happens while journeying that makes the destination hold significance.  Perhaps, this was true for St. Joseph.  Maybe it was in the quiet unseen parts of the journey on foot that he gave his greatest sacrifices- sharing his portion of food with the donkey so it could have the strength to continue carrying it's precious cargo.  Walking on foot so Mary could ride with a little more comfort.  Either way, it wasn't the speed with which they reached Bethlehem, that impresses us in stories to this day...it was the tremendous distance they traveled burdened as they were.  They reached Bethlehem and still found hardship in "No room at the Inn."  It was essential then as it is now... this concept of pacing oneself... we will get there...this life is not our home forever. 

Testing is back...

  I wrote about my last pregnancy in Tiny Love... 

The genetic testing on our baby is back...  Our son's name is Lawrence Ignatius (named after Fr. Larry Richards, the amazing evangelist Priest who married us and continues to administer the Sacraments to us and our children) and St. Ignatius~ prolific writer.  Our son did have Trisomy 18.  This was the same genetic disorder which affects the 18th chromosome (three genes instead of two...hence the Tri)...which as they say in the medical world, "makes this child incompatible with life". 

  This is very rare to have two children with Trisomy 18.  They suspect my husband or I have a fragmented 18th chromosome.  Doctors reccomend we have genetic testing/counseling. 

Simply amazing that we have seven healthy, chromosomally sound children! 

Eyes Opened...

A man and his children were riding the public bus home one evening. The man appeared oblivious to his children's "over the top" misbehavior. A nearby passenger began clearing her throat to bring attention to his children as they ran wildly through the aisles. Her indignant sniffs became louder as they hollered and jumped over the seats. She was shocked and displeased with his lack of applied discipline to this unruly crew. Still, the man stared into nothing seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Finally,her patience worn thin she demanded, "won't you please get your children under control?" The man seemed to snap back to the reality of his surroundings. He quickly apologized for his children disturbing this woman. "You see," he tried explaining, "they are probably trying to get a little energy out. We've been at the hospital all day where their mother has just died. I will have them quiet down."

** I had heard this story (I believe true) years ago and have repeated it several times. The shock value comes in at the end when the justified irritation and self righteous anger at an apparent lack of parenting suddenly transforms into a horrible lack of compassion and passing judgement.

Just this past Friday my own children were exhibiting a lack of control as they fought among themselves. My eldest, a teenager, was working himself into a fury as he physically threatened his younger brother, told his sisters to "shut up," and even hurled insults my way. My response was just as shameful as I vented my utter frustration at him in the form of name calling and grounded him for a week...or maybe it was a month...(I was pretty upset). I was beside myself as I ordered everyone in and buckled. I slammed van doors while loudly reprimanding the lot of them especially my teen son. Once I was in the drivers seat , and backing up, I braked and demanded to know who's door was open... the lights were still on. A few seconds later I uttered, "oh." and sheepishly walked around to shut the rear doors I forgot I had opened while venting. I chose to ignore my children's giggling commentary filtering around me "then mom yelled who left the doors open... and then she was like, oh."

I drove in silence until I realized my eldest, in the passenger seat beside me, was still was not buckled. We were no longer yelling...or talking. "Please put your seat belt on." A minute later I repeated, "please put your seat belt on." I touched his arm and asked "what is going on with you?" Silence with a glare. I looked over at him and fearing the worst I asked, "why are your eyes all red and glossy?!?," allowing the accusation to seep into my voice. "Because I was crying Mom." What?!? That was unexpected. "Why?" "Because my friend just died an hour and a half ago!" Tears began to stream down his cheeks. I was in shock. I couldn't remember the last time I had seen my big boy cry. Slowly he filled me in on his classmate who had been life flighted after being overcome by Carbon Monoxide. I gasped when I recognized this as the boy I had been following on the news. A true tragedy.

I began to think back to the hug my son had tried to give me as I was hustling everyone out the door and barking orders. I reached over and squeezed his arm and told him, "I am so very sorry." It became clear to me that I was the self righteous woman on the bus...judging my son harshly (easy to do with a teen temper). Wrapped up in his horrible show of anger I became oblivious as to WHY he was so angry.

Compassion is a lesson that comes in a difficult tutorial... It takes giving up a sense of comfort to discover the source of what appears unappealing. Applying the balm of compassion may be as simple as cutting someone a little slack or even just listening. Either way, this is probably a lesson that will be repeated throughout life. I'm certain I have BEEN the occasional TEST for lifes' unsuspecting traveler as well...