The Sandwich Generation

  I've heard we are called the "Sandwich Generation."  Yes, those of us who have the honor, privilege, and hefty work load of caring for parents and children at the same time.

  It is an interesting place in life to exist.  The demands are tough yet the rewards are fulfilling.  To be able to care for your children and to care for those who cared for you while you were a child... it probably is poetic justice.  After all, you are being taught what sacrifices your parents made for you, in real time, as you make
those sacrifices for your own youngsters.

  My husband and I have discussed this very concept in our 5 minute meetings that are placed sporadically through the afternoon and evening.  We exchange thoughts on this topic in passing between running our kids to practice or heading to his parents house or the hospital to ensure they are fed and cared for.  We tend to pick up the conversation as we regroup during dinner prep or most likely dishes clean-up for our own children.  If I'm honest, lately it's been after the kids are tucked in bed that we have an opportunity to catch up on each other's day.  I pray, for his parents sake, that the in-depth care they currently require is temporary and once his mother has healed from her emergency surgery she will be able to do much more for herself.  She has always been so independent- she's like a different woman without her Polish, feistiness in full force.

  I don't know if it's the tone in the house that caused my youngest daughter, who is 6 years-old to look me in the eyes and tell me when she's grown up she will take care of Mommy and Daddy.  I don't quite know how I feel about that.  I suppose my response is a murky mixture of gratitude for a love so great, swirled with resistance to hinder her freedom, along with a hint of dreaded foreboding that we might actually need our children's care one day.

  Yes, the Sandwich Generation has a lot on their plate alongside a healthy dose of much to ponder about the past, present, and future.

Run vs. Running

  Run vs. running...this is the dilemma of many parents.

  But Susan, you may be thinking, how many types of running are there?  Oh ho...now that is a question from a novice to life with children.


Of course I would like to RUN (though truth be told I'm more like a snail even when I speed walk) and yet I find myself RUNNING my busy tribe of teens (4 in the house now), and younger children to lacrosse practice- 4 of these players in the house now as well, friends houses, the Mall, and wherever else as the need arises.  This in addition to mobilizing our large crew en masse to and from Mass, family get togethers, school concerts, etc.  Truth is, we use two different vehicles to mobilize us when we all need to go somewhere together.  Steve, my husband, drives an F-150 truck that seats 6 and I currently drive a Ford 500 that fits 5.  Together we can even fit a few friends, which is often the case.

  It seems the last couple weeks have been full of commuting since Steve's parents fell ill and needed hospital care (prayers appreciated) and my Mom had her second knee replacement which created the opposite effect and immobilized her for several weeks.  Other excitement took us to the hospital for the birth of a new nephew: "Welcome Maverick!" and of course there's the day to day driving to and from school.

I've noticed a road weary expression on my husband's face as he removes his jacket after a long day at work followed by "running" the kids to practice and meeting the needs of his parents.  He never says it but I see something ever so slight cross his face when a call is received from his parents, Bushia and Dzia Dzia, which means Grandma and Grandpa in Polish.  These calls often require him to don his jacket and grab his keys- I think that "something" is a remembrance of all the running they did back in the day.  He and his three brothers all played baseball, sometimes on different fields, while their Dad coached.

  I hope my children pick up on that subtle acceptance from their father.  If my life is an indicator of how fast time moves, then the days of running will soon be upon them.  As a matter of fact, right now as I write this, Steve is currently wearing his chauffeur's cap as he drives our 16 year-old to his driver's exam.  God bless my husband- he even took a half days' work to be able to do this running...and when that's done we have to head to Buffalo for a lacrosse game.


Whew! Which do you find more exhausting...Run or Running?

Life Is...Surprising

  It's raining outside.  I used to think I'd be listening to jazz, sitting on the window ledge of an upper studio apartment, looking down over the streets of New York City on a gray day like this.  I even pictured playing along on my own saxophone.

   Yeah...uhhhm no.  Let's just say my life holds no semblance to the existence I envisioned while in my teens. 

  I do have Michael Buble's station playing on Pandora...so I shouldn't say NO semblance right?  It is kinda jazzy.  But as for New York City- well,  I'm in the neighboring state of Pennsylvania sitting in my upper story (yet another semblance), wooden office, looking out over fallen leaves that have covered my husband's ladders.  Those tools sit next to the well-loved lacrosse portion of the yard which is the backdrop to our summer's shining star- the pool.   Of course there's the swingset with attatched platform/slide that has seen better days...and by that I mean it used to be the summer's shining star.  The kids are getting older and we have more pick-up football games than we do calls for Mommy to "come push me!"  We can't forget Millie's (our choc lab) kennel.  It's kitty-corner to the fire pit that Millie sneaks wood from to chew when she thinks we're not looking.  It's the same wood she sneaks within plain view, then takes off to the lax area to hide behind the net...it's a net Millie, we can see you!

  It's raining outside...perhaps the same condensation passed over NYC hours ago.  Crazy to think of a life so foreign to my current days.  I've never even held a saxophone to my lips.  I'll hint at my age and admit that fantasy's inspiration was influenced by Kenny G.  Who didn't love Silhouette?  flashback to Silhouette (you're welcome).  And yet, I am happy.  I am content.  I look at the leaves that cover the yard where my children's youth has played out.  I see the trees that were full of vibrant green buds just this past spring.  They have released their blooms that whispered in summer's breeze and stand disrobed, yet sturdy, guarding our lawn carpeted in the golden offerings from these sentinels.  I'm reminded of another childhood favorite that holds more meaning now then ever... Shel Silverstein's The Giving Tree.  No kidding, this book sits on the edge of my desk...next to the window I look out.  Perhaps it's been waiting for this rainy day to remind me how good I've got it.  And how life is not about the destination but the journey. 

  We parents once held the bud of youth in our dreams of how life would be.  We now have the opportunity to lay down our golden glory for our children to pile up and play in.  They can cover themselves and feel secure in our commitment to share this journey with them.  Perhaps they will provide us with their own little buds to bring rejuvenation in our golden years.  It comes full circle.  I wouldn't trade a single, crazy, hectic moment nor a neck hugging, sloppy kiss on the cheek embrace for a smooth jazz note lilting what could have been.  We make our own music here with broom stick air guitars and ladles for microphones. These are the days creating the memories of tomorrow. I imagine when I am an old woman I will look out at the trees and smile, remembering my children hanging from the branches and lobbing footballs under their leaves.
 
   Then again, I've been surprised before...perhaps I will be harnessed to my eldest, sharing a tandem skydive.  I wouldn't put it passed my second to have me deep sea fishing or my third to share her hotel amenities while she attends a medical conference on the Big Island.  My fourth just may get me to New York for a Broadway play the night after my fifth reserved a front row seat so I could watch the mad drumming skills he led the band with.  I will need some quiet time so I suppose I would prefer the box seat offered to watch my sixth in the Superbowl.  I will be tired so I will gladly return to my husband who kept the home fires burning at our sweet seventh's home-- where we will live.  ;)

 

Dear Teacher...

This is a letter I recently sent.  It is edited to protect the identity of all involved except myself as the author.  My purpose in sharing this letter is to: 1) Let you know these discussions are taking place in school- if not your school, then in neighboring schools and your children are witnessing and hearing things you'd never realize if they don't tell you.  So, make sure you are talking (but listening more) to your child, then when the big stuff comes they already know you care.   Knowing you care makes it easier to share.
     2) Encourage you to get involved.  Our children are learning EVERY day.  It is your right, and dare I say duty, to help them process this changing world they live in.  You hold the biggest role of influence in their lives.  Regardless of your belief system and value structure- please don't hand that role over to others who are not as invested in your child as you are.  Doing nothing is still making a choice...it is simply choosing to allow someone else to make the choice for you.
                                                         3) Oh, and you don't have to be mean to get your point across. 

                                          
                                              ****************************************

 
Dear Teacher,

 

  I am writing to you in regards to the discussions that were held on the topic of transgenders in the classroom.  My child came home from school yesterday and needed to talk to me.  My child shared that it had been explained in the classroom a fellow student will be legally changing their name and identifying themselves as the opposite sex from today on.  A discussion had been held the day before, (date given), during which the general topic of transgenders was brought up.  My guess is this topic was broached to prepare students for the announcement which was made the following day, (date given).  I can appreciate you trying to assist this student in making the transition less awkward for all, yet I felt little concern was given to the parents, families, and caretakers of the fellow students hearing about this change.

 

  I understand we live in a changing society and I am not addressing this student's choices, but rather the lack of involving us, as parents, in this discussion.  This is not necessarily a school topic but rather a conversation involving values, morals and ethics which we would have appreciated being made aware of from you, as the primary educator within this classroom.  We would have welcomed the opportunity to have open dialogue with our child before it was announced in the school setting.  I don't know how much notice you were given, but feel at the very least a letter could have been sent home letting us know these discussions had taken place.  

 

  I have heard many times from our child and others that this class is a "family."  I can respect the bond you are forging with this unifying mindset but ask that you would please respect our primary role as parents.  Given that this is our child before they are your student we'd ask that you honor these boundaries and in moving forward, communicate with us before addressing the students as issues involving values, morals, and ethics are raised.  I would greatly appreciate your response back ensuring you received this email and providing an action plan to establish greater parental involvement.

 

Sincerely,
Susan "Mama Bear" Yurkewicz

Tattoo Trials

What does one say to a teary-eyed kindergartner regretting her tattoo?  "It's ok honey, metallic silver goes with everything."  Maybe I could have told her it brings her eyes out.  I didn't chime in with either of those responses.  I looked at her shiny, patterned neckband and listened to her woes about how the kids in class all want to stare at it.  I watched her body language as her little hands pulled the neck of her shirt up to her watering eyeballs.  I listened to her muffled cries about how she never should have let her older sister do this to her.  I heard about the Halloween candy bribing to allow the tattoo placement on the day I was at Parent-Teacher Conferences (I should have known! Yet ANOTHER reason I should have trembled before this event *See post titled Parent-Teacher Conferences).  I didn't say much because there were moments that she was completely oblivious to it's existence and others where she was gleefully showing it off to Daddy.

  All of today's mournful moaning was happening five minutes before we were to leave for the bus stop.  I had witnessed my young daughter's distress yesterday afternoon as well.  She wasn't off the bus more than three minutes before the day's drama over this prominent emblem came spilling out.  This is why I encouraged a good tub soaking last night...well, besides the dirty feet and knees from chasing her brothers and their friends while playing football.  There may have been a few hundred tiny bits of crushed leaves in her hair from her leaf pile escapades as well...this is one energetic, hardy girl.  Either way, I was surprised to see the tinny-looking, lace design encircling her neck was still very much intact this morning despite a good washing.  I admit I wasn't that concerned about the placement on Monday because I thought it would be rubbed off by Tuesday afternoon at the latest.  I had no idea these metallic tattoos that line every Super-Center store's shelves weren't as lame as the Valentine tats that are peeled half off before it's pressed flat on a forearm. 

 I sympathized with my little one this morning as she wept and told me about how the kids all gathered around yesterday to look.  I got out the baby soap and washcloth as she cried and began to rub.  When that didn't bring any change I went for the big guns: baking soda.  I hid my horror at the redness that was only making the silvery swirls appear to glow.  Great...one minute left.  "Don't worry Hon, we'll for sure get it off tonight. Time to go.  I'll grab your book bag, you get a sweatshirt."  My son and I headed out onto the porch and down the steps as she came running out.  Air sucked in through my teeth didn't really hide my surprise at her choice of her purple with pink fur trimmed, heavy winter coat zipped up to her chin. It's uncharacteristically warm out...like 72  degrees, but I knew what she was trying to camouflage.  Bus was coming and I knew I'd have a melt-down on my hands so I sent her off with a kiss and encouraging smile.

It's hours later and I've pondered one question all morning.  "Why didn't I ask her if SHE LIKED the tattoo?!?"  

  So what if the kids were looking?  They probably went home and asked to run to the store to get one and a gold version too.  It's not against the school policy to sport a fake tattoo and I could have encouraged her to rock this look (until we use the baby oil my neighbor, and veteran mother of three girls assured me would take this off...I kid you not, it's like tinfoil applied with superglue).  My young daughter IS an energetic, hardy, strong and spirited spit-fire!  If she can play football with boys six years her senior she can pull off a shiny tattoo- without fear of what others think. 

  Life is full of lessons.  Learning to listen to your own instinct about what you personally like and dislike is a hard lesson to learn.  I'm on my own journey with this very topic.  Why not give my daughter a head start now?  Clearly, I'm not a perfect Mom- but I can admit when I'm wrong.  We can learn together.  I can't wait to go greet her and hear about her day- and hopefully I'll see that winter coat shoved way down in the bottom of her bag. 

 

Bonk On The Head

"Mrs. Yurkewicz?" 
"Yes..."
"This is the school nurse...ummm...I'm calling to tell you of a minor incident involving your daughter..."
Silence... thoughts whirring...what did she do now.

The school nurse rushed on to reassure me that my kindergartner had taken a purposeful, solid, two-fisted bonk on the head during their scheduled Learning Lab with a pretty good nature.  I was told she did not have a headache and had rested with an ice-bag on her head before being evaluated once again and sent back to class.

Truthfully, other than asking if the nurse was sure my youngest child didn't have a headache since she had been complaining of one last night and this morning I was a bit at a loss for words.  I did manage to ask about the "bonk-er" but the nurse didn't have that information, she was there to tell me my daughter was physically fine.  Even now I am still processing this conversation and wondering what type of reaction I'll receive once my daughter is home.

This is the fine line we walk as parents- when to get involved and make a big deal of something and when to  walk the sidelines, smiling and waving our support while letting them know we are near if they need us to step in.  These moments, though perhaps soon forgotten in the minds of our children tempt me to want to place a bubble around those I cherish and ensure their safety in the face of whatever comes.  I can't do that...I know because I've tried.  This little one is number seven and there is no way to intercept the boo-boos, tears, hurt-feelings, and ouchies that come.  Yes, these are the character builders.  They are building character in me simultaneously.  The hurt is a different kind- the pain of letting go.  The comfort comes in realizing that there is One who loves my children more than I and He has their back.

Perhaps it's time to be grateful for the incessant bickering that has taken place here at the homestead for...well, forever.  We've made it a rule that the Instigator must say, "I'm sorry" and the Injured Party say, "I forgive you." Yes, I agree with the children who at times have reared back with, "I'm just saying it cuz you're forcing me."  Doesn't matter, do it anyway.  It's the right thing to do. It's now become a habit within our family.  One they can not get around.  Time stops for them until these words are spoken.

Time for my youngest to take these words into her life where I am not in control.  Took me awhile to realize control was an illusion anyway.  I must practice them when the bonk-er is held accountable...after all my baby was hurt...on purpose.  Yet, a few lines keep coming to mind from the movie Finding Nemo and I'm reminded all these little calls from the nurse and bandaged knee caps from life are all part of their journey and are orchestrated to work for their own good.

Marlin: There, there, there. It's okay, Daddy's here, Daddy's got you. I promise I will never let anything happen to you... Nemo.

Dory: That's a funny thing to promise. Well, you can't never let anything happen to him, then nothing would ever happen to him.


 

TRIumph is launched and NOW AVAILABLE!

  An amazing...and surreal evening- one week ago tonight.  My family was introduced and the mic was turned over ... with expectant eyes falling upon me while they awaited "the story". 

  It had been four years and some months since my husband and I discovered the seventh child we were expecting was diagnosed with Trisomy 18 while in the womb.  Briefly- and it's ok if you don't know what this genetic condition is because we surely didn't until we faced it- Trisomy18 is a chromosomal defect which deemed our son "incompatible with life."  When we asked how long would we have with our son we were told, "Most children with this condition, who survive birth, will not live to see their first birthday."

  We lived through the exasperating unknowns and were blessed to give birth to John Michael and hold our son for 48 hours before he was to go home- to heaven. 

  Seems so strange to be able to write that so simply...never without emotion...always with a full heart. 

  I have written the full story of this experience and am excited to share that the book launch was a wonderful, dreamy success and the book is now available and offered with the HOPE that the insights, LOVE, and understanding we gained along the way might give solace to all as they face their own dark period of difficulty.  The book is called TRIumph: A Story of Finding Hope In A Love That Knows No Bounds.  You can learn more, and if desired, purchase TRIumph at www.triumph-story.com

  Thank you so much for your support, love, and prayers over the years.

  **My son, I know you came to this earth- and our family for a short time and with a specific purpose. Already I have witnessed the large impact you made on our family and community- what an honor that has been. As your story begins to take flight...it shall be with fond remembrance of your heart beating under my own...that I thrill to the reality that others will have the chance to "meet you" and learn of Love that comes with the Peace of a surrendered will . ** ~Mommy to son   

Pardon the Interruption (by Diane Gallagher)

Guest Blogger Wednesday. :)  The kids seemed preoccupied so I snuck into the office to compile my grocery list and meal plan for the week only to be followed by my 1 yr old who did not want me to be sitting at the computer at that moment.  I became frustrated and slumped over to the couch where Elly began to happily play, so I wrote my blog instead.

My husband lazily woke on his second day of vacation to discover that I had a broken ipod that needed fixing (water and electronics are never a good mixL).  He had been planning on getting his motorcycle inspected or taking a walk at the beach but instead he begrudgingly spent the morning at Verizon.

 Two different scenarios but one similar theme:  what we hope to achieve or do in a day is often very different from what we actually do accomplish.  In other words, as I heard about in a recent homily, life is full of interruptions.  The question is, how do we handle them?  Maybe it’s our sleep being interrupted by a sick child or our leisure time interrupted by needy children (aforementioned needs being anything from hunger to peacemaking or help on the potty).  Maybe it’s our meal prep being interrupted by homework demands or housecleaning interrupted by car pool dilemmas.  Many times my intended plans are good and important, but just obviously not what was supposed to happen that day or at that moment.  Man, do I hate that!  When I have a goal in mind, I can get very frustrated when I do not succeed.  I can get downright annoyed at the child or circumstance that became the obstacle. 

That’s why the homily on interruptions struck such a chord with me.  The homilist pointed out how often Jesus’ plans were interrupted.  For example, He thought He was going to the mountain to pray, but instead was approached at least three times, according to one gospel account, and asked to heal someone – a leper, the centurion’s slave, Peter’s mother-in-law (Matthew 8).  Each time, He said “yes” and tended to the need at the moment, laying aside His own plan for the day.  He didn’t whine about it or say “no” because He was planning on praying and preaching that day.  This doesn’t mean He would never say “no” to an interruption if what He was doing at the moment was the priority, but it’s all about knowing when we need to be open to interruptions and allow them to change our course for the day vs. when we need to stay the course we are on.  When a friend calls to do coffee, and I am in the middle of paying my bills, I may need to say “no” to the tempting interruption.  But if that friend is upset and needs to talk, I may need to stay up late that night to get the bills paid.  Knowing the difference is the true challenge.  All I can do is pray my morning offering each day – surrendering my day to God – and then pray that I can follow His subtle or blatant nudging, trusting my gut when there are no obvious signs.  I know I make poor calls sometimes and don’t always distinguish between a necessary or unnecessary interruption, but I at least hope this awareness will help me be a little more patient the next time that anticipated two-hour nap becomes a 15 minute snooze because of a poopy diaper.  My days unfold the way they are supposed to, with just the right crosses and victories necessary for me to get to heaven.  Why fight it?

"A" For Effort (by Diane Gallagher)

Guest blogger Wednesday : )

Before the end of the school year, I went to an academic awards ceremony honoring the highest achievers in 5^th and 6^th grade children in each subject.  I admit that I was hesitant to make this ceremony a priority as I was uncertain if my boys would win.  Having the three little ones with me, I definitely make choices and don’t get to all of the school events.  Regardless, I chose to attend and was glad that my boys’ names were called a couple times for various acknowledgments (and the smiles on their faces when they looked over at me made the effort worth itJ).  What pleased me even more was that the staff was not just honoring those with highest achievement, but they also gave an award in each subject to those who made the greatest effort.  I am a sucker for effort.  Whether as a teacher back in my pre-“married with children” days or as a mother in my current state of life, I respond much better to a child who makes great effort but fails than I do to the one who does something half-heartedly and somehow achieves success. 

Now, as a mother I often feel like a total failure…sometimes because I lose my temper or I am unhappy about how I handle a situation, other times because my children do something embarrassing or thoughtless that could not possibly have happened if his/her mother was a good parent!   But as I reflected on the academic awards in effort, I found great solace.  I have always told my children and friends that while I may only receive a “D” in achievement as a parent, I most definitely get an “A” for effort.  My husband and I have tried more discipline plans, more chore charts, more prayer schedules than one could fathom.  We have read books (not always so helpful…refer to earlier blogJ), gone on diets or tried to determine what we need to do to improve ourselves so we can be better, more patient parents. I wake up early to pray and put on the armor of God before the battles begin each day. We have joined bible studies, implemented new strategies…all to be better parents or bring more peace/order/faithfulness/love to our family life.   But we forget to keep track of the chores, and we lose our temper when they delete our videos off our flipcam or smash our ipad (true stories), and we let them watch too much TV or play too much X-box sometimes.  Then there’s that cookie I let my 2 yr. old eat right before dinner because I just can’t handle one more tantrum.  Not so successful in the world’s eyes.  Fortunately, Mother Theresa reminded us that “God doesn’t ask us to be successful ... just faithful.”  So I will not give up, though I am tempted to sometimes.   I will appreciate those occasional successes when a parent tells me how well-mannered and kind my son is or one of them gets 1^st honors or wins the student council elections.  And I will try not to crawl into a hole when my neighbor calls to tell me my son was climbing on the roof of our house or my 2 yr. old is running around naked in the front yard. “God doesn’t ask us to be successful, just faithful.”  I am faithful.  I know He is pleased with my attempts in spite of my failures, and I do believe He would give me an “A” for effort (though I might have a checkmark next to conduct).  I guess there’s always room for improvement!

Enjoy Your Children (by Diane Gallagher)

Guest blogger Wednesday :)

“Enjoy your children!”  These were the gentle yet firm words spoken to me by my spiritual director on more than one occasion.  Enjoy them?  How the heck am I supposed to do that?  I can easily be exhausted by them…or frustrated… or embarrassed by them….or get angry with them.  But enjoy them?  I have to cook and clean and do laundry and homework and change diapers and go grocery shopping and tend sick kids and pay bills.  Just exactly when am I supposed to enjoy them?  Having a children ranging in age from 1 to 12 also provides a challenge.  How do I do fun things with them that will satisfy the entertainment meter of my 5 yr old glamour girl and my 12 yr old “air soft freak” as he calls himself?  An impossible task, or so it would seem.  The perfectionist in me wants to come up with creative activities to do with my kids so we can “enjoy” each other (I used to do this more often when I just had my 3 boys).  Now I have no energy for creative activities.  It seems I am so task oriented that I take every free moment to get more work done.  I actually have to force myself to sit down and “play” with my kids sometimes (other than night and naptime stories or walks to our neighborhood park).  I think this is partially because I set my standards for enjoyment too high.  I do not need to have an afternoon to go to a movie with my boys.  How about 10 minutes to talk while I am doing dishes and my 9 yr old is sharing about his latest dodge ball game in gym class.  Or 15 minutes to play one round of Candyland with my 3 and 5 yr olds instead of trying to carve out a couple hours to go to a princess dance party.  These bigger events can be fun and important too, but I don’t need to forego the small ones just because I am attempting to plan the bigger ones, which are much less frequent.  To me, enjoying my children means laughing with them, appreciating their good qualities and talents, taking time to just be with them and come to know them better.  I know I will be sad one day that I didn’t take time to do this more.  The dishes will always be there.   I am looking forward to taking a cake decorating class with my 11 yr. old son, but I also need to appreciate watching my 7 yr old blast her way down the soccer field and my 1 yr old waddle across our kitchen floor clutching a cereal box that is as big as she is.  Enjoyment comes in many forms and that is my challenge – to find ways to enjoy each one of my children every day even if that means peeking in their bedrooms at the end of a long day and smiling upon their sleeping faces.  After all, St. Therese said “does a parent love their children any less when they are sleeping?  No, sometimes even more!” 

Footnote:  It was the end of a long, busy day and I was finally sitting down with a glass of wine, my paper and pen.  I was actually going to attempt to write my blog a little early and in a peaceful environment!  I was about half way through when my 11 year old shuffled in the room and asked if he could sit on my lap.  My first reaction (sadly) was to say no because I wanted to finish my writing, and I was on a roll.  Before the words could come out of my mouth, I realized that this was an opportunity to put my money where my mouth is and to take a moment to enjoy my son.  He does not sit on my lap often as it is usually filled by my 1 yr. old, 3 yr old or 5 yr old.  This was a rare moment to cherish, not brush off.  So I put my paper and pen down and enjoyed 5 minutes snuggling and chatting with my son, and then he was ready to move on.  I am so glad I made the right choice… and writing this blog is what helped me make itJ

A Mother's Heart (by Diane Gallagher)

Guest blogger Wednesday :)

May is always an exciting month in our family.  With two birthdays (almost three since my youngest was born June 1), school nearing the end, opening our pool, and planting our gardens, our house is pretty lively.  Add a First Holy Communion and the start of summer soccer, and you have borderline chaos.  Often times, in the midst of all this, we forget to take time to honor the Lady of the Month….the Blessed Mother.  Truthfully, I have not always totally been able to relate to our Lady.  Respect her?  Absolutely!  Ask for her intercession?  You bet.J  Turn to her for interior advice?  Not so much.  You see, there were three obstacles to a more intimate relationship with Mary:  1.) She had only one child while I have seven. 2.)  Jesus was perfect.  How hard could that be? 3.)  Mary was immaculate, and I am far from that. 

Of course, anyone with a more mature devotion to our Lady would probably not struggle with these issues, but they were very real to me.  I continued to appreciate the rosary and was inspired by her fiat (her total submission to God’s will), but I just could not turn to her for guidance in my mothering.  We were just way too different.  Because of my love for my faith and my desire to grow, I did not allow myself to be satisfied with this “unrelatable relationship.” Through prayer, conversations with friends, the wisdom of my spiritual director, and reading Pope John Paul’s encyclical on Mary, I slowly began to open my eyes to the real Blessed Mother.  Even though she had only one perfect child, she could certainly understand the pangs of a mother’s heart:  the worry, the sadness, the anger at His persecutors. 

While Mary did not succumb to temptation, she surely felt similar frustrations, exhaustion, and sufferings.  Just as I feel insecure in my parenting, she surely must have had doubts in raising the Son of God.  Most importantly, I began to see that even if she could not relate to my exact emotion or struggle at the time, she could still be compassionate and wise in her response to me.  Just the other day, I was speaking with a friend who is having some problems.  I do not have the same problems, but I listened attentively to her, offered her comfort and support and am praying for her situation.  Other times, I am able to commiserate with a struggling friend because we share similar burdens. 

Mary, as the Immaculate Mother of God, does a much better job than I do.   And she understands more than I know.  I forget that she was a young teen becoming pregnant out of wedlock.  She had to give birth in a stable with only Joseph as her support instead of in the comfort of her home surrounded by friends and family.  She had to flee to a foreign land to protect her newborn.  Very real situations.  Very challenging.  To think I felt like she could not understand me!  The real problem was that I just did not really understand her.  Mary, Queen of Mothers, pray for us!

Live It:  Let’s pray a daily decade of the rosary or even a whole rosary throughout the month of May.