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. :)