My car needed a little servicing this morning, so J and the kids followed me down to Manchester and then we went out to lunch at one of our favorite places. I ran a few more errands (the Easter Bunny had to pick up a few last items at the best candy store around) and then came home to workout before heading to Easter Vigil Mass tonight (Cait and JP are coming into the church tonight and it's very exciting).
Apparently, my lunch was heavier than I thought. Today's workout was another Leslie DVD, Walk Away Your Hips and Thighs, which is a 2 mile walk with stretching and a 20 minute lower-body workout with resistance bands around your ankles. I made it through the walk and stretching just fine, but something in the lower body workout nearly did me in. I made it through, but came this close to losing my lunch.
Phew!
Tonight's Mass should be beautiful. Easter Vigil always begins in darkness and then everyone lights a candle...it's quite a magical sight. Once I get home, it'll be a mad dash to prep for tomorrow. Eggs to stuff, baskets to make up, a guest room to clean (because Cait and Jeeps asked to sleep over at the last minute), and food to make for tomorrow.
Have a very Happy Easter!
Showing posts with label religion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label religion. Show all posts
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Monday, April 6, 2009
Palm Art
Years ago, one of my nieces went to Italy on a school trip. She happened to be in Rome for Palm Sunday and Holy Week and she brought Mom back a lovely ornately crafted piece of what can best be described as abstract palm art and I remember thinking at the time that it was such a lovely use of the palms.Yesterday was Palm Sunday. Cait, Katie and I went to Mass and picked up palms at the door (little did we know that they would hand them out at the beginning of the service). Some other people had picked up palms on their way in, too, and Katie and I sat in wonder as we watched them create beautiful things with their palms. One woman spun hers into a lovely flower. A teenage girl in front of us made small cross after small cross.
Katie and I kept marveling at how, back in the day (!), we would never be able to do such a thing. We had to sit still and be quiet throughout Mass (hence why my children have yet to attend Mass with me on any regulr basis). I noticed other young-ish people playing with their palms (although two boys were spoken sternly to by their father for sword fighting with their palms...that was, I think, too clever of a use of their palms in his book). One little girl even had a bouquet of flowers made of palms and construction paper. I have a hunch that the new generations are being taught how to be creative with their palms, most likely in faith formation classes (known to us old timers as CCD).
I wanted to work up the nerve to ask the girl in front of us if she would make crosses out of our palms, but was feeling shy (believe it or not!). Katie eventually leaned forward and asked for me and the girl didn't even hesitate to just give us some of the little crosses that she had made to choose from. It was very sweet and now we each have a little palm cross of our own.
Now...if I could just figure out how to make one...
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Dovetailing
It seems as though my children love me so much that they don't like to nap if they know I'm home. Apparently, I'm such an awesome mother that they just want to be with me all. of. the. time. At least, this is what I'm telling myself.
Last Tuesday, Cait and JP were here and watched the kids while I went to the gym. When I came home...the kidlets were napping! And it was a good, long nap, too. Cait ended coming up again on Wednesday and I half-jokingly said she should get her in time for nap so that she could put the kids down. I "went out" (at first it was supposed to just be a drive around the block, but actually did end up going to Target) in time for the kids' nap and, lo and behold, they took another one! I was starting to get a little bit of a complex. Wah, wah, poor me, my kids won't sleep for me, what am I doing wrong?! Then I adopted the attitude that I'm just so awesome that they never want to be without me (although, bedtime sleeping is not an issue at all...except for when they get up before the asscrack of dawn and refuse to go back to sleep).
On Saturday, I again left the house just around naptime and J was able to get the kids down for a solid couple of hours. They still need the rest, maybe not every day, but clearly they need it (especially Liam). I hate having to actually leave my own home in order to have my kids get rest, but I'm willing to play along a few days a week (as long as there's someone here who's able to put them down...they won't let Nana put them down to nap because she's even more awesome than I am).
Lately I've been having a hard time. As much as I love and adore my children, they were driving me insane and I've been short tempered and not at all the mother I want to be. I was beginning to feel pretty lost in the land of motherhood and ashamed of my feelings of frustration and exasperation. I know that every parent feels this way from time to time, but I tend to add an extra serving of guilt on top of my emotions because motherhood is the only thing I've ever truly wanted and when life gets frustrating or overwhelming I feel like an utter failure. How could I be so terrible at the only dream I've ever had? It only adds to the frustration and sense of defeat that I sometimes feel.
Que last Saturday: when I left the house in order to give J a chance to put the kids down, I had no intention of going anywhere. In fact, the only thing I was doing was trying to avoid getting another Diet Coke from McD's. As I was driving down the street, I came upon the library. A fleeting thought crossed my mind to pop in. I'm not a huge fan of the Concord Public Library. It's too small and a very distracting place. But, I made a quick decision that, if I could find a parking space, I'd go in for a minute or two. There was an open spot nearby, so I pulled in. I didn't really have anything in particular that I was looking for.
It crossed my mind to check out the parenting section for books on potty training since it's a big topic of discussion around here (the toddler half of the discussion usually being: "No, I don't need to go on the potty!"). I have a couple of good resources, and the Internet is chock-full of ideas, so I wasn't really invested in my browsing. I was merely killing time.
Or so I thought.
J called, pretty much as soon as I'd walked through the door, to say that they coast was clear (and I was only gone ~ 10 minutes!), but I thought I'd look around since I was already there. Screw the potty training books, I ended up with a great selection of books. Then I happened across one last book. What got me was the subtitle: A Calm Approach to Caring for Yourself and Your Children. OK, I thought, I'll give it a shot. I began reading it that night at the gym (an ironic place to read a book about mindfulness). IT'S FABULOUS and just what I needed to read at this point in my life and in my journey of motherhood. I'm only 30 or so pages into the book, but I already feel so. much. better. Years ago, when I motherhood was a mere dream, I purchased the book Buddha Mom and began to read it in the hopes of approaching parenthood with calm and peacefulness. I never finished the book, though, and it's somewhere up in my bedroom, I'm sure. I may just have to revisit it after I finish Buddhism for Mothers. I can be a little turned off by all of the squishiness that seems to stem from a lot of Buddhist devotees, but I absolutely believe that elements of Buddhism dovetail nicely with Catholicism. I think, for instance, that mindfulness is really just a way of living the golden rule. Being aware of your surroundings, being open to what life has to teach you in any and every instance, just makes sense.
In our insanely busy world, in our lives that can be ruled by schedules and technology, we've learned to not pay full attention to pretty much anything - even when we think we are. I'm not saying that I'm enlightened all of a sudden, but I have been reminded to slow down, to look around, and to remember what's important.
This is exactly what I need right now.
Last Tuesday, Cait and JP were here and watched the kids while I went to the gym. When I came home...the kidlets were napping! And it was a good, long nap, too. Cait ended coming up again on Wednesday and I half-jokingly said she should get her in time for nap so that she could put the kids down. I "went out" (at first it was supposed to just be a drive around the block, but actually did end up going to Target) in time for the kids' nap and, lo and behold, they took another one! I was starting to get a little bit of a complex. Wah, wah, poor me, my kids won't sleep for me, what am I doing wrong?! Then I adopted the attitude that I'm just so awesome that they never want to be without me (although, bedtime sleeping is not an issue at all...except for when they get up before the asscrack of dawn and refuse to go back to sleep).
On Saturday, I again left the house just around naptime and J was able to get the kids down for a solid couple of hours. They still need the rest, maybe not every day, but clearly they need it (especially Liam). I hate having to actually leave my own home in order to have my kids get rest, but I'm willing to play along a few days a week (as long as there's someone here who's able to put them down...they won't let Nana put them down to nap because she's even more awesome than I am).
Lately I've been having a hard time. As much as I love and adore my children, they were driving me insane and I've been short tempered and not at all the mother I want to be. I was beginning to feel pretty lost in the land of motherhood and ashamed of my feelings of frustration and exasperation. I know that every parent feels this way from time to time, but I tend to add an extra serving of guilt on top of my emotions because motherhood is the only thing I've ever truly wanted and when life gets frustrating or overwhelming I feel like an utter failure. How could I be so terrible at the only dream I've ever had? It only adds to the frustration and sense of defeat that I sometimes feel.
Que last Saturday: when I left the house in order to give J a chance to put the kids down, I had no intention of going anywhere. In fact, the only thing I was doing was trying to avoid getting another Diet Coke from McD's. As I was driving down the street, I came upon the library. A fleeting thought crossed my mind to pop in. I'm not a huge fan of the Concord Public Library. It's too small and a very distracting place. But, I made a quick decision that, if I could find a parking space, I'd go in for a minute or two. There was an open spot nearby, so I pulled in. I didn't really have anything in particular that I was looking for.
It crossed my mind to check out the parenting section for books on potty training since it's a big topic of discussion around here (the toddler half of the discussion usually being: "No, I don't need to go on the potty!"). I have a couple of good resources, and the Internet is chock-full of ideas, so I wasn't really invested in my browsing. I was merely killing time.
Or so I thought.
J called, pretty much as soon as I'd walked through the door, to say that they coast was clear (and I was only gone ~ 10 minutes!), but I thought I'd look around since I was already there. Screw the potty training books, I ended up with a great selection of books. Then I happened across one last book. What got me was the subtitle: A Calm Approach to Caring for Yourself and Your Children. OK, I thought, I'll give it a shot. I began reading it that night at the gym (an ironic place to read a book about mindfulness). IT'S FABULOUS and just what I needed to read at this point in my life and in my journey of motherhood. I'm only 30 or so pages into the book, but I already feel so. much. better. Years ago, when I motherhood was a mere dream, I purchased the book Buddha Mom and began to read it in the hopes of approaching parenthood with calm and peacefulness. I never finished the book, though, and it's somewhere up in my bedroom, I'm sure. I may just have to revisit it after I finish Buddhism for Mothers. I can be a little turned off by all of the squishiness that seems to stem from a lot of Buddhist devotees, but I absolutely believe that elements of Buddhism dovetail nicely with Catholicism. I think, for instance, that mindfulness is really just a way of living the golden rule. Being aware of your surroundings, being open to what life has to teach you in any and every instance, just makes sense.
In our insanely busy world, in our lives that can be ruled by schedules and technology, we've learned to not pay full attention to pretty much anything - even when we think we are. I'm not saying that I'm enlightened all of a sudden, but I have been reminded to slow down, to look around, and to remember what's important.
This is exactly what I need right now.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
In Which I Learn Another Lesson (And Speak Parenthetically A Lot)
I switched churches late last summer and am in love with the parish I now attend. St. John's has two priests who handle the Masses, the resident pastor, Fr. Steve, and an assistant retired priest, Fr. George (although, you'd never know he was retired given how much he does). Before I began going to St. John's, someone warned me that Father Steve was a little "too outgoing" and often required congregation participation and that that was a major turnoff for them. I didn't know what to expect, but I wanted to give it a try.
Father Steve is amazing. It turns out that "congregation participation" just means that he asks, albeit exuberantly, how everyone's doing or whether or not we're going to take the bulletin home or some other similar question, and he actually expects a response (and he'll ask again, until he gets one). I can imagine that a lot of people think Mass is a time for quiet reflection and don't feel comfortable "talking back" to the priest (also, I think there's an attitude against this in a lot of Catholic churches because it can tend to be a little too "call and response" and that may seem a little, uhm, protestant maybe...or maybe that's just me?). For me, Father Steve is outrageously funny and I adore the Masses that he leads. I think his most endearing quality is that he is human (and accessible in his humanity) and isn't afraid to show it to his parishioners; he doesn't appear to inhabit an untouchable, holier-than-thou realm (oh, the irony!), as a lot of priests can (at least, most of the ones I knew growing up were like that). For the record, Father George also comes across this way and is a rather delightful little man in his own right.
I had the schedule nailed down. Fr. Steve would do the 8:30 Mass one Sunday and the 11 o'clock the next. I tried my best to follow the routine because I find Father Steve's homilies to be very thought provoking (and good for a few great laughs) and, usually, just what I need to hear - without even realizing that I needed to hear anything.
Last month, we had a couple of big storms that made it difficult for me to get out of the driveway on Sunday, so I ended up missing Mass. No worries, right? I went the next Sunday and it ended up being Father George. Now, don't get me wrong, Father George is a very lovely man who knows his religion. I tend to think of him more as a little professor who gives a history lesson within his homily (for instance, I now know more than I once did (read: nothing) about basilicas and can even tell you that there's now one in Maine (who knew, right?). Don't get me wrong, Father George delivers a beautiful Mass, but I just look forward to Father Steve more because I'm selfish like that.
Well, no matter which Mass I've attended for the past three weeks, the celebrant has been Father George. I felt a little twinge of disappointment (and, yes, immediately felt guilty for feeling that way) when I realized that it wasn't going to be Father Steve that morning. It turns out, though, that when I put aside my silly little expectations and just sit there and listen - truly listen - the experience is just as fulfilling and I also hear what I need from Father George.
Just another example of how good it can be to be wrong.
Father Steve is amazing. It turns out that "congregation participation" just means that he asks, albeit exuberantly, how everyone's doing or whether or not we're going to take the bulletin home or some other similar question, and he actually expects a response (and he'll ask again, until he gets one). I can imagine that a lot of people think Mass is a time for quiet reflection and don't feel comfortable "talking back" to the priest (also, I think there's an attitude against this in a lot of Catholic churches because it can tend to be a little too "call and response" and that may seem a little, uhm, protestant maybe...or maybe that's just me?). For me, Father Steve is outrageously funny and I adore the Masses that he leads. I think his most endearing quality is that he is human (and accessible in his humanity) and isn't afraid to show it to his parishioners; he doesn't appear to inhabit an untouchable, holier-than-thou realm (oh, the irony!), as a lot of priests can (at least, most of the ones I knew growing up were like that). For the record, Father George also comes across this way and is a rather delightful little man in his own right.
I had the schedule nailed down. Fr. Steve would do the 8:30 Mass one Sunday and the 11 o'clock the next. I tried my best to follow the routine because I find Father Steve's homilies to be very thought provoking (and good for a few great laughs) and, usually, just what I need to hear - without even realizing that I needed to hear anything.
Last month, we had a couple of big storms that made it difficult for me to get out of the driveway on Sunday, so I ended up missing Mass. No worries, right? I went the next Sunday and it ended up being Father George. Now, don't get me wrong, Father George is a very lovely man who knows his religion. I tend to think of him more as a little professor who gives a history lesson within his homily (for instance, I now know more than I once did (read: nothing) about basilicas and can even tell you that there's now one in Maine (who knew, right?). Don't get me wrong, Father George delivers a beautiful Mass, but I just look forward to Father Steve more because I'm selfish like that.
Well, no matter which Mass I've attended for the past three weeks, the celebrant has been Father George. I felt a little twinge of disappointment (and, yes, immediately felt guilty for feeling that way) when I realized that it wasn't going to be Father Steve that morning. It turns out, though, that when I put aside my silly little expectations and just sit there and listen - truly listen - the experience is just as fulfilling and I also hear what I need from Father George.
Just another example of how good it can be to be wrong.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Ashes
I went to Ash Wednesday Mass this evening. On my way home, I stopped at McD's for my large diet coke, sans ice (definitely not something I could ever give up for Lent) and the following conversation ensued (note that I'm sort of a regular so it's not uncommon for some employees to chat with me while I get my diet coke fix):
McD's chick: How are you?
Me: Well, thanks. You?
McD's chick: Where'd you go? You got a big cross on your forehead.
Me: Yeah, chuch. It's Ash Wednesday. The beginning of Lent.
McD's chick: Oh, yeah. You can't eat meat, right? We were just all talking about that. Someone just came through and ordered like 8 fishes. We were like, 'what the hell?'
Me: Well, yeah. It's a thing about sacrifice.
McD's chick: You go everyday?
Me: No, this was a special day.
McD's chick: Yeah, but you can't eat meat. I don't get that.
Me: It's not everyday, just certain days.
McD's chick: He made the meat to be eaten. Good night!
I found the whole scenario particularly amusing because the priest had encouraged us, even though it was late in the day, to not be eager to wash the ashes off and, if someone should point out that we had a mark on our foreheads, to tell them what it was about. I didn't really foresee my needing to explain anything on my way home, until I saw everyone leaving church with huge dark crosses on their foreheads. They were pretty hard to miss.
When I got home, the ashes caused quite a stir. J took about 20 pictures, never having seen such prominent ashes before (and, in all fairness, this may be the first time I've gone to Ash Wednesday Mass during the entirety of our marriage so it was the first time he'd seen them on me.) #2 kept asking me if I was alright. She peppered me with a chorus of "OK, Mumma?" because she was concerned about the mark made by the ashes and #1, though immensely glad that I was home, was disturbed and couldn't quite look me in the eye.
McD's chick: How are you?
Me: Well, thanks. You?
McD's chick: Where'd you go? You got a big cross on your forehead.
Me: Yeah, chuch. It's Ash Wednesday. The beginning of Lent.
McD's chick: Oh, yeah. You can't eat meat, right? We were just all talking about that. Someone just came through and ordered like 8 fishes. We were like, 'what the hell?'
Me: Well, yeah. It's a thing about sacrifice.
McD's chick: You go everyday?
Me: No, this was a special day.
McD's chick: Yeah, but you can't eat meat. I don't get that.
Me: It's not everyday, just certain days.
McD's chick: He made the meat to be eaten. Good night!
I found the whole scenario particularly amusing because the priest had encouraged us, even though it was late in the day, to not be eager to wash the ashes off and, if someone should point out that we had a mark on our foreheads, to tell them what it was about. I didn't really foresee my needing to explain anything on my way home, until I saw everyone leaving church with huge dark crosses on their foreheads. They were pretty hard to miss.
When I got home, the ashes caused quite a stir. J took about 20 pictures, never having seen such prominent ashes before (and, in all fairness, this may be the first time I've gone to Ash Wednesday Mass during the entirety of our marriage so it was the first time he'd seen them on me.) #2 kept asking me if I was alright. She peppered me with a chorus of "OK, Mumma?" because she was concerned about the mark made by the ashes and #1, though immensely glad that I was home, was disturbed and couldn't quite look me in the eye.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
What I Should Have Said...
"Thanks anyway, but I'm far too addicted to chocolate and Diet Coke to even think the word 'Mormon.' Oh and can I assume you're voting for Romney then?"
Thanks, But No Thanks
When J comes home from work, he grabs a bite to eat and then we head out for a walk with the Muffins. We do a nice 2 1/2 mile route around our neighborhood that makes us feel good and allows the kids a chance to get out and get some fresh air. J and I both look forward to our walk very much.
Tonight, as we were just rounding the first corner of our walk we hear a man yell across the street to us and we stop. Immediately, I could tell they were missionaries, but I wasn't sure if they were Baptist or Mormon. (Turns out they were Mormon.) I try to always be polite, so I thought I'd be able to get a word in at some point early in his spiel to kind of nicely shut him down. I was wrong.
Missionary: Do you believe is Jesus Christ?
H: Uhm, yes.*
Missionary: Ok, great! *eyes light up a little bit* Do you have a church you attend?
H: Yes.
Missionary: Oh. *pause* That's Catholic, right?
H: Yes.
Missionary: Well, I'd like to invite you to consider the word of Christ...
J: No offense, but we're really not interested.
H: We're trying to get some exercise before it gets dark and we're only at the beginning of our route, I'm sorry.
J: H, come on.
Missionary: Well, I'd like to offer you the chance to consider the Book of Mormon and another testament of Jesus Christ.
H: OK, well *politely takes offered card and shoves it in the stroller's basket*
We walked away and I was really upset. It's one thing when they come knocking on my door. I can choose not to answer, but to stop us while we were clearly out getting some exercise and fresh air (not to mention that the kids only have so much staying power and our walk takes a good 45 minutes) really annoyed me. Both young men had these creepy glassy-eyed stares and one didn't really say anything at all. J tried to reassure me that they're used to having doors closed on them and people not being interested in what they have to say, but I was trying to be polite and was never given the chance to say, "thanks, but no thanks." I know full well and respect the fact that not everyone believes as I do, but I felt really intruded upon and am still annoyed. Needless to say, the card inviting me to call an 800 number for my free Book of Mormon went straight in the recycling bin when we got home.
* The timing of this is interesting, though, because I've recently begun attending Mass on a regular basis and have a post brewing in my mind about my faith so now I feel even more compelled to get my thoughts down.
What do you do when put in an awkward position?
Tonight, as we were just rounding the first corner of our walk we hear a man yell across the street to us and we stop. Immediately, I could tell they were missionaries, but I wasn't sure if they were Baptist or Mormon. (Turns out they were Mormon.) I try to always be polite, so I thought I'd be able to get a word in at some point early in his spiel to kind of nicely shut him down. I was wrong.
Missionary: Do you believe is Jesus Christ?
H: Uhm, yes.*
Missionary: Ok, great! *eyes light up a little bit* Do you have a church you attend?
H: Yes.
Missionary: Oh. *pause* That's Catholic, right?
H: Yes.
Missionary: Well, I'd like to invite you to consider the word of Christ...
J: No offense, but we're really not interested.
H: We're trying to get some exercise before it gets dark and we're only at the beginning of our route, I'm sorry.
J: H, come on.
Missionary: Well, I'd like to offer you the chance to consider the Book of Mormon and another testament of Jesus Christ.
H: OK, well *politely takes offered card and shoves it in the stroller's basket*
We walked away and I was really upset. It's one thing when they come knocking on my door. I can choose not to answer, but to stop us while we were clearly out getting some exercise and fresh air (not to mention that the kids only have so much staying power and our walk takes a good 45 minutes) really annoyed me. Both young men had these creepy glassy-eyed stares and one didn't really say anything at all. J tried to reassure me that they're used to having doors closed on them and people not being interested in what they have to say, but I was trying to be polite and was never given the chance to say, "thanks, but no thanks." I know full well and respect the fact that not everyone believes as I do, but I felt really intruded upon and am still annoyed. Needless to say, the card inviting me to call an 800 number for my free Book of Mormon went straight in the recycling bin when we got home.
* The timing of this is interesting, though, because I've recently begun attending Mass on a regular basis and have a post brewing in my mind about my faith so now I feel even more compelled to get my thoughts down.
What do you do when put in an awkward position?
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