Second Holy Communion

The best Mother's Day gift came last week when my two little girls made their First Holy Communion. We were so glad that my mom was here and the girls were wearing heirloom dresses that she made for them. They looked beautiful and innocent and happy.

 Forty years ago, the same mom made my First Holy Communion dress. Apropos of the time, it was much less fancy and took much less time for her to make. She indulges me these days to tackle very difficult projects on the sewing machine. Her handiwork almost always involves my little ones.

 Today, we all got up for the early Mass and quietly and reverently went to Communion for the first time as a whole family of five, the second time for the girls, and as part of the eternal line.

Sanctified Times Two, version 2.0

The girls both made their First Reconciliation today with the same lovely priest as their brother. They asked if they could go again next Saturday. I told them any time their little hearts desire to go, I will take them. Any time.

We celebrated with a brunch at The Waffle House. Big brother, who is now an altar server, is off with his Pinewood Derby. Tonight, the girls have the annual Father/Daughter Dance and I get the traditional Mother/Son date.

Time flows steady and strong and these babies of mine are being carried away from their childhood. I try so hard to preserve it, even if momentarily, against the ever-moving current.

If Ever There Were a Day to Write a Post Here...

...Mother's Day would be it.

The perpetual tweet-and-flutter of Twitter keeps drawing me away from my own little blog. I love its brevity and terseness and emphemerality. Quickness and cleverness are assets there in a way they are not on a blog.

but

I feel compelled.

Last week, Zeke made his First Holy Communion. He was surrounded by family and was amid almost 100 other children dressed in suits and white dresses with veils. I even broke out the shapewear [Oh, MY! what did we ever do before Spanx?] and wore the same outfit I wore when he was baptized. It was sublime and joyful. Happy tears filled my eyes. I know his life will never be the same and that is a good thing.

Yesterday, he turned 8 [and made his 2nd Holy Communion!] and I wonder where that almost-decade has gone. In this little time, eight voyages around the sun, much has changed. My man has become a Catholic and I can hardly remember the longing I had when I journeyed toward the altar alone for Communion. Motherhood has filled the nooks-and-crannies of a life and I can hardly remember the longing I had during those years of presumed infertility.

Longings almost forgotten. Ah! That's what this blog is for.

Sanctified

Today was a big day for Zeke. He made his First Reconciliation. He's now completed two of his possible seven Sacraments. My heart is full of peaceful joy that he has come this far. There were over 100 children making confessions today and six priests administering. The leaders wanted all the children to go first and then the adults could go. This was a good consolation for us who arrived at the last moment and were seated in the back. Zeke was near the end with Father Brian, our parish's former vicar, and I was the first adult in the same line. Father told me when I went in that my child is just delightful. So good to hear. When I came out, Zeke asked me what my penance was and his eyes got pretty big. Big people, big sins, big penances.

As a kid growing up, we would compare penances. It was sort of the thing to do as a kind of barometer of how you rated. Of course, if you had a different priest, it threw off the scale. David didn't grow up with this Sacrament and so he's very tight-lipped about what happens. He sees the confessional like high rollers see Vegas. It pleases me no end that my boy is growing in the faith and in knowledge and, hopefully, wisdom. I expect we will start doing the Saturday Confession as a family on a regular basis. I cannot count how many priests I know who said this was part of their growing up: regular Saturday Confessions with the family.

Little, Tiny Marker

I see the last day of the first month of 2010 and I haven't got a post. Let this one be a little placeholder of the month we had. It was snowy, cold and good. We are all well, praise God, and moving along fine.

New Year 2010

In many ways, 2009 was a 12 month extension of 2008. But some of 2009 just sucked--politics, the economy, the war--that I'm inclined to just skip it entirely and make 2008 a 24 month year. That means 2010 feels like a much-needed fresh, fresh start. I look forward to the new year. But after all these New Year's Eves, I realize January 1 is just another day. We think we're gifted a whole new set of 365 shiny new ones tonight. But we're not. It's just another day. And if you're blessed enough to draw breath another day, thank the One who made you. And go out and do what you ought.

Bye-Bye Magic Stick!

We had an appointment with Mr. Tony today. Before we set out, I dug to the back of the closet and retrieved Annie's blue 'magic stick', her arm crutch, which was a demo loaner from Mr. Tony. She hasn't used it for weeks. She asked me to carry it to the van. The mantra, 'big girls don't need magic sticks,' was oft repeated to reinforce her new habit. It seems that her posture, balance and strength have also improved with her new habit. Duh. It was a crutch!

In the office, we heard the story of a young boy who had a traumatic amputation recently. Annie told Mr. Tony, 'maybe someone else can use this. Thank you!' The stick is a nice medium blue, perfect for a little boy who's learning to use his new leg.

I thought of A Christmas Carol and Tiny Tim and the potential-scary-future image of an unused crutch. Here, however, the unused crutch makes my heart glad with the thought 'God bless us, everyone!'

Nineteen Years; One Regret [UPDATED with Photos]

It's a gorgeous autumn day in the south just like it was nineteen years ago today when I married my Officer and Gentleman in a military wedding at the Main Post Chapel at Fort Benning, Georgia. Ten fellow officers served as the Gentlemen of the Saber Arch. Our friend, George, then a first lieutenant and now a retiree, officially welcomed me to the Infantry as he ceremoniously swatted my bottom with his saber. The tradition is to say, "Welcome to the Army, Mrs. X." At that time, I outranked him and told him that I was already welcomed into the Army as my leave and earnings statements regularly proved. I also cautioned him that as a recent graduate of the U.S. Army Airborne School, I was also welcomed there as my Basic Parachutist's Badge proved. I warned him that, mess dress uniform or no, I would have no hesitation dropping him for push-ups if he violated my bridezilla edict.

He surprised me by saying, "Welcome to the Infantry, Mrs. Adams." There's a picture somewhere in the album of me laughing in surprise

and Dave smiling at me with a knowing look.

Duplicate that picture innumerable times over nineteen years. I'm often surprised and he's often smiling at my ability to be surprised.

I wouldn't change anything, really, about our married life together. There have been many challenges, some of which have been documented on this little blog, and many others that pre-dated blogging. And there are some which remain known unto us alone. Every marriage is a mystery, known only to its members.

I believe the one regret I have is in my faults--what I've done and what I've failed to do--in being more holy, more loving, and more loveable to the best man I've ever known. The only man who ever walked the earth who surpasses my man would be good St. Joseph. I have the extreme privilege of being married to a fun, funny, content & holy man who is a wonderful provider, father, beloved and friend. I was so happy on our wedding day that no tears fell from my eyes; I took it as a pre-figurement of Paradise. And every day since, I've had the privilege of living out what happily-ever-after means.

UPDATE: I dug and found the photos. My brother, a groomsman, took them back when he was a photojournalist and before he began his wedding photography work. All of them are copyright Paul F. Gero, all rights reserved.

Thanks go to Dave for scanning them. Natch.

Thank You, Saint Lucy

I am privileged to be teaching a class called 'Alphabet Saints' to the K-2 students in our co-op. I love knowing about them and teaching the little ones to rely on this 'cloud of witnesses' as they go through life.

Today, Annie went for a follow-up eye exam. As a preemie, she suffered from R.O.P., retinopathy of prematurity, and she had laser surgery to save her eyes. She is still cared for by this wonderful pediatric ophthalmologist. She wears corrective lenses, but the eyes have a great disparity. If a strong eye is relied upon too much, the weaker eye's messages to the brain eventually get shut off. One way to combat this is to patch the strong eye to make the weak eye become stronger. We have been patching for years now and the doctor just couldn't get Annie past a plateau. Six weeks ago, he decided to throw everything and the kitchen sink at this vision disparity and we began 'mega-patching.' Basically, Annie has her patch on during all her waking hours. In that mix, I asked St. Lucy, patron saint of eye patients, to intercede yet again for Annie's clarity of vision.

We had a good exam. Both eyes got 1.5 lines better on the eye chart. We will continue with more mega-patching. So while thanking St. Lucy, I ask her again to work her heavenly magic and intercede on behalf of Annie's eyes.

Tears Stream Down

Please read this post, from a Catholic priest, stationed in Iraq. The soldier in me and the Catholic in me could only speak through tears.

All the Single Babies...

From our friends at From Both Sides of the White Picket Fence.

40 Days for Life

Abortion is a pernicious evil. The pro-life movement has spent many [too many?] years working and hoping for a judicial/governmental solution. None has come. A somewhat recent, grassroots plan has taken hold. It is called 40 Days for Life. For 40 days, which began on Wednesday, September 23, 2009, there will be perpetual vigils outside abortion clinics in 213 locations across the U.S. The plan is for the faithful to pray, fast, and stand vigil. This happens twice a year.

This is the third time that I know of 40 Days taking place in our community. Last night, I was privileged to stand vigil with two men from my parish. Sadly, this is the same clinic I used to pray outside of almost a decade ago, when I was struggling with infertility. I believe those regular [Saturday morning] prayer vigils were sanctifying for me. The last time I prayed outside the clinic, Zeke was about 3 months old and nestled in my Baby Bjorn. I was overcome by joyful events and neglected this very important activism/ministry. I'm so pleased for another chance to be a witness for life in my own community.

Everyone Deserves an Aunt Ruthie...

...and now there's one more who's achieved it.

Welcome to the world, Matthew Paul "Sparkie" Gero,

We've been waiting for you for a long time.

Love,

Aunt Ruthie.

Aesop's Mushrooms

The morel? Don't be a spoil-spore. Be a fun guy!

10% Pun

Regarding Miss Suri Cruise:

"I see the baby is wearing a fuzzy hat. Is that Suri, with the fringe on top?"

I'll bet they tried at least 10 puns to get a groan.

But, alas, no pun in ten did.

Vacation

We're away at our favorite cozy cottage at the beach for a week. But, have no fear, we brought 3 computers with us and the cottage has free wifi. The only thing missing is my mom who has come with us for all our trips for the past several years. This year, she gets to go see the other ocean and help while my brother and sister-in-law welcome another niece or nephew. How cool is it that they don't know whether it's a boy or a girl? Retro-cool. I wish I'd had that sort of restraint!

It's still the same beach, but I sure do miss Mom.