I've been putting off this project forever (okay, about 8 months).  Ever since coming back from Mexico, I'd been dying to try out something I'd seen down there in the kiosks.  Since my husband is able to create steel dies that cut wood, I asked for his help in putting into wood what I'd envisioned in my head.  He obliged.  

I finally got around to painting it tonight.  Can you guess what (or who) it is?

Since this was only a test piece, scrap wood was used.  However, even being scrap wood, the puzzle pieces came out just as I wanted them to!  Each piece is 3/4" thick, so they're super durable.  Vince has already chucked pieces across the room for kicks and nothing split or cracked (aside from the slight crack that was there to begin with). I though that was a good sign, especially since we'd only used scrap wood!!!

For reference, this is what 3/4" of an inch looks like:

Anyhow, the naked pieces have been sitting on my counter just waiting for me to pick out the perfect colors.  I finally did so tonight because with the oncoming snow, I figured a crafty activity would keep me occupied.  Here I am about halfway through the process:

To get some of the colors juuuuuust right, I got to try my hand at mixing.  I wanted a subtle rosy pink for the cheeks, but the red I had was too dark and the white didn't help, so I added yellow and got precisely what I wanted.  I felt all sorts of artsy!

I must've painted each piece about five or six times.  Wood absorbs paint like you wouldn't believe, and I wanted certain colors to REALLY stand out (like that gorgeous cobalt blue). 
Besides, I don't mind if things take longer to do if they come out looking nice in the end.

The halo might've been one of the more time consuming parts of the project because wanted to use special metallic paint to highlight some of the rays.  To ensure I didn't make a total mess of things, I taped off lines for myself:

It definitely looked a bit silly at the time, but I was so happy with the way it turned out. 
Definitely worth the agita of fighting the tape.  

All in all, it took me about an hour and a half to paint everything.  I used a hair dryer at some points to help the paint dry faster (so I could paint facial features, for example).  Otherwise, I just spent my time sanding, painting, painting some more, and taping off things here or there.

I used a different brush for each color because I didn't want anything getting mixed that I wasn't mixing on purpose, ya know?  The sponge tipped brushes worked best on the wood to give it a smooth, even coat.  The fine-tipped brushes were perfect for the details.  I'm really happy with how the final project turned out. Have you guessed who I was painting?

I haven't sealed it yet, but that's because I want to wait overnight to let everything really dry thoroughly.  

Now that I know I can actually paint these pieces and have them look like a cute facsimile of Our Lady of Guadalupe, I'm going to have John make me a few more using non-scrap wood.  He'd know the best kind of wood for a project like this, so I'll defer to him, but I wanted to share with you folks because I'm just so pleased with how she turned out.  

I'm contemplating painting other versions since this is such a basic design.  Suggestions? Thoughts?

I'm also thinking about coming up with other designs - specifically ones that involve the Holy Family.  I've always liked those Holy Family images with St. Joseph basically encompassing Our Lady as she cradles the Infant Jesus in her arms... something like that.  

So, that was my craft tonight.  Any ideas on which version of Our Lady I should try next?  I'm very open to suggestions!

Vince had a rough day at school yesterday.  As a result, he was punished by not getting a story before bed.  That's the deal.  That's always been the deal.  He's always known this was the deal.

That doesn't stop him from complaining and whining and trying to weasel his way into getting a story before bed, though.

So after his bath, the whining started.  "But Mommy, I'm really sorry.  I've been really good tonight, right?  I'll be good tomorrow, too!"

"Vincent, you didn't listen at school.  If you don't listen in school, you don't get a bedtime story.  You know that."

"But I've been good all night!"

I started getting annoyed, but as usual, a quick tap on the shoulder reminded me I sometimes sound an awful lot like that.

How many times have I pushed off prayer or good deeds or something because I could "get it all in" later?  Heck, all throughout college, I figured I didn't even need to go to Mass or anything because I'd eventually become one of those little old ladies stooped over in Church after the "good part of life" was behind me.

I need to be CONSISTENTLY GOOD.  I can't just rack up points "at the end" because, in truth, no one knows when the end is.  God doesn't ask us to listen to him "at the end."  He asks us to listen to Him always.

Just some food for thought I ended up chewing on.  

About a week ago, I watched a documentary about the Vatican.  Originally, I thought I was sitting down to watch a special on art at the Vatican.  I didn't realize I was about to embark on a much different special.  

As it turns out...

So instead of enjoying an eyeful of incredible Renaissance art, iconography and history, I was doused with the cold reality of the underbelly of the Vatican's dealings with pedophilia, homosexuality, and politics.  

In truth, it only took me a few minutes to realize I'd made a mistake, but I figured I may as well take what I could from it since the other documentary wasn't on Netflix.  

This Frontline documentary was a narrative of those in our Church hierarchy who have actively worked to cover abuse, grab political power, or utilize their prominence for activities that would shame Nancy Pelosi.  

Anyway, this was basically one long description of the worst of the worst in our hierarchy.
Heaven help us, we certainly have our fair share of sinners.  This piece certainly highlights that. However, the documentary also highlighted a bit of dogma I suspect its editors would blush to admit shines through the filth.

You see, even though the interviews, video clips, presented documents and other evidence stack squarely against the virtue of the Church (for good reason in some cases), the documentary acknowledges that the last few popes (in truth, all of them) have not come from the same mold as those railed against in the film.  

In fact, it almost seems as if our pontiffs have been antithetical to those who hide in the shadows of our Church looking to grab power that doesn't belong to them.  

Of course, that is how it should be.  Christ promised that He would not abandon His Church.  He would not allow the gates of Hell to prevail against Her.  He would not allow His cornerstone to fail.  Thus, He sent His Spirit to protect and guide the Chair of Peter, and there the Spirit has remained, actively frustrating those who would see the corruption and fall of the Church.

Over and over this became apparent as the documentary led deeper and deeper into the embarrassing shame some of priests harbor.  I took this as a reminder of how necessary it is for us to pray for our priests.  Oh, pray for them!  They need our prayers!  

So, too, do the victims of our Church.  While it's true we have helped so many, we can't let ourselves think that somehow makes up for the souls we've hurt through our own sin.  

I ended up getting so upset by the end of the documentary that the only solace I had was the fact that Christ had so obviously not abandoned us to ourselves.  The Holy Spirit was and is still very active in our Church, and no matter how hard this documentary tried to hide that, the Light of Christ shone through.  I imagine the editors would blush to realize that was the end result of their video.  So yes, while they acknowledged the sinfulness and vulnerability of some of our hierarchy, they also upheld dogma and highlighted the support of Christ through His Spirit and the special protection the Chair of St. Peter has.  They don't chant "Come, Holy Spirit, Come" for nothing during those Papal conclaves, folks!

When I explained to John why I was so emotional at the end of the video, even he reflected for a minute with a "Hmmm... interesting."

Happy New Year, folks!

On Monday, I went to my 12 week appointment.  It was the first time I was able to hear my baby's heartbeat.  I'd seen it flickering on the ultrasound monitor, but Monday was the first time I heard that blessed noise.  In truth, the fear of miscarriage has always been something I struggled with, but with this pregnancy, I truly believe everything will be okay.  With the amount of Divine Providence I've seen at work, I have faith that He has every intention of seeing this child in my arms.  

I tremble at the thought sometimes, because I can't help but feel I'm not worthy of such a gift. But again, gifts are not given because one deserves them.  Gifts are given because the giver (in this case, THE Giver) wills that they be given.  So I am trying my best to accept every aspect of this gift (nausea and back-pain included).  

However, there is always that moment as the doctor presses the doppler to my tummy that all the universe seems to hold its breath with me.  I try so hard to block out the buzz of florescent lights, the thunder of my bated heart, and the frigid gel that causes a shock of goosebumps to scream along my arms and neck.  I try to block out those sensations because I vainly want to hear the whir of life within me.  As she presses the doppler further into my abdomen, fear inevitably tries to smother my anticipatory joy.  

There will be no heartbeat.  God realized His mistake and took this one to Heaven, too.  

Shut up, fear.  Shut up.

She's pressing further because she can't hear anything.  There is nothing to hear.  You'll have to tell everyone what a terrible mistake you made in sharing the news.  You've failed again.

Shut up, fear!  SHUT UP!

She's moving the doppler side to side.  Nothing.  Nothing, nothing, nothing.  You --

*Heartbeat - glorious heartbeat*

And the fear flees as fear always does in the face of Truth.  

My abdomen pulsed as I tried not to cry out my emotion.  My doctor kindly pretended not to notice, as I'm sure she does every time a new mother reclaims her breath.

That 15 seconds was the first of many, many more.  There will always be fear.  Vince is 5 years old, and not a day goes by where I don't struggle against the fear that I'm not doing enough, educating him enough, BEING enough for him.  I have no doubt that will extend forever and always until - together - we all enjoy Heaven.  

Myla is the only one I do not fear for as I know she has beaten us there.  

And that's okay.  As a parent, it's part of the deal.  :)

I'm incredibly disheartened and overwhelmed right now.

My husband and I will be moving our family to a new district this spring which means I've had to research all new options for Vincent's education.  He's done so well in Kindergarten this year that we are planning to try him in 1st grade; however, I fully understand that 1st grade is going to be significantly more structured than Kindergarten.  It's also going to be a big jump because instead of being one of eight, he'll be one of 20.  

Owning to his Sensory Processing Disorder, larger class-sizes are overwhelming to him due to the increase in visual / auditory stimulation.  It was why he had such major melt-downs last year when we attempted to place him in several mainstream Pre-K classes.  Intellectually, he can handle the material; behaviorally, he has difficulty keeping himself in check when so many things are vying for his attention.  

As such, I checked out the school district we'll be moving to.  Given the giant increase in taxes we'll be paying, I expected the school system to be top-ranked.  Imagine my surprise when these schools couldn't even muster more than a C average.  

?!

I was sickened.  My husband, who grew up in that area, seemed unconcerned.  I was flabbergasted.  If we're expected to pay 5 figures for taxes each year (FIVE FIGURES!), I expect to see that reflected in top-notch schooling.  The fact that not one - NOT ONE - could muster more than a "C" average makes me believe that property taxes in that area are not being spent properly.  It also makes me not to want move there.  

But since it is my husband's decision, we will be moving there anyway, and I'm left to figure out how to make up for an objectively horrible (and obviously corrupt) district.  Even the private schools are terrible.

So I've been doing my best trying to research as much as possible.  I've found an average Catholic school that seems to fair much better than any of its counterparts, but since it is a private school, there isn't much in the way of supplemental aid (which again just makes me annoyed that my property taxes can't go to fund the school that my son will benefit from).  

I contacted the special education program coordinator that oversees supplemental aid for private schools and she informed me that they would likely not have financial assistance available to pay for the Occupational Therapist my son would need because he'd be in the Catholic school system. If I were to pull him from the Catholic school, however, she would be able to "squeeze him in somewhere."

Bull shizz.

Believe it or not, America, there is still such a thing as school choice.  Their fear-mongering just made me superbly angry.  How dare they tell me that just because I wanted my son to attend a Catholic school they couldn't afford to send an OT to him?  That I should seriously consider enrolling him in one of their terribly ranked schools?!  Ew.  No thank you.  

I'm just so upset / angry / disgruntled.  

I know there are those of you who are still pulling for me to homeschool, but I'm still not certain that's the best option.  

However, it's also NOT an option for us to place him into a sub-par school just so we can get him a bit of OT when a good Catholic school can provide that for him as well.  

Argh.  Sorry... this entire post was one huge vent.  It's precisely why I haven't blogged consistently the last few weeks.  I've been wading through all this research and back and forth with schools that I just feel depleted.  

Ya know what, though?  I need to keep reminding myself that God has provided thus far and will continue to do so.  He made sure we had safety nets when things didn't work out each and every time a bump in the road knocked us off-track, so I'm sure He's got something in mind for Vince. 

Many of us take part in the Catholic tradition of picking a patron saint for the year.  Some of us even use the lovely Jen Fulwiler's' Saint Generator to do it!

I typically choose a saint along with my Religious Education students on the first day back from Christmas break.  For 2014, however, I did not do that.  This year, God had a specific patron in mind for me, and it took me until this week to finally appreciate the wisdom of His choice.  

As I wrote back in January, a friend sent me a St. Philomena prayer card out of the blue.  Just that weekend, I'd laughed at the idea of St. Philomena being my patron because I couldn't fathom why God would stick the poor girl with the likes of me.  However, getting that card made me realize that was precisely who God sent for me.  

So here I am in December - almost a full year later.  I've kept her card and medal next to my computer this whole time, still not completely sure why God would choose to have this sweet, chaste young girl for my intercessor.  

Until now.

Some of you are aware that I have my Religious Education students give oral reports on their patron saints.  I have them choose patrons for each semester, and their projects were due this past Tuesday.  

One of them had chosen St. Philomena.

Now I know the story of St. Philomena pretty well, but for some odd reason, I never knew what she was considered the patroness of.  As part of her report, my student explained to the class who she was partial to.

Does anyone here want to take a guess what my dear Saint Philomena is patroness of?

Patroness of the Youth with predilection for babies and children.
Protectress of young married couples, many times giving the joys of motherhood.
Assists and protects expectant mothers.
Comfront of the afflicted and imprisoned.
The solace of the suffering and sick.
Consoler of afflicted mothers who invoke her for material or spiritual help for their children.
Great helper of students and those who sit for examinations.
When invoked she encourages many conversions.
Conversion of sinners and return to the sacraments.
Assists priests in their work.
For all Spiritual and temporal problems.
There is no case too trivial or unimportant to concern her.
She exhibits her greatest patronage towards her devotees by leading them to the love of Our Lord and Our Lady.
Patroness of the Living Rosary.
Protectoress of the Children of Mary.

My dear readers, I have a miracle to share with you.

That's right, I said I've got a MIRACLE, and I've been dying to tell you all since my husband sat me down in September to share it with me.

John, my agnostic, no-more-babies-ever-again husband sat me down and said (completely of his own volition), "I want to have another baby.  We can start trying in January."

*Cue waterfall of tears, screaming, psalms of thanksgiving and more tears.*

In all honesty, when he said that to me, I immediately started sobbing.  Thank God I was already sitting on the floor, because had I not been, I'd've quickly fallen there.  

I covered my face and my whole body shook with emotion.  John knelt down next to me and said, "I thought you'd be happy!"

My God... happy?!  HAPPY???  

Happy was the absolute least of what I was feeling at that moment, but there was no way for me to communicate that to him.  So I just shook my head, bowed it further, and unleashed my heart in soundless psalms of awe, jubilation and thanksgiving.  Before I could physically speak to my husband, I spoke to God who had so mercifully melted his heart.  I said a prayer to Myla, because I know she prayed on her Daddy's behalf. 

After several minutes of this, I finally lifted my head and kissed that of my husband's, who was now sitting patiently next to me waiting for my emotions to settle.  I said, "You have no idea what this means to me.  Thank you.  I love you so much.  Even if we don't get pregnant, you just being open to another child means SO MUCH."

Then, in true John fashion, he asked, "Can we raise this one atheist?"

My heart did a bit of this:

For a split second, I saw the gift I'd just been granted get crushed.

Still crying I said, "No, John.  I'll raise any and all children Catholic."

I then braced for him to retract his decision for another child.  However, he signed in resignation, laid his head against me and simply said, "You know I had to try."

Folks, when I tell you I spent the next few days in a complete euphoria, that is an understatement to end all understatements.  It was as if God, Himself, had come down to tell me I was already pregnant and would be giving birth to a perfect little cherub tomorrow.  I'm not even kidding.  I absolutely couldn't wait for January to roll around, so I started peppering John with images of us telling his father at Christmas.  

So we went ahead and started trying.

Thank you, thank you, thank you for all the prayers, love and support.  You're the best!!!

I "like" the Huffington Post's parenting section on Facebook.  A cringe-inducing header led me to comment on a particular piece that ended up garnering top comment honors.  See below:

As you can see, there were 26 comments as of posting this.  A good majority of them are nothing more than vitriol directed at me for not joining in the hero-worship of yet another parent who wants to pat herself on the back for whatever the heck this is supposed to be.  

And really - what exactly is this supposed to be?  

As I said back in March, I'm so sick of these stories.  And given the fact that I'm the top comment, I'm not the only one.  We are a minority, but we're a minority that stubbornly refuses to go away.

We are a stubborn minority that refuses to enable our children to navigate an already confusing, misshapen world by promoting MORE confusion and celebrating the deviance from basic, unalterable facts about themselves.  For as much as the liberal world likes to make fun of Catholicism for not caring about science (read: blatant ignorance), these same folks love to throw science out the window when it comes to sex and gender.  

This has nothing to do with boys wanting to play with dolls or girls wanting to drive a race car. This has everything to do with the concerted effort of a very liberal media working towards a genderless, sexless utopia in which traditional families are trampled so that the morals and dignity reflected by our very existence no longer call them to better.

The traditional family might not be a perfect reflection, but we're not called to be exactly perfect.  We are, however, called to be reflections of He who created us, and we're called to teach our children to be reflections of He who created us.  No matter how much folks try to ignore this, hide this, or confuse this reality, there will always be those of us who stand in staunch defense of that which we are blessed to know:  We are created in the image and likeness of God.  

And guess what else?  I'm not afraid to call Him God, either.  

I was talking to a friend the other day when she lamented the litany her daughter wrote in her annual letter to Santa.  She showed me four pages that included everything from Tamogotchis (they're back?!) and Frozen dolls to clothes and electronics like an iPad and digital camera (you're five, kid, you don't need a DSLR).

I was aghast.  Her daughter is a shade older than my son (by about four months).  How does she already associate Christmas with "I get to have everything I want!"?  The thought actually scared me a bit.  Is Vince going to turn into this sort of greedy, entitled monster in a few short months?

Then I realized he likely wouldn't.  My son won't be writing a list to Santa Claus, and even if he did, I doubt it'd include anything but sincere questions about Heaven, reindeer and his hairy face.  

You see, I've never connected Santa Claus with presents.  I've never played the "Be nice or I'm telling Santa" game.  I've never put that God-forsaken Elf on a Shelf in various places throughout the house in an effort to trick my kid into being a decent human being (can you tell I hate that thing with the fire of the deepest recesses of Hell?).  I've also NEVER asked him what he wanted. 

In my mind, doing so creates the expectation that he'll get what he asks for.  I'm sorry, but Christmas is not about Momma and Poppa Genie granting your shallow wishes for plastic toys that'll be discarded by Valentine's Day, kiddo.  Why, then, do we keep teaching kids that it is by asking them what they want, telling them to write endless lists of what they want, and pointing out cool toy commercials with the ever present "Wouldn't you like that?" mantra that seems to fall from parental mouths this time of year?
  
Instead, I've taught him to be grateful for everything, regardless of what it was.  I've also done my best to minimize the commercialism of Christmas.  That means the most he sees Santa is ten minutes for a picture at the mall.  We don't talk about him beyond the Santa Story I tell him each year.  Obviously I would if Vince asked, but if you ask Vince who Santa is, he'll tell you "Saint Nicholas" as if everybody in the world knew that.  If you ask him where St. Nicholas lives, he'll tell you "in Heaven with Jesus."

As a result of my active choice to downplay the commercial side of Christmas, my son has never understood the holiday to be anything other than Jesus' birthday party.  We get presents because Jesus shares His presents with all of us.  Santa Claus exists, but not in the red-suit / jolly elf sense.  Vince has never questioned where the presents come from.  He knows that on Christmas Eve, they come from Daddy's side of the family and on Christmas Day, they come from Mommy's side.  

At home, they come from Mommy and Daddy.  There might be one or two in there from Santa, but that's because - in his mind - Jesus made sure to remind Saint Nicholas to bring a few by so Vince knew Jesus was thinking of him, too!

After seeing the letter and the overwhelmed frustration of my buddy who felt pressured to split the items on her daughter's list between herself, her parents, and her husband's parents so that everything was purchased without duplicate, I was thankful that my son hasn't yet picked up on those aspects of the season.  

Granted, his special needs sorta help me out in that he's typically blind to the social cues of other kids who are clamoring for the hottest toy or stamping their feet in anticipation for the first giddy glimpses of Santa Claus, but I honestly think that he's got a pretty solid foundation on Who Christmas is really about.

And I assure you, it's not a list of presents.

So please, do not ask my kid what he wants for Christmas; it's not about getting what he wants. Christmas is about celebrating the Greatest Gift of All and sharing in that joy by gifting ourselves to others through time shared, memories made and thanksgiving offered.  

If you want to give him a gift, that's great, but please do so without his input.  Gifts are meant to come from your heart, not his.