Color me incredibly disappointed.

INCREDIBLY disappointed.

Agitated might be a better word.  Suspicious, even.

Yet again, there was no real celebration / veneration of Divine Mercy this past weekend.  I specifically went to a parish that I thought stood the best chance of acknowledging this Feast, but I was again (third year in a row) discouraged by a complete lack of time dedicated to calling the faithful to take full advantage of this incredible once-a-year event.

The Feast of Divine Mercy occurs the Sunday after Easter.  Why is this such a special event?  Jesus promised that to those who venerate His Divine Mercy will be forgiven all of their sins and will be granted full remittance of the punishment due as a result of those sins.

That's a clean slate, folks.  Clean as in pristine... a baptismally clean soul that is gift wrapped and handed to you simply because Jesus loves you THAT MUCH and wants you as close as possible to Him.  

That is a MIND-BOGGLING GIFT.  Should you die after reception of the Eucharist (having completed veneration and prayers), you would go RIGHT TO HEAVEN.  No stopping in Purgatory, no fear of Hell... not even if you committed the worst, most heinous sins imaginable.  

And yet for three years now, three different parishes that I've attended have basically ignored this!  THREE!

Is this willful ignorance???  I mean, how in the world do you NOT discuss this with your parishioners???  How do you NOT admonish them to take full advantage of this feast???

Given the mess this world is in, wouldn't you want your people to take full advantage of armor such as this?

Ay.

Everyone was so focused on the canonizations.  I'm fully aware of how historic and cool it is to have such gems added to our Church Canon, but c'mon now.  If St. John Paul II were physically standing here in front of the Church, I guarantee you he'd be smacking us lovingly with a stick and reminding us of the feast day he, himself, approved.  

That was part of why they pushed to have his canonization coincide with Divine Mercy Sunday.  His canonization, though, no matter HOW MUCH everyone loves him, should not have overshadowed Divine Mercy.  I don't care if we were canonizing him and fifty billion others around the world.  No amount of canonizations and no amount of holiness on the part of humans (even humans like JPII) can possibly outshine the dignity, grace and blessings of DIVINE MERCY.

I'm seriously so upset over this.  So flippin' upset.

At the end of our Mass, Fr. John did mention it briefly in passing, but he said something along the lines of "For those of you with a Divine Mercy devotion, this is your Sunday.  I wish you a blessed feast."

My mouth actually dropped open.

The 2nd Sunday of Easter is not strictly for devotees.  It's for EVERYONE who wants to avail themselves of Christ's Mercy.  He doesn't restrict it to those of us who happen to like that particular chaplet or happen to have this image up in our homes.  It is for ALL SINNERS.  To wave it off as a small devotion is such a disservice to the meaning behind this feast.

Ugh.  

It's now Wednesday and I'm still incredibly bummed about this.  I can't imagine St. John Paul II being happy that a party for him and his buddy, Saint John the 23rd, completely overshadowed the most joyous feast that Christ, Himself, gifted to the world.  

I just... wow.  So sad about this.  Please tell me there are those of you out there who had Masses that highlighted this feast.

John came home the other day bearing a gift.  He was oddly serious, and as soon as he said, "Uncle Mike wanted me to give you this" I knew it was something of Nanny's.  I heard it before I saw it.  There was a delicate sound of beads clinking together, so I looked at John and said, "Her rosary?"

John shook his head and said, "No.  A bracelet."

He then lifted a beautiful hematite beaded bracelet from its protective wrapping and put it in my hand.  I remember seeing Nanny wear this.  I had complemented her one it once before because it's got one of my favorite images of Our Lady as its centerpiece.  Instantly I was joyed to have this exquisite piece of Nanny's religious collection.

I asked if he was 100% sure no one else in the family would be upset that I was recieving this little treasure.  I only married into the family.  I've only got ten blessed years of knowing Nanny, so Heaven forbid I be given something that holds more sentimental value for someone else, ya know?

He assured me that he and Uncle Mike talked about it, though.  Uncle Mike specifically put it aside for me because he knew Nanny would have wanted me to have it.  Both Uncle Mike and Nanny knew of my love for the Blessed Mother, so I was grateful.  I spoke with Uncle Mike last night about it.  I thanked him for being so thoughtful as to put it aside for me.  He gave me a hug and said he couldn't think of anyone else who would appreciate it as much as I would.  

I'm just so humbled and grateful for this beautiful reminder of Nanny's devotion to Our Lady. She clung to her Faith, and I know it served her well, especially at the end.  

I have little doubt the Blessed Mother came to collect her.  

Our Lady, Queen of Heaven, rain your blessing down on those who have gone before us. May they all await us in Heaven.  

Today marks a full decade that John and I have been together.  Wow!  

It's hard to imagine life before John.  I know it existed, but ever since falling in love with this yahoo, my life has been completely intertwined with his.  I am incredibly lucky to have him.

Thank you, Lord, for answering my prayers with this one.  Strong, intelligent, funny, hard-working, thoughtful, an incredible father and cute to boot.  He's my jackpot.  :)

I seriously went back and forth about posting tonight.  So many people are already blogging up a storm about the canonization of our two beloved popes.  I think that's great!  I'm just not feeling very moved to write about it, likely because so many others are doing such a great job.  

So if you're interested to learn more about the canonizations, I direct your attention to Father Robert Barron's Word From Rome.

Also, as a complete aside, did anyone know that this movie even existed?  Cary Elwes and Jon Voight come together to tell the story of Pope (now Saint) John Paul II.  Awesome!

Anyway, if you're up for hearing me talk about the image and feast of Divine Mercy, then grab some popecorn (see what I did there?) and stick around.

Saint Faustina was a humble, quiet nun who received visions of Christ and the Blessed Mother.  She was ordered to keep a journal of these visions.  Her journal, now known as the Diary of Saint Maria Faustina Kowalska: Divine Mercy in My Soul, was my reading material of choice during the time of my reversion.  

I learned so much about true virtue while reading her conversations with Jesus, especially the value of obedience and humility (things I still struggle with today).  

Anyway, this image has always been one of my favorites of Jesus.  He said "My gaze from this image is like My gaze from the Cross."  


Think for a moment.  In the image above, Christ's Face is not one of anger or judgement; His Countenance is one of mercy.  He is looking intently into your eyes, seeking your soul.  He was suffering and dying FOR YOU.  There is nothing but you and Christ when looking at this image.  Nothing.  His Sacred Heart issues forth Blood (red) and water (blue) - the same Blood and water that poured forth when His Heart was lanced by the centurion at the Crucifixion.

He gave us everything unto the very last drop of Himself so that we might regain our inheritance.  That's mind-bogglingly insane.  Yet that is our God.  His love is, quite honestly, boundless.  He loves us wholly and completely and will abandon Himself fully so that we can be come home.

In this image Jesus comes to us dressed as a servant.  It is an alb, the same that priests wear under their chasuble.  It was the same undergarment that Jesus wore at the Last Supper when He cleaned the feet of His apostles.  It is the garment of a lowly servant - a slave.  We don't recognize it as servant attire because we associate it so closely with religious life.  

In order to understand the importance and depth of this image, though, we need to understand the importance and depth of this clothing choice.  Christ, as Divine Mercy, is coming to us as a servant... a slave.  This is GOD - the Creator of all - coming to us not as a king, not as a celebrity, not as a warrior.  His unfathomable love incarnated Itself to become a slave to all of humanity.  He bore the weight of our sins and accepted Divine Wrath (as payment for Divine Justice) so we would not have to.  Thus, His Mercy comes to us in the form of a servant.  Mercy does not seek to judge as a king, to seek glory as a celebrity nor to seek vengeance like a warrior.  Instead, He extends forgiveness and love - always love. 

How does He extend this love?  While pointing to His Sacred Heart, the source of such incredible, self-consuming love, He pours out His very self.  His Precious Blood is the essence of His Life; the water is the essence of His Holy Spirit, poured out as if to baptize the world unto Himself.  

I love that the background is black - His Mercy comes when it looks like there is no other hope.  Even in the black of night, the pits of despair, His rays of Mercy extend, lighting the way to reach Him.  

His Hand is raised not in judgement, but in blessing.  

The words "Jesus, I trust in You" are written in gold.  This faith in His Mercy is like a priceless diamond to Him.  How much Jesus wishes that we would call out to His Mercy!

He told to St. Faustina, "[Let] the greatest sinners place their trust in My mercy. They have the right before others to trust in the abyss of My mercy.  My daughter, write about My mercy towards tormented souls.  Souls that make an appeal to My mercy delight Me.  To such souls I grant even more graces than they ask.  I cannot punish even the greatest sinner if he makes an appeal to My compassion, but on the contrary, I justify him in My unfathomable and inscrutable mercy."


Just... wow, right?

So with that in mind, take a good long look at this image today.  Take time to say some prayers of thanksgiving for God's gift of Mercy.  Mercy that extended unto coming down from paradise to know misery, torture and death so that we may gain Heaven.  

For more information, click here. 

Last night, I took Vince to visit with my friend and her family.  While there, Vince had a mini-episode with the pasta which understandably frustrated some folks, myself included at one point.

For the last year or so, Vincent has been very finnicky about pasta - specifically pasta sauce.  I thought he was simply getting into the "fussy eater" stage, but truthfully, he's not a fussy eater.  He still eats fish, lettuce, carrots, cucumbers, beans, corn, etc, etc, etc.  He loves ham and chicken, goes to town on pork chops or turkey, and can eat starch like it was his job.

Pasta, however, he will only eat white or with cheese (mac-n-cheese).  

The last year, I just thought he was being picky, but it finally dawned on me that it's a very specific sensory response.

Tomatoes are naturally acidic.  In fact, when Vince used to break out in facial rashes as a toddler, his pediatrician warned us to steer clear of tomato sauce, ketchup, etc because he suspected they were the culprits behind his pimpled cheeks.  When we cut them out of the menu, Vince's skin cleared up pretty well.  Never thought a thing of it again.

His visceral reaction (almost like fear) to the pasta sauce last night suddenly made sense. He kept insisting that the pasta "smelled bad."  What he actually meant was it TASTED bad, and not so much that it tasted bad, but that it hurt.

For you and I, our sense of taste and smell are inextricably linked.  The same is true for Vincent, only it's a heightened experience.  Sometimes he confuses taste and smell as a result of this.  Also, his grasp of language still isn't super developed, so he kept using the word bad to express his negative association.  

The nerves in and around his mouth and face have been inflamed enough by pasta sauce to instinctively tell his brain the red stuff on the yummy stuff is a bad idea.  

He loves pasta, he just doesn't like the sauce, and it's because the sauce causes an overload of sensation.

But he likes pizza!  Pizza has sauce!

Yes, but it's also got a lot of cheese, and being a dairy product, it is a base which neutralizes the acidic content of the tomato sauce.  Much like a hot wing contestant chugs milk to stave off ulcers, cheesy pizza helps buffer Vincent's mouth against an overwhelming sensation from the acidic tomatoes.  He still gets a few bumps on his cheeks after pizza, especially if I don't clean his face right away, but he doesn't complain that his mouth or tongue hurt.

In short, I'm not going to try to force him to eat red sauce anymore because I finally realize why he shirks it so much.  It never occurred to me that this was a problem before.  Now his disdain for pasta, Hot Pockets, ketchup, and even barbacue sauce makes sense.  

I wish I had realized this sooner.  Would've prevented a lot of frustration for all of us, especially at family gatherings (given that we're Italian and we love our pasta sauce).  So if your child is getting picky about certain foods, give some thought to the sensation that particular food type might pose.  It might not be pickiness so much as a sensational challenge.

• He has reasons for being fidgety.
  

His SPD creates an insatiable craving for tactile stimulation.  He fidgets because his nervous system isn't developed the same as yours or mine.  His nerves act as a one-way street.  His brain is telling his nerves that they should be feeling the rigidity of the seat under his bottom, but his nerves never respond to his brain letting it know they already feel it.  This creates frustration and anxiety which leads to fidgeting.  The same is true in reverse sometimes, too.  

Some sensations, though inconsequential to you or me, are overwhelming to him.  The tag on your shirt isn't noticeable to you, but for Vincent, his nerves are telling his brain that a thorn is digging into his neck.

He fidgets, but he has very good reasons for his fidgets.

• The noises you balk at are necessary for his sanity.

The "inappropriate noises" he makes are repetitive and soothing.  To Vincent, all the sounds that you and I tune out carry the same urgency as those we prioritize.

You hear the voice of your boss telling you the deadline for your next project.  Vincent hears his teacher explaining a math problem, but also hears the humming of florescent lights, the rattling of the heater, the chatter of other students, the footsteps of the aid, the cars driving by outside the window, and even his own breathing.  Because his auditory discernment is not as strong as yours or mine, he is unable to focus on priority sounds and, in an effort to push aside all that noise, he makes sounds, himself, that help drown out the confusion.

• He is NOT a bad boy.

Vincent does not have bad manners.  In fact, he is one of the most polite and thoughtful children you'll ever meet.  He says "Please," "Excuse me," and "Thank you" without prompting, and is always sure to give you hugs and kisses if he thinks you're sad.  When we pick up toys at the store, he often asks if we can get things for his cousins.  He is a truly loving, good little boy.  His meltdowns are not the result of being spoiled, coddled or moody. They are markers for the moment his strong little heart is overwhelmed by the 24/7 job of trying to push back against a tsunami of stimulation.

• I am NOT a bad parent.

How often I am looked at as if I am the root cause of Vincent's more stressful moments!  How often I'm are asked if I've tried X, Y or Z to basically force Vincent to fall into line!

I did not cause his Sensory Processing Disorder.  My parenting style did nothing to bring on his sensitivity to certain situations.  I love my child fiercely and do everything in my power to see that he is cared for, protected and loved.  I may not be the most savvy parent in regards to the latest therapies available, but don't you dare mistake my novice ignorance for bad parenting.  I are fighting to make myself and others aware of this disorder, and I are doing all I can to give Vincent the therapy he needs to cope.

So the next time you see us in the store while Vincent is having a meltdown because the lights hurt his eyes and the cart feels especially frustrating to his backside, refrain from suggesting I stop spoiling him.  I might not be so charitable in my response.

• He doesn't understand personal space.

I apologize in advance.  My son is going to get in your face - frequently.  Because his proprioceptive system is underdeveloped, he doesn't understand his own body in space. Thus, he cannot understand his body relative to yours.  As a result, the only way he fully knows he's close to you is if his face is touching (or nearly touching) yours.  Again, since his auditory sense is sometimes jumbled, he ensures you can hear him (and he, you) by being all but on top of you for a conversation.  He doesn't do this to be rude... he does it because he doesn't know any other way.  

We are working on this.  Please be patient with him.  

• He LOVES stepping on things with his bare feet.

Owing to his intense addiction to stimulation, Vincent loves stepping on everything and anything with his bare feet.  This poses quite the challenge to us, because he even gets satisfaction from stepping on things that are dangerous.  He's broken more than one plastic toy because he craved the sensation of various objects under the sensitive nerves of his feet.

In addition to forcing John and I to keep the floors relatively free of items, this also creates a problem with shoes.  Vincent is very sensitive to the type of shoes he's willing to wear, and it's many times a fight to get him to keep them on, even when we're outside.  He's not throwing a temper-tantrum because he wants to wear his SpongeBob boots vs. his Spiderman sneakers... he's having a meltdown because his SpongeBob boots give him relief from his tactile craving while his Spiderman sneakers compound the frustration and add to his anxiety.

• Watch out!  His movements can be very fast and forceful.

Because Vincent is mostly under-responsive to his sense of touch, he rarely cries when he falls or is accidentally run into by an older kid at the park.  He doesn't feel things as strongly as other children.  As a result, he has no baseline with which to understand his own movements.  The only way he feels his arm traveling through space to throw a ball is if he exerts extra force.  That extra movement reassures his brain that his muscles are doing what they're supposed to be doing.  This extra movement can come off as fast and forceful. He isn't doing this to be aggressive or mean.  He simply cannot adjust his momentum because he cannot feel himself moving as you and I can. 

Again, please be patient.  He is doing so much better with this, but it is a difficult skill to learn when your nerves rebel against you.

• He is so incredibly smart!

Just because he's not comfortable in a mainstream classroom doesn't mean he's not able to learn.  It doesn't mean he's stupid.  My son is fearsomely intelligent.

His memory is better than mine, his math skills never cease to amaze me, and his appetite for his new passion, spelling, makes my heart swell with pride.  The creativity and problem-solving skills he's developed while playing adventure games with his Daddy have only proven to me that his capacity for intelligence hasn't even begun to be appreciated. Standardized testing cannot verify his penchant for architecture.  Circle time cannot concede to his superior grasp of cause and effect.  No Child Study Team will ever capture the wisdom he shows in his thoughtful, gentle care of those he instinctively understands need his affection.  

Again, my son is fearsomely, awesomely intelligent.

• Oh, how he loves to laugh!

​Itself a very stimulating experience, my son LOVES the sensations he gets from laughing. His belly rolls, his chest heaves, his ears delight in the noise of giggles.  His whole face feels the movement of his smile as his eyes crinkle in anticipation of the high-pitched squeals he cranks out.

What joyful music.  

My son loves laughter.  He loves being "tricked" and surprised.  He loves being the cause of laughter around him.  He'll clown about or say silly things with the sole goal being laughter... glorious laughter.

• Oh, how he loves!

There is not a malicious bone in my son's body.  He happily pets our cats saying, "Look, Mommy. Zoey loves me!  I love Zoey, too."  He'll parade around with his stuffed dog, Chase, and tell everyone what a good dog he is and how much he loves Chase because Chase is a police dog.  He'll throw his arms around your neck and tell you how happy he is to see you because he loves you "so so much."  He'll make you feel like a million bucks because, to him, everyone is his "best friend in the whole, whole world."

In a word, my son is love... pure, unblemished love.  

Please remember that the next time his sensory challenges leave you frustrated or confused. Above all, simply remember that he is capable of giving and receiving love. Next time a sensory-craver like Vincent has a melt-down, respond with love.  Push aside your own frustration and confusion because it pales in comparison to the anxiety he feels on a routine basis because of this disorder.  

Respond with love, too, to the parents of these special children.  Do not discount us as bad parents or folks to be pitied for having a "problem child."  Far from it.  We love our children and are proud of them.  We are joyed at being given the opportunity to unwrap their potential and can't wait to see how they change the world.

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Spread acceptance by spreading awareness.  <3

An interesting aspect of our excursion was something called a Temazcal.  When our booking agent mentioned this, I immediately asked, "What is a Temazcal?"

He said, "For Mayans, cenotes are sacred openings to the underworld.  Only royalty were able to swim into them.  The Temazcal ceremony is an ancient Mayan ritual that asks permission from the gods to enter the sacred realm."

This ritual began with the lighting of incense.  Our guide held a small clay pot that she crushed herbs into.  Then, she lit a match and allowed the mixture to begin smoking.  When the smoke had begun permeating our group, she called us over, one by one, to surround ourselves with the smoke.  She would spin us around in front of her while waving the incense over us.  Then she'd motion for us to enter the sweat lodge (which, itself, is called a temazcal).  

The inside of the lodge was dark.  In the center of the hut was an area for stones to be heated atop a fire.  There were simple benches arranged in a tight semicircle, just enough for the 7 of us to sit comfortably.  

When we'd all entered, our guide, July, explained the significance of a temazcal.  The goal is to sweat out bad energies and illness, even addictions and depression.  I was surprised to learn that the practice of temazcal is still widely accepted in Mexico.  The guide's own aunt participates frequently for various things.

July explained that in addition to the steam that rises up from the stones, the water used is full of medicinal herbs.  Having been allowed to steep in the water before it is thrown over the heated stones, the medicinal benefits of these plants can be breathed in through the steam.  

At the end of the steaming, participants are instructed to stand up, hold hands, and shout, releasing any pent up frustration, anger, anxiety or upset.  Those in my group chose to let out primal yells twice.  John and Frank... characters.

That, in short, was our brief experience with the Mayan ritual of Temazcal.  Bonus, for us, was the fact that this was something reserved for Mayan royalty.  In effect, John mused we were now Mayan royalty.  Ha!

So in addition to sitting by the pool or ocean, I was able to convince a few folks from our group to go on an excursion with me.

When I go to a different country, I want to explore.  I want to see things I'll never see anywhere else; do things I won't do anywhere else.

I was pleasantly surprised to find an excursion that bundled four things I've never done before but always wanted to try:

• Driving an ATV through the jungle
• Rappelling down a ravine
• Zip lining over a forest
• Swimming into an underground cavern

Part of this experience also included an ancient Mayan ritual called Temazcal, but I'll dedicate a separate entry to that.

Once we got to the excursion site, the boys were noticeably antsy.  They later admitted to us that, from the sight of the dilapidated building, we were about to be murdered.  They seriously thought that.  Then again, reflecting back, I can understand their concern.  Our driver hadn't really said anything to us in the time between the hotel and the excursion site, and the site, itself, was something out of a horror movie.

The inside was a single, empty room (save for a few tools strewn across the floor, a hammock in the corner, and a few cinder blocks for sitting on).  I didn't mind it at all, but John and Frank were unsettled because it didn't seem "proper."  That is, of course, until a little dog named Oscar came trotting in to sit with us.

This little sweetie came right up to me for some love.  You can see the cinder blocks in the background and the unfinished cement floor.  Again, I didn't mind this at all.  I didn't even think twice about it, but it was enough to give the boys cause to plot amongst themselves how to best protect Chrissy and I should Leather Face make an appearance.  

Of course, everything was fine and we were soon beginning our adventure with a ride through the jungle on personal ATVs.  Here's a photo of Chrissy with one of our guides:

The ATV ride was so much fun!  However, I was driving one-handed because I stupidly decided to take video along the way.  Steering an ATV with one hand while trying to hold your other arm steady while bumping over massive rocks, dips and craters in the road was MUCH more difficult than I'd bargained.  That being said, it was totally worth it because now I can experience a bit of the jungle again via video.  :)

After the 20 minute trip through the forest, we arrived at a small campground that served as a welcome station for explorers.  It was here that we suited up for our training.  First up, rappelling!

Rappelling when you attach yourself to various ropes and hooks to lower yourself down the side of a cliff, ravine or mountain.  We rappelled off a small cliff into a ravine which was pretty cool.  The guy you see pretending to be scared is one of our guys, Leo.  He was a card.  I kept shouting ridiculous things to him over my shoulder, and he responded in kind with jests of his own.  All of the guides through Maya Adventure were fun, personable and attentive to safety.

After we'd finished rappelling, we were taught how to use the zip lines.  I had really been looking forward to this.  I'd ALWAYS wanted to try zip lining, and now I was about to do it over a Mayan jungle!  Doesn't get much cooler than that.

This is John making the most ridiculous face he could muster as he zoomed past the photographer.  Looking at it makes me giggle uncontrollably.  He's such a clown, and Vincent takes after him in this regard.  :)

We all took turns zipping down the line, and it was SO MUCH FUN!  They showed us how to go forwards and backwards.  I thought it would be somewhat scary, but it wasn't.  It was a similar sensation to being in the car with the windows rolled down.  You're not SUPER speedy, but the wind in your face makes you feel like you're going faster than you are.  The views were incredible, though.  What a fun experience!

Finally, after the zip lining, we were instructed to change into our swim suits, rinse off under their outside showers and head towards a small hut behind the welcome camp.  It was here that we experienced a Temazcal.  I'll discuss this more in my next entry, but suffice to say this ancient ritual prepares the mind, body and spirit of adventurers to take part in the unique experience of swimming in a cenote (which is basically an underground cave full of water).  

Just behind the rocks we're standing at, the ground drops out and you must swim the rest of the way.  You can just make out the dark waterway that connects the front of the cenote (where John and I are) to the actual cavern we went splashing around in.

The cavern was alive with fish, bats and bugs.  It was fresh water, not salty, and felt cool and refreshing.  The cave, itself, was beautiful.  So many unique formations carved by years of erosion... it was amazing.

So we swam through the narrow waterway which cut us off from light.  We relied on tiny flashlights that, in my opinion, were annoying.  I gave mine to John because I didn't want to be burdened with holding onto it.  I wasn't afraid of the darkness.  I wasn't afraid of the bats above us or the fish that nibbled at our legs.  I just wanted to thrust myself fully into the experience of being surrounded by such pristine, natural beauty, and it was such a rush. By far, this was my favorite experience of the entire trip.

Our guide, July, reached into the sand and handed us the sediment to do a brief exfoliation. Since the sediment was so rich in minerals, it acted as a natural exfoliant.  I enjoyed that. 

Finally, however, it was time to head back.  We were given a snack of home-cooked salsa (made with fresh tuna, vegetables and herbs) and baked tortillas.  One of our guides had cooked it up while we were diving.  It was so delicious!

But soon we were on our ATVs to travel back to the original starting point.  From there, we were given drinks for the ride home.  All in all, it was my favorite part of the entire trip. Adventure, new experiences, gorgeous pictures, and wonderful memories.  Here are some additional photos:

I spoke with my two directors today.  I don't qualify for FMLA, but they're willing to work with me so as not to lose me as an employee.  

So now I've got a little weight lifted off my shoulders.  Now I need to come up with a working solution for all involved - Vincent, John, myself and work.  

Thanks for the prayers, folks.  

Financially, thanks to my husband's fiscal responsibility, we are in a good position.  We'll have to cut back on some things, but we're blessed to be weighing our options at all in this regard.  This is only a short-term solution.  Even should we cut back on yearly vacations, change the way we spend money for holidays and birthdays, alter our eating and entertainment habits, I'm not sure we could justify the thirty-some thousand dollar hit we'd take should I leave my position indefinitely.

That's a lot of money.  A LOT of money.  

And that puts a lot of pressure on John to be the sole breadwinner.  Already he takes on so much responsibility in this regard.  I'd hate to burden him with a $30+ thousand deficit to boot, ya know?

Then there's always the question of job availability should I officially leave.  There's no guarantee that I'll be able to quickly find a job should I need to when Vince rejoins school. All these things are what have me on what feels to be a teeter-totter.  

But again, the fact that I can weigh these options at all is a blessing, and I thank God for his generosity.  

I just wish I had a better idea of what the best course of action would be.  Ah well.  In time, I'm sure He'll reveal it to me.  That fact that, right now, I was given respite by my company is a blessing, indeed.  A much welcome one in light of this past weekend's anxiety of "What now?"

And again - thank you to each one of you who has sent me messages, comments and e-mails.  This is going to sound really silly, but I felt my heart jump each time I saw one pop up.  The joy of hearing from folks was enough, even for a moment, to lift my spirits.  The suggestions are all being taken to heart, I promise.  It takes me a while to process and read all the links that are sent, but I promise, promise, promise that I do, in fact, read them all.  

Eventually I'll get around to responding to everyone.  Just... please accept my humblest thanks for all the support and love you have shown to my son.  It hurts me so much to see him ostracized by his peers and shirked by school systems who are unfamiliar with his unique set of challenges, but I am buoyed by the love you have shown him.  I am hopeful for him, and you feed that hope.  

Blessings to you all.  I thank you with a mother's appreciation.  

That's a question that's been bouncing around back and forth, over and over the last few months.

Truthfully, it's been something sitting in the back of my mind ever since Vince was a baby.

The answer to that question is "Yes, I can homeschool Vincent."

In theory, my background is education.  I've taught children from preschool to high school. I've tweaked curricula to account for struggling students and I've developed entire lesson plans to challenge those gifted with a natural appetite for knowledge.  So in theory, I could easily homeschool Vincent.  

Theories, however, are often-times victims of reality.  In this case, I don't believe homeschooling is the best option for Vincent.  While my background with education is proven and strong, I don't have proper experience with Sensory Processing Disorder. Obviously I can learn, but do I want to subject Vincent to months of my own trial and error until I figure out the best course of action for him?

I fear that's doing him a disservice.

Then there's the question of financial feasibility.  Are we able to rely solely on John's income?  We can for a few months, but long-term?  We'd really need to crunch the numbers to come up with a realistic long-term picture.  

And then I worry for his social development.  Most home-school families have a number of siblings, so they are able to learn social cues even amongst themselves.  There are no real homeschool groups in my area... the closest to me is about 30 minutes away and in a different state.  Again, that doesn't seem to be the most efficient course of action.  

I can always put him into extra-curricular activities, but I truly believe there is something to be said for learning in groups (even small ones).  I want that for Vincent because I believe with the proper care, he will flourish in such setting.  

Right now, though, it looks as if I'll need to spend the next two months with him.  I don't know what that's going to translate to in terms of work.  It depends on how my conversation goes tomorrow with my bosses.  Will I be able to take a two month leave?  I honestly don't know.  They can't really afford to lose a worker right now, especially given the contract we just took upon ourselves.  But I have no other options for Vincent right now, so I either am granted leave or I give notice.  Either way, it is in God's Hands and I'm sure it will work out as it's supposed to.

But I don't put forth that option as a last resort or even a jest.  I truly say it knowing it's a valid option... just one I don't necessarily think is right for Vincent.  I know I'm a good teacher, but I'm not entirely confident in my ability to learn new techniques that would specifically benefit Vincent in a manner that a seasoned special-ed instructor in a special-ed classroom would have already mastered.  

Those are my thoughts, anyway.  

I have so much respect for homeschoolers.  I don't know that I am organized and effective enough to do it for my own son.  That makes me feel like a bit of a let-down, but I'm trying to be as honest with myself as possible because I don't want my arrogance to be the cause of him falling further behind, ya know?

But thanks for all the encouragement and prayers.  What a blessing your e-mails and comments were.  I love you guys so much.  Please know I kept you in my Easter prayers this weekend, too.  <3  My family and I are blessed by your generosity of spirit.

On Holy Thursday, John snapped this photo of Vince and I before we left for Mass.  Vincent was holding Chase, his stuffed German Shepherd.  He's gotten incredibly attached to him the last few weeks, and I admit I sorta love that.  He's never had a toy that he MUST have with him at all times.  Chase is his best pal now, and he always wants him wherever he is.

For Mass, he was well-behaved.  We were very close to the front because I wanted to explain everything to him... especially the washing of the feet.  However, I was SO incredibly disheartened to see only three men come forward to have their feet washed.  The rest were women.

Two or three e-mails were sent out by our Director of Religious Education practically begging people to volunteer for this role.  Only three men could be found?  THREE?  

How incredibly sad.  What does this say about the men of our parish?  

As I explained in this entry, the Washing of the Feet is an act that goes well beyond proving Jesus' humility.  It was an act of preparation for His apostles - the first priests of the Church. Only after washing their feet and charging them with serving one another so fully did Christ then instruct them in the Eucharistic Prayer.  Only then were they to take part in the first Mass.  

Mother Church requires the feet of men to be washed because of the incredible symbolic nature of this act.  It's why many old-school parishes wash the feet of retired priests.  How blessed is the parish that recognizes that the rituals we still take part in can be educational as well as prayerful!  Should all parishes be so lucky.

*Sigh*

On Good Friday, Vincent was pretty exhausted by the time our services rolled around.  I took him in early so he could see Jesus in the place of repose.  I answered his questions, but he surprised me again by how much he understood.  

He said, "Jesus died, right Mommy?"

I said, "Yes, Vincent, and the Church is very sad."

He asked, "But He's in Heaven, right?"

I said, "That's right.  And He's going to bring us to Heaven, too."

Then he said, "But I don't want to go to Heaven.  They don't have toys."

I laughed and said, "Heaven is more fun than Ocean City!"

He looked at me, incredulous, because to his four-year-old mind, nothing could possibly be more fun than the Boardwalk, curly fries and roller coasters.  

Midway during the service, he nodded off to sleep right in the pew, clutching Chase under his coat.

After the service, two kind elderly folks came up to us separately to express their appreciation for Vincent's presence the last two days (Holy Thursday and Good Friday).  One woman commented that she loved how he says, "Jesus, I love you" when the newly consecrated Host is elevated and the gentleman said he liked that Vincent behaved and genuflected before the altar.  

I truly puffed up with so much pride and appreciation then.  I'm always so worried that I'm not doing enough to teach him about how beautiful our Faith is.  Truth is, I'm not.  That being said, I know that God is making up for my inadequacies and is patiently leading Vince by the hand.  It makes me so incredibly happy to have reminders like that, especially given the difficult week we'd had at school.  

On Easter Sunday, Vince was not a big fan of Jesus' when I reminded him that after his egg-hunting, he needed to get ready for Mass.  I knew it'd be tough getting him on board, but as always, once he was in the car, he was perfectly fine.

My niece, Alliya, even ended up coming along with my MIL.  

We went to a parish that I've only been to once before, and it was completely by accident that we arrived there.  I've STILL got a terrible taste in my mouth from their Mass.

The tabernacle is off to the side (I hate that), the priest was omitting things left and right (whether on purpose or not, I honestly don't know, so I'm hoping it was accidental), the parishioners who sat to the right of us were incredibly rude (but they might not have been regulars) and the whole set-up felt very, very... New Age-y?  I dunno.  I just got a terribly off feeling and it left me unsettled until we were about half-way home.  

Alliya was asking me all sorts of questions as I took them around the church to show them the various statues and sacramentals.  We had gotten there early, so to burn energy and utilize a built-in theology lesson, I took them on a quick tour.  Alliya had so many smart questions (questions which Vincent jumped in to answer at points!).  One of her questions was about Jesus being in the tabernacle.  When I explained that we genuflected to Jesus who remained hidden in the tabernacle, Alliya became confused.  She wanted to know how He fit, if He was a ghost, etc (she has basically no catechesis whatsoever).  These are all smart and valid questions!  So I explained as simply as I could without confusing her further.  
I said because He is God, He can take on whatever form He wants.  Because He loves us so much, He decided to look like Bread so He could personally feed us, Himself.  Thus, because He appeared so small, He could fit into the tabernacle until the priest opened the door at Communion time.

She seemed to accept this answer, but when we got back to the pew, she asked if she would have to SEE Jesus.  The concept of seeing someone she only knew as dead was understandably scary to her.  She doesn't get that Jesus is God.  She only knows that He's someone we celebrate at Christmas but He died a long time ago and went to Heaven.

Anyway, this thought scared her, so she kept asking me if she'd see the Consecrated Hosts. 

I simply said, "Alliya, Jesus is not scary.  He loves you so, so much.  He has a real body, just like you and I.  He's the one who sent you your Mommy and Daddy who love you so much. He made sure you had a Mi-Mom and Pop to take you fun places.  He makes sure all your family and friends are nice.  All the good things in your life are because of Him.  He's not scary... He's the nicest person in the whole universe!"

Vincent emphatically agreed with me, but Alliya didn't seem to believe me.  Again, I don't fault her for this.  She hasn't had any religious education.  Hopefully one day she will, but even if she doesn't, when she asks me for the truth, I will always give it to her.  

But to end with something amusing, on Holy Thursday, after Jesus was placed into the side repository, we waited our turn to go up to say a prayer.  When we reached the kneelers, Vincent looked at the small tabernacle holding the ciborium and asked, "Mommy, how do we get Jesus' trophy?"

Ha ha.  Nice.

Also, the veils pictured in this blog are from Veils by Lily and Liturgical Time respectively.  

My title isn't even a little bit kidding.  I feel like I've ruined Vince forever regarding school.

As a child, I always looked at school as something fun.  I enjoyed learning and I RELISHED taking tests because I liked to challenge myself to see how much I knew.  I even liked pop quizzes.  I always assumed my kids would one day be the same way.

How wrong I was and how incredibly harmful my expectation has been for Vincent.

I fear I pushed him too early into preschool, and the experience has left him scared of school altogether.

The knowledge of that kills me.  It absolutely kills me.

Once again, I got a call from the principal telling me they could not work with his specific set of issues in the classroom.  My husband and I had warned them of this MONTHS ago, but they poo-pooed us and assured us they were more than capable of handling his particular brand of behavior.  

Now they realize they should've listened to us a little more carefully, because their Child Study Team could not assess what we'd already seen firsthand - Vincent is not equipped to handle a mainstream classroom.  He's certainly smart enough, but from a behavioral standpoint, he is simply not ready to handle mainstream education.  At least not yet.  

And now they realize it after a grueling two months of frustration on their part and on Vincent's part.

I hate this.  Vincent gets such anxiety about going to school which only makes his time there that much more difficult.  The teachers are getting overly frustrated with him and it makes for a very upsetting experience for everyone... most especially Vincent.  That sort of experience is enough to scare him off of school forever.  What's to stop him from being terrified of school next September?

Four schools in 9 months.  The Learning Experience (which he loved), St. Theresa's (which helped us diagnose him with Sensory Processing), Tippy Toes (which harbored a bully), and now the public school which gave us an overly confident CST that now only wants to touch him if he gets an Autism diagnosis.  

Pardon me while I cry my eyes out in frustration, disgust, and guilt.

I feel like I've failed him so terribly in such an important area of his life... I don't even know how to handle myself right now.  I don't know how to handle him.  I don't know how to handle John who is just as upset and frustrated as I am.

This entire year has been one massive struggle after another with his schooling, diagnosis, therapy and ARGH.  I don't know how to navigate this for him.  It's my job to know... my expertise is education, and I can't figure out what to do or where to turn without causing even greater damage to him.

There is no school that will take him now... not with only a few weeks left in the year.  Next year no one wants to touch him because he doesn't have a "proper diagnosis."  

WTH is a proper diagnosis???  He's been seen by a developmental pediatrician and she diagnosed him with Sensory Processing Disorder.  It's not in the DSM, but it's recognized as a valid disorder by doctors across the world.  There are therapies aimed at teaching a child to handle the symptoms.  But yet because it isn't in some stupid blue book schools use as guidelines for IEPs, Vincent can't get the help he needs???

THAT ENRAGES ME!

It's not like he's a bad kid.  All of his teachers insist that his intelligence is above average and he is perfectly sweet, obedient and docile in a small group environment.  He's super affectionate and compliant.  It's only when he's in a large group that his symptoms show and he falls apart and becomes a wailing, inconsolable mess of screams, tears and frustration.

I can understand that.  It's like asking a blind kid to read a book.  It's going to solicit frustration and tears because a blind kid CANNOT READ until you give him braille.  

Vincent CANNOT learn in a large group.  He is best suited to a small group environment. We've known this since the beginning of the school year, yet no one wants to try that because he doesn't have an Autism diagnosis.

What they're telling me is that they don't want to try that approach because without a "proper diagnosis" the government won't subsidize him as a special ed student.  If they're not getting paid to teach him, why bother?

*Cue more tears*

I hate this so much, and I pushed him into it thinking that along the line, they'd finally understand he needs a small group and allow him access.  

Stupid me.  Arrogant me.  

And now my son has almost 9 months of fear and anxiety under his belt by being bounced around in my attempt at giving him what I thought he needed.

And what has it done for him?  What have I done to him long-term?

I shudder to think of it. 

And now I don't know what to do.  Short of quitting my job and homeschooling him, myself, I have no idea what to do.

I am lost.  God help me, I am lost.

:(

The outside of this church belies its spacious, breezy interior with golden sunlight streaming in from every window.  It feels like you are ambling under a gazebo during a relaxing summer afternoon.  I was surprised with how massive it felt, especially when you considered the size of the image of Mary that hung high and proud behind the tabernacle.

I grinned when I noted that the pews were very modest. There were no cushions, no padding on the kneelers.  Worship isn't about creature comforts... it's about praising God.

I captured this sacristan's head along with the tabernacle to give you an idea just how massive this piece of artwork actually is. This rendition of Our Lady of Guadalupe might be among my favorites.  She is simply beautiful, as she should be.  Above her are the words "Queen of Mexico and Empress of America."  At least I'm 99.9% sure of that, anyway.

I felt like this piece was woven or embroidered somehow.  It wasn't a painting... at least I don' think it was.  I just couldn't imagine the time it took to painstakingly stitch each glorious detail.  

Here is a full shot of the sanctuary.  Given the scope of the Virgin's tapestry, you can imagine how large the crucifix actually is.  

I didn't notice until after I'd taken the photo, but the detail of Christ's Face moved me.  I don't typically like the super gaunt versions of Our Lord looking anorexic (He was a carpenter - He would have been strong and broad from all His toil with wood), but I did not mind this one so much.  The artist did not shy away from the Blood that oozed from His wounds.  I appreciate that His shoulder wound and those on His knees were accounted for. So often they are forgotten.

St. Michael and a beautiful guardian angel flank both sides of the sanctuary.  St. Michael has the power of the Holy Spirit above him while the guardian angel protects her three native charges.  I really loved this latter stained glass image.  It was very peaceful and loving.

One of their beautiful circular stained glass windows, this one depicting the Holy Family.

Which one of you dares to disbelieve Our Lady's intervention now?!  :)

A fitting painting for above the confessional - Jesus saving St. Peter from his own lack of faith.

A couple of their stations.  I'm always appreciative when the Resurrection is included.  :)

I probably should've mentioned these last two points in my other blog entry, but here will do just fine.

Instead of having lay ministers, this parish utilizes the Brides of Christ to bring Communion to the people.  I'm not the biggest fan of women acting as Eucharistic Ministers, but if you're going to allow it, I can't imagine a better way.  

Also, the altar servers sat at opposites sides of the sanctuary facing one another (behind the altar but in front of the tabernacle).  I thought they were very much like the Seraphim who guarded the Ark of the Covenant.  It made me smile to think of them as such given their constant gaze upon the tabernacle.

Finally, a photo of me (graciously taken by my husband) with a frond of palm across from the church.  On the way back to the resort, I braided what turned out to be four long leaves into small crowns for my statues at home.  

All in all, a beautiful experience at a wonderful parish... even if I couldn't understand all the words being spoken, I could feel the love.  For me, that is enough.

The Church of Our Lady of Guadalupe, located in Playa Del Carmen, Mexico, was a beautiful slice of Heaven located a few miles from our resort.  It took only 15 minutes or so to arrive by taxi, and my husband was kind enough to accompany me into town so I wouldn't be travelling around in Mexico by myself.

That's right, folks.  My wonderful (and atheist) husband agreed to chaperone.  Having him with me, I felt confident and comfortable.  Thank God he's such a gem.  I know Mass was the last thing he wanted to do (especially on our last morning in Mexico), but he came.  God bless him, he came.

We arrived about 20 minutes before Mass which gave me ample time to snap a few photographs and pay attention to the pre-Mass cleaning and organization that happened in a flurry of volunteers.  

In the sanctuary, an adorable sister swept the marble floor.  She paid careful attention to the stairs and shooed away someone dropping palm strands unwittingly before the podium.

An older gentleman, his one arm bandaged tightly to his chest, was using his other arm to deftly maneuver a broom in and out of each pew, somehow navigating kneelers, feet and purses. The action must have been hard on his good arm and shoulder - even his lower back probably hurt from constantly stooping to get under the seats - but he did not seem to mind.  He offered himself as custodian of the Lord's House, and I marveled at his quiet dedication.

Then there were ladies in dressed in red.  Obviously part of a society of sorts (or maybe a hospitality committee), these women acted like an army of mother hens, hurriedly flitting back and forth through the entire church, ushering some folks to their seats, handing out copies of the readings, informing folks where they could go for palm, etc.  It was like they were everywhere at once, working together as a well-oiled machine in anticipation of the swell of Palm Sunday worshippers.

Then there was Father Patrick.  At least I'm about 99.9% sure it was Father Patrick.  This thoroughly Irish priest stood out from the procession both for his fair complexion and his height.  My husband chuckled with surprise and confusion at his presence.  He and our friends wondered why they'd need to import an Irish priest given the country is thoroughly Catholic.  

They failed to realize that tourists need Confession, too, and English is the best way to reach the majority of us.  At least that was my guess.  Not that it matters.  A priest is a priest regardless of his country of origin, and Lord knows I'm always grateful for them wherever they are.

I had briefly connected with Father Patrick before travelling down to Mexico.  My blogger-friend, Jacob Wall, kindly put us into contact when Jacob found out I was trying to plan for Mass while on vacation.  

***As a complete aside, I must take a moment to publicly thank Jacob for his incredible help.  Without his e-mails of reassurance and helpful pointers, I'm pretty sure I'd've stuck out like the sore thumb I am for more reasons than simply language.  His guidance was instrumental in making me feel at ease leaving the resort to cross through town to get to this parish.  I honestly cannot thank him enough for his willingness to patiently answer my questions.  THANK YOU, JACOB!!!  

Mass was exactly what I'd envisioned. There was a wonderful procession into the church led by Father Patrick in his alb and two young altar boys.  A lone guitarist strummed simple (but beautiful) melodies that engaged the whole congregation.  The readers were direct and humble, each being sure to pay respect to their God in the tabernacle with a genuflect or a reverent bow. Their attention to this often-forgotten reverence made my heart leap with joy.

One thing that surprised me, though, was the Gospel reading.  As many of you know, the Passion Narrative is re-enacted by the priest, lector, and congregation.  This re-enactment is a reminder to us that we, too, participated in the Crucifixion of Christ.  

I retract that statement for correction.  Instead, it should read "This re-enactment is a reminder to us that we, too, PARTICIPATE in the Crucifixion of Christ."  After all, we participate each and every time we sin.  Each sin is an echo of "Crucify Him!"  Heaven forgive us.

As this narrative was being read, I noticed that no one in the congregation was reading their portion.  Only I was (or it seemed that way to me).  I can't speak fluent Spanish, but I can fluidly read the words printed in front of me, so I read our portion aloud only to realize I was the only one reading aloud in addition to the second lector.  

I was confused.  I wasn't sure if it was a cultural thing to not take part in the spoken liturgy beyond prescribed responses, or if the majority of parishioners were unable to read.  I can't imagine it being the latter because it seemed like they were reading along, just not being vocal about it.  Regardless, I kept pace with the reading figuring if I was wrong, the folks around me would chalk it up to my own ignorance at custom.  At least I hoped they would.

The homily went well beyond my realm of understanding.  The only portion I was able to catch was when Father Patrick explained that Christ did not come as a mighty conqueror.  He came as a humble Man who died a terrible death on the Cross.  He was not what the people were expecting their champion to be.  Instead, He brought salvation in a way no one had foreseen. I'm very likely butchering even my weak paraphrasing of the snippet I think I understood, but it was enough of a reflection to keep me sustained through the rest of his homily.  Maybe that's all God thought I needed to think on... especially given how arrogant I tend to be sometimes.  

Christ didn't come as a warrior who violently clamped down on His enemies.  He came as a gentle victim, offering Himself as a beacon that would lead us home.

            Stay tuned for my next entry, dedicated to their artwork.

My proudest accomplishment in Mexico was my conversation with a friendly old landscaper. We went back and forth several times until I had to apologize (which I did in Spanish) for my rudimentary grasp of their language. He grinned so broadly and said, in English, "It is good you try!"

I had been so self-conscious until he extended appreciation for me trying. I realized how arrogant we are to always expect English, so offering even my butchered bit of Spanish was accepted as a gift. How kind of that gentleman to be so gracious. 

Until that point, I'd sheepishly greet folks or excuse myself as I made my way around people in the resort.  I knew how to say "Hi" and "Excuse me" but I felt silly for even attempting because my accent would be terrible or people would think I was trying to sound more worldly than I am.

After that conversation, though, the tiny bit of Spanish I retained from high school came out freely.  I was even complimented by one kiosk worker (who was likely just trying to charm his way into my wallet, but I appreciated that particular compliment nonetheless).  

That kindly gentleman freed me from my inhibitions and empowered me to use the knowledge I'd been given.  What a blessing.  :) 

I can't help but imagine he's an example of how God views us.  In our feeble attempts at honoring His graciousness, we stumble over ourselves, unsure of how to best communicate with Him.  However, God does not frown at us for our weakness in this; instead, He smiles broadly and appreciates the effort.  Just as a parent appreciates the torn up weed bouquet clutched in their child's fist, so too does God appreciate even our smallest efforts to return to Him the love He so graciously gifts.  

<3

Congratulations to Susan!!!  

As an aside, I've noticed that many of my winners stem from the "Say a Prayer" entry option.  I love that.  I really, really love that.

:)

Congrats, Susan, and thanks to all who participated!

Early tomorrow John and I are setting out on an adventure. We'll be taking a nice vacation together with a few friends, and we're quite excited!

I'm still an anxious wreck about leaving Vince, but my MIL will be taking good care of him.  Lord knows he and my niece, Alliya, are already having the time of their lives.  :)

I'm mostly packed.  I've definitely got cleaning to do before heading out, but I wanted to take a quick minute to thank you folks for being so wonderful.  Thank you.  

I attended confession and Mass today.  That always helps me feel better about things.  It also helps me feel better prepared should my flight drop out of the sky.

You know how freaked out I get about flying.  Why haven't they invented teleporters yet?

Ah well.  

:)

Anyway, if you guys send me a message / email, I might not respond right away.  Rest assured I'll be back to my antics soon enough.

Also, I'll have pictures of a brand new church to share!  This one will be on the beach, so you just know it's going to be gorgeous!

Know you and your intentions will be in my prayers!  {Hugs}  Bless you guys!  

My MIL made a surprise visit to our house during lunch last week. Vince had been sick, so I was home taking care of him.  She had just flown back in from Florida, and she couldn't wait to see Vincent (whom she hadn't seen in a few weeks).  

It was a really nice surprise.

Vincent was incredulous.  It was the cutest thing to watch him hug her in awe because he thought she was still "on the airplane."  That's what he considers Florida, I guess... an endless string of being on an airplane.  Ha ha!

Anyway, while she was over, we got to talking about the anniversary party I had tentatively tried to put together.  I had briefly discussed via FB messaging why John and I wanted to do one, but when she asked me what spurred on a 7 year party, I felt like it was time to come clean.

I wasn't sure how to start the conversation at first.  I felt awkward and embarrassed, but I wanted to be honest with her.  I mean, how the heck do you start that conversation?  

So I just came out with it.  I told her we had gotten pregnant but miscarried over Alliya's birthday weekend.  She was surprised and didn't quite know what to say, either.  

I kept wanting to say Myla's name, but I couldn't bring myself to taste the words in my mouth.  It was hard enough explaining what had happened... I was afraid that saying her name aloud would be too much, so I kept that to myself.  I did, however, refer to her with the feminine pronoun, and I know my MIL caught that.  

*Sigh*

Now that she knows, I feel like everyone who "should" know does know.  John, my mom, his mom, my two closest friends, my one sister, and likely John's dad through my MIL.  

I think she understands now why I tried to do this when (and as quickly as) I did.  I admitted I was trying to force some happy into an otherwise miserable span of time, and I would rather focus on something entirely separate to celebrate rather than mourn.  

As I said in plenty of previous entries, I love my MIL.  She's a genuinely nice person and loves me as her own daughter.  She's always gone out of her way to make me feel welcome in the family, and I appreciate that more than she realizes.  

And now she knows that Myla is waiting up in Heaven for her one day, too.