Busted Halo did a wonderful video that's been going viral along the Christian blogosphere.  I found it through Michelle at Liturgical Time.  You, too, can see it if you follow her link.

Anyway, for as much as I enjoyed the video (and I did - especially the music!), I was bummed they left out Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday.  I mean, I understand they're not considered "as important" as the other days of Holy Week, but they're still part of Holy Week and deserve at least an honorable mention, right?

Trying to view Holy Week as only Palm Sunday and the Triduum is like viewing a puzzle with several missing pieces.  Sure, you can probably make out what the picture's supposed to be, but you miss details and information that make the image clearer and more beautiful.

Monday was the cleansing of the Temple - it's what put the Sanhedrin on high alert since the Romans (now present in higher numbers in the city to keep the peace during Passover) saw Christ not only messing with the Jewish folks, but all the Gentiles who gathered in the court of the Temple to exchange goods / services.

Tuesday was full of parables and prophecy. Tuesday was, in my opinion, the day that the Pharisees finally decided that Jesus MUST be dealt with before the week's end (due to the Render Unto Caesar response). This was when they finally realized they'd never get the best of Him, and had to find a way to kill Him.

Wednesday was the day we remember Judas' actual betrayal. It's also when Christ's death / burial was predicted through the actions of the woman with the perfume.

Each day does, after all, bring us one step closer to the Foot of the Cross.  Monday reminds us that we must focus on spirituality and a proper last minute cleansing of our own temples (bodies) so we are ready to accept the Sacrifice of Christ.  Tuesday, cautions us to always be ready for the return of Jesus lest we be caught unprepared.  Wednesday... it's like our last moment during Lent to anoint Jesus with our humble offerings - the charitable acts, fasting, and mortifications completed throughout Lent.

Those three days are of such importance. I wish Broken Halo had mentioned something about them. But ah well... there's only so much you can do in 2 minutes, and they certainly picked the highlights! 

Venting.  

At Mass on Sunday, our church looked SPLENDID with all the red and gold finery.  When we Exalt the Holy Cross, you'd better believe we know how to do it!  

Anyway, I picked up Vincent so he could see the procession and various trimmings adoring the altar and sanctuary.  I explained why our pastor was in red and gold, and I whispered how special this Sunday was because of the Feast it celebrated.  

He clung to me in rapt attention, clearly enjoying the brilliant splashes of color.  However, as I was explaining this, Mr. Knight of Columbus whispered (not so quietly) to his wife:  "You'd think he'd know that by now."

?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

I'm not the type of person to let comments like that roll, but it was the very beginning of Mass (the Processional) and I didn't want to make a scene before Father got to the sanctuary.  Plus, people ALWAYS assume Vince is older than he is because he's taller than most 7 year olds.  

Argh.

So I bit my tongue and stifled the urge to give the man whiplash.

I continued explaining things - as I do - to Vince throughout Mass.  He's at the point, however, that he's really starting to "get" certain things - chief among these is the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist.  When our pastor raised the Host during Consecration, Vincent always says "I love you, Jesus!" as I've taught him to do.  

This time, he said it a little too zealously and the man audibly huffed as if my son's adoration was somehow disturbing or shameful.  

Again... bit my tongue.

Finally, Vince had to use the potty right after Consecration.  I asked him if he could hold it until after Communion, but he couldn't, so we started leaving the pew.  Knight Perfection huffed again.  

I gave him a death stare as we left the pew.

When we got back, folks were already lining up for Communion.  Vince, as he always does, genuflected with me before I received.  When we got back into the pew, he kissed me on the lips (as he always does) so he could "kiss Jesus."  I was proud of him, and I wanted that guy to see why.  Sure he doesn't know what the liturgical colors are all about, and maybe he doesn't know the responses yet, and yeah, okay... the kid's got a bladder smaller than a dixie cup, but ya know what?  His heart is as big and beautiful as the Milky Way Galaxy, and all he wants to do is have Jesus come live in it.  

SO BACK OFF MR. KNIGHTS OF COLUMBUS DUDE.  

Ugh.  

As I was venting about this today, my buddy said I should've said something to him.  Again, normally I would, but I didn't think it'd do much good.  He was a crotchety older guy who obviously didn't have a soft spot in his body for children.  Such misery doesn't tend to find sunshine in July let alone a lesson in a mother's scold.  

But now that I've vented, I feel somewhat better.  I just hope I never have the displeasure of sitting in front of him again.  Yick.

Prayers for him and all those who would treat children with such disdain.  The Kingdom of God belongs to them, too.  

I have been having a very rough time getting Vincent to pay attention to directions.  Because he's all over the place, I need to be very firm with him sometimes.

"Vincent, look at me.  Look at me in the eyes, Vincent.  VINCENT."

Then he'll finally realize I'm talking to him and look at me for a split second before turning his attention elsewhere.

"Vincent.  Mommy is talking to you.  You need to look at Mommy."

He looks at me again for about two seconds.  When I think I've got his attention, I begin to tell him to get on his shoes.  No dice.  He's not paying attention again.

"Vincent, put on your shoes or we're not going outside."

Begins to move towards shoes, but clearly only discerned the word "shoes" because once he gets to where his shoes are, he makes no move to put them on.

*Sigh*

"Vincent, you're not listening to Mommy.  Look at me in the eyes."

He looks into my eyes.

"Put. Your. Shoes. On or we're not going outside."

"Okay, Mommy."

UUUUUGH.  Then the process all but repeats itself if he needs to put on his jacket or take a back pack with him.  It's enough to drive me bonkers sometimes.

He's also having issues with impulse control.  

"Vincent, stop smacking your stick against the slide."

"Okay, Mommy."

Not two seconds later, he's smacking at the slide again.

"Vincent, look at Mommy in the eyes.  Did I just tell you to stop smacking the slide?"

"I don't know."

ARGH.  

"Vincent, stop smacking the slide.  If you smack the slide again, I'm going to take away your stick.  No more smacking the slide, 'cause if the stick breaks, you might get hurt."

"Okay, Mommy."

He stops smacking the slide, but maybe two minutes later, he's at it again and I need to take the stick away.

All day, every day, this is what I sound like.  I'm trying to splice together the negatives with positives ("Good job being gentle with Zoey!" or "I'm so proud of you for playing so nicely with your friends!"), but I've been feeling really overwhelmed by his inability to really listen and process directives (an ability he HAS to have for a productive experience in school).  

I'm beginning to worry that I won't be able to prep him in time for school in July and that I'll be faced with him being removed again.  I realize that's not likely, especially because this school had worked with him for two years successfully, but I can't help but worry.  

And then there's his litany of "I'm Sorry."

Since he hasn't been listening to directives, I've had to punish him (taking away the stick, for example, or not letting him go to the park because he'd thrown a temper tantrum that morning).  

When he realizes he's about to be punished, he immediately says "I'm sorry" because he knows that's what is expected of him.  However, he's not usually sorry.  He'll say "I'm sorry" and in the same breath, "I'm really angry with you" because I'm taking away a toy or something.  He's not sorry he didn't listen.  He's sorry he's in trouble.

I was about to say to him "I don't want to hear 'I'm sorry' from you ever again" until I stopped myself.  Why?  Because I saw myself in him.  Painfully so.  

How many times do I have to apologize in the Confessional for the same stupid sins over and over and over again?  I have to wonder - am I really sorry at all?  If I were, wouldn't I stop myself from getting into the same trouble?  

And if God were to shirk my apologies, what would I do then?  He even accepts my miserable contrition and extends mercy.  How much more, then, should I work to extend that to Vincent so he has an example of what God's mercy looks like? 

So I stopped myself from giving into my own frustration and sat him on my knee.  I said, "Vincent, when you say "Sorry" to Mommy, it means you're not going to do the bad thing anymore.  Sorry means you're going to work really hard at listening and doing the right thing, okay?"

He instantly shook his head "Yes" because that's what he thought he was supposed to do. I just sighed and let him loose.  I imagine that's how God feels sometimes when He sends us forth from the Confessional.  

I'm going to try a lot harder to be more steady in my resolve to "sin no more and avoid the near occasion of sin."

A lot harder.

Sorry, Lord.  Really.  <3

I dropped off a few items at Goodwill this afternoon.  While I was there, I figured I'd peruse the aisles for educational toys now that I was home.  Divine Providence rained down on me something fierce, and I walked out of the place with a treasure trove of goodies for less than $6.  

Prepare to be astounded.

First up is a set of multi-colored monsters.  Instead of attempting to explain them, I made a quick video showing how they work.  Lucy, one of my tabbies, makes a cameo:

Adorable, right?  On the back of each monster is a number.  They go in order of increasing difficulty, and as you make your way to the "highest level" you get into digraphs like "ch" or "st."  SOOOO creative, and the fact that he'll be able to check himself means he can practice on his own if he likes (a mother can dream, right?).  

Next up on my Booty List is a Bingo game focused entirely on sight words.  I firmly believe in a strong foundation of Phonics, but sight words have their place as well, and I think as he gets better with his phonics, this will be a welcome change of pace for him.

This was only 99 cents and has EVERYTHING.  It seems the game was rarely used as all the parts and "boards" seem in almost new condition.  Nary a tear or smudge anywhere!

After I found the sight words game, I noticed a volcano of sorts on the top shelf.  It glows in the dark and shoots little beads to look like lava bubbles.  I thought it would be a nice addition to his bedroom at night given how much he loves glowing things.  It's made by Discovery Kids and is called an Animated Volcano Lamp.   Check it out!  I took the footage tonight after Vince had fallen asleep. 

The last item on my list was actually the first one I found.  That being said, it is the motherload of thrift store finds.  Seriously.  This alone would have made the trip worth it.  I found a brand new Hooked on Phonics Kindergarten Edition pack.  BRAND NEW.  

Originally this was something like $40.  But check out the two tags that were stuck to the box.  One is from Goodwill and the other is from JCPenney.  

I was only charged $1.97 for this.  Can you believe that?!  I still can't believe it!  Look at all the stuff it comes with!

Zoey, my miracle kitty, did not come with the Hooked on Phonics set.  That being said, everything else you see DID.  And it's all unused!!!  Stickers, workbook, progress charts, flash cards, CD-ROMs, coloring books and reading companions - ALL INCLUDED!  And none of them have been cracked open!  

I was so excited by this because I've been working on the Hooked on Phonics program with Vincent for the last week or so on his iPad.  My friend gave me a heads up that the program was free through the App store for 24 hours, and I was lucky enough to snatch it up for nothing.  Recently, Vince read his very first book to me - by himself - but it was on the iPad. A friend of mine said "Make sure you keep that book!" not realizing I didn't have a physical copy.  Now I do!  These lessons are slightly different than the iPad app which means I'll be able to use them both to supplement one another.  How exciting!!!  I cracked this open and used it with Vince already today and he got a kick out of it.  I am SO pleased!

Apparently Piper was, too, because she came over to investigate what had Zoey so intrigued.  When she didn't spot any treats, she promptly turned her nose up and left us to ourselves.  Lucy, as you can see in the next photo, just casually kept watch over everyone on the sofa.  This is her still hanging out after I'd packed everything away into the convenient storage box that came with the set.  

All in all, I'd say this is the best haul I've ever scored at a thrift shop.  God was certainly very kind to us this afternoon.  It's like it was all gift wrapped for us.  Truth be told, I'm pretty sure it was.  


Thank you, God!  You're so wonderful! :)  

Does anyone else feel a bit like characters in a Chicken Little book?  Instead of the sky falling, I am constantly hearing "The Church is falling!  The Church is falling!" from a swelling underbelly of paranoid Catholics and a growing army of gleeful anarchists.  

If you take a look at the media, you'd think the Church was at death's door!

• Hispanics "Leaving the Church Behind"
• We're apparently a "Dying Church" (NCR, so hold your nose)
  
• Threads like this... so many flippin' threads like this.

Relax, folks.  I assure you, the Church isn't going anywhere.  Remember that whole business with Peter getting renamed in front of the giant cave that devoured infants?  

No?

Let me refresh your memory, then.  Since all four of the Gospels were pretty clear about this, it's obviously important enough for folks to understand.

Once upon a time, Simon (meaning "reed") was following a cool guy named Jesus.  Simon wasn't super smart, he certainly wasn't very rich, and he didn't hold major sway in the community.  That was okay.  He wasn't interested in being the smartest guy in the room. Money didn't hold any power over him, and he didn't aim to have folks do his bidding.  He was just a guy who loved Jesus and was willing to follow Him wherever He went - up to and including the Gates of Hell.

That's right, folks!  Simon followed Jesus to the Gates of Hell!  Believe it or not, this place actually existed in his time.  It was located in Caesarea Philippi, and today, it looks like this:

What you're looking at is a giant cave that was carved into a massive chunk of stone.  In fact, this giant stone mass housed several caves which, at the time of Jesus, would have been temples dedicated to various deities.  

This particular one, however, was dedicated to Pan, god of desolate places (being a lonely little farmer / herder dude isn't the best diety-gig to have).  Because his temple had a bit of water running through it, folks would come and sacrifice their infants over the cliff to him where they would either drown or die of blunt force trauma.  Thus, because of the grisly sacrificing of such innocence, it was likened to the gates of Hades (even by the Romans).  

*Yeesh*

So Simon followed Jesus all the way to Caesarea Philippi to stand before this giant stone structure that signified death and complete desolation.  It was here that Jesus asked a series of silly questions.  I'll let the Bible talk from here:

Good old Simon.  His birth name meant reed, something easily bent or even broken by the passing breeze.  

Now, however, Jesus blessed him with the name that translates to "large rock."  Jesus didn't change Simon's name because He was impressed with Simon's knowledge of Scripture.  He didn't change his name because He liked how sinless Simon was.  He didn't even change his name because of how faithfully Simon followed Jesus all around the known world.  

No.

Jesus changed Simon's name to Peter because name changes signify divine inspiration - a deep, spiritual change that dictates a person's destiny.  It's part of the reason we are given new names at Confirmation, too!

Jesus specifically changed Simon's name to Peter because He asked a question with an answer that only could've been arrived at through divine inspiration.  Simon was open to the movement of the Spirit, and this is why he was chosen as the cornerstone of the Church.  

On Peter's shoulders the Church would be built.  When Jesus goes on and explains that He will give him (after the Ascension) the "keys to the kingdom," He was referencing Isaiah 22:22-23.  

For those unfamiliar, the "key" wasn't just a symbol of power the king bestowed onto his most trusted servant.  The key was an actual key that could open or lock all the doors in the kingdom (grain storehouses, vaults for gold, even the very temple doors).  Whoever wielded the key was given the king's authority (with his approval, of course) while the king is absent.  The servant then went about doing the king's bidding by opening grain storehouses for the hungry, the vaults to pay for kingdom necessities, making pronouncements, etc.  

Jesus was telling Peter that his openness to divine inspiration announced him as this highly trusted servant.  And thus, on Peter's shoulders, the glory of his ancestors (the Jews) and his descendants / offspring (the Catholic Church / various sects of Christianity) will hang on his leadership.  PETER is the cornerstone on which Christ's Church is built.  

If you continue reading Isaiah (and I love this), the original servant spoken of is named Eliakim.  Verses 24-25 speak of Eliakim's eventual downfall and the institution of another servant.  This servant is Peter, and when the Lord speaks, it is Jesus who does the speaking.  How awesome is that?

Anywho, Peter is set as the everlasting servant.  The gates of the hell (Death) shall not prevail against the Church set forth under his guidance.  Jesus entrusts this destiny to Peter because he has proven his openness to divine inspiration.  Peter proves himself as the faithful, humble servant who does not put his own "wisdom" above that of God the Father.

THAT is the sign of a great servant.  

So why do I bring this up at all?  

Because for all the bellyaching folks are making about Pope Francis, they need to keep in mind that he is a servant.  He is a servant hand-selected by divine inspiration to "keep the keys" until Christ comes back for the 2nd Coming.  

You trust Jesus, right?  You trust that what he said 2 millenia ago still rings true today, yes? Then quit your bellyaching and trust that when He said He wouldn't let His Church crumble, He's not gonna let His Church crumble.

The Church is His eternal bride.  He's not going to forsake us.  We'll be persecuted and crucified, this is true.  We must, after all, follow faithfully in His Footsteps.  But we must remember that with a death fashioned after Christ's comes a resurrection as well.  

We have been told that the time is coming for this great persecution and crucifixion, but we're not there yet.  Even if we were, your job isn't to head for the hills or apostatize.  Your job is to keep your oil lamps filled and burning brightly.  Your job is to be a beacon of Christ to others.  Your job is to continue praying for and supporting the Church.  

I am deeply saddened for and shamed by those Catholics who are renouncing the faith simply because this pope doesn't do things the way they expect.  Our faith goes beyond a man in a white cassock.  Our faith is the Resurrected God-Man who consents to give Himself to us as food in the Eucharist... as mercy in the Confessional... as divine royalty in Heaven.

I'm also saddened for and shamed by those who are gleefully dancing over the tears of those Catholics who mourn the loss of faith in their communities and families.  Things may look bleak from where you're standing.  You might delight in the passing of laws that deride the Church and force Her members to face fierce punishment and humiliation, but we know better.

We've witnessed Our Lord upon the Cross.  We've seen His Divine Face, even as blood and spittle made Him almost unrecognizable.  We've recognized that through this torturous sacrifice, evil was conquered and hope for our eternal inheritance was restored.  Laugh now, but we are no strangers to persecution.

Know this.  We are the Church that Christ founded.  We are His Body, we are His Bride.  He will not allow us to be destroyed.

So to you Catholic Chicken Littles running around freaking out about the state of the Church, relax. Do your part by praying, sacrificing and being the person God meant for you to be.  Do not worry about the pope shirking his mantum or the local priest singing One Bread, One Body.  Unless you witness an actual sacrilege or liturgical abuse happening, try not to freak out and just turn to Christ in prayer.  Don't spread paranoia and upset by lamenting the terrible state the Church is in because Father So-and-So allows women to distribute Communion.  

You folks know I hate that.  It's one of my biggest pet peeves.  But ya know what?  I don't deny myself participation in the one, true and Catholic liturgy because of bone-headed mistakes.  Also, even if the priest in question did it PURPOSEFULLY KNOWING he was in the wrong, I'm not going to let his sin cut off my avenue to Christ, because even if he was stained with a thousand mortal sins, Father Pro-Women Eucharistic Ministers is still Christ's representative on Earth and is able to consecrate whereas I am not.

To you Christian Chicken Littles hoping beyond hope that the evil Catholic Church is finally crumbling, sorry.  You guys are our brothers and sisters in Christ.  We still pray for you at every.single.Mass.  You are our offspring.  Do not neglect your Mother.  

To those of you who are foaming at the mouth waiting to ravage the remnants of a Church on fire, don't hold your breath.  Seriously.  

• 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!

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.

:(

Not too often you hear the words "Lent" and "tripod" put together, but it was a concept I introduced a few weeks back to my CCD students.

So often you hear "What are you giving up for Lent?"  I wanted them to understand that this wasn't a futile repeat of New Year's resolutions.  Lent is a time for sacrifice. 

One of my favorite quotes about sacrifice is this:

Love transforms suffering into sacrifice.

According to this, two things must be present for a sacrifice:  Love and Suffering.

So for Lent, while they were all trying to figure out what they'd "give up," I asked them to also figure out a specific person or intention they'd be offering that sacrifice for.  Giving up candy bars during Lent is great, but if you're just substituting the candy bars with milkshakes, nothing is accomplished.

Instead, if you give up candy bars, use the $.60 you save every day and donate it to the homeless man you pass on the street each day.  Put it into a piggy bank and at the end of Lent, use it to buy your little sister that iPad app she's been dying to try.  Better yet, secretly use it to buy a slew of your favorite prayer cards / medals and leave them in the back of your parish church for parishioners to share!

Little things add up, and as long as they're adding up to love, they're perfect sacrifices for Lent.

With that in mind, my students started coming up with some great ideas:

• I'll sacrifice [Popular TV Show] and use that extra time to help my Mom clean the house
• I'll sacrifice gossiping in school and try really hard to befriend [a particular girl] instead
• I'll sacrifice the $1.00 I'm given for school and put it towards the Rice Bowl collection
• I'll sacrifice 1 recess per week and use that time to pray for Father ____________

These are my favorites.  It took a lot of leading, but when they finally arrived at their Lenten gifts (as I've been calling them), I think they really understood the purpose behind the practice.

Once they got this foundation set, I tied it together through Jesus.

We give up things, or sacrifice, for our community out of love.  However, we don't do that for ourselves.  We do it through Jesus.  We unite our sufferings with Jesus' Passion.  We don't sacrifice during Lent just because that's what you do during Lent.  We do it so Jesus doesn't have to suffer alone.  We share the burden with Him.  

I likened it to riding a roller coaster for the first time.  They all seemed to understand that. None of them wanted to ride a coaster by themselves the first time they went.  They were scared!  Instead, they asked a friend to come along so they could share the burden of fear.

During Lent, we consent to share the burden of suffering with Jesus.  We consent to take part in the Passion, because as the Church, we are members of His Body, and we want to follow where He, the Head, leads us.  During Lent, He is leading us to Salvation through the Cross.  

It was like a little light bulb clicked over their heads.  I started seeing them slowly understanding the concept of sharing in the Lenten journey.  Each Mass isn't a recreation of the Passion so much as a time-machine that brings us back to the Foot of the Cross, time and time again.  Lent helps us refocus on this by bringing the reality of Christ's Sacrifice into our daily lives (in a much more manageable way).  

Just as Christ suffered for love of us, we, too, must suffer for love of others, uniting those sacrifices to the Sacrifice of Christ.  

This is the Lenten Tripod analogy I used with my students, and I have to say, I'm really pleased with how well they took that lesson to hear.

Next week we'll check in to see how they're doing with their gifts.  :) 

I teach an 8th grade Confirmation class.  This class is comprised of students who typically don't attend Mass, go to public school, and have about as much interest in Catholicism as they do in Algebra.

However, I do everything I can to impart the Faith in an engaging, relatable manner.  

Prayer is one of those areas that never quite "took" for them.  It pains me that their communication with God is so infrequent that even a simple Our Father is said with no inflection.  Student-led prayers are lackluster and careless.  It kills me.  They are curious about tradition and history, but that is something they see as separate from a personal relationship with Christ.  It's as if they want to learn "facts" but don't understand that those facts exist only because of the living Presence of God still active within their lives.  Those facts are the small bits of "family history" we share as children of God.  

So imagine my surprise tonight when they all prayed.  Really, truly prayed.  With their hearts... not just with robotic recitation.  

You see, at the beginning of class (as I do every week), I asked for their intentions. They ranged for "help on a spelling test" to "my neighbor's cat is missing."  Great!  We added them to our intentions list.  

However, I then offered this intention:  

I told them about a little boy named Ben.  For those of you unaware, Ben Sauer is a beautiful 4 year old boy with a twin brother named Jack and a little sister named Megan.  Up until about a month ago, Ben was a seemingly healthy little boy who enjoyed playing with his siblings and was looking forward to preschool.

A few weeks ago, he was diagnosed with an incredibly rare and terribly aggressive form of cancer.  My heart is breaking even as I write this.  His parents were told that there is no form of treatment available, and their beautiful, happy, gentle son only has a few weeks to live.  

How do you process such a thing?  A vibrant little boy - your heart and soul - will likely be taken away to Heaven after only 4 brief years in your arms.

Oh dear Lord... mercy.  Please.  Mercy! 

As I relayed this intention to my students, they all sat - silent. There was no side-chatter, no doodling, no requests for the bathroom.  There was only silence and an aching plea for this intention to reach the Ears of God.

And so, with this intention fresh on their hearts, my class made the Sign of the Cross.  They said a Memorare with so much tenderness... so much pleading... that I actually stumbled over the words as I fought to contain my own emotions.  They followed their Memorares with the Prayer to Saint Michael.  This we offered through the intercession of Blessed Chiara Badano at the suggestion of a friend from Theotokos.  

As we closed with another Sign of the Cross, I looked out at my class and I thanked them. I knew hearing Ben's story made them feel terribly sad, but in joining their prayers for a miracle, his comfort, and the comfort of his family, I think they understood, for the first time, prayer can be a powerful weapon.  Sometimes, it is our only weapon, but that does not lessen its strength.  

We prayed again for this intention at the close of class.  Instead of chattering busily out the door after the bell, my class silently walked into the hall.  I really think they were still contemplating this very special intention.  I asked them to hold it in their hearts throughout Lent.  

Actually, I'd like to ask that all of you do so.  Please keep his family entrenched in prayers. Also, be sure to reach out to those you love.  None of us are guaranteed a tomorrow.  That is why we must always love in the moment.  Always.

<3

On Tuesday night, I explained the roots of St. Valentine's Day to my class.  I told them about Father Valentine and the love for (and dedication to!) God that he was ultimately put to death for. I explained how from his jail cell, awaiting death, this holy and courageous priest would write letters to his parishioners telling them to hold fast to their love of Christ through their love of one another.  

Many of them were surprised to know the national day for flowers and candy actually springs out of the martyrdom of a holy and courageous priest.  When I pointed out the liturgical color for a martyr's feast is red, it took them all a quick moment to connect why everything associated with Valentine's Day follows suit.  Tradition is a terribly hard thing to bury indefinitely.  *Grin*

Anyway, at the end of class, I read an excerpt from The Hours of the Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ.  For those of you unaware, this incredibly beautiful prayer book was dictated to Luisa Piccarreta by Our Lord, Himself.  Together, the two of them journeyed back to His Passion and experienced it for the purpose of sharing the depth of His love story to us.  

I could speak of this prayer book forever, but I chose a small snippet for my class expressly for St. Valentine's Day.  It is taken from the 10am-11am hour of His Passion, just as He takes up His Cross.  It reads:

I reflected thusly to my children:

Jesus did not run from His Cross.  He did not turn away from the torturous and humiliating death He was about to endure.  Instead, He JOYFULLY accepted His Cross.  He kissed the very instrument of His death because He understood how necessary it was for the salvation of His beloved family.  WE are His family.  He kissed that Cross for Love of us.  He shouldered that Cross for US, and He left to us the inheritance found within its splinters so that one day we might be reunited with God in Heaven.

This is our constant Valentine.  Each and every time we see it, we must stop to reflect upon the Divine Love that was infused within its very existence.  

"Behold, I make all things new."

Oh Lord, behold, indeed!  You took the world's symbol of humiliation, agony and defeat only to turn it into the triumphant throne of mercy, salvation and victory.  This is, indeed, our truest love letter from You, signed in Your Most Precious Blood and delivered with Your final, loving sigh.  

This is my reflection for Saint Valentine's Day.  

May the Lord bless each and every one of you with peace, love and mercy.

This is Vincent dressed up in his rain gear this morning.  I had to get him up at 6:45 AM so we could be out of the house by 7:30.  It was a rainy, wet morning, but ya know what?  I was feeling pretty amazing, and by the grin on Vincent's face, he was, too.

Why?

Well, we had won what I'm henceforth calling the Pediatric Lottery yesterday afternoon.

You see, on December 31st, I was told I'd need a "proper diagnosis" from a Developmental Pediatrician for Vincent's Sensory Processing / Autism symptoms in order to move forward with his district evaluation.  So, I set to work getting him in to see one.

For any of you lucky enough to never be told your child needs to see a D-Ped, you might not be aware that wait time for these rare birds is about 12 months.  12 MONTHS. 

I spent that afternoon calling 6 hospitals (which had between 2 and 3 locations each) trying to locate one for him.  Every.single.one. was booked solid until December 2014.

I was somewhat disheartened by that (not just for Vince, but for all the other families being told they needed to wait so long for the tests needed to move forward with district evaluations).  However, I wasn't going to let a little thing like ridiculously long wait lists slow me down.  

I asked each hospital to pre-register us over the phone in case something popped up between now and December 2014.  Only two hospitals agreed to take my info this early.  I kept a running tab of hospitals, wait times and pre-registration requirements on a list on the back of Vincent's evaluation folder.  Then, starting January 2nd, I went down the list of hospitals and called every other day, hoping for a cancellation.

Yesterday, January 13th, I struck gold and was given an 8AM appointment with a leading developmental pediatrician who specializes in autism and sensory issues.

Seriously - I was running around the office like this: