 Vince was "helping" me in the kitchen the other day.
He's been doing this a lot more frequently. He'll grab a kitchen chair, drag it to the counter, and start doing any number of things that "help" me. Now as every parent knows, help from a 4 year old is rarely help. Usually it's a sure sign your two-minute prep is about to become a 15-minute circus show of you trying to keep him from burning himself on the stove, stop him from reaching for a knife, begging him not to dance on the chair, and assuring him that the pasta doesn't need Cinnamon Toast Crunch added to the sauce. However, we grin and bear these annoyances because, quite frankly, it's really sweet that our kid wants to help. It's wonderful that our children love us and want to be near us, even braving the sweltering heat of the kitchen and the annoying sound of the exhaust fan. It's a beautiful thing that our kids want to feel like a needed and necessary part of the family, and it's even more beautiful that we've done something right to get them to express that (by dumping cereal into your pot roast; I gotta move that stuff to a higher shelf). That being said, Vince was being particularly "helpful" that afternoon. I almost sent him into the living room to wait for lunch because I was getting frustrated. Terrible, right? But it's the truth. Sometimes having a 4 year old's "help" is frustrating. Before I gave the order for him to plant his butt on the couch, a little voice whispered in my ear, "You are the same." The thought came and went so fast I actually stopped smearing peanut butter on the bread and pondered it a second. "You are the same." I'm an annoying kid pulling butter knives from the dishwasher? As I thought on it more, I realized that in many ways, I am like Vince at the dishwasher. I love God and want to help Him out, but does God really need my help? No. My version of help is only going to result in Him cleaning up after me. However, God doesn't get frustrated that my pathetic offerings of help muck up His groove. Instead, He patiently allows me to try - over and over again - giving me pointers on how to better do the job of helping Him. In this way, I grow and mature until I am eventually able to offer help that is worthwhile. The reflection was humbling. I did not send Vincent to the couch. Instead, I taught him how to properly put the silverware away (which you can see him doing above). I snapped this picture because it was an eye-opening moment for me. How incredible the lessons of parenthood. We are called, as parents, to exemplify the love of the Father. And in this, God is leading the way, briliantly choosing to use our own children as examples of His Love.
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A blessed Mother's Day to mothers everywhere. From the moment of conception, we strive to make all the best choices to nurture our children's growth - what we eat, if we'll take medicine, what we will and won't drink... Motherhood does not begin with the birth of a child. It begins the moment a woman opens her heart up to the possibility of life taking refuge in her heart. So again, to all mothers out there... natural mothers, pregnant mothers, adoptive mothers, godmothers, grandmothers and mothers yearning to meet their little saints in Heaven... Be blessed. May we be granted the grace to walk our paths with love through the intercession of our Most Holy Mother. When the pain of loss seems too great to bear, and when the grief comes coursing in to crush the very breath from your lungs, fix your eyes on the Blessed Mother as she gazes upon her Son, gasping away His Life for love of us. Allow the tears to come. Offer your tears together with hers... hers that shine like diamonds and are collected by the angels as tokens of mercy. Accept the emptiness as it threatens to swallow you. Allow the weight of desolation to shatter your heart - your very soul - but do not despair. For where God destroys, He creates. These mournful remains can thus rejoice and offer themselves as ready sacrifice for the new Life that comes in their place. "I will give you a new heart, and a new spirit I will put within you." Ez. 36:26 Blessed Mother, be my strength. I am having a really, really hard time accepting Myla's absence right now. That television show... it was as if I was being pinned to a surgical table to have my heart sliced open by a scalpel. But I see, I see. The tears wash away the clutter from my eyes, and the crushing grief just reminds me that I have something left to offer. It is yours... the pain and tears that echo softly your own. Tender Mother, hold her for me. Hold her and tell her all the things that I never got the chance to say. Allow her to be the delight of your Son since she could not be the delight of mine. Bring her often to see her Father so that He can tell her about the Daddy she left behind. Guide me daily with Vincent so that I can be worthy of meeting her one day. Grief, folks. It still exists. Every day. Sometimes you're granted respite. Sometimes you're asked to experience it more keenly. But it's always there.
That is at it should be. There can be no grief if there is not, first, love. And love is forever. And love, Myla Therese, is exactly what you were created by.  I have a few books I keep on hand for short bursts of reading. The one I'm focusing on today is called The Two Witnesses and is a collection of excerpts from a larger work titled True Life in God. Both works were written by a purported visionary by the name of Vassula Ryden. Again, as with all things mystic, keep your eyes on the Holy Spirit and ask His guidance. I am neither supporting nor denying her claims. I haven't even gotten halfway through the book yet. So please exercise prudence. That being said, I came across something that made me laugh a few days ago. It's been rattling around in my head ever since, so I'd like to share it with you. When Vassula writes, she tends to go back and forth between her conversation with Christ (or His mother) and her conversation with those she's praying with (which technically extends to readership). This particular excerpt prefaces the particular "Message" Christ supposedly had Vassula write down, and even though she writes it as a preface, the reaction from Christ takes place AFTER He dictated the message. The excerpt: Yesterday I was... under the Lord's dictation... and in the end I asked Jesus, "Jesus, shall we go now and do some other work?" (I had in mind to start cleaning the kitchen.) And Jesus, without the slightest hesitation said, "Then let us go!" He sounded very eager to have me up and start cleaning the kitchen. He behaved as though I had to do a very important and urgent work." I chuckled when I read that. In all of the excerpts, Jesus is talking about very important matters like God's Love for His children, how wayward we've become and how vital it is that we reflect upon how little we love one another, but when the floors need scrubbing, the floors need scrubbing. It reminded me of a quote I found on a fellow blogger's page that also made me chuckle when I first read it a few years ago. Hat tip to Katherine of Having Left the Altar for this namesake gem: "A married woman must often leave God at the altar to find Him I remember laughing when I'd read that upon stumbling over to her blog. I think that's why I kept reading. The idea that God could be found in the mundane - maybe ESPECIALLY in the mundane - it was something that amused me. I guess it still does. And yet I believe it. I fully believe that God sees the work of looking after our homes and families to be of importance. Each washed dish and tucked away toy is an act of love. Each sweep of the floor and every stir of the pot is another syllable of a mother's ongoing ode of love to her family. God doesn't see the scrubbing of floors as a banal act of drudgery. If done with a happy heart, He accepts it as the gift of love it is. All we do is a gift of love if we allow it to be.  A Poor Clare nun sweeping the hall. Thank you all so much for your prayers for my sister and nephew! I'm so blessed to report that they're both doing well. I'm sharing this photo with you because I have no doubt your prayers helped buoy them in this time of fear and uncertainty. They certainly gave me a lot of comfort! And look at the result. This beautiful little peanut was born - screaming - and weighed in at 2lbs, 6oz. He took a few breaths on his own, and his body is functioning just as it should. Maria, my sister, is resting and should recovery nicely. God is good, and He was especially good to us tonight. Thank you so much again for all those prayers! 
 I’m not sure where to begin with this entry, so I guess I’ll just start at the beginning. Many of you are aware that Vincent was practically deaf for the first two years of his life. I had to fight long and hard to get him approved for the surgery that would finally allow him to hear the world around him clearly. That surgery was completed the day after his 2nd birthday. Since that time, he’s seen both occupational and speech therapists to help him “catch up” to the verbal / comprehension level of his peers. Test after test has proven Vincent is intellectually at level (or above) for things like reading / math, but when it comes to actually speaking and following directions, he’s still lagging significantly behind other kids his age.  Well, about a year ago, his case worker decided that he needed to be tested for Autism. I immediately rebelled. I’ve taught plenty of children on the spectrum. Vincent doesn’t “fit” on the spectrum. Plus, I knew that if he was tested by the district, they would be obliged to share those results with every public school in the area, and I absolutely refused to allow my not-yet-3 year old son to be labeled. They argued that they wouldn’t continue services without the test, so I showed them the door. I was so angry. I remember that final meeting clearly. I told them in no uncertain terms that they could take their theories and shove them. I would NEVER allow testing of my 2 ½ year old son for autism given they hadn’t even taken into consideration the 2 years he spent in a mostly soundless world. I was so sure they wanted to slap a label on him and be done with it that I could’ve torn their heads off. So I not-so-charitably told them to find the door and let it smack ‘em on the way out. Children should never be so carelessly categorized. I explained the situation to my mother and best friend (mom’s a kindergarten teacher and Mary has her Masters in psychology). I asked if I was just being a blind parent. Were they seeing something that I was just refusing to? They assured me I wasn’t being blind and they, too, were surprised the district was pushing so hard for such testing.  Fast forward a few months. I noticed that he was still having difficulties with eye-contact and comprehension. Speech had gotten significantly better, but comprehension was still lagging. I was consistently finding him off by himself as opposed to playing with his peers. I admit, flags were going up, but I still didn’t believe Autism was the answer. As the months progressed, and signs of Vince being slightly “off” piled up, I began to have doubts about my read. Was I too close to him to really be objective? Was I allowing some sort of fear to inoculate myself against the prospect of Autism? I again brought the issues forth to Mary and my mother. Both of them assured me – again- that I wasn’t ignoring anything and I wasn’t trying to convince myself that he was perfect. However, both of them agreed there might be some underlying issue that none of us could put our fingers on. So that brought us to his first day of preschool I’ve been excited about for the last two years.
After speaking with the principal (and the teacher - both of whom, by the way, are complete rock stars), I decided it would be best to come in to observe Vincent, myself. I took the day off and just watched him. Sure enough, everything they said was spot on. He was defiant, aggressive, and he screamed at both his teacher and the aid. I was dumbfounded. The principal, his old daycare teacher, and myself had a bit of a pow-wow to discuss what was happening. His old teacher was just as surprised as I was to hear about the extreme change in Vincent. He was, after all, one of her favorites. She’s pregnant, and she noted Vincent was always very careful with both her and the baby he knew was inside her. He was friendly with the other children, and he never screamed or acted defiant.  Hearing this, I think, made the principal hopeful that Vince was just in the middle of transitioning to a new place. As a result of this conversation, she agreed to give me two weeks to help him make the transition. I agreed that, if at the end of the two weeks he was still a handful, we would make other arrangements. Well, here we are two weeks later and Vincent is in a new school. *Sigh* This was a very difficult experience for John and I. It was especially difficult for Vincent. I still feel terrible that we put him through such stress. I feel terrible that we put his teacher and classmates under such stress. However, I’m grateful to God that we endured it because without it, I don’t think we’d finally be on the right track with getting him the help he so desperately needs. You see, in my quest to deal with Vincent’s sudden changes in behavior, I reached out to everyone and anyone for help. In my search, I began getting suggestions for Autism testing again. My friend suggested he was oppositional defiant. My mom suggested Autism testing for Asperger’s. I still refused to entertain the notion because my experience with teaching Autistic children shouted at me “No.” There was something else, and I couldn’t figure out what it was. So I kept looking. I kept asking. I kept praying. That’s when I ran into Cam’s post entitled “Mae’s Journey.” Suddenly, the last two weeks of chaos and confusion began to come into crystalline focus.  Cam = Super Mom You see, Cam did something incredibly brave. This isn’t surprising given that she’s been known to tackle some pretty big issues. However, this particular topic is different in that she publicly acknowledged that her precious little girl might not be “perfect” by society’s standards. Of course she’s perfect in God’s eyes, because she is exactly as He wished her to be, but no parent likes to paint anything but the rosiest picture of their darling children. I’m the same way. I think most parents are. Cam, however, took the incredibly brave step of noting the struggle she’s had trying to help Mae grow and learn. She, too, heard talk of Autism. However, she also heard talk of something called Sensory Processing Disorder or “SPD.” Those three little letters jarred something within me.  This folder is almost 3 inches thick I quickly grabbed his therapy notes off the shelf and combed through them. Sure enough, I noted the various “SPD” notes littered throughout. I remember asking his therapist what those letters meant. She, at the time, explained them as activities they did or techniques she used (weighted vest, hand combing, etc). I just accepted that the “SPD” was a code or something that they used to help keep track of the various exercises they did. So once I realized “SPD” actually stood for something, I reached out to his therapist. We’re still friends via Facebook because she wanted to be able to keep up with Vincent even though he was no longer in her care. I confronted her with the notes. She admitted to me she had always been believed Vince to be a Sensory Seeker (a type of SPD). She wasn’t legally able to tell me because I guess she’s not a psychologist. Point is, she agreed to come over and observe him, herself, now that he was older. She came and observed, confirming she believed him to have SPD. The next few nights found me pouring through material online. The more I read, the more Vincent’s behavior made sense. I finally felt like my confusion was being answered.  This might sound weird, but it’s that feeling you get when you try on “the dress” for your wedding, I guess. Everyone who suggested something to “fit” Vince felt wrong. Autism, Asperger’s, ADD, ADHD, ODD… none of them felt right. As soon as I read up on SPD and compared my research to Vincent’s erratic behavior, all the pieces of the puzzle lined up and I began to see my baby in a new light. I’m currently waiting to hear back from the child-psychologist on when we can start therapy for him, but in the meantime, I’ve been doing my best to research ways to help him cope with new environments. Unsurprisingly, the various techniques I’ve learned via Pinterest and Google really have helped tremendously, even in such a short span of time. This just highlights for me that I’m on the right track. Thank God! And thank you, Cam, for being such a brave mom to post such a personal struggle online. Without that entry, I don’t think I would’ve been able to put the pieces together for my own son. Stuff I Found Helpful:Free online seminars, webisodes, classes, etc. GREAT library on SPD-specific information.
http://www.spdfoundation.net/elearn/ Great jumping off points for folks curious to know how Autism is related to SPD. http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/the-autism-advocate/201003/what-is-sensory-processing-disorder-and-how-is-it-related-autism http://sensoryprocessingmadesimple.com/are-autism-and-sensory-processing-disorder-sensory-integration-dysfunction-the-same-thing/ Hugely helpful, this article is a blog entry by a mom with an SPD son who is very similar to Vincent. http://www.averageparent.com/our-word/spd/ SUPER helpful because it's written by a woman who, herself, struggled throughout childhood with SPD and has learned to cope as an adult. She, too, shares many similarities to Vincent. http://aspiegrrl.wordpress.com/2011/12/14/what-is-it-like-to-have-a-sensory-processingintegration-disorder/  Here is a photo of the offending slippers.
I was looking for dainty little slippers for my goddaughter's upcoming baptism. I've already got the outfit picked out. I've got her little headband, and her little onesie set is ready to go. I just need her slippers. So I was looking through little slippers for her when I came across these. They're adorable, fuzzy, soft, pink and have tiny rosebud flowers. They're girly and cute. If they had rhinestones, her mother would likely be willing to kill a man to have them for herself (if you're reading this, don't even bother denying it - ha!). Anyway, when I saw them, I felt like I'd been smacked square in the chest. I immediately thought of Myla. I wondered if she'd've been super girly. Lord knows if she was, I wouldn't have known what to do with her. I probably would've tried to dress her in all the cute dainty things they have for girls, but I was suddenly caught by how little I knew about her personality. She was taken away before I'd ever unwrapped that piece of her. I was instantly angry, then. Again, I silently screamed up to Heaven, "Why Myla? Why did you have to take her away? I want her. I will always want her. So many other parents don't want theirs and force them to endure painful abortions. Why not whisk one of those little souls away to Heaven before they meet such cruel ends? Why take Myla?" Then I get upset with myself for thinking that way. Those children who are aborted are loved just as much as Myla - they're wanted just as much - by God. True, He wants to see all children born to a life of love, but it is not His fault this cannot be. Knowing this doesn't make it any less frustrating. Knowing that Myla's in Heaven and working hard to get us up there with her doesn't lessen my sadness and hurt. I hate this. I hate having a Pandora's Box in my heart that can be opened without warning. Pink slippers. How they gained the point of a knife, I will never understand. Mommy loves you, Myla. I miss you every day. I'm sorry Vincent, Daddy and I have to wait so long to meet you. {hugs and kisses}  I'm sharing this with all of my readers in the hopes that these wonderful Sisters and the work that they do is not only helped along through your generous donations, but also your prayers! Please keep these beautiful women and the cherished families they help in your daily intentions. We are blessed to count these brides of Christ among our own. Dear Friends and Co-workers of Life, 'Emmanuel', God is with us. As we prepare to welcome the Christ child anew in our hearts this December, we are welcoming the new life around us in the women we serve. It is our desire that as they have courageously chosen life for their child, they may know the joy of Christ's presence and loving support, so often through the hearts of others. And that they may know truly, God is with us! We are organizing our December 15, 2012 Christmas party for the women we serve and their children, and sending out some gift ideas for anyone who is interested. We have added websites for your convenience but you are certainly not limited to using them. Thank you always for your prayers and generosity!
We need shopping bags! We always need big bags with handles to give to the women when they stop by. We fill them with maternity clothes and baby clothes, etc***
or T-SHIRT BAG - PLASTIC- CLEAR - 90121 Store Supply Warehouse: Your Source for Retail Supplies and Store Displays 9801 Page Avenue | St Louis, Missouri 63132 | Phone: 800-823-8887 All gifts need to be delivered by Monday December 10th, 2012. For shipping purposes this is our address: Sisters of Life Visitation Mission 257 East 71st Street New York, NY 10021 Questions concerning drop offs contact: (212) 737-0221 Any other questions and concerns contact: (347) 843-8900 We are so grateful to you for all your sacrifices, big and small, for our mission of building a culture of life. In Christ Our Life, The Sisters of Life  Hey everyone!!! This weekend was INSANE! I mean that in a really good way, but boy am I tired!!! On Friday night, I crammed about four days of cleaning into a few hours. You see, with my new job starting on Tuesday, and all the plans I had for the weekend, I really wanted to have the house cleaned and all the laundry completed. Unfortunately, all those wonderful plans fell through when I found out that I'd lost my sitter for Saturday. Now that I would have Vincent, I couldn't do about ten of my "To-Do's" which meant we threw everything out the window and spent the entire weekend having fun. Good thing I crammed my productivity into Friday night, huh? Anyway, on Saturday I took Vincent to the farm. He went apple picking for the very first time, and while we were at it, we picked some corn, too! You only live once, kid, and you haven't truly lived until you get lost in row upon row of corn. :) I think he enjoyed the hay ride that ferried us between the various fields. He and another little boy kept grabbing fistfuls of hay to "rain down" onto the floor boards.  He was a little afraid of the stalks, but he liked shucking the corn! After we picked the apples and corn, we found our way back to the market where we picked up peaches. These peaches were HUGE! They were the size of John's fists, and John's got some pretty huge hands. Vincent really enjoyed eating those. At first he refused because I was calling them "peaches," but as soon as I represented them as "apples" he went to town. He's definitely at that stage where trying new things is suspect. *Shakes head* Ah well. Now he eats them just fine... even if I call them by their proper name. Super late Saturday night I drove down to meet up with my in-laws in Ocean City. Being the last weekend of the summer, I wanted to make sure Vince got at least one more "beach day" before we packed it in. It was great because friends of the family were also down, and the kids in this family adore Vince. Vince adores them, too, so it worked out really well. They practically took over parenting duties for me the whole of Sunday. He absolutely gloried in their attention! It was so adorable to see them vying for his attention... it really was. :)  Riley, Vince and Shannon as we walked up to the boardwalk together. Finally, Monday rolled around and it was a little bit of a bust. The weather was dreary, so we weren't able to do much outside. However, I wanted to take Vince up to get photos like we do every Labor Day weekend. John was away for a bachelor party he hosted, so he wasn't able to come with, but I wanted to keep the tradition going and surprise him with photos when we saw him that night. At first, Vincent was in rare form and didn't want to take them. So I walked all the way home with him and put him down for a nap. After the nap, I decided to try again in the hopes that he was in a more willing mood. I was not disappointed, and we ended up with quite the happy result!
Yes, I realize I allowed my son to get photographed holding a gun. When he was younger, I allowed him to be photographed with an empty bottle of Jack. Please save any and all comments of irritation or snark. My husband likes these photos, and I find them to be a fun compromise considering I refuse to allow guns into the house (whether they be toy or otherwise - no matter how much the husband begs, barters or pleads). Anyway, it was a fun weekend, but I'm beat! Oh, and we also got Vince a haircut. It was his first time in the chair all by himself. I'm so happy he sat still!!!
So yes... even though I was unable to do the litany of things I wanted to check off my To-Do List before my 1st Day, I think I still did pretty well. Being able to spend time with Vincent doing fun and goofy things beats laundry, floor scrubbing and errand-running any day of the week. :)
 As you can probably tell from the photo, I was a little overzealous in purchasing the potty for Vince at Christmas when he was only 15 months old.
Now that he's almost three, I'm glad I didn't wait. He got to mess with his potty for almost two whole years before I began to potty train him. He spent those two years getting to know his potty... playing with his potty... and using his potty as a ramp, step-stool and yes, even a seat. Once I started to coax him into using it for its actual purpose, he wasn't really scared of it. From all the horror stories I've heard of parents trying to prove to their toddlers that monsters don't exist in their potties, or that the seat wouldn't swallow their bottoms, etc, I'm just really, really glad that Vince had a good, happy relationship with his special seat. No fear of the unknown for him, thank goodness! However, trying to get him to figure out just what that "Uh oh, I gotta go!" sensation actually meant was an entirely different ballgame. As some of you may recall from my 1st foray into Potty Training, I was less than successful. In fact, I was pretty miserable and felt like an all-star failure. I'd even accepted failure. Almost. Instead, I didn't give up. John and I just altered our approach. Sure, Vince still had a few accidents over the last two weeks, but ya know what? He's only had a handful! That first weekend of hell really made him incredibly self-aware. Sure it took several hours of me scrubbing my carpets and floors. Sure it took several extra loads of laundry and a couple extra trips to shower, but in the end, I can see what it was all for. I haven't bought any diapers this month! Vincent requests to go to the potty now - frequently. He's in big-boy underwear all day. He hasn't had an accident in three days. THREE DAYS! And last night? Last night he woke up from his sleep just so he could ask to use the potty. I think I've died and gone to Heaven. <3 My little boy... I'm so proud of him. Several of my friends asked if we did a reward system to see results so fast. We haven't. We've just been very diligent about asking him - over and over again - if he needs to use the potty. Every time he does use the potty, we praise him like you wouldn't believe. In fact, I think we over-praise him. Twice Vincent stopped playing while we were in Chick-Fil-A's playroom on Wednesday so he could run to the potty. He only went once, but he expected a huge round of applause both times. :) Ah well - I'm just so proud of the progress he's making. So moral of the story - Don'T Give Up! No child goes to high school in diapers. :)
So I made the decision to attempt potty training Vince this weekend. Up until this point, John and I haven't been very consistent with it. If we remembered to try him on the potty after his bath - woo hoo. If not, c'est la vie.
However, my laissez faire approach quickly choked on its bon-bon lovin' neglect after I read a note from his teachers reminding us that Vincent was developmentally ready for preschool. The only thing standing between Vincent and a more structured, educational setting was his diaper. Crackers. I immediately felt panicked, proud and frantic reading that letter. I'm so proud that my baby boy is ready for preschool. At the same time, I'm panicky over the fact that my baby boy isn't so much baby as boy now and is thus ready for the next stage of his educational development. That brings tears to my eyes for more than one reason. Finally, I'm a little frantic because I realize I need to get on the ball with training him. He'll be 3 in September, and if he's to start preschool Sept. 1st, I've got my work cut out for me. So instead of going down the shore this weekend (as was originally the plan), I spent the entire weekend home with him in anticipation of the many accidents that were waiting to happen. Ugh - I wasn't disappointed!!! I can't even tell you how many times this poor kid used my floors as a potty. Le sigh. On the plus side, leaving him run around naked (or in his big boy underwear) certainly made him a lot more aware of the "I gotta go!" sensation that precedes using the bathroom. He even surprised me by using the potty three times - once going number two! I really thought we were making headway. Not so much. And after a particularly messy melt-down (on the part of Mommy, not Vince), John calmly suggested that maybe I was trying to push Vince before he was ready. I knew he was right. It made logical sense to me. I think I knew even before I started that he wasn't ready. Trying to push it on him will only freak him out and make potty training that much more difficult. So I deferred to Daddy on this one. Vince gets a potty training reprieve for now. We'll be more consistent with reminding Vince about the potty and asking him if he needs to go, but for now, we'll let him have his diapers... even if that means he waits a month or two to start preschool.  Two women received heartbreaking news today regarding the miscarriage of their unborn children. Please keep them (and their husbands) in your prayers. Even though their beautiful children did not make it past the bonds of the womb, they made these women mothers. Their tiny heartbeats - their tiny feet - their very souls manifested a significant and unalterable mark on the hearts of these women. They are forever changed because once you become a mother, you remain a mother. Once you open yourself up to accepting a life hand-crafted by the Father, you ever carry a piece of that life within yourself. May these two mothers find comfort in the fact that their blessed little saints are now acting as their personal intercessors before the Throne of God. May they enjoy the Beatific Vision from the lap of Our Lady, and may their parents feel the comforting embrace of Christ. Motherhood, as Dymphna put it, is forever. Special thanks to her for sharing this artwork. Special thanks, too, go out to a woman named Dominique. She shared this reflection that I promptly fell in love with. My Lord, the baby is dead!
Why, my Lord—dare I ask why? It will not hear the whisper of the wind or see the beauty of its parents’ face—it will not see the beauty of Your creation or the flame of a sunrise. Why, my Lord? “Why, My child—do you ask ‘why’? Well, I will tell you why. You see, the child lives. Instead of the wind he hears the sound of angels singing before My throne. Instead of the beauty that passes he sees everlasting Beauty—he sees My face. He was created and lived a short time so the image of his parents imprinted on his face may stand before Me as their personal intercessor. He knows secrets of heaven unknown to men on earth. He laughs with a special joy that only the innocent possess. My ways are not the ways of man. I create for My Kingdom and each creature fills a place in that Kingdom that could not be filled by another. He was created for My joy and his parents’ merits. He has never seen pain or sin. He has never felt hunger or pain. I breathed a soul into a seed, made it grow and called it forth.” I am humbled before you, my Lord, for questioning Your wisdom, goodness, and love. I speak as a fool—forgive me. I acknowledge Your sovereign rights over life and death. I thank You for the life that began for so short a time to enjoy so long an Eternity. -- Mother Angelica  This lil guy knows what's up! So apparently Twitter, Facebook and the blogosphere are all aflame because of Time's new cover. It pictures an attractive, young blonde standing against her adorable and well-nourished 3 year old son. Both of them are staring straight into the camera with an almost "What are you gonna do about it?" look.
The catch? The little boy is standing on a chair that sets him at the perfect level to have his lips clamped around Mommy's nipple in a suggestive manner. The suggestion? Breastfeeding. The giant, flame-inciting caption reads: ARE YOU MOM ENOUGH? ("Mom Enough" being bolded in red, of course, just to hit home the flame-factor). The subtext goes on with: Why attachment parenting drives some mothers to extremes - and how Dr. Bill Sears became their guru. Apparently Time's been hurting for readership, because this is a blatant attempt to solicit a very venomous response from people from every angle of the issue. This image and caption immediately polarize Moms. Those who breastfeed, those who don't. Those who breastfeed for 6 months, those who breastfeed for 5 years. Those who recoil in horror at the thought of a child breastfeeding in public, those who think breastfeeding is the most natural, beautiful thing in the world. Those who think breasts are nothing but sexual objects to be kept private, to those still looking to burn the bras of yesteryear and go topless around the world. Heck, you can even throw in those who CAN'T breastfeed into the mix, or those who choose to use breast milk, just not from the breast, in daily food (cereal and such). Seriously - there is NO other reason to choose to create an image like this. This is SPECIFICALLY for shock value and it serves its purpose well. Everyone and their mother is now talking about it. Unfortunately, they're also delving into the awful area of judging others for their parenting choices (and that never ends well). My Opinion / Experience I believe that breastfeeding is a wonderful, beautiful thing that gave both Vincent and myself a chance to bond in a way that nothing else could. Even though I had a rough start, it proved to be the most rewarding part of motherhood for me. In fact, courtesy of my dedication to breastfeeding, my risk for certain cancers has dropped, my risk for cardiovascular disease has dropped, and I my baby dropped weight faster than my non-breastfeeding friends. Seriously. I was fitting into my jeans within a month. But all the health benefits for Vince were great, too! Chance for higher IQ, stronger immune system, greater sense of security... all that fun stuff. Plus, all the money I saved on formula could be spent on things like a college fund, toys, diapers, or trips to the zoo. Win win for everyone, right? Now I realize that not all women are as blessed as I've been with breastfeeding. I had the time and ability to do it. I stayed at home with Vince for the entire first year. I produced milk - and a lot of it - without trouble. Sure Vince had trouble latching for the first few weeks, but thanks to a kind nurse, I was given a shield which helped him figure it out. I sometimes wonder if I'd've been able to nurse at all if it weren't for her giving me that little stepping stone of help. I was also lucky enough to have a willing breastfeeder for 2 years (a little over two years, actually). Vincent loved "the bobies" as he used to call them (BOB + EES was his pronunciation - ha). He was never more content than when he was in my arms nursing. However, when it came time to wean, he pretty much did it himself. He simply stopped asking when I stopped offering. He was much more interested in grapes or pork chops or pasta. Mommy's "bobies" didn't offer that, and his little body knew it was time to give up the comfort of nursing. For Vincent, that was the right time for him. I was shy for a while when people would ask me about how long Vince breastfed for. Even while I was still nursing, I'd get sideways looks from folks (especially because Vincent always looked about a year ahead of his actual age). I got some mean comments about being selfish... being a poor mother... being foolish because I'd screw up his idea of breasts because he'd remember nursing as he got older. I responded by keeping quiet. I would just do my best to hide the fact that I still breast-fed Vincent because I didn't want to deal with the negative judgements I'd get. However, I soon got over it. The people who scoffed at my nursing habits usually didn't have kids themselves. So what right did they have to belittle MY choices? I started responding to their negativity with Vincent himself. "Do you see how happy Vincent is? Do you see how well-adjusted, secure and trusting he is? He is a direct result of my parenting choices. Obviously I know a little better than you do about raising my son." That has shut them up every single time. BTW, that works for the Negative Nancys who complain about the schedule I try to keep him on, too. When it comes to things like this, you'd think everyone knew how to parent your kid better than you do... *shakes head* Anyway, back to the article (and the frenzy it has caused). I'm not a fan of them choosing this picture to startle folks into reading about Dr. Sears. The woman and her child have little to NOTHING to do with him. Also, the 3 year old (while a product of long-term breastfeeding) isn't even the typical child Dr. Sears mentors on. So again, this was a very specific, underhanded PR move to sell print. That irritates the heck out of me, especially since it's now got people going for the jugular. Crazy! There are enough myths floating around about breastfeeding. Let's not add to the foolishness, k? So let's remember our heads in this one, ladies. Try not to be judgemental or overly-critical. We all try to do what's best for our own children. Let's be supportive and instead of turning our anger on each other, let's turn it on Time for stooping so low as to attempt this charade of a cover in order to sell magazines. Humpf!  I just found a beautiful blog entry through Facebook. It's entitled "Your Children Want YOU!" and it handles the all too familiar subject of us moms unwittingly comparing ourselves to the outside images of motherhood that we see (whether through TV, movies, or social media). Heck, Vincent is at that stage in his life where all he wants is Daddy. I feel like every morning when I go into his room to get him ready for his day, he revolts against me, crying for Daddy. And woe to me if I attempt to hug him when Daddy is in the room. Woe to me if I attempt to play with him while Daddy is around. There really are times when I feel as though he doesn't love me - or that I'm not good enough for him to hang out with. I realize it's just a phase, but it's impossible not to feel hurt at times. It's impossible not to question your own worth when you're bombarded with images of perfection from every angle. Times like that I try to remember that even though Vince prefers Daddy during the day, I'm the one he wants at night. I'm the one he cries for when he wakes up at 2am, and I'm the one he snuggles against until it's time to start the day. I'm also the one he clings to when he's sick, or when we find ourselves in a new place. Remembering that while he's running me over to throw his arms around Daddy tends to help. Anway, this entry was just the reminder I needed that though things aren't always as perfect as they seem elsewhere, they're perfect for me. As they say, there's no way to be a perfect mom, but there are a million ways to be a great one (even if your kid doesn't realize it for a couple decades).  My mom and I - we may not be perfect, but we're perfect for each other. 
This sculpture is the first (and as yet only) piece of art that has ever made me weep. I came across it in my travels, and the reaction was instantaneous. The tears were coming before I even understood what it was I was looking at.
The tender love and comfort extending from the child as she reached out to touch her agonizing mother is intense. That flood of intensity was then made into a deluge of sadness as I realized the child was "invisible," the symbolic soul of a child this mother lost. Then, when I realized what the title of the sculpture actually was, I just about died of a broken heart. Though this sculpture doesn't necessarily have to speak of the post-abortion grief many woman feel, that was what I took it for at first glance. Then I realized this grief could easily be felt by women who suffered miscarriages, ectopic pregnancies, or even hysterectomies before fulfilling their vision of a family. This sculpture could also encapsulate the grief of a mother denied children through birth control, social pressures or infertility... maybe even a mother who lost her child to illness, violence or trauma. Such ceaseless pain is perfectly juxtaposed with undescribable love. This ghost child is peaceful, seeking no solace for itself; she is only looking to comfort her stricken mother. The mother, overcome by her emotions, cannot feel the touch of this angel. She wants to... she yearns to... but she cannot. Oh my heart. I'm actually writing this entry with my "window" scrolled up just enough that the image is not visible on my screen. I can do nothing but weep when I see it. May the Lord grant us mercy for our transgressions against these innocent babes. May those who seek reconciliation find peace, and may the Holy Spirit alight in the hearts of those who don't understand that life begins at conception.  "The most important person on earth is a mother. She cannot claim the honor of having built Notre Dame Cathedral. She need not. She has built something more magnificent than any cathedral - a dwelling for an immortal soul, the tiny perfection of her baby's body. The angels have not been blessed with such a grace. They cannot share in God's creative miracle to bring new saints to Heaven. Only a human mother can. Mothers are closer to God the Creator than any other creature; God joins forces with mothers in performing this act of creation... What on God's good earth is more glorious than this; to be a mother?"
--Joszef Cardinal Mindszenty Just came across this quote today and wanted to share it with all of you. God bless Cardinal Mindszenty for such inspired musings. Women truly are blessed to have been called upon to reflect God in so intimate a way. Oh, that women come to once more understand the blessing such a calling is! |
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