In the morning, I drop Vince off at school.  I sign him in at 8 AM.  John picks him up between 3-5 PM depending on the day and signs him out.  

We've begun leaving one another notes in the sign section.  Instead of leaving our initials (like we're supposed to), we've taken to leaving each other tiny phrases:

It makes me laugh because no one ever checks this thing, so these tiny scribbles are like secret notes passed back and forth between class.  

This particular morning, he'd been feeling rough on account of his wisdom teeth being removed the day before. I knew seeing "Feel better" would give him a smile when he picked up Vince, but imagine my surprise when I saw "Thanks beautiful" in the box to greet me the next morning.  Such a small, tiny gesture, but those are the gems that make me happiest.  

He and I might not see eye-to-eye on religion, but we do love one another deeply, take our responsibility as parents seriously, and are committed to one another and our family.  

I truly believe John and I were made for one another.  We met young, fell in love young, and married young.  I believe this was by design, and I am grateful for the spouse I've been blessed with.  He is a good man, a good father, and a loyal friend.  While I know the religion issue is a tough one, I hope you don't use that as the only stick to measure him by.  

If tomorrow he decided to teach Vincent all about Atheism and telling him that Stephen Hawking agrees that there's no need for God when science explains everything, I'd be incredibly upset.  He feels the same way about Catholicism.  Because he views it as something akin to a fairytale, he sees it as a crutch... something fine for children to believe but necessary to outgrow (like Santa Claus).  Adults can't rely on God for things.  Adults shouldn't need direction in things from a book predating most civilization.  Adults also shouldn't base social lifestyle choices on religious rationale. 

I understand his mindset; I do.  However, I simply don't share that viewpoint and, though he doesn't understand my point of view, he vowed to support me, so he does it as best he can.  I must recognize the difficulty he faces as well when he watches me teach our son what he views to be fantasy and unnecessary superstition.  At the same time, he recognizes his promise to allow me to raise our children Catholic.  

Believe it or not, this is what love looks like.  Love isn't always the romantic, happily-ever-after fodder you see in the movies.  In reality, love is dirty, sweaty and yes, even tearful at times.  It is also beautiful, and the appreciation we have for one another... the trust we've developed precisely because of our struggles... the knowledge that we've survived the dreaded "D-word" and come out stronger... this is love, because love endures.

These words were chosen by me for our wedding Mass. I recently read them, myself, at the marriage of two other friends.  These words of Saint Paul are so crystal clear to me whereas before, I'd only understood them in a sterilized, Disney-shaded sense.  

The day I married John, I heard these words as "Be nice to one another because that's what lovers do.  They aren't rude or arrogant, they don't hold grudges and they don't act selfishly. The lovey-dovey feelings you have today will carry you through everything because love never fails."

Oh, Gina... Saint Paul was no Nora Roberts.  How naive of me to fancy him one!  When I read those words now, I hear something so much richer... so much deeper.  Saint Paul might not be Nora Roberts, but if the above snippet doesn't embody the truth of love, there is no such thing as truth and no such thing as love.

I must've written and rewritten this entry a dozen times.  I've come to the realization that there's simply no neat and tidy way of being fully honest, especially given the circumstances. Thus, I apologize for the mess you're all about to find yourselves in.

A lovely woman named Anne is a Catholic woman who is dating an Agnostic man.  She believes they are a perfect match in all things but religion.  He was born and raised Catholic but now views Catholicism as something akin to a fairytale while she obviously has deep reverence for her Catholic heritage.

She asked us for our advice on what to do given she's looking to marry this man.

I've been wrestling around a lot with this one.  She commented her plight at the end of August to my "I Married an Agnostic" post from 2011, and I'm half afraid she thinks I've forgotten all about her!

Anne, I promise that I haven't.  I just didn't know how to write this without upsetting you.  My advice, I fear, is not what you're hoping for.  

My advice, in fact, is to get out now.  

I realize you might be surprised to hear that from me, but I've walked in your shoes.  For miles. I'm STILL walking in them which is precisely why I'm telling you that unless you know for certain you are being called to convert this man through a lifetime of marriage (which, itself, carries the reality of conversion not happening and your struggle having an adverse effect on future children), cut your losses, give your heart a healthy time to heal, and ask God to put the right man in your midst.  

You might be wondering how I could say such a thing when my own marriage hasn't fallen apart and my son is a (mostly) willing participant in the Faith.  

This was not without toil, tears, a very real threat of divorce, and an intense overhaul of my entire relationship with John.  That's not even counting the amount of prayers and work that still go into it.

Am I saying I wish I hadn't married John?  Of course not.  I got two children out of the deal and undoubtedly grew closer to Christ.  However, I was significantly less spiritually mature than you currently are when I answered the call to marriage.  

You fully understand the importance of your faith and the necessity of a father to be a spiritual leader for his family.  I didn't understand that; worse, I didn't even think such a thing was necessary! As a result of my ignorance, my family started out with a distinct disadvantage.  We were not a cohesive unit in what would become a very large and important part of our lives. That friction reached its tentacles into everything, especially as I matured in my faith and realized the depth of my ignorance.  

John's refusal to accept my religious beliefs as valid directly - DIRECTLY - correlates to his refusal to be open to more children.  

So Anne, if you plan to have children, be prepared for a similar fate.  It is an excruciating, 
at-times-unbearable, cross to shoulder.

Readers who have been following me for a while might be incredibly unsettled by this.  

When I first learned that this was the driving reason behind my husband's reluctance to have more children, words couldn't possibly express the emotions that coursed through me.  In fact, it's been over a year since I learned that this was my reality and this is the first time I've voiced it beyond my two closest friends.  

It's also the prime reason why responding to you, Anne, has been so challenging.  I couldn't be honest with you without being honest about the depth of my own struggle.  This is a tragic, brutal and incredibly bigoted reality, and it's a reality I want so much to protect you from.  I wouldn't wish this sort of sacrifice on anyone.

It's a sacrifice that I willingly make, yes, but it's a willing sacrifice only because I've already made my vows.  You have not.  Please understand that this is what you'd be saying "I do" to... not just for yourself, but for your future children.

And before you think to yourself that your boyfriend would never do such a thing, again, I've walked in your shoes.  My husband said he accepted my Catholicism.  

Seeing Vincent's participation alongside me must've shifted that for him, because Catholicism was no longer some harmless fairy tale.  To John, it became a bitter irritant.  Prayers at bedtime are nails on chalkboard.  Sunday Mass can solicit anything from an eye-roll to not-so-secret vindication when Vince cries that he doesn't want to go.  

Catholicism has become such a hated thing to my husband that he does not want to see it replicated in his children.  Because he cannot love that part of me, he cannot love that part of our children.  Thus, the only way to stave off such irritation is to stop having children.  To poison one is enough... to poison more than one is unthinkable to him.  

And that is his mindset.  Through tears, I demanded to know how he could hold such a bigoted notion in his head.  He is not what I'd consider a bigot.  He's otherwise incredibly tolerant and accepting.  In fact, should any of his friends read this, they'd probably think I was somehow mistaken - that I'd misunderstood his motivation.

I assure you I have not.  I had him spell it out for me.  That was one of the most painful and damaging conversations I've ever had with anyone in my entire life.  It still stings when I think of it.  

I couldn't understand.  I still don't to a certain degree.  I asked him what part of Catholicism bothered him so much that he couldn't stand to see it played out in me... in Vincent.  He couldn't answer me.  He noted prayers at bedtime or his little sayings of "Jesus loves me" irritated him, but our son is wonderful.  Him being baptized Catholic has not somehow made him less wonderful, but for John, it was enough to make him resent and yes, even hate, Catholicism. Hate it to the point where he willingly allows me to suffer an enforced infertility so as not to bring forth any other children who would suffer the fate of *gasp* Baptism and a Catholic education.

It is not fear of finance... fear of time constraints... fear of love or capability that has condemned me to this cross of infertility.  It is my husband's hatred of Catholicism.  

He shared this in a moment of deep and unfiltered honesty just over one year ago.  I appreciated his honesty, because it showed a level of trust that we'd never come close to understanding.  However, I've lived with this knowledge, completely unsure how to proceed. When I thought his decision was based on finances and such, the cross was easier to bear.  At least his rationale made sense. This, however, was almost insurmountable.  It is still a daily struggle.  

It is a struggle I want to preserve you from, Anne.  It's a struggle I want to preserve your future children from.  

My husband and I have since discussed things.  We both agree that had we known then what we know now about the importance of faith to one another, we likely would not have gotten married. I had, after all, broken off the engagement at one point when he tried to get me to agree not to baptize our future children.  We should've known then that faith was more important than we were giving it credit for.  

But we didn't, and we publicly vowed to love one another every day for the rest of our lives. Love doesn't begin and end with tummy butterflies.  It is an active choice to respect, honor, protect, nurture and support your spouse - every day.  

So that is how I find myself in this situation.  I love my husband, Anne.  I love him, respect him, support him, and do my best to nurture him in ways that will ultimately make him a better person.  He obviously tries his best to do the same for me.  However, I'd be remiss if I didn't warn you of the heartache that comes with this sort of union.

Take my story to heart.  For as much as you love your boyfriend (and I have no doubt you do), you will also love those children you create, and you need to be thinking of them.  The best decision you can ever make for them is who their father will be.  

In all things, you have my prayers.  Other readers, please feel free to chime in with your advice for Anne.  

<3

A friend of mine pointed out that Locks of Love (my normal donation recipient) came under fire recently for mismanagement of donations.  To be on the safe side, I decided to donate to Wigs 4 Kids, a charity based out of Michigan that makes wigs just for kids.  Locks of Love ranges from toddler to 21 whereas Pantene's Beautiful Lengths charity focuses on adults.  

Regardless of your donation preferences, please consider growing your hair out (or cutting it if it's already long!).  There are so many beautiful folks out there who would be so happy to receive such a personal, lasting gift.  Given the stressful issues they already face on a daily basis, hair - something you and I take for granted - makes a huge difference to their self-esteem and outlook.  

My donations amount to more than cut strands.  Every single time I washed my hair, I prayed for the child and family who would one day receive my hair.  Each time I turned down suggestions to get bangs, layer my hair, color my hair, or even use particular products in my hair, I'd think of the child in need and offer those little primps and extravagances for their sake. Hair can always grow back, but your chance to gift these children and their families joy only comes around as often as you're patient enough to let your hair grow out.

:)

Uuuuugh.  I've attempted writing things out numerous times, and every time I felt like an angry freight train slamming into a brick wall.  I got NOWHERE.

A strange thing happened the last time I attempted, though.  I asked the Holy Spirit to guide my words.  Since I obviously can't get my ire across coherently, I figured a Divine Boost was necessary.  

Alright, Holy Spirit, I'm ready.  Give me the words that'll make him realize just how much he screwed up!

I didn't pray those exact words, but I'm pretty sure those were my sentiments.

God answered, but not in the way I was expecting.  Instead, I got a quick tap on the shoulder and a chiding that went something like this:

No.  

I didn't put you on this earth to be my scourge; I put you on this earth to be my beacon. I've never asked you to punish as I punish, but to love as I love... to forgive as I forgive.

*Insert major whining.*

But Gooooood, c'mon.  You know as well as I do that he needs to be set straight.  Use me to do it!  I can do it!  C'mon!  Just tell me what to say!

That's about the time images of giant redwood trees being wedged in my eyes started dancing before me.

Stupidly, I still persisted:

How am I supposed to forgive him when he obviously sees nothing wrong with what he's doing... what he's done!

Ask Jesus.  He forgave you in the midst of crucifixion knowing you'd be hanging out in the Confessional 70 x 7 times for the same set of sins.

Silence, then.  I guess He was letting that one sink in a bit.

Finally, He continued:

Again, I ask that you show him mercy - My Mercy.  Show him love - My Love.  Show him that which will draw him closer to Me so that, in My Time, I can correct that which needs correcting.  I am his Father - not you.  I'm asking that you bring Me to him since he cannot bring himself to Me.

I shamefully admit that I whined some more.

Nooooo, God!  That's too hard.  I want him to know exactly how frustrated and upset I am about this entire situation!  I want him to know that this situation needs to stop because I don't want it affecting Vincent.  There's gotta be a better way.

I don't know if this was God or my guardian angel stepping in, but I instantly shivered when I thought of coming to know precisely how frustrated and upset I made God with my litany of sins.  I physically shivered.  I didn't even need the words.  The thought was enough to shut me up.  

Okay, okay.  So I don't go with the fire and brimstone.  I'm still stuck, though.  How do I start this whole forgiveness message?

Within a few minutes, it was done.

Moral of the story:  Jesus modeled love and forgiveness for us. THAT was the example He gave us to follow.  He didn't show us how to smite Sodom, how to set a plague upon Egypt or even how to rain condemnation on adulterers.  Jesus showed us love.  Jesus showed us mercy.  The marvel is that He still shows us this love and mercy today; not just in the Confessional or Tabernacle, but in one another.  

John's birthday was the 23rd.  These are some of my favorite photos of us.  
<3  Love this man right here!  <3

You guys have seen all the videos, articles and memes regarding the ALS Ice-Bucket Challenge at this point.  For those of you that haven't (I can't imagine there being many of you), there is a viral challenge sweeping the internet.  It goes like this:

Maggie gets nominated by Joe to dump a bucket of ice-water over her head.  Should Maggie accept the challenge, she donates $10 to ALS research, videotapes herself getting soaked, and nominates 3 new people to the challenge.  Should Maggie NOT accept, she donates $100 to ALS research.  

Either way, money is donated to ALS research. With those accepting the challenge, however, the added benefit is raising awareness.

Now I've seen a lot of folks complaining about the challenge taking up space on their news feed.  I find that to be an incredibly arrogant complaint, especially when the "hide" feature is so easily accessible.  Why complain about other people posting a 30 second video that you don't have to watch?  It just seems incredibly arrogant.

Then I saw folks complaining about donations to the ALSA.  The ALSA funds embryonic stem cell research, so I was mostly on-board with folks complaining about donations made to the ALSA. Most people are completely unaware of the embryonic stem cell issue.  That being said, there are several organizations one can donate to that meet the requirements of the ALS Research donation.  I, for example, offered the Kimberly Kim Foundation as well as the John Paul II Medical Research Institute as viable, moral alternatives.  So again, why complain about something with such an easy solution?

Finally, I saw the most ridiculous of all arguments, and it shamefully came from a Catholic whom I follow via Facebook:  Frank Weathers of Why I Am Catholic.  Normally I can get behind stuff Mr. Weathers writes, but his brief, snarky message against the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge made me cringe.

He quotes Matthew 6:2-4 and uses that as his "#1 Reason" for being against the challenge:

I think Mr. Weathers is stretching things a bit.  He'd've gotten more support if he stuck with the anti-embryonic stem cell research.  Pulling the Bible into things as if he actually thinks Jesus wouldn't be cool with His children banding together in such a way to help one another... that's mind-blowing to me. 

People aren't dumping water on themselves to say "Look at me and how charitable I am!"

In all honesty, I think the majority of folks are doing it so they can feel a sense of belonging. They see this challenge as being a real solution to a real problem, and it's a solution that is fun, easy and entertaining.  And they're right!  This sense of belonging has become a real movement which has already raised over $70 million dollars.  $70 MILLION DOLLARS!!!  

And that's only from the ALSA.  That doesn't count the Kimberly Kim Foundation or the JPII Medical Research Institute.  

That is nothing to turn your nose up at.  More than raising money, this viral campaign has raised awareness of ALS which has raised compassion and understanding.  It has caused folks to reach out to one another in new and unexpected ways.  It has given hope to those struggling with ALS, and in some ways empowered them to realize they COULD do something about their seemingly hopeless situation.  

Again, it has bonded people into a sense of belonging to a real solution.  That is incredible!

And yes, while it'd be nice for folks to support, en masse, Christians is the Middle East, you cannot condemn participants of the ALS Challenge because, frankly, you have no clue if that person already IS.  Supporting one does not preclude you from supporting the other. 

So I'm in favor of the challenge, and I think anyone who would attempt to shame me or call my Catholicism isn't question would do well to remove the hull of the Titanic from their eye first .  I accepted the challenge from a friend, explained my donation to the Kimberly Kim Foundation (as opposed to the ALSA), and then requested (in my commentary) for my three nominees to do the same.  So not only am I spreading awareness for ALS and donating to the solution, I'm also making folks aware of the embryonic stem cell issue that, again, most folks are simply unaware of (and not seeking to intentionally be malicious about).  

Finally, from a marketing standpoint (given my background in Communications), I LOVE the simplicity with which this challenge went viral.  Brilliant marketing ploy.  Kudos all around.

Ooo, and obviously, keep folks suffering with ALS in your prayers, and if you haven't already, make yourself aware of the signs and symptoms so you can better serve those whose lives are affected by it!  

Vincent and I spent the weekend down the shore with family and friends.  Usually we hang out as a group on the beach, but due to the rain, our neighbors ended up coming over to our house and my in-laws hosted an impromptu barbecue.  

It was a blast.  Our neighbors, Pete and Daisy, have two little girls named Jasmine and Lily. Jasmine is Alliya's age, so the two of them are best buddies.  Lily is only two, so she and Vincent are a little pair.  The four of them play well together, too, but they definitely tend to break up into two distinct groups.  

Anyhow, when my FIL brought Jasmine over in the morning to give Pete and Daisy a break, Vincent was angry that Lily hadn't come, too.  He didn't understand why she needed to nap when she should've been having fun with him.  Later, when Pete showed up (also without Lily), Vincent didn't even bother greeting him.  He demanded to know why he dared to come over without bringing his "best friend in the whole wide world."  

Finally, Lily woke up from her nap and Daisy brought her over to join the rest of us.  Vincent was in his glories.  He jumped off the couch, rushed over to her and gave her a giant hug.  "LILY!" he cried.  "We gotta play!"

This is what the two of them look like for the rest of the time they're together:

Vincent leading her by the hand everywhere, checking to make sure she's got everything she needs (or does everything she's supposed to do before she gets a snack - ha).  They also both tend to scramble if you try to sneak a picture of them being cute together. Rascals.  

Later on in the day, Lily settled into my FIL's lap.  She calls him "Uncle John" and she knows she's got him wrapped around her adorable little finger!  Anyway, it was so sweet to see how they were interacting together.  I snapped this picture of her giving me a toothy grin:

Vince is right behind her with his back turned, but Lord, that kid won't let Lily out of his sight for very long.  It's so cute!  

I admit, however, that I got a bit wallow-y when I wondered what it'd be like for Myla to be sitting in his lap.  Vince is such a good big brother to Lily (and his other little cousins), I feel sad that he didn't get the chance to interact with Myla the same way.  

I pushed those thoughts out of my mind until later that evening when we took the kids out for ice cream.  Again Lily was sitting on my FIL's lap while I had Jasmine, Alliya and Vince huddled up in front of me.  Lily was successfully convincing my FIL to hand over all of his ice cream to her, and he was happily obliging, looking like the proudest, happiest person in the universe.

It made me sad to think that we'd never provide him with the grandchildren he takes such delight in.  I felt guilty... like I'd failed something on an intrinsic level.  He wasn't doing anything to accuse me or even make me feel badly.  He likely didn't even notice I was there watching him enjoy Lily's manipulations for ice cream.  It was my own brokenness projected and magnified by my intense longing for not only Myla, but all the children I've envisioned and subsequently been denied.  I understood that, but it didn't lessen my feelings of inadequacy, failure and sadness.

I didn't want to further my upset, so I turned away and imagined myself making a fist and physically punching back the knot in my throat until I could breathe without crying.  

*Sigh*

Sorry if I sound miserable or depressed.  I'm not.  I'm certainly sad now and again when this sort of situation arises, but I'm trying to be honest with how this sort of thing affects my daily life.  Myla is always in my thoughts, so my imagination sometimes puts her into situations like this.  Is it logical?  Probably not.  Then again, I think it's human to always wonder "What if?"  

In this situation, it's obviously a moot point, but I guess we're so used to exercising our God-given gift of creativity that we can't help ourselves sometimes.  

Losing a child (or even the opportunity for children) is a terrible cross.  It's hard for folks who haven't been in this situation to understand how all-encompassing it is.  I don't write these things to remind people of my struggle, but I do write to remind folks that this struggle is real and it's daily (not just for me, but for the many, MANY other men and women who struggle with this sort of cross).  

Tread softly and with much, much compassion, because even when we're trying our best to look past our sorrow to count our blessings, we can't help but hear echos of our indignant humanity insisting "What if?"

While I was at the park with Vince today, he walked up behind a toddler on a swing and tried to push her so she could go higher.  The toddler's grandmother said, "Aren't you a nice little boy!  You must be a big brother, huh?  Do you have a little sister that you push on swings?"

It's doubtful Vince actually processed her question, but he answered, "Yes" just the same. My heart didn't break so much as sigh at the sight of him trying to be brotherly to this little girl.  

The truth is, I don't speak to Vincent about Myla.  I'm not sure he'd understand anyway. He still confuses familial terms like "brother" and "sister" for "son" or "daughter."  That's okay, though.  One day he'll know he's got a little sister in Heaven waiting for him.  

A reader who has experienced miscarriage asked me if I spoke about Myla to anyone outside my circle of close friends.  The truth is, I don't actually speak about Myla to anyone - not even on the blog so much anymore.

It's not that I don't think about her every day; I do.  It's not that I don't still feel intense emotions about her short life; I do.  Just the other day, I saw that show Say Yes to the Dress and when one of the brides-to-be said "Yes" and her mom, all teary-eyed from seeing her daughter dressed up in her bridal attire, hugged and kissed her,k I felt the pang of loss in realizing I'd never have that moment with Myla.  I allowed my heart to clench into itself as it braced for the tsunami of anger, grief and frustration that would slowly fade to resignation, acceptance and even appreciation. 

But I dunno.  I still feel awkward bringing her up.  I'm not embarrassed by her or my experience.  I'm not ashamed.  I am, however, unwilling to open myself up to public scrutiny, I guess.  I'm unsure of my ability to handle the emotions of others (sorrow, awkwardness, pity, frustration) while still juggling my own.  So rather than attempt, I remain silent.  I don't speak of her to John, to my mother, not even to my closest friends.

Mind you, I'm sure I could should the absolute need arise, but I haven't felt that driving necessity in a long time.  I am thankful for that. 

However, I'd like to single out two friends who've given me incredible gifts:  Theresa and Lien.

And yeah, I'm posting your pictures.  :) 

You guys have seen me talk about Theresa a few times.  She's the one who has the obsession with pink (and purses).  She's also the mother of that beautiful little munch above, Maddy.  She and I have been together since Freshman year of HS when I invited her to my lunch table because I was sick of eating by myself.  I even feigned interest in the Backstreet Boys (had NO idea who they were at the time) in an effort to drum up conversation.  

Anyway, Theresa had just had Maddy when I went through the miscarriage.  Like everyone else, she found out about it through the blog because, quite frankly, I couldn't physically have that conversation out loud.  I still feel like a coward that my good friends (and mother) had to find out in that manner, but truthfully it was the only mode of communication I had at the time.

Anyway, as soon as Theresa read the blog, she reached out to me.  She sent me a quick message via FB just to let me know she was there in support.  It wasn't this massive production - just a brief communication that let me know someone was out there grieving with me.  I wasn't alone in my sorrow.

That meant so much to me.  

And since then, Theresa's been the only friend who has openly mentioned her in passing. I'm always slightly taken aback by how easily she slips her into conversation.  She isn't afraid to use Myla's name.  She doesn't seem skittish to bring her up out of the blue.  That sort of acknowledgement of my precious little girl is actually bringing tears to my eyes as I type this.  

So thank you.  Each and every time you did it, I was blessed.  It may have seemed small or even insignificant, but to me, someone who has been starved of any sort of acknowledgement that she existed at all, it was the most comforting, gratifying gift.  

This is Lien.  I know Lien through her sister, Xuan.  I love both of them immensely, but through the years, Lien and I have grown closer simply due to our shared love of family and terrible jokes.  At least that's why I think she keeps me around.

Anyway, she only recently learned of Myla's existence.  She, too, read the blog and reached out.

I had originally shared my blog for very different reasons, but I knew she'd come across the entries about Myla.  I told her I trusted her with the information, because I wouldn't have given her the web address otherwise.  

She scheduled a time to meet (a rarity for us due to where we live and the hours we work). I knew she'd touch on my miscarriage, but I thought the crux of the conversation would center on why I'd sent her the blog in the first place.  While we did talk about that for a bit, she was insistent on discussing Myla (and her disdain for John's handling of things - ha ha). Good old Lien.  Fiesty as hell when she wants to be.

When she brought up Myla, as I knew she would, I tried to make it as painless as possible for her.  An awkward conversation knowing how upsetting the experience was for me, I didn't want her to feel bad or like she'd upset me, so I was very matter-of-fact about everything.  Lawyerly, if you will.  

What she did made me really stop in my tracks, though.  I was eating, trying to keep the conversation going so there weren't any awkward pauses, but she reached over and grabbed my greasy hand.  She looked me square in the eye and forced me to shut up for a hot second while she said, "No.  This is important.  It's a big deal what happened.  I'm really, really sorry.  I cried while reading everything.  I'm really sorry."

That was powerful.  I dunno if Lien realized it, but it was powerful.  She not only gave permission for me to publicly grieve, but demanded the right to experience it alongside me.  

She also reprimanded me - rightly - for disenfranchising her of that right by keeping my miscarriage a secret all this time.  

Well played, Lien.  Well played.  

I appreciated that more than you realize.

This grainy picture from my wedding is probably the last one I have of Theresa, Lien and I together.  They don't really know one another outside of me.  I wonder if they've even thought about each other in the years since they were my bridesmaids. It's funny to think of that.

Both of them have given me incredible gifts by extending themselves in such a generous, loving way.  I didn't think I needed (or could even cope with) such displays of charity.

I appreciate all my friends - I really do.  This particular entry isn't about guilting others or soliciting Myla conversations from anyone else.  I simply wanted to recognize and extend public appreciation for the unique and incredibly special gifts Theresa and Lien gave, completely unprovoked, to let me know they love me, grieve with me, and hope with me for the future.

I love you guys.  Thank you so much for being amazing friends to me.  I appreciate it more than words could ever express.

I was honored to attend a beautiful wedding this past weekend. I was asked by this couple to do a blessing before the meal in addition to a reading at the ceremony.

Now, before any traditionalists reading start wagging their heads, relax.  These two didn't get married in a Church, so I didn't set off any atom bombs by making my way to the pulpit.  

*Grin*

However, when I was trying to write out the blessing, my friend poked over my shoulder and said, "Are you even allowed to do that?"

I laughed and said, "I'm not trying to preside over the marriage, if that's what you're asking. I was asked to lead prayer before lunch.  You say grace before meals, right?  This is exactly the same, only it's in front of a bunch of people there to tie one on in honor of the marriage."

He laughed and shrugged his shoulders.  I think he was somewhat scandalized that anyone but a minister would be asked to do such a thing.  The fact that I - someone he related to as a "super traditionalist" - would consent to do something so "modern" threw him for a loop.  So I explained it again.

"Mothers are called upon to bless their children.  Friends bless one another through prayers and works of charity.  Wives can bless their husbands.  Priests aren't the only ones capable of speaking words of blessing.  I mean, when someone sneezes, should I keep my mouth shut because I don't have the proper anatomy?"

There is a difference between attempting to play priest by offering the words of consecration (or even the blessing of the Church) and being a loving friend who offers words of blessing before their wedding luncheon.  

In that analogy, he finally understood.  I wasn't doing anything improper because I wasn't attempting to inflate my position.  It was a simple leading of prayer - and I say "leading" because my words were likely those that were on the hearts of many present (my atheist husband not included - ha).  

So while composing this prayer, I felt I should keep two things in mind: the Truth of Marriage (it being a sacramental gift that calls us to emulate God) and gratitude for both the meal and the couple, themselves.  This is what I came up with:

Let us begin as we should all things...

In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.

Lord, we thank You for this feast.  Moreso, we thank You for the couple that this feast celebrates.  Their sacramental marriage is a reflection of You - unifying, creative, self-sacrificing and unconditional.  Thus, we thank You for joining together S** and B**** so that their love can forever be a beacon of Your Love.  

We ask that you bless this meal, for it is through this meal that we all partake of their joy.  Bless our drinks which we raise in their honor.  Finally, bless all of us present here today - expectant witnesses of the multiplication of love their marriage has already brought forth and will continue to bring forth for years to come.  We ask this through Christ, Our Lord.

Amen.

Pretty non-heretical, right?  So yes - a woman can most certainly bless.  We are called to.  A blessing is not simply the words of Consecration.  A blessing can be listening to an upset friend, offering a ride to your coworker who just missed her bus, or even leading Grace before a wedding feast.  

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! :)  

This is my favorite image of my grandparents. Every time I look at it, I feel love.  It radiates from this picture.  

These are my maternal grandparents.  My mom was lucky enough to have them for parents.  I was doubly lucky because I got 'em as grandparents.

Grandpop was the quintessential "sweet old man."  He doted on his grandchildren and was always very patient, kind and loving.  He always watched either baseball or Westerns, and though quiet, could light up the room with his laughter.  

My Grandmother was his polar opposite.  Loud, unabashed, opinionated and direct, she might not have been as patient, but she was just as loving. Growing up, Grandmom was my favorite person in the whole world.  I loved hearing her voice.  I loved smelling her vanilla perfume.  I loved her laughter and the way her skin felt.  

One time, she laughed at how mesmerized I was by her skin.  She thought it was because of her wrinkles. In truth, her skin was so silky that I was trying to decide if she was wearing some sort of super thin silk.  (Give me a break - I was a kid!)  

I also paid very close attention to her earrings.  Grandmom must've had a hundred of them. She was big into costume jewelry, but I was only fascinated by her earrings.  She knew it, too, so she'd always let me look at and touch them if I was super excited.  

God, how much I loved her.  How much I still love her!

I was thinking about her today.  I always told her that when I "grew up" I wanted to be just like her.  She'd laugh and say, "What?  An old lady?" 

What I meant was I wanted to have her spirit.  I wanted to have the same sort of spark she did.  I wanted to be a person who knew herself and didn't apologize for it.  I wanted to love fiercely and fully, and I wanted to keep a stash of change in the cupboard to dole out to my grandkids "just because."

So I was wondering if I was like her.  After all, I'd always envisioned myself fashioned after her.  Her answer hit me all at once.

Color me incredibly disappointed.

INCREDIBLY disappointed.

Agitated might be a better word.  Suspicious, even.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ay.

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

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

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

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

My mouth actually dropped open.

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

Ugh.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

:(

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

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

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

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

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

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

<3

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

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

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

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

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

Ah well.  

:)

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

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

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

{BIG HUGS} and a heartfelt "Thanks" to those of you who sent messages, e-mails and prayers on Friday.  It turned out to be a wonderful, beautiful day that was far removed from the fear and anxiety I had felt leading up to it.  

No doubt this was a result of your love and prayers.  Thank you!!!

Here are some of the items Vince and I brought to one of our local children's hospitals on Friday.

It was a very fun experience.

Vince had helped pick out the majority of these toys (which is why there are so many Ninja Turtle things for the boys).  The chair that has the stuff piled up is almost exclusively Ninja Turtles.  I kept pulling girly stuff into the basket so they wouldn't feel left out with all the stuff geared to boys!  What a joy it was putting this basket of goodies together, though... especially with Vince.  He understood that he was going to be giving these things to other children to "make them happy."  

After school, I picked him up we drove over to the hospital.  He was excitedly chatting about how he was going to share all "his toys."  It made me really happy that he was so excited about our little adventure.  That he willingly participated in charitable giving made me feel like I was doing something right as a parent.  God bless his little generous heart.  

When we got there, security had us wait in the lobby for a nurse to come for us.  While in the lobby, Vince had a field day hopping on and around the turtle statues in the waiting area.

Before we'd even gotten upstairs, Vincent began trying to share the toys with random children in the lobby.  One little boy, in particular, drew Vincent's attention.  His name was Antonio and he was 3 years old.  Antonio was there with his mother, and Vincent hurriedly ran up to him and said, "Hi!  I'm Vincent.  What is you name?"

(Eventually we'll get his parts of speech right...)

The little boy shied away behind his mother.  His mom smiled at Vince and said, "He's Antonio."

Then she gently pushed Antonio towards Vincent and said, "C'mon, Antonio, say 'Hi' to your new friend!"

Vince didn't wait to hear a "Hi."  He just started rambling off, "Hi Ann-toe-nee-o.  Do you want to share with my toys?  I give some to you!"

And without hesitating, he rummaged through our bags until he came upon a set of blocks. I stopped him from handing them off until I asked his mother if it would be alright.  

She looked confused so I said, "It's okay.  We're here today specifically to donate these toys.  Would it be okay if Vincent gave Antonio the blocks?"

His mom nodded her head and smiled down at Antonio.  She said, "Look, Antonio, blocks! You love blocks!  Thank your new friend."

Antonio was quite baffled that he was being given blocks.  He reached out happily for them, but wasn't sure if he should open them or not.  Vince made the decision for him and began to pull at the box.

I said, "Hold on, Vince.  You gotta ask his mom if that's OK."

Vince stopped and looked at Antonio's mom.  She shook her head yes, and Vince went to work opening the box.  He and Antonio played for about thirty seconds before Vince decided he wanted to give more toys to other kids.  

I was beginning to worry they'd be gone before the nurse came to collect us!

Luckily she arrived a few minutes later and we took our goodies upstairs.  I don't have any pictures of the joy behind those doors for obvious reasons (patient privacy being chief among them), but suffice to say the smiles and hugs and laughter will remain etched in my heart forever.  

I really think Vince gained so much from the experience, and I know the kids (and their families) enjoyed seeing him bounce around like a mini-Santa Claus.

We gave a different set of books / toys to another nurse so she could take them to the kids too sick for us to visit with, then it was time to go.

All in all, it was a fantastic experience.  It really was.  I highly recommend volunteering your time at a children's hospital if at all possible.  There is just SUCH joy there.  The children, though sick, have such joyful, loving hearts.  And they're SO appreciative of even tiny gestures like coloring books or matchbox cars.  What's more, their families instantly welcome you as part of their circle.  They, too, are so beyond gracious for the time you're willing to spend with them and their children - I was incredibly moved.  They are a special group of people.

Please keep them in your prayers this Lent.  <3

I've tried writing this out a few times.  I almost feel silly for admitting it, but each time I've tried, my fingers shook so badly that I just gave up.  

Tomorrow, March 28th, would have been Myla's due date.  

Instead of looking forward to this date with love, excitement and baby chatter, I've lived in a bubble of silence, grief and terror.  

I was absolutely terrified of tomorrow, but I haven't told that to anyone.  No one.  Even the thought of bringing it up caused me to shake with anxiety.  Too many emotions and not enough control is a recipe for tears, so I requested off from work a while back expecting to spend Friday hiding in my bed away from the world.  At least there I could cry in peace.  Under my covers I could give vent to the very real, very present grief that still exists in my heart for her, my sweet baby girl who flew off to Heaven before I got the chance to meet her.  

However, the last few weeks of mental preparation have led me down a different path altogether.  I decided that hiding away in my bed was a very selfish thing to do.  It was also, in my mind, very ungrateful.  After all, God granted me the blessing of another child. Not only did He grant me the grace of another child, He granted me the grace of a Saint. He took her to Heaven before she'd ever know pain, sadness or disappointment.  He gave to her everything a mother could ever hope for: love, immeasurable joy, and life eternal.  He even went out of His way to ensure John would come to know Myla.  To allow my grief to blind me to those gifts is an ungrateful thing indeed.

So what was I to do?  How could I sidestep my broken heart on the day that taunted me with the one whom I lost?

I e-mailed a local children's hospital.  I filled out paperwork to become a volunteer.  I purchased a whole bunch of children's joke books, coloring books, pop-up books and small toys and I put them aside for March 28th.

I decided that instead of mourning that she was taken from me, I'll celebrate that she was given to me at all.  

That I held her for even a few short weeks is a blessing.  That she'll remain a part of me forever... that I have her waiting in Heaven to greet me... that she's always looking on us with love and prayer... that she's happy to intercede for us always and in all things... these are all graces I should be grateful for.  I won't allow fear of the 28th blind me to those blessings.

Thus, the 28th has become something I've timidly begun looking forward to.  I'm still scared I'll react differently when tomorrow rolls around, but knowing I've got folks already looking forward to getting a dose of fun will likely make it easier for me to push past the fear and reach out with love.  I don't want to disappoint them.  

Plus, I feel it's only fair that I repay God's kindness in some small way.  Bringing joy to His other children is a pretty good way, in my mind, to do that.  I'm sure Myla approves.

Thanks for listening, guys.  I appreciate it.

John and I have been through a lot the last few years.  A whole lot:

• We beat back the Divorce Monster
• I had the breast cancer scare which led to a cervical cancer diagnosis, subsequent treatment, and eventual eradication (hopefully forever).  
• John began his own highly successful sports league while juggling movie production and his regular job.

So these, among other random bits, have caused us to grow, change, and love more deeply.  Looking back at this journey has made me so incredibly appreciative of the marriage I have and the friends and family who have supported us these last ten years.

As a result, I want to throw a special party this year.  It's only our 7th year as a married couple, but it's our 10th together as a couple.  

I want to throw a fire hall banquet, invite all those who have supported us through love, prayer and example and celebrate the blessings they've all been to John and I.  

I want this to serve as both a THANK YOU to our family and friends for being so supportive over the years, and as a "Marriage is Worth It!" witness.

So many of those in our group of friends are incredibly jaded about the institution of marriage.  They are vehemently against marriage on the grounds that it's an archaic, pointless practice that only ends in divorce, they are indifferent, or they look at marriage as something they can't do until they've amassed enough golden eggs (whether that be money, a house, career satisfaction, etc).  Very few of our friends look at marriage as a sacrament of power, love and beauty.  

That makes me sad.  It really does.  

So while I want to thank everyone for their support of us, I also want to show our friends that marriage IS something worth investing in.  And once you are married, it's worth fighting for.  It's a constant choice to love one another, every day.  The honeymoon fades and the cutesy names will sometimes turn sour.  However, with support and love, a married couple can weather the natural dips in romance and find a deeper, truer connection than they started out with.  

When I asked John if he'd be OK with this, he was, but thought the idea of "throwing ourselves a party" was tacky.  He said he'd feel like an idiot explaining to people the purpose of the celebration.

I can understand his hesitation.  I mean, who the heck throws a 7th anniversary party?
To me, though, it's perfect timing.  Usually the 7th year is associated with the "7 Year Itch" in which couples are often teased about the eventuality of affairs stemming from the stagnation of marital relations.  

For us, this 7th year - though incredibly emotional - has been anything but stagnant. John and I love one another better now than we ever have.  

And I say "better" because we both make the conscious decision to be better spouses to each other.  

So I do want to celebrate that, especially given the fact that we have the added bonus of me being cancer-free (assuming the annual test comes back clear which I'm sure it will).  

We've got a lot to be thankful for, and I feel my gratitude overflowing.  As such, I want to use it to thank others and share those blessings we've received with others.  

Is a party a bad idea?  Do you think maybe I should rethink how I go about doing this?  I'm not looking for gifts or anything.  I don't want anything from anyone.  I want to do this FOR everyone.  Our anniversary just happens to provide a perfect backdrop.  

Thoughts?

Last night, John and I were watching the latest episode of HIMYM (again, if you don’t want spoilers, STOP READING THIS).  I’ve always loved the characters of Marshall and Lily.  For those of you who don’t know the show, Marshall and Lily are college sweethearts who consistently exemplify unconditional and sacrificial love.  They really are the perfect example of what marriage should look like, and I love that the writers have always been dedicated to the success of that relationship.  

I’ve always related to Lily’s character.  She is a strong woman with very maternal instincts. She loves her husband deeply, adores children, is brutally honest when necessary, and is fiercely loyal to her friends.  She's even a teacher!  Lily is me with red hair and a much hotter body.  
 
Anyway, in last night’s episode, we come to find out that Lily has been harboring a secret.  I immediately said to John, “She’s pregnant!”

Turns out I was right.  The way the writers allowed the story to unfold was beautiful. Marshall, upon learning he was going to be a Daddy again, rushed to Lily’s side and confronted her with the news.  However, he didn’t confront her angrily.  Instead, he was emotional – 120% caught up in anticipation, hope, joy, and above all, love.  Love for Lily, love for his son, and love for the new life he and Lily had created.

And when Lily said she “just felt like” the baby was a girl, I was instantly a wreck.  I chewed my lip to the point of bleeding trying to keep myself from openly sobbing in front of John, but he saw I was upset and came to sit next to me on the couch to hug me.  He probably thought I was crying over Myla.

In truth, I sorta was, but my tears were lamenting more than miscarriage.

Marshall said something that stabbed my heart.  The exchange came after a very emotional argument Marshall and Lily had regarding moving to Italy vs. staying in the States (pitting Lily’s dreams against Mashall’s dreams).  Marshall selfishly wanted to stay in the States and made the decision without ever asking Lily’s input.  Lily, rightly hurt by this, angrily demanded to know why her dreams weren’t considered as important as Marshall’s. The argument ends with Lily sacrificing her dream of Italy for the sake of the family she loves, and Marshall apologizing for allowing his selfishness to come before his love for her.

However, upon learning that Lily is carrying their 2nd child, Marshall exclaims:

“Lily, we have to [go to Italy]!  You’re gonna live in Rome, and you’re gonna get your dream because you’re giving me mine, again.”
 
Cue tear cascade.

Lily had already given up her dream of Italy to support her husband and their (now growing) family.  That was a very, VERY difficult thing for her and she knew she’d wrestle with that baggage for the rest of her life.  But she did it.  Why?  Because she loves Marshall and their family enough to sacrifice of herself.
 
And in that instance, Marshall realized his erroneous thinking.  The whole season, he was focused solely on how he could convince Lily to make the sacrifice because his dream was, selfishly, what he wanted. 

Until news of the baby.  News of the baby's existence caused Marshall to instantly realize his priorities were skewed.  A judgeship was not his dream.  It’d be a nice goal to reach, but Marshall’s dream was, and always has been, to have a big family, the same as he’d grown up surrounded by.  Family is Marshall’s true dream, and he recognized that Lily had known (and been working towards) this all along.  Lily had always sacrificed for their shared dream of family, while Marshall simply enjoyed the fruits of that sacrifice.  

Realizing this, he took responsibility for sacrificing.  He wanted Lily to have the same opportunity to grasp her dreams because it’s what she’d always done for him.  He loved her and their family to the point of sacrificing the biggest goal he’s ever set for himself: judgeship.  He pushed his fear of leaving New York aside and trusted that his love for his family would be sufficient to weather the journey.

They are like the married couple in O. Henry’s story The Gift of the Magi.  Lily willingly handed over her hair (Italy) and Marshall gave up his watch (the judgeship). Deep, personal sacrifices in both cases that were gift wrapped in love.

And Marshall only understood this lesson after rearranging his priorities into their proper order: Lily first, family second, self third.  What caused the paradigm shift? News of the baby and his overabundance of love and excitement.  

THAT is why my body rocked with sobs.  Marshall’s response was what I’ve always envisioned for myself as a child – my future husband being just as excited and joyous as Marshall at news of a pregnancy… my future husband seeing these children as dreams come true.  I had visions of him jumping up and down in the bathroom with me as two little pink lines surfaced from a plastic stick.

I cried because my husband was so diametrically opposed to Marshall in this.  

There was no moment of joy when he learned of Myla.  There was no realization that his priorities were misaligned.  There was no moment of clarity in which he appreciated the terrible sacrifice I make on a daily basis so his dreams can be sought after.  Instead, there was disgust, fear, annoyance and frustration.  

How that wounds my heart.  

My dream, from my very first memories, revolve solely around a family.  Myla was, in many ways, my final chance at that family.  So when I mourn for Myla, I fully understand that I’m mourning for her and all the other children I’ve been denied.  

And I was angry.  Frustrated.  Jealous.  Desperate.  All because of a television series that showcased the response I long for but will never have.  Not even with Vincent. On both counts, John’s first reaction was fear and annoyance.  Disbelief. 

Never love.  Never joy.

And that is what absolutely kills me.

I felt so unappreciated that I free-fell into an intense depression. My mind wondered if John even loved me at all.  How could someone who loves me simultaneously seem to hate me so much?

Do I think John hates me?  Of course not.  But in that moment, it felt that way. Maybe because I hated myself being in this situation.  I don't know. It's easier for me to turn the upset feelings inward rather than outward.  

Anyway, after the show finished, we watched a 30 minute comedy to lighten the mood.  It worked well enough for John to think things were okay.  I was sour, though.  The self-loathing, anger, jealousy and despair were percolating in my mind the whole time.  So instead of watching another show, I went to bed.  Not that I was going to sleep.  Lord knows I wouldn't be doing much sleeping.  But at least I could shut myself off in the dark.  

John came up after me. He grabbed me close in bed and snuggled there.  He's a snuggler.  I hate snuggling.  Loathe it.  It's okay for all of three seconds before I get annoyed and want my space back.  However, I allowed it because I knew that was his way of trying to make me feel better.  I knew he needed to feel like he was helping.  Maybe that's all he thought he could do.  After all, John responds to touch, so it makes sense why he'd think I would react the same.

Honestly, though, I wanted no parts of myself let alone any parts of him.  
I'm terrible, aren't I?

*Sigh*

Anyway (and really, Mom, if you're reading this, just go ahead and avert your eyes), I realized in that moment that I did need John.  I needed to feel loved, because there was a part of me (the logical side?) that understood he loved me, but my heart was so full of hurt and grief that I couldn't feel it.  I couldn't process that he could love me given the broken and hurting state I was in.

So I kissed John.  I wanted him to kiss me back, to give me some tangible sign that he loved me.  He dutifully kissed me, but laid back on his pillow.  I pulled his face back to mine and whispered, "No.  Make love to me."

I don't normally do that.  I'm not the romantic type who whispers sweet nothings into dusky skies as my hair whips gracefully in a gentle breeze.  But in that moment, I recognized the marital act of making love as the only balm to soothe the aching desolation in my heart.  I needed my husband to love me.  I needed him to physically, emotionally and spiritually LOVE me, and a few pecks on the cheek weren't going to cut it.  Not when I was feeling so incredibly unloved.  

That was the first time I've ever "needed" sex.  I've enjoyed sex, sure.  I've wanted sex, definitely.  But I can't remember a time in which I urgently needed to give the fullness of myself and receive the fullness of my husband in the way that only married love can do.  Sex isn't just some repetitive thrusting based solely on biology.  That we, as a people, have turned it into so base a commodity is a travesty.  Looking at sex as a means to better know and understand the love of my husband... it was eye-opening for me.  

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.

What started out as a fun picture to join the #AshTag movement quickly turned into a game of "Who can make who laugh harder with the most ridiculous face?"

All funny business aside, I'm really moved by how much my son understands about the Mass.

Tonight (we went to a late Mass), the lector got up for the first reading and Vincent said, "Now we're gonna hear the Holy Spirit!"

As we got into line for Ashes, Vincent mistakenly thought it was time for Communion.  He kept asking, "Mommy, you gonna eat Jesus?  Jesus is in the cracker, Mommy, and that's how He gets into you heart beat."

He said this as he trailed his finger from my mouth to my heart.  Then he asked, "I get bigger, I can eat Jesus, too?"

I said, "That's right, Vincent.  When you're bigger."

He said, "I four years old.  I is bigger now?"

I said, "No, honey.  Not yet."

He said, "That's okay.  I still His best friend.  He loves me.  He in my heart beat, too.  We all His friends (the congregation)!"

Ha ha.  The people waiting in line were all smiling at him and pointing him out to the folks around them.  I was so proud then, because I realized if he can understand the Presence of Christ in the Eucharist, there's hope for the rest of us, right?

Such a necessary reminder for me.  It really was.

I guess the topic of failure is not done with me yet.  Given how great I am at failing, it's nice to know I'm in good company every once in a while.

After writing The Importance of Sharing Failure, and posting the status update to Facebook, I've gotten some really great feedback.  As such, I've been thinking more about it and wanted to again point out that the mirage of perfection that we see online, in magazines, and on television is just that - a mirage.  

The only perfection we can hope to attain is that eternal reward of union with Christ in Heaven.  That is the perfection we should be running towards.  What does a thigh gap have on eternal life?  Do the numbers 36-24-36 mean anything in the light of Divinity?  Or is it the bulging biceps that will somehow overshadow the merits of the Sacrifice of the Cross?

Methinks not.

We all fail.  It's part of our frail human natures.  Even the greatest saints among us have fallen.

St. Paul spoke of the thorn in his side.  He never named the sin that caused him to falter, but he understood the importance of sharing his faults so that others may benefit.

St. Augustine.  Oh bless him... St. Augustine is proof that there's a chance for me yet.

Even St. Peter, himself, failed his best friend, Jesus - THREE TIMES.  

We all will fail.  The difference between St. Peter and Judas is that St. Peter sought forgiveness.  He recognized his failing, and he sought forgiveness.  

We are not perfect, folks.  How lucky we are that God forgives!  And yes, this ties in nicely with all the Pope Francis talk about Confession.  

Run to Him.  Recognize your failing as a stepping stone towards sainthood. We will all falter at some point.  However, it only becomes failure if you give up and do not seek forgiveness. So long as you're still alive, you know God hasn't given up on you.  Why should you give up on yourself if He hasn't?

Recognize your failings and rectify them so they become beacons of Christ's mercy.  What better place to do that than in the Confessional wherein Christ wraps His arms around you and pulls you to His Sacred Heart.  The absolution you hear is simply the vocalization of His beating Heart serenading you with unconditional love and boundless mercy.