About the Mormons

I was a religion major. So I think about these things a lot. How families are. How their faith strengthens them, how they live--and why is that because of their faith?

I grew up knowing a Mormon family. They had a ton of kids and I knew one of the sons. He is one of the most fun-loving and clean people I have ever known. They didn't have a house, they had a stead. The home was full of inside jokes and complicated but innocuous pranks. At the time that I knew them, some of the older sibs were in adolescent rebellion and the parents were handling it with humor and humility when some of our parents were having what my bff used to call "shit fits" (As in, I can't call you until Sunday or my Mom will have a shit fit.)

I have never seen a Mormon have a shit fit. We live back-to-back with a couple who exemplifies this pattern. Not only this but they are illustriously-accomplished. One of them is in med school and the other wants her PhD in public health. Once I ran into them late at night at the Shop Rite. I asked Mark, "Doesn't shopping here make you hate your existence?" He looked at me and thought about it. Then he said, "Maria, nothing makes me hate my existence." And it's completely true, as far as I can tell. And you know neighbors, you end up seeing each other's seams. More than once, I have laid down right in the backyard, agonizing over mosquitoes and whining about what to make for dinner. Every time I see them, one of them is studying and Mark naps contentedly in the grass with his cell phone resting carefully on his chest.

Anyway, I had to write to clarify. I am stumped by them, those Mormons. Their witness is pristine. And at this moment in my life, it feels good to know people so sincere and un-jaded and grateful for every breath.

little things

At our church in Cambridge, part of the Sunday School for kids was to send them home with a sticker that said a talking point or some topic that they covered that day. I remember Emi's, "Ask me about One Lost Sheep." Well, today my sticker would say, "Ask me about:
karaoke with the Mormons
the pure joy I get from my step class at the Y
the Used Clothing Sale at our school
how first floor bathroom is proof of God's love
Dr. Sears NDD book is giving us all a healthy glow and more energy
mentoring an undergrad who's dating another undergrad whom Geoff's mentoring
my admissions meeting at Westminster Seminary

*Katybird had her baby girl, Dessa, on Clara's birthday right there in the O.

The Gut Is Right

Manny's got Lyme's. In June, we found a tick in his ear. I saved it in a tiny glass jar and they said it was not a deer tick. in July, he had a rash over his left breast. Alarmed at its proximity to the heart, I took him in, and nothing was found. Mid-October, he's got joint pain and a swollen elbow. He told us and the ER over and over again that he was not injured. That his elbow just hurt. He was right, it was from the inside. His body at war with the disease, doing battle in his joints.

With kid-illness, with other things in mothering, I keep finding that the gut is right on. Anne Lamott writes about seeing things out of the corners of your eyes, vigilant for the broad strokes, the larger shapes, the general tone and sense of things-- is this a safe idea, is this a good scene for us, is this the best we can do? Generally looking this way, I can do well when I tune into these instincts.

My Mom reminded me to consider The Sorrowful Mysteries of Mary: The Agony in the Garden, The Scourging at the Pillar, the Crowning with Thorns, The Carrying of the Cross and the Crucifixion. I have never understood those until now. I can see Mary, tempted to be like "GOD, WTF??? Here's this child you gave me, this creature you put in my charge, I do not understand him much less what you are doing with him!" I can see Mary, sweeping sawdust, wanting to shake her fist and beat her bed with a broom. It all could be seen as one huge cruel joke or as a sanctifying and loving process that brings God into a sharp and clear focus. I think Mary could have chosen to go on Adavan or to tune into the power of what was happening with her child. And be present for him, even if her stomach turned with grief.

I think I have Sorrowful Mysteries for all four of my kids: Calliope: The Unnecessary Hype Around Her Birth, the Slow Weight Gain, and the Time I Left Her Alone Outside. Clara: My Unwise Choice of Midwife, The Eczema, and How The Hell We'll Afford Kindergarten. Benicio: That I Can't Stomach When He Gets Favored Over Manny and So I Just Keep them Both Home and That He Does Not Share His Feelings. Manny: The Epidural, The ADD,The Lyme's, the Repeated Grade. The parsing is tiresome-- God, why him? And what should we be learning here? Why is this child suffering? What strength does this suffering reveal in him?

Oh, it's all so weird. Manny's on his antibiotics, it seems to help. They say it is now much better researched and that he will be over it soon. Something about tiny bugs penetrating the bubble of safety around our kids makes me sick with grief. I want to invite that tick in and examine his cosmic purpose in our life and also I feel violent toward it. I thought it was something like this, not a broken elbow. But like Mary, I pause to appreciate the Sorrowful Mystery.

School Nut Lane and other Knee-Weakening Overheards

Calliope:Dad goes to bad-guy college.
Geoff:What do they teach there?
Clara:Shooting, poisonous, clapping and putting on necklaces.
Geoff:Putting on necklaces?
Clara: Dad, it's a nice bad guy college.

Calliope:What is that deal? (Asked emphatically, hands gesturing with teeny nails painted.)

Calliope to Geoff at tennis: I am going to buy a dollar-snack if I get hungry. And then I'm going to say 'yum' to it.

Clara: Singing, "The heels are alive with the sound of music." also "Maria makes me love." (from "How Do You Solve a Problem like Maria?")

Benicio: Do drug-guys just want money for the drugs or do they want other drugs?

Clara: Nanay's house is apple-y, flowery and Jesus-y.

The Year We Didn't Party

has been your best birthday, in my opinion. It was a weekend affair, with your actual day on a Monday. That Saturday, I took the boys erranding where they chose gifts for you. Manny chose earrings with pale pink hearts. He did not break stride and saw them, and that was it. Benicio took a lot longer. The finalists were a Hello Kitty stationery set and a bear holding a bottle of perfume. Deliberating, he said, "The writing stuff will run out but when the perfume runs out she'll still have the bear that smells good." He chose the bear.

Then Sunday, while at Mass, they sang to you in Children's Liturgy. And my favorite part was watching you bring the food baskets up with the other children. You were radiant, a huge but shy smile, your static-charged pony tail bounced as you walked. Then we came home for hummus and pretzels and leftover pumpkin soup. Then, as per your request, we all went to Family Swim at the Y. I had so much fun-- all of us buoyed and bobbing in the warm water. The boys were mischievous with the noodles, you squirmed and flitted like a mermaid and Dad and I passed Calliope back and forth while she chased the spiky ball. Afterward, the warm showers were soul-affirming and we all got into dinner clothes. Your choice for dinner, Earth Bread for pizza. You kids silently devoured two Big Joe' (plain cheese) and also dug the white bean dip (who knew?). The waiter and waitress came and brought you a huge piece of chocolate bread pudding with a candle in it and we all sang to you. It was wonderful. At the end of the evening, we all came home smelling like your perfume bear.

Then Monday,Dad brought you a cute omelette in bed. You chose to wear a side-ponytail in your hair and wore your party shoes to school. Then Calliope and I co-oped at your school. I read Poinsettia by Felicia Bond (way before the "If You Give" series and way better). We served cut strawberries and pink yogurt in retro dixie cups with clear spoons that looked like Cinderella's slipper. Then we had lunch at the Cheese Shop in Narberth where you and Calliope shared a hot bowl of gumbo and turkey slices on the side. You chose a beautiful ballerina puppet and paint- your-own nesting dolls. You didn't want to buy the nesting dolls til you checked to see the tiniest one.

We had a relaxed afternoon at home. Calliope napping on the couch, you pinching the pot pie dough sealed. We had a quiet dinner after Dad and the boys made their way back home. I know I'm just listing details here but what I want to share is how lovely and low-pressure the day was. It was not ruled by your sense of entitlement or my ambition to pull off an event. There was nothing to prove to anyone, just a basic Monday infused with appreciation and love of our girl.

What If Ballet is Your Thing?

Dear Clara,

I write this to you as you turn FOUR. Maybe you will read it one day and ballet will have been something you tried when you were little, or it could be something you have given your life to completely. Having no idea which way, I want to remark on how you were when you were trying it, how you were when you began.

Geoff and I wanted to try to put you guys in some extra-curriculars this semester. Having read thru different programs, the WDA had me at their handbook with the uniforms for each of the levels--pre ballet, elementary and advanced. Yours, of course, would call for pink and of course too, a specific hairstyle for all dancers.

The locker room is as important to you as the class itself. A real studio with a real locker room, which is a space with high ceilings,wooden cubbies and huge willow baskets for lost and found. There is a kitchen in there with a huge collection of ceramic mugs, some with Russian names, some chipped and old with conservatories' names. But more importantly, the way you watch the older ballerinas. Some of them spend their whole Saturdays there, so we see them stretching on the wood floor of the locker room, arched over their books, snapping their gum and tying their shoes.

You didn't want to wear legwarmers until you saw the big girls. You beam and raise your chin when you chat with them. When we stayed to watch an advanced class upstairs, you whispered your commentary to me, "Her leg is shaking too much" and "I like her purple sweater shorts." They would rehearse the same steps to one very short piece of music. This did not tire you the way it did me. You seemed to perceive the distinction that the dancers were making with each repetition.

And when you enter your own class, you carry the same accuity to the scarf-dancing and even the goofy freeze dances. The pre-ballet studio is small, with a very old barre, but the high celilings are wonderful for when the music plays. Every dime spent on behalf of this program is cashed in with the observations you are making about what it is to be a girl, about your own body's sense of movement in space. I only look into the little window a few times, nervous to cast a spell of apprehension or self-consciousness on you. When I do look in, I hope my eyes tell you how proud I am, how utterly tickled I am, and what a clear joy it is to be your mother. When you file out with your classmates for water break, you come out up on toes, arms raised in a circle, it is everything I can do NOT to give a standing ovation.

What a gift you are, an inspiring person even at this young age. You dig into your life so well, you scale every obstacle. Right now, you have Dad's powers of observation, his love of biking, his passion for the poor. You have my sense of deep conviction, my love of language, and my addiction to Sharpies. Just like with the ballet, all these attributes might change or they might weave right in there and stay on. Who knows but my goodness, Clara, it's marvelous now.

Semi-practical Notes for ER visits

I interrupt regularly scheduled blogging to make this list:

-Bring your own pillow from home. (Thank you Bradley Class, Boston 2001!)
-Don't ever say "That was the last one" when referring to blood draws or other testing.
-Bring ones.
-Don't ask child if he wants to be held, he does.
-Pack child backpack as if packing for a plane trip--layered clothing, travel games, ipod, protein snacks.
-Mamas, wear socks and bring lip color (balances any crying and harsh lighting) and all the water you can drink.
-Bring a chapter book you can both get lost in.
-Allow child to take photos so he can feel sort of in control of the situation. As in, "Do you want to take a photo of the X ray machine?"
-Geoff says, make it as possible as you can to have child rest.


Special Thanks:
-God for the network that played America's Funniest Home Videos, 3 episodes in a row. Thanks for having tv in the ER bay! Having never seen it, he laughed for an hour and a half-- spitting, belly-roll laughter, that kept us all buoyed.
-The entire staff of ER at St. Chris. They will have the table with Chanel goody bags in Heaven, I just know it.
-The other parents at the ER, who kept me real. We were there for 5 and a half hours, heard 4 different languages, heard tens of babies wailing, parenting and marriage tested as in fire. Mamas dressed in their postal uniforms, fast food uniforms.
-Heidi and Jill, who have taught Manny to self-soothe and pass time with hand work. We both had yarn, I untangled a huge bunch and he made a ball the size of his fist.
-Everyone who called, came over, and counseled with this whole scenario.

Four Entries, on the Occasion of your 4th Birthday

"And she is going to dance, dance hungry, dance full, dance each cold astonishing moment, now when she is young and again when she is old."
— Anne Lamott

For Clara, as You Turn 4

She
May be the face I can't forget
The trace of pleasure or regret
May be my treasure or the price I have to pay
She
May be the song that summer sings
May be the chill that autumn brings
May be a hundred different things
Within the measure of a day

She
May be the beauty or the beast
May be the famine or the feast
May turn each day into a heaven or a hell
She may be the mirror of my dreams
The smile reflected in a stream
She may not be what she may seem
Inside her shell

She
Who always seems so happy in a crowd
Whose eyes can be so private and so proud
No one's allowed to see them when they cry
She
May be the love that cannot hope to last
May come to me from shadows of the past
That I'll remember till the day I die

She
May be the reason I survive
The why and wherefore I'm alive
The one I'll care for through the rough in ready years
Me
I'll take her laughter and her tears
And make them all my souvenirs
For where she goes I've got to be
The meaning of my life is

She
She, oh she
-Elvis Costello says it better than we can.

More on This

A dear friend and faithful reader told me she'd love to read more on our faith journey. We are in a painful moment still with the close of our church plant, the wound is sore and I can feel the aperture on my heart close. How do I fight this?

-by reading stories of spiritual heroes to my kids: Jesus' miracles, Esther, Hannah, St. Vincent de Paul
-by reading and meditating on spiritual heroes myself: Henri Nouwen, Anne Lamott, my parents, St. Paul, Job
-the soothing ritual of noon Mass. (Calliope got to have parts of the Mass narrated by our friend Marta who described the beginning of the Liturgy of the Eucharist as "setting the table." Marta, it was beautiful and she will never forget this, thank you!)
-enjoying myself ignore the compulsion to evangelize. Maybe that one sounds bad but I am beginning to unteach myself the notion of bringing people to Church, and convincing them of faith in God. While I know that God wants me to share my faith, I will no longer manipulate folks into seeing things my way or exclude them when they don't.
-retreat. Jack Miller was a missionary who realized that he let his own pride rule his life. He took a break from his work. He let his soul get healed. And the result was a much more meaningful return to his work, to his faith. I admire this.
-by laughing a lot. A week ago right now, I was in Pittsburgh in the company of my roommates from college. We could laugh about ourselves and our assumptions in a safe way. I found I could take myself less seriously when in the company of friends who understand how serious I am.
-by hiding in the bosom of family. We rode up to Kutztown to watch the first member of our family to play college sports, our neice Luci, who will play both soccer and basketball for her college. I sat on a blanket with my sister, my mother, my sis-in-love, and our kids. It felt very secure to be there. Even taking our daughters to the bathroom at dinner, I liked standing in the mirror with my sis. Her journey so similar to mine, she totally gets this rough period--the one where it feels like you wasted so much time reading about "two-plus" evangelism and driving over our AC/DC cassettes with the Toyota.
-Also I pray a lot. This keeps my heart soft. During a yoga class, in Child's pose, I am prostrate and praying "Let me hide myself in thee." And in "Happy Baby" pose praying, "I will not rest until I rest in you." And in the opening heart poses, "Open the eyes of my heart, Lord (Calliope's favorite song).

Okay, so I 've just listed my best moments. Most of the time, my mental mode is mad at the mismanagement and leadership mistakes. I feel chewed up and spit out by churches run like businesses, churches that package and market themselves, I shake fist at all of it, I have had my fill.