May Daze

Ugh...what a week. For some reason, I stupidly believed that I could repaint my kitchen in 2-3 days.

Yeah....NO.

For starters, I now know that I have a total of 27 cabinets in my kitchen, and 13 drawers. So I had to empty all that, sorting and dumping stuff as I went. You don't want to know what my dining room looks like. The table I was given by my m-i-l when we moved here has four leaves, is 120" long, comfortably feeds 14 adults, and (tightly) manages 20. It is completely covered with pantry contents and my many sets of dishes and glassware. (The butler's pantry, with all the china and crystal, will have to wait...) All the chairs are occupied, too. And the radiator that runs the length of the room. And most of the floor.

At the same time as all this chaos has erupted in my dining room, I am attempting to persuade the 2 y/o that climbing over formerly impassable baby gates to inspect the carnage is BAD. He does not believe me. So far the dogs have broken in and eaten some crackers and, strangely, meat seasoning packets (venison seasoning, sloppy joe mix, and pepper rub - WTH?). Jack keeps slinking around and slithering through the glassware just to mess with my mind, or perhaps cause me to drop dead of a heart attack so he can feast on my fat carcass for a few weeks. No one would find me in there until I started to smell really bad. And even then....

Anyway.

Then there was the patching and sanding. The day I planned to do that, I wrenched something in my lower back while catching the baby gate scaler in mid-vault, got stiff and sore...and had 2 days of sciatica as my reward. In the midst of this, the Athlete texted to me that he was in the school office, having decided to smite some obnoxious kid who routinely badmouths him for dating a freshman during gym class. (Senioritis, anyone?). Had to provide lots of advice and counsel to ensure that privileges such as prom were not revoked, and then had to ensure that Princess did not smite Athlete for his display of fisticuffs, which, while well-intended, was not worth the trouble that ensued. (She thought he could have handled it more rationally, he was incensed that she did not appreciate his defense of her honor after months of snarkiness from that kid).

Then late that afternoon, I finally spackled. It rained for the next 36 hours, so it took forever to dry....and so I waited overnight, then I started sanding that next morning. A mayday call came in from the Princess from a school locker room. She was walking between classes with one of Athlete's wrestler friends, deep in conversation about a very serious alleged incident -- wherein said friend's former girlfriend was taken advantage of by another boy at a party -- when the offending boy crossed paths with them. Wrestler friend (smaller by a foot and about 150 lbs lighter than his target) took the alleged offender out at the legs and proceeded to pound the snot out of him. Princess' horrified screams alerted the faculty, and after several attempts, Wrestler friend was finally pulled off, bloodied knuckles and all, and dragged off to the principal's office. The alleged offender was well and truly pummelled, and had blood flowing from several spots. Princess, having never seen anything close to that kind of violence, was teary, shaking uncontrollably, and had to sit with a nun until I came to fetch her. The nurse's office, the vice-principal's office, and the principal's office were all full of bleeding boys and outraged parents.

So I got the kid home, got the walls primed, then the phone calls from curious kids, parents, and those who hoped to obtain free legal advice started pouring in. Wrestler friend actually showed up late that night to apologize to Princess for scaring her, and proceeded to pour his heart out on my couch for two hours, praying that he will not be expelled, but unashamed of having avenged the outrage perpetrated upon the alleged victim. (I'm just waiting to see how much of this makes the police blotter...and how much is covered up about this party, its attendees, and the alleged incident). I'll let you know how it turns out.

What's the term the Amish use for "spring madness" again? Well it has hit our town and the quasi-Catholic high school with a vengeance.

Oh, yes, and did I mention that I had a brief due as well? What would have taken me 3-4 hours sequestered in my office back in the day, took me about 14 hours over the course of three days, with so many interruptions, derailed trains of thought, and lost bits of legal brilliance and clever word usage....GAAAAHHHH!!!! Not my best work, but it hit the fax machine and went to its destination nonetheless.

Today I was supposed to be putting everything back in the cabinets, reattaching the finished, freshly painted doors, and admiring the pretty new paint job. But no. I still have chaos in the dining room, white primer, and completely untouched cabinet doors and drawers waiting to be done, and three gallons of lovely light blue and coordinating delft blue sitting patiently next to the dishwasher waiting to "transform my [friggin'] space."

Whatever.

Looks like another week of fast food and takeout.

Fr. Corapi on Obama at Notre Dame

H/T: Dearest Thorn

Happy Mother's Day

To all you mammas out there!!!

Children and I are heading to Mass (where I will pray in thanksgiving for the 3 babies I have and for those who I didn't get to meet here, but hope to meet in Heaven, as well as for all of you and your beloved departed moms and grandmothers) then we will head to our friend's restaurant for brunch, then roadtripping off to an outlet mall with the proceeds from my last paycheck of the semester....it ain't much, but enough to constitute a little "mad money" :)

What are you ladies doing today? And gents, what are you doing for your ladies?

The ecstasy...and then the agony

Two news stories that I managed to catch today....

1. About time this dirtbag goes down. One wife will get justice, anyway.

and now the one that really upsets and discourages me....

2. Padre Cutie...porque?

18 months ago, it was Fr. Francis. Now Fr. Alberto. More egg on the face of the Church, sure, but what disturbs me most about their stories is how well Satan picks his prey...two very bright men, gifted communicators, role models both aiming for and enaging the young adult segments of our Catholic population...and then they fall so horribly, so publicly, that they leave behind discouraged and disgruntled parishioners and international viewing and listening audiences, and the distinct impression that living up to the obligations and commitments of a priestly vocation is just too difficult for it to be a realistic or viable option.

ARRRRRGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!! [But I didn't say "argh" in my head!]

Pray for these priests...and then follow that old hair-band anthem and Shout At The Devil!

HMD#29 - Boys Don't Cry

But I'm gonna change all that...

HeloMom has done the unthinkable...

The Tall Boy turns 18 in a few weeks, and HeloMom and Princess have come up with the

BEST.
GIFT.
EVER.

for our particular Athlete.

(And no, it has nothing to do with offering him my daughter's hand in marriage, nothing to do with her much at all, really....)

We are so proud of ourselves!!!

There will be tears of joy. (There'd better be, or I'll crack him across his shins and make him cry anyway.)

Last time I saw him misty-eyed was at the bedside vigil during the appendix ordeal, when she awoke, kinda scared, and asked for him. One of my favorite moments of these past 6 months, and why we like him so much around here.

Stay tuned!

Hmmm...progress....

....unborn babies are worthy of protection (and about $4,500) in the UAE. Maybe the US should pick up on the blood money concept and levy a nice fat tax on abortions and the butchers who provide them...

Now if they could just prosecute Muslim men who behead their Jewish or American captives on live TV or internet stream....

A girl can dream, right?

And the part about not driving during the third trimester? That annoyed me at first, but then again, I really didn't want to do much driving by that time anyway with the size-o-belly I was heaving around thanks to my three beautiful, fat headed children. Maybe the abortion tax could pay for state funded chauffeurs? Maybe I should run for office.

(Nah, I don't think I'm electable.)

The Prom Dress - HMD#28

Yeah, that's it. --->

What there is of it.

Any questions?

Good.

Please don't snark at me.

The Beloved is up in arms.

The Athlete is enchanted.

I need a Xanax.

Helo Mom out.

[Cold, with any luck.]

SCORE!

I love Big Lots...the me of 10 years ago wouldn't have been caught dead in a place like that (never set foot in a WalMart until after I got married, either), but I'm smarter and cheaper now, and besides, I needed random garden and cleaning supplies. Where better to find such things, along with discontinued toiletries and strange shelf-dated foodstuffs?




Anyway, I was tooling along and snapped up one of my all-time fave movies about one of my all-time fave Saints on DVD - one that I've had a bad VHS copy of for years, having taped it on the AMC channel....



A Man for All Seasons.....THREE BUCK$!!! The late, great Paul Scofield as St. Thomas More. Oscar for best pic of 1966. Awesome!




If you haven't seen it, make haste to thy local Big Lots!!! (Or queue it up in your Netflix account, you high techies out there!)

Helo Mom's Deep Thought of the day...dispatch #27

...as I said to one of my college friends who tracked me down on Facebook:


"Simple Minds....simpler times."

This was my summation after a long discussion about the upcoming Prom experience.


I sat with another mom at a track meet yesterday and got an earful about what will happen before, during, and after the Prom. The expenses, the expectations, the resort, the limos, the $500 dresses, Armani tuxes, the coed sleepover keg parties that all the "cool" kids have (courtesy of their parents) at various lake houses and hotels owned, rented, and handed over to minors by these consenting adults....

I like this lady quite a bit, so I was stunned when she sat there blithely talking on and on about all of these extravagances as though it were no big deal, it's part of the experience, rite of passage, etc. My jaw was scraping the bleachers and she just laughed at me for being naive about the whole thing. You can call me a lot of things. A Pollyanna ain't one of 'em, however. It just irks me.

What happened to a night at the local banquet hall with a dj, a decent but not haute couture gown, a questionably fitted powder blue rental tux, borrowing Dad's car, and not having sex as a matter of [inter]course before showing up back at home sometime 12-24 hours after the dance ends?

Not that I was a saint by any stretch back in the day, but c'mon! I went to a big suburban high school in a fairly upscale area, and many of us came from well-to-do backgrounds and yet...we worked for and bought (and the more artistic types even made) our own dresses and got our dance tickets with our own money. Limos were an extravagant exception - not a "norm" - and whatever underaged drinking (and more) went on was generally NOT with our parents' blessing. (We had older siblings who came in handy for buying the booze.)

Helllloooooo....PARENTS!?! Maybe instead of enabling and encouraging all this narcissistic, hedonistic behavior, you could be, oh...I dunno, PARENTS...and say no or set some limits for your little darlings? Not that it necessarily worked on us 20+ years ago, but instead of signing on for all of it like this mom did, it stuns me that there is no desire to TRY to be the moral compass for these kids. Being the "cool mom" who spits out $20's like an ATM machine for all this nonsense is so much better.

Thank God my Princess and her teetotalling Athlete are adorable but nerdy not-so-cool kids who plan to be home at 12:30. Seriously. I don't care if they crash out on the couch watching chick flicks or ESPN all night or if he drops her at the door and dashes home, but there's been no question of how the night will go. The kid told me the itinerary, when the dance ends, how far it is from home, and what time they will get back here. The dance is 5 weeks away, and he's got it all planned out without my having had to ask.

Now if we could just find "the" dress.....

Birthday Boy!!!

Our little man is two today!!!

For you newer readers, here's the story of The Boy.

(Okay, I'm gonna go sob uncontrollably now...)

Judas...

Here's your first DNC contribution...

Moving Day - or - Why People Suck, Part 2-Gazillion

So last night I'm driving up our street, which is one of the main roads in town (actually the old "river road" that goes back to Colonial days), Princess and I are chatting away when suddenly, nay mercifully, I see a flash out of the corner of my eye and slam onthe brakes. Here's why:

This sweet little boy ran across the road and damn-near under my tires. There were more cars coming, no time to get out, so I opened the door and said "C'mon puppy!" He hesitated for less than a second and came flying into my lap, trembling. I checked - he had a collar that had obviously been his for awhile, but no tags, no phone number written on the fabric of the collar, nothing.

We were less than a block from home, where the traffic dies out a little, so we went home, gave him a snack and some water, and then took him for a walk up and down the street hoping someone would be looking for him.

No luck.

So I called the local animal hotline, nobody there 'til Tuesday. (Budget cuts, dontcha know.) Called the non-emergency police and fire number, and they said I'd have to turn him loose or hang on to him until the shelter opens. Called the local SPCA (they will scan strays for chips) but they are also out until Tuesday. So we had an overnight guest. This is the sweetest little poodle-y guy...timid but clearly eager to please, and also flat-out terrified and panicked between the near-death-by-car encounter and being 'jacked by unfamiliar humans.

When we gave up looking for a bereft owner, we came home and soothed him. He climbed into the Princess' lap and after he stopped quivering, he passed out. He ended up sleeping with Therese, first in a nest she made from an old blankie, but somewhere in the night he hopped up into her bed and snuggled under the covers with her. When she got up for school, his head was on her spare pillow. This is a doggie who was loved and who loved his people. So what happened? How could such a gentle and nice little guy be out and about with no id and no one looking for him?

Easy. It's the last weekend of the month. Moving weekend. In our old town, there are lots of big old, historical houses - some on our road going back centuries to the Colonial era, followed by the ubiquitous Victorians, Cape Cods, Prairie, Four-Squares, Craftsmen, horrid 50's-70's split-level ranches....you name it, you can see the styles grow "younger" as you head further out from the center of town. (Ours is a Roaring 20's wealthy banker-real estate mogul's house, so we're on the edge of the city/township line). Many of these older houses have subsequently been divided up into apartments, indeed some were originally built to be boarding houses. (There are still original cement and iron hitching posts and mounting blocks in the front yards!)

Anyway, the last weekend of the month is when people move out of and into these dismal half and quarter-house apartments. Cats and dogs are thrown out like so many broken lamps and particle board entertainment centers...and left to fend for themselves. I have no doubt that this poor little dog suffered that same fate - he was decently but not recently groomed, hungry, thirsty, and way out of his element. No pets allowed at the next place? Sorry Curly, you're on your own. But what if I'm wrong? I can't (and really shouldn't) just take in a dog from the street - what if his owner really didn't take his tags off the collar and turn him loose?

I called a friend at the police department to ask what I should do - he sent an Animal Control officerette to pick up "Curly" for a 72-hour hold on the off-chance that someone cares enough to look for him. They will call me before making any more "final" decisions about what to do with him.

Well, friends...what do you think I should do? The Golden Retard and Labradork didn't seem to mind him once the ritual butt-sniffing and eyeballing took place....although Jack was not amused in the least. I think he was actually marking his jugular and other vulnerabilities so he could take him out if needed. They are roughly the same size and weight.

It's a cat-eat-dog world, after all.

.

Darn right, says Jack....

Is it really almost May?

Greetings gentle readers -

It's been sparse on the blogging of late, between vacationing and having the post-vacation child-induced plague...this time it's strep. Only the baby, who has been the sickest the longest, had a negative culture. Go figure.

But I shall return, more on the house ghost(s) to come, as well as our regularly scheduled updates on the Princess and the Athlete, who - gulp - are currently attending a friend's school play somewhere near Syracuse, which is up the road quite a piece from here. Had anyone asked the Beloved and I if we'd allow this last fall when the romance (well, maybe it wasn't exactly a romance back then) began...the quick answer, "HELL no!" But the Tall Boy has weaseled his way into our hearts and has proven himself, time and again, to be extremely responsible, trustworthy and honest, often to his own detriment. (Him: "This girl in line at Target just randomly came up to me and asked me out...." Her: "WHAT GIRL?!?" Him: "...but of course I said no! I just think that's so weird..." Her: "WHAT GIRL?!?" Parental units: "D'oh!") But despite his boy-ness, he's a wonderful kid, and will be a fine young man.

We expect it to be a long, hot summer, fraught with romantic peril...I can't guess at how it will turn out when the countdown to college really begins. I'll keep you posted. First we have to get through being the only freshman at the senior prom....that should provide plenty of material.

This weekend is going to be a busy one - a day-long track meet with the Athlete tomorrow, followed by....Lord give me strength....a party on Sunday for the Boy's SECOND BIRTHDAY!!!

NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!

Okay. Sniffle. Verklepmt. Shouldn't be going by so fast. Going to pour some shiraz, take my antibiotics, shut down all the electronics and read a dang BOOK.

Back soon -
xoxoxo,
Kit

Helo Mom Dispatch #26 - Emesis Font

[Note: if you are not now hearing a certain Who song in your head, well, you're too young and/or not not an 80's music fan. More's the pity.]


Greetings from the hangar....Helo Mom, Princess, Therese, and Boy are back from the way-south of Florida, and yes, it was glorious. HM (that's short for moi) needed a break from small towns, small schools, and small minds.


Now that I am all tech-ed out with matching pink Blackberries for the Princess and me (which was our only connection to the outside world), doing the Facebook thing, taking and sending pics all over the place, I've been overloaded. It was a good and much-needed break.


But what of our young couple? The Athlete took off for Dollywood while we darted around from island to island, often forgetting or forsaking the phones in favor of beaches and books and Barenjager-laced iced tea...(mmmmm....okay so that was just me). Again I digress. What was I saying?

Oh yeah. So they didn't have their usual texting and evening chats as they are used to doing. My 26 y/o niece was along with us and sent the Tall One a text with a photo attached - all of us in the ocean, hard to see faces.


His response: Is this Nicole?*


Hers: Who the he[ck] is Nicole?


Him: Oh, wait, I just saw the picture...this is [Cousin] isn't it?


Hers: Yeah, and you're in trouble.

Oy.

Vey.

Drama ensued - apparently "Nicole" [name changed to protect the not-so-innocent] is a youth-court girl who has long harbored a bit of a tendre for our tall friend, and she has an out-of-area cell number. So when the Athlete saw the strange number, he presumed it was her. He immediately called to clarify with a hot-tubbing Princess, but angry Niece answered Princess' phone and proceeded to fuss at Athlete. He hung up.


Princess had no problem with the Nicole mistaken-identity issue (she knows the girl and the story behind it), but the hanging up on a relative part was bad. After a solid hour of reprimanding, railing about the immaturity of hanging up on anyone, let alone a favorite family member, and demanding that he apologize (Athlete countered that it unnecessary, because he felt unfairly attacked by someone he's only met briefly interfering in his relationship) the real issue emerged:

Princess: If you weren't so cute, and so chatty and texty and flirty with all the girls, and if you'd looked at the picture first, we wouldn't be arguing at all!

Athlete: What?!? Okay, I admit I talk to lots of girls and have lots of female friends, but I don't "like" any of them - you are the only girl for me, and I can prove it.

Princess: [derisive snort]

[HM aside: he is quite convivial with the ladies...]

Athlete: Here's something you don't know about me, something I've never told you. And only a few of my closest friends know it. If you see me talking away with some girl, you can be sure I don't like her like "that." When I really, really "like" a girl, I can't talk to her. It terrifies me. Remember that first dance of the school year when I came up and danced with you?

Princess: Yes...at the very end after you danced with half the other girls there, one after the other....

Athlete: Well, I'd been thinking about it all night, from the moment you came through the door. I danced with a bunch of my friends to ask them what they thought and what i should do. It took me about 20 minutes to gather up the courage to come and ask you. I had to walk around outside. I was so scared, I seriously thought I was going to throw up.

Princess: Wait....so you're telling me that you like talking to all kinds of girls, but you like me so much you shut up and I make you want to VOMIT?

Athlete [stammering]: Y-y-y-ess...well, not anymore...but...c'mon, you know what...hey, that's not --

Princess [giggling]: that's so cute...and so retarded....and just.....heeheeheeeeee!!! [Yet more giggling]

Athlete [chuckling]: You're evil, you know that? I just poured my heart out to you --

Princess: It's better than your guts! HAHAHAAAA!!!!

And another hour of back-to-normal chat ensued, followed by a contrite text from the Athlete to the angry cousin. She accepted, but with threats of bodily harm if he ever hurts her little cousin Princess.

I love the fact that the Princess made me sit with her and hold her hand through the whole argument. Way more fun to be a fly on the wall than one in the ointment.

HeloMom must do more laundry and go to sleep. It's been an exhausting and exhilarating week.

Divine Mercy Sunday - A Prayer

O Blood and Water that gushed forth from the Heart of Jesus as a fountain of mercy for us, I trust in You.

Eternal God, in whom mercy is endless and the treasury of compassion --- inexhaustible,

Look kindly upon us and increase Your mercy in us,

that in difficult moments we might not despair nor become despondent,

but with great confidence submit ourselves to Your holy will,

which is Love and Mercy itself.

Suffering along with Christ...

(Image from Holy Innocents Catholic Church, Long Beach, CA blog )

Please pray for these victims who share in the agony of their Savior, and also pray for the imperiled souls of those responsible for their murder...and His.

YAY!!!!!

See, last year I posted early and jinxed it...my Cubs won their season opener!

GO CUBS GO!!!!!

Dang! A few months too late...

...or this would have been the ideal wedding gift for Clamuck and crew. Well maybe for their first housewarming gift.

Incidentally, you two...be on the lookout for a certain backordered item that should be arriving while I'm out of town next week.

Helo Mom #25 - A trend?

Our dear Athlete is coming to Mass with us tomorrow for the second time in three weeks. We are heading to Grandma's for dinner afterwards, so that may be the draw, but hey...it's progress.

When he joined us two weekends ago, he said that was the first time he's actually paid attention to a [homily] in a long time. (And it wasn't even the one good homilist we have around here saying Mass...sheesh!) He also liked the fact that we were done in an hour, whereas his Methodist service typically lasts for around two hours, then there's the social donut and coffee component for another hour thereafter.

This seems odd....I mean, they only believe in two of the seven Sacraments, they believe that faith is all it takes to get to Heaven...what the heck do they have to talk about for that long? They do sing better than we do, though, I'll give 'em that.

Anyway, I think the Princess is kinda happy he's been joining us, because a fair number of their schoolmates attend and can see that they are "together"...at church and not at a kegger or in someone's back seat. I also sense some gladness on the Athlete's part, both for the respectable "together" time as well as the fact that he can lock eyes with anyone he catches "admiring" her from the pews. Apparently he noticed several young knaves last time, and pushed one into a locker on that following Monday morning at school for doing too much peering and not enough praying.

Ahhh.....young love.....

HeloMom out.

(P.S.: No "Passion Sunday" comments. Naughty Little Therese took care of that already.)

I couldn't beat them...

...so I joined them. Yesterday I got a Blackberry and started a friggin' Facebook account to keep in constant contact with the Princess, the Beloved, the Athlete (and perhaps - occasionally - the office) from afar.

So far I'm not thrilled - seems like I spend most of my time deleting notifications, txts, and emails from the Blackberry. How do people get anything done?!?

I am so 20th century....

[I would have posted this yesterday but given my stated loathing and opposition to these networking sites but I figured you'd think I was April Fooling you...]

Monetize?

Blogger wants us to "monetize" our blogs by cluttering them up with their advertisers, so they added a friggin' tab for that?

Ridiculous.

Just sayin'.

O My Jesus...

Forgive us our sins,


Save us from the fires of Hell,


Lead all souls to Heaven,


Especially those who are in most need of Thy mercy...

.

(Like me, for instance.)

Nothing major to report, but I really gotta get my Lent on in these lastfew days - have missed Mass one Sunday with a sick kid, haven't made it to Confession yet, been okay with some of my regimen but not so much on other aspects...have had much to cuss about and little self restraint.

Silver lining: Our Little Flower is a rich kid - lots of penitential ice cream money has been dropped in her piggy bank. Which isn't an actual piggy bank...it's a mock-ATM machine. Oh, gotta love this culture....

"You must die to live"

That's what the Gospel said today, right? The grain of wheat falls to the ground so that new life might spring up. Christ died so that we might share in eternal life.

So I'm taking those words and applying them to my spiritual life here in the DOR, and trying to draw comfort from them in the face of this:

Behold Bishop Matthew Clark's new vinyl labyrinth prayer mat in Rochester's Sacred Heart Cathdral!

And then there's this tasty treat:

Two words: REIKI MASS

[CORRECTION: Per the Sagacious Dr. K, the above took place in Cinicinnati, but see combox for more detail and links to DOR-specific pics... ]

Go on over to Rich's blog, Ten Reasons (from whence I swiped these photos), and scroll through the posts and better yet, the comments.

The death of Catholicism this Diocese (its murder, really) is a tragedy - thousands upon thousands of lost souls, and thousands more misguided and lied to by the liberal snake oil being sold to them each Sunday at travesties like this. The few brave souls who stand up for the Faith are ostracized, marginalized, and branded as crazies and/or troublemakers.

But I say we crazy troublemakers are the wheat, and in a little over three years, when the detritus is cleared and the current Bishop decamps for parts (hopefully) unknown, we will grow...and the splendor of Tradition and Truth will return.

St. John Fisher, Pray for Us!

Two Hearts Beat As One...Happy Sweet Sixteen, Love

Happy Anniversary To My Beloved!!!

Sixteen Years of Sublime!

May 1992. Marine meets recovering sorority queen. Engaged in 7 weeks, married 10 months later. They said we'd never make it as they smiled and danced and drank their way through our wedding.

It has been (and still is) my pleasure to beat the odds those friends and family members laid on us and otherwise to irk said naysayers after all these years. Many say it is "sweet" that I'm still so "in love" with my husband, and he with me. I can't imagine life any other way. I don't just love my husband, I live my husband. We finish each others' sentences...if words are even necessary. (Usually a raised eyebrow and an answering smirk will suffice.) We email each other the same odd and obscure news stories because we know that the other one will appreciate the bizarreness of it as well as the hunt for the story. When I'm lonely and I go to pick up the phone to call, it rings. It's him.

We are 8500 miles apart at the moment, but we might as well be sitting side by side. But then I wouldn't be sitting at the computer telling you all this. I'd be snuggled up under the blankets, secured in one big arm, listening to his heart beating as I fell asleep like I do every night we're together. Just a few more months 'til summer, babe.

Say I'm a fool...

[They] say I'm not for you

But if I'm a fool for you

Oh, that's something...

Two Hearts Beat As One Lyrics

P.S. We are SO going to this concert this summer in some as-yet undisclosed (and hopefully European) location!

Notre Dame Debacle

I have been gritting my teeth this whole past week and not commenting much about this story.

But having read Cavey's latest, I'll go ahead and say it.

It PISSES ME OFF!!!! No Catholic parent should consider sending their children to that school, despite the "prestige," the overrated sports program, whatever. Notre Dame lost its soul decades ago. This is the final nail in the coffin, and not surprisingly, it is one made of tin pretending to be silver.

The One is not an impressive leader - the facade is cracking at an alarming rate. As I discussed with you last Fall, he ain't much of a lawyer or ConLaw scholar either, which makes the law degree additionally insulting, even to a fairly average law student like I was. He's a whiny, blame assigning, no-sack-having poseur that duped a nation into making him President.

He's Chance the Gardener come to life, but the stakes are too high for that to be even a remotely funny movie reference.

Shame on you, Notre Dame, and shame on all you sheep who voted for the most dangerous President in our nation's history to date.

When you care enough to send the very best...

LMAO. Really...sometimes I think I went into the wrong profession.

The Princess has a Religion assignment. She has to turn in a "creative" project about Judaism. Among the choices, making a cookbook, a movie, a magazine, or 7 greeting cards depicting the seven Jewish holidays (Oy! Seven? Who knew? [Seriously...I didn't!]) That last one's what she picked.

I immediately came up with several ideas and the requisite artwork....I will only share the tamest/most PC ones here: 1) a Passover card that, when opened, squirts genuine lamb's blood on the recipient ("Just wanted to make sure the Angel of Death passes you by this year..."); and 2) One of those annoying musical cards that blasts out a tune by Rosh Hashannah Montana: "You get the best of both worlds! Two New Years to get plowed on! Mazel Tov!" (Vincenzo, master of Adobe...a little help?!?)

I will spare you (and your souls) the rest. But if you have any ideas, we're open! Nothing horrible or anti-Semitic - i.e., the ones I'm not posting had just slightly inappropriate PG-13ish humor that's not fodder for the blogosphere and/or the easily offended - rememberI have a few junior readers out there.

Tales from our Crypt #2 - Afterword

P.S. About a week after the stairs incident, we had enough snow and ice melt that I was confident enough to take the new puppy (the blonde Labradork) for a walk around the block. As I rounded the corner, I saw a Confederate flag on a very tall pole at the end of the street. I thought to myself Grrreeeeaaaat.....hardcore rednecks in 'hood.

As I got closer, I saw the Stars and Stripes flying high on another pole, which had been obscured by trees. I saw what looked to be a plaque or other sort of historical marker, so I made a beeline for it. There was an actual year-round display about....the Civil War prison camp. I looked at the map and the boundaries, and my house sits close to where the main gate was, and on top of where the Union officers' barracks and mess were. The infirmary [gulp] edged up into my back yard.

As you might imagine, this revelation on top of my "knowing" that my visitor was some sort of military man about floored me. I hobbled home as fast as I could, called the Beloved in CA, and started researching what little bits and pieces I could find online. I called my priest buddy up near Buffalo Road and asked him what to do until he could come down to bless the house. I booked out to the nearest Catholic store after we got off the phone. Each room and hallway has a crucifix now.

I didn't have another meeting with my friend until later that year. I'll get back to him later. There's more in the meantime.

Tales from our Crypt #2

Now it's Week 2 in the new house. [Keep in mind that at the time this happened, I still had no clue about the local history of my town]

The first day of the new school for the girls. So I am busy capitalizing on my solitude to start doing a ton of move-in laundry (sheets, towels, etc.) down in the basement/first floor. (The house sits on a little hillside, so the finished half and garage face out to the yard, while the cellar-ish parts have garden windows.)

As I bent over the dryer, dragging out a load of flannel sheets, I felt, rather than saw, someone enter the laundry room - it was a familiar feeling, as if the Beloved had walked in, not a scary feeling. But wait. Beloved was still in CA. I was alone in a new house. I gasped a little as it hit me, started and whipped my head over to look at the doorway. Empty, of course.

So I returned to the sheets, and at that moment I felt as though someone, once again, was standing right next to me, trying to help me. I got all hackle-y again, but continued working. All at once I knew that this was a man, and a military one at that, and suddenly I felt like I was being smiled at for being a stubborn female who tried to do everything herself, injuries and all. How or why I "knew" all this - well, I have no clue. I just did. I knew without a doubt that this "visitor" was a proud, proper, old fashioned military guy. But as sure as I can tell you what the Beloved does for a living and what his personality is like, I knew the same about whoever was visiting me.

And I thought it was crazy, and maybe I was finally losing it.

Then I started up the basement stairs to the kitchen with my wobbly knee and an overstuffed basket in my hands.

When I got near the top of the stairs, the door swung open on its hinges. Okay...old house. Must be a weight on the stairs thing, I told myself. Right. Never mind that the door hadn't done that on my first several trips up and down those stairs. I made it to the top as I had that thought, and then as I walked into the kitchen, the door swung back shut - and latched - behind me. I have fairly long hair. It had to be sticking straight out at this point...

"Thank you, sir." I said. And then I got the feeling whoever "Sir" was, he was happy, and he was bowing. Then he was gone.

This was a little over 5 years ago. I remember it like it was yesterday - the feelings and intuitions I had - everything.

They Walk Among Us

I wonder why the FLDS compounds get all the press while this city-compound and others of its ilk are apparently so numerous ("hundreds"), yet relegated to the obscure sections of the news...not that I'm a fan of the FLDS, but you know what I'm sayin'.

Tales from our Crypt #1, cont'd.

All right. You now have more background info than I did when we first moved here.

The Beloved retired from his beloved Corps. I was burnt out from 5 years of non-stop litigation and not seeing my kids much. On paper, we were living a great life in San Diego, but we weren't enjoying life - too many obligations, long commutes, and no family time at all.

So we decided to simplify life, move back to his family's homeland, and seek quality of life as a family. We'd looked at houses here and there the summer before we moved, and I fell in love with a particular house. But it sold to someone else while we were mulling over the move. In October, it was back on the market. It was meant to be. We took out a home equity loan (courtesy of the real estate craze in CA) and bought it outright, and put our CA house on the market. It sold within 2 weeks, and the movers came the second week of December. We slept on air mattresses until school let out for break.

The girls and I transplanted here after Christmas to get started in school, while Beloved finished out his job with the City. We arrived from a 1,500 sf CA bungalow house to a 4,300 sf, 4 story big brick monstrosity of an "old money" rural NY banker's custom built 1920's house. There were boxes everywhere. (I bought up enough furniture and extra beds before we left to fill the extra bedrooms and maxed out our terminal military move weight allowance). It was so exciting...but...problem: shortly before Thanksgiving, I blew out my knee playing softball in the San Diego County Bar Association's league - shredded ACL & PCL - so I was limping around in a brace, having decided to put off reconstructive surgery until after I was safely in NY. If I didn't have the brace on, my knee would randomly buckle and collapse - all the ligaments were torn, so nothing was holding the joint together. So I wasn't supposed to do much unpacking, toting, lifting, or hauling. But of course I did.

Day 2 in new house. I was carrying a box of linens upstairs. Knee hyperextended and gave out. I started to fall backwards down the stairs, no time to drop the box and grab the railing. As I started to panic, I felt as though my back hit a net, and I bounced off it and fell forward onto the landing. I sat there for a few seconds, gathering myself, wondering if I'd had a dizzy spell because it seemed so strange that I was falling backwards and yet somehow managed to end up falling forward with the box onto the landing. I even noticed a crack in the ceiling as I fell, looking skyward as I was. I looked up from where I sat, and there it was - not my imagination, a big crack. I shook my head a few times, trying to figure it all out. I felt a reassuring hand squeeze my shoulder and I turned, expecting to see the Princess there, comforting me. But there was no one there. The girls were up on the third floor, squealing and bickering, tearing through boxes and establishing their new playroom. Yet I felt as though someone was still sitting on the stair right next to me, steadying and reassuring me.

That's when the hair on the back of my neck stood up for the first time.

I sat there for a long time pondering the implications of what had just happened, and I ended by thanking my guardian angel out loud for helping me, having decided that's who had saved me from what would have been a really bad fall. When I did that, the feeling of the kind "presence" at my side disappeared. I felt strangely sad and disappointed, thinking that my guardian angel would rather take off instead of staying awhile longer after I spoke aloud to him/her.

There were more visits to come, however.

I will continue tomorrow - stay tuned.... (Or should we say attuned?!?!?)

41 and fairly fabulous

Today's the big day....the girls don't have school so they made me breakfast in bed. I could hear the bickering and the shushing from below. The Boy drew me a card...on my bedroom wall with a rogue pencil he jacked from one of the girls' backpacks....

It's Monday morning, I'm surrounded by children and domestic livestock...missing the Beloved, but otherwise life is pretty darn good.

(The only suck factor so far is that it's really cold - the rest of the week will be nice and warm. Figures.)

Maybe I shouldn't say it out loud....

...but it occurs to me that Fr. John Trigilio would be a fabulous choice Bishop of Rochester when the time comes. (Because despite my fondest wishes, I don't think Fr. Erik would really ever leave Utah - far too entertaining - and I'm afraid Tara would 'jack him and throw him the the trunk of her car for the long ride back....)

Not only is Fr. Trigilio geographically convenient, just over 2 hours to the south of us down there in Harrisburg, he also wrote the book (along w/ Fr. Brighenti) that so many hapless, catechesis-challenged lifelong DOR-ians need - in fact, it should be mandatory reading around here:

The mandate should apply to anyone who serves at the altar in any capacity. And there needs to be a test that they have to pass, as well as a dress code they must follow.

Yeah, Mass was "like that" again this weekend.

Tales from our Crypt #1 - Introduction

All right - the results of the poll indicate that you're interested in our "houseguests" so here we go.

First, some historical background. Western/Central NY is not only a beautiful place, it is actually overflowing with early American history. The area where we live is close to the Finger Lakes, as well as to the confluence of the Susquehanna and Chemung Rivers, which were busy waterways and feeders to the Erie Canal. Major Revolutionary War battles took place within a few miles of our house, led by General Sullivan. [Quick novel and movie recommendation: Drums Along the Mowhawk...Henry Fonda and Claudette Colbert...that loosely follows General Herkimer's campaign, which was to the northeast of here.] Large guns and munitions were buried and hidden along the river that is across the street from my back yard (great doggie walking...and dunking).

Religious freaks of all sorts sprang up from this region...Mormons, Oneidas, Shakers, Seventh Day Adventists. (It must be something in the water. You should see some of the people around here.) The women's rights movement, headed by Susan B. Anthony and Harriet Cady Stanton, came to life at Seneca Falls, just about an hour's drive from here. Passionate abolitionists lived and preached in our town. (The Beechers...and Ms. Beecher-Stowe) This area, with its frontier trading post past, established waterways and railways, was also chock-full of Underground Railroad stations. Mark Twain met and married his wife here, wrote his major novels here, and is buried a mile from my house.

But I digress.

Then there was the Civil War. No, there were no Civil War battles up here...however, there was a short-lived and rather lethal POW camp. I didn't know it when we moved here. Nor did I know that my house sits squarely on the site of the prison camp. In one winter, nearly 3,000 men - mostly from a unit of captured coastal Virgina oystermen - died in or near our back yard, between my house and the river.

Therein lies my first story...which I will post shortly.

Stay tuned...

So it's come to this...

...I'm spamming my own blog here with a forwarded email but it's the best I've seen in awhile:

New Baskin-Robbins Ice Cream

In honor of the 44th President of the United StatesBaskin-Robbins Ice Cream has issued a new flavor, Barocky Road.

Barocky Road is a blend of half vanilla, half chocolate, and is surrounded by nuts and flakes. The vanilla portion of the mix is not openly advertised and usually denied as an ingredient. The nuts and flakes are all very bitter and hard to swallow.

The cost is $100 per scoop. When purchased it will be presented to you in a large, beautiful cone, but then the ice cream is taken away and given to the person in line behind you.

Thus you are left with an empty wallet, no change, holding an empty cone, with no hope of getting any ice cream.

(LMAO!!!)

Helo Mom Dispatch #24 - At Last...

...the Princess has caved and is allowing the Athlete to tell the world that they are an "official" item. The sick nonsense from last week was the last straw - the barn door is open, the cows are everywhere, the pigs are snorting, and the jackasses will continue to bray.*

Why fight it?

So she's decided to paint the barn red and build a fence around it. She invited the Athlete over last night to have a "serious talk" - he was visibly terrified when he showed up - and, after a few terms and conditions were set forth, she told him she was all his and no longer cares who knows about it. He accepted and looked like he was floating...and taller than he already is...when he left. Even HeloMom got grabbed up into a bear hug as he left for home.

Privately, I wonder what will happen at the end of August. It is going to be terrible when he leaves for college.

Pleased but pensive HeloMom...out.


*Yes, that's a snide and nearly literal reference to the relative sizes and characteristics of the pack of girls responsible...and as a well-nourished and outspoken woman myself, I don't make size or b**ch cracks lightly. But when a 200 lb. + kid calls my 119'er "fat" and a sexually active 14 year old accuses my unassailed 15 year old of being an unchaste abortion-haver, well...all bets are off. (See why I keep things relatively anonymous here?)

One for the Random files

UPDATE: two things - 1) a commenter who wishes to remain anonymous says that the urge to knock stuff over is because I am such a law-and-order rule-abider that it's normal to have urges to do something brazenly non-conformist once in awhile. Whew! 2) Okay...I love this pattern, but another more formal one I've been looking at with beady eyes is on clearance. Hmmmm.....the birthday's in 4 days, and, most conveniently, the anniversary is in 8 days...heh heh heh...

I just learned a few days ago that the Athlete's mom and I share a bizarre disorder...a seasonal dish/glassware fetish.

I use 5 patterns throughout the year...sometimes more. Springtime (yay! only a few days til I get to make the change!) is a refreshing, sunny yellow and blue floral on a white background. Memorial Day - Sept. 11 is a commemorative set - a primitive flag pattern that I got at Target because it benefitted a 9/11 charity. Sept. 12 - Black Friday is the southwestern Mikasa pattern we registered for when we got married, and Christmas is a Pfalzgraff Christmas tree/winter/polar bear setting, with 4 spare settings of a matching plain red, used as a "filler" when I have more than 12 to dine. I also have Valentine's Day dishes, as well as my 23 formal Lenox wedding china place settings, and a 4-setting Christmas china that was an early Christmas gift from the Beloved, along with some Spode Christmas Tree pieces I've collected along the way. I will spare you the details of all the coordinating glasses and formal stemware.

Fortunately, I have a big-@ss kitchen with ridiculous amounts of cabinet space and a butler's pantry with built-in china cabinets. I have terrible urges to get a Spode formal Thanksgiving service...as well as a new Mikasa blue and white Southern-y floral pattern that just came out. The Beloved said I could make that last one my birthday present to myself....but I'd have to give one of the others up. Princess agrees - she wants me to box up the spring set for her to take off to college and beyond. And I could do that...easily....

I'm so glad someone else out there understands this...Mom of Athlete gave a set to her oldest for that first college apartment, then went out the next day and bought herself a new service for 8 in a pattern she'd been coveting for a few years.

Now for the truly sick part - this only pertains to me. When I walk past the fine china and crystal section at a department store, I occasionally have a mad, never-would-act-on-it-in-a-million-years, "wonder what it would be like?"-ish urge to smash everything to bits...yet I get nervous and make sure kids and handbags are under tight control lest one of us accidentally knock into anything while we are in or near that part of the store. (I didn't tell her that part. Not sure it's normal. Hee!)

I am sure there's some sort of strange psychological meaning behind all this...

Anyway, now that I have spilled this pithy little secret and insight into my psyche, anybody got something like that going on, dishware or otherwise? Or is it time for me to seek help?

Another Belated Blogroll Addition

Jeff Pinyan over at The Cross Reference is a bright young man, a deep thinker and a gifted writer - here's a recent topic that's close to my heart here in the liturgical wasteland known as the DOR. Check him out!

Mater

D o l O R o s a

...Pray for us!

Build-a-Bear? Whataburger? (Huh?)

I vaguely recall hearing of the Bilderberg crew in the past...interesting article here from Politico.com about the Obamanation Administration connection, with Secretary of [Apostasy] Sebilius among their ranks. Lots of Bilderbergers floating about, including the Clintons. If it is true that they were big fans of John Edwards and encouraged Kerry to select him as VP, well...keep at it.

(Mmmmm....haven't had a Whataburger in about 15 years....it's an AZ thing. Not even sure they still exist!)

Happy Birthday to the Beloved!

45 years of fantastic...love you!

HeloMom Dispatch #23 - A Psalm's Answer to a Sick and Crazy World

How appropriate that we should be at #23 for this one...

Well, so much for getting back to normal. After a week off from school, the Princess went back to school, overdid things, and has been experiencing additional abdominal pain. So we took Friday off and went back in to the hospital for outpatient testing to ensure all is sound and healing properly. No bad news from that yet, so we will assume all is well.

In the meantime, the Princess noted some tension and much smirking and snarking from her classmates when she returned (yes - the same little pack of snots who've been horrible to her since jr. high) and the Athlete noticed some strange behavior among his set as well. It all finally made sense on Thursday...one girl asked the Princess if she was going to be able to return to gym due to her "delicate condition" and another chimed in that no, she'd be recovered soon, and didn't she look like she'd actually lost weight due to her "procedure." Princess didn't put it all together until she was sitting alone on a crowded bus and pondering it all on her way home. A girl in hysterics burst through the door and related all of the details. Then she got sick.

Later that evening, the Athlete was asked about "the rumor" by his physician father, who'd been told outside of the school environment that something unkind was circulating about the Princess at school - more specifically, that she'd had something other than her appendix removed. Fortunately, he knows his son as well as I know my daughter (and really, you can't get pregnant by kissing each other goodnight with mom right there...), and no one who knows either of them well lends any credence to such nonsense. But try telling that to a 15 year old mortified Princess and a now-feral Athlete whose Princess' good name (and his by implication) has been besmirched by a group of vicious, nasty, jealous little [bad word]s for no purpose other than to hurt and damage two nice kids whose lives are centered around living out the kind of goodness and virtue that such maladjusted creatures cannot understand. He's very, very angry and ready to "throw down" if anyone dares speak it aloud.

So this weekend has revolved around soothing the wounded pair and coming up with strategies to get through it. It will all blow over, they will emerge unscathed, those who know them will laugh it off, and those detractors who persist will demonstrate their own foolishness to others. (I will spare you a recounting of the inner thought processes and utter rage that HeloMom has experienced these past few days...)

And yes, I had a chat with one of the school administrators on Friday . For all the good it did, which was not much. The Athlete was in the office raising hell and I was on speaker phone with a silently weeping Princess in the background trying to come up with a solution. There isn't one when you're dealing with teenaged girls. Pulling the rumormongerers from class (this was the school's suggestion) and engaging in the accusation/denial ritual will not cure the problem or make life easier for Princess. In fact, it is like throwing gas on a fire and things will escalate. Plus it's a matter of giving legs to the rumor and making it more talked-about, more widely. I think the Athlete and Princess need to deal with it under the radar by starting a counterintellgence campaign among their peers and that will be more effective than anything the adults can do at the school level. Fortunately, the little pack of 9th grade girls who seem to have started it are not well-liked by anyone...save themselves. It will die down, and they will been seen for what they are.

The one thing that struck me most about the administrator's reaction to it all was the utter lack of understanding that it is NOT simply a matter of gossip and slander - she's put up with that crap from this group for awhile now. But to a minority-opinion-having, ardently prolife girl, this is the lowest and most disgusting sort of rumor imagineable. I had to explain more than once that it assaulted her character, sure, but worse, it violated her core beliefs and her dignity. And given the flak she's taken for voicing her feelings about abortion, about the presidential campaign (remember the inauguration letter flap?), and even the teasing about her purity ring, who can blame her for never wanting to set foot in the place again? We're past that now, and she's ready to return and fight back tomorrow.

But what a thing for anyone's child to go through. As I told the young couple, the devil never seems to relent, especially when you do your best to live out your goodness and principles for others to see. Don't give in to the anger and despair, and hold your heads high.

St. Michael, pray for us. (And yeah, I'm thinking it's high time for some Old Testament smiting on the evildoers. Is that so wrong?)

Helo Mom is not a fan of the meds, but a little Xanax might have been nice these past few days. But in the absence of that, there's this:

PSALM 23 v 22

The Good Shepherd

Psalm Of David

1 Yahweh is my shepherd,
I lack nothing.

2 In meadows of green grass he lets me lie.
To the waters of repose he leads me;

3 there he revives my soul.
He guides me by paths of virtue
for the sake of his name.

4 Though I pass through a gloomy valley,
I fear no harm;
beside me your rod and your staff
are there, to hearten me.

5 You prepare a table before me
under the eyes of my enemies;
you anoint my head with oil,
my cup brims over.

6 Ah, how goodness and kindness pursue me,
every day of my life;
my home, the house of Yahweh,
as long as I live!

(From my Jerusalem Bible, 1966 ed. )

I'd love a little more 15th century...

...and a lot less warm-fuzzy womynpriestly advocating in charge of my diocese.

Way to go Bishop Martino -- you tell 'em, and never, ever quit!

I Confess: My House is Haunted!!!

I'm not kidding, and (with a few vocal dissenters excepted) I'm pretty sure I'm not crazy. Especially because 1) the Princess and I, and then the Princess, non-believer Athlete and I were together when the latest episode occurred, and we all heard, smelled, and felt the same thing; and 2) the studiously non-believing/denying Beloved freaked when I told him what happened, because he had several similar experiences shortly before he left, but chose to believe it was his imagination.

I know, I know, as Cathlolics we aren't supposed to believe in this stuff at all, or if we do, we must be cognizant that it's probably Satan and his minions tormenting us, but I've just seen and experienced too much to completely discount or discredit it. I am not afraid of anything/one here, just sorry and praying for these wayward souls to find their way home to where they belong. Pretty sure it's not here.

Sadly, none of the priests nearby have the time or the inclination to come bless the house much less lead us in an Enthronement of the Sacred Heart ceremony, so I'm going to have to bide my time and lure my Nigerian priest buddy here from far too close to where his boss lives. After my first encounter in 2004, he blessed each room of the house as we processed through all 4 floors and prayed the Rosary. It was quiet for awhile, until now - three episodes in the past 10 days or so.

I hesitate to divulge what's gone on, not because it's scary (it's really not that bad, just hackle-raising when it happens) but, well, I don't want to scandalize, alienate, or otherwise sport with the intelligence of non-believers.

Vote at the sidebar...I'll have to think about posting more about it though. In the meantime, please pray for what/whomever is hanging out here, and for our guardian angels to see to our family's spiritual protection.

Interesting Blog I Happened Across...

Catholic Churches of Manhattan - in which a young man named "Andrew the Sinner" has set himself the interesting, nay fascinating, task of attending Mass at all 96 Catholic parishes in Manhattan. He takes pictures and shares his thoughts about each, along with other reflections.

Interestingly, back in January when the Princess and I went on our day trip to NYC to shop for shoes and other Big Dance essentials, we snagged a cab at Bryant Park and went down to Canal Street, trolled Chinatown, turned the corner and had a fabulous lunch at one of the innumerable restaurants in Little Italy, and meandered our way all the way back up to Times Square. We stopped and looked around at Old St. Patrick's Cathedral (odd name for a church Little Italy, we agreed), which is one of Andrew's more recent stops.

Worth a visit to his blog - enjoy!

Break A Leg...

...save a life. That's what happened outside an abortion clinic in Cherry Hill, NJ.

Read this.

Wow. Deo Gratias, and prayers for Mr. Krail.

Back to our regularly scheduled b****ing...

As I have stated many, many times, I am not a fan of the Boston Marathon-esque starting-gun rush to the altar after the consecration when 7-8 EM's storm the altar, while there are easily under 200 butts in the pews.

Today may be an all-time low.

The priest called for spare EM's, and the rush followed...and one of the lucky fastest sprinters declined receiving...yet proceeded to serve the Eucharist to others.

We can debate this one all you want (more learned readers than I will probably come up with good theories*), but it seems to me that if you are conscious that your own soul is not in a state to receive the Host, why would you be distributing same?

Madness. Ignorance. Hubris.



* Let's go with the most innocuous explanation I could come up with - the guy went to Mass already this weekend, and didn't want to receive twice. The APPEARANCE of impropriety should be enough to dissuade him...not to mention the surplus of wannabe EM's. Step aside and let someone else do it, don't send mixed messages to the sheep...

Classified: Calling for a Collared Gamer

Any priestly types out there on X-Box Live?

Inquiring Athletes want to know...

Looking for a traditional, orthodox priest willing to answer questions, catechize and get chainsawed while doing so.

I think this is a very interesting concept, really...casting the net while playing Gears of War or Call of Duty - why not?

Still here...

...just a whirlwind week with the recovering post-appendix Princess here at home. No time for the laptop at all.

And I have to say it, just between me, you and the internet, I'm really not into the spiritual reflection mode that I usually am at this point in the liturgical calendar year. I haven't had a chance to get my laundry done, for cryin' out loud! So I'm feeling Lentless.

I'm trying. I really am.

All Hail Captain Drano!

...a.k.a., the 22 month old Ultimate Clog Remover...

Blue and Brown (die Birkenstocken) have been found...one under the crib, the other in the large diaper bag I don't use anymore, which was in his closet.

Weasel.

HeloMom Dispatch # 22 - For A Limited Time Only

I'll let this one speak for itself.

[sweet photo now removed]

(Yes, I am violating my own policy. Photo will be gone at midnight...)

Footnote on the Appendix

It is out. She is home. There's a story (of course there is!) but I am too exhausted to tell it. HeloMom will fill you in soon...Princess is recovering nicely and will be fine, and Athlete is my new adopted son. :)

Stayin' Alive

I know it's been a bit light of late, but never fear...just checking in with a few quick items/deep thoughts:

1. I miss the Beloved. A lot. Not just for his Boy wrangling and missing keys/gloves/sunglasses/shoe finding skills, although those are both legendary and necessary. He is by far the better half of this relationship.

[I am currently missing one each of my blue and brown Birk clogs. Anyone have any ideas?]

2. I adore the Princess-Athlete couple. They are so darling together, they are very comfy and companionable, and they're nigh inseparable...but they maintain the "just very good friends" pretense at school. This annoys me. I shouldn't really care so long as they are happy, but it really bugs me. And it comes from my child and her hypersensitivity about what others think. WHO CARES?!? But she's only 15, so it matters to her. A lot.

3. Speaking of the Princess, we spent yesterday and today running between the doc and the hospital ruling out appendicitis. The Athlete heard she'd left school complaining of right-side abdominal pain and was at the hospital within 5 minutes of hearing she'd been sent there. He said not a word, but came in and sat at her side, holding her hand (kissed it a few times, too) as we waited for blood draws and abdominal scans.

4. Why am I always so busy if I am supposed to be a stay at home mom now? WTF[rig]*? I didn't even have a chance to go to Mass today. I think I may safely say that the Boy took care of things and anointed me himself...at one point, I looked in the mirror and realized I had yogurt smeared on my forehead and in my hair.

5. I've decided to give up sugar for Lent. Splenda is fine for the tea and coffee, but I'm already feeling like a feral animal getting ready to prowl the aisles of the local convenience store and fell a few Snickers bars under the pretense of going there to grab a gallon of milk. (Me = lioness; Snickers = unfortunate wayward gazelle)

6. * In addition to sugar, I promised our little Therese I'd be better about cussing. Between that and no sugar...$%^&*(^%^&*!!!

7. I have a chest cold on top of everything else. Mucinex, I love you.

That is all.

Here we go...

Lent is around the corner and I just got off the scale.

Yowza!

I bake when I'm worried or sad, plus I've been feeding an extra large male child all week (break week around here), so I have been very very bad this past week.

Guess I know what I'll be foregoing this year...

Send in the Clowns...

...or perhaps I should say the ACLU is on alert. North Dakota legislators got it right!

Human embyros have human status. For now. We shall see if the bill clears their Senate.Way to go, ladies and gents.

Novel idea...

If you want to portray your religion as "one of peace" well...this might not be the best way to go about it.

Prominent Orchard Park Man Beheads Wife

Just sayin'.

Happy Birthday Princess!!!

Back in 1994, after 36 ridiculous hours of induced labor, our eldest was reluctantly born. (She was quite comfy where she was, thank you.) And as I type this, the little weasel is passed out, snuggled beneath the covers in the Beloved's now-vacant spot, having wanted to spend the night and wake up next to me in the morning "so you're the first person I look at, just like when I was born!"

[sniff...]

This is true - she was a bit blue and sluggish at first, but when I asked through my morphine daze if she was okay a few minutes after she finally emerged and had been whisked away for assessment and Apgar scoring, she turned her head toward me from the incubator and finally opened her eyes and started making squeaky sounds.

[Again with the sniff...]

Now I am looking over at a beautiful young lady - a quincinera today - sound asleep in body at the moment, but just awakening to all the potential of her womanhood. So much promise, yet so fragile, too. I am more conscious than ever of the huge responsibility I bear to ensure that her mind, body and soul remain pure and intact as we navigate these treacherous worldly peaks, valleys, and waters of the next few years.

Thanks be to God for this beautiful gift He's given us, and please pray for her as well as for her parents, that we may be virtuous and courageous stewards of her soul for as long as she's ours to nurture.

Princess facts: the portrait above is Empress Elisabeth of Austria, (a.k.a., Elisabeth of Bavaria, Queen of Hungary, or, more simply, Princess Sissi) the icon of fashionable European royalty back in the 1800's...a suitably beautiful yet tragic life story (oh those Hapsburgs...), and a source of fascination for our own Princess. This portrait inspired the Christine Daae "Think of Me" costume in the 2004 Phantom of the Opera movie:

We have a pact that when she marries, I will find or commission a set of those fabulous Swarovsky crystal hairpins to be made for her coiffure...

Ahh, to be a princess....

Happy Birthday, sweetheart!

Quick prayer request

Got some more questions from/did another round of apologetics via txt with the Athlete this evening...doing my best...cows beware....

HeloMom Dispatch #21 - Hearts Afire

Happy Valentine's Day - or the morning after, anyway.

And once again, the romance continues...

After another derriere-numbing, all-day wrestling tournament [Aside: he only won matches when she was wearing his warm-up jacket for good luck...hmmmm...looks like we won't have wardrobe selection issues at Sectionals next week....] the young non-couple [snort] exchanged gifts last night. His: a dozen roses and a stuffed puppy -- we refer him as such due to his oversizedness and not-quite-grown-into-his-puppy-paws-edness. Her gift to him:

Yes....it's true. She got him one as a joke. In blue. They've sat countless hours in our living room mocking the tv commercials, and our favorite Athlete has repeatedly sworn he'd never ever wear one, not even if his life depended on it. Naturally, the Princess took this as a challenge. She squirted it with her aptly-named Princess perfume, which he loves. So after he was done laughing, he relented, slipped it on, and inhaled deeply. Just then, I hopped out from the dining room with my little Flip Mino rolling and captured the evidence on film. (Thanks again for the product rec, Digi!) ;-) In all fairness, apparently it was rather comfy and actually is long enough to make it all the way down to his ankles, which was shocking. We have since learned that he slept in it after he went home last night.

As a further testament to his admiration for the Princess, the poor kid spent Valentine's Day evening here watching the threatened chick flick of choice: Steel Magnolias. He was so wiped out from his tournament that he never got to see his man movie (Tombstone), and so whether from exhaustion or out of anti-estrogen self-defense, he slumped over and passed out on the couch with his little friend at his side and secure in his arms about 15 minutes into the first movie. We had to wake him up and send him home at midnight. He called his mom to let her know he was on the way, and called me as soon as he got home, unasked, to assure us that he'd arrived home safely. Good kid.

He is coming back over tonight to cash in his man movie raincheck and devour a few pizzas now that he doesn't have to worry about weighing in for a week. As one of my colleagues (a former farm girl) put it after seeing their Dance photos:

"As his future mother in law, you're either gonna have to start grocery shopping at Sav-A-Lot or learn how to slaughter and butcher your own cows...he's huh-yooooooge!"

Well, I have no such audacious hopes in the matrimonial department, but I do know that the Prom is in June, and the Princess has selected her dress, which arrived on Friday. That's a story for another day...I have a book on cow killin' to read. Just in case.

Helo Mom out.

Note to the USCCB...

...NO MEANS NO!!! Manifestly pro-abort so-called Catholic politicians are not entitled to receive Holy Communion. Individual Bishops don't get to make the call.

No more questions.

And to think, many of those same USCCB member-weasels are b**ching about the SSPX'ers being brought back into the fold...the same SSPX'ers who were cast out because their Bishop took matters into his own hands and would not obey a directive from the Vatican.

Pot, meet kettle.

It would be extremely entertaining to see some excommunications handed out to a few of our domestic Bishops for their refusal to comply on this and several other issues...

[...eyes rolling to the north-northwest...]

Graphic h/t: Cavey (Joe & Larry, too)

Totally Self-Indulgent Monday

Today I did something I haven't in [...pondering...] many years. I sat helping the Beloved pack his gear for his new-job required trip back into the periphery of hell (aka, somewhere in the Middle East) and then...

...I sprawled out on my bed, spread eagled, stared at the ceiling...and cried. No bawling, no sobbing, nothing unseemly or overwrought. Just unstoppable, silent leakage.

Why?

Well, it just hit me that there's a wee Boy who, at nearly two, still doesn't talk much. I wondered what will be going on in his clearly busy little brain when he realizes Daddy is not here after tomorrow.

Every day when the girls get home from school and he hears the side-door open, he flings his toys down and flies over to see who's there. He's always happy to see the girls, but the sun cannot blaze any brighter in the sky than the goofy 8-fanged grin that he sports when Daddy's home. It is always accompanied by a belly-laugh and almost always a special man-cub growl...("It's Daddy! Party time....let's get ready to ru-u-u-u-m-m-m-mble!") "Mamm-mmma!" gets a special love-grin and a giggle that's all my own, and I love it. But I wonder how long it will be until I hear the Daddy laugh again, or if he will still do it the same way when the Beloved comes back home. And I don't know the answer to either question. Nor do I know how to navigate the recesses of the non-verbal toddler mind to answer the clearly present but unspoken questions that I will inevitably see etched on his beautiful little face when it's "just" Mommy or a siss-s-s-s-s-eee coming through that door.

A sad and pensive stretch ahead here in our corner of the middle of nowhere, I fear.

Please keep the Beloved, his mission abroad, and ours here at home in your prayers.

HeloMom Dispatch #20 - Still a Princess

Off to Mass in a bit, so we'll keep it brief.

They managed to have a good time - they only did the slow dances due to the ankle, and she danced with her dateless girlie friends for the fast ones...and he had her home ten minutes after the dance ended. :)

She was nominated to be the "queen" of the ball, but did not win. Quoth the Athlete:

Who cares? You're the queen of my heart, Princess.

HeloMom Dispatch #19....Dance of Death?

(See below for update!)
Now, for starters, let Helo Mom 'splain.

Dance of Death is actually a 3-person play written by this dude to the left...a Swedish playwright who suffered from severe bouts of paranoia, schizophrenia, and manic depression. So he wrote this rather dark, scary play about a couple who hate one another celebrating their 25th wedding anniversary - it's a military officer and his wife, stuck alone in a stone garrison/lighthouse on an offshore island somewhere in a presumably frigid northern sea, fjord, whatever. The Beloved and I saw it in the West End back in 2003, with Ian McKellan and Frances de la Tour (Madame Maxime for all you Harry Potter IV fans), celebrating our tenth anniversary. Layers of irony there...


Ok, I'll sum up. The Big Dance is tomorrow night. This is the first really public "outing" for Athlete and Princess. A few of their closest friends have known of their association for some time, but within the past few days, the news leaked to her little pack of rivals, none of whom have dates, and all of whom are tormenting her, name-calling, the works. They plan to go "stag" to the dance. And what will a knot of little snotrags have better to do when they get there than to sit on the sidelines and pick away?

On the other side, she is getting smirked and wolf-whistled-at in the hallways and in the cafeteria by the snarkier older boys, who have decided she must be...ahem..."precocious" in some way (which is rather odd, because they pick on the Athlete for his comparative innocence and pure lifestyle) and so a few of the nastier ones are asking her for her number, asking her to dance with them tomorrow night, etc., all of which mortifies her. She's in full-on distress and wishing she could stay home...after nearly 2 months of planning, shopping, and looking forward to her first formal dance.

AND THEN....there's this. Last night was the second time in three months that they did not speak on the phone. He had a match and did not call afterwards. Even if he does not do well, it is very unlike him not to report in. So this morning I get the following text [purified English added]:

Don't tell [Princess] but I'm going in for xrays this morning. My ankle got torn up last night. I'll let you know what I find out.

Oh dear....

Well, I now know that it is a high sprain, he's in an air cast, and is refusing to use crutches - manly man thing and all that. The news will arrive at school in a limping 6'5" package within the hour, and she will freak out. Our Princess is an inwardly compassionate but outwardly fierce and protective little nurse. She will interrogate, chide, give squinty-eyed reprimands from across the gym, and otherwise will make him suffer far worse than his ankle will, I fear.

Can this dance possibly go well?!?

HeloMom is going to the likker store this afternoon.

More to follow....

UPDATE: I can hardly type, I'm laughing so hard...got a distress text from the Wounded Warrior:

Him: Help! She's yelling at me!

Me: I'd say "RUN FORREST RUN" but, well, y'know...

Him: She shunned me & tried to get away by using the stairs

Me: Uh oh, what did you do?

Him: Thanked God for crowded stairs and my elevator pass and met her at the top of the stairs and limped her to her next class...

Honestly, how can a HeloMom (or her faithful readers) NOT love this kid?!?

Helo Mom Dispatch #18 - Chick Flick Pick

The still "unofficial" youngsters [the non-couple that spends every spare moment together in person, texting, or on the phone] are currently in negotiations for Valentine's Day plans.

Athlete would like to take Princess to dine at any restaurant she chooses. She would rather not do this because: 1) she is not allowed to date "Duh, mom, a dinner date is a date!"; 2) she is not allowed to go in a car with a boy unless and until she is old enough to drive herself home [NB: we have offered to relax the transportation rules where the Athlete is concerned because, well, he's uniquely trustworthy...within reason. Read on....]; and 3) that's too "public" for her - they are keeping the extent of their association to themselves and away from the prying eyes and inappropriate comments and innuendoes of their respective senior and freshmen classmates. [How they will manage this after the Big Dance this weekend is anyone's guess, but we'll get to that later...]

So she has suggested that they "order in" and have a private night together, watching romantic movies here at our house. Both sides appealed to me for my input and ultimate verdict - I think it's a splendid plan. Parents, little sister, curious baby, love-seeking dogs and Jack the Lap-cat will all be there to make sure they behave themselves. Athlete wanted to know if there could be an even split - a guy movie and a chick flick. We are working on this, but in the meantime, Princess has been trying to persuade him to watch Pride and Prejudice with her. He was groaning about it, but ready to give in, so I asked (jokingly): "Which one? The 5-hour BBC version or the 2-hour Keira Knightley one?"

Him [suddenly perky]: "There's a 5-hour one?"

Me [somewhat bemused]: "Yeeaahhh...why? Is that a good thing?"

Him [with a decidedly cheeky grin]: "Hmmmm...let's see. I have a choice between spending two or five hours curled up on the couch with your daughter on Valentine's Day. Which one do you think I'm gonna pick?!?"

Helo Mom curses herself for being slow on the uptake, yet cannot help but laugh - this kid is quick on his size 16 feet, and just too darn cute for his own good.

For Clamuck...

Back off Brangelina and Bennifer....

Now, I've only seen one photo, but this guy bears something of a resemblance to the Canuck.

This is hifreakinlarious, but not for the young'uns to see.

Prayers for the parish family...

...at Holy Name Cathedral in Chicago, which was devastated by fire earlier today. It's a grand old place - went to Mass there on special occasions and weekend treks into the city when I was young. Hate to see news like this.