The Art of Becoming

How is it possible that two seemingly opposite truths can hold the same space?  For example: why is it that we got 5 inches of snow a week ago, and then four days later it was 74 degrees?  And why is it, after reaping the benefits of a glorious weekend of weather (dare I say, summertime-feeling-weather?), there are predictions for snow tomorrow.  This means that two drastically different seasons of clothes are needed at practically the same time.  Which is why I'm scrounging the house for summer clothes for both kids while I can't bring myself to pack their snow pants away yet.  Some might call this paradoxical. I find a similar phenomenon exists in my children: how is it possible that I started the day reprimanding Sean, asking him to "turn his day around" with all the whining, crying, and shouting "NO!" only to have come through the morning with an incredibly well behaved kid?  Why is it that Audrey is sweet as can be and silently devilish while walking...

We all have our fixations.  Mine is often the fixation of picking something out of the kids' noses, or wiping a runny nose, or getting Audrey's hair out of her face.  I'm constantly thinking about checking for poopy diapers, making sure Sean's pants are zipped, or watching Sean hold his crotch while trying to "keep the pee in."  I fixate on things like Audrey sucking on the child-size Crayola flossing tools because the package says for 3 year-olds and up (what awful things could happen to a 23 month old baby who's sucking on those things??).  I often can't get these fixations out of my mind. Other fixations are trivial, or at least I judge them to be so.  Sean fixates on the things he can participate in: helping to grind the coffee beans each morning, or unscrewing the milk cap from the gallon jug, where we place his tooth brush at night, or how he must have a glass of water and a towel before he even begins to brush teeth, or flushing the toilet.  Ye...

As I begin a new year, I'm looking at my lessons learned.  There are so many. 1.  When telling friends that you'll meet them for Christmas Eve Mass, arrive a solid 35 minutes after you told them you'd arrive, so as to encourage the Christmas spirit in everyone. 2.  When attending said Christmas Eve Mass, make sure that your son's shoe is not all the way tied, so that he may lose the shoe outside in the snow and 13 degree temperature before ever making it inside the church. 3.  When the church is jam packed, and the ushers are telling you that even Standing Room Only is full, push past them and proceed to walk up and down the side aisles searching for your friends.  Friends who were saving you seats nearly an hour, fighting off old women who wanted those precious seats.  Also, while moving up and down the aisles, make sure you don't put your son's shoe back on so that everyone you pass may comment on "how cute" he is. 4.  When considering going ...

Today I made the worst mistake of my life.  That's dramatic, but those were the exact words going through my head earlier.  If I can be criticized for something, it would be that I believe myself to be Super Mom.  I believe that I can do most anything with my kids in tow.  I take them both to the grocery store, to doctor appointments (theirs and mine), to vote this past November, and both to the car dealership today.  Note to self: Super Mom should not take her kids to the car dealership.  It was a necessary thing - we needed to get the oil changed and the airbag light on the dashboard had been glaring red at me for weeks.  I have the car most days, so it followed that I was the logical person to go.  It was not, however, logical to take the kids.  Make no mistake, we are all still alive, but only barely. The mechanics had no more 90-minutes-you-wait-we-get-your-car-done appointments.  So I was left with the option of dropping the car ...

Her temper flares.  It's not hard to do - her brother gets in her face, and suddenly she's thrown her cereal bowl onto the green-carpeted floor.  The plush, expensive carpeting from the 1960s didn't ever expect to see the kind of love (read: damage) as it's seen from this family of four.  I gave Audrey a bowl for her milk and cereal, wishing to give her some more responsibility and independence than her usual sippy cup with a side of dry cereal on her tray.  She did great for awhile.  That was until Seancito decided he was done eating cereal and wanted to pick on his sister instead.  Then the cereal bowl ended up on the floor. Sean: (entering the kitchen with an honest look on his face) Mama, Audrey dropped her cereal on the floor. me: (walking between the kitchen and dining room) Audrey!  No!  You do not throw your food! Audrey begins whimpering.  It's a half-hearted whimper. Would this have been prevented had I seen it coming? ...

Sean has been taking a Sunday school class called Atrium.  For 90 minutes on Sunday mornings, he is without any other member of his family, so when we get back together, we question him about what he's learned. me:  Sean, what did you talk about in Atrium today? Sean: I'm not sure. me:  Did you talk about God? Sean: No. me:  Did you talk about Jesus? Sean: No. me: What did you do? Sean: We cut paper. He might not be listening, but he sure is enjoying himself!  The other day he was musing to himself in the backseat of the car while we drove, and then he piped up. Sean:  I really like my class on Sundays. me: That's great!  I'm glad you do.  What do you like about it? Sean: I like drawing pictures. Cutting paper and drawing pictures: that's about the gist of it.  I am not too hung up on him learning any huge tenants of the Catholic Church, but rather I like that the teacher introduces the kids to the idea of God and Je...

Some things are obvious. Some are not. Some things that are obvious to me are not so obvious to the kids.  And vice versa.  Such as - I leave the room for 2 minutes to use the restroom.  I keep the door open so that I can hear if anyone (read: Audrey) starts screaming for any reason (read: Sean tackling her).  When I come back from the restroom, I see that flash cards are strewn everywhere in the living room. me: What just happened in here? Sean: We had a party! Obviously. Or just after their bath, Audrey is dressed in her pajamas and ready to read books. Sean is still running around the house naked doing the 'happy donkey' dance.  He runs into the furniture, the walls, and then head-butts his sister.  Audrey begins crying. me: Sean!  I want you to come over here and say you're sorry to Audrey. Sean hides behind a chair.  As if this makes him invisible to me. me:  Sean.  I will only ask three times.  I've already...