I know it is Tuesday and I should have a treasury today…but this is a busy, busy week for this household (aren’t they all?) and I just couldn’t get into it. I started a few, but with no luck. There is just so much weighing on my heart.

Last weekend – the weekend before Thanksgiving – as we were packing the car to go on our annual Pittsburgh Pilgrimage our girl dog bit our 16 month old son.

He is doing fine now – thanks to a trip to the ER, strong antibiotics and consistent wound care.  All that considered, it still should never have happened.

Our girl dog is a sweet, beautiful black lab and greyhound mix. She is sensitive and protective. She is excitable and affectionate. We adopted her from a rescue organization just weeks after we got married. She was supposed to be my husband’s dog, since we had a dog already that was very much my dog. She quickly became my dog though.

 Maybe it was her fear of men that pushed her to me. She was beaten- we assume by a man, probably with a broom or a stick. The man probably smoked. She has a strong negative reaction anytime she smells cigarette smoke.

When I was pregnant she would lie next to me on the bed with her head on my belly, or snuggled up behind my knees. She was on constant guard when the baby arrived. Any noise from the nursery and she was to the nearest person alerting them that something needed to be done, her baby was in need.

She did great through our daughter’s toddler years, but we were in a house with lots of room for her kennel and a bed for her, and a huge fenced yard for her to escape to.

The past few months with her have been rough, or at least I can see that in hindsight. She spent the summer with the kids and me at my parents. She had a nice yard to be in – away from all the hustle and bustle of the kids.  Back home, though it is a yard-less townhouse with less space and more activity.  I can say now looking back she was not happy, she was on constant edge.

Our son is walking, chatting and getting into everything including her space. I didn’t realize how uneasy it made her. Our boy dog is slow to react and when he does react it is to simply get up and walk away.  Not the girl dog. She seemed torn between wanting the affection (toddler pats and rubs, sometimes with toys) and wanting to be left alone. We never left the dogs and kids alone together, and we worked with our son to teach him gentle and when to leave the dogs alone. Learning those things is a slow process.

And so we reach that Saturday…The dogs were anxious as we packed the car thinking they were going. The kids were playing upstairs with my mom so they weren’t under foot as things were carted to the car and the last of the chores finished up. Somehow in all of that the girl dog had all that she could take and bit our son, puncturing through the external part of his ear and leaving several gashes.

This weekend, when we returned from our trip, my husband took the girl dog back to the organization we adopted her through. We had been in touch with them almost immediately after the bite and they were gracious enough to take her, as was indicated in the adoption paperwork.  

Our first responsibility as parents is to keep our kids safe. We want animals, dogs especially to be a part of our home and our children’s childhood, but it has to be safely.  We also have a responsibility to our pets to provide them an environment that they can thrive in, and our home just wasn’t that for the girl dog. I feel foolish that we didn’t recognize it sooner, and blessed that in the end all to show for the mistake will be a few small scars on our sons ear.

Looking back I feel that she was never truly at easy or comfortable with us, and maybe she will never be like that with anyone in any home, but I hope that is not that the case. I pray that there is someone with a big heart and quite home that needs the girl dog as much as she needs a quite place and someone to love. I pray that they find each other quickly, as I don’t know how well the girl dog will weather being kept in a kennel.

Sister Mary Marley Louise O’Jones…. She is no longer a part of our household, but she will always be a part of my heart. 

Made of Monday…

I can’t spell to save my life. I am one of those bad spellers who spell so poorly that spell check can’t figure out what I was trying to spell.  I am blessed to have friends who are great proof readers. I passed up being an English major because of my poor spelling (and the comma – he and I aren’t friends, either!)

I am a bad speller because I am horrible at phonics.  I remember being totally baffled at the hand clapping for syllables…I could make any word just about any number of syllables. How did I know when I had it right? I didn’t! And I was pretty sure the rest of the class was making it all up, too!

Now my daughter is learning to read phonetically…I thought I would be able to help her with her homework at least through middle school. We still have not totally ruled out homeschooling, as an option…okay, well maybe phonics rules out home schooling.

She is in pre-school and brings home this work sheet that is letter blends. There is a note from the teacher that says the parents are to help their student in sounding out the blends, sign the sheet and return it. 

We sat down to work on it and I was lost.

 I tried.

I know what sounds L makes, and I used the sounds for the vowels based on the flashcards that were sent home for reviewing the vowel sounds.  Yet, every last one Grace told me I had wrong!

She is in pres-school and I am already useless!

I am a bad speller and I am NOT made of phonics!

Made of Monday…

I have to hurry and write this before its Tuesday!

Grace's first sleepover! They were asleep by 9:15.
I remember being little and Thursday nights being a
big deal because I got to stay up
 and watch the Cosby Show. It was on at 8!

I always thought I was a morning person. I am not a morning person who just jumps out of bed at the crack of dawn, but if I am awake, let’s get the day rolling!  I love the being up and having all the “have to” stuff done before the day is really even started. I love breakfast – except eggs. I love the quiet and the chill of morning air.

Or so I thought…

Here I sit for the oh, how many days have I been blogging now, time writing as today turns into tomorrow.  This blogging thing sure is teaching me a lot about myself.

My hard-working husband has been working even harder this semester, taking on a job working nights. Well, as I am learning nights turn into mornings, so I am learning to love the wee hours of the day where night meets morning.

I find that folding laundry after midnight works for me, and that a late night chick flick is perfect company for dusting or doing dishes.  Sometimes, though this makes for one tired mommy, and so I still nap when the baby naps, now and again, when there are not phone calls and business to attend to.

Late nights can be lonely at times, especially the nights when the neighborhood college kids are coming and going, enjoying the freedoms that college life affords the young.  But for now this works. The nights my husband is home I do my chores while he studies past midnight. The nights he works I do my chores after the kids are in bed and the house is quite. 

So goes the life of a once morning person, turned night owl…

And this Monday (it is still Monday!) I am made of the hours I keep.

Made of Monday....

Today i was made of procrastination...maybe tomorrow I will be made of something better.

Made of Monday...Q&A

It was a weekend that had more questions than answers.

Sometimes in life are just like that.

For every answer, there is another question.

Sometime the questions are fueled by uncertainty, sometimes by curiosity, sometimes by doubt, sometimes by orneriness.

Sometimes the questions are fueled by hope.

As we approach the end of law school, there are so many questions about our future. The basics like where will we live, where will my husband work, where will Grace go to school. All of those are part of the bigger question – What does God have in store for us?

When we came here it was beyond obvious that God had something great in store for us here, but in the process of being here I have learned that here is not the ending, it is not where the greatness will occur. Though here has had its moments of greatness, this season of life for us is one of preparation and growth…so now where? And, now what?

When we so clearly saw that here was where God was leading (no, bringing!) us, it is hard to not expect the same glaring neon lights pointing to the next step. So far, though, there has been no giant blinking roadside arrow. I thought there was one – one of those big arrows like you see on the interstate crying, screaming “Stop Here!”  It led someplace unexpected and I had made peace with it in my heart, but it wasn’t our arrow and it left me with so many questions…Why? What next? How to reconcile the peace I felt in my heart knowing now it wasn’t our path to take?

Sometimes I just have to turn the questions off and take the answers that are in front of me and do the best I can. 

Answers or no answers, I am made of questions.

Made of Monday...Great Expectations

Ah, Monday.

Mondays are like a giant reset button. It doesn’t matter how last week was. This week is fresh and new  

But Mondays are hard. Everyone is tired from the weekend – and last week! For us, it is our earliest morning heading out of the house at 7 (at least that is when we are supposed to be heading out the door).  It is the day that upstairs gets cleaned and the grocery shopping is done. 

Mondays set the tone for the week.  When they are crazy and overwhelming it is hard to let that feeling go on Tuesday.

A family always on the go!

Maybe I expect too much from Mondays. On that day that sets the tone for the week, maybe I should just stick to easy things like getting the agenda for the week in order and doing a little tidying up.  We tried grocery shopping on Sunday, but using our precious little family time for grocery shopping didn’t feel like the best use of time.

I am a girl with high expectations. Mondays should be awesome. It should feel good to start over. It should feel good to have the order and routine of the day. I should be able to knock Monday out of the park.

So is it Monday or me that I expect too much of….we may never know…

But it is Monday and I am made of high expectations…

Made of Monday...

This Monday morning I am made of GERMS! YUCK!I thought I had missed getting whatever this is that made life miserable for my husband last week. Alas, I have not.

Germs aside, I am  made of shyness…in a big way!

I am shy, horribly, painfully at times - shy. I am the kind of shy that comes across as aloof, but there are many layers to my shyness. I am the traditional quite in a new situation, nervous to meet new people shy, but there is more to it than that.

She is not shy very often!

I am not a jump right in kind of person. I like to see how things work. I am not going to do something until I know I can do it right. I don’t want others to think poorly of me, even others who don’t know me. I don’t want to be the person who did something wrong. I want the opportunity to watch and know before I do. It is even better if there is someone to show me the ropes.

I am weary of over stepping my bounds or treading on some else’s territory. I am the kind of girl who won’t volunteer for something because I don’t want someone else to think that I think they can’t do it…or that I think I can do it better.  I won’t ask about your day, because I don’t want you to think I am noisy or that I assume we are more familiar that we are.

I am impressed by people who know people. People who run into people they know at every turn. People who have made the world their “Cheers.”  I, on the other hand, will see people I know at a distance and not approach them for fear of interrupting, or that they won’t recognize me.  I  don’t want to look foolish or over eager. Similarly, I am slow to friend people on Facebook because I don’t  assume they want to be friends with me.

Yet, public speaking doesn’t bother me, so long as I don’t have to sell anything.  Back in the day, I worked for a program that was doing a campaign to get parent’s to talk to their children about sex in the context of relationships, health and safety by emphasizing opening lines of communication early about friendships and concerns that are easier to talk about. I spent months talking to parents, teachers and community leaders about things that made nearly all of them blush or get tongue tied – and nothing I said was graphic or sexual!  I enjoyed that job. I enjoyed the work I did there. Maybe it was that I knew each of those conversations was the beginning and the end. They didn’t have to like me forever, just long enough for me to share our program with them. There was a general script, and I was the subject area expert.

I don’t want to be shy. I wish my shyness was like a sweater that I could just take off and hang in a closet and be the “me” I really want to be: the kind of girl who says hi, who asks how you are doing, who can easily relate to other, who jumps in with both feet.

I watch my daughter being shy (on a rare occasion) and I desperately want her to not be shy, like me. I want to do everything I can to help her overcome that shyness now. I try so hard to not instill my fears and my anxieties in her. I love her and who she is, and I want the world to know her and share in her joy.

So there you have it…this Monday morning I am made of two things I wish I wasn’t made of…germs and shyness.

Made of Monday....

Today was the big day! Grace’s first day of pre-school and Terry’s last first day of law school!

As we have been getting Grace ready for school, I have been thinking about my own school experiences, especially those when I was her age.

I remember kindergarten – mainly wetting my pants because I was afraid to walk past the big kids. And I remember seeing someone throw up for the first time. I remember a lady coming to play guitar and teaching us a song about “His Banner over me is Love” and wondering why we were singing about toilet paper…but I can’t remember my teacher’s name.

I remember moving in first grade. I remember at the first school the desks had tops that lifted open. But it is not until we moved and I started first grade at St. Mary’s that I can recall my teacher’s name. Her name is Mrs. Johnson. She says I can call her Debbie now…but really I can’t. She IS Mrs. Johnson.

I remember other moments of school, but not nearly so many as I do of Mrs. Johnson’s first grade class.  In the years after first grade, I have still more memories of Mrs. Johnson. She took my picture for the school calendar the year I won the button contest for Catholic Schools week. She was on the playground. She let me help get her classroom ready the summers that my mom was working at the school. She came all the way to Maryland to stand as my confirmation sponsor when I was in high school. She stopped by my parent’s house shortly after Terry and I were married to meet my husband and congratulate us. She is among my friends on Facebook.

Grace starting school today was a big decision. We had thought we would homeschool, but for right now that just doesn’t work for our family. In the discussions and decision making, there were two things that have made me question homeschooling and helped to comfort me in our decision to send her to school. The first is marching band…and the second is Mrs. Johnson.

I want Grace to have a Mrs. Johnson. I want her to know the love and discipline, the love of learning and the strength of character of a great teacher. I want her to carry with her the example of someone other than me or my husband in loving the Lord and loving learning.

Maybe that is a lot to ask Grace’s teachers to live up too. They might not – I know that not all of mine did, but if just one can, she will be blessed.

So on this Monday, as I drop my baby girl at school, I am made of Mrs. Johnson’s first grade class.

Thank you, Mrs. Johnson! I hope you have a wonderful first day today, too!

Made of Monday: Rules

About a week ago, I overheard my mom on the phone saying, “No, Danielle’s not like that, everything for her is black and white. There isn’t much gray. She has always been like that.”It is pretty true.  I am a rule follower. I can’t help it. I like structure, I like order and I like to know what to expect. New things scare me. I like to know exactly what is going to happen.

We were at the neighborhood pool yesterday when a younger couple walked up, the guy looked around and then hopped up at the gate to reach over and hit the exit button. He didn’t have a pass. It made me bananas!!!! I could not relax and enjoy my time with my family because he had broken the rule – more than that he was stealing from me, from my family. This is a little crazy, right? But is how it felt. He was holding himself to be above the rules that the rest of us where following. He was telling us that we should pay his way, or that he was unwilling to even try to pay his own way.

Oh, I believe in sharing, and being sympathetic and empathetic, but I also believe that rules are helpful and good. Yes, the government has gotten a little carried away with this, but in general rules are good. They help us know which side of the road to drive on. They help us know what is ours and what belongs to someone else.  They help us get through the day. And I like rules.

The good rules in life usually boil down to one of say ten or so basic rules (wink, wink). And even those boil down into what I think are three simpler rules – honor God, honor yourself and honor your fellow man.
 
When someone breaks a rule their actions say to me that they don’t care about anything or anyone. It is selfish. It shows weakness and selfishness. When I meet rebellious types, the kind who break rules just to break rules, I wonder if they expect others to follow the rules. The young guy at the pool, for example, what if I just came to his house and let myself in to let the kids run wild. I don’t think he would like us just barging in.  So, I guess the freedom to break the rules is only reserved to him?

In The Well-Trained Mind, one of the authors talks about how a child – given a strong vocabulary, social skills and practice in speaking and writing – will never have to resort to getting her tongue pierced to make a statement about who she is. Rule breaking to me is comparable to tongue piercing in this case. Breaking rules to get a rise out of others is hardly a good sport or good use of energy or resources – and it has long term consequences.

Sometimes, there are bad rules, but there are good rules that give us a system to fix them. I can admire those who disagree with rules and then take civil, thoughtful steps to redress those issues.

Except for speed limits...55 is just a suggestion, right?

Made of Monday...

Needs...

I was reading a blog post from one of my favorite Etsy shops – I love window shopping there! She wrote about needing help and that she had never thought to ask for help, that it didn’t occur to her to ask or that anyone would help her. She went on to talk about the help she did have, that came unsolicited and had been beyond value to her. It struck me then that needing is hard and asking for help is even harder, and not just for me… I have been tossing this around in my head for awhile, not ready to commit it to paper or words, but I after the weekend I had, I feel compelled…now is the time.

Yes, I am needy sometimes…but to be honest we all have needs – not wants but needs, things that for whatever reason we can’t do for ourselves. That right there is what makes needing hard (for me anyway)…relying on others…needing them, giving them some of our control (real or perceived), being vulnerable and opening ourselves up to others’ judgments.

My family has been in the position of needing help –in many ways, but recently financially has been the greatest need. For me, it is hard to ask for help and hard to accept help, even when it is given unsolicited. I don’t want others to carry our burden. I don’t want others to feel obligated. I don’t want others to judge my – or our family’s – decisions.

We get tremendous help from my family…whether it is a box of groceries, clothes for the kids, a gift card to Target, or help securing school funding. We are truly blessed. Taking that help – even though we NEED it - has been heartbreaking. It is uncomfortable to be over 30 and still feel that child like dependence on others.

It is hard needing when we have so much. Truly, we are blessed, we aren’t going to starve – they might turn the lights off, but not this month…but before this time of need we did okay. We have a nice SUV and we have nice electronics – nothing over the top, but nice things we purchased when we had the means. I have some nice clothes from back in those days. It is hard to say we NEED, when it doesn’t always look like we do…but appearances can be deceiving.

We have been receiving help while my husband is in school and our income is less than minimal. I can tell you first hand the system of government assistance is humiliating and degrading. We have sought out and accepted help only for the children. I don’t know why anyone would want to live their entire life this way.  The change in the demeanor of the cashier at the store or the doctor in the ER, or nurse at the hospital when they see how we are paying is visible. Despite the fact we are both educated and my husband is pursuing a graduate degree, we are suddenly half human. Despite the fact that my children are clean and neatly dressed, I am suddenly less of a mother. I come home humiliated, broken and mentally and physically exhausted. 

I can only imagine what a lifetime of that feels like. I know that in a year or so we will be back on our feet. I know that we will return to earning and contributing. Knowing that doesn’t make the NEED now any easier.  I am working hard to understand what relying on God looks like and doing just that. Being responsible for a family makes that a true test of faith (a leap of faith most days…for me anyway).

So as this week starts, I ask this next time you interact with someone in need be generous of spirit - be kind. In a time of NEED simple kindness and compassion goes a long way. 

Made of Monday....

Made of Monday

Faith:

Photo taken by FA-tography by Faith and Aubrianah

I am blessed to have been raised in a faith-filled family.  It is only in the past year or so that it has really sunk in that not everyone has that.  My family is Catholic and I am thankful for my private, Catholic education. I was surrounded by families who made raising their children in the way of Christ a priority. We worshiped and celebrated with an extended family of friends and relations. I went on to public high school where I met other kids – amazingly they were mainly Christian and those who were not were Jewish. Then we moved and I was part of an ecumenical (Catholic, Methodist, Episcopalian and Presbyterian) youth group that traveled sharing the Gospel through musical and theatrical performance. Even in college, I found myself amongst a group of friends who all attended church together. Granted none were perfect and my faith has not always been as deep or as hungry as it is today, but it never really occurred to me that there were people who did not believe in God or his son Jesus…or the Gospel.  I know this is the case, I have seen it, but it never really sunk in until we started at
a
new church in January and I was getting to know one of the ladies while hanging out with my baby in the nursery…we were talking about family and I said that there was such darkness in one part of the family and she asked if they were believers and it struck me like lightening…NO! No – that person did not believe! ( I have a theory on this, but that is for another day…)

I guess all of this is to say that the experience of being raised to believe, to have faith and to worship and give praise to God is a blessing and something that makes me who I am. I have recently met a wonderful group of believers that have an amazing way of speaking about their faith. That is something I don’t have…I feel like I have learned a little Spanish from the Mexican restaurant menu and I have found myself in room of people who are bilingual. I feel it, but I don’t always know how to say it. I look forward to learning the language better…until then it is in my heart and hopefully my work.

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