Hail and Blessed

                                           Hail and blessed be the hour and moment
                                            In which the Son of God was born
                                            Of the most pure Virgin Mary
                                            At midnight, in Bethlehem, in the piercing cold.

                                            In that hour, vouchsafe O my God
                                            To hear my prayers and grant my desires
                                            Through the merits of our Savior Jesus Christ
                                            And His Blessed Mother.
                                           Amen.


You know how I know I'm really Catholic?  Come Thanksgiving clean-up, I begin anticipating the recitation of this prayer every day of Advent.  I now have a history with it ~ memories of deciding my desires to mention, of focusing on hailing the moment of Jesus' birth, of sitting quietly all alone in the early mornings with the Christmas tree glowing and whispering my prayers.  Several requests remain each year and several requests have been affirmatively answered.

One Advent, with a brand-new positive pregnancy test, my only desire was that the child would live, sparing us another miscarriage.  He is now a jolly toddler named Joseph  (Not the girl we were going to name Mary after all the prayers!).

Last Advent, I focused upon four different desires, one of which was a baby girl.  She is now growing beneath my heart and I lumber around until joyously await late February.

This is the second year of praying for "a better job for Ken", kept ambiguous purposefully, knowing that what I presume better may not truly be so.  I leave it in the hands of God.  Mary and I leave it in the hands of God. 

When I first learned of this devotion  (Maybe four years ago, from Elizabeth Foss.) and shared it with the children during our morning prayers,  John quietly told me afterward that he was going to ask for "no more CF for Rees".  Oooohh Boy.  I kept my composure and managed a small smile and nod.  Maybe. 

Months later, when he voiced his disappointment over Rees' lack of healing, we had a good talk about prayers, desires, good people and bad things, suffering, heaven. . . Thank God for His Church, the pillar and foundation of truth (I Timothy 3:15), that guides us into all truth  (John 16:13).

So we pray the old words and we voice our desires in that most holy moment, for Jesus is the same yesterday, today, and forever  (Hebrews 13:8) ~ the significance of His Incarnation just as effecacious now.  Perhaps the answers will be granted exactly how we want.  Perhaps we'll die asking.  But we hail the hour and moment in which the Son of God was born of the most pure Virgin Mary.  It is blessed.

And either answer ; this side of heaven or the other ; so are we.

Warmly,
Allison


P.S ~ I know that the birth of Jesus was not really "in the piercing cold".  It's poetry, folks.

Where Rees and John attempt humorous writing ...

Rees and John's writing assignment this week was Something Personal.  I rotate topics : a Current Event,  Something You're Reading,  A Persuasion,  and this week's.  After they insisted that guys don't actually think about things and I insisted they sit down, let their minds wander, and begin writing, this is what I was presented with by the 5pm Friday deadline :


I AM JOSEPH
By Rees Howell

Hello everyone, my name is Joseph. I am 2 years old and I live in the best house ever. My dad made it himself a long time ago. You can call Me whatever you want. Some people call Me “Jofus”, while others call Me baby. Sometimes, they say “hey you” (and expect Me to respond the first time they say it). There are some people that actually call Me Joseph. I end up answering to all of them though, but to Me; I’m Me. The life of Me is great! When I get up, I dress how I want. Usually just a shirt and diaper will do, but sometimes I have to put underwear on over the diaper. When guests are at the house, I get dressed up and put on socks! I have decided that footgear is the only required equipment in order to go outside. Sneakers, rubber boots, cowboy boots, any will do (even in winter). But most of all, contrary to popular belief, I can do ANYTHING!

One of the coolest things about Me is My extended use of vocabulary. I can say so many things. Here is just a sampling. More: do it again, or give Me that again. Please: I have to have it NOW, because I think I need it (and I will get it since I’m using nice words). Yes: My favorite word. I agree with almost everything, and people say it’s cute when I say it (the boys say guys can’t be cute, but that shows how much they know!). No: My second favorite word. No, I don’t want that, or need it. No you can’t take it, nor give it to Me. “Brrmm Brrmmm” (any vehicle): tells someone that they are, were, or will be, in a car or 4-wheeler. Or maybe they will let Me ride! Go: usually refers to a dog, or someone acting like a dog. Toot: a funny, pointless remark made after a noise that makes everyone laugh. Train (My movie): something said to put on “The Screen of Relaxation”. It’s a land of talking trains, and wooden people. Most important of all, I have some names down: Da (father), Mom (mother), Wee (Rees), Don (John), Cla (Clare), Ena (Ian), and Lu (Luke). They’re amazing!

Everyone in My family is a little different. There’s Rees: the guy I play with, and the one who gives Me candy and chips. John: the “mean one”. He’s not really mean, but he always puts Me to bed, and I hate that. Dad: he always makes Me happy, especially when I’m sad. Clare: she’s either really nice or really mean (her personality is extreme). Luke switches between the “Coolest Guy Ever”, to the “He-hit-Me-again” kind of guy. Ian is just another boy with crazy sounds and faces. He’s a cross between Clare and Luke. Then there’s Mom. I can’t live without her. She is everyone else, and then some. Mom is My whole life. My family is amazing and My life would be boring without even one of them. I mean, besides learning good things from them, how else would I learn to fight and stand up for myself? After I’ve thought about it, it’s great to be Joseph Howell.

And John's :

Special Radar

By JKH.

Silence… it’s a rare moment in my house. You see every kid from the age if birth to about 10 or 11 have

a special kind of radar that seeks out anyone who needs silence for something (phone call, school work

etc.) and then sends out call for any kind of loud noise possible. For instance someone will leave a

message on the phone and then suddenly Ian stubs his toe, or maybe Luke needs to practice singing

Bach. It can be very annoying sometimes especially if you’re in the middle of a tough algebra problem

and Luke decides that Ian has a Lego piece that’s his (“MINE!!!!” “NOOOO ITS MINE!!!”). After some

time I have discovered two things: one the best time to school work is in the early morning, and two I

think I’m going to join the silent monks!

Which inspired Clare :

Hi everyone! My name is Luke. I am 4 years old and I live in the coolest house ever! (Leaving out the fact that my Dad threw out the train table). my Dad built it himself, before anyone even knew about me. (Amazing, isn’t? I mean, normally I’m the center of attention!). One of the most important rules about me is that you may only, only call Me Luke. I do not like to be called bad Luke, or tooty Luke (I hate that one the most), when I wake up in mom and dad’s bed, which is unofficially mine too, (I come down at night and sleep there) I lay in front of the heater until mom fusses at me to put some clothes on. Then, I put on the clothes I wore yesterday, and, so mom won’t notice, I will strategically put on a jacket, and slip on my snow gear and am outside before she realizes what’s going on! (Face it, I’m awesome).

I have different names for everybody, though most I shouldn’t say, I’ll tell you what I can. (Mom, dad, and Rees don’t count.)    Dummy (John) poop kid (Clare) and Fat-kid (Joseph). Ian, well, he’s just my slave, you might say.

Everyone here is different, there’s Dad, the Guy who plays trains with me, Mom, she reads me stories, and helps me weasel my way out of things, such as pushing Ian (please don’t think me too bad, he is always too sensitive.), Rees gives me chips and puts on Thomas the tank engine for me, John is none of my concern (he’s never at home), Clare’s temper varies, Ian is my personal servant and train-track-builder, Joseph is my playmate, plaything, and personal punchbag.

Now that I’ve thought about it, it’s great to be Luke Howell!

Grammatical mistakes unfixed by their teacher, because then it would be my work, not theirs!
Wincing with pride (!),
Allison

Moronic Cartoons

The title is copied from Dennis Prager as I submit the following "works of art" :

Picasso

Ian, age 7

10. Without God, there is little to inspire people to create inspiring art. That is why contemporary art galleries and museums are filled with "art" that celebrates the scatological, the ugly and the shocking. Compare this art to Michelangelo's art in the Sistine chapel. The latter elevates the viewer — because Michelangelo believed in something higher than himself and higher than all men.

Again, from Dennis Prager.  The entire article on the goodness of religion  (He is a practicing Jew, very conservative, and a favorite radio host of ours.)  can be read here.


My children scoffed when I put up the Picasso prints on the first day of October and are looking forward to what they find tomorrow morning  (Renoir), so when I suggested they attempt to copy one of the prints, Ian made a derisive boy noise and swaggered over to the art basket to choose his weapons.  He presented me with the above picture and said something like, "I did this in half an hour."



Warmly and colorfully,
Allison

The Blanket

Blankets are an essential part of our family life.  We spread them out on the floor for tea parties, arranging sweet snacks into the middle and circling the edges with our hungry bodies.  We use half a dozen of them for rainy day (or 20 below day) forts, each child clamoring for their own space within the quilted walls.  Most belovedly, though, we curl up underneath the cloth for book reading.  Although none of my children has a “blankie” and any one will do for the task at hand, there exists some unwritten rule that requires every child to be, if not actually embraced by the blanket, to be touching it somewhere.  A recent read-aloud morning found us thus : Mom and two toddlers in a chair and under The Blanket, a pumpkin colored fleece newly retrieved from the basement depths with the change of seasons; two older children sitting at our feet, on top of orange fluff that flowed onto the floor (This rendered those of in the chair captive, since any shifting pulled down The Blanket, which, according to some other unwritten rule, is to be avoided at all costs.).  The very cool teenager, not to be confused with the younger children, was nonchalantly leaning against the chair, but his arm was resting on The Blanket.   So we remained, pleasantly entangled with each other as I read The Secret Garden.

It is comforting to reflect upon The Blanket as a type, or picture, of the Church.  We connect with Her in varying ways throughout the years, as seasons of life turn, as our circumstances alter, and as emotions ebb and flow.  Sometimes we long to be completely hidden within the Church for illuminated peace and healing quiet.  Perhaps we are content to be casually wrapped and happily chatting with enfolded others.  Maybe we are purposefully reaching outward, retaining the all-important connection to a corner, as a pivot-point.  And so we live, touching The Blanket, our Holy Mother Church ~ for peace, for quiet, for comfort, for healing, for fellowship, for grounding, for sharing the heavenly Eucharist meal.  It is forever available to each of us and to all of us, as God’s beloved family.


Warm and curled up,
Allison

Quiet Fight

CF has been very quiet lately.  Almost a year since his last hospitalization and no fearful flare-ups in between.  Sometimes it goes like that.  And sometimes he's been in for two weeks, out for six,  in for two, out for six, through several cycles.  Tough times.  Makes Mommies feel utterly incompetent, and with sinfully short tempers.  Dangerous mix.  Recognizing this is half the battle toward safeguarding sacred relationships.  That and flawlessly foamed cappuccinos (My personal daily indulgence when Rees is "in".)!

He spent four monotonous hours last Friday at "Prov" (Providence Hospital), subjecting himself to scores of screening tests for a drug study.  Then a telephone call two days later ~ rejected.  Rejected because his lung function wasn't low enough.

He was happily disappointed.  Happy at his fairly healthy pulmonary numbers ; disappointed at his inability to access the experimental drug with a shorter delivery system that would lessen time spent "doing medicines".

*He just read over my shoulder and corrected me : "I'm more disappointed, Mom, because they pay me to offer my body to science."

Well pardon me.  I'm only happy.  Sorry, kid (!).


Resting in these quiet CF times, but ready to toughen up if necessary ~
Warmly,
Allison

What I Love About Boys, part 2

Rachel B. has part 1 ~


John to me, driving home from his orthodontic evaluation :
Wow ; I didn't know braces were over $6000.

Me :
Your mouth will cost more than any vehicle we've ever bought.

John :
How about we leave my mouth alone and you guys buy me a truck?


Big smiles,
Allison

Homeschool mornings here ~

For the past few mornings, Joseph's hairdo has been a cross between Justin Bieber and Albert Einstein.  Ian and Luke, lacking this biographical information, felt left out of the milk-snorting laughter.  This prompted google image searches with a viewing of Bieb's video, taking up the better part of an hour yesterday morning.  You know, to ensure my little boys' cultural literacy.

This is why my children would probably fail a standardized test . . .

Cleaning up my face,
Allison