Six Months with Addie

This past Valentine's Day, our seventh baby was born, a second girl we named Adah Marie, after our grandmothers in heaven that have been praying for us.  We call her Addie, and she has cystic fibrosis.

Like her eldest brother, she needs pulmonary therapy thrice daily (gentle patting on her chest and back to loosen thick mucus for coughing up), digestive enzymes before every nursing session, extra salt, probiotics, albuterol, and antibiotics.  She will never know differently unless a drug is discovered that targets the genetic defect (Let us pray...).

Even though I understood the genetics, thanks to great high school biology classes on Mendel's pea plants and I knew there was a 1:4 chance that CF could resurface, I nevertheless fought near constant nauseous panic the first few days and weeks as the symptoms became clear.  When the results of the genetic test returned Two copies of DF508 mutation.  Cystic Fibrosis Diagnosed, I cried.  Bawled, really, because this is where the theological truths of our Holy Faith crash against the anguish of heartbroken parents in a battle of weeping, fighting, swords, and clubs.  It felt like that, anyway.  I didn't want to visit friends with healthy children; maybe because I was jealous and maybe because I didn't want to be a downer.  I didn't want anyone else to hold her.  I told her I'm sorry a million times (I counted.).

But I've gone through these wranglings before and this time I have 2000 years of Church teaching and a Holy Mother to help.  Catholic theology holds that children are a gift, not a right; that suffering can bring us closer to Jesus; and that people are made for God.  Did I really believe what I'd been writing about on this blog for the past year and a half?  (Of course, thanks be to God and the prayers of Saint Therese!)  The Holy Spirit reminded me of the embarrassment of riches I have in our sacramental marriage blessed with so many children, and graces pouring upon me; so I picked myself up, made a morning offering of thanksgiving, called my friend over to tea, and proudly passed off my pretty daughter for auntie-ish snuggles.

We've figured out a good daily groove for Addie's care (Which basically means a chart for the others kids to keep track of who gets to do her therapy and squirt stuff into her mouth.) and we're delighting in the cuteness of our little girl; for CF chores and all, she is our own baby with her own personality ~

Spitting raspberries.

She slides down just enough to read the instruction stickers.

.

Loves to jam her hands into her mouth.

She especially digs her bouncy seat ~ see her feet in the air?

Quiets right down when Ken plays his guitar.

Clare and Addie ~ my girls!

Big Red is her friend.

Be still, my heart!





Happy six months, Adah Marie!  We are so thrilled and thankful for you!

5 Things I Can Do, Now That I'm Catholic

(I know, I know.  Some Catholics do not do these things and some protestants do.  It's simply a little fun in my life.)

 1.)  Celebrate Halloween.  Yes, sir, I love Halloween.  My only childhood memories of trick-or-treating are from photographs, as all that Devil nonsense ended at about age 10, when my parents "got saved."  Now I encourage my children to pick something really dead and scary or a saint, making sure that the identifying prop is gross (like bloody arrows for Sebastian).  I love telling them that it's a night to poke fun at Death, for the next day celebrates our beloved friends in heaven.  Plus I don't have to make breakfast, lunch, or snacks the following few days. As long as they have glasses of milk, they are ordered to eat it all so that the buckets don't languish, every sneaking Tootsie Roll ruining lunches for days.

2.)  Drink wine.  Nectar of the gods.  We were taught that Jesus drank "new wine," certainly not fermented alcohol, and the licensure contract for the Assemblies of God required a signature whereby we agreed to abstain from alcohol.  No more.  We choose; we enjoy; we thank God for luxuries.  My favorite is to sip a glass of red wine while cooking dinner.  Gets me in touch with my 1/4 Italian.

3.)  Enjoy secular art.  My salvation is neither in question nor jeopardy if I appreciate art from unbelievers, or different-believers.  If something is good, true, and beautiful; if something draws me outward and upward, then I can thank God for talent, regardless of the artists' religion.  No guilt.

 4.)  Recite rote prayers.  Such a weight lifted when I no longer had to create my own prayers.  As a brand new Catholic, it felt like cheating if I read someone else's words, but I was healed of that problem right quick.  Catholic prayers, even when prayed all alone and for personal reasons, always contain an element of community, witnessed by the many inclusions of plural pronouns like we and us.  The Communion of Saints is a consoling component of the Faith, and something I'm deeply grateful to be able to point my kids towards.

5.)  Have all the babies I want and help get them to Heaven.  No need to pretend that there's anything more important or spiritual or grave.  Or delightfully fun!  My ministry is husband, home, children and it is full-time  ("Full-time ministry" is the pinnacle of protestant sprirituality and pride.).  The world is God's and we use our fearfully and wonderfully made selves to know Him and to make Him known (Halleluia!).  But I do not carry the weight alone, for my Holy Mother Church makes available much aid. 



So I'm happy to be Catholic for all the theological and historical truth, and for all the little extras that make the journey merry.

Some of the kids on Assumption Day.


Let's be happy and enjoy the world!
Love,  Allison

 

Books and Food

I've fallen into the Rainbow Resource catalog and am unable to speak coherently (Have you seen that thing?  No wonder I've avoided it for so long.  Lawd.).  I'm ordering someone else's plan because I do not want to create my own this year.  I do want to make time for things like cooking well-thought-out meals, cleaning proactively instead of reactively, reminding myself how to play the piano, and taking showers before Ken arrives home.  So I will organize the materials on each child's shelf and answer their brilliant questions in a lilting voice while practicing my scales or reading Chesterton.  It's a good plan.  It'll work. 


That introduction is my excuse for a short post.


What I've got is wonderful, though.  Food and drink it is:
Rees' new favorite shake and my new favorite summer zucchini meal.



TROPICAL SHAKE

1 cup of coconut milk  (Ken gets small cans from Sam's that seem thick like evaporated milk.)
1 cup of OJ
1 cup of frozen mixed fruit (Ours is a blend of strawberries, mangoes, pineapples and peaches.)
A blop of honey (Maybe a tablespoon.)

It's the prettiest pale orange color and he appreciates the fruitiness, as he says he's sick of chocolate and mocha  (Who'd a thunk it?).




ZUCCHINI BAKE

Fill whatever size pan you want with zucchini circles.  Cover with shredded cheese.  Cover with bacon bits.  Bake until desired veggie tenderness, cheesy meltiness and bacon crunchiness.  Add some sort of bread and supper is ready.


I even have Clare do it so that I can continue my path down homeschool catalog insanity . . .

Kidding on the insanity part; this is me.  It is.

Happy weekend.  Happy studying.

 Warmly,  Allison





Life Site News

Life Site News writer Pete Baklinski has written a delightful article telling our story, which I'm going to link to in the About page and the Helpful Links page.  It made me smile and cry; hope you will, too.

Warmly,
Allison

CF Makes Me Weird

I've adopted some weirdnesses over the years that can be credited to CF in the family ~



I say things like, Only two grams of fat?  No good; put it back.  Oh, this one has ten grams of fat; put six in the cart.  Great for the kids' weight but folks in the grocery store think I'm weird.  I kind of enjoy that.

Not enough fat and calories, of course, and you can't put gravy on fruit snacks.

Every time I read a story about someone with physical problems, I make an announcement.  Sometimes I preach.  The lady who contracted the flesh-eating bacteria?  We marvel at her fortitude.  The Florida bar with Tuesday night dances for differently-abled?  Watched the video twice.  This I do as an exposition of the amazing mysteries of life.  I think it's brilliant; my children think it's weird.

When I meet another lady with children with health problems, I want to be BFFs.  Weirds some people out probably, and I do try not to gush, but anyway How old are your kids and how are they doing and who's your doctor and we should definitely get together next week OK?

I 'm not actually this calm.

I am very calm hearing about or even watching medical procedures.  When friends relay to me surgery stories, there is no wincing or OMGs.  When I've had to take kids to the emergency room, I'm cool and helpful   (This has caused trouble for me, though, and a Big Accusation which is a story for another post and because of which I will need to fake faint or something should there be another ER visit.).  Most folks understand.  Some think it's weird.


The sacraments, songs, and prayers of the Church are so strongly meaningful to me, I sometimes feel that I must be the only one.  I am aware that theologically, the Good News is for all, but when you're clapping a coughing child in the middle of the night while swallowing the desire to run away screaming, words like. . .

Do you reject Satan and all his empty promises?
Shepherd me, O God, beyond my fears, from death into life,
Have mercy on us and on the whole world.

. . .console my sad soul and soften my less-than-holy thoughts.  Pure love.  Weird.


You can cease praying for my personality.


Laughing maniacally,
Allison                                                                            

Poetry, not Multiplication.

MY SHIP

By Clare A. Howell

My ship is a well-built ship;

She loves to take a dip.

When the sun's high, her masts reach up to the sky.

The wind fills them, those sheets of white;

The wind, with all its might

Pulls her away from the dock.

The water is her frock.

She lives for it; she was made for the water.

With a bluish light the ocean is lit.

When she plows through the wet sea, white waves wash up to meet her.

All this was simply meant to be.

Clare at work.  Don't ask; I have no idea.

This is my girl in our yard a few days ago, rejecting all other responsibilities because she had a poem idea, I imagine after our family visit to Seward.  Seeing her happily scribbling away confirmed to me that she does have a decent attention span and that she is certainly capable of focusing on a project.  As long as it is not long multiplication or division.  She is only half-way through the 4th grade math book (actually, 2 different ones), refusing to give the puzzle of organizing place-valued ciphers any mental energy lasting more than 5 seconds.  I have (mostly) given up the fight and I (usually) don't mind.  Peace in the home is paramount.  We're homeschoolers, after all, and I'm not supposed to care what the government system says a 10 year old should be able to master.  After all, look at the poems and artwork and photographs and stories she delights in creating.

She took this in B&W with our goofy camera and when I asked her why, shrugged.  "I could just tell it was the right way to do it."

Aren't we all like this?   I cannot manage a daily Rosary or the Divine Office, but I love participating in Holy Mass and beginning our days with family prayers.  My husband refuses to again attempt to read music, but is terrific at taking the kids out survival camping and tackling tough conversations.  Some families are good at fabulous field trips; others are good at evening story time; others are good at stimulating science projects.  If you do all of these things, don't talk to me. 

She is who she is, with talents and troubles.  So am I.  So are you.  Our beloved, now retired priest once told me in Confession, "Your personality was created by God and it is good.  No apologies.  Let's pray for the Holy Spirit to soften the sinful edges.  Still you, but more like Jesus."  God doesn't yell at me because of my concentration troubles and I mustn't yell at Clare because of her mathematical troubles. 

Instead, I publicly celebrate her talents right here on this blog and pray for the sinful edges to soften.  All for the glory of God!

Celebrating Poetry, not Multiplication ~

Love,

Allison

Such beauty; such composition; such . . . art!





Anniversary doodling for us.



                                        

                                              

                                                                   

Alaskan, Catholic, Homeschooling Family with Kids with CF ~

Or, our entire family went camping this weekend.  It dawned on me, while awake and freezing in the tent the second evening because I switched sleeping bags with Clare and she got my down one, that this trip embodied my subtitle, which is My Life.



ALASKAN:

We live in a gorgeous place and when we drive a few hours south to Seward, on Resurrection Bay, it's gorgeous-er (if that's possible).  Behold ~

From the top of Mount Marathon, which Ken, Rees, and John decided to hike/run at the last minute.  Sounded fun, they said.  OK.



Lots of other people thought it'd be a good idea, too, so they asked someone to take this shot.  Thank you, Stranger!



It really was hot, on the washout plain of Exit Glacier, but Ken left his warm-weather clothes at home and Luke wanted to dress like Ken.



This was usually all we saw of Clare: hunched over, staring intently at some small something.  Or running. 



Like a cat, Ian found a patch of sun for the chilly, early morning.  Meow.

CATHOLIC:

One of the children was grounded.  I know, I know, grounded on vacation?  But it was either that, or cancel the whole thing and by golly, I wanted to be close to the ocean because I grew up in SE New England and I missed it.  Here is where it is wonderful to be Catholic.  It packs a whole lotta more punch to answer a belligerent child with, "...because all I care about is the salvation of your eternal soul!" than with, "...because you're rude."  If the salvation prayer, said at 4 years of age guarantees Heaven no matter how disobedient or naughty or rude, than you don't get to yell gently admonish, "Proclivity to venial sin leads to mortal sin and over my dead body are you going to Hell!"  

It all ended up just fine.  Marvelous, really;  all was well about half-way through.  Thank you for your prayers, dear Saints Augustine, Terese, Anne, and Our Blessed Loving Mother!   (See, Catholic again.)

HOMESCHOOLING

When one homeschools loosey-goosey, as we do, a trip like this is golden.  See stuff; exclaim over it; take a photo; ask leading questions even if you don't know the answer; and google more information at home.  I present :

A Stellar's jay, noticed and photographed at Primrose Creek; identified at home with our books.



Exit Glacier's washout plain play led to map-reading and rock-skipping.

Which led to this discovery at home, while looking up the physics of it all:

Bingo!  School.

 WITH CYSTIC FIBROSIS

Oh yes, can't forget CF.

The flutter valve and baby percussor and pills-in-ziplocs and water bottles and applesauce are small enough to fit in any baby carrier or backpack, so easy-squeezy to take care of anywhere.  Rees fired up the van in the early morning and evening in order to plug in a converter and nebulizer for his lung chores.  He and John played cards together.  I no longer ask what in the world they talk about.  It's all good.

*I just realized that I got the order wrong between the subtitle and this post title, but my quiet time here at the computer is over, so oh well.*

Happy Alaskan, Catholic, Homeschooling, CF-ing (That sounds bad, but you know it's not.  Well, it is but you know what I mean...) Summer~

Love, Allison 

In direct defiance of Michelle O's nutritional directives, the Howells toasted Twinkies over our fire.