New Year's Revolution

Yes, revolution. It's not a typo.

Definition: 

rev·o·lu·tionA forcible overthrow of a government or social order for a new system.

Not a resolution, which is supposed to be a commitment to betterment but really ends up being a lame "I wish I was better" with no plan to do so. 

A revolution is exactly what my household (and my life) need.

Every night when I reevaluate my day, I have this feeling I didn't make the best use of my time. I feel stressed and gross and disorganized and generally blah. I've been this way for years. My disorganization is my not-so-secret little secret. Every year I vow things will be different (make a "wish" really, because I have no plan) and every year I fall on my face.

The worst part: Since I've always failed, I have started to think that it's impossible to get my act together. Failure is my new norm.

But now it's different. I've got this great husband and this incredibly cool kid. In short, I'm no longer the center of my own universe. 

General Goal: To make the best of each day, especially my time.

Motivation:

...and the cute guy hiding behind her.

Catholic and Gay

Homosexuality. It's something most of the Catholics I know don't want to talk about because they tend to fall in one of two camps:

1)They feel like the Church is harsh in her teaching that homosexuals should live a celibate lifestyle. Some of their gay friends are some of the most loving people they know. Don't they deserve to love people the way they choose?

2) They understand the Church calls us to be loving towards those struggling with homosexuality, but have bought into society's negative reaction towards homosexuality that it's a disease or something to be feared. They make jokes about it and shy away from interacting with those who are gay because they feel uncomfortable.

I keep trying to write my thoughts on this, for I have many. I think that the following blog post from a young, Catholic, gay man struggling with homosexuality says volumes more than I ever could. I hope it sparks a discussion.

I have heard a lot about how mean the Church is, and how bigoted, because she opposes gay marriage. How badly she misunderstands gay people, and how hostile she is towards us. My gut reaction to such things is: Are you freaking kidding me? Are we even talking about the same church?

When I go to Confession, I sometimes mention the fact that I'm gay, to give the priest some context. (And to spare him some confusion: Did you say 'locker room'? What were you doing in the women's...oh.) I've always gotten one of two responses: either compassion, encouragement, and admiration, because the celibate life is difficult and profoundly counter-cultural; or nothing at all, not even a ripple, as if I had confessed eating too much on Thanksgiving.

Of the two responses, my ego prefers the first -- who doesn't like thinking of themselves as some kind of hero? -- but the second might make more sense. Being gay doesn't mean I'm special or extraordinary. It just means that my life is not always easy. (Surprise!) And as my friend J. said when I told him recently about my homosexuality, "I guess if it wasn't that, it would have been something else." Meaning that nobody lives without a burden of one kind or another. As Rabbi Abraham Heschel said: "The man who has not suffered, what can he possibly know, anyway?"

Where are all these bigoted Catholics I keep hearing about? When I told my family a year ago, not one of them responded with anything but love and understanding. Nobody acted like I had a disease. Nobody started treating me differently or looking at me funny. The same is true of every one of the Catholic friends that I've told. They love me for who I am.

Actually, the only time I get shock or disgust or disbelief, the only time I've noticed people treating me differently after I tell them, is when I tell someone who supports the gay lifestyle. Celibacy?? You must be some kind of freak.

Hooray for tolerance of different viewpoints. I'm grateful to gay activists for some things -- making people people more aware of the prevalence of homosexuality, making homophobia less socially acceptable -- but they also make it more difficult for me to be understood, to be accepted for who I am and what I believe. If I want open-mindedness, acceptance, and understanding, I look to Catholics.

Is it hard to be gay and Catholic? Yes, because like everybody, I sometimes want things that are not good for me. The Church doesn't let me have those things, not because she's mean, but because she's a good mother. If my son or daughter wanted to eat sand I'd tell them: that's not what eating is for; it won't nourish you; it will hurt you. Maybe my daughter has some kind of condition that makes her like sand better than food, but I still wouldn't let her eat it. Actually, if she was young or stubborn enough, I might not be able to reason with her -- I might just have to make a rule against eating sand. Even if she thought I was mean.

So the Church doesn't oppose gay marriage because it's wrong; she opposes it because it's impossible, just as impossible as living on sand. The Church believes, and I believe, in a universe that means something, and in a God who made the universe -- made men and women, designed sex and marriage from the ground up. In that universe, gay marriage doesn't make sense. It doesn't fit with the rest of the picture, and we're not about to throw out the rest of the picture.

If you don't believe in these things, if you believe that men and women and sex and marriage are pretty much whatever we say they are, then okay: we don't have much left to talk about. That's not the world I live in.

So, yes, it's hard to be gay and Catholic -- it's hard to be anything and Catholic -- because I don't always get to do what I want. Show me a religion where you always get to do what you want and I'll show you a pretty shabby, lazy religion. Something not worth living or dying for, or even getting up in the morning for. That might be the kind of world John Lennon wanted, but John Lennon was kind of an idiot.

Would I trade in my Catholicism for a worldview where I get to marry a man? Would I trade in the Eucharist and the Mass and the rest of it? Being a Catholic means believing in a God who literally waits in the chapel for me, hoping I'll stop by just for ten minutes so he can pour out love and healing on my heart. Which is worth more -- all this, or getting to have sex with who I want? I wish everybody, straight or gay, had as beautiful a life as I have.

I know this isn't a satisfactory answer. I don't think any words could be. I try to make my life a satisfactory answer, to this question and to others: What are people for? What is love, and what does it look like? How do we get past our own selfishness so we can love God and our neighbors and ourselves?

It's a work in progress.


(reposted from Little Catholic Bubble)

Do babies belong in Mass?

It was only a few short months ago that my baby girl would sleep peacefully in my arms during Mass, the background noise comprised of sung Alleluias and dutiful Amens keeping her in a blissful state of sweet sleep. My arms ached after Mass from holding that 13 lb baby for an hour straight. My goodness, it's hard having a baby in Mass, I thought.

Let's fast forward to present day, shall we?

Evie is 9 months + 7 lbs heavier with more baby man power than thought possible. Instead of lulling her to sleep, the choir's song beckons her to sing along. Which she does- with one loud, continuous note that she carries on a full minute after the song is over. I manage to keep her quiet during the Gospel, although I'm not sure it counts since she is crawling up my shoulder while holding onto my face with her baby talons. When I hold her tighter, she flings her body backwards into a stiff arch while simultaneously trying to wriggle down to the floor.

My husband and I try and use the "crying room" as a training tool and take her only when she's really loud and stay until she settles down enough to join everyone in the main church. This tactic backfires when there's a family in there who uses the crying room as a playroom; Evie seems to gain energy from watching the little boy who is crashing his trucks into one another and running around the tiny room.

A few weeks ago she threw a board book that tumbled down the pew and smacked the man kneeling in front of us in the derriere. We gave her some laminated holy cards to hold and she tossed them like boomerangs at the faces of the people behind us. Our pastor has made reference to the newest choir member who shouldn't sing during his homilies.

I initially was inclined to feel frustrated or embarrassed. I know some people think babies don't belong in the congregation and I know I feel strongly the opposite. I know Christ says, Let the little children come to me.  What could I give Evie during Mass that could help her participate in her own way (without that object becoming a projectile)?

One day, Evie and I were banished to the vestibule after she tried to sing her version of "Amazing Grace" during the homily. I brought her over to the stained glass and told her about the colors. As she ran her chubby little hands over the brightly colored glass, suddenly the answer struck me. How do baby's learn? Through the senses.

The design of a church, the format of the Mass and the gestures we make during are not arbitrary. The body affects the mind (and vice-versa). Most people don't have perfect concentration during Mass. It's not an accident that the whole Mass is a sensory learning experience. The stained glass, statues, holy water, incense, ringing bells, singing genuflection, sign of the cross. Visual. Tactile. Auditory. Kinesthetic. Everything draws you back to Christ, to the purpose of being there.

Now when Evie needs a little break from the rest of the congregation, we walk around the back of the church. I let her dip her fingers in the cool holy water and teach her how to bless herself and then to give me a blessing.I've always been a shy singer who stared dumbly into space during the half of the Mass that is sung. I now open my hymnal and participate in my own off- key way while Evie strokes the pages and smiles sweetly at her singing Mama.

This doesn't prevent tantrums or the harmonizing with the choir. But this realization has made me more patient, more focused during Mass. I realize that the biggest cause of my frustration is that I forget the essential thing: She is learning. This is her first time in this world. She doesn't know how things work. It's up to me to teach her. I know that the best way to teach my child anything is to be a good model and to practice, practice, practice (with a big dose a patience!).

When she stretches her neck up to see where the little bell noise is coming from during the Consecration, I whisper in her ear about Jesus and His Body and Blood and His love.

A glimpse into our morning

A glimpse into our morning:

-I bravely reject my usual cup of coffee and vow to get tons accomplished.

-Evie is very interested in petting the cat now and the cat willing comes toward her flailing hand. The cat regrets it as soon as Evie pulls a baby-sized handful of fur out of her back. The walk cats away in pain, only to come back again 2 minutes later for more punishment.

-We started Baby-Led Weaning a few weeks ago. Evie has already tried peaches, bananas (which she loves), avocado (which she likes to use as body paint) and today - cucumber sticks. This is how the cucumber introduction went:
1) I chopped up cucumber into sticks and placed on baby's tray. Baby ignored cucumber for 20 minutes while she smiled at me sweetly.
2) Baby decides to "sing" at the top of her lungs for 10 minutes.
3) Baby finally picks up cucumber. She holds it below her mouth and gingerly takes a lick. Makes a funny face.
4) Baby holds cucumber like a microphone below her mouth and continues to sing.
5) Baby throws cucumber onto kitchen floor.

Obviously, BLW is a process.

-I put down baby so I can use the bathroom. Baby swats at my legs until I pick her up.

-It's 10:12 am. I'd like some coffee please.

Six months.

Today I made garlic bread with a spread that had partially hydrogenated soybean oil in it. I'm sad that it was so tasty.
Yesterday I ate at Texas Roadhouse. Don't ask me how many times I've been there this month.
And the day before that my little girl turned six months. SIX. MONTHS.

How did this:

turn into this:

She's already driving, for Pete's sake.

I hope you know that I'm joking. I hope you also know those are my husband's hands and not a massive growth on her thighs.

I'm getting a little sad as I order her convertible car seat. It's just another reminder of how quickly she's growing. Plus, I was building awesome arm muscles carrying her in and out of the car in the infant one.

Just look at how tall she is!

I've loved every stage. I loved her as a little bitty helpless infant who ate every 45 minutes. I loved her as a 3 month old learning how to giggle and who ate every 2.5 hours. I love her as a 6 month old who has decided she would like to relive her youth by, again, eating every 45 minutes (seriously, is there a 6 month growth spurt?)

I feel so honored to take care of this amazing little girl who already can light up a room with her smile and has a seriously great sense of humor. I look at her and I feel so lucky. I'm not going to lament for her newborn days or wish she would grow up faster and get past this "stage". I'm just enjoying the ride.

My only hope is that her life is incredibly full and that she is deliriously joyful.

And that she stays in footie pajamas a little longer.

No one can be upset when the little person who wakes them up 95 times a night is wearing footie pajamas.

...and we're back!

In the famous words of Ricky Ricardo, I suppose I have some "'splainin'" to do about my posting absence.

In brief: I got a bad case of "I don't want people to read my stuff and misinterpret me" itis.

Which is about as silly as saying "I don't want to speak ever again because I don't want people to misinterpret me."

It's a rather acute case, but I'm taking medication in the form of humility and long bike rides and am on the road to recovery.

That's why this blog is called "the business of becoming" and not "the business of perfection".

Since the baby is sleeping on her daddy and I have the opportunity to shower, I'll be brief

Baby is sleeping not in my arms for more than 20 minutes. I thought it was time for a quick update:

-Some cutie got baptized this week. A family friend made her gown out of my wedding dress. She looked like a princess.

-Our herb garden is absolutely exploding. I can make enough pesto for a year with our enormous basil plant. And I can make enough of something else for a year with whatever you make out of cilantro and fennel.

-Celebrity Apprentice is phenomenal.

-Can someone please teach me how to have a clean house, healthy home-cooked meals, a hobby of my own, folded laundry and maybe work from home while taking care of a baby who only wants to snuggle, eat and issue heart-melting smiles? Or maybe just to have two hands so I can sweep my kitchen and write long overdue thank you cards...

Not that I'm complaining about the great job I have. I just want to know how to do it better. How do you strike balance as a mom? Comment away!