Happy New Year, 2014!

   Here is what I wrote for ACNM this week about my quest to live in the present,  Wishing you and yours a very blessed New Year, and the strength and courage to endure all which may challenge and inspire you in 2014!

Writing blog

I am moving my writing over to a blog which will be called Beata Vita and I would love it if you could follow me there, too!  My mama-jules blog will still be for family chronicles.  Thank you so much for visiting us on the web!

What happens to a dream deferred?

Writing has been a dream of mine since I first graffitied the walls of my sister's bedroom with a green crayon. In any group of which I've been a part, any position I've held, any event I've organized....I have gravitated to the aspect of that role which allows me to write. If I could rewind time, I'd ignore every person who told me I'd never make any money and instead focus on those people who told me it was most important to do what you love. 

A few years ago, I pressed pause on a promising Master's degree in Counseling and took an interview to write features for a local publication. After writing for three years, I still stumble over the admission that I am a writer. At first I thought I'd only feel comfortable admitting it once I was published.  Then I thought I'd only feel comfortable once I was paid. As it turns out, I'd probably feel more comfortable sky-diving in a tornado while holding five rattlesnakes than admit that I am "writer." No, I am far more comfortable saying I'm writer in the works.

Writing is a bit tricky in our world today when every goldfish swimming in a fish bowl has their own blog and the definition of "published" is a moving, ever-changing target. The pressure to stand out as creative and strong, authentic and not cliche is more than ever, to me. Just gathering my writing samples, updating my resume and trying to understand what a "media specialist" means is almost enough to make me reconsider. Recently I decided not to approach my writing so formally as a career, but to "find where your gifts and your passions intersect" as my wise mother told me years ago.  I realized that if I have anything to offer the world, if God truly did give me the gift of writing, then I must only write what He finds useful for me to say. Also, I need to stop writing run-on sentences.*

My recent decision to begin writing in my own voice has taught me something critical already....  creativity can not be commanded, only inspired. I am grappling with this, since my insights have a tendency to show up unannounced and only when I have a half-melted crayon and a children's bulletin within arm's reach.

Thank you for following me in this dream. I am not sure where it might lead but I hope to make it worth your while.

*Note to self: find some editor friends willing to work pro-bono. Supply plenty of wine so they will be totally honest.

White flag

The other night, my husband took the boys to karate and I stayed home with our toddler to get a head start on dinner so it would be hot and ready when they returned. This is our normal procedure and works beautifully normally.

Realizing that hot dogs were on the menu by special request and our toddler was occupied, I thought I'd try to send out some writing samples while the house was relatively quiet.

We all know how difficult it is to maintain a train of thought and form a complete sentence with children around, so I'm not exactly sure why I thought this was a good idea. But I stubbornly persisted. Several times I stood up to rescue our 22 month old from rifling through cupboards and standing precariously on stools, and then I would sit back down to piece together my thoughts.

When I heard the sound of water pouring, I tuned it out. When I connected that it would have to be the science experiment our eldest son had left out, I jumped up to take care of it and returned to resuscitate my fledgling paragraph. 

Shortly after that was when the miniature fall gourds started to be thrown at me from some undisclosed location. Stubbornly, I persisted. But the breaking point was inevitable. I calmly sat our toddler down with some books in his room, finished my paragraph, picked up the placemats from the table that he had scattered on the floor, and broke down in to tears.

I proceeded into my litany of mumbling self pity/prayer...."why.....why....whhhyyyy!!! I never ask for anything for myself. All I want to do is write a few paragraphs that might help someone else! Why is it so hard? " and I allowed myself to come completely unglued, a luxury I rarely afford myself.

And softly as always, God's patient wisdom answered me in silence. The way only He can hold a mirror to my face so that I can reveal the answer to my own questions. "Yes," He said. "Why, why, why. So that you would come to Me. You can not do this on your own."  I knew this to be true, and my sniveling was quieted. Only You can bless and multiply my efforts, my sweet Lord. Please forgive me for my foolishness and pride. I know I can do nothing good without You.

I surrender to Your perfect wisdom.


(But did it have to be gourds?)

Our Own People

As we set off on the open road, we sat in an awkward silence, still in disbelief that we had actually left home. We kept looking over our shoulders, as if any moment the police would discover us and pull us over for abandoning our children. 

For one night, that is, with their grandmother, while we took our very first overnight anniversary trip.

It felt criminal. Both of us were trying to silence the voices in our heads saying "you know, you could just stay home, rent a movie, get take out....think of the money we could save...besides, we don't really need a break from the kids, we live for the kids." Feeling ambivalent and mostly forced to do this by one another, we had a hard time convincing ourselves we were really GOING.  5 miles away from home already felt like Timbuktu. But yet we were compelled to press forward, continuing to feel so strange in this car with the absence of little feet tapping the backs of our seats and the intermittent high pitched squeak- sequence for no apparent reason. We still had the vestiges of crushed cheerios on the floorboards and the happy ballads of Laurie Berkner to remind us of who we really were, just in case we forgot.

The strangely quiet country drive carried on, and thirty cow pastures later it occurred to us that we could listen to our OWN music for a change. We indecisively bounced back and forth between Joao Gilberto and Michael Jackson and the Pretenders and Pink Floyd.  As the miles mounted on the odometer and we got lost in the music that we once knew, we quickly stepped back in time and become two totally different people. People who could make a spontaneous stop to take pictures of oddly fascinating outdoor sculptures. People who could afford to deliberate for twenty minutes about what they wanted to order at  gorgeous, gourmet restaurants, where reading the menu descriptions was almost more fun than consuming the food. People who could explore a historic bed and breakfast for as long as their curiosity desired. People who could swim in a natural, spring-fed pool which seemed bottomless, until we were freezing and pruney and starved. People who could stay up all night drinking champagne at a piano lounge and not worry about waking up at 6 am. People who gaze into each other's eyes and finish a profound thought or a sentence without being interrupted five times. People who could be decadently aimless and not have a care in the world. It was almost like being in Never Neverland, being able to forget a world of responsibilities and schedules, of dishes and laundry, of mowing the lawn and taking out the trash.

But it was the memory of those little, sweet faces that put our feet back on the earth, those little beings for whom we gladly pour out our lives. Our most precious investments not only in our future, but the world's future. Our greatest contributions to the human race. Our meaning of life. Our purpose in life. Suddenly the transition back to real life was not as abrupt as we had expected.

We may not be the free agents we once were, our identities are much more complex now. But we do know that beneath the layers of who we are now, we are still our own people, and it feels sublime to remember that when we have the chance.

The Guardians of Time

It is possible that I am delusional enough that I see myself as a superhero, who is shielding her family from a gigantic unstoppable time-eating Monster on a daily basis. If you're picturing it, I'm wearing red, since red is my power color. Also, you can imagine some jewel encrusted arm cuffs and boots. Fierce and fabulous, right?

The greedy time-eating Monster doesn't realize he is my adversary, because it's just who he is by nature.  It's just that I made an oath years ago to guard my family from him while time is still on my side.

When I was growing up, Saturdays were family days since we all went to school during the week and Dad traveled often. We typically were not allowed to run off to neighbor's homes, our parents kept a pretty close watch on us. After practicing the piano and doing a chore or two, it was time to go play tennis together or go to the library. Often Dad would take us to a cool festival, or performance. And occasionally someone's friend who couldn't be shaken off the door step would tag along and be the unwilling recipient of a cultural experience.

We can look back and laugh about memories of friends who would come over and knock on the door, and ask "what's going on in there? why can't you come out and play?" Typically we'd respond "Can't yet," because it was easier than explaining that we were taking dictation, reading the newspaper or playing "spin the globe and spell that country by memory." Is that a real game? Please lie to me if it's not. Yes, Nintendo was probably more fun. But 30 years later I can thank my parents for teaching me the value of contentedness at home, with learning how to occupy myself if I felt bored, and not feeling lost in the presence of a quiet moment.

Even though we were each involved in music and at least one sport, my memories of weekends  revolve around being at home, or out with family. Sunday Mass was the culmination of our time together. As we got older of course, this was not always the case as activities inevitably kicked up the pace of life. We weren't perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but our parents somehow figured out (even if by trial and error) how to teach us the value of our faith and family life.

We weren't deprived. We played four square, rode bikes in aimless circles, watched our share of Disney movies and had sleep overs (after much persuasion) with the neighborhood kids. Dad was able to fly us to Europe multiple times because of frequent flyer miles. But our identity came from our home life. I look back and realize this was their way of keeping us all together in a world that can easily, and unintentionally, pull families apart. Community is so important, but our children need us just as much. It is empowering for us as parents to realize our children love us just as we are, they just want our time.

As my husband and I raise our children, we feel ourselves being pulled off the ground by so many  worthy invitations to be involved in activities. But somewhere deep inside there is this persistent truth that wells up and grounds me, reminding me that our time together is the most precious commodity we have. Quality time will lead us to a deeper understanding of love, sacrifice and community, and enrich our experience of what it means to be whole people. And if the kids grow up and willingly come back to see us at Thanksgiving, we can congratulate ourselves then on a job well done.

I may never defeat the time-eating Monster, nor perhaps should I.  What I hope to do instead is keep him at bay and in the process, teach our kids how to be their own time guardians one day.

Happy Mother's Day and my meaning of life

                                        
As a little girl, I always knew the one thing I wanted to do more than anything else was to be a mother. Sounds cliche, but growing up in an academic family, it was just as important to be intelligent and successful as it was to be family-oriented. I grew up in a community where women sought out professions and were not often married before 30, let alone procreating. So, I grew up figuring I'd "do it all."

Well, in time I've realized - for me personally - I can't do it "all," at least not well enough for my standards. I am building a career at a much slower rate than I had expected (okay, so what if snails are passing me?), but what has changed for me over time is that I have complete confidence in saying that "achieving" motherhood and living that calling out to the best of my ability will be my greatest accomplishment, my crowning glory.

Of course there's nothing which is seemingly glorious as I look back on the last 7 years of my motherhood, as I picture how many poopy diapers I have changed, how many sleepless nights I have had, how many storybooks I have read one-hundred times over, how many mornings I've spent at the EXACT SAME PARK, how many times I've broken up a fight and shouted "stop jumping on the couch!" or "keep your hands to yourself!".... or the two-trillion times I've nursed a baby to sleep or flew a little boy to bed like an airplane, or like superman...how many legos I've picked up (and stepped on, screaming simultaneously), how many times I've missed phone chats with friends, and cleaned up milk spills and dried wet little heads after baths. Oh! And the tantrums! It's true they seem to get easier with time, or maybe it's just we who improve.

Many times I've wondered what I'm missing "out there" and what it would be like for one day to be "at work" instead of hanging out on Sesame Street.

But then I smile as I think about how many every day moments I've shared with the best people in the world, to me...my kids! And the friends who have sustained me and lifted me up, taught me, encouraged me and strengthened me - the bonds which I hold dear. And I think about how much our children have changed me, and taught me...about patience, forgiveness, trust, compassion, HUMILITY....in only 8 short years, what I have learned about myself and others, about the love of God, about the meaning of life...how much more I have to learn about the seasons of life. There will be time for everything to happen which is meant to happen.

There's no getting around it....the Sesame Street days aren't always easy. But something worth doing is never easy, and I would not want to be anywhere else. Nothing in the world is more important to me, and there is so much more to come. I fully realize how blessed I am to be a part of this journey with these three miraculous creations which God has given to Bronius and I.  It has taken time for me to let go of not mastering a career at this point in my life but to instead celebrate that I'm straight up PROUD of what I've accomplished in motherhood!

There's a crown all right, even though it may be made out of paper mache or twigs and leaves. It's mine, and it's definitely glorious.

Tomorrow we celebrate Mother's Day, and we will honor our two beautiful mothers who have given us life, all of the mothers in our families and amongst our dear friends, our Blessed Mother Mary who brings us to close to the sacred heart of her son Jesus, and all women who give life to the world in so many ways. Thank you God, for my own Mom, who spent many days living patiently on Sesame Street and who taught me how to give my all. Thank you for my sacrificing husband who has made me a mother, teaches me daily, makes me laugh always and who aids me in all that I do. Thank you for my wonderful 3 sons Lord, and for the gift of my vocation, my very highest purpose in life - please help me to be worthy of the name "Mom!"

Happy Mother's Day!!!