edelightful time

I see what I did there.

So, background. I don't really talk much, unless I've had a chat or two with Sailor Jerry or Deep Eddy and then I'll heart-to-heart your sweet little ears right off your head and into a giant hole in the ground where they will hide forever and ever, amen, because do I really know that much about homeschooling and fashion and Creighton and that latest library book I loved and for the love of goodness, woman, just shut it already.

So lo and behold, I strangely find myself, on Friday night, in downtown Austin, walking up to a woman wearing crazy shoes, and asking if she was going to Edel. She wasn't and why was I looking at her feet? Next group. Thankfully the slew of babes strapped to their mama's fancy dresses were a dead giveaway and I didn't implode from embarrassment a second-go-around. I joined the herd and made intros all around. Mamas from Florida, Ohio, California. Mamas with a first child blessedly on the way, with two, seven, eleven missing them at home. Mamas who are only mamas in their hearts and in their souls and pray for a child to bless their families.

I found myself in a room, dressed to the nines (sans crazy shoes because this summer. Y'all.) and small-talking with lovely Catholic mamas from all over the country. The thing is, I'm awkward and I can't small-talk very well. My husband and I lament our time at social gatherings because we just can't small-talk. We have been blessed with some, dear, dear, dear friends, with whom we feel like family rather than friends, but beyond that, acquaintances? They aren't many and crowding a room.

I think I've mentioned a time or two hundred on here that we recently moved to Austin. What I haven't mentioned is that it's hard and we're isolated and we're still looking to plug into the Catholic homeschooling community in the area. We have a background of some great places and communities that we've lived in and moving here wasn't at the top of our list. But it was God's Will - oh, the story behind that! It was Our Good Lord's Will, beyond a doubt.

But meeting people for me is like....well, if it were a cocktail, it'd be called a Michael Scott with a twist of Dwight Schrute, shaken, not stirred, extra cherries for that moment you trip and fall and spill it all over your white dress. It just ain't pretty, y'all. I'm naturally shy and unless you fall into the age group of 0-6 years or 75+, you can't drag a decent conversation out of me.

So I rallied with Deep Eddy and walked into the room and did my best at small talk. It was awkward and painful and I wondered if I should even go back the next day, but for the money, yeah, I was going back the next day. I packed a book in my purse, though, in case I decided to run away and find a coffee shop and hide out and just tell my husband I went and loved it and thank you for spending that much on me.

Darling Miss Hallie Lord intro-ed our day with a delightful welcome and she said words that reverberated with more than just me, judging from the sniffles and elbow injuries caused from whipping out Kleenex too quickly from our purses. She said that when she prayed about her talk, only seven words burrowed deeply into her heart and wouldn't leave.

It is good that you are here. 

I wasn't alone in feeling overwhelmed with life, of looking at the vastness of all that my life is and should be and could be and feeling like I needed to take a nap because of the utter exhaustion of holding it all up on my shoulders.

As with any good that is about to happen, the devil tries to find a foothold to prevent grace and holiness from encouraging our souls toward sanctity. And this summer was one in which he tried so very hard and so often succeeded. Death touched our lives seven times this summer. Seven. times. And these deaths have spanned from precious newborns to precious elderly; from natural death to brutal murder. And it's been hard to bear. The enormity and constancy of the crosses given to me and to my family over the last few weeks were truly ones I felt I couldn't carry another day.

And when I feel that isolated, I want to hole up. There were so many times in recent weeks that I thought I would just peace out on and I'd cut my losses. Because another life change! Another hurdle! I just needed sleep. And probably some chocolate.

And it was good I didn't listen to his whisperings to not go. It was good that I was there.

The snapshots of life that I see on social media didn't match the faces of the women I met that day. There were no perfect crafts or impeccable schoolrooms; no organic meals or fresh goat's milk. I didn't see any mother wondering why I only have two children and still feel like I'm drowning most days. I saw a medley of women brought together for one reason - we were as lonely and isolated and lost as the women sitting next to us.

It was stressed throughout the weekend the the world is not friendly toward Catholic motherhood. And it's not. I get heart palpitations when I have to tell our neighbors that no, our daughter won't be joining your daughter down the street in school next year. And no, we don't let our girls watch that TV show because I don't fancy a millstone around my neck (holla Matthew 18:6). And absolutely no, we do not believe in contraception. I verbally stumble when I answer where I work and why there's a giant statue of Our Blessed Mother outside our home. And when I try to explain why my children are shouting "get behind me, Satan" as we peruse the HEB and a, ahem, less than conservatively-dressed person walks by - hey, we live in Austin, at least my kids aren't chanting it regularly, as they could be.

It ain't easy, but then again, it never was. We just had armies of us in neighborhoods back in the day, rather than isolated bases spread across the battlefield. Culture has regressed with the progression of technology and luxury and we, as Catholic parents, are feeling the fallout.

It is heavy on our hearts and souls that we are not called to raise the next generations of bankers, lawyers, or stockbrokers, but the future generation of the Church Militant and Triumphant. And we will do and sacrifice whatever it takes for us to do that. And oftentimes, that means that we mamas are privileged to stay at home, but too oftentimes, it means that we mamas are privileged to stay at home, without a car, or the means to find and join groups of other Catholic mothers. And this aside from the fact that there aren't many folks who welcome the vast number of little ones that accompany mothers wherever they go.

Marion shared St. Augustine's prayer from Confessions with us after Hallie's talk.

Lord, do not let the darkness speak to me.

That prayer, aside from friendship, was the reason I think God blessed me with Edel.

I, along with, what? 90% of other mothers in this world, struggle with anxiety.

It's mah Facebook pic.

And all that is, is letting the darkness speak to me. That I will fail, that my kids will fail, that we will all just implode in a giant puddle of failure. What are we failing at? I don't know, but we're failing.

I went to hear that I cannot let the darkness speak to me and I cannot stop it myself, so I have to beg God for the grace. And that grace will oftentimes come in the form of a friend. Or many friends, even if they live afar.

Jen said this weekend was about throwing open the doors of the famed cathedral, in which we, as mothers, are the invisible workers. That God has answered the silent groans of our hearts and has flooded the cathedral with workers.

The reason we feel isolated here in this grand ole liberal mecca of Texas known as Austin isn't because we stick out like a throbbing thumb in the culture here, but because we weren't opening the doors of our domestic church and inviting people in. We were waiting for knocks (after which we would happily invite you in for some stale chips and lukewarm water because we are, after all, being honest). But guess what, Melanie? The giant statue of Our Most Blessed Mother standing guard at our front door wasn't a signal to the Catholic Homeschooling Families of The Great Austin Metro Area that we're new and Catholic and please be our friends; it was a sign to our neighbors that we're the crazy Catholics next door, so maybe they should stay away.

I had to learn to be brave and honest and open. There is a time to ponder events and thoughts in our hearts (the side on which I always err) and a time to open up and dance with the stranger next to you (the side on which I erred this weekend). And it was fun and needed and only took one glass of red.

And the best part of the weekend? The jumbo screen with live feeds of the tweets the Edel Widowers were sending in. Apologies to Marion, Haley, and Jenny. The husbands were just too funny and I did, indeed, get distracted by the hilarity ensuing on Twitter.

#edelwidower gold right here.

It wasn't all heady and serious and tears, just...a lot of it. Saturday night was filled with laughter and dancing and fun. Things got started after Kelly did her now famous karaoke and sweet robot dance moves that shocked the nation. Or just the DJ's who thought we were all boring Catholic moms.

This wasn't the Lyceum.

Think again guys. These mamas were cool before we had kids (or, rather, some of us were, some of us prefer coolness to heat, which is almost the same thing, so it still counts.).

I believe the DJ on his Facebook page entitled a similar photo as, "I love my job. Nothing but cougars." Confused? I was, too. 

Wrecking 'em, in the midst of the Aggie fight song..

Heather and I kept running into each other in awkward places, like the bathroom, so we decided to be friends instead of awkward acquaintances. Open the cathedral doors, ladies.

"Mama knows you're awkward, honey child" is what I'm pretty sure she was whispering to me at the time.

I ran into Abby J Saturday night, too. She immediately asked me why my Assistant AG husband hadn't contacted her so they could put him to work on the legal side of the pro-life movement. I nervously laughed and asked her to take a picture with me instead of answering.

Austin Catholic mamas really DO exist!

I met Rebecca, the nicest lady ever, who has the strangest tale about her precious ten-year old daughter being unable to walk anymore. Of course I ran home and I looked up her blog and read all about it on Friday night. We discovered that we both have German husbands who have similar physical qualities. It was an immediate bond and many discussions ensued about the pros and cons of plastic surgery on a six-year old to prevent the cycle from continuing.

Wives of German husbands club. And why did I pull back and give myself a double-chin? This is why I don't do selfies. 

Then there was this lady. I'm pretty sure there isn't an atheist or Catholic breathing who don't know of her (side note: I seriously took about four attempts at spelling atheist. Good or bad thing that I can't spell that word? Go jury it up for me, please.).  She's sweet enough to introduce me as her friend and I'm sweet enough to ask for photographic evidence that we've cross paths a few times.

She bent her knees and I stood on my tiptoes. We already understand each other.

So there's this darling gal and her name is Hallie. And she loves Holy Mother Church, her teachings on marriage, fashion, and all things vintage. And I'm a fan. And I took a fangirl photo with her. I'm not ashamed (okay, I kind of am, but I wasn't above it).

Again with the self-imposed terrible selfie chin. Gah.

The lady, the legend, Nicole. I've heard her name for years and she knows fifty percent of people I know, but we've. never. met. And then I finally awkwardly tapped her shoulder on Friday night and said, "Um, are you Nicole?" And proceeded to mispronounce her last name and have a great heart-to-heart about fertility and Creighton and mutual friends. And turns out, she knew who I was, too, so it was exponentially less awkward.

#opendemcathedraldoors

And last, but certainly not least, was the two-fold awkward moments I had with this lovely lady. I read her blog, but not really consistently because I gave up reading blogs for Lent and then my computer didn't work and I lost my very technologically-advanced bookmark at the top of the Safari screen. So - I didn't recognize her. But I did swoon over her adorable baby girl with a FULL head of gorgeous hair and stopped to chat about her wee one (it's what Catholic mothers do, y'all). I realize later, after she's, I don't know, emceeing the event, who she is and then casually mentioned to her that, oh hey, sorry I didn't recognize you, but you have a cute baby and a funny blog!

After dancing awkwardly (on my part) next to her to some ridiculous rap song (thanks DJ A-Wall), I tell her that I haven't ever danced outside a two-step before and that my husband would absolutely not believe me. She then shared that it's a genetic trait in her family to raise the roof, white person-style. So then I share that we kind of "pick potatoes" awkwardly because that's all we Irish folks are good at. So then we broke it down again, sweet little Genevieve strapped to her mama's chest and sweet little Melanie, dancing like a crazy potato-picking white person. It was a moment to behold and ask for all present to destroy any evidence of.

So nice to have met a fellow Irish white dancer.

And everything kind of just laid low until Ylvis started asking all these homeschooling mothers questions about foxes and Heather just broke it down completely for him:

And finally the ladies of the hour got to celebrate all their hard work, hilly-downtown-Austin induced sweat, and hormonal tears by busting out some sweet moves.

It truly was good that we were there.