7 Quick Takes: in which I have nothing of interest to report again

One

My first take was going to be about Kelly's sweet boy and getting him a sweet new ride for the beach. But Catholic generosity blows me away and donations were so forthcoming that the goal was surpassed and Bonnie shut it down.

Soo....

What I'm saying is finding seven things to quick take about is hard and I'm leaving it.

Two

I've lost all sense of self-identity this week. 

I worked out. And by worked out, I mean I biked for about 2 minutes and 48 seconds and did squats until it hurt (so we're looking at a timeframe of about half a squat). 

I don't even know myself anymore. And I can thank Danielle Bean and her fun little book Momnipotent that I got from Edel. I've been poolside each afternoon this week and she compelled, inspired, and guilted me into exercising. 

Let's see how long this will last, shall we? I'll give you a hint of my bet:

Three

Our inexperienced homeschooling family is starting our well-respected and established co-op in one week from today. One week. In one week, I will be flying around the house like a maniac trying to figure out how mothers who send their children to traditional schools (eh....less traditional schooling? because home education is the more widely-used form of education if you're looking at the macrocosm of social history?) do it every. single. morning. Kids getting dressed and us leaving the house before nine am? What sorcery is this? 

Four

I stumbled upon this link this week, probably a week or so later than the rest of the online world. But in case your head was buried in sand or curriculum shopping, here it is for your reading pleasure.

I often (always) find myself saying, "we only have two so far." I recently met one sweet mother of eleven and when she asked if I had any children, I answered my typical "only two" response. She stopped and gently put her hand on my arm and said, "dear, you don't only have two, you have two." I told her that Joseph and I so desperately want more children and then when we married, we expected to be the parents of a dozen children - we told everyone that we would happily take however many children God would deem fit to send our way. This mother reminded me that two is what He's given us.

It was such a small gesture on her part, but I've thought about it a lot.

I'm objectifying my babies!

The lady that wrote the article went to Edel, as well, and probably encountered more than one mama who feels guilty and sad about having few children. In conversations there and after, I've found that there are many Catholic mothers who reluctantly bear the title, "Mother of Only..." and struggle with feeling caught between the world and the Church.

I'm going to make a concerted effort to recognize that, at least for now, God has deemed me fit to be a mother of two little girls (and one precious wee one we didn't have a chance to meet) and only those little souls. 

Who's with me on not introducing myself as "I'm Melanie-and-we-don't-believe-in-contracepetion-contrary-to-what-my-family-size-may-suggest." It was awkward rolling off my tongue anyway.

Five

I'm getting to do a really fun review next week and I'm hoping if I get enough feedback that I'll be able to get y'all a discount code or do a giveaway in the future. So, stop by next week to see some mediocre photos of some really great products! And comment it up so we can hopefully do a giveaway!

Six

It feels weird blogging about fairly unimportant (or actually completely unimportant of you take note of the second take) when so much suffering is going on in the Middle East. Please just write yourself a sticky note, tie a string around your finger, or Siri up a reminder to pray for these poor, suffering souls. I think Heaven is handing out many a martyr's crown lately. 

Seven

On that note, I'm out to go elbow and tackle some people out of my way while I back-to-school shop. Technically, back to school for us was three weeks ago, but I'm never one to turn down a good deal and a weekend free of tax. I'm willing to splurge one dollar on ten bottles of glue (10 cents, y'all. Ten cents.) and fight a few frenzied mothers to be a well-prepared educator.

Once again, visit Jen for better quick takes. 

in which i battle my inner bruce banner and dowager countess

So this weekend was great. It was the first weekend in many a weekend that we haven't had anything on the agenda.

(Sidenote: can you tell I started this on Monday? It's only Thursday. Consider my back patted for my timeliness.)

In a strange turn of events, my parents invited us to go to a bar with them on Sixth Street. The last time we were on Sixth Street is when my remarkable navigational skills ended us smack dab in the middle of the Keep Austin Weird Poster Children convention. Insert locking of the car doors now.

We played shuffleboard, as any healthy thirty-year olds would do on their Friday night and were home in time for our 10pm bedtime roll call. I call that a win-win-win.

On Saturday, we decided to be spontaneous and invite some friends over. Usually the minutes that follow the breaching of that subject resemble the fallout of Waterloo, complete with emotional exile for my poor saintly husband. I become some kind of hybrid crossbreed between Bruce Banner and the Dowager Countess. I want everything to be perfect and lovely and hospitable and I want it like that right this very giant hulking green second.

But this weekend was different.

How, you ask?

As it turns out, cleaning schedules aren't awful.

Contrary to my free-spirited-cleaning former self, I've been sticking to a cleaning schedule. And encouraging (does that sound better than enforcing?) the girls to follow the one I set out for them, as well. Try not to be floored with my acquired fortitude.

Don't be fooled by these sudden leaps and bounds in the domestic arts. I still panicked because we had no food in the house worthy of being fed to guests. And the above shot is clearly from a computer because we ran out of ink a month ago and I keep forgetting to order more. And since I'm one of those people that will add an item to a to-do list after I've done it just so I can mark it out, you can rest easily tonight knowing I will back-print these lesson plans and daily chore sheets so I can mark off all that we've done over the last month.

Aaaaaand any other subject for 500, Alex.

Gist of my really long story is: find a cleaning schedule that works for your family and you'll be light and happy forever and ever (and possibly won't turn into the Balrog when your husband suggests having a fun and fancy-free evening in with friends).

The above planner is the result of hard work by my husband.

Correction, the above planner is the hard work of myself. It probably took me three hours. When I showed Joseph, he duplicated the exact same thing, only better, in about forty-five seconds. I hate/love him.

This is the result of Joseph's hard work.....

....that I somehow messed up. Notice all the little scary triangles with exclamation points in them? July - the calendar Joseph created for me - didn't have that. Then I decided on an impulse that I would help Joseph out and just quick make the August calendar (again, no ink...why bother?). A couple of little clicks, a few keystrokes, a few neglected kids and hours later (let's be honest) - bam. A calendar filled with terrifying triangles judging me on my computer skills. I'm thankful to know that I just have to show Joseph and we'll laugh a little! We'll talk a little! We'll share a drink and toast! And then he'll fix what I messed up and then redo the entire month of August.

We decided to create this little planner for our homeschooling whims and needs so I can have a paper trail to prove that I haven't completely messed up my children. I had hopes of buying a wonderful Catholic one to remind this well-intentioned-but-forgetful mother of upcoming feast days, novenas needing to be said, and intentions I've promised to pray for, alongside our academic and family obligations. And then I saw the price tag and added that cost to the cost of co-ops and curriculum and my heart fluttered a parting wave to the planner and I told Joseph to go ahead and just work his magic and make me one.

This one includes a monthly calendar (as pictured above, sans scary triangles) with daily and monthly prayer intentions, feast days according to both the modern and traditional calendars (we party like we're Catholic around here); a daily schedule for more detailed planning; lesson plans for each child (as pictured above the above) that has space for our daily chore check-list, a weekly cleaning schedule,  and each child's chore checklist; an attendance sheet so I can prove that we done did school for 180 days, Texas.

I have hopes of including a printed-out set of morning and evening prayers, novenas for each month's feast days, a meal-planning sheet, and a household management section (which will include all or probably none of the following: passwords, frequently-used business information, clothing sizes, etc.). I'll have a binder that I'll put it all in and frequently kiss and pet because its just so beautiful. And all my homeschooling woes will fly right out the window into the clouds that I'm prancing upon when thinking of this planner.

So, Joseph will get right on that for me. Right after we order ink.

seven quick takes: prayers for the middle east, tips for success in homeschooling and making friends

One

Please remember to pray for the persecuted Christians in the Middle East. The Priestly Fraternity of Saint Peter, the order which Joseph and I are closely associated with and love dearly, have called for their apostolates to make today, August 1st, a day of prayer. Happy coincidence leaves Joseph able to visit our beautiful FSSP parish in DFW, so he's able to partake in Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament. 

Meanwhile, back on the home front, I fed the kids cake as part of their breakfast, but I didn't eat any, so there's an equal amount of sacrifice and prayer going on here. 

Two

Molly, our oldest (for my new Edel friends), woke up before anyone else in the house today. I found her quietly sitting at the dining room table, fully dressed in a maxi skirt and tucked-in shirt (her mama's sig look), her hair brushed and adorned with bows and hair ties. 

Six is a good age. Parents of younger children, there is a light - a very, very bright one - at the end of the toddler tunnel. 

And it looks like this:

And it is good.

Three

Speaking of the six-year-ex-fetus above, this is beautiful. Pro-abortion advocates simply cannot deny the humanity of a child in the womb. They can deny humanity and personhood to that baby, but they cannot deny that that child is a human. 

Four

One of the Facebook groups I'm in has a thread discussing a book club. 

4.1 - I used to be in a few book clubs and I miss it. Any local takers?

4.2 - I need something that doesn't involve me wanting to curl up and rock back and forth and deny that I ever read the words that have forever been seared into my memory. 

I've been reading Unbroken, can you tell?

The first part of the book is absolutely doable; the story is woven into a fascinating tale and the author makes even the most mundane parts of Louie's life sound incredible. I burned through it. But then he gets to Death Island. And I just can't follow him there. 

I've long since had a problem with reading non-fiction because this stuff really happened to a real life person. I know this is obvious to everyone else in the world, but I just can't seem to remember this fact until I'm living in a perpetual state of anxiety attack; it takes about a day worth of nausea for me to realize I can't dodge the storm cloud hovering over my psyche and the cause is the non-fic sitting before me. Back to my happy lit it is.

Five

Speaking of happy fiction....here's something that borders on fiction, with how infrequently it happened in the last year.

Behold, our school calendar, so craftily put together.

Pintrest domination.

I had ambitious plans, a la Shower of Roses grandeur, to have our calendar background to coordinate with the liturgical year colors, and then I remembered that Jessica Gordon I am not and I just quickly pinned the calendar to a plain old background and patted my crafty little back.

We've done two weeks of school. Two weeks, y'all. I did skip a day because...closets and house blessing....but I made up for it and we finished our first two weeks. Holla at the homeschooling queen. 

Six

I should note that the first two weeks of school are solely focusing on the core subjects (reading, writing, arithmetic, religion) and look like this: 

• Wake up at a decent time
• Eat a decent breakfast
• Let mommy drink a cup of coffee, for the love of all that is holy
• Get dressed and do chores
• Fight over doing chores
• Fight some more over chores
• Finally sit down to study
• No, you can't have a snack
• Get through morning prayers and religion lesson
• (Am I teaching them enough religion? That went really quickly....)
• Start calendar time 
• Grimace that my children still STILL don't know the difference between year and date
• Survive that lesson
• Math lesson that drags on and on and on because the four-year old insists on doing it, too
• Reign in impatience at Saxon 1 because it's teaching the same thing over and over
• Remember that this is foundational math and not beat head against the wall
• Feed the natives lunch
• Clean up from lunch
• Consider a nap and desperately wish for one
• Remember this is real school and get back to it
• Give my children a handwriting worksheet and read them a saint story
• Sing a song and call it music
• Tell my first grader to read to my kindergartner while I hide in a quiet place in the house
• Collapse on couch and convince myself homeschooling is the best option

As you can see, our days aren't hectic and it's probably less than most families do, but we survived two weeks, so shake my hand and pass over the gold medal, because I'm proud. Look for updates on the other fifteen subjects I felt were necessary for our kindergartner and first-grader to learn, as I'm supposed to be starting them next week or so. Emphasis on the so.

Seven

We had our parish priest over (did I mention that seven thousand times?) and he kept asking us if we knew "so and so" and we'd say...."Um, no." After about five of those answers, he said he was determined to get us connected with the Catholic community in the Austin area. He said it's hard to get plugged in, but once we do, we're *in.*

So, connecting us he's doing. I got an email from him the next day, cc'ing half a dozen other families, introducing us to them.

His intentions were good, his intentions were good, his intentions were good.

I already have a reservation on a that hole in which I can hide next Sunday, don't worry.

But props to the parish priest that encourages/forces a congregation to be a family. 

I've long waxed eloquent on our other parish priest (we kind of jump between two parishes...welcome to being a Latin Masser), Fr. Moses, for coming up to a group of us talking after Mass and quietly saying that there is a new family at the parish and we will go introduce ourselves to them, thankyouverymuch (and I think his eyes were giving the subtle hint that this was under pain of severe penance the next time we entered his confessional). I really, really appreciated that from him. And I think the new family did, too. I've been that new family....we are that new family. Vom to being that new family who now has friends. -_-

Check out Jen's post for better quick takes!

five favorites

Linking up with Heather for Five Favorites.


I like to keep my seven readers on their toes and post in random bursts and then disappear for months at a time. It gives y'all an exercise in spirituality - in learning patience. I think St. Ignatius had the same method outlined in his exercises (or I made that up, I've heard it both ways), and seeing as how today is his feast day, I thought I would tip my hat in his general direction.

One

House blessings. We got one. And there is now a blessed-salted line of doom that demons will meet when trying to come across our property line. It's like a spiritual electrical fence, a la Jurassic Park.

Two

This pool. Oh, the summer hours we have spent there. It's shallow enough where my paranoid little heart doesn't jump out of my chest when I can't see my children for .245 seconds and it's deep enough where it challenges the girls to learn how to swim. So far it's slow-going, bless their little own paranoid hearts. I look forward to the day when public school goes back into session so we have the pool to ourselves and I can stop hearing, "Mommy, why is that lady wearing her underwear? It's not very modest and that hurts Holy God's Heart." It's tiresome explaining the ways of the natives when you're trying to relax and work on your Catholic Mommy tan (see above for an example of tan lines). 

Three

Package sent from a dear friend  that contains a slew of veils scored at an estate sale (holla - that's where I've gotten most of my veils). And because we share the same whacked sense of humor, she included a book that makes me ugly snort and laugh whenever I open it. A friendship built on the sturdiest of grounds.

Four

Because the protector of the family will be out of town on business tonight and there is no rest for the weary and terrified, so I'll be furthering the ugly snort and laugh with this theatrical gem until about 3am.

Five

On a less stupid note, this academic gem. We've signed eighteen Fridays over the powers that be of CCM North. Fortunately, the lady in charge is a homeschooling boss and has her stuff together. Everything is planned and ready and wonderful. Unfortunately, I grace the homeschooling loser table and have nothing ready and nothing together (including emails to this poor, patient lady that were answered about a month after she sent them. I will take my bow and pat on the back....now.). It sounds like a recipe for an incredible year for me and a miserable year for her. Should be great. 

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.

to the beasts of burden in my life

Myles Connolly wrote this a century ago and how much more fitting it is today:

"Today fatherhood is an heroic calling. The father of olden times was in may ways an idyllic character, living serenely in the bosom of his family, planning and saving for the future. But today he lives in turmoil and toils in vain. If he is industrious, if he is competent, he does not work for his family and the future but for the lazy and incompetent everywhere. No longer has his home the peace of the old homestead. His children ride in engines of death and destruction, and the jangling of the telephone in the depth of the night may mean tragedy in the air or on the highway. Disease of the mind born of the madness and artificiality of those modern environment, derange and sometimes destroy those he loves.

"More menacing is the increased threat against faith and morals endlessly made by an increasingly arrogant and unbelieving world. More dangerous by far are the soul's diseases (with skepticism and apathy predominating), present always like a plague. Life outside of the monastic walls is perilous, fiercely competitive, often brutal. The dedicated father today is a hero, and if you ask why he faces his burdens so bravely, I can answer only because in him is the stuff of saints. Not for him is the consolation of applause. The mother is praised in song and extolled in story. But the father walks the common way without bugles, without drums, with no flags flying. He, truly, has given hostage to fortune.

"Those holy men and women who have given up the world are glorious children of God, but if there were no harassed, slaving poor fathers, there would be none of those glorious children, if for no other reason than they would never have been born. Peace of mind and peace of soul are lovely possessions but they are not for the dedicated father. The particular saint in him demands that he go out and meet the challenge of the day, that he be concerned not with his own serenity and well-being but with those in his care, that he venture forth into the world and there, thick in the masses of men, seek the opportunity to love his neighbor and to love his enemy, so that, in advance and not in retreat, in battle and not in seclusion, he may prove himself worthy of Him who has shared with him the divine power of creation.

"The priest may offer his Mass and the nun her sacrifices, and the contemplatives may send up their unceasing assault of prayer and mortification – all may cry out for succor, may plead to stay the hand of Eternal Justice – but it is the father, that undistinguished, yawning man you see in the the early morning leaving home for the shop, the office, the factory, the mine – that tired, troubled person you see returning home at night, often with a smile that is false and a cheerfulness without foundation – it is he who is the first warrior and the first guardian of the Faith. For he is the captain of the home, the citadel on which the Christian civilization is built. There is no order or organization to record his heroism or promote his beatification. He is the common, oftentimes inglorious beast of burden, his greatest distinction being the resemblance he bears the the ass that carried Christ."

To the men who have shaped my life - 

Beginning with the first man I loved:

My dad's classic faraway-stare when he's saying something funny and my classic weird unphotogenic laugh. 

He's passed down more than money, hand over fist, to me. He, along with my mother, have given me a strong foundation in the Faith, a sense of diligence, and appreciation for humility and simplicity, and an incredible wit that keeps us laughing, mostly by ourselves, at what we say.

To my father-in-law:

Unplanned faces. It sums up our relationship.

I ignore the legal sense of his relationship to me - he is simply a father to this daughter-in-law. He passes along wisdom and has taught me that no matter how much arguing one can do with another person, one can share a glass of wine and a good laugh with her opponent five minutes later and hold absolutely no guile. Not that we've been there before. :)

To the second man I ever loved:

Love.

He's taught me an appreciation of good food, a good laugh, and all things Irish. His life story is inspiring and a sliver of it could teach these man-boys of today what hard work means. To him I toast this piece of blueberry pie.

I've been shaped spiritually by some incredible priests and spiritual fathers.

To the spiritual father who ushered me into falling in love with the Faith as an adult:

Fr. Terra at Molly's baptism

He scared, literally, the hell out of me by asking why we had books that encourage things to go bump in the night. He's played guitar with my husband, baptized our oldest, and graciously accepted week-old lasagna as a meal from a bed-ridden mother. We continue to pray for him.

To the spiritual father who challenges me with his sermons and counsel in confession.

Fr. Wolfe at Pentecost, 2013. Aka, Fr. Mozzie #1.

He's taught me far too much about shepherding and to snarkily thank Adam for every single bad thing in this world ("thanks, Adam" is a favorite phrase in these parts). He's caused waves on the internet for his sermons regarding difficult Catholic teaching - and my hat is tipped to him for that because so many priests don't have the courage that this man has. And he's made me bawl like a baby in the confessional without ever being mean or making me feel shame or guilt, but simply by a honest and gentle reminders of how to overcome temptations and live a life of holiness.

To the spiritual father who puts up with my phone calls and emails and fears and anxiety about everything, always with a laugh, a joke, and calming advice:

Fr. Longua wearing his priestly garb at a social function.

He's taught me more than I could possibly type here and so loved by our family. I was determined to hate him when he took Fr. Terra's place at our parish, but he won us over. He's taken care of our family while we were in his parish and has continued to care for our spiritual welfare four years after we've left it. Plus, his commentary during our spiritual directions (over the phone) about the traffic he's in could fill a book. 

I'd be remiss if I didn't mention my girls' godfathers:

Teaching his goddaughter the love of Texas Tech from her early years.

They love this guy!

And last, but certainly not least, is the man I love more than any other person I've ever met. The man who lays down his life daily for the comfort of his family. The man who wakes at 5am, rides a train for an hour, and does the same work every single day, and rides an hour back home to us....just for us. The man who does this all with no recognition, little thanks, and without thinking of himself. The man that, with every decision he makes, teaches me humility, charity, patience, and fortitude. The man who comes home tired from a long day and still musters the energy to play with our girls and love their mother. The man who makes his feet talk just to see his girls giggle. The man who lets me sleep in so he can take the kids to Burger King on Saturday mornings. The man who quietly perseveres in the Faith in a career that isn't known for its acceptance of God. The man who puts up with the moods and tantrums of his girls...ahem, me included...with dignity and grace and love. The man who sacrifices more than I'll ever know for his family.

I love you, Joseph. Thank you for being the beast of burden that carries our family.

prayer requests

Instead of a Quick Takes, I need to ask for prayers for some loved ones.



We were gone last week helping some very close and dear friends of ours with the loss of the wife's mother. Remember the baptism we had for our new godson, Thomas? This was his grandmother. She had been suffering from cancer for two years and Our Lord called her home. She died a peaceful death, just two weeks after her newest grandbaby was born. So our dear friends were trying to figure out how to make life work with three little ones, a taxing job, and the loss of a loved one. We stayed with them for a few days to help out and I wish I could do so much more. Tuesday was the funeral and the girls and I, along with their wonderful neighbors, did all we could to make things easier. All those Lubbock BBQ's came in handy, as I pulled a Pat (and Rachel, because I've seen her do this, too) and streamlined the buffet.

Please pray for the repose of Rosie. She was a beloved wife, mother, grandmother, and sister. She and her husband were neighbors and met when they were only eight years old. They were best friends who fell in love and married. They celebrated their 40th wedding anniversary not long before Rosie passed away. Her daughter said that the funeral was packed and included people who had only met her once.

***

Wednesday night, a tragedy happened in Phoenix that hit so close to home, as we are close with one of the people involved. Two priests were attacked in their home and one was killed. Fr. Ken Walker, a young priest of just two years, a young 29 years, was shot and killed. Fr. Joseph Terra, our dear friend from his days at Mater Dei in Dallas, was brutally beaten, and I'm sure left for dead.

Joseph and I discussed the tragedy all day. Even if Fr. Walker was the victim of a botched burglary and no motive against the Faith was held, this story holds so much grace in it. Joseph recently quoted that "the blood of martyrs is the seed of the Faith." How true this is.

Y'all. Fr. Terra was found, in his own critical condition, giving Last Rites and praying over his dying friend. He was able to give absolution and parting sacraments to this young man. Reporters and police described the scene as emotional. I get choked up even writing this out.

To hold one's friend, who has just been brutally murdered. To know he's not going to live. To know that the most important thing to do is help usher his soul into Eternal Life. And all this, despite one's own terrible suffering.

Surely this story will convert some souls. Even if Father's murder isn't a targeted attack (and hence his death being a martyrdom), his death will surely be used to bring greater glory to God and His Holy Church.


This story shocked the world of Catholics, but particularly those in the traditional rite. I try to explain to folks who aren't involved in traditional circles the tightness of our parishes. All the priests know each other or of each other, and most laity are separated by only a few degrees - from other laity and most of the priests. Catholic circles are close-knit as it is, but (and this is probably because I'm in them) but the traditional circles are very, very close-knit. This attack truly left us all in shock. It's hard hearing about the loss of a priest, but when it's one of the priests in one of the few orders devoted to the Latin Mass, it hits particularly hard. It feels like losing a family member.

Both these wonderful priests belong to the Priestly Fraternity of Saint Peter (FSSP), a religious order devoted to preserving and restoring the sacred traditions of the Faith. Joseph and I fell in love with this order through our introduction to it through Fr. Terra. We picked a parish to try out in the DFW area when we moved there, and it was his. The Motu Proprio had just been released and Fr. Terra gave a flooring sermon about it and the impact that this would have on the lives of all Catholics. After his sermon, Joseph looked at me and said, "We found our home."

And home it was. Fr. Terra was a wonderful spiritual father. He came weekly to bring me Holy Communion while I was on bed rest with my first pregnancy. He had no problems telling us if there were books on our bookshelf we shouldn't have (albeit, we figured them innocent and he never made us feel guilty). He shepherded our souls from the faith of two children into the faith of two adults. He baptized our Molly.

We were so sad when Fr. Terra was transferred to Phoenix.

Joseph and I wonder if this public notice of the FSSP will bring others into a deeper understanding and love of the Faith, through the Latin Mass, particularly through the love this order has for Holy Mother Church and the Mass of the Ages.


I didn't know Fr. Walker, but I haven't met a Fraternity priest that I didn't respect and admire, so I'm sure I would have liked him. Here is a wonderful sermon given by him about a year ago on the topic of Mercy and Justice. My heart aches watching it.

You can read more about Fr. Walker here.

We were talking with our priest, Fr. Moses, a couple of weeks ago, lamenting the loss of so many children lately (again, in the Traddie community - three families lost their full-term children in recent months and we all know them or know of them and have been praying for them. Fr. Moses asked us how they were doing...even though we don't personally know them.). I said that I know God has a plan in everything, but I just don't see it. He grimaced and said that Satan also tries to force his way into things. He said that Old Scratch will stop at nothing to stop the Faith from growing. And these precious babes were being born into faithful, devout, loving Catholic families. I think that's what's at work in Phoenix, too. These priests were saving souls, and a lot of them.



Please pray for the repose of Rosie, Fr. Walker, and for the complete healing of Fr. Terra.