bearing blog


bear – ing n 1  the manner in which one comports oneself;  2  the act, power, or time of bringing forth offspring or fruit; 3 a machine part in which another part turns [a journal ~];  pl comprehension of one’s position, environment, or situation;   5  the act of moving while supporting the weight of something [the ~ of the cross].


  • I think I can eat, and I think eating gives me energy now.

    Today I felt better most of the day than I had in a while. H. and M. — not to be confused with H&M, I suppose — came over with all their kids. Originally we had planned to do a little schooling here and there, just to stay in practice. But then my first trimester hit me like a truck, and H.’s house suffered a series of basement floods, and various people had to leave town for various reasons, and….

    Somehow it has just seemed like a better idea to sit around and drink coffee on the back deck while the 11 kids bounce on the trampoline, or sit around and drink tea in my living room while the 11 kids watch movies and play video games and build elaborate horse-racing tracks in Minecraft.

    This morning I got up with Mark and nursed the toddler on the couch while we had coffee; I wrote quizzes for next year’s eighth grade world history. M. arrived and we chatted while I set up a cold cut tray and mini-bagels and carrot sticks and bananas for the children’s lunch. I made gazpacho for the grownups:

    (First chill, then process till smooth: 2 lbs whole fresh tomatoes, quartered; half a fresh jalapeño; one peeled cucumber; half a green bell pepper; one clove garlic; several leaves of fresh basil; a teaspoon or more of salt; 1 cup water; 2 tbsp red wine vinegar; and a large heel of torn-up, day-old, crusty French bread.)

    After lunch we cleaned up and had a leisurely afternoon of interesting discussions, temporarily interrupted with a (bought) birthday cake for one of M.’s girls at snack time. All the friends left just as Mark was coming in from work. He laid out a dinner of Leftover Buffet so that we could quickly clean up and go to the Y for family gym time.

    The three younger kids disappeared into the maw of the child care room. My oldest went to the pool for a swim. Mark went to lift weights. I let the women’s locker room door (WOMEN AGE 18+ ONLY) sigh closed behind me.

    I changed into running clothes (still regular running pants, but today was the first day in a maternity running shirt). I have a habit, maybe a bad one, of picking lockers directly in front of the full-length mirror. I can’t not look at myself, always appraising whether I am taking good enough care to remain in acceptable shape. I probably should be avoiding those lockers especially right now, because I can’t deny that I am feeling lumper than usual, and it isn’t generally a good feeling.

    You know how the first trimester is. You eat what appeals, what stays down, even if it’s fried chicken sandwiches and cups of artificially flavored butterscotch pudding. You eat when your brain and your blood sugar give you the thumbs up or the panic flutter. You rest as much as you can and you can’t always fit in a run or a swim at the times when you have the energy to drag yourself off the couch. I worked hard to create good habits. I thought they were strong and firmly established. They are nothing but spun-sugar when the first trimester comes along. Pregnancy is the great habit-destroyer. It scours the ground clean.

    So I am feeling very lumpy; I told Facebook a few days ago that I look about five months pregnant, and I don’t think that is an exaggeration. It isn’t a baby bump; this happened to me last time. By the time I had been pregnant for a few weeks, my core muscles had opened up and relaxed so much that my whole belly distended outward. It is unnerving to say the least. In fact it is sort of weirdly fascinating. I stand there in front of the full length mirror in the (mostly empty locker room, experimenting with sucking in my gut and letting it out again. I can’t believe the change from just a few weeks ago. I have put on about ten pounds. I am excited to be having a baby, looking forward to hearing the heartbeat in three weeks if all goes well, but there is always a sort of culture shock to find oneself suddenly in a body with very different properties.

    Here is the new thing I am trying this pregnancy for runs at the gym: warming up on the stair machine. I don’t grab the handles, I let my arms swing, so that my hip motion isn’t constrained and I am forced to attend to balance. As my pregnancy progresses, I plan to gradually increase the time on the stairclimber and decrease the time on the running track; last time I found that running got quite uncomfortable around the 24th or 25th week, but the stair machine felt great on the day I went into labor. I plan to use that knowledge this time.

    So today I did 7 minutes of stair climbing and then went to the track, and the minute I started running I knew I was going to have a great run. I don’t know if the track just felt easy after the climbing, or if it was the temperature drop as you go from the fitness center to the running track at the other end of the building, or if it was a well-timed blood sugar rise from my dinner digesting, but I fairly flew. At least I felt like I did; I forgot my stopwatch, so I couldn’t check. But it felt so good! I know I went faster than usual, because right now, sitting on the couch with my iPad on my lap, I can feel the soreness all up and down my thighs and the core muscles on my sides. I’m tired now, but it is the good tired of having exercised. After weeks of the crushing weariness of first trimester that makes you wonder if you what you are really gestating is not a fetus but a flu virus, this is an improvement.

    I passed the time as I circled the track by thinking bitterly about the fried things and grilled cheese sandwich crusts and ketchup and puddings and ginger ale and plain white rice I have been putting into my body, and envisioning a new mantra: Grown-up food will help my baby grow. I pictured myself over and over again saying no to the kids’ leftover frozen pepperoni pizza for tomorrow’s lunch, and instead sitting down to a cup of chilled gazpacho drizzled with olive oil, and a half-sandwich of salmon salad and avocado, and a pile of fresh, crunchy sugar snap peas.

    I feel like I have done my time lying around sipping sugar water and eating ginger candy with the shades down, dully working crossword puzzles or browsing Reddit until I fall asleep with my glasses on. It’s time to work for my keep again. Maybe it’s not as easy, but sensory input is so much more satisfying.


  • Servant of God Elisabeth Leseur: A new “little way?”

    This morning I encountered a somewhat obscure figure, about whom I now want to know more:  Elisabeth Leseur.  She was a married Frenchwoman, born 1866 and died of cancer in 1914 at the age of 48.  

    By all accounts, she was a remarkable person who developed a truly unique method of living out a sacrificial calling to evangelize the people around her by example, rather than words.  In its originality, completeness, deceptive simplicity, and depth, I am reminded of the spiritual work of St. Thérèse, who was her contemporary.  

    Follow me to find out more about her and see if you agree.

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    A few details from her Wikipedia page (the following are barely abbreviated direct quotes) will give you an overview of the milieu in which she lived her life:

    •  Elisabeth was born to a wealthy, bourgeous French family.
    •  She had had hepatitis as a child, and it recurred throughout her life with attacks of varying severity.
    • She met Félix Leseur (1861–1950), also from an affluent, Catholic family [but no longer a practicing Catholic] in 1887. 
    • Dr. Félix Leseur soon became well known as the editor of an anti-clerical, atheistic newspaper in Paris.
    • Their marriage was a happy one. 
    • Well-to-do by birth and marriage, she was a part of a social group that was cultured, educated, and generally antireligious.
    • Elizabeth underwent a religious conversion when she was thirty-two and already married. 
    • From the beginning, she organized her spiritual life around a disciplined pattern of prayer, meditation, reading, sacramental practice, and writing. Charity was the organizing principle of her asceticism. In her approach to mortification, she followed St. Francis de Sales who recommended moderation and internal, hidden strategies instead of external practices.
    • Her correspondence with Soeur Marie Goby [from 1911 until Elisabeth's 1914 death] was a source of companionship and mutual spiritual support for both women.
    • Her husband, inconsolable in his grief, was converted by her writings and an uncanny sense of her presence after her death.
    • Félix subsequently published his wife's journal… and letters to Soeur Goby.  He was ordained in 1923.  He was instrumental in opening the cause for Elisabeth's beatification as a saint.

    The emphasis on "internal, hidden strategies" is mine.

    I first learned about Elisabeth Leseur from this post at Disputations:

    In her essay, "Elisabeth Leseur, A Strangely Forgotten Modern Saint" Janet K. Ruffing, R.S.M., proposes seven characteristics of this Servant of God's lay sanctity… Here are the seven characteristics identified by Ruffing, along with my clumsy descriptions. 

    1. An apostolic strategy in a hostile, secular milieu. …Outnumbered everybody:1, Elisabeth chose the path of non-confrontation, despite the frequent wounds inflicted by the conversation of her vocally anti-Catholic friends.

      This wasn't a purely passive approach. She saw her role as trying "always to understand everyone and everything. Not to argue, to work through contact and example; to dissipate prejudice, to show God and make Him felt without speaking of him; to strengthen one's intelligence, enlarge one's soul; to love without tiring, in spite of disappointment and indifference… to open wide one's soul to show the light in it and the truth that lives there, and let that truth create and transform, without merit of ours but simply by the fact of its presence in us."

       

    2. A redemptive and transformative use of her physical and emotional suffering….

       

    3. A mature sense of agency and surrender. Elisabeth understood a woman's life as one of duties: "to bear children … to develop unceasingly one's intelligence, to strengthen one's character, to become a creature of thought and will… to view life with joy and to face it with energy… to be able to understand one's time and not despair of the future." These duties in turn were ordered to the Christian duty of bringing Christ to those who suffer and to those who do not know Him.

       

    4. An active intellectual life….

       

    5. Devotion to her husband and [extended] family. This she saw as her principal duty, as a woman and as a Christian, notwithstanding her husband's hostility to her faith.

       

    6. A lay pattern of devotional and ascetical life. She developed her own rule of life, combining the discipline of daily prayer with an active home and social presence. According to Ruffing, her home-grown asceticism was "based on silence [with respect to discussing religion with her husband], self-giving, and austerity."

       

    7. A relationship of mutuality and support in her friendship with Souer Gaby…. After years of being essentially alone on her walk of faith, she finally found someone to walk with her.

     

    I followed the link from the Disputations post and read Ruffing's entire essay about Elisabeth Leseur, reproduced as a PDF version from a chapter in a book.*  The chapter is 13 pages long and begins with a brief introduction that presents Elisabeth, should her cause for canonization be successful, as an all-too-rare example of the Church putting forward a married laywoman as and example of how to live out one's Christian vocation in daily life.  

    Take a few minutes and read it.

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    I think I was most struck by two aspects of Elisabeth's life:  

    (1) her strategy of silently evangelizing the people around her, particularly her husband, through diligent empathy, secret prayer, and self-giving; and

    (2) her integration of her life as a married woman with her spirituality, in particular, the "rule of life" she set out for herself.  

    On (2), I'd like to pull out a few quotes from Ruffing's essay, beginning on page 125 of the book.  

    On "Marriage and Family:"

    One of the most appealing characteristics of Elizabeth as a saint for
    the laity is how well she integrated her family life and spirituality.
    Tutored in the Salesian spiritual tradition, she fully accepted Francis
    De Sales' teaching that a life of devotion was fully compatible
    with marriage.  
    Since her conversion occurred several years after
    her marriage, she assumed that this call to a deeper, more intimate relationship with God was to be lived as Felix's wife.

    Despite the pain
    she increasingly suffered from Felix's inability to share faith with
    her as they shared everything else, every reference to her husband
    suggests a loving and mutually respectful relationship. She felt herself to be deeply loved by Felix, supported by his presence, com-
    panionship, and expressions of affection….

    From his side, Felix was devoted
    to her and remained constant in his love and affection for her
    throughout her multiple illnesses. The devastation he experienced
    at her death evidenced the depth of his love and his emotional reliance on her. 

    On "Pattern of Devotional Life and Ascetical Practices:"

    Elizabeth developed a flexible rule of life that organized her devotional life and ascetical practices, which she outlined in the part of
    her journal titled "Book of Resolutions…"  
    Although she gave her life a specific structure, she
    adopted the two principles of flexibility and charity as determinative of her practice.

    Her devotional life was never to interfere with
    either the comfort or needs of those she loved. She rigorously adhered to her program when she was alone and did not need to con-
    sider the rest of the household, and she was entirely flexible where
    others were concerned.

    There was a daily pattern of morning and
    evening prayer…. She went to confession and
    communion every two weeks. She desired to communicate more
    often, if she could do so "without troubling or displeasing anyone"….Monthly,she gave one day to a spiritual retreat.
    For her this meant as much solitude as possible, more time in meditation, an examination of conscience, reflection on her life, and
    preparation for death. Annually, she tried to make a few days of retreat. 

    It takes an unusual kind of listening to respond to the cryptic call to evangelize through silence.  It takes an unusual kind of perception to discern the need for a rule that is characterized by flexibility.  And yet, having done some reading about Salesian spirituality myself, and feeling a certain attraction to it, I immediately see the connection to the kind of devotion promoted by St. Francis de Sales, whose peculiarly modern voice has a lot of solid common-sense advice for women living comfortably in the world, just as it did around 1600.

    To give you an example of the kind of reach she has:  According to the Wikipedia article, through her husband's exhortations she even exerted some formative influence over good old Abp. Fulton Sheen, and her story apparently appeared in some of his talks.

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    Now I want to know more.  This Kindle eBook and paperback (Sophia Institute Press) purports to be an English translation of Elisabeth's diary and spiritual writings.   The author of the essay I excerpted, Janet Ruffing, has published a book of her selected writings in Paulist Press's Classics of Western Spirituality series (the same series where I originally encountered St. Francis de Sales).  Félix originally published her diaries and letters, respectively, under the titles  Journal et Pensees pour Chaque Jour (Journal and Daily Thoughts) and  Lettres sur la Souffrance (Letters on Suffering).  Amazon.fr has them, but I haven't yet found a copy for sale in the U.S.; maybe the library.

    ______________________________

     *Ann W. Astell, ed.  Lay Sanctity, Medieval and Modern:  A Search for Models, Notre Dame Press, 2000. 


  • Book review: The Sinner’s Guide to NFP by Simcha Fisher.

    Everybody knows who Simcha Fisher is, right? Right? I link to her blog and her other blog often enough, right? I don’t have to fill you in?

    OK, well, I recently had a chance to review a pre-publication copy of her soon-to-be-released e-book, The Sinner’s Guide to NFP. (I am told there will also be an audiobook. When I find out the publication date, I’ll update with a link.)

    Let’s start with two lines I considered including in my review of this book, and then thought better of.

    Line number one: “I recommend The Sinner’s Guide to NFP wholeheartedly. Why? Because it reinforces all my personal preconceptions about the exact attitude everyone should have towards NFP.”

    Line number two: “Simcha Fisher’s attitude in The Sinner’s Guide to NFP is a welcome addition to the many writings about marital chastity we’ve all been subjected to. If it helps your faith and practice, you should take their advice to heart. If it doesn’t, you can freely ignore it. Kind of like an approved Marian apparition! Except not likely to get quite as much attention.”

    Now that I have those out of the way, here’s a more helpful review.

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    I am not Fisher’s target audience. Here’s a quote that explains why:

    [This book is] for couples who are completely dedicated to the idea; couples who, as long as they have a good reason to postpone pregnancy, will be using NFP to do so. But so far, they have found the fabulous side effects to be elusive; and by “elusive,” I mean “horrible, horrible lies.”

    I am the first person to admit that my husband and I have drunk the NFP kool-aid. Not from the very beginning of our marriage have either of us even considered artificial contraception to be an option that remains on the table. We enthusiastically recommend it to everyone we can, using Catholic arguments when we think those will work, and usingsecular arguments when we think those might work better. We “get” the concept of bearing the inevitable annoyances as a cross — a cross that ultimately strengthens our marriage. We are temperamentally incapable of relying too much on “providence” and not enough on “prudence.” We are rule-following engineer types for whom charting and data analysis practically count as a form of foreplay. By all evidence we even appear to be good at NFP.

    But even if I am not the target audience, I am maybe the target reviewer, because I wholeheartedly endorse the attitude in this book. The truth is that even when you’re both totally on board, NFP has features which, well, you might as well laugh at them so you don’t

    (a) cry or

    (b) throw things at each other.

    As for the state of NFP discourse, even (especially?) among faithful Catholics? Well, it can be even worse.

    And that is why we need Fisher’s book. It’s frank, it’s conversational, and it’s funny. What’s possibly most important: it firmly rejects the nosy judgmentalism that pervades the conversation today, choosing instead to emphasize the great variety of good paths that a couple may find as they discern together the right decisions for their family.

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    Although the title of the book is The Sinner’s Guide to NFP, it’s really more of a loosely organized collection of essays, some of them reprinted from Fisher’s popular columns in the National Catholic Register and other publications. This isn’t the sort of book that takes you from “beginner” through “intermediate” to “advanced” stages of natural family planning expertise. It’s more of a corrective to some of the less-helpful attitudes that often prevail. It’s an attempt to help couples avoid common pitfalls — mental, spiritual, and sexual ones.

    Here are some of the topics that Fisher covers:

    – Why the Church doesn’t “make a list” of specific situations when it would be good to postpone a pregnancy and another list of specific situations when it’s bad.

    – That there are many ways to live according to God’s will.

    – That a cross is a cross even when you aren’t the one carrying it.

    – That you can follow a good path that works for you now without committing to doing it always. You get to change your plan, and you can do it without thinking that you used to be wrong.

    – That if you can’t laugh about sex, you’re doing it wrong.

    – Why we shouldn’t judge others’ hearts based on the appearance of their families or even on their stated reasons for their decisions.

    – Some principles to keep in mind when talking to kids about sex and baby-making.

    – Positive ways to think about sexual differences and disparities between husband and wife, and how to use them to grow together in chastity and complementarity.

    – Why NFP is the worst family planning system in the world, except for all the others.

     

    + +.+

    I have a few quibbles with the way the book is presented.

    First, the title is a little misleading, because it’s not really organized as a guidebook. But that’s not actually a problem with the content; since each chapter is a stand-alone essay, the reader can take them in any order, and skip whatever doesn’t address her concerns. I could easily see individual chapters being reprinted for group discussions — maybe even for marriage prep, if the leader is exceptionally bold.

    Second, in one chapter Fisher contrasts couples “who space pregnancies using NFP” with “providentialists” who don’t. An “ism” implies a belief, not a practice; I prefer not to classify couples as “providentialist” based on something they do, rather than something they think. Using that guideline, a “providentialist” (with respect to child spacing) is a person who believes one should generally not try to postpone pregnancies, and that’s not the same as couple who discerns a personal calling to that path. This is a rare departure for Fisher, who generally makes a sensible distinction between what general principles advise and what particular circumstances dictate.

    Third, the book doesn’t quite manage to find a voice that consistently speaks to couples rather than to women. This is almost certainly a consequence of its organization as a collection of separate essays, which quite naturally were not all aimed at precisely the same audience. To Fisher’s credit, it’s also a natural consequence of the ease which which she can address both men and women. She clearly and sensitively articulates the concerns that seem to come up repeatedly among Catholic women; but at the same time she refuses to even dip a toe into sentimentality, let alone wallow in it.

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    These three, however, are minor concerns. The Sinner’s Guide can be a quick read or a lengthy immersion, depending on what you need from it. The informed Catholic reader will be glad to know that Fisher takes for granted that her reader understands basic Catholic teachings about marital chastity and family planning — so it won’t waste your time going over the fundamentals. Instead it dives right away into the lessons that can be learned from the daily putting of these principles into practice. It’s a funny book, and it can be digested in small pieces. It contains a wealth of conversation starters for couples — whether they are starting out or burning out, or just in the mood for a chat.

    NFP may be the worst system in the world, but — as Fisher writes — it’s the worst except for all the other ones. Maybe it’s more accurate to say that NFP is actually a myriad of individualized systems, one for each couple striving to live out their faith through day-to-day expressions of marital sexuality — naturally, a system that’s intimate and personally tailored to circumstances, and also slightly ridiculous, because so is marital sexuality. Fisher’s voice is a refreshing addition to the conversation.


  • Quick takes to break the block.

    Okay, pregnant-me is still sleeping a lot and using my waking time to catch up. Here are a few short items that interested me for one reason or another, but that I never managed to turn into full posts.

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    Christy P. sent me a link some time ago to a site about traveling light: OneBag.com . It has tons of tips for keeping the packing weight down (including in the case of traveling with kids). I think it has some wisdom that could apply to “traveling” around town, just running errands, with your littles in tow. If you always feel like you are lugging too much around, you might find it useful.

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    From the OneBag site, I followed a rabbit trail that took me to a clothing manufacturer, Scottevest, that had me wishing I had found it when I wasn’t under the No-Buying-New-Nonmaternity-Clothes-When-Pregnant ban. The concept behind these folks is crazy, I know, but let me spell it out anyway:

    Women’s clothing with functional pockets in it.

    Okay, they have men’s clothes too, fair enough. And they don’t have lots of different clothes. But still! A dress with pockets. Women’s cargo pants with real, not cosmetic, pockets. A classic trench with a pocket capable of carrying an iPad. A travel vest with tons of pockets. I am going to autosend myself an email for a year from now, when I might conceivably be getting back into my old clothing size, to go back and check them out.

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    Back when DarwinCatholic and I were posting about whether college education is worth the cost, whether a liberal arts degree is generally worthwhile, etc. — even my husband got into it — we were doing a lot of calculation about means and medians: costs, returns, salaries, debt, graduation rates, etc. I recently came across a short post by Tyler Cowen that reminded me of a piece of vocabulary that we should really have been using to talk about what’s changed in the college calculation: variance.

    If you’re deciding how much to invest in a particular game, there’s a big difference between a situation in which most of the possible outcomes are clustered tightly around the median, and one in which the possible outcomes are spread widely on either side of the median. Even when the two medians in question are exactly the same. In the one case, you have a very high chance of getting the value you expect out of your investment, and a low chance either of “hitting the jackpot” and doing much better or of failing miserably and ending up a big loser. In the other, there may be nearly as much chance of losing your shirt as of getting the expected value; and even if there’s also a better chance of hitting the jackpot, that’s not much of a consolation to the large pool of losers (especially since humans often feel worse about losing than they feel good about winning.)

    I’ve had more statistics than the average person but somehow that never stops me from forgetting to consider the effects of variance, at least when I first look at a problem.

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    The Fourth and First Amendments have been getting a lot of press lately. From Melanie B via Facebook comes this interesting link about a lawsuit brought on (comparatively rare) Third Amendment grounds. I’ll save you from looking it up: it’s the one protecting us from having to quarter soldiers in our homes during peacetime. The Nevada homeowner in question refused to allow into his home police who wanted to establish a “tactical advantage” against persons in a neighboring house, but the police forced their way in anyway and occupied his house.

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    Another FB friend pointed to this article from the UK about a rise in rickets and scurvy there. The article’s lede suggests it’s related to parents who “rely on takeaways and microwave meals,” and one analyst suggests it’s related to the “impact of promotions, advertising, and marketing from the processed food industry.”

    It seems odd to blame the entire “processed food industry” for rickets and scurvy, when that is the same industry that brings things like frozen concentrated orange juice; canned and frozen fruits and vegetables of all kinds; canned oily fish such as mackerel, sardines, and salmon; and numerous other foods that would be out of reach of urban families during much of the year if we were limited to fresh, local food in season. Isn’t it more likely to result from inattention to basic concepts of a “balanced diet,” and (especially considering this is the UK) lack of natural sunlight?

    It’s possible that the marketers who advertise various processed foods in the UK have shifted away from advertising foods that help provide vitamins C and D and towards foods that don’t, I suppose.

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    Finally, another link suggested by Christy P: A plea to pack a “go bag.” Timely, what with all the evacuations and tornadoes and explosions and wildfires that seem to have dominated the news this spring and summer.

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    Do you know it took me all day to write this post? And it’s practically a holiday. I started it this morning at 7 and have been working only in bits and pieces since then. Pregnancy brain — ugh.


  • Stream-of-consciousness curriculum planning. Again.

    I have sort of hit a wall trying to decide what to do for Religion in our homeschool this year.

     

    All my school-age kids are enrolled in parish religious education, a good program that uses the Faith and Life series. I am confident that the basics are being covered there, but I like to supplement it at home. My second-grader is, of course, preparing for First Confession and First Communion this year, and there’s so much take-home work that we’re not going to do anything “extra” for her, but the others have me flummoxed. Since the “basics” are covered at church, I should have room to get into things that interest them particularly or that develop other skills, but I think I am overthinking it.

    When my oldest was nine and ten, I used the Baltimore Catechism as memory work, since I wasn’t doing any other sort of memorization with him. That went really well; he enjoyed the challenge and he’s just the sort of kid who likes questions and answers.

    My current almost-10-year-old, however, is not that kind of a kid, and H. (my partner in co-schooling) has been doing poetry memorization with all the four-to-eleven-year-olds. (She divided them up by gender and went with what they responded to. Last year the girls did assorted poetry heavy on the nature themes — my daughter developed a taste for Wordsworth — and the boys learned Robert Hugh Benson’s Old Testament Rhymes.) So there isn’t a memorization-gap that needs to be filled. He is pretty interested in stories of saints (the bloodier the martyrdom, the better) but he doesn’t like to read very much even though he’s quite capable of it — he is plowing through Harry Potter and completely bored with every other book in the Entire World.

    I was originally planning to have my history-buff 8th-grader do a survey of the OT but he said he didn’t want to do that this year (even though we spent last year putting it in context with a history of the Jewish people…) and I am trying to be flexible. What he really wanted to do was Church history. But all the good curricula I can find are upper high school. Normally I am cool with putting together my own curricula for things but I am kinda swamped right now and would need a LOT more time for that one. I suppose I could narrow the scope. He is, I think, mainly interested in understanding the story of the Protestant reformation (both German and English flavors) and the Counter-reformation. A commendable goal for an 8th-grader. I don’t know where I would start. Other than assigning him Come Rack, Come Rope!, which is sitting on my shelf waiting for the right moment.

     

    Wait, I just now while writing had one idea. Maybe we could use Hilaire Belloc’s The Great Heresies as a sort of “spine” and do a unit on each and attack Church history that way. If you aren’t familiar with this book, it’s a not-very-long one in which Belloc considers in turn Arianism, Islam, Albigensianism, Protestantism (as seen from Europe in the beginning of the 20th century — so the American evangelical flavor is not really represented), and “modernism.” The book has a number of features, though, which make me reluctant to promote Belloc as a particular, central authority. He has an opinion and he is going to give it to you with wit and clarity, which makes him persuasive and fun to read, but… I like my history resources to have a more neutral tone unless I am either (a) ready to endorse the author’s entire attitude as exactly right or (b) illustrating one point of view among several.

     

    (And no, I am not saying that I teach that all points of view are equal, but it is important to me to convey a strong impression that multiple points of view exist about historical events — i.e., one should never take it for granted that there is One Acceptable Interpretation of Events — and that reasonable, well-meaning people can hold to different interpretations.)

    I have thought about using the Compendium of the Catechism of the Catholic Church simply for a jumping-off point of family discussion — me, my 13- and 10-year-olds, my husband from time to time. Not from the very beginning, but specifically the third section, which is about living the Christian life. Just sit down a couple of times a week with a pot of tea, read what it has to say a few questions at a time, talk about why it matters, maybe assign some journal entries or writing assignments. There is definitely something about that which appeals to me — partly because I could maybe manage both boys at once — but it’s so much more spontaneous than I usually roll that I feel uneasy about it. I might find myself brushing it off from week to week because of less time to sit down with that tea. I always get wrapped up in the things to do and write and see and plan that it is very hard for me to just sit down and spend time with the kids. Which maybe is a reason to go ahead and do it. I haven’t been able to find any pre-prepared curricula based off the Compendium (or off of YOUCAT — even though I would rather use the Compendium, anything based on YOUCAT should work too since they have exactly the same structure), which would force me to be much more freewheeling than usual. And it has the disadvantage of not being a response to what either boy suggested he would be interested in studying. Although I could maybe send each one away with different reading to do, tied to what we’re discussing together, but reflecting their individual interest. How did such-and-such a saint Iive out this commandment in a heroic way? How did such-and-such a historical event present particular moral challenges to Christians affected by it?

     

    If I don’t come up with anything better, I may have to do it that way, if only because I won’t have time to come up with anything else!

     


  • Victim-blaming: an example.

    Remember a couple of weeks ago I wrote a frustrated post about warrantless wiretapping (or cell phone listening, whatever) and how so many people say "I've got nothing to hide, so who cares?" and I identified part of the problem as the "magical thinking" of "bad things don't happen to good people?"

    "Bad things don't happen to good people" is a comforting thought for a number of reasons.

    … [T]hinking this way is a temptation to many people.  It is also called "magical thinking," because it causes so many good people to believe that they, somehow, can prevent bad things from happening to them by behaving the "right" way, where the "right" way is equivalent to "what good people do."

    Go find any news story about a person who has suffered a terrible accident or crime.  Dive down into the comments.  Someone, somewhere, is convinced that the sufferer suffers (or lost his life), fundamentally because he did something wrong….


     

    Found a bitterly amusing example of this today.  

    Indiana Woman Shoots and Kills Leopard Prowling in Her Backyard

    Last Thursday, a woman in Charlestown, Indiana and her boyfriend stayed up all night, armed with a rifle, to hunt down whatever it was that had been attacking small animals in her neighborhood. After spotting and shooting a creature prowling in the shadows by the woman's pool, they were shocked to find that they'd just killed a leopard, an animal that's not native to North America, much less Indiana.

    The woman, who didn't want to be identified, mentioned the story to her friend and neighbor Donna Duke, who then told ABC affiliate WDRB about the strange kill. Officials at the Indiana Department of Natural Resources confirmed that a leopard had been found on the woman's property. Duke said the woman was worried about a recent streak of attacks against cats and dogs in the neighborhood….

    "She's got cats that are basically her family," Duke said. "She was trying to protect her babies.”

    …Bloom [of the Department of Natural Resources] believes the leopard must have been someone's pet, though authorities have no idea whose. The owner of a nearby wild life refuge denied that the leopard was his. So, people living in Indiana, if you're missing your pet leopard and reading this, we have bad news.

    The first comment on this story?

    She could've also avoided her cats being eaten by a leopard if she'd kept them inside. :\

    That's right, folks.  Bad things — like discovering your suburban-Indiana kitty eaten by an Afro-Asian wild cat that escaped from someone's private zoo, or whatever — don't happen to good people who keep their cats inside.  Let that be a lesson to you.

     


  • Powerless.

    A giant windy thunderstorm swept through the Twin Cities last night and knocked out power to a quarter of a million businesses and homes, including mine. We lost one tree (it landed on a neighbor’s covered porch) and probably a second one (it was partly uprooted and I don’t think it will be long for this world).

    Losing trees makes me sad. But there are some neighbors with much bigger trees on their cars and houses, so I am counting my blessings.

    I am using the McDonald’s wifi to post from my iPad while the kids eat junky fast food, but I don’t think you’ll hear from me till the power comes back on. They are saying it could be a couple of days. I bought some ice for my fridge and freezer, but I am worried it isn’t enough. Wish me luck!


  • A different take on a “99 percent.”

    From extemporaneous remarks during a catechesis given by Pope Francis on June 17 to the Diocese of Rome.  

    I want to tell you something.

    In the Gospel there's that beautiful passage that tells us of the shepherd who, on returning to the sheepfold and realizing that a sheep is missing, leaves the 99 and goes to look for it, to look for the one.

    But, brothers and sisters, we have one.

    It's the 99 who we're missing!

    We have to go out, we must go to them!

    In this culture—let's face it—we only have one. We are the minority. And do we feel the fervour, the apostolic zeal to go out and find the other 99? This is a big responsibility and we must ask the Lord for the grace of generosity and the courage and the patience to go out, to go out and proclaim the Gospel.

    The catechesis was reportedly inspired by these words from the First Letter of St. Paul to the Romans:  

    “For I am not ashamed of the Gospel. … We who were baptized … are not under the law but under grace.” 

    I find this alteration fascinating, and not a little unsettling.  Has he turned the Gospel on its head here?  Is this legitimate?  Is it a commentary on the difference between the culture back then and the culture now?  

    When I think of the parable of the lost (singular) sheep, I often wonder about the ninety-nine being left without a shepherd.  Are they, in fact, safe in their numbers?  Maybe it's a sort of promise that the ones who stick together in the wilderness will, in fact, be okay, and the Shepherd will look out for the ones who have somehow struck out on their own; we should trust.  I don't know; maybe if I knew more about sheep I'd get it.

     

    Matthew's version

    In the Gospel of Matthew, chapter 18, the ninety-nine-and-one sheep are identified with "little ones" who, in context, are "those who believe in me" and have "become like little children:"

    At that time the disciples came to Jesus and asked, “Who, then, is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?”

    He called a little child to him, and placed the child among them.  And he said: “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.  Therefore, whoever takes the lowly position of this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. And whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me.

    “If anyone causes one of these little ones—those who believe in me—to stumble, it would be better for them to have a large millstone hung around their neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea…

    “See that you do not despise one of these little ones. For I tell you that their angels in heaven always see the face of my Father in heaven.

     “What do you think? If a man owns a hundred sheep, and one of them wanders away, will he not leave the ninety-nine on the hills and go to look for the one that wandered off?  And if he finds it, truly I tell you, he is happier about that one sheep than about the ninety-nine that did not wander off. In the same way your Father in heaven is not willing that any of these little ones should perish."

    It's all stuff about how much God values every individual person, even (especially?) the insignificant or those who choose to make themselves insignificant, and his special care for those that "wander," or sin.  It goes on with advice about dealing with sin and forgiving sinners:  

    “If your brother or sister sins,  go and point out their fault, just between the two of you. If they listen to you, you have won them over.  But if they will not listen, take one or two others along, so that ‘every matter may be established by the testimony of two or three witnesses.’  If they still refuse to listen, tell it to the church; and if they refuse to listen even to the church, treat them as you would a pagan or a tax collector.

    “Truly I tell you, whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven…

    Then Peter came to Jesus and asked, “Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother or sister who sins against me? Up to seven times?”

    Jesus answered, “I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times."

    You get the impression that the earthly shepherds' part in going after the one lost sheep has a lot to do with instruction combined with ready forgiveness.

    (I confess I'm not sure what Jesus means by "treat them as you would a pagan or a tax collector."  I assume that the inspired evangelist knew what that meant.  Sounds like a question for a historian.)

    Anyway, notice the question that Jesus uses the parable to answer:  "Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?"  The parable comes late in his answer; after he explains that one must become "little" and "lowly"  to be the greatest, he uses the sheep parable to explain that one individual is very valuable to God.

     

    Luke's version

    Luke places this parable in an entirely different context.  From Chapter 15:

    Now the tax collectors and sinners were all gathering around to hear Jesus.  But the Pharisees and the teachers of the law muttered, “This man welcomes sinners and eats with them.”

    Then Jesus told them this parable:  “Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them. Doesn’t he leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it?  And when he finds it, he joyfully puts it on his shoulders and goes home. Then he calls his friends and neighbors together and says, ‘Rejoice with me; I have found my lost sheep.’  I tell you that in the same way there will be more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who do not need to repent."

    Here the lost sheep parable is an answer to the question the Pharisees and teachers of the law did not ask aloud:  "Why do you welcome sinners and eat with them?"

    The lost sheep who is found, who inspires the rejoicing, is "the sinner who repents."  I find it interesting that the Pharisees and teachers of the law only asked about Jesus eating with "sinners,"  but Jesus answered as if the question was "Why do you eat with repentant sinners?"

    If they'd asked it that way, they would have seen it was a stupid question.  But maybe not; maybe the Pharisees don't really believe in repentance, so they can't see the difference.

    I think this same mistake is often made today.  It's really quite remarkable how many of the interlocutors' questions have turned out to be repeated over the centuries.

    The "rejoicing" Jesus identifies is over not sinners, but "sinners who repent;" not lost sheep who remain lost, but lost sheep who are found and carried home.  The ninety-nine sheep left to fend for themselves (or each other, anyway) let us know that even one repentant sinner is tremendously valuable.  It is essentially the same point made in Matthew; but the difference in context — because the parable is in answer to different questions in the two Gospels — gives it a different flavor.  

     

    Francis's twist

    … So here we are with Francis's "parable," which he turns on its head:  Now the many are missing and the few are faithful.  Now it isn't the shepherd who leaves the faithful to go in search of the lone wanderer — but the few faithful sheep told to disperse courageously "to the outskirts" (Francis's words) where they are to proclaim the Gospel to them.

    What's different?

    Well, to start with:  In Jesus's version, the shepherd is still present as a walking, talking, human teacher.

    In this modern-day version, we have no visible shepherd.  We've been wandering (all together, "found") in the wilderness without him.   (What's he doing?  Off finding lost sheep from the fold and bringing them back one at a time?)

    There's a couple of ways we could read this.  One might be to wonder if Francis has ever actually spent any time around sheep, and if this departure from the prepared script were really all that well-considered.  

    But giving the man the benefit of the doubt, we could consider it a reminder of the lessons from the original parable, flipped a little bit because of the numbers.

    Back then, the "righteous" were (apparently) mainstream and the "sinners" were (apparently) fringe.  Jesus could make the point that a few sinners are at least as valuable as a whole lot of righteous people; that is to say, that value (when it comes to persons) doesn't scale linearly.  

    Today (Francis says), sin is mainstream and "those who believe" are fringe.  Depends where in the world you are, okay, but fair enough.  Probably true in Italy.  But maybe when you're a righteous fringe you're especially prone to thinking yourself extra special.  Extra valuable.  The Remnant.  The One Percent.  

    Maybe there's a huge temptation to turn inward and cluster into a little protective bunch.  

    I don't know.  Do sheep do that?

    Anyway, if the lessons of the parable of the sheep (original version) are that

        (1) greatness in heaven belongs to those who become little or insignificant on earth and 

        (2) an individual repentant sinner has inestimable worth, maybe more than a person who doesn't need to repent

    then this message of Francis — that we the "found" sheep must go out to bring back the "lost" sheep by proclaiming the Gospel — carries with it a subtext of "do it not as a great person but as an insignificant person, with instruction and ready forgiveness, and acknowledge the potentially  inestimable worth of the sinner you seek to instruct and forgive."

    If you're a "found" sheep out in search of a "lost" sheep, then the lost sheep's safe return is perhaps to be treated as if it is more valuable than yours.

    Going to the outskirts is not going to be without risk for any of us.


  • I figured out how to eat vegetables again.

    One of the annoying things about first trimester is that it becomes hard to eat vegetables, at exactly the moment when you feel most guilty about having a cruddy diet.

    In my normal life, I eat copious quantities of vegetables, like four one-half-cup "servings" at a time, so it's especially noticeable when I switch to a yogurt-and-crackers-based existence.  

    I think I solved the problem this week, however.  

    Step One:  First, have a gigantic craving for Vietnamese food.  Stop on the way home from the gym and get a double order of imperial egg rolls (the little crispy kind, with rice noodles and pork and shreds of carrot inside, served with syrupy fish sauce with carrot floating in it) and a large order of veggie fried rice with extra veggies.

    Step Two:  Eat the egg rolls.  Be immediately blissful, followed shortly thereafter by being immediately sorry.  Unable to face it, stick the fried rice, unopened in its little wax carton, in the fridge for the next day, and stumble up to bed to lie down.

    Step Three:  Mix 3/4 cup of fried rice with an entire bag of steamable mixed veggies.  I chose "Asian Medley" but I believe broccoli, carrots, and snap peas would also be nice.

    Step Four:  Searching for protein, top with fried egg.  Or possibly handful of cashews.

    Step Five:  Sriracha!  And egg yolk all running down into the rice.  And soy sauce.

    Now all I need is a steady supply of carryout Vietnamese fried rice.  Unfortunately, I have yet to make it out of a Vietnamese carryout without also the egg rolls.

     


  • Woenails.

    A pall has been cast over the general feeling of well-being with which I started out this pregnancy.

    Yesterday, I took my daughter into the Y for her swimming lesson and then, unable to get the 3-year-old to feel happy about staying in the child care for me, skipped my own workout and instead ambled around the public areas of the Y with him in tow.  

    We watched the swimmers in the pool.  We peeped through the glass at the women lifting barbells to music in the BodyPump class ("They are practicing picking things up," he told me.)  We went to the snack machine to buy a granola bar, and the 3-year-old stepped backwards to get a broader look at the array of treats AND HE STEPPED ON MY TOE ALL FUNNY AND SHATTERED MY TOENAIL INTO ABOUT FIVE CRUNCHY PIECES.

    "Auuugh!  Ah, just a minute… ow…"

    I hopped over to a chair, reassembled my toenail without looking at it (horror horror horror) and pinched my thumb down over my toe.  As soon as my HORRIBLE UNDEAD toenail was all back together and seated properly, my toe felt happy and normal again.  

    Quick peek.  No blood.

    "I'm sorry, Mommy.  Can I have a blueberry bar?"  

    "Just a minute.  I need, uh, some tape or something."

    + + +

    So.  This is all because I went skiing in 2012 with new boots.  

    Two Februaries ago, we took a lovely week out in Montana at Moonlight Basin (totally. recommend. for. families.), and before we went I bought new ski boots.  They were well-fitting, selected with excellent service from a locally owned dealer, but you never quite know exactly how to adjust the buckles until you've skied in them for a day.   I spent the whole first day moving the buckles around between ski runs, trying to figure out exactly how tight everything needed to be; since they were new, none of the settings would give that "exactly right" feeling that you get when you correctly buckle into an old, well-worn pair.   And of course the boot will continue to mold to your foot a bit as you wear it over the seasons, so you would expect it to remain slightly uncomfortable even once you get it set right.

    Three ratchet-type buckles on each foot makes for a fairly large number of possible combinations of settings.  By the end of the first day I still hadn't quite gotten it figured out, but early on the first second day a telltale soreness in the top of my left foot clued me in that I had had the toe box too loose all along:  I'd been unconsciously pressing my foot against the top of the boot for balance.  I ratcheted the frontmost buckle down extra-tight, and — like magic — I suddenly re-acquired the ability to ski in control.   The rest of the trip was perfect skiing for me, maybe the best few days I've ever had.   I kept up with my big boys and had a great time.  Boot adjustment matters!

    But the Day of the Sloppy Toe Box had already taken its toll.  Within days I developed an ugly, black bruise on my left big toenail (from pressing it against the top of the toe box).  It didn't hurt, so I kept the toenail trimmed and went on with my life.  

    But then in May (we're still in 2012, mind you) one of the kids stumbled over one of my feet and applied some upward torque to my toe and OH %$&% HE RIPPED MY WHOLE TOENAIL OFF.

    Horror.  Horror.  Horror.  I am not an extremely squeamish person but there are some things I cannot stand.  I do not like it when children put their spit on me.  I do not like helping anyone get a particle out of his eye.  AND I DO NOT LIKE INVOLUNTARY AMPUTATIONS.  The sensation of air wafting over my naked nailbed gave me the screaming willies.  I was afraid to look at it.  I shoved the toenail back into place and immediately went into denial about what had just happened.  Sat there and just refused to believe it.

    + + +

    After a few minutes I managed to recover my senses long enough to Google "ripped toenail off" and find out what the hell I was supposed to do for a toenail until it grew back, and what I was going to do with my toe until then.  

    I found this extremely helpful blog post entitled "So, you've ripped off your toenail?"  (the blog, Jill Will Run, is a pretty good distance-running/health blog in and of itself) and did everything she said.  My poor dead toenail was completely detached, but I seated it back on the nailbed anyway, figuring that it was a perfectly shaped protective shield and also because then I could remain somewhat in denial.  (My toe felt awful awful awful — not painful, just got-the-heebie-jeebies awful — when the nail was off, and happy-la-la-everything-is-fine-it-was-all-a-bad-dream when the nail was on.)  

    I kept the toe taped up, wore a little gel toe cozy during the day, and religiously doused it with hydrogen peroxide at night to help prevent infection.  I carried a little Toenail TLC Kit around in my bag with me:  first aid tape, gauze, mini scissors to cut the gauze, an extra toe cozy, and some antiseptic wipes.  I carefully mummified my toe in waterproof tape before swimming laps, and de-mummified it after my shower, replacing the waterproof tape with air-permeable tape and gauze so the damp skin wouldn't get all gross.  A couple of times I had to get out of the pool and re-tape the toe when the tape started flapping during a swim, because it's not nice to let bandages float away into the water, and also it feels annoying.  After a few weeks I got up the courage to start running again, gently at first, and more confidently after I became certain that my toe would not poke into the front of my shoe hard enough to disturb my carefully constructed toe bandage.

    I am not a high maintenance person; but gee howdy, I had a High Maintenance Toe until about January, when I finally had the courage to peep under my carefully preserved undead toenail and discover that there was enough new toenail under there that I could throw the old one away.

    I nostalgically thought about keeping it, maybe putting it under my pillow for the nail fairy, but then came to my senses.  It had betrayed me, and served its sentence, and now it could be returned to the universe.

    The very next month we went skiing again, and my ski boots were correctly tightened, and all was fine, and I thought my long horrifying ordeal was over.

    + + +

    All right, fast forward to this week.  Sixteen months after the original ski-boot bruising, and it became extremely clear that my new toenail was not correctly formed.  The truth is I wasn't terribly surprised when one little stomp from a three-year-old shattered it, because only a couple of days ago I was frowning at the toenail because it didn't look right.  It wasn't the same color as my other toenails:  a dead-looking yellow all over instead of rosy pink back by the cuticle.  I had made a mental note to be careful when trimming it.

    I guess I was right.  It was a toenail miscarriage.

    I would like to say that it's going to be easier this time because I know what to do about the toenail (although maybe this time I should listen to Mark and suck it up and not baby it so much; maybe I smothered it with all my TLC, and he's right and I should just get over the HORRIBLE AMPUTATION HEEBIE JEEBIES and stop taping it up and learn to get used to living without a toenail until the new one grows back).

    And I may have to do this anyway.  Because, let's face it, I do not see myself bending over to tape up my toe twice a day in the third trimester of pregnancy, as I looked in this photo from January 2010.


    Unknown
    Tiny me with big belly

     

    Yeah, not going to happen.

     


  • The hypothesis which is mine.

    I have this hypothesis about parenting…

    …yes, I still have some hypotheses left after four empirical children!

    …that went into my thinking as Mark and I were discussing whether to go for number five.

    + + +

    (MY thinking, mind you.   I don't want this to become the sort of mommyblog post where the author writes "I prayed about this" and "I deeply felt that" and "It seemed to me that we should" and at the same time leaves entirely unmentioned, as if unimportant, any hint of involvement of The Husband in the discernment.  So.  Without having to dive into other aspects of this rather complicated subject, and so preserving the proper intimacy of the marital relationship, let's just toss it on the table that this is purely my hypothesis, and if it proves totally wrong, it's me who has to walk it back and not him.)

    The line of reasoning goes like this.

    + + +

    (1)  Raising teenagers is reputed to be difficult and confusing, such that in the absence of any actual difficulty, the prospect of setting out on the journey with children ages 13 to 19 intimidates.

    (2)  Intimidation depletes confidence.

    (3) A parent who can maintain a sense of confidence is a parent who can remain assertive:  authoritative without being authoritarian, just without being judgmental, cautious without being overprotective.  

    (4) Confidence comes, in part, from regularly engaging in challenging tasks that require well-developed skills:  from seeing before you a job that you know will be difficult enough to require your careful attention, while (because you know you have the skills, or perhaps because you have done it before) you fully expect you will succeed.

    (4a) In other words:  flow!

    (5) Suppose you're working at a job that presents you with some intimidating tasks, tasks that require yet-undeveloped skills, and you quail before them because you're not at all sure you will succeed at them.   It's nice, then, if your job also entails some other tasks which are quite routine, mindless even, and so less psychologically exhausting, a place you can escape to — without slacking off, since those routine tasks must also be done.  

    It's even better if your job entails, too, some flow-rich tasks, the kind that are psychologically absorbing in a good way; things that call on the full exercise of the skills you're most confident in.  You emerge from the other side of those not rested but energized – feeling competent and valuable — and with some perspective you can remember that once, too, those skills were underdeveloped, and yet you developed them, and look where you are today.

    It can almost make you excited about learning new skills.  Though the risk of failure is ever-present, that is what makes new skills worth developing.  Who would care about skill if success is inevitable?  Where could you find flow?

    (6)  So it's a good idea to arrange your workload to contain plenty of challenging-but-well-within-your-ability tasks, and a sprinkling of routine-and-kind-of-mindless tasks, at the same time that you embark upon a new and intimidating project with considerably high stakes.

    (7) Therefore, I should have a new baby the same year my first child becomes a teenager.

     

    + + + 

    So, I'll let you know how that goes, hm?


  • Things I am learning about being pregnant with my fifth child.

     

    I keep wandering into the room where I store all my dog-eared books about pregnancy and childbirth, and pulling one off the shelf. It’s nostalgia, I think: I am thinking back to being newly pregnant previous times, when I read voraciously about all the things that were going to happen to my body, tips for having a good homebirth, nutritional advice, that sort of thing. I deal with uncertainty and new situations by seeking information — grasping a subject makes me feel like I have power over it, somehow — and I suppose, now that I think about it, it’s partly true. I remember how in my first couple of pregnancies the mixed feelings of excitement and fear blended into a mostly-positive anticipation with every new book I read and every new piece of information I could assimilate.

    But you know what? THERE ARE NO NEW PIECES OF INFORMATION IN THESE $@$#%ing BOOKS.

    + + +

    What with the march of scientific progress and advances in the mommy wars, there could be some new pieces of information out there by now. Possibly there is some gadget invented in the last few years that I might want to buy, or a new consensus on some type of food that pregnant women are now supposed to avoid for a non-stupid reason. (Maybe someone somewhere has written a picture book meant especially to help a toddler AND HIS THREE OLDER SIBLINGS welcome the new baby.)

    But it is kind of a pain to sift through books that tell me that I will enjoy the novelty of my newly burgeoning womanhood, and that I should be understanding when my partner expresses doubt and fearfulness about his impending new role.

    I think what I need is a publication that cuts through all the crap and simply lists Updates To The Standard Pregnancy Advice From The Last Four Years. Since 1999, when I became pregnant for the first time, I’ve definitely seen a few changes. I remember the big shift in the GBS protocol (from an attention to cleanliness after the water breaks, to “forget-that-we-just-put-1/3-of-all-laboring-women-on-IV-antibiotics”). I remember when a turkey sandwich, once a great source of convenient protein, suddenly changed to stillbirth-on-rye.

    At minimum, I could probably use a rundown on what’s going on in hospitals these days, since (even though I’ve had four homebirths now) it always pays to be prepared in case circumstances change and we choose differently.

    + + +

    It’s obvious that I am pregnant, even at 8 weeks, even though I can still fit into my regular clothes. But you know — it’s risky to assume. When i saw the eyes dart to the belly before the receptionist at the YMCA looked me in the eye and asked me, “How was your swim, Erin? All alone today?” last night, I took pity on her and answered “Only kinda sorta!” Might as well get the staff at the Y past the “Is she or isn’t she?” stage, or it will be an awkward 3-4 months.

    + + +

    So much feels like routine. I find myself saying “When I am pregnant, I [blah blah blah],” in much the same way that I might say, “When it rains…” or “When I’m bored…”

    + + +

    Being longtime NFP users gives Mark and me enough perspective to assimilate and accept that at the age of 40 and 38, we are still quite young enough to have more children after this one… whether we decide to try again or not.

    Nevertheless, this time around I am finding myself thinking and speaking and writing as if I were confident that this pregnancy will be my last pregnancy, and feeling comfortable with that.

    This is a new train of thought for me, and I am almost surprised to be having it. Thoughts like “This could be the last time I ever have to go through the can’t-stand-to-drink-coffee phase, if I want it to be,” are not wistful thoughts, but relieved thoughts. I have found myself thinking, “In 7 months it is going to feel %#*%ing GREAT when I expel this placenta. Somebody better be standing there with a pitcher of margaritas.”

    + + +

    However, having gone through this four times before, I also know that I could well feel wistful again three years from now. Good thing it can’t go on forever.

    + + +

    Grand multipara, here I come. I kind of wish I could stick it after my name, like the Ph.D. Or maybe before. “That’s Grand Multipara Bearing to you. I didn’t give birth five times so I could be called Doctor.”

    + + +

    This episode of pregnancy cravings brought to you by: tomatoes. Especially in form of sandwich. Also V-8.