My Eighteen Year Old Drove Away Today

My eighteen year old drove away today. She’ll be gone four days. I stood at the open door and watched her drive all the way to the end of the road. And then, I watched her turn, and she was gone --gone to be with friends and surrounded by people, outside the sleepy quiet of small town life.  In the spirit of giving children roots and wings, this is a good thing. My heart is heavy -- heavy with happiness that she is grown, heavy with sorrow that she has flown the coop for some independent time. I felt, a bit more deeply, the ever-present awareness that, one day, she’ll be gone for good, to a life of adulthood.

Of course I do know that. That’s the point; isn't it? All these years of nurture and education and encouragement and challenge, they were all for her leaving.  I wondered why each testing of her wings weighs so heavy on me, and then I realized it. Infertility and being the blessed mother of an "only" miracle-child mean lots of things. They mean that your oldest is also your baby, and that the first day of Kindergarten is a one-time event.  They mean that once you finally figure it out, it’s too late to use it, because there are no more children to use it with. This morning though, it hit me that they also mean that your first one to leave is also your last. The heart-stretch of watching your first one move out is also the cataclysm of becoming an empty nester.  What a gift though. What a gift, against all odds,  I have been given.

Heavenly Father, send Thine angel to watch over her and protect her, and, please Father, plan for her a life of joy.

Now, I'm going to go cry in the shower.  :)

Pax dear ones,

~Michelle

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The Hand That Rocks Tomorrow's Cradle

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Flexible Mom Jobs: A Sampling

Firmin Baes, Sweet Dreams, PD-ART

There is certainly debate in Christian circles regarding whether a married woman ought to work. Among those who feel that the primary role of a woman is wife and mother at home, there is further debate over whether a young woman ought to prepare an "emergency net" of marketable professional education or training, in case she may be called upon to provide material support to her family. This post is not about those debates. It is simply the public posting of a table of "flexible mom job" suggestions that I have provided to some young women who have asked. The figures in the table are somewhat specific to our local area in California. Certainly, salaries and educational preparation requirements may vary across geographic areas. Readers are welcomed to comment regarding local salaries and requirements, and to suggest additional options.

At any rate, for those who are interested, here it is:

Profession	Minimum Years to Prepare	Academic Degree? (Requiring non-relevant general ed. coursework)	Flexible (Can work occasionally, 4-40 hours per week & Nights/Weekends when Dad is home.)	Can work from home?	Pay Rate Per hr.	Jobs plentiful  & work available anywhere husband’s work takes the family?
Nursing	RN-2 yrs. LVN-1 yr. CNA-6 wk. (Can be done in sequence, CNAàLVNàRN with hospital paying for subsequent training)	No No No	Yes Yes Yes	No No No	45-60 25-40 13-16	Yes Yes Yes
School Nurse	5 yrs	Yes B.S.+ Credential	No but school calendar	No	40-80	Moderate
Dental Hygienist	2 yrs.	No	Yes	No	45-60	Yes
Medical Transcription &/or Billing	9 mo.	No	Yes	Yes	17-21	Yes
Occuptional Therapist	4 yrs.	Yes B.S	Yes	No	40-55	Yes
Physical Therapist	4 yrs.	Yes B.S	Yes	No	45-60	Yes
Speech Pathologist	6 yrs.	Yes M.S.	Yes	Yes-via tele-therapy	45-60 Medical 45-85 Schools	Yes
Pharmacy Tech	9 months	No	Yes (hospitals & evening retail)	No	16-25	Yes
Sign Language Interpreter	4 yrs.	B.A. (certified)	Yes	Limited	40-50 (certified)	Yes

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So Many Wicks and Flames...

My daughter has lighted a lot of Advent candles. When she was very young, I learned of the tradition that the youngest child lights the Advent candles. This made sense to me. By that point, our six long years of infertility had passed, and we had been blessed with pregnancy.  We could plan for each child to have his or her turn at the wreath, as the years went by, regardless of how many we were able to have. Of course, things never quite work out as planned, and the other six (or more) never arrived. We were blessed with one, despite our plans to the contrary, and that is enough. Our hearts are full.

That leaves her holding the candle lighter though...every night, of every Advent -- all the way until this, her nineteenth year.

This year, I handed the lighter to Dad. The kid deserves a break.

This got me to thinking about plans and traditions. I have an 18 year old. It's impossible to predict how many more Advent wreath lightings she'll be in our home for. The thought brings tears...

Tears of sorrow...
   Tears of loss...
      Tears of growth...
         Tears of joy...
            Tears of hope and anticipation...

Some day, she may be guiding a little hand wrapped inside of hers, lighting purple candles studding evergreen, and that is good. That is how it is supposed to be. That is why we light Advent candles in the first place -- because new things are coming. Births are expected. We look forward to culminations which will surely come.

As flames flicker atop crisp cotton, we'll be carried away on gentle winds of change to find ourselves in new places -- places we did not expect -- to find that we have arrived exactly where we had been headed all along. Candle lighters will spark and wicks will catch, in an unbroken chain of love and hope until we all return home -- our true home, where we all belong.

And our hearts will be full.

O Come O Come Emmanuel --and we, repeatedly caught unawares and full of untamed joy, -- we will adjust, and rejoice, and be glad for it.

God bless your Advent season.
Pax Christi dear ones,
~Michelle

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Doilies, Catholic Grandmothers, and the Power of a Womans Love

Remember that little stiff lace doily your grandmother slapped on your head, on the way into church, when you were six?  Well...Everything old is new again.  Doilies & half-doilies are on their way to The Veil Shop....

...Which brings to my mind memories, and legacies, of Catholic grandmothers...

Sometime in the early 1900s, a petite Irish Catholic girl, by the name of Elizabeth, caught the eye of my Mormon great grandfather, then a young man, in the the shadow of the majestic Tetons. Her family was staying in his family's hotel on their way from Ireland, to San Francisco, to start a new life. The course of my family's little corner of history changed from that first glance. When Lizzie's family pressed on toward San Francisco, she stayed behind, in rugged Wyoming, as a future cattle rancher's wife.   It's amazing what the spark of love can do. I'm pretty sure that it's safe to assume that my lack of a Mormon upbringing can be directly attributed to the youthful cuteness of my father's tiny Irish Catholic grandmother.

(http://flickr.com/photos/24841050@N00 Juni) from Kyoto, Japan 

A generation later, Elizabeth's son, my father's father, met a Mormon girl, who was later to follow spiritual longings which took her on a long and winding journey, ...and then left her with her knees on a kneeler in a Catholic church.  I remember sitting in the cool vastness of that Catholic church, a little Lutheran girl fascinated by the statues.  My parochial school Lutheran parish did not have statues.  I knew then, with a surety, that I was missing something.

I suppose those are among the reasons that this cradle Lutheran descendant of Mormons is an Anglican.  It's the grandmas, tugging me away from Augsburg, toward Rome, from Heaven.

It's true what they say: Women are the keepers of the sacred, and the hand that rocks the cradle really does rule the world.

While contemplating my own daughter's future and wondering, ...with a smile,.... where next the story of my family will wind, I wish you many joyous twists and turns in the care of Our Lord,
Pax Christi, Dear One,

~Michelle

~~~~~

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Mamas, Babies, and the Protection of an Almighty God

By DickDaniels (http://carolinabirds.org/) (Own work) [CC-BY-SA-3.0
(www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)

There she stood, perched on the fence, watching.  Her determination was amazing. She would not move, regardless of the Eighty-five Kindergartners who were headed her way.  They were marching along the fence, in a line...a long line, bashing tambourines and beating drums, singing patriotic songs in their "outside voices" (read: at the tops of their lungs).  And...they were headed for her perch.


She stood fast.  She would not give up her post.

For a moment, it seemed rather peculiar.  Why stand firm in the face of such a threat?  I mean, I work in a school, I understand what it is to have 85 exuberant five-year-olds headed your way.

Then, it hit me.  I turned my gaze to the nearest tree, scanned up about 100 feet, and...there it was.  A nest, with three fledglings peeking up over the edge.

She was a mama, and mamas don't give up their posts.

I will take refuge in the shadow of your wings until the disaster has passed ~ Ps. 57:1

If there is one thing you don't want to do, it is come between a mama and her children.  It is written in our cells, ...to protect, to guide, to put ourselves in harm's way, if needed, to shield our offspring.

By J.M.Garg (Own work) [GFDL (www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html) or CC-BY-SA-3.0 (www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

As an eagle stirreth up her nest, fluttereth over her young, spreadeth abroad her wings, taketh them, beareth them on her wings: So alone the Lord did lead him, and there was no strange god before him.

~Deut. 32: 11-12

Even so, human mothers sometimes fail.  The most we can do is give every ounce of effort we have in us, to being the best mother that we can be.  God, though, does not fail us. We have a steadfast, unfailing, Almighty God who sees the whole picture from his perch, and will not leave us.

Truly, we are greatly blessed.

Remain Safe in the Sheltering Wings of Our Lord, Dear Ones,
~Michelle

~~~~~

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Attachment Parenting is Like Cleavage

I haven't been able to write lately.  In fact, I've been avoiding the internet like the plague...well, at least like the flu.  And, really, I haven't been sure why.

And then...I woke up to a post by Elizabeth Foss that triggered an epiphany, because I realized that I had been experiencing exactly what she describes, in the wake of Time magazine's recent cover.  It seems that everywhere one looks across the media in the past few days, everyone has an opinion about the various aspects of attachment parenting, some of it defensive, some of it offensive...particularly to those who have practiced it.

But, here is the thing:
Attachment parenting is like cleavage.  It is pretty wonderful, but it is private.  It is best protected, valued, and experienced in the sacred ground of the home.  It is cheapened, and devalued, through exploitation.  It isn't to be displayed on a stool, and it isn't to be paraded and debated before those who will make vulgar comments rooted in ignorance and in the vile seedbed of ungodliness.

I have lovely stories of attachment parenting, of what people used to call "the family bed" (co-sleeping), and of child led weaning, but, they are...mine.  They are our stories, and they belong in the beautiful embrace of a family....our family... rooted in God and in the traditional values of nurturing protection and of refusal to allow the popular culture to mar our child or our relationship with her.  Those values are directed toward nurturing her, and nurturing, through her, the next generation and the countless ones that will follow because she was invited.  She was invited into a family that is open to life.  She is not a trendy accessory.  She is not a side effect of personal sexual expression.  She is the very expression of the conjugal embrace.  She is a part of us.  And true attachment parenting doesn't put children on stools; it wraps them in an impenetrable, shared, eternal family embrace.

As I write this on my lunch hour, my eighteen year old sits at my desk in my speech therapy room.  She came to work today, as she has been coming every Wednesday, because she knows that Wednesdays are overwhelming for me.  I don't have an assistant on Wednesdays.  There are a million other things an eighteen year old, who just finished her Spring college term, would rather be doing than getting up at 5:30 a.m. and embarking on a one hour commute to a job that isn't hers.  But, she is here because she knows I need her.  She knows her presence makes my life better.  She knows that it isn't all about her...it's about the family.  She knows we are a unit, encased in a fortress of loyalty and love.  She is attachment parenting me today.  She just doesn't know it yet.

I am not so naive as to think that one approach works for all families, but, I also don't need to know what other people think about the fact that our daughter slept with us from infancy until she was four years old.  I don't need to know what Time magazine, or the bitter old woman, who turns her nose up at the magazine's admittedly inappropriate and offensive cover in the grocery line, thinks about the fact that my daughter nursed until she was three.  I don't care about the women who tisk-tisked as my young child accompanied me, in a sling, on my errands day in and day out.   I don't care what the circle of older women at holiday community gatherings thought of my parenting style, or my daughter's behavior, when she was a toddler and young child.

I sit looking at a newly minted young adult who is kind, compassionate, articulate, academically successful, and prepared with the tools to make good choices for marriage and family life. I see a young woman with the intelligence, skills and potential to do anything she chooses...who knows that family is everything, and that children are worth anything.  I see a young woman who could be anything, but knows that there is no greater title than mother.   I see her sitting in a desk, ...my desk, ....selflessly supporting a family that she is old enough to turn her back on, if she were not bonded in love and loyalty to...attached to,..... eternally....in love.  I see a young woman who is prepared and intensively determined, to pass those bonds and values on to another generation. That is all I need to know about attachment parenting.


Thank you, Elizabeth, for triggering my epiphany.  I needed that.
Elizabeth's post is here.

And that is what this old broad has to say about that.

~~~~~

As always, comments are welcome, but this time, aggressive or critical comments will be deleted, because this is our story.

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Simnel Cake for Mothering Sunday

Early Christians in England used the fourth Sunday of Easter to honor the Blessed Virgin Mary, mother of Christ, and also, "mother church".  People traditionally visited the Cathedral of their diocese on this day, gathering together with extended family and loved ones there.

In the 1600s, a clerical decree was made that the day would be broaden to include honoring not only Mary and mother Church, but also, earthly mothers.  It came to be known as "Mothering Sunday".

Mothering Sunday was traditionally a day for apprentices and servant girls to go home to visit family.  They brought with them the present of a simnel cake made for their mothers, to be enjoyed on this special day at the midpoint of Lent.  Daughters presenting cakes were then, in turn, given a blessing by their mothers who were, no doubt, overjoyed to see them on this special day.  This process, along with the visitation of the cathedral, was known as  "going-a-mothering".

Edmund Blair Leighton [Public domain],
 via Wikimedia Commons

This day was also customarily a day for matchmaking, the announcement of the engagements of young couples, and the only day during the entire Lenten season when marriages were solemnized.  For all of these customs, a special meal would be celebrated, to include a desert that was forbidden for all other days in Lent.

Simnel cake is a light fruit cake made with dried fruits and zest with a layer of almond past bakes into the center. Around the edge of the cake are eleven marzipan balls, which represent the true disciples of Jesus.  Judas, of course, is not included.  In medieval times, the cake was often stamped with the image of the Blessed Virgin Mary.

Like many Christian traditions, this one probably developed over time as a combination of many observances through the centuries, from honoring of ancient Greeks and Romans of "mother gods" and its collision with early Christianity, and on down through the Christian centuries.  Like Christmas, Easter, and other Christian observances, we have the choice to saturate this tradition with Christ and embrace it to enrich our Christian homes...or reject it out of fear that it is somehow tainted by historic influences.

As regular readers of this blog know, we choose to embrace our historic Christian traditions and see Christ in all things.  In keeping with this orientation, I was gifted with a lovely Simnel cake prepared by my talented daughter and touched by her creative vision...to follow up a lovely dinner made by my awesome husband.  Truly, I am blessed.

The recipe, that Elyse used, is the first recipe here.  This recipe make about 10 cups of batter.  A guide for pan size options is here.  Elyse used a well known candy in place of the marzipan balls.  The nest is cotton candy.

The Laetere period is considered to begin the Wednesday before Mothering Sunday, and end the Wednesday after.  Next Thursday, this blog will quietly reenter the desert of the Lenten season.

For more about Mothering Sunday, visit here.

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Laetare Sunday: When Mothering is Honored and Real Men Wear Pink

The church is tickled pink twice per year. We lit the pink candle on the third Sunday of Advent, (Gaudete Sunday), and with it, experienced a lightening in an otherwise penitential season.  The fourth Sunday of Lent is the cousin of the third Sunday of Advent.  It is a pause on the road to the foot of the cross, a time to remember that in the Church we have joy and peace.

Can you see it?  Easter is on the horizon; we are halfway there.

This day is called Laetere Sunday, after the opening words of the Latin mass for this day, "Laetere, Jerusalem"....
"Rejoice, oh Jerusalem, and come together all ye that love her: Rejoice with joy, you that have been in sorrow: that you may exult, and be filled from the breasts of your consolation.  


Laetere Sunday is also known as Mothering Sunday because of the epistle reading for the day, which teaches that not only the Jews, but all who come to Christ, are children of God and inheritors of the promise.

There was a custom of visiting the cathedral ("mother church") of one's diocese on this day.  Hence all members of an extended family were brought together in worship.  In England, this day came to be a day for honoring mothers.  In some places, this Sunday when families were brought together from far and wide was, also, the only day in Lent when marriages were solemnized.

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Laetere Sunday, like Gaudete Sunday in Advent, is a time to pause, at the halfway point on the path to Easter, and experience joy at the coming hope.  The church expresses her joy in the form of rose colored vestments, altar hangings, and/or pink flowers upon the altar.

We are halfway there!
Easter approaches, friends, and joy begins to well in our hearts at the anticipation of it!

While I am at it, I should note that my own mother is a selfless dear person who has blessed the lives of her children and grandchild, and whom we all love beyond words.

Pax Christi!
~Michelle

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