Kathleen M. Basi's Blog, page 52

(Mostly) Wordless Wednesday: My Baby’s Growing Up

After having to push Alex to go through altar server training, I was glad to see that he seemed to be excited about starting his ministry…but also nervous. I was so proud of him on Sunday morning.

Recital Day: A V-log (sort of)

(Text, more or less):

It has been about ten years since I gave a recital.

When I gave recitals in college and grad school, I:

Practiced three to four hours a day
Had my own dedicated practice room, with no internet connection
Practiced first thing in the morning before class.
Practiced after class until ensemble time.
Practiced in the afternoon until more ensemble time.
Practiced after dinner.
Practiced in hallways where best friends would often be doing the same thing across the way, motivating each other.

My thanks to Theresa for this shot

Oh right. And I had no kids.

It is a very different experience to give a recital these days.

What practice I have had has been “accompanied” by:

A plastic snake
Lego cupcakes
The Penguin and Joker under my feet
Claves
Maracas
Cymbals
And a water flute.

Among other things.

I had made cookies for a reception. One of our choir members asked if she could bring “something.” I said sure, bring cheese and crackers. This is what she brought. Wow!

But although everything is a little—okay, a lot–less polished and a little more haphazard, I am not complaining. After all, when I was preparing recitals in college and grad school, I:

Weighed ten pounds more than I do now.
Was in a constant battle with tendinitis and carpal tunnel
Didn’t know what I was really going to do with this degree I was earning. If anything.
Was sleeping on a dormitory bed whose legs were so uneven that I had to stick books under them to even it out
in apartments with walls so thin, the alarm clock next door woke me up every morning…
…or, in apartments made of cinderblock without insulation, next to a major intersection
Had no car
Had never been published.

It’s a give and take. Whatever you gain as life goes on comes at the price of something else, and what you lose usually opens the door to new possibilities, too. So I’m satisfied to be standing here today to share this music with you.

 

Butt-Man and Other Adventures In Toddler Speech Production (a 7QT post)

-1-

I came in from putting Julianna on the bus the other morning to find Michael wrapped up in the window sheers, wailing “Du-du! Du-du!” (that would be “Juju”) Actual ensuing conversation, with Michael lying on my chest: Me: “Are you sad because you didn’t get to say bye-bye to Juju?” Michael: “Yes.” More crying. Me: “Oh, that’s sweet. It’s okay. You didn’t have your shoes on, honey. It’s cold outside.” Michael (wailing): “Du-duuuuuuuuu!” (Insert several repetitions of the above.) Me (going for distraction that doesn’t involve electronic screens): “Hey, we’re going to Tolton in a little while.” (The Catholic high school). “Wal Mart?” “No, Tolton.” “Wal Mart?” “No, Tolton. Does that sound like fun?” Michael (wailing): “Nooooo! Tie!” Me: “Cry?” Michael: “Yes!” And he does. Guess what did distract him in the end?

I’m telling you, this is the life.

-2-

Michael’s sketchy speech–very sketchy, considering how close to age 3 he is–leads to some hilarious and at times face-palm-worthy misspeaks. Exhibit A: “Butt-man.” That would be “Batman.” Exhibit B cannot be printed on this blog, but the sentiment is “thank you.” His th’s come out as f’s, and as you saw in Exhibit A, his short a’s come out as “uh.” You do the math.

(Update: this morning I said, “Good talking, little boy!” and he said, “Beee-boy!” As in “big boy.” So cute.)

-3-

Nonetheless, he is working very, very hard at speech production, and he is giving us spontaneous single words to try to communicate with us now. Context renders probably 2/3 of his attempts intelligible.

-4-

As he approaches age 3, we are starting to explore testing options through the public schools. Title 1 was the first avenue, but Title 1 preschools tend to be overcrowded with long wait lists. One of the PTs who worked with Julianna at Early Childhood Special Education suggested that I talk to ECSE about Michael. Yesterday we met with them to get the ball rolling. It was just an initial conversation; evaluation won’t happen for a few weeks yet. But it sounds promising. Many implications to spin out on that account, but I’m trying not to speculate on the shape of my life in a few months.

-5-

This has made me realize how strange it is that we have: a) two children in parochial school, b) one child in public school special ed and c) one child at the other end of the special ed spectrum in the gifted program. No wonder I’m pulling my hair out with paperwork. But we have a much broader sense of the education system than I ever anticipated I might claim.

-6-

My first flute recital since before I had kids is T minus two days!

-7-

Generally I don’t like videos that are more than a minute and a half long. I will make an exception in this case. Please give 4’26” of your life to watch this. This should end once and for all the delusion that people who are “other” than “typically developing” have poor quality of life and nothing to offer the world.

A Writer’s Life, 2.0

Photo by paloetic, via Flickr

Some days the words are like a wrestling match.

Some days they flow like water over the edge of a cliff, too fast to catch them all.

Some days all of life seems profound, with beauty to be mined in every moment.

Some days it’s head into the wind and muscling through.

Some days there is focus that cannot be sidetracked, and glorious forward motion.

Some days there is nothing but mud spitting under tires.

Some days I wonder if I’m wasting my time.

Some days are a hymn of praise in my heart for knowing, beyond a shred of a doubt, that it is all worthwhile.

Julianna-isms (the 7 1/2 edition)

1. The dawning of imaginative play, round 1. The other day, she came huffing and puffing across the floor on her tummy, announcing, “Mommy, I am boat!”

2. The dawning of imaginative play, round 2. The other day, she came up to me with the mischief gleam in her eye. “Mommy, I shark!” she said, and started “chewing” on my knee.

3. Last night, Julianna was snuggling with Christian on the couch watching TV. After a while she reached underneath her as if she was pulling something out of her rear end. “Here, Daddy,” she said, and pulled out the NFP manual. “Here, Daddy,” she said again, and pulled out the binder of teachers’ notes. (Hm. It was funnier in my head.)

4. Yesterday Christian took the three older kids to a Royals game, leaving Michael with me. All day, he said, she kept asking, “Can we go see Michael?”

5. Mannerism #1: she always says, “I forgot my _____.” Only usually it means Mommy/daddy, YOU forgot…. As in, “Mommy! I forgot my oatmeal!” Which she said to me this morning as I began typing this post, having thrown a bowl of oatmeal in the microwave and not noticed when it dinged. Or Wednesday night, when we were going to an ice cream social and then to church for choir and Julianna’s “church school.” We got on the highway going the opposite direction from our Wednesday routine. Julianna wailed, “Mommy! I forgot my church!”

 

Loving on one of “my boys”

6. Mannerism #2: “my boys.” As in, “Where are my boys?” (meaning Alex and Nicholas, and occasionally Michael.) Killingly adorable.

7. Fingernail polish. She’s crazy about it. Now, fingernail polish gives me the heebie-jeebies. I can’t stand the feel of it. Like lipstick. I can’t (well, won’t) wear either one. Of course, on Mother’s Day weekend I took Julianna out to have nails done and I had to do mine first, because she wasn’t ready to let a stranger mess with her. Now, here’s the thing. Two of my fancy red nails had peeled off by bedtime that day. Julianna’s? She still had every bit of color three weeks later. When she was a baby and her PT put kinesiotape on her, Gerti would say Julianna had “sticky skin.” Apparently that goes for fingernails, too. (Actually, I have a theory about this. It is based upon a Bible verse. Julianna’s fingernail polish stays on because she “neither toils nor spins.” Ahem.)

 

 

Like this.

8. The hide-my-face. Whenever she comes to you staggering from side to side because she has her face dropped parallel to the floor with her hands over her eyes and her elbows stuck out, you know she wants something. Usually a movie. Occasionally a hug.

9. The I’m so sorry. Julianna will apologize for everything, especially when she’s been scolded, but other times, too. We grit our teeth. We want to say, “That’s sweet that you’re sorry, but you don’t need to apologize. Just do what you’re told!”

And just to wrap it up: as I type this morning, Julianna and Michael have found the iPad and are sitting on the couch watching Daniel Tiger (without permission, I might add. Battles worth fighting, and all that.) Julianna says to Michael: “Do you want to start at beginning? Say yes! Mah-koh, say yes!”

That’s my girl. Sigh.

Speaking Of… (a 7QT post)

___1___

I think I know how the word “buns” came to be applied to the posterior of the body. I think it happened when a speech-delayed toddler said, “Mommy no bunna!” when he meant “stop squeezing my bottom.”

___2___

Speaking of Michael, he was an angel all day Monday and Tuesday. On Monday he tolerated five hours at a Down syndrome inclusion conference without a real nap. On Tuesday he tolerated school Mass, a recital rehearsal, a presentation to third-year medical students, a piano lesson, a rehearsal and a brief concert, and the tail end of his sister’s swim lesson—also without nap to speak of.

___3___

Speaking of school Mass, Alex got to be a cantor for the first time this week. And he was leading the psalm refrain. I tried so hard. Unfortunately, Mass begins ten minutes after Julianna’s bus is supposed to pick her up—and that’s if the bus comes on time. Which it didn’t. Folks, I tried to make it. The next door neighbors couldn’t put her on the bus because they had their own scheduling issues. One minute before Mass began, I put Julianna in the car and drove her to her school. Only no one was outside to supervise, and although other parents were dropping kids off, I was way too nervous to send my happy-go-lucky and more or less oblivious-to-reality girl in on her own. Consequently, it was 8:07 before I left her school, and 8:15 by the time Michael and I made it to church. I won’t bore you with the missed stoplights, the two, count ‘em TWO, trucks full of concrete dividers, that I got caught behind—oh, whoops, I just did bore you, didn’t I? Ahem. Well, anyway, when we finally made it to Mass at 8:15 they were already on the homily and we had missed Alex leading the psalm refrain for the first time. I wanted to cry and throw things. I was not a very good Christian.

___4___

Speaking of being a good Christian, Julianna recently discovered Barbie videos and I let her watch them for a while until one day I was doing knee stretches on the floor and actually heard some of the dialogue. I was appalled. It was materialistic, Ken was an absolute alpha-male idiot who wouldn’t admit he was hot and thirsty, and Barbie felt her biggest job was to bring him tea while he was on the roof building her second dream home. None of those are messages I want my kids absorbing. I’m having to be really foot-down about no Barbie videos, because Julianna seems to have really attached to it. And Michael and Nicholas too, for that matter.

___5___

I’ve run out of “speaking of” connections. But we bought a laptop! Used. Newly wiped. New battery. About 1/5 of the price of a comparable new one. I’m feeling happy. I may not be feeling happy once I have to learn a new machine…because let’s put it this way: me and technology are not BFFs.

___6___

You were all so great about weighing in on the new author pictures, I’m going to ask you to opine on the flute pictures, too. What do you think: A or B?

___7___

There was a period of several weeks this summer in which I felt I had slacked off and I had very little in the way of deadlines–i.e. “paying gigs.” I am a firm believer that God helps those who help themselves, and so I put forth a big effort to send out pitches and queries, not one of which came to anything–no response is as clear a “no thanks” as you can imagine–yet my work plate is full-up again and I’m in full project juggling mode. God is good.

I Do Believe: Help My Unbelief

Margaret Felice has been running a series the last few weeks about music that has inspired our faith. I contributed a post to her series this week, so today I’m sending you her way. Hope you enjoy:

I Do Believe–Help My Unbelief!

A Writer’s Life

On Friday morning, at the end of two weeks’ worth of puzzling and researching options for how to take this Write-at-home-mom gig mobile, I picked up a laptop from surplus to try out. I carried it around all morning, to Jazzercise and speech therapy and the copy shop and music-dropoff. I felt all grown up and professional, even though the computer has to be wiped before I can even access it, and the battery has to be replaced because it won’t run unless it’s plugged into the wall.

On Friday afternoon I finished redesigning my website. Further cause to feel all real-author-ish.

On Friday evening my husband looked at the site and went, “Meh.” And I went:

On Saturday morning, I went running at 6:30. I did not want to go. But I psyched myself up by thinking warm-glow thoughts. Thoughts like how close I am to finishing the novel revisions I undertook after I got the first-round critiques of the Rising Star contest. The fact that I’ve finished enough nonfiction deadlines to contemplate starting the next novel. (What a concept!)

On Saturday afternoon, I was certain that my book was terrible and I’m a complete fraud.

On Saturday evening, I went out with my husband to celebrate our anniversary. We had dinner and then did a photo shoot in the Governer’s Garden. He took 190 shots to see if we could come up with a new author photo. The shots with the flute came out. Those without? “Brooding,” he scolded me. “Smile!”

“Make me laugh,” I said.

“You have four kids,” he said deadpan, and for some reason I started giggling.

After Facebook made collages of us for our anniversary and we realized the only pictures it had to choose from were eighteenth-century dressup and family pictures, we decided we also needed pictures of ourselves. I’m in love with these pictures.

And now, a new week: back to drafting, editing/revising, website redesign 2.0, and technology obsession. But now you have to help me choose my professional photos.

Option 1: Chin-in-hand serious

Option 2: Chin-in-hand smile

Option 3: Looking Up

Option 4: Slightly blurry (but maybe I can fudge it for tiny online stuff?)

I intended to add a poll but Word Press must have stopped supporting them, so just shout out a number in the comments.

Thanks all!

 

 

 

 

An Attempt Not To Be Boring (a 7QT post)

I realized something this morning as I sat here trying to figure out what to write on my seven quick takes: I’m really boring. But I’ll do my best to skip the boring stuff and go for the good stuff instead. Like:

___1___

Christian says all he has to do to get Michael on board with anything is to say “Who wants to _____?” This morning he woke Michael up and said, “Do you need to use the toilet?”

“No.”

“Who wants to use the bathroom?”

“MEEEE!”

___2___

Julianna and I had our first conversation about sex a couple of weeks ago. Not really sex, just about bodies. Since then she’s been nursing baby dolls.

___3___

Christian is building the kids a clubhouse in the back yard. He’s been scouring the city for pallets he can use for flooring, and he’s put together four wall frames. It’s slow going, as you can imagine with people who stay as busy as we do. But it’ll be fun for all the neighborhood kids when it’s done. (There are nine kids, including ours, living on our cul de sac.)

___4___

Nicholas is two weeks into kindergarten now. He’s so different from Alex at that age. Nicholas is still charming everyone at school, just like he did in preschool–charming them with his charisma and his cute factor. When he comes home from school he’s tired and about half the time it ain’t pretty, folks. But it’s not as bad as I feared it might be, either. He’s so short and solid–Christian calls him a linebacker. That child is already too big for his size 5 uniform shorts. Sigh. But anyway, he’s taken to school like a fish in water, so that’s good. Two days ago he told his class he could sing the Glory to God, and he proved it. Yesterday his class went to church to practice for their first all-school Mass, and he taught the Gloria to them. Yes indeed, he did.

___5___

Has anyone else read Jesus: A Pilgrimage? I’m floored by this book–absolutely floored. I’m thinking about buying it for a whole lot of loved ones, that’s how floored I am. I don’t do things like that. But this book was exactly what I needed right now. Fr. James Martin takes you to the places where the Scriptures took place (or anyway, the places where people claim the Scripture stories took place) and discusses the place itself, the historical background (i.e. historical Jesus), and then delves into imagining what might have filled in the gaps in the Gospel stories–those gaps have been troublesome to me lately, so I love that section; it makes things so much more real–and then a spiritual/theological reflection.

___6___

Last year at this time I was stressing out over the need to bilocate on piano lesson days at school dismissal time. This year I didn’t stress because I’d already worked it out, but circumstances changed just enough that we’re back to square one. Tuesdays and Thursdays are going to be quite the days this fall. It’s my own fault; Nicholas was doing so well at swim lessons that I decided he needed to continue once a week through the fall. I don’t want him to lose all that ground by next summer. We’re actually reaching the point where I think I can handle four kids at the pool by myself–but if he can swim, I’ll be much more comfortable doing so.

___7___

Yesterday was our fifteenth anniversary. It was, er, a terribly romantic day. Christian had to leave for work early and I had to mow the lawn. Ahem. But Michael and I spent the morning baking chocolate pecan pie and this casserole for dinner.

We’ll go out tomorrow. If we can find a babysitter, that is…

Have a great weekend!

Relativism and Rigidity

Photo by The Tire Zoo, via Flickr

There’s a plastic surgery business in my town that’s been advertising heavily in recent months. In the beginning it rubbed me the wrong way. These days I get so angry I’ve started turning the radio off when the ads come on. It’s hard for me to listen to people extolling their breast augmentation or face lift when I think about guys with cardboard signs, people dying of ebola, and the faceless multitudes around the world who don’t have enough to eat. How can spending money on one’s vanity possibly be justified when there are so many who struggle to survive?

And then I wag my finger at myself and scold myself for judging. It is inevitable that I know people–people I respect and care about–who have had these sorts of procedures done. If I lay out a blanket judgment, it catches a whole lot more than a faceless “They.”

This conflict encapsulates one of the things I find most challenging about living my faith: the tension between relativism–the idea that there really is no right or wrong, only “right for me”–and rigidity.

Although relativism gets reviled a lot as the standard by which modern culture operates, I think the problem for an awful lot of us, particularly those of us who profess to believe, is the opposite–rigidity. I grew up thinking the world was pretty much black and white. Kids almost have to think that way, in concrete terms. But I think I was still holding pretty tightly to that view of the world right up until Julianna turned it all upside down, and I realized you can’t just say you’re prolife without being willing to put your money where your mouth is and support the kids who have disabilities.

It’s now clear to me that most questions consist of too many shades of gray to count, and you can’t make a rule that is capable of addressing all the nuances of each individual situation. To try to apply a rigid standard to the world is to invite judgment and closed-mindedness in to dwell, to build walls between “Us” and “Them” and, in short, to encourage the culture of disrespect and polarization that exists today.

But.

Somewhere, there has to be a line between right and wrong–a line we’re willing to stand up and defend. There is evil in the world. There are things that are accepted and encouraged in our culture that are simply bad for people–for individuals and for the world at large. And if I fail to call those out because I’m afraid I’m going to offend someone, then I’m failing the call of the Gospel.

The tough part is figuring out which is which, and even more, how to communicate it in a way that has a prayer of touching hearts instead of raising hackles.

This is why I took the time to review Emily Stimpson’s book on my blog, even though I really don’t do book reviews here. The last several years I’ve been coming, slowly but inexorably, to the conclusion that words are not the primary evangelizers–actions are. (Ironic, I know, given what I’m doing right now.) If I live the faith, the opportunities to talk about it will present themselves, but if I try to lead by talking, I’m only going to push people away.

Nuff said. (Photo by @Peta_de_Aztlan, via Flickr)

It’s way easier to pass judgment than it is to build relationships, but those relationships are what facilitate the conversations that matter. Trust has to be built before anyone is willing to listen to what I have to say about God, and trust is built when others see me acting with kindness and a willingness to give of myself.

So there is my challenge for the coming years. Like the title of my column in Liguorian: Just live it.