Kathleen M. Basi's Blog, page 85

Conversations in the Truck: Adam and Eve

Hubble telescope image known as Pillars of Creation, where stars are forming in the Eagle Nebula. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

It started with the skulls sitting side by side on the table at the paleontology display. Neanderthal skull, human skull, other stages-in-the-evolutionary-process skulls. The college students were earnestly trying to explain who came from where, who lived where, and how that finally became us. Alex was drinking it all in, his face a study of interest and concentration. And then, out of the depths of  his year of sacramental training, and all the Bible reading we’ve been doing, popped the question. “So this is what Adam and Eve’s skull looked like?”

The trouble with the hard questions is not that you can’t answer them. Mostly, you know the answers. Or at least, having to answer them helps you crystallize answers inside you that you might never have been able to put your finger on. The problem is, you aren’t ready at the moment they’re asked. You never know at what age they’re going to get asked, so you can’t prepare your age-appropriate answer ahead of time.

The two people behind the table gave me a sympathetic wince as I stumbled through some woefully inadequate explanation about historical fact vs. stories told to relay a truth about God, which he only sort of got. I knew we’d have to talk about it again later. For a couple years already I’ve had to bite my tongue on trying to teach this distinction, because I knew it wasn’t time yet. Too many people plant themselves firmly in a place of Biblical literalism that can only be supported if you stick your head in the sand and refuse to admit the validity of science. I refuse to let my children go down that path, but you also can’t explain this concept at too young an age. It requires a more mature intellect. Otherwise it just gives rise to doubt, laying the seeds for rejection of belief in God altogether.

High stakes, indeed.

Christian, when he heard the story, rolled his eyes. “Just tell him God’s time is not our time,” he said. “That’s the simple explanation.”

(Why can’t I think of such simple explanations? I use too many words.)

By late afternoon, when Alex and I were headed home from Confession (something I’ve been trying to do about monthly with him), I had figured out how to approach the subject. We had the children’s Bible with us, so I had him open it up to the Creation story as we drove. “What’s the first thing God said in the creation story?” I asked.

“Let there be light.”

“Exactly.” I talked about the Big Bang–the origin of everything. We then followed the Creation story, explaining how animal life on Earth began in the oceans and then evolved onto land (which, if you notice, parallels the Creation story beautifully–right there is an argument for divine inspiration; they got the order right without having any science to draw from); that animals came before humans, and humans are the crowning of creation, made in God’s image to love as He loves. It took a bit of a light touch to make the leap from apes to humans, and come to think of it I’m not sure we ever adequately addressed the business with Adam and Eve, but at least I achieved my primary purpose: to lay the foundations for understanding that faith and science are not at odds.

(I hope he got it!)

(See our previous Conversation In The Truck here.)

The Lent You Want vs. the Lent You Need

flowers in the snow (Photo credit: elpostito)

I confess: I have an idealized view of Lent. My first spring in grad school, Lent came like a breath of renewal on the heels of one of the most difficult six months of my life. My first semester had been a nightmare of homesickness and a hellish roommate situation interspersed with glorious moments of musical learning and discovering like-minded friends. When Lent came around that year, I couldn’t go home for Easter. Every fiber of my soul longed for the familiar sounds and faces of my parish back home.

I thought it would be a miserable forty (-six) days. Instead, the whole season gleams in my memory with a concentrated, pure white flame, as all the suffering and loneliness concentrated to a point and softened the ground of my soul. It was one of the most fertile times of soul growth I have ever experienced, a season in which joy walked beside me on the long daily trek from my apartment to the school of music, across fields and a creek, while winter passed slowly and softly into a spring like nothing I had ever seen. (Spring feels different in places where it’s actually cold and snow-covered all winter.)

I’ve never had another Lent like that one. The next year I spent the season preparing for Comps, which, by virtue of being scheduled for Easter Monday, forced me to spend even Easter Sunday studying. (Blech!) Since then I’ve occasionally caught a whiff of that sanctity, but that spring of 1998 remains the ideal for which I strive.

This Lent has been just about as 180 degrees the opposite direction as it is possible for a Lent to be. I’m failing miserably at my Lenten goals (so spectacularly that at present I can’t even remember what they were anymore). As anyone who’s read my blog the last few weeks knows, I’ve not been a picture of holy motherhood and saintly living lately. And although the provocations are certainly not without justification, it doesn’t change the fact that my response has been less grace-filled and more sinful.

But it occurred to me this weekend–when I went to Confession so to leave the anger and temper loss in the past, and then came home to lose my cool again spectacularly that night–that sometimes the Lent you want is not the Lent you need. Sometimes we need to spend a few weeks staring at the excruciating image in the mirror: the one that forces us to live with the knowledge of our own powerlessness against sin, and how much we need God to carry us through it.

Sunday Snippets

Ready for another week’s Sunday Snippets, hosted by RAnn of This, That & The Other Thing? Ready…set….go!

The Trouble With Absolutes, Part One (parenting) and…

Part Two (everything else)

Sleep Moments (mostly pictures of cute kids sleeping in strange places/positions)

All About the Kids

All About The Kids (a 7QT post)

Time for some updates on the kids.

___1___

Alex received a “cultivation station” from a white elephant at a Christmas party. What’s that, you ask? Something about growing plants? Well…sort of. It’s about growing…bacteria. I have to admit this whole thing makes me a little queasy, considering the overwhelming number of illnesses we’ve dealt with lately, the number of ANTIbiotics we’ve been chugging.

___2___

Julianna has a new decoration for her room, an idea gleaned from the decorations at the “Fairy Houses and Forts” display we visited last summer at a nearby botanical garden.

___2B___

Oh yes. And Julianna still thinks it’s her birthday (her birthday was over a month ago). Actually, at this point it’s one of her (many) jokes. Basically she thinks she’s the funniest thing since Charlie Chaplin.

___3___

An interlude about Alex and Julianna: we keep information from their schooling in file folders.

On the left you see the collected paperwork pertaining to Alex’s preK, Kindergarten, first and second grade. On the right you see Julianna’s preK and Kindergarten. (And we’ve thrown away more than half the paper we’ve been sent.)

Just another glimpse of life with special needs.

___4___

Nicholas…oh, where do I begin? And if I start, where will I stop? Nicholas will be four in less than two weeks, and we’re deep in birthday cake negotiations. And his language is a stitch and a half. Here’s a sample:

a) He’s on a baby doll kick lately. “My baby has an ear infection. I’m taking her to the doctor. Oh, it’s okay, Jackson. You’re okay.” (Notice her name is Jackson?) “Mommy, my baby is sick.” CLUNK. The head falls off. He looks down at the decapitation and says, “Mommy, my baby is weely sick!”

b) “What are we having for dinner?” (Pork chops.) “But I’m not allergic to pork chops!”

___5___

On the not-so-cute side, there’s a tendency that worries us as it has the hallmarks of budding bullying. He likes to ask Julianna questions he know she’ll say “yes” to, just so he can tell her “no” very forcefully. For instance: I gave him and Alex the beaters from the fruit salad dressing to lick, and Nicholas walked over to Julianna and held his out. “Do you want a beater?” he asked, knowing full well there wasn’t one to give her. This happens 3-4 times a day.

___6___

And Michael. Ah, Michael. We officially dropped the bedtime nursing this week; we are morning-only breastfeeding now. I have mixed feelings about it, but it was one thing we decided to try because he’s been so needy for me (not Daddy or Mommy, just me), and I’ve been at my wits’ end…as evidenced by the blog posts of the last two weeks. He wasn’t really interested in it, anyway; he spent most of his time trying to sit up while attached to the breast and stare at the lights or his siblings or grab the phone from the stand next to us.

___7___

On Monday the doctor discovered that Michael still had an ear infection. He went through a round of amoxicillin in late January, which seemed to work, and then got another one late in February, which they prescribed Augmentin for. We were now a week past the end of that Rx. As the doctor and I got to talking about his impossible crankiness and neediness for the last 8 weeks, we came to the plausible theory that my poor boy has had one continuous ear infection this whole time. We graduated to three consecutive days of antibiotic shots at the doctor’s office.

In some ways I feel guilty for not realizing the problem, but he’s also a) 15 months, and separation anxiety seemed plausible, and b) cutting 4 molars and 2 canines. Since he wasn’t tugging at his ears, and every time we finished an antibiotic course he was better…for a couple of days, it just didn’t occur to me.

All this time I’ve been bewailing the loss of my happy-go-lucky baby, so good-tempered, so smiley and easygoing. I credited the NICU. By the time you’re through that nonsense, all of life must seem like a breeze. Since the first of the year I’ve been thinking I had expended all my karma and I was in for two years of hell. But now that I realize how bad he’s been feeling, for how long, and the fact that he’s been consolable at all, and even laughing…for me…it underscores the original point.

Well, that went from very “quick” takes to…not so quick. Shutting up now…

Sleep Moments

There is nothing quite like a Sleeping Through The Night night…especially after weeks of stumbling out of bed again and again to stop bleeding noses, dose babies in pain, and offer water or change diapers because you don’t know what else to do to try to diagnose what caused the waking.

I woke up at 5:12 and thought, It’s late. Nobody’s cried tonight. Did I sleep through the night?

I’m so dazed, I don’t know what to write about this morning. So in honor of a full night’s sleep following the second of three antibiotic shots (please God, tell me we’re coming out of this at last!), I’ll share my favorite sleep moments from the last several years:

Julianna asleep in the open window frame

Nicholas asleep on the kitchen floor after Mass on Sunday morning

Sir “I don’t need no stinking Nap” Alex

You know it was a good field trip when she conks out on the table at Pizza Hut

Now there’s a blast from the past…Julianna at age 3 weeks. Just before the RSV scare that nearly killed her.

A headless doll, just for fun

One of my favorite sleep pictures EVER: Alex, age 2, discovered in the dark with these books, “Bad Kitty” and “Take Me Out To The Ballgame.”

And Michael, sleeping on top of his blankets. He still does this. The blue crocheted one is his pillow, the green one is his body pillow.

Hope you enjoyed!

The Trouble With Absolutes, Part 2: Everything Else

No Pass (Photo credit: Daryl Marquardt)

Today is about good ideas that go bad when they are held too rigidly.

Last Tuesday, Nicholas’ ear flared up the day we were all told to stay off the roads. Christian and I argued about going to the ER anyway–everything else was shut down–but we realized we really were snowbound. So we paged the doctor, and he gave us instructions to help as much as possible, then told us to come in first thing in the morning.

On Wednesday I had a mid-morning appointment I couldn’t miss, and I knew if I waited to call the doctor’s office when they opened, their first available would conflict with my can’t-miss. So I packed the kids up and arrived at the office when it opened, to ask them to work us in with the on-call doctor.

They wouldn’t do it. My doctor would be in later; office policy is that we have to see our doctor if he’s in. They offered me the conflicting appointment I’d expected…or one seven hours later. I emphasized how long Nicholas had been suffering already, the fact that we’d talked to the doctor by phone, and the circumstances unique to this particular day. The receptionist told me if it was that bad I could have sought out emergency services.

We came back home in defeat. I called Christian in tears. He called the office on a rampage. The office manager apologized profusely and they got us in directly after my appointment. And every person in the building apologized to me as I hauled my four children in for the second time.

My point is this: policies are enacted to make sure patients get excellent care, and that is a good thing. But the policy is not the end point. Excellent care is the end point. You can’t hold fast to a policy with no exceptions, because circumstances will arise in which the policy intended to accomplish one goal actually accomplishes the opposite.

In other words: Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath (Mark 2:27).

In other words, rules are made to serve people–not people to serve rules.

In other words, absolutes don’t work.

Philosophies, policies, political ideals–these things are all theoretical. In theory, they all make sense. Any political philosophy will work…providing that everyone in the entire world lives them out perfectly. Conservatism, liberalism, socialism, libertarianism–if everyone does what they’re supposed to according to the philosophical model, that model will work.

The problem is, we live in a real world.

Theory A: It’s not government’s job to take care of the poor–it’s the responsibility of individuals. Yep, I can buy that. Only problem? If you put that pure theory into practice in a world full of diverse people, a lot of people are going to suffer. Some jobs are so big, only a central organization can do them.

Theory B: Government has a responsibility to take care of the poor and oppressed. Government has a responsibility to be proactive and ensure the future through investment in infrastructure and social safety nets. Yep, I’ll buy that too. Only problem? You only have so much money. You can’t just do things because you want to; somebody’s got to pay for them, and you’ve got to be realistic about what can and can’t be paid for.

Theory C: See here for my missive on disability and the claim to being “prolife.“

The trouble with absolutes is that they have to interact with the real world. None of them will work in their pure form. They just won’t. It’d be nice if they would, but that’s not reality.

Absolutes don’t work. I can say, “Every single day I will work during nap time, and quit for the day when the kids get up.” But some days, there is no nap, and I have to cuddle a cranky baby all day. And other days, I’m on deadline, and I have to finish a project, even if nap time is over. Real life is give and take. Real life involves compromise. Real life means being flexible. And holding rigid positions on family life, office policies or national politics is not going to work, now or ever.

The Trouble With Absolutes, Part 1: Parenthood

between heaven and earth (Photo credit: Mara ~earth light~)

It’s not the big stuff that gets you, it’s all the little stuff piled on top of each other. When the big stuff hits, you handle it with grace. It’s the little stuff that makes you lose your cool.

This has been my mantra lately. I think we’ve had viruses running laps around our house nonstop since the first of the year. In conjunction with teething and separation anxiety, Michael’s become progressively more clingy and needy. When he’s with a sitter he cries the whole time. With me, he just complains and whines any time he’s remotely uncomfortable or bored. Which is most of the time.

Any mother can tell you that a baby’s cries and complaints flay your nerves raw almost instantaneously. They’re designed that way, and so are we. Pile that on top of three other kids who’ve also been sick, plus cooped up by snow that is not conducive to any kind of outside play for ones this small (it’s up to their thighs, with a crust that gives way at every step) and…well, use your imagination.

Basically, having four kids is kicking my butt. My fuse is nonexistent. Whoever said after the third child adding more doesn’t make any difference? They must have been living on some other planet.

What does all this have to do with “the trouble with absolutes”?

Well.

I’ve spent much of the last few weeks talking myself down off a “the sky is falling!” cliff. I find myself saying things like, It can’t possibly get any worse! when I know full well, from my own experience, it can. My present trials are nothing more than annoyances. I feel like a terrible mother because I cannot STAND stepping on one more DVD case. Or tripping over one more pie plate I’ve put away three times since lunch. Or breaking up one more fight between children who only want what someone else has because someone else has it. Or being interrupted while I’m having a conversation with Daddy.

I’m not a terrible mother, of course, and painting a broad black stroke against my own character only digs me further into my pity pot.

And yet the opposite reaction–the one moms in my situation hear all too often–is equally counterproductive. “Oh, enjoy it! It goes so fast! Someday you’re going to miss these times.”

Cough. That was the word you know I was thinking, but was too polite to say.

I know people mean well with that sentiment. They’re trying to say, “Don’t focus on the bad and forget to notice the good. It’s not going to last forever, and on the other side, you want to remember the good, not the bad.”

The problem is, there’s a subtext to this message: Your problems are not valid. Your feelings are not justified. It’s not okay to be frustrated. If you can’t set aside your frustration and focus on the good instead, you’re a Bad Mom.

I don’t think anyone means to convey that subtext, but it’s there nonetheless. And that absolute is just as damaging as the other. Yes, it will pass away, but that doesn’t make it any easier to bear right now. Yes, others are dealing with far more painful problems than my ten weeks running of sickness and crabbiness. At least I have my kids. And yet, all crosses are real. Pretending otherwise just makes a tough job unnecessarily harder.

On Thursday night, the family went out to dinner, and a couple in their 70s stopped me on the way out. “Your kids are so well behaved,” she said. “I didn’t even realize there were children sitting behind me.”

These are the messages parents need. Parenthood is hard at all stages. Affirmation and encouragement go a long way, while you’re going to miss it and oh, you sure have your hands full! just flay an already battered soul further, layering guilt upon the sense of failure that accompanies losing your temper again and again.

UPDATE: Michael’s 15-month well-child visit became a sick visit, and lo and behold, the boy’s ear infection never fully healed. The culprit? Urgent Care under-medicated him. In other words, the prescription strength was too low for his size. (Face-palm.) Since that Rx was already a second-stage remedy, now we’re bringing in the big guns: antibiotic shots three days in a row. Yippee. I hope this finally takes care of it.

Sunday Snippets

Here we are again…does Lent seem to be crawling painfully slowly to anyone else this year? … I’m sure it’s all that sickness in the house. And snow days. Sick days, snow days, and the worst ever ear infection, which probably got as bad as it did because we couldn’t get him to the doctor the day it came up. The city was shut down for snow. I tried to argue for the ER, but after it took six people half an hour to push, dig and otherwise force a stuck sedan up our street, I realized my husband was right; we couldn’t get to the ER anyway.

In any case, for those reasons Lent doesn’t have that focused, flame-like clarity I remember from other years. Too much yelling in the house, I guess. In any case, it is Sunday Snippets time for the Third Sunday of Lent, and we’re linking up with RAnn of This, That and The Other Thing. My offerings this week:

How Do You Power Down Your Brain?

Julianna’s latest speech habits, plus some Murphy-esque points to ponder.

Words of wisdom from St. Thomas Merton

and, on the lighter side, some fun kid moments.

Sprinkles of Sweetness (7QT)

___1___

The other day Alex and I were walking through Macy’s on a hunt for khaki pants ($7.99 on clearance, thank you very much). If my boy has a primary love language, I haven’t figured it out yet; he loves time and words and touch and gifts in equal measure. Such a sweetie. As we walked past the children’s clothes he stopped dead and said, “Oh, that’s so cute! We could give that to Michael!”

“Yes, baby clothes are awfully cute, aren’t they?” I sighed. “It makes me want to have another one, just so I could buy more…but…”

“That’s three reasons to have another baby,” Alex said. “The clothes are so cute, the babies are so cute…and they’re fun to play with.”

___2___

I haven’t asked because I don’t want to make a big deal of it, but I think I know what Alex made as a New Years resolution. I think he set a goal of saying thank you. Because he thanks us all time. So understated, and so specific: thank you for getting me a glass. Thank you for making dinner. Thank you for reading to me. It puts my heart all a-flutter. And since Lent has started, he’s become incredibly more helpful around the house, hanging his siblings’ coats up as we come home from somewhere, running to get things that I need without being asked. He amazes me.

___3___

I still hope and pray that God will call one of my boys to a religious vocation, but I really don’t think it’s going to be Alex. He’s a daddy at heart already. He adores Michael and wants to play with him, teach him, and help him all the time. Michael gets this cute little half-smile when Alex takes his hands and guides him through the sign of the cross.

___4__

Michael, however, thinks this whole prayer business is alternately a family joke and a bother. That boy is hungry come dinner time. He doesn’t want to wait for any troublesome family prayer. About three fourths of the way through, he’ll catch on that we’re praying, and he’ll clap his hands together three times with a big smile and return to his food. ‘Nuff praying for that boy. It’s time to eat, man!

___5___

Here’s a video of Alex playing his festival pieces last night. We’d just come home and he was cold in the basement, what can I say?

And here’s an iPad photo I almost can’t believe my husband permitted me to share. I call it “Willy Waterloo Washes Warren Wiggins Who is Washing Waldo Woo.” (If you don’t recognize the quote, brush up on your Dr. Seuss.)

___6___

Last night we took the kids to Macaroni Grill for dinner, just for fun. Nicholas dropped three forks on the floor and Michael felt his food would taste better if he took my fork and pushed his spaghetti and meatballs off the plate onto the tablecloth…plus a few choice ear-piercing yells when he wanted to get down and I wouldn’t let him. But overall it went pretty well. As we were leaving an older couple stopped us and complimented us on our children’s behavior. Once again, I got all warm and gooey inside. Julianna was feeling social and shouted “Hi Geepa!” about five times (that would be “Grandpa.” She classifies people by name according to their age; earlier in the evening she yelled “hi Daddy” at the father of another family. )

___7___

Last but not least: my new book is available, and I am trying to set up a blog tour. If you have a blog and would be interested in hosting me or reviewing in exchange for a free review copy, let me know!

Have a great weekend!

Saintly Wisdom

Darkness (Photo credit: Roberto F.)

For your Lenten Wednesday: a couple of Thomas Merton quotes from The Seven Storey Mountain that have really resonated with me recently:

Souls are like athletes, that need opponents worthy of them, if they are to be tried and extended and pushed to the full use of their powers, and rewarded according to their capacity. And my father was in a fight with this tumor, and none of us understood the battle. We thought he was done for, but it was making him great.

and:

Providence, that is the love of God, is very wise in turning away from the self-will of men, and in having nothing to do with them, and leaving them to their own devices, as long as they are intent on governing themselves, to show them to what depths of futility and sorrow their own helplessness is capable of dragging them.

I recognize myself in these quotes, particularly in these days of ongoing, pinprick difficulties–the kind that are so much harder to weather than the big stuff. Do you?

Related articles

Thomas Merton and Humility (literarylew.wordpress.com)
Thomas Merton (djacksontaffa.wordpress.com)
A Dried up Pen: A Lenten Reflection (hermestable.wordpress.com)
“At the center … (ofradix.net)