they're killing me

Once upon a time I was a 25-year-old mother to 2 babies 19 months old and 3 weeks old. The shock of all that had just happened-- birthing yet another human via a major abdominal surgery and the fact that in real life your mom and mother-in-law aren't live-in nannies-- had just hit me.

After I had Naomi I had thought to myself (and maybe yelled once at Mike) that there was NO WAY! we could have more kids- this was just too hard! But then when Naomi was a geriatric 9-month-old I became pregnant and cried and worried and rejoiced and another baby came.

But now it was serious. 2 babies who needed me allllllll the time, one a newborn who could not be counted on to sleep through the night or nap at a scheduled time and by the end of most days I was crying and telling Mike over and over again that we would have to wait a LONG time before we did this again. I needed a break. I needed hours, or even one hour, to myself.

Me time- where was it? I needed it bad. Finally when Bernadette was an older baby I got my nap time back, they both had a bed time and I could breath again. I still wanted a little more of a break between babies so I could bask in some of the rare but needed attention to myself, to keep off the baby weight a little longer, but mostly to gain some much needed virtue before subjecting another person to my short temper and self centered tendencies.

I remember confiding in my spiritual director that I could not imagine having any more kids until I became a better person. I am not sure if he said this or not, but I remember thinking to myself that maybe bearing and rearing children was the very thing that would help me to be a better person. Now 2 more kids later I think I am beginning to see that this is entirely true for me.

Since Joseph's birth I've said the words "you're killing me!" at least a thousand times to the kids during the day. Nap times no longer exist and 1 o'clock rolls around and I have been taking care of a baby and a toddlers and homeschooling the older ones and I feel like I am done, but Joseph needs to be held and rocked because he's fussy and sick- "you're killing me", I tell him as I kiss him.

Lucy is a 2-year-old who is difficult to understand but turns to high pitched screaming if she doesn't get the thing she was requesting that I didn't give her because I couldn't hear what she was saying- the screaming starts, my heart rate sky rockets, and I declare to her that she is "killing me!". Naomi and Bernadette get in another screaming hitting fight over which one gets into the car first, I settle it, get in the driver's seat and bury my exhausted face in my hands and whisper "Lord, they are killing me".

And they are. They are killing me. They are killing the old Ana who could not imagine not having 2-3 hours in the day to whatever she wanted to do, the Ana who was SURE she could never handle a baby with colic, the Ana who needed at least 8 hours of sleep every night. They're killing the Ana loving Ana and even though it is harder than I ever thought it would be, I couldn't be happier about it.

 It is no longer I who live, but it is Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me. (Gal 2:20) 

I can only pray that a tiny bit of what Saint Paul was talking about is happening to me through this vocation, through these beautiful, redeeming crosses called children, which I attempt to happily and lovingly take up daily.

it's ok to want more... kids

Have I ever mentioned that I am the 5th of 8 kids? Well I am, and as a true middle child I get fairly insecure pretty fast and have a hard time not measuring myself against what others are doing. For this reason it's been especially difficult as a stay-at-home mother, with no other job, part- or full-time, to tell people that this is all I do. The fact is that nowadays, it seems really weird to tell someone that you stay at home with your children as your full time job and do nothing on the side. I feel like up until now I have always admitted it with a sort of air that indicated I would rather be doing something else, or will be pursuing something else once the kids are in school or independent to the point where I could also work on the side.

But I have a confession to make:

This is all I want to do, and as long as we can make ends meet with me not working any job other than caring for the kids, my husband, and home, this is all I want to do and all I am going to ever do.

Does this make me lazy or unmotivated? Are Mike and kids brainwashing me and suppressing all of my other, more important and vital desires? No and NO! During manageable seasons of life I really try to limit screen-time, and with homeschooling, having all 4 at home all the time is a far cry from the bonbon-eating, soap-opera-watching image of a lazy, unmotivated house wife. Yes, I have hobbies on the side, and that is super important, but those hobbies don't make me any money and I have no intention of turning them into money-makers. I've had a couple--literally, like 2--people tell me that I should sell in an etsy shop the stuff that I sew, and while I am totally flattered that they think my sewing would be buyer-worthy (I've really fooled them), I have to admit that I have absolutely no desire to do so. I have one full time job, which encompasses my husband, home, and children, and anything else would only be a distraction for me from this job.

Maybe I'm wrong-- and I really might be-- but it feels like it is way more socially acceptable, in all circles, to be a woman with other goals, desires, and hopes than just those centering around the home. In this day and age, having children seems like the thing you for this small window of time and then you move on to more important things, the things you had a desire for the entire time you were having kids, but couldn't do.

But what if this--this having kids and being a housewife thing--is the only thing I have a desire for and the only thing I want to do with my pre-menopause life? What if, for these years, I don't want more of anything except children?

Well, the conclusion that I've come to is that that is totally ok, even good, and that I shouldn't feel shame about it, and neither should you if this applies to you. Maybe we're not beyond the point where mothers who work outside the home feel at least a little insecure about it, but that situation seems much more the norm than moms who stay-at-home and do nothing else. And from my experience, it's something the working moms feel proud of. And they should! I can't imagine juggling all my home tasks and another job of any kind. A lot of moms that I know stay at home but have other work on the side that they do as well, and that is wonderful and amazing and impressive. They are helping to provide for their families because they need to--some of them would rather not be doing those other jobs, others of them need it for their sanity and are fulfilling good, God-given desires, and again that is good.

I know that I vent about the difficulties here on the blog, and they're real, but I am so grateful for so many undeserved blessings: the husband and children I've been given, the opportunity to spend so much time with them, the gift of my fertility, and the peace I feel with my life in the home (when I'm not feeling like I'm about to lose my mind).

I pray that I have many, many years left of being able to bear children, to continue to grow my family, and to raise kids who will hopefully give glory to God and one day be with Him in heaven. I do have a desire for more--more of the most difficult and grueling job I have ever had: I want more kids. I pray that it is God's will for our family to continue to grow. Otherwise, I may just find myself out of a job ;)

the donkey

It's Advent and everybody's talking about Mary, so SO many great thoughts and posts about our Lady, and I love each and every one. As mothers this is such a natural time of year to think about the Blessed Virgin and even attempt to imitate her quiet, meditative spirit in order to prepare our hearts for Christ's coming, but for the most part I fail.

A few months ago Mike and I were sitting at the diner table talking about a paper he is giving at a conference on Mary as a spiritual exemplar for Christians (life as a theologian's wife? yes). The more we talked and the more I thought about it, and it dawned on me that as a mother, I feel more unlike Mary than like her. I rely heavily on her intercession (i.e. repeated Hail Marys during temper tantrums) and I pray constantly that she would help me to be a better mother, and ask her to pray for me and to watch over me, but I never feel like I can relate to Mary and her motherhood. I am going to pin it on the fact that I am positive Jesus never threw temper tantrums like my girls and the fact that Mary was sinless-- those 2 things alone make it hard to identify with her in so many of the daily struggles. I wasn't quite sure if there was something wrong with that, or if it is something I should try to work on.

After the conversation with Mike, I was struck by a carved wooden statue that we have from my in-laws. It pictures Mary riding on the donkey to Bethlehem, great with child, Joseph leading them with a somewhat fearful look on his face. Here I will just show you:

As I stared at it, it struck me how much more I identify with the donkey in the statue than Mary. I know that sounds ridiculous, but after wondering if it is a problem that I have a hard time relating to our Lady, it brought me a lot of peace and consolation. One of my very favorite saints, Saint Josemaria Escriva, used to talk about striving to be a donkey spiritually. He praised the donkey's hard working spirit and humility and he said that:

"There are hundreds of animals more beautiful, more deft and strong. But it was a donkey Christ chose when he presented himself to the people as king in response to their acclamation"

And it is the donkey who carries our Lord, still in the womb of Mary, to his birthplace. Not a bad job, if you think about it.

The donkey has no false images of himself, he is simply doing what he is being asked to do, humbly and obediently. He is probably really tired and weak, but he does what he has to do. He is serving our Lord in the most practical way, through carrying his mother in this most trying of times and I can only hope to do just that in this life. Shoot, I fail at being like the donkey! 

I think imitation of Our Lady is a beautiful, important thing to strive for in the spiritual life, and I think that God's grace can accomplish that level of holiness. But for me, most days I am all over the place and "imitator of Mary, the Mother of God" would be the last title anyone would ever come close to giving me if they could see my feeble, mucked up attempts to serve the Lord through motherhood.

BUT! "Donkey who serves Our Lord and loves and serves Mary, the Mother of God" is much closer to something I feel like I can aspire to. There is humility and obedience in the task of the hard working donkey, and while I am not even there yet, I can work towards it. I can work towards loving, serving and honoring Our Lady- exemplar of all mothers- as that donkey did who carried her to Bethlehem.

This is my life

Have you ever had one of those "this is my life?" moments? Like not the good kind? I have had at least a few since getting married and bearing offspring, but none quite as intense as the other night. So I shall indulge myself with yet another blog post, which is all too similar to many other of my "be more grateful reminders to myself" because I never don't. I never promised original content here, sorry I'm not too sorry.

I have done the bedtime routine before since having 4 kids, but when Mike left for his evening committment on this particular night, the thought of handling all four felt way more daunting than any of the other times. Joseph's fussiness has peaked and is not letting up yet and the mixture of that, the spunky girls and the multiple loads of laundry staring me in the face acting like my 5th and 6th children, I was pretty much undone the second he walked out the door for the evening.

^^A few pictoral demonstrations. I don't just photograph Joseph screaming for fun, I was trying to get one of his rooster onsie because "Hahn" means rooster, that was the best one.

On this evening I decided to play drill sergeant and make the girls thoroughly clean the play room, with the promised reward of gummy bears for dessert, while I attempted to take care of my extra unwanted progeny- the laundry.

So the girls were cleaning the play room and while they cleaned they had a bible song CD playing. Sounds harmless, right? Even sounds a little bit enriching, no? NO. This thing is the bane of my existence right now and here is why. There is a song entitled: "I Wanna Throw Up", which goes "I wanna throw up! I wanna throw up! I wanna throw up my hands and praise the Lord" (repeat 20 times) and then it has 2 whole verses that go like this: "throw up in the mall, throw up at my school, throw up at the park", etc, etc... Making a super vomitous play on the phrase "throw up" and the girls think it is hilarious. I have since banned the song but during this clean-the-playroom time I was letting it slide hoping it would boost their productivity.

So I sat on the floor of their room with an ultra screamy Joseph in my arms, doing one-handed sorting of piles of clothing and listening to "I wanna throw up" on repeat and here is the thing: I hate laundry. I know- so does everybody- but it was at this moment that I felt like all the crazy and hard and bad things about life right had collided and it was too much. I fell back against the dresser almost in tears and just kept thinking: This is my life?!?! I started day dreaming of college days, and my time traveling abroad 10 autumns ago and wishing I could just be there again, with no one to think about but myself and so much beauty to take in. Instead I was sitting on the floor, folding and sorting more little girl clothing than I ever knew I'd have to sort through and barely any time to think of myself, not able to find much beauty in anything and all I could think over and over again was "This is my life?!"

It was at this very discouraged mother-moment that Bernadette sprinted into the room with something behind her back and shouted in my face:

"This is not just ANY huge, yellow, disgusting thing.... IT'S A CUMCUMBER!!!"

And proceeded to shove an enormous, half eaten yellow cucumber in my face.

It may have been the wine I was sipping while I was doing the laundry, or my total and complete confusion at what was happening, but I started laughing and didn't stop for at least 20 minutes.

I went outside to find that they had given up on the half-cleaned play room and made their way out to my pathetic, neglected garden. I had already uprooted and thrown away the nasty cucumber plant from it, but they had discovered a few rogue, giant, yellow cucumbers and were chowing down. Naomi also had discovered a lone red tomato and was enjoying it thoroughly.

They were doing this instead of cleaning the play room in order to get gummy bears. I tried to re-direct them to the gummy bears, but my typically vegetable-hating children insisted that they would rather continue their "picnic" of old, almost rotted vegis from my gross garden.

My laughter continued as I snapped each picture.

As I stood their being entertained by my genuinely lovely and entertaining children the emphasis in the phrase "This is my life" changed. I could not believe God had given me these wonderfully adorable, hilarious children to spend my days with. I was in awe that I have so many beautiful grace-filled little girls, whose clothing I am honored to be folding and sorting.

The phrase shifted in that moment to "This is my life?"- Surely there is someone else out there way more deserving of all this goodness. I do not deserve all these blessings! Especially when I way too often take them for granted and complain about them! I do not deserve all the beauty and life that God has so freely lavished on me, which fills me with greater joy than a thousand European trips- and true, life-infused joy.

I really hope that the emphasis on that phrase sticks, as well as my appreciation for all these blessings, despite the piles of un-folded laundry and stupid little kid songs.

the loveliest years

Maybe it's the fact that, with a an almost 12-month-old baby, the fog of total sleep deprivation has lifted a bit, and is no longer clouding all my thoughts and feelings, or maybe it's the fact that I walked downstairs to find this picture drawn by Naomi, totally unprompted or directed by me:

^It's the crucifixion scene, in case you are totally confused slash creeped out.
And I felt for once like maybe I am not totally screwing up as a mother.

Or it could be the fact that a sweet Notre Dame student is coming over this afternoon to help me with the girls in exchange for-- wait for it-- a home cooked meal, cooked by me, not some stand-in legitimately good cook, just a meal from me (she is single-handedly restoring my faith in humanity as a whole).

Or perhaps it is the fact that days have gone from looking like this:

to this:

A vast improvement for sure. Whatever the reason, it seems that the stars have aligned and I am not in the mood to complain. Today. Plus it is always good to remind of myself later on that I do indeed have positive thoughts that occasionally circulate through my mostly glass-half-empty brain.

I wonder sometimes how I will look back on these years of raising crazy toddlers and babies. My initial reaction when I think about it is that I will look back and give a huge sigh of relief that I am no longer living in a such a physically taxing, emotionally draining, diaper and poop filled season of life. I generally picture myself on an Alaskan cruise with Mike sipping mojitos and watching wildlife while we try to remind each other that we still have our own grown children. But something tells me that it will end up being quite different from that and that I will look back on these years with intense fondness, as the years that were the loveliest of my life.

With each little life that God blesses me and Mike with, an almost incomprehensible amount of love has been born as well. More life=more love, and that can only be a good thing. It is a love that has required more self-gift and self-sacrifice than I ever thought possible, but I'm preeeetty sure that is the nature of Love anyways.

Yes, love may look like being open to a new life and having to let it go before you are ready. Love may manifest itself in weeks of nausea and full body rashes followed by many more months of total discomfort. Love may appear in the form of an intensely painful natural child birth, or a surgical procedure to bring fourth the baby, or weeks of early labor and no sleep at all before you can finally hold and kiss the baby. Love may manifest itself in sleepless nights or disgustingly early mornings. It may look like being brought to tears by toddlers who cannot figure out how to control their emotions to save their lives. This is a taste of how it has looked for me for the past 5 years and I suspect it will take a number of new, unexpected and equally to more difficult forms over however many years God has left for me to give life. But it is life and it is love- beautiful, deep, real love- and there is nothing else in the world I would rather be doing.

So I think that in the end, while Mike and I are sitting on the deck of our Alaskan cruise-liner, we will not be relieved to be on the other side of these trying years, but we'll rather be looking back with a sadness, a certain fondness and even a longing for the most life-filled and love-filled years of our life.

Serviam

I feel like I’m finally getting over the disillusionment that came with the beginning of motherhood. I no longer expect it to be easy, and I’m generally not bitter about the fact that it’s hard. Regardless, it still surprises me that there are so many days where from the moment I wake up I can’t stop thinking about going to sleep. And I worry about it. Is there something wrong with me, because there are still many days when I just don't want to do my job? Is it bad that I find it so challenging to be grateful and to soak up all the moments with the small people that God has blessed me with? If you have read anything at all of my frequent complaining on this blog, then I am sure it is no surprise to you to hear that I feel like that some days.

It is how I was feeling a couple of days ago as I sat on the kitchen floor with a fussy, feverish Lucy, staring at the nasty food splatters all over my old, ugly cabinets.

 ^^ same sick baby, same ugly cabinets, same stressed mom, different day.

After several weeks of the older girls going through some crazy tantrum-heavy phases (which have since magically gotten much better, praise the Lord!), I was feeling completely discouraged and like I wanted to be anywhere else than this house. But then I started to think about a reflection I had read that morning during some rare quiet/prayer time.

(I say "rare" because, seriously, it barely ever happens that I am up before the girls and intentionally give specific time to praying, but whenever I do, God makes sure to make a big deal out of it for me- probably in a Divine effort to get me to please pray more- it is working about as slowly as the girls are learning to listen to directions and follow them- i.e. the pace of a handicapped turtle).

So anyways, what I had been reading during that rare prayerful moment had to do with the special role of women in service of Christ and the Church. It had highlighted several different women who were close to our Lord during his life: Mary Magdalen, Martha, and obviously his Mother, and it went on a little about women who helped to grow the church after his death and how they did so with a special spirit of gentleness, sensitivity, feminine grace, and a constant spirit of service.


The main special characteristic that the author was pointing out was their willingness to serve out of love, certainly not because anything would be easy. For instance, it would not have been easy to take on the task of be preparing Christ's tomb after the crucifixion, but that is what the women closest to Jesus did. Theirs was a willingness to work for Christ, not out of any servile fear or foolish optimism, but simply out of love for him. That morning after I had read that reflection, I ended my prayer time by repeating to Jesus the author’s closing words: "Serviam. I will serve".


All of this came to mind as I sat there on the floor of my kitchen, completely fed up and irritated with how hard being a mom is. I hadn’t just been blowing smoke that morning when I said I would serve; I really do want the work that I do as a wife and mother to be a constant expression of love through service to God. Thankfully, God knows that I can’t serve him on my own- and even I know it in moments like that- and right then that I felt like he gave me the grace that I needed to serve in spite of myself and all of my inclinations to wallow in self-pity. So I made use of the fact that I was on the floor next to the nasty cabinets and I just scrubbed them, possibly for the first time since living here. Not because is was fun or easy or because I wanted to at all, not because Mike would notice, not because the girls would thank me (ha!), but because I had told the Lord that morning during prayer that I would serve Him out of love for him, and He came through with the grace for me to do that. I know, it’s small, but it’s something.

Anyways, when I woke up today I tried to have some prayer time and found myself lying on the couch only able to mutter something along the lines of: "if you want me to serve, you absolutely have to give me all the grace to do it." Within a few minutes I was able to drag myself from the couch, shower, and get on with my day, and I feel confident it was only through God-given grace that I was able to move from my near catatonic state.

Ultimately, I don't think that my life as a mother needs to be lived in a constant state of gratitude that is tangible and felt by my senses. I may find it terribly difficult some days to be soaking up all the blessings and relishing every moment, especially when the blessings are throwing tantrums and the moments are spent cleaning up bodily fluids. But in the end, I think that the thing the Lord is most pleased with is a spirit of loving service, of looking to Him each morning, through my bleary eyes, with my fatigued body and saying genuinely: “Serviam. I will serve. And you will give me the grace to do it.”