big yellow school bus takin' my boy away

Sing it with me, Moms.

Listen, early this mornin', I heard the screen door swing,
And a big yellow school bus took my boy away
Now don't it always seem to go
That you don't know what you got till it's gone
They paved paradise and put up a parking lot

My little boy is going to school.

He's got new shoes, a snappy backpack, and a stash of number two pencils. His uniform is crisp, his hair freshly cut. He's off in the real world now, and I'm not sure I'm ready to let him go.

He is only thirteen, after all.

Joey, along with his three brothers, has been homeschooled from day one. His two sisters had a brief experience with "real" school when they were little, one attending kindergarten and first grade, the other coming back home after just a year in kindergarten. I stuck it out and homeschooled them all the way through high school, and I'm still at it with AJ, who's now a senior, and the urchins, who are six and nine.

But my Joey's off to high school, in a real building a few miles away, a building that is not our house.

Weird.

He looked great this morning, blonde and tan, his shoulders broad, tying his tie, lacing up those new shoes. I know he was nervous and excited, and so was I.

But of course I'm a little sad, too.

For the most part, I've really enjoyed homeschooling him. It has been challenging giving him the structure that he thrives on, and that's one of the reasons we decided to send him to a tradtional school. That and his passion for sports in general, soccer in particular, gave us the push we needed to send him out the door and into a whole new world.

I realize most moms go through this when their boys are five or six. But my heart is still a little heavy today. I'll miss being his teacher, but one thing's for sure: I'm still his mom, and his primary educator.

I'll never stop trying to teach Joey what really matters in life: love the Lord, serve His people, use the gifts and talents He has blessed you with. I've learned a lot from Joey. I hope he can say the same about me.

more wedding photos!

I can't resist! Here are more great photos of my daughter's wedding, courtesy of my Canadian friend Kathy Ward. (I had to post them, especially since it was brought to my attention that no groomsmen -- or the groom, for that matter -- were present in the previous post!)

wedding mania!

Well, we made it!

Our beautiful daughter Lauren married her love yesterday!

I'm so exhausted, but I just couldn't go without posting a few informal photos! The weather was magnificent, the ceremony glorious, the bride radiant.

Praise God!

my daughter's big fat (Italian, Polish, German?) wedding

Oy vey!
OK, so I'm not Jewish.
That would be pretty cool. Then I could be watching "Fiddler on the Roof" and looking forward to THOSE traditions.

But I, as usual, digress.

My younger daughter is getting married next Friday. It's the second wedding of the summer for our family (see Rachel's wedding for more) and we are knee-deep in dress fittings, chocolate fountains, gerber daisies, and Jordan almonds. Lauren's future mother-in-law is Polish, and the mister is 100% old-country Italian. Our family is, of course, Polish on The Big Man's side (and proudly so) and German and Czech on my side.

When I was growing up, I knew my ancestors were from Europe, and that was pretty cool. Yep. That's about it. My grandma and Aunt Mimi made some mean pierogi (you thought those were Polish, didn't you? But who knew the Slovaks make 'em, too?) and my Mom always made a saucy sweet and sour sauerkraut on New Year's Day. (German? Not so much. It was actually something my Slovak grandma dreamed up.)

I was brought up to be American, that's all. Even though my mom was 100% German, and my paternal grandfather came over from Europe through Ellis Island, there were no real ethic traditions encouraged in my childhood home. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that my German mom grew up in America during WW II, when Germans were not all that popular. I don't know. All I know is that while I always knew my roots, they weren't terribly important. I was taught to be American, and to be very proud of that. (My father is a WWII vet, after all.)


So when I married into a Polish family 22 years ago, I thought it was nice that they had traditions, and I do find them intriguing and love to share them with my Polish children. (I love to tell folks that my husband is Polish, my children are Polish, and I am Polish by association.) But now that my daughter is getting a Polish mother--in-law of her own, I'm baffled by the passion she has for all things....ITALIAN!

I've learned that "The Italians" need to be served a sit-down meal, not a buffet. "The Italians" really prefer large centerpieces, not the small ones Lauren selected. "The Italians" really dig dessert -- and there darn well better be lots of them, including cream puffs, cannoli, and things that look like peaches but are not. And "The Italians", I'm told, INSIST on Jordan almonds, and there must be five or seven of them in a little net pouch for each guest. (These, I found through my research, are meant to be pelted at the newlyweds as a fertility ritual. That's actually pretty cool...) If you don't provide the nuts you are risking THE EVIL EYE. I am not, even for a second, kidding. The words EVIL EYE were used to me in a discussion about these tasty, yet teeth-cracking, morsels. Oh dear.

So now the wedding is almost here, and I'm doing damage control. I'm trying to incorporate the traditions everyone loves (Polish, Italian, you name it) but keeping in mind this is not an ethnic wedding. It's not an Italian wedding, or a Polish wedding, or even an American wedding. It's a Catholic wedding.

Truly, that's the only detail that matters to me, and, I'm happy to say, to my daughter and her soon-to-be husband. They respect the traditions of their ancestors, as do I, but what matters to them is that their wedding will be a Catholic one.

How cool is that.

So while I'm trying to fit those Italian pastries on the table with that modern chocolate fountain, and telling the DJ (my dear brother) to play at least a couple polkas for my mother-in-law, I'm inwardly (and outwardly!) rejoicing that my daughter has found a young man who loves the Catholic Faith as much as she does. Their family will have Polish/Italian/German/Slovak roots. But its branches will be fully American, and better than that, completely Catholic.

Now there's a tradition that I'd like to see carried down through the generations, from now to eternity.

With or without Jordan almonds.

happy feast day, Baby Girl

It is indeed a special week for our family. Today we celebrate the Feast Day of our youngest daughter, my precious Celeste Marie.

Three years ago today, the doors of Heaven swung open wide to receive her perfect little soul. That day was honestly one of the most wondrous days of my life. I felt I got a glimpse of that Heaven, her eternal home. I know she's there now praying for me, helping me to get there one day, too.

I have mentioned her several times here, but I haven't told too much of her story. Hers is by any standard a very sad one. The short version is this: she was born with a heart defect, one so severe that she needed a heart transplant. She never received that transplant, and somehow developed serious brain damage as well. Since she was then no longer eligible for a transplant, we removed her life-support and allowed her to die peacefully at the age of four months.

There is so much more to the long version, of course. So much in fact that I felt called to tell her story in a book, which I did in Broken and Blessed: A Life Story. In the book I explore the details of her life, her sufferings, and my own.

In the book I reveal a part of my heart, a part laid bare on days like today. My little girl suffered so much and was taken from me so quickly. Will there ever be an adequate answer when my soul cries out? Why? Why my baby?

I've tried to answer this question many times, and others always want to know the how as well. How did you do it? they ask. How did you suffer through such a traumatic experience and emerge with your faith intact, with a sense of joy?

The answer, my friends, is a person, the person I love even more than I loved Celeste. The answer is Jesus.

I don't like to over-spirtualize things, but the answer here is clear. I could not have survived without Jesus. He used the experience of my daughter's life and death to draw me into His Heart in a way that nothing else could. In some mysterious, mystical way, Jesus used Celeste and her sufferings to invite me into His Life. I am convinced that her life was part of His Plan, and that He willed for me (and for many others) to grow in our relationship with Him because of Celeste.

Like all authors, I want my book to be read. But I am especially passionate about this book because I feel with all my heart that Jesus wants to use her story to draw lots of folks to Him.

I know she did not suffer in vain. I know that three years ago today, as I rocked her and promised her I'd write that book, I was doing God's will. I know today as I remember her with joy and love, not bitterness, I am continuing to live out her legacy. I am happy to be able to share her with others, to remind them of the beauty of her message. Each of us has a unique mission given to us by God. All lives have purpose and meaning!

A wise friend who also lost a young child told me once that my pain would never diminish, that I would always feel it strongly -- but that I would simply feel it less often. I've found this to be true. Of course I am feeling that pain today, as I go to that place in my heart reserved for Celeste. But I am also feeling a profound sense of peace and wonder as I remember the glimpse of Heaven I was able to witness. And hoping that when the door to Heaven closed, Baby Girl was able to prop it open for me, just wide enough for me to sneak in.

You can see the video I prepared for Celeste's last birthday here.

Thank you for your prayers.

last single digit bday for John!

No, I didn't forget about John! This is a busy week in our family. Our fifth child, our son John, turned nine on the 20th.

John is awesome because he has blue eyes, loves Star Wars Legos, and can roller blade.

And he has freckles!

Happy Birthday, John! I love you more than you can imagine!

girls just wanna have fun!

Today we celebrate my eldest daughter Rachel's 22nd birthday!

She and I spent the day shopping (one of our favorite activities) after having spent last Saturday night dancing (another favorite.)

Some photos from our exciting evening at Boogie Fever, a local club that caters to old folks like me and our kids, follow. (We had such a good time dancing to the best music ever -- music from "my era" -- the 70s and 80s -- and even got to be on the radio!)

Happy Birthday, Rachel. You were the original Adamkiewicz kid, the best thing that ever happened to me. I love you!

beautiful photos from a beautiful day!

Just couldn't resist posting some of my favorites. Again, all credit to the amazing Stacy Shy of Venture Photography.

first wedding photos!

I am so excited I can hardly stand it! Here is a "sneek peek" of some of the photos from Rachel and Christopher's wedding.

To see more of Stacey's amazing work, visit her website.
(She is available for work worldwide!)