stomach flu remedy

There's not one available here, but I got your attention didn't I?

After reading about what happened to Laura when she included "stomach flu" in a blog post title, I couldn't resist. (Laura, I told you I was not above this!) Thankfully, no remedies of that sort are needed around here, although several of us are now battling colds in addition to our other woes.

I'm managing my crosses a bit better today, thanks in part to the wonderful encouragement I received from my dear blog readers. Have I thanked you all lately? I had tears in my eyes more than once as I read your comments on my last post. I felt so encouraged, so thankful for the friends I have found here in the blogosphere. I'm one of those who believes real relationships can be formed online (I certainly hope so - my daughter married the young man she met that way!)

As an update - the driver of the other vehicle appears to have told the truth about the matter, which is great news! I paid $120 to have my dishwasher "fixed" - the filter needed to be cleaned, that's all - but it's working now and I'm over it. The rest of the house is still somewhat "imperfect" but it's warm and filled with people I love. I'm focusing on that today.

So on from stomach flu to other fun things that start with "s" - for that's today's theme, thanks again to my favorite Catholic school teacher on the planet.

Here's my assignment: list ten things I love that start with "s." Wow, what an easy assisgnemt! "S" is like the best letter ever!!!

Here's the first ten that came to mind.

Silence
I like it, I love it, I want more of it! I so rarely experience it that when I do I want to hold gently like a precious jewel. Just one of the reasons I treasure my chances to visit Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament. The silence feeds my soul.

Solitude
Like the first item, it's a rare and priceless gift I long to give myself. I like me. I miss me. I want to spend more time with me, just me. I vant to be alone.

Sunshine
Michigan winters can be lovely, all covered with fields of white, barren branches bejeweled with icy crystals. But how much lovelier it is on a sunny day! I miss the sun! I put my sunglasses on yesterday, for the first time in weeks, and almost wept. I adore the sun, and I tend to go all seasonal-affective when it goes missing for months at a time. I can't wait for spring, when I'll throw caution to the wind and sit outside in my shorts, sans sunscreen. (I know; no lectures. I need vitamin D, right?)

Seasons
Even though midwest winters can be harsh, they lead us to really appreciate spring. I really enjoy the change of seasons. The carnival of lavender, fuschia and chartreuse in spring, the sand and hot blue skies of summer, the butterscotch leaves of fall, the moonlight diamonds of winter....what gorgeous gifts He gives us!

Spices
Cayenne, garlic, rosemary, savory, thyme, sage. Bring 'em on. Wouldn't food (and life) be boring without them? I like to spice things up, both in the kitchen and elsewhere. That whole variety thing makes things fun.

Strawberries
They're visually interesting, delicious, nutritious and lo-carb. Try them with sour cream and brown sugar. Yum.

Stagecraft
I love everything to do with the theater. I love being on the stage, behind the scenes, or in the audience. One of my favorite aspects is the magic that can be achieved by creative folks who understand one of the most important truths about it: good theater can educate and even heal us.

Stories
Everybody's got one, and I want to hear them. I love all kinds of stories, the kind we speak to one other, the kind we read, and the kind we tell through the quality of our touch, the timbre of our voices, and the emotions in our eyes.

Splenda
For someone sensitive to sugar, splenda is a godsend. It's a small but lovely addition to my day. I feel so indulgent when I'm drinking my sweet cup of tea that only contains one calorie and no carbs!

Sweaters
Can a woman have too many sweaters? I think not. They are soft, pretty, and cover up our imperfections, real or imagined, if they are cut nice and generously.

I could go on and on here with the letter "s." Songs, silver, sons, supercailifragilisticexpealidociuos. Sangria, Santa Claus, Santa Fe, San Diego. Saints, stars, symphonies, sandwiches, soundtracks. And let's not forget Sophie!

Would you like your own letter? Visit Laura and she'll assign you one. Let me know when your list is up!

(If she gives you "f", will you include "flu?" If you do I'll look the other way!)

picking up sticks

I was going to title this post "do the right thing."

Then as my thoughts came together, and the morning's events transpired, I was going to call it "if it's not broke don't fix it, but if it is, please get busy!"

Then I read Kate's post over at Momopoly, and I started to cry.

I'm having a rough morning.

I'm carrying a cross, and it's a light one. I call this kind a toothpick cross. It's so tiny that when you look at me, you probably won't even notice I'm lugging it around. But like a toothpick in a pile of toothpicks, it can be hard to pick up. And it can be very draining when it seems you're picking up this same one again and again.

Things are falling apart around here, and I mean that literally. On Saturday I was in a car accident. Don't worry, no one was injured, which is all that really matters. But my van is smashed up and in need of repair, and I spent the morning on the phone with the husband of the gal who hit me and with insurance agents.

That leads to the "do the right thing" angle. It was snowy Saturday, dangerously so. The roads were horrible, and I really had no business being out. But I had a rehearsal to get to (don't worry, I'll fill you in on the show soon!) so I ventured out. When that other car came careening through the intersection I was in the middle of, there was really no stopping it. She had hit a slippery spot, and she was driving too fast. I saw her coming, tried to accelerate, but my wheels spun and she hit me, sending me spinning 180 degrees.

When I got out of my van and saw the other driver, I was relieved. She was OK, so was I, and even better, it was someone I knew! We had gone to high school together and her husband and mine had played in the same softball league in recent years. That would make things easier.

We assured one another we were fine, found both our vehicles to be driveable, and decided no call to the police was necessary. We both knew it was her fault, but I figured I'd spare her the ticket and the points that may accompany it. (I knew this might happen - a good friend of mine was in a similar accident last winter and that's what happened to her.)

I decided to be nice.

This morning her husband called and said he was going to try to "fix things" with his insurance agent who also happened to be the best man at his wedding. He explained he planned to simply say the vehicle was parked on the street and was struck by some unknown car.

Oh no.

I don't do well with this sort of thing. I had no intention of participating in insurance fraud (and why should I? I had nothing to gain and something - the payment of my deductible - to lose.) I told him I was not comfortable with that idea, and that I planned to do something wild and just tell the truth.

He handled that pretty well, I guess, but he said he wanted me to wait before I called my company. I stupidly agreed, then realized after I hung up that I had no intention of doing that. I called him back and left a message on his voice mail telling him I was going to make the claim. So I did and now I'm waiting to see what happens.

It appears that if they call with a different story, I might be out the $500 deductible.

That stinks. That's the price I've paid for "being nice." I suppose the lesson is that sometimes "doing the right thing" includes following protocol that protects me rather than trying to be nice to someone else.

That's just the beginning of my toothpick collection today. The dishwasher's broke. My blow dryer shot sparks at me this morning. Last week my microwave broke, so I threw it out and got a new one. Today I found out it was covered on a repair plan and if I had called I would've received a check for $125 if they couldn't fix it.

My lap top is malfunctioning, randoming shutting itself off. The kitchen drawer fell apart the other day. The lightswitch in the bathroom wants to permanently stay in the "on" position.

My home is falling apart, and I'm frustrated, angry and sad.

The condition of my house is a really heavy cross to me. We redid the living room and my room this past year, and they are quite attractive right now. But I'd be lying if I said I was content here.

It's a "starter home" at best, and we're way past getting started. We will probably never be able to move to a larger home, and that is something I just have never been able to get over.

We have three bedrooms, no basement, only 1300 square feet. The house is not ancient, but it's no spring chicken, either. We use our family room for so many purposes; now Sophie stays in that room too, and it's insane. I don't know how we do it.

But we do. I pick up the toothpick every day, and it's exhausting sometimes. Like Kate said, people might look at me and think how great I have it. (Especially people who've never been to my house!) They look at all the blessings in my life (and there are indeed many) and they don't even know how much I suffer because of my inadequate kitchen cupboards, damaged tiles and stuffed closets.

I feel ashamed that I whine about this. But for some reason, this cross seems almost unbearable at times. I imagine that's because I've had it for years, and I don't imagine it will ever be lifted from me.

So today it's messed-up, screwed-up, broken around here. And it probably will be tomorrow, too. So I'll do my best to hang in there and not break anything else -- especially my spirit.

writers living, writers writing

I fancy myself a writer.

I've written a book after all, and lots of articles, and I've got this snappy blog, after all. And ANOTHER blog, 'cause I'm a show-off. OK, so none of the above have received much attention lately. That's all right, I think I'm finally grown-up enough to realize something I didn't get back when I wrote this catchy phrase in my diary when I was 19: "When a writer stops writing, she stops living."

That's rather embarrassing.

I think what I meant to say was that those of us who "write", those who find it something as natural as breath and as essential as oxygen, feel very "un-alive" when our pencils lay unsharpened on our dusty desks. That is true, I suppose. But the living doesn't stop just because we're not recording it, in journals or notebooks, on yellow lined steno pads or computer screens.

Life goes on.

It's been going on here, that's for sure, even though I've been neglecting the preservation of it. The most important and delightful development is that I had a wonderful late Christmas gift delivered on the Feast of the Holy Family.

I'm having another grandbaby!

My daughter Lauren, who married in August, is expecting, just like her elder sister! (That sibling rivalry and competition never ends, does it?) Her baby will arrive in September, with the gold leaves and Indian summer breezes and back to school supplies. I'm thrilled! Our little Grace is due in early May, and Lauren, not to be out done by Rachel, will bring our second grandchild to us in the fall. How blessed we are.

I've been so busy these last couple weeks, even though the boys are back in school. They're doing so well, by the way. I think we made the right decision. It's strange, but I can't believe I ever homeschooled my children. Isn't that odd? I find as I get older that I am continually amazed by the things I did in earlier years. Did I really have four kids in that old flat in Hamtramck? Did I really manage to get around for years without a car? Did I really live without the internet? How did I homeschool children for 15 years, when what really felt natural was a career in business or advertising or fashion or photography? Did I really breastfeed several of them for one or even two years? How did I do all that?

So now I'm older and wiser, and a puppy is sleeping at my feet while I write. Sophie is adjusting well; we grow confident together. She is not accurate or consistent with her well, "eliminations" but she is improving. AJ has taught her to sit. She has gained a TON of weight (when you only weigh three pounds, going up to five is a big increase!) I'm getting to the point where I can't imagine not having her in my life. That's a happy feeling.

My Big Man made an amazing dinner for us tonight (stuffed pork tenderloin, asparagus with gorgonzola and almonds, cucumbers with sour cream, fresh berries.) Yes, I am a lucky woman. He just asked me if I could wash the dishes (the dish washer is broken - how shocking!) and I laughed out loud. But I'll do them, of course, how could I not?

I'd like to share more about one other thing that's been keeping me really busy these days -- my upcoming performance in a community theater show. Now you are intrigued, aren't you? Let's just say for now that it includes tap dancing. Isn't that enough to bring you back for more?

So I'm living, and maybe not writing so much, but living. If I don't I'll have nothing to say, right?

Gratituesday...for my Friend

Did you miss me?

I missed you!

Christmas (and my birthday, which was the 23rd) was wonderful, as always, but I'm still recovering. A holiday "hangover" of sorts, I suppose. All the food, the wine, the relatives, the spending...it can get a bit exhausting. I figured I get back to some kind of normal with a Tuesday Gratituesday post.

Do those of you who have blogs like mine, with your full name and picture plastered all over it for all to see, ever wish you had an anonymous one? I sure do. Especially on days like today, when I'd really like to vent here about certain people who are driving me crazy. But I digress. I'm supposed to be talking about what I'm grateful for, right? So here it is.

I'm grateful for Jesus.

I mean really, really grateful. For so many reasons (the least of which being that dying for me thing) I am so glad I know Him.

When I am feeling really challenged by the people in my life, I know I can turn to Him, and He will be there, my steadfast Friend. He is never too busy or stressed to listen to me. He always keeps His cool and His sense of humor. His patience never ends, and He never tires of my complaints or poor jokes.

When I have been really down, and I mean down, I have been given the good sense and the grace to turn to Him. Like everybody else on the planet, I've had some real lows. When I mentally list them (I can't reveal them all here - remember - that anonymity thing?) I am sometimes overcome by how absolutely horrid some of the things I've gone through have been. Can you think of some times like that in your life? I know you can.

And then I remember what Jesus did for me during those times. He reached down (way down) to my level and hoisted me up. He kept me going. He was my brother and my friend.

Things will go well, and things will go off track. Today I'm thankful that where ever I'm at on that path, Jesus is right there beside me.

I've got much to be thankful for.

So I'm going to visit my Friend. He's waiting for me at my local church every Tuesday, all day (something else to be immensely grateful for.) Is He waiting for a visit from you, too? Go say hi. You won't ever regret it.

yes, Virginia

I believe in Santa Claus.

I'm not saying I simply promote belief in Santa with my children, although that is also true. I'm not saying I think the Santa myth is fun, and that I like to pretend he's real.

I'm saying I believe in Santa Claus.

Like most, I grew up believing in Santa. I wrote lists of gifts I would like, and well-crafted letters mailed off addressed to Santa, North Pole.

I visited him not at a crowded mall, but at the local Hudson's Budget Store. There on a make-shift throne sat not one of "Santa's helpers," but the real Santa. At least that's what my brother and I were convinced. He had a real beard and kindly blue eyes. I remember preparing for our yearly rendezvous for days, overcome with nervous excitement. I was not a terribly shy little girl, but I was certainly not the type to be comfortable sitting on some old man's lap and rattling off a list of toys I wanted.

I did ask for toys, and sometimes I got them, and sometimes I didn't. I remember that one year I decided there was only one gift for me: a miniature toy vacuum cleaner. I had spotted it in the Sears Catalog, and had carefully drawn a circle around it. It was just like my mom's, only in wonderful toy form. On Christmas morning I excitedly tore open the packages marked To: Cathy From: Santa. I'm sure there were lots of wonderful gifts there. I don't remember what they were, but I remember that I didn't get the vacuum cleaner. But I still believed.

I never had a Christmas on which I "discovered" that Santa wasn't real. We had a book on our shelf that told a story about a little boy who got a black eye at school when someone challenged his belief in Santa. (I'm pretty sure there are no books like that in print these days!) The book went on to explain Santa's origins in the form of St. Nicholas. I used to imagine I was a bit like that boy: I would be willing to go to the mat for the Big Guy. In fact, I still am.

There is a trend in some circles to deny the existence of Santa Claus, a trend I find quite disturbing. I know some folks quite well who raise their children with the belief that St. Nicholas was real, of course, but that Santa Claus is merely a modern invention of consumerists who want us to spend more money this time of year. (They also demonize Halloween, which is another story entirely.) They contend that if they indulge a Santa fantasy, which they will someday say is a fib, their children won't believe anything they've told them, and will end up doubting the existence of God, which they will now identify as a myth as well.

I've heard this theory more than once. It's interesting, but the fact is I have never, ever heard of a case in which this has happened. Rather, I've many examples of well-rounded folks who love Santa and love the Lord and live a healthy, well-balanced life filled with ample amounts of fantasy and reality.

Fr. John Dietzen, in his recent column for the Catholic News Service, agrees with me. He eloquently defends belief in Santa, acknowledging that fantasies such as this are "doors to wonder and awe, a way of touching something otherwise incomprehensible."

Fr. Dietzen also share the words of G.K. Chesterton spoken in Santa's defense. Chesterton compares Santa's generosity with that of Our Creator Himself, and contends that our experience of Santa's goodness becomes a reflection of God's great gifts to us. (Read Fr. Dietzen's reflections and Chesterton's words here.)

So I believe in Santa, and like Chesterton, I find that "Santa Claus has grown larger and larger in my life until he fills almost the whole of it." I believe in Santa, and I believe in the magic of Christmas. If your belief has dimmed, take a moment to remember what it is like to be a child on Christmas Eve. That night contains all the wonder, joy and magic that can ever be. I admit that every Christmas Eve, while I join Santa in fulfilling the wishes of my children, I start to believe that anything is possible. I recall the Christmas Eves I have lain in bed, a new baby growing beneath my heart, considering the Holiest of Nights when another young mother gave birth. And what does that have to do with Santa? Everything.

I believe in Santa. I believe in goodness, and in selfless giving. I believe in wondrous nights on which anything, even the miraculous, can happen.

One of my favorite bloggers wrote recently about a little girl who "found out" there was no Santa. I wished I could tell her what my mom told me through her actions when I was a little girl, and what I told my children who began to doubt his existence. Santa is real, as real as wind and warmth and love. If there is a time when you doubt that he lives, it is time for your belief to evolve. It is time for you to be Santa for others.

Every Christmas Eve my belief in Santa is renewed. It may be me who fills the stockings, and my husband who eats the cookies.

Then again, maybe not.

I believe in Santa. I hope you do, too.

gifts for me under the tree!

Not exactly what I had in mind.

Sophie has been leaving presents like this all over the place, so now we've confined her to the family room. I'm reminded of the days potty-training my children, something I was terrible at even though I went through it six times. I admit that sometimes I look at my adult children and am amazed that they made it this far without thousands of hours of therapy -- and in dry pants, no less.

Puppy love can be fickle, but I'm not giving up on my girl, or on myself. I know that she and I will figure this out. Since I've been spending all my free time searching the internet ("puppy poops in crate" and "how do I housetrain?" were recent searches) I've had little time to blog. When I'm not looking for training assistance I'm locked in the bathroom with her (that's where her training papers are) praying that she will let loose. It's a pain, but I'm still glad I got here. Weird? Love, puppy and otherwise, is like that.

I'm learning about myself, of course, as I struggle to train the little sweetie. Every puppy training manual (including my current fave read, Puppies for Idiots) claims that it is indeed the owner who first needs discipline. Oh dear. Discipline is NOT my strong suit. My lack of it leads me to say things like, "I'm a great mom, but a lousy mother." I'm horrible at providing boundaries, for myself and others.

This experience is reminding me that I need to grow in this area. Developing a schedule, following rules, erecting barriers, establishing boundaries -- all these ideas make me exceedingly uncomfortable. They go against my nature. But that is not an excuse to abandon them.

Sophie and I can learn together, and we will. I talked with my brother the other day, who is proud "papa" to a black lab and a life-long dog lover. He reminded me that I need to exude confidence, and that I should essentially "fake it til I make it." Sophie will learn that I'm leader of the pack, and she will be my faithful friend and companion. It will all be worth it.

Just another reminder that living a full life means doing things that are challenging, taking risks, pushing ourselves. It also means there will occasionally be unexpected presents under the tree. That's ok. Just clean it up and keep going!

'twas the week before Christmas...

Yes, I am still alive!

It seems that the more I have to say, the less time I have to say it. I've been wanting to update and have been simply overwhelmed lately.

Sophie is cute as ever, but she DOES NOT WANT TO SLEEP AT NIGHT. She has found barking at all hours to be her favorite pastime. She also enjoys pooping in her crate instead of on her papers. I know, puppies are like babies, blah blah blah. I'm tired and cranky. I know, I'm the one who wanted a puppy, I have to deal with it. Blah, blah blah. She's grow up and learn and life will go on, right?

Luke has been sick all this week with something nasty. I sent him off to school this morning (after three days at home) even though he was moaning and saying his stomach still hurts. I haven't gotten a call yet, so he's fine, right?

I'm off to renew my driver's license now. Even for a gal like me, who likes to have her picture taken, this is not fun. I know this pic will be hanging out in my wallet for the next ten years, and they are not very accomodating photographers at the police station. They ignore me when I point out that photos look best when taken from above, and they don't even want to know which of my sides is best. Can you imagine?

Tomorrow we are due for a snow storm around these parts, so I'm hoping to be snowed in enough that I might find myself trapped in front of my computer. I've got a great post on the Big Guy of the season -- our man Santa -- that I want to share with you. I just haven't written it yet (small detail) but wow, it's great in my mind!

For now I leave you with this detail of our Christmas tree. It is real, as in not artificial, a caveat to my Joey who was threatening to boycott Christmas if we switched to the storebought variety. It looks quite beautiful, I must admit, very traditional and festive.

Bear with me while I sort out another traditional occurrence -- one that happens yearly but without festivity. I'm experiencing that week-before-Christmas stress we moms are all familiar with. Breathe in, breathe out. I'm better now!

gratituesday

I'm thankful for Santa Claus and little boys.

More about both later.
Don't forget to visit Laura to see what's she's thankful for this week.

meet Sophie!

Thanks for all the great input on the puppy names. I must admit that I spent most of last night obsessing. (Especially after reading Christine's comments! :))

Should I name her a "real" name? Will I offend someone? Should I even get a dog at all?

I admit I wracked my brain for a "dog" dog name, and I couldn't think of anything. Well, I actually thought of a few things, but then I realized I knew (or knew of) PEOPLE with these names! (I know of a human Sunshine, Candy, Trixie, and Buffy.)

Anyway, when I saw this little girl last night I knew the name I had dreamed of for a puppy was just right for her.

She's Sophie, and she's the newest member of this crazy family.

She is so cute, cuddly and affectionate, with just enough spice to keep things interesting. I'm feeling quite peaceful that she's just the right pet for us.

Isn't it great when things work out like that?

puppy love, part 2

A while back I mentioned I was thinking about getting a dog.

Yesterday my husband nudged me along, since I've been talking about it for months. So today I took the plunge and actually called about an ad I saw for adorable pek-a-poo pups.

The female is black and white (with an "active" personality) and the male is a laid-back brown and white cutie. As of this morning, no one has left a deposit, but several folks are interested. So tonight we are going to meet them (the Big Man called it pet speed dating.)

I guess it's a sign that I really want to do this because I am so excited and hoping no one else will claim them both. I originally wanted a female, but now I don't care (that calm male is sounding great.)

But I have a very serious problem, and I need YOUR help! What does a smart, sassy, sophisticated grandma-to-be such as myself name her new doggy?

If you're going to suggest Hank, Spot, Buffy, or Rufus, think again.

I need something original. Maybe a literary reference, a cool, little known saint or a moniker with a significant meaning.

I like Sophie for a girl because Sophia means "wisdom." (Just sounds like a very empowered feminine chick, but still a little darling, like her owner, of course.)

Should I get a male pup, I'm at a loss. Suggestions, please!

pink or blue?

Yesterday my daughter and her husband shared one of the most wonderful moments a couple can -- they saw their new baby on ultrasound.

It seems things have changed quite a bit since I had my first baby over 22 years ago, and even since my last one was born less than four years ago. Pregnant moms no longer need to drink gallons of water before the procedure (wasn't that evil?) and Dad is welcome to stay for the whole thing. They also had a handy TV screen hooked up that Rachel could view the entire time. I remember straining to see the screen throughout, but the techs always insisted on keeping it out of sight until the very end. And even then, you only got to see a brief glimpse of a fuzzy image that looked more like a map of the moon than a human baby.

We've all been anxious around here for this particular ultrasound -- the window into the womb that would reveal the Peanut's gender. I've been pondering it often in recent weeks. Will my first grandchild be a boy or a girl?

It is God's honest truth that we would joyfully welcome either variety. I found myself wistful for another boy, like my four urchins. Little boys are wonderful; they remind us of our husbands in all the best ways, and they adore their mothers. My boys bring me so much joy. I could picture a little grandson, with my daughter's chubby cheeks, my son-in-law's curls, and my husband's disposition. A little boy would be wonderful.

Then I dreamed of a granddaughter. A little girl would be so exciting! It has been so many years since I bought a doll! She would be our little princess, protected by a whole team of uncles, doted on by an aunt who would spend her paycheck on dresses. My heart also longed for a girl since my little Celeste is gone. She cannot be replaced, of course, but I admit the thought of having a little girl was a comfort.

So yesterday when the baby had "its" photo shoot, we waited anxiously to find out. A boy? A girl? What will that grandchild be????

It's a .....really cute wonderful little baby that we will love!

And her parents will name her Grace, and that is what she will bring to our family.

Congratulate me!!!!

post-holiday musings

Today I share a commentary at 4marks.com. It's a sad story. I hope we can glean something positive from it: we need to evaluate our priorities and focus on the right things this Christmas season.

Around here I'm trying to get "back to normal" after a fun holiday weekend. My daughter hosted her first ever Thanksgiving meal, and it was joyous. (She had a little help with the prep but the clean-up was all on her and her husband. That's pretty cool!) It was the passing of the torch (the turkey?) so to speak and a transition I must say I'm enjoying.

Here's the fam around the table (minus nine-year-old staff photographer John.)
Norman Rockwell, eat your heart out!