When the Giver is Changed by the Gift {Catholic Bedroom Makeover}

I never thought I would invite you into my bedroom. It really isn't my way. Something about publicly sharing the space that veils the sacred beauty of my vocation causes me to pause reflexively. Not out of prudery, but out of reverence. I changed my mind only because I want to share a story of blessing - when I risked a little to give a gift and discovered that I had neglected more than just my bedroom decor... but also the joy of having a beautiful space that my husband and I can truly call our own.

It began during a texting blitz with my dear friend, Lena (from Joyfilled Family). I confessed to being in a bit of a funk, a bit oppressed by my own failures... and by an ego that was reluctant to handle even one more apology and humble admission. Write down, she said, something that you would like to accomplish just for yourself. That one was easy. I have a lot of those. But there was one that stood out above the rest: I want a clean and beautiful home. A tall order. Okay, she said. Pick one room. That was easy, too. My bedroom. My ugly bedroom that looked the same as the day we moved in several years ago. My bedroom that looked more like a sterile bachelor pad than a woman's domain. 

I know nothing about interior decorating. We have lived simply and frugally and in a state of transition for many years due to house moves and construction. As I pondered the possibilities, I began to see the truth: the state of my room had far less to do with frugality than it did with my failure to "hold the space" for my husband and myself. "Hold the space" is doula language... always popping up randomly in my mind when I feel protective, defensive... but it fits. Even with babies sharing our beds, I should have held that space against the encroaching noise and clutter and crazy. It is my domain... and my husband deserves peace. 

So I began to plan. I would make it a Christmas surprise and use a fortuitous overnight trip planned by my husband to conquer my room and take it back for him. I've never surprised him before and I was nervous as Lena mentored me through the world of color and bedding. Create a new Pinterest board, she said. Twist my arm! I said. And I began.

Part of the way into my planning, I had a grace-filled conversation with Jennifer Buckley of Graceful Living {at Home} in which she told me about her decorating services and edesign consulting services. I already love her website and her vision for a Christ-centered home. When she offered to work with me, I was giddy... and also terrified. My budget was tiny as far as decorating goes. My timeframe would be even tinier. I told her that it would be a bit like a reality show in which we have neither enough time nor enough resources to bring a plan together. But she said, let's do it. And we did. The photo above was taken at the time of our Skype consultation. 

I want to offer a disclaimer here: Jen offered me many wonderful suggestions and counsels that I was unable to implement either because of financial or time constraints. She is a master of repurposing but I still had to purchase paint and all new bedding which ate up my budget pretty quickly. She promised me that if I followed 85% of everything she suggested, that I would have a knockout room. I'm not sure that I hit that 85% but I tried... and anything you might think is goofy or wrongly considered? It's all me. Jen is a master. If you are looking for help, I can't recommend her highly enough. Check out her stunning blog at Graceful Living {at Home}

Because this was a surprise, it was pretty challenging to secretly purchase and stash a bedroom full of stuff. The picture below is some of what I showed to Jen during our consultation before I had to stash it all away in nooks and crannies to hide again. She nixed the gray pillows, suggesting a "pop of color" instead and we made our way through the rest of the items and space together.

Below is a "before" shot. The walls were green-ish/tan-ish.... I never could decide which and just described them to myself as drab. When I first sent these photos to Jen, I was pretty embarrassed as I realized the extent of my neglect. For almost twenty years, I have used frugality as an excuse to neglect our space. I embraced the moment with what humility I could muster and just began.

Please pardon my poor quality photos. They were taken with an ipad (no flash) at different times of different days during a dreary and dim Ohio Winter with terrible room lighting. I hope you can glean some of the affect from what I have here...

And after...
I've since moved the photo frame from the candle shelf. I preferred the simple shining 8-day candle to more clutter...

I had removed my obnoxiously large dresser mirror a month prior and pulled this unused mirror from storage. I assumed it would go horizontally but Jen immediately had me turn it upright. I told her about my plan for my wedding photos and she sent me a photo from Pinterest showing how to arrange them symmetrically. 

I wanted wedding photos. I wanted a reminder of that young, reckless love that says I do give everything and more forever and ever. And as I cropped, printed, and transferred the pictures onto wood frames, I fell into that teenage love again. My heart began to expand. And I wept more than once at the stale, drab neglect that had begun to crowd in with the random toys and clutter.

My dresser has always said a lot about me. Always full of stuff. Random and scattered. Some of it meaningful, much of it wasteful. The books I have read and reread and intended to read. The spot where the varnish had been eaten through by a broken glow stick that a child had bit into...

... now transformed into a different angle of my heart - the one I gave naively to my husband 18 years ago and have been working on giving more completely and deeply ever since.... 

Of course Blessed Mother should be there. We walked into a Catholic gift shop in South Bend, Indiana on our first wedding anniversary and the Chief bought me this statue of the Bavarian Madonna. It was an extravagant purchase at a time when Weaver chicken patties on buns was our "meat" meal of the week. I remember that it was $50 and how nervous I was that I would drop it accidentally! is one of the few possessions I think I would cry over if it were broken. It was in our room at the beginning... and now it is back.

There are many holy cards and devotions that I cherish. For some reason, this particular "Special Act of Sorrow" is among them. I once saw a gentleman at church handing one to Father and I peeked over his shoulder to see what it was. When I saw that he had a stack of them, I asked him if I could have one. On the surface, it seems sobering and I suppose it is. But it also draws my heart to a place of humility which is where I most easily meet my God of mercy and JOY. When I hold nothing back - no sorrow or regret - I embrace the sweetness of my vocation with a happiness that is beyond description. The mystery of the Cross, I suppose. The prayer is a refinement I offer for my husband and I decided to bring it out of hiding... right next to the rosary he bought me several years ago. The pretty one with roses he saw me admiring in the case and surprised me with later...

First time craft projects don't always go my way but this one went just fine. I bought wood canvases, printed out black and white inkjet photos, used gel medium to transfer the image and a matte Mod Podge finish. I used the instructions here. I enjoyed the project and because I found a sale, was able to put each one together for about $10 a piece. The runner was leftover fabric from the curtains.

I always thought a pretty bed was simply a nice blanket spread over some relatively soft pillows. I'm either easy to please or just uneducated in the finer points of nice decor. Lena and Jen introduced me to the world of throw pillows, and in spite of my tendency to just get all matchy matchy with the neutrals... I bought a little color.

My 13-year old son can't fathom the idea of having pillows on the bed that aren't going to be used and kept asking why, why, why?? I was stumped. Until it dawned on me that they certainly can be used! Just not all at the same time. Which brought me to a perplexing question: What does one do with decorative pillows when one is sleeping? I bought a basket from target and it works just fine...

Does my husband care about the many man hours I put into picking out just the right duvet cover that looked like the one I coveted from Pottery Barn but cost half as much? I'm sure he would consider it a waste. I struggled with it myself and felt irritated with the seemingly endless search for... stuff. But those hours transformed me. Forced me to examine my original purpose and see that, yes, I am building a sanctuary. That is my domain and I claim it in love.

The blank wall behind the bed perplexed me. I had no idea what to put there. My original idea called for a shelf with pictures but Jen nixed it. No, she said. The bed is the focal point and the decoration behind it should accent, not overtake it. She suggested something round-ish or some beautiful words. She had a vision but I remained lost, caught between the pretty round wall hangings at Target and my desire to have that space filled with someone more purposeful. More Christ-focused...

I went to three stores searching, feeling a bit frantic to finish the planning. I spent another large chunk of time online wading through all the religious wall art I could find. And I found the Sacred Heart in iron. I thought it a little too Mexican for my tastes but I bought it anyway. When it arrived, it looked terrible on my ugly drab wall... but I kept it anyway. What a difference a gray makes. We think it's perfect...

The following photo was taken just three minutes before my husband walked in the door. I had worked for 11 straight hours and couldn't imagine what he would think of it. (Apparently, hecouldn't imagine either because I really did manage to surprise him.) I was not as concerned about what he would think of the details as I was if he would understand my heart. I put a letter in his Christmas stocking and waited...

The room is small so it's a bit tough to get a good shot of everything. And the ipad made it tough to get a good shot of anything. One aspect of the project that I never completed was the lighting. Jen made some wonderful recommendations but when it came down to it, my budget was blown. So it's a very dim room... for now. The Chief and I will get to it eventually.

I was really stumped for curtains because I wanted a pretty sheer but also something that blocked light in a non-ugly way. Jen recommended burlap to match other items in the room. I hate sewing burlap so I found a burlap-like tablecloth, added light blocking panels behind and hemmed. 

Jen also suggested taking the curtain rod close to the ceiling and beyond the sides of the window to give the impression of greater size... and using a single panel swept to the more open side of the wall. I love the affect... and I totally love the feminine sheers...

There was a consensus among my female mentors (co-conspirators) that the cherry wood paper organizer on the top of the Chief's dresser had to go since it was a less than attractive focal point. I took it away but I wasn't sure how that would go over. I replaced it with a file box on the floor which I have yet to fill. Presumably, he doesn't mind since he hasn't said anything. Or perhaps I should just presume that he loves me. Lots.

Another dark shot taken shortly before he came home....

I don't know if I mentioned yet that I worked for 11 straight hours on this room from start to finish and ate while standing up. And perhaps it goes without saying how grateful I am to my Dad without whom I couldn't have done it and who stuck it out the whole day. And maybe I didn't mention that I was so sore the next day that I could hardly move. But... this...

I had the best motivation for following through. A gift of love to my husband. A Christmas love letter. Delivered imperfectly but with my whole heart. In reparation for all of the big and small hurts that I have caused over the years. For withholding the best of myself in selfishness. Eighteen years is a lot of time to live with someone... a lot of time to hurt. And a lot of time to bless and be blessed. I worked intentionally, offering it up in reparation and in gratitude for every moment of growth and absolute bliss...

This is a picture of the old wood waiting to be covered with three coats of white paint that still didn't cover all the way. The garage sale Amish cabinet that I looked at constantly in the preceding weeks wondering if he would really mind if I painted everything white as snow...

Another shot of the waiting below. I called in an early Christmas gift (because some dads will do things like that when you need them) and took a risk on a wall fireplace heater. The kids and I saw one on HGTV once and we wondered... if we would hate it or love it. Crash was determined to make it happen, called Grandpa, and we eventually fired it up. The cabinet above was painted, reassembled and the punched tin vegetables covered in leftover fabric from the curtains...

The heater has been a blessing in our cold Ohio Winter. And the fireplace affect inviting and pretty. No regrets. There are many little details that I could not finish because of time or budget constraints. Like brass doorknobs and closet knobs that didn't quite fit when I tried to replace them. And paint that needs touching up because we did the whole room in 11 hours. And the switch plates that we just replaced last week. And the white shadowbox shelves that didn't get installed above his dresser. No matching tables and lamps. A few displaced items.

One little surprise was finding this lion on top of the cabinet. It was from the Chief's childhood and the kids absconded with it many years ago. But one of them apparently remembered that this was Dad's lion... and they returned it, not even knowing that it had been in our room at the very beginning, before they were a twinkle in Daddy's eye...

I don't know whether Lena or Jen would like my corner shelf. But I painted it and insisted on it. Once upon a time, we had a single blessed candle burning perpetually in our home under our living room crucifix. Those were simpler times when children didn't break things daily or hit volleyballs against the walls. I wanted that candle back. And it is now in our room where no chaos is permitted...

When I was a younger mother, I did not see how I had made an idol out of my motherhood. How my children had become the barometer of my happiness. Now that I am older and I am feeling the sting of the many little rejections that children eventually will deliver straight to the heart, I am brought abruptly back to reality: I have given my heart to this man. And when my kids leave and make me proud and break my heart and continue to turn my hair gray, this man will remain my own. For better or for worse. And I pray that I will always be able to offer him a sanctuary. So I have made a little light for our room...

And I'll close with that. Pulling the veil back over the holy place where we find peace and consolation in the midst of a life of great big suffering joy.

Update: A year and a half later, our 8th child was born in this room by the light of this blessed candle.

To be a saint... will it {All Saints' Day in a big family}

All Hallows' Eve. 2014.

We drove to Mass in the cold rain, costume pieces sticking up here and there and a toddler letting us know we hadn't planned nap time well. It is our family tradition to attend the vigil Mass of All Saints' Day in full costume and then go directly to our celebratory party. All the various opinions about secular Halloween vs. All Hallows' Eve aside... it's often just a crummy day for trick-or-treating in Cleveland. My heart went out to all the little Elsas... their pretty dresses covered by jackets... and their hair imperiled by raindrops. Someday, someone will get smart and move the secular holiday to July for us Northerners. It will kill two birds with one stone: 1) We won't have to decide between awesome costumes and warm/waterproof costumes and 2) We'll have the weekend free to devote to only ONE costume related party that happens to fall on one of the greatest feasts of the Church year. (Since some of you might not know where I stand on that. wink. wink.)

I dropped the kids off outside the church and kept driving in circles with the exhausted toddler. At one point, I stopped the van to climb in back and nurse her. Because there just isn't any use in bringing a hungry and tired one-year old into a quiet church until her issues are settled. A woman stopped in the rain to walk around my running van. Not able to see me behind the tinted windows, she became suspicious and wrote down my license plate number. Yes, I get it. Big white rumbling vans with tinted windows in church parking lots are creepy... especially on Halloween. I laughed and then stopped laughing... wondering if I would have to talk to a police officer while nursing a toddler dressed like St. Zita. 

Fortunately, I got our pictures taken before the downpour. With my low tech camera. My success to failure ratio in the cloudy conditions was about 1:40 since the random raindrops kept throwing my ipad out of focus. What a relief to finally get in the car and on our way after that effort! And after "someone" broke a house window with "something" (a first for us). And after Our Lady of the Snows fell out of the van and got her costume wet. And after a crying toddler increased her volume. And after... oops... I forgot to eat lunch...

HEROIC VIRTUE, DON'T FAIL ME NOW! (Open secret: The real purpose behind All Saints' Day festivities and costumes is to test out our virtue muscle. Weak and floppy? Yes. All ye holy men and women, pray for us!)

I drove the van... and it didn't stall. (Thank you, St. Christopher!) And then we attended a wonderful party at which I got a bunch of very dark and pixelated photos. Someday a DSLR. Santa?? 

I'm posting youngest to oldest here. A couple kids have noticeably more pics than the others. It's not because I love them more. It's because I made their costumes MYSELF and I'm preserving the memories I made slaving over the sewing machine. In other words, I am very proud (pray for me) and am giving in to the inclination to show off my small successes...

ST. ZITA... 

The idea for Peaches' costume came from a desire to make her a pinafore style dress that she can wear through the Winter. My fabric came from a gently used men's button down shirt and some scrap fabric and lace that have been in my stash for years. Pinterest tutorials set me in the right direction but I ended up modifying in order to make it perfectly Zita... and Peaches. Total cost: FREE (because I have no idea what I paid for the remnants and eyelet.)

We borrowed Cookie's spatula. "Give us this day our daily bread."

The kerchief was a scrap from the shirt sleeve attached to a bit of FOE (fold over elastic) because it is soft and gentle on a baby's head. Don't you just love the back of the dress? Buttons and pocket intact from the original shirt. The whole project was about 2-4 hours. It's very hard to tell total time when sewing between daily duties but that's my best guess.

ST. LOUIS...

I love adorable store bought costumes as much as I love handmade... because the former allows me more time to indulge in the latter. This king knight costume has been in our stash for a few years and I do like it, particularly because it fits multiple sizes. The sword and shield were gifts to Cub last year for Christmas.

OUR LADY OF THE SNOWS...

Another easy winner. The dress was a garage sale find with sparkle added for our Lord of the Rings party. The cape was worn by Button for her cold weather First Holy Communion. The flower was donated by a big sister.

ST. CECELIA...

Another lovely child who put together her costume mostly unassisted. The dress was a garage sale find and a Lord of the Rings party repurpose. Although she seems to have grown a bit since then and her sister had to take out the adjusted hem. My beautiful people... always growing...

ST. HUBERT...

Except for the rose brooch and arrows, this costume is entirely a repurpose from the Lord of the Rings party. Aragorn baptized into Hubert. I made the cloak way back when. The rest of the outfit was borrowed or thrifted. The bow and arrows are his. 

ST. PERPETUA...

I almost helped her with her costume. But then I didn't. Because she had already done it. I let her into my fabric stash and she designed and stitched up something rather lovely. Rather.

ST. THOMAS AQUINAS...

There are lots of pictures for this one because I spent the most time on it. This is how I did it: I spent about 8 hours buying fabric, fretting over what I should do with it, researching DIY patterns on the internet, and being generally grumpy with my kids. Then I threw my hands in the air, admitted defeat and sent Professor and Crash to the fabric store to buy a couple patterns. Great decision... 

There are 7 basic elements to this costume: 1) White Hooded alb 2) White Scapular 3) Black Cape 4) Black Hooded cowl 5) Black belt/rope 6) Tonsure 7) Rosary.

I modified a basic costume tunic pattern by adding a hood. The cloak and cowl were modified from a vampire style costume pattern. For materials, I used white cotton and a lovely black wool/poly blend that I scored for 65% off. This is not a throw-away costume. He will wear it every year of his life and provide photographic proof to me within a week of All Saints Day. Or else.

THE TEAM...

THE REST OF THE STORY...

You know they all come from a big family because no one is freaking out about a one-year old throwing herself (voluntarily) off the step in a fit of toddler rage. And they caught her before she landed. Impressive. You know I'm the mother of a large family because I just stood there and took pictures.

MY COSTUME...

A harried-hoodie-wearing-big-van-driving-homeschooling-mama-with-sleeping-baby. So... did I pull it off??

Chewing on a toy found on the van floor. Waiting for the cops to arrive. They never did. My guess is that they were preoccupied with the gaggle of preteen boys running through the parking lot wearing black hoodies and white hockey masks and wielding bloody plastic machetes.

I hope that your feast day celebrations were wonderful! Link to your costume/celebration posts if you'd like in the comments. I'd love to see them. Costumes are not necessary to enter into the richness of the liturgical year but they sure do add to the fun and make the feast days memorable for the kids! And for the big people. Sometimes it even raises the most important of life's questions. Such as... Do Dominicans really wear plaid shorts under their habits??

Dancing Among the Graves for All Souls Day

I love going to a Catholic cemetery. And I believe it is important to take the children. Unfortunately, the first experience many kids have of tombstones involves frightening Halloween decorations -- bloody limbs reaching out of the dirt and webs and spiders everywhere -- encouraging an association between burial and horror. I'd like to teach mine instead that death is the place where God greets souls and welcomes the pure of heart into His kingdom. And to encourage them to pray for those in purgatory. Sin is real. Hell is real. But there is no fear of it rising materially in the grassy rows of headstones. 

A cemetery is a place of sorrow and goodbyes. But it is also a place of deepest prayer, serenity, and hope. As they grow, my little ones will learn soon enough how quickly the soul can turn from Christ. And how terrifying that can be. So I hope to give them the gift of Truth and Beauty and clear the cobwebs from places that should be hallowed.

I encourage you to take your children to visit a Christian cemetery. Teach them about holy death. Read the names together and touch the engravings. Pray for the living and the dead.

We picked a recent sunny day and visited our Matthew's grave site. I didn't want to leave. Not because I think he lives there. No. I know that his soul has departed and his body decayed. But because it is beautiful to think of him and to be in that place of peaceful silence. He was born to new life in 2009. My tears are for me, not for him. Because I know the truth about holy death.

We cleared the earth from around the edges and wiped the grave stone where debris and dirt had gathered. Then we circled around his memorial and my husband led us in prayer. The children were reminded that they had a brother. And that this world is not the only place where siblings dance. 

When you take your children to the cemetery for the first time, choose a cheerful day and let them run in the grass and explore the names. Let them dance and play respectfully. Let them laugh and wonder out loud. I remember the time that one of our sons discovered a tombstone bearing his full name. And he marveled and wondered about that man. What had he looked like? Where was his soul now? It did not frighten him... it drew him in. Not to death, but to the life of the soul.

Our Matthew is in the baby section where the Catholic cemeteries bury all ages of babies without charge. The little stones are covered with flowers and stuffed animals and birthday cards. On this October day, there were little pumpkins and scarecrows and pretty mums. There was an inflatable green dinosaur and a few hot wheels for the boy who left his parents at 5 years old. 

I cried. I always do a little. But my children didn't. They ran and marveled and prayed with us.

Dear Parents... please teach your children that when the soul is right with God, that death is good and holy. And to walk among the headstones is a walk of solidarity with the love of the saints for their heavenly Father. There are no monsters there. No souls remain to walk and terrify. They have been judged and moved on. There is only the sorrow of the living, the love and hope and prayer that we bring when we come... 

... And the peace of Christ which passes all understanding. 

My children know the cemetery as a place of tearful goodbyes but also afternoon sunshine, and prayer. Their brother's body is buried there. And he is beautiful.

May your feast of All Souls' be filled with joy, hope and may you enter deeply into the mystery of what it means to give all for Jesus Christ.

Thanks be to God!

For an excellent November activity to help children remember to pray and sacrifice for those who have died, check out the Ora Pro Nobis candy boxes at Shower of Roses.

Mother Teresa of Calcutta DIY All Saints' Day Costume

All Saints' Day will be here soon and we are in full preparation mode!  Since we do not celebrate Halloween, we have some extra time and resources to pour into some really creative costuming. I made this Mother Teresa costume several years and ago and it continues to be one of my favorites. It's simple to put together but does take time so it's best to plan ahead. Or you can just do what I do and pull an all-nighter (every. single. year).

Why don't we celebrate Halloween? The better question is "Why should we?"

It simply isn't clear what the secular holiday is intended to celebrate... and for all the money invested (costuming, candy, dental bills), we don't feel compelled to participate.

The word "Halloween" is a derivative of "All Hallow's Eve" or the "Eve of All Saints". Instead of prioritizing the religious holiday second, we place it first. We don't have the time or interest to do both so Halloween gets the boot.  The kids love our All Saints' Day celebrations and the adults always succumb to the temptation to include plenty of candy! For more of my thoughts on Halloween, see this post: Halloween {A Failed Catechesis on Holy Death}

“Joy is a net of love by which you can catch souls.”

— Mother Teresa of Calcutta

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To make the Mother Teresa costume:

Here's a very basic explanation of how I put together the Mother Teresa costume. It was a while ago so I apologize that I don't have more detailed figures. It isn't too complex though and I think worth sharing.

I have no exact measurements to provide because few are needed and the ones that are used are specific to each child. 

First, I examined photos of the habits of Mother Teresa's order (Missionaries of Charity) until I had a basic idea of the design. You should definitely take the time to do this, too...  the sisters are lovely and sign of hope and joy in a suffering world.

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Fabric:

I brought my daughter to the fabric store with me and headed to the muslin aisle. I found 33" white muslin for $.99 a yard and wrapped it loosely around her in the style of a sari in order to estimate yardage. 

I found Blue cotton in my stash that resembled the color of the blue stripes on the habits of the order. Not perfect but it was free! I have no idea how much I used but eyeballed it and guessed that I would have enough (sorry...I know that's not incredibly helpful).

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Sari Design:

I designed the costume in 3 pieces:

1. White turtleneck (had one in her drawer)

2. Veil -The veil of the the Missionaries of Charity drapes down the back, around the front of the body, and across the opposite shoulder. This is one piece of fabric. To measure for size, I took the short end of the fabric length (33" width) and pinned it over her hair (as shown in the photo). I draped it down her back to the desired length, across her opposite shoulder, down her back, and cut it at the desired length. 

3. Skirt - Basically just a tube with elastic. I wrapped a piece of fabric around her waist to determine fit. I measured her waist and cut elastic to that size (normally I would size the elastic smaller for a better fit but I wanted extra room to tuck in  the turtleneck and to allow the costume to be used the following year!). I rolled the waistband until the skirt was the correct length instead of hemming (hurrah!). That allows for a taller child to wear it as well. I added the stripes to the skirt fabric before sewing the seam or waistband.

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Adding the blue stripes:

The habit of the order uses 3 solid blue stripes along the edges of the sari material, One larger stripe and two smaller stripes. I eyeballed the stripe widths and went a little larger to make the stitching easier on myself. I was not going for a replica of the habit but an overall representation of the habit. Would someone know who she was by looking at my design? Yes. Then it's all good. 

I sewed the strips (4" and 1.5") into tubes and pressed them so that the edges would be nicely finished and the extra fabric would add weight and better drape to the lightweight muslin. The finished stripes were 2", 3/4" and 3/4" wide. If you want a more authentic look, reduce the size of the smaller stripes. 

Stripes are applied to the hem of the skirt and to all 4 edges of the veil cloth.

Then I pinned and sewed. Lots of strips onto lots of fabric! But well worth the effort.

You can also color or paint the stripes on if you prefer. That would have driven me mad with this size costume but I've seen it done rather well on a much small version. Remember... it isn't a replica but a representation!

“If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.”

— Mother Teresa of Calcutta

To wear:

Put on the turtleneck and skirt first. Start the veil at the head. Pin it in place at the nape of the neck (we used a safety pin).  Let it fall down to desired length in back, drape it across the waist at the right side and bring up to and over the left shoulder. We pinned it in place with a religious medal.

Enjoy your celebration! If you email me with a photo of your little saints wearing their Mother Teresa costumes, I will add it to the photo gallery on this post. :)

How to Turn Teens Into Saints

Many Catholic teens think All Saints' celebrations are stupid and refuse to participate or dress up. It's easy to see why. When most adults hardly appreciate the excellence of this feast day, it is rather difficult to pass on any enthusiasm to the young people. Most dress-up parties and All Saints' Masses take place in a school environment, relegating them to part of the "school-ish" culture. The dynamic, authentic, awesomeness of this feast becomes a flattened dullish sort of thing and seen as only for the little kids. Just try to have an All Saints' dress-up day in a Catholic high school and see what happens!

And yet those same students will happily make fools of themselves in every kind of ridiculous get-up for Halloween. Obviously, it is not just about not wanting to be childish... but clearly an aversion to the things of faith because they see the faith as restrictive, cheesy, old, uncool. This is primarily the fault of a culture that is dead to true beauty and does not seek the heart of Christ.

Fortunately, this is not true for everyone but it does take some significant familial and parish effort and prayer to compete with the teen culture of boring. My teens participate in the fun of All Saints' Day of their own accord (so far), and happily so. I realize we have a distinct advantage as homeschoolers because the dull-ish, dead-ish secular teenage culture does not have constant access to our home.

Because we do not participate in the secular celebration of Halloween, we have been accused of being anti-evangelism. Tell that to my teens who deliberately wore their All Saints' get-up to one of the most liberal colleges in the country last week for their schola rehearsal! A college where they were sure to stand out and provoke unkind stares and certainly did. It was no suggestion of mine, just a real desire to spread the wings of their faith. Or how about the time my "St. Thomas Aquinas" decided it would be far better to go into Dairy Queen for his milkshake instead of using the drive-through. Because... Evangelism. 

Evangelism often manifests as families integrating smoothly into secular society (for example, watching Fourth of July fireworks within a community or participating in sports), but in our current culture, it is becoming increasingly important to be fully who we are within the context of our faith, even when it causes us to stand out.

As you can see by the photos, my teens not only dressed up this year, but they went all out. Professor had a very specific plan and taught me quite a bit about birettas as I fumbled my way through creating a couple. I love the way it turned out, and yes, it is only supposed to have three of those bump thingies. Amazing what a little poster board, heat n' bond, yarn, and fabric remnants can do! You can find our tutorial HERE.

Cookie was late to the planning because of a November 1st essay deadline. She wasn't sure she'd be dressing up at all and I didn't push her, but once that paper was submitted, she eagerly dug out some fancy things and began searching for a saint. (I am short on photos of her here because she was still rushing to get ready for most of the photo session. Other photos of her are temporarily imprisoned on someone else's iphone.)

This St. Veronica costume was one of my favorites to create and you can find the tutorial HERE.

Crash is nearly a teen and he didn't even flinch when that mitre towered over his head in public. I felt like Maria von Trapp making his outfit because I repurposed gold curtains to create it.

I've got lots of thoughts on why my kids are like this and they mostly center around the fact that we home educate. There's a lot of freedom and blessing in this lifestyle choice. Primarily, the kids are free from a secular teen culture that discourages true joy, passion, and respect for the dignity of the human person. I look at these pictures and know that in spite of our weaknesses and failures, we are on a fundamentally good path. It gives me the courage to keep going.

When kids are little, mamas often believe that if we only do all the right things, our kids will be really great and good people. Not to burst your bubble, but it isn't true. It's not primarily about us and whatwe do. It is about how well we place them into the loving arms of Jesus, so that He can do the work. We can lead them along the right path and I guarantee you that they will still stray at times. Some will even leave the faith.

What we need to focus on during these years then, is not micro-managing them into a relationship with our Lord, but allowing them to retain and develop true passion for His Sacred Heart. 

In spite of the common, but false, assertion that homeschooling restricts that kind of growth, I give you my evidence that it clears away some of the debris that can obstruct joy. Will it guarantee that my parenting will turn out canonized saints? No. But I believe it gives them a fighting chance to retain a seedling of their original purity and innocence. They may need it very badly someday.

If you don't homeschool, this is no judgment on you. It is not my vocation to parent your children and I trust you to follow God's will for your own family. I know that many of you are defending the goodness of your teens with great courage and success within the school system. May he bless and keep us all and bring our children safely home with the saints and angels!

How to Make Priest Biretta for All Saints' Day

After writing about my kids' All Saints' costumes last year, I received multiple requests for a pattern for the boys' birettas. So here you go!

The source pattern is for a real biretta so I have to warn you that I used extensive creative license with the it and produced great costume pieces -- not real birettas. 

Our All Saints' costumes from last year were a great success, mostly because the teenagers gave full participation. And wouldn't you if your mom stayed up until the wee hours crafting an awesome biretta for your priestly garb? Of course you would. And now you want to know how to share this excellence with your kids... so I will give you the link to the instructions and a few (very important and necessary) words about my crafting adventure.

First, the link to the PDF pattern: 
How to Make a Collapsible Biretta

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UPDATE: Lena at Joyfilled Family now has a picture tutorial that walks you through the steps. Check it out HERE.

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Now, a few words:

I did not make collapsible birettas. My birettas only collapse if you sit on them. I used the pattern provided, fused fabric to the pattern pieces, and glued the pieces until I was reasonably sure they would not collapse under normal stresses. It was a hack job but perfect for costume purposes.

All materials for this project were things I already had on hand:

• Poster board

• Heat n Bond to fuse the fabric to the poster board.

• Black fabric. I used a wool/cashmere blend fabric because it was the only black fabric I had on hand. (My sons had the warmest birettas ever made.) This would have been easier with a lighter fabric but the heavy stuff did lend the finished product a bit of weight and it stuck to their hair well.

• Satin fabric. Because I tend towards crafty perfectionism even at 3am. And because glue guns are awesome. And because I had scraps of satin fabric... I lined the inside of the hats. I wanted red but gold was a fine alternative.

• Red Piping Bias Tape on Professor's Fulton Sheen biretta. (I left a gap at the top of the poster board when I glued it so that I could hot glue the piping in later.)

• Red Yarn for the pom pom and a plastic pom pom maker. But you can use these instructions if you don't have one.

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This is the 2-year old's biretta. Because I didn't have enough piping bias, I used hot glue to strengthen the attaching pieces. And because the hot glue was ugly, I decided to paint it with a black paint pen. And because the black paint pen was "glossy" the seams are shiny. I wasn't thrilled. You can also see here how the lining is far from perfect -- just folded and glued in place -- but also how a kid would think it is cooler than plain black.

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Measuring...

The other thing I want to tell you is that I found the measurements tricky. I was not particularly careful and was rushing.  I measured once (hastily) for the Professor (15 years old at the time) and ended up with a hat that fit a two-year old. Fortunately, I had a two-year old on hand, but you should probably take more time to measure than I did. And then... I made the second one too small as well but it was much closer and wearable. I'm not making a third one, son.

The rest of the costume:

• Altar server cassock that fits (like Professor's) or even one that is several sizes too large held together with thread and safety pins (like Cub's). Or... DIY if you are totally awesome.

• Red or black sash. Lend your kid one of your inexpensive pashmina scarfs that he can poke a hole through with a dull safety pin. Let it go. It's for a good cause.

• Roman Collar. You could probably come up with something better but I picked out two lengths of wide white satin ribbon (wide enough to cover the notch and extend a bit above the collar), measured necks, and stiffened it with Heat n Bond. Then I used sticky Velcro dots to hold the collar together and in place on the cassock. The other option was to sew something in but I didn't want to alter the cassocks too much.

Are you going to try your hand at making a biretta for All Saints's Day? 

Please link your pics back here in the comments (or email them to me) if you do. I would love to see your creations and I'll add your link to the post.

DIY Saint Veronica Costume for All Saints' Day

A few people have asked about how I put together some of our All Saints' costumes last year so I'm ever-so-slowly getting that together for you. Here is St. Veronica before she wiped the face of Jesus...

When searching for veil ideas for St. Veronica, I kept coming across children holding small pieces of fabric bearing our Lord's image. Those are nice but I liked the idea of a full veil. Veronica's veil was probably not mantilla sized, but a much more practical head covering that may have been part of her garment. I didn't just want a symbolic prop... I wanted that veil.

We chose a plain purple for the tunic and first veil layer and just pieced it all together the way I do when I hack sew. Tunics are lovely for just being able to cut and stitch willy nilly. Then I chose a loose weave natural colored fabric for the important veil. My plan was to have it look like a regular veil until... the treasure is revealed....

Let's be real for a moment. I had about half a day to finish multiple costumes. I was not about to paint Jesus's face on a costume. So I scoured Pinterest until I found an easy way to print on fabric. Not because I was clever but because I was desperate. I will tell you how I did it but you have to promise me that you will not hold me responsible if you break your printer. I did not break mine... but I could have. You have been warned.

We do not have a color printer so I went googling for an image of our Lord that would transfer well into black and white. This one was perfect. Not only black and white but also actually not cheesy...

Then I found the easiest possible tutorial ever here. Other tutorials looked easy as well but required things like Citrasolv or spray adhesive, neither of which I had. The tutorial I used just involved a full sheet mailing label which was stuck to the back of the fabric before trimming and printing. Well, I didn't even have a full size label but I had half sheet labels! So I cut my fabric to 8.5 x 11" and stuck two labels next to each other to cover the whole piece. And then... I stuck a third across the middle seam to make it a little stiffer. And theeeeen....

I said a quick prayer and sent it through my printer. It all worked out just fine... but remember, I'm not saying it will for you. If you are in doubt at all, just plan ahead and buy what you need.

After I had my printed fabric, I fitted Jellybean into her costume and pinned the image exactly where we wanted it. Then I took it off of her head and machine stitched it to the veil. The edges are rough everywhere on the veil and that is how I wanted them to be, partially because I liked the look on St. Veronica and mostly because I hate hemming yards of costume at the 11th hour.

The costume was a hit and the image attached to the veil did solve one major All Saints' Day kid problem. You've probably heard this one before...

But Mommy, they'll know who I am before I give my clues!

So Jesus is hidden until she wishes to reveal him. Problem solved. 

For instructions on how to make the priestly birettas pictured above click HERE.

Our Birth Story: He Carried Me Gently (7th Baby)

I watched the sun rise from my living room love seat while I dozed between contractions, knowing that I would be meeting my daughter before the day was out. There were several moments I thought I should get up and wake my husband. Then I would think of the poking, prodding hospital scene and just close my eyes, wishing I could just press the fast forward button. Just tell me when to go, Jesus. I'm going to sleep.

I spent the last weeks of my pregnancy dreaming of a home birth. The idea of rushing to the hospital at the last moment and possibly ending up with a highway (or elevator or hallway) delivery filled me with tremendous anxiety. I rememberedlast timeand all I really wanted was to labor (if labor I must) in the calm and comfort and silence of home.

We have never had a home birth and likely never will. My husband is a first responder. A fire chief. He knows how precious a single minute can be when someone's life hangs in the balance and we have needed neonatal intervention on more than one occasion. He could easily deliver a baby under normal conditions but also has a great regard for what emergency medical staff can do when they are needed. And I concur.

Four Days Before Delivery…
So I waited a little anxiously through those weeks, balking a bit at the weight of the responsibility of being the only one who knows when to say "It's time" and knowing that it is more of an art than a science, which is why pregnant women seem to give birth in awkward places with some frequency.

We had spoken with the midwife earlier in pregnancy about the possibility of breaking my water to induce as we neared the due date. My body does not seem willing to deliver a baby without my water breaking, but once it does, the baby arrives very rapidly.If we know you're close, she said,I think it is something to consider. Get you settled in and then let the baby come as fast as she likes. I wasn't comfortable with the close margin last time.Yeah. I was pretty uncomfortable with that too. We went from 6cm dilated to baby in about 5 minutes which was physically and emotionally difficult. We all expressed our hopes for a slightly slower and calmer experience for the good of baby and mother.

As a result of odd body signals and an itchy trigger finger, I had three incidents of "false" labor in two weeks this time, during which I was 99% sure that it was time to go. I was wrong... and grateful for the strong hospital aversion that kept me dragging my heels long enough to discover that I was wrong before leaving home. Hospitals make me anxious. Highway deliveries make me anxious. All right, Jesus, it's time to lay it at your feet...

Whatever needs to happen, Lord, just let me know in time. I'll follow your lead. I'll pay attention, you call the shots. If we need to stay home, please make it clear. If we need to go, get me out the door in time.

As our due date grew nearer, I felt an incredible and increasing confidence that the Lord would indeed lead me well. My anxiety stemmed solely from not knowing what that would look like and the loss of personal control (as if I could handle anything better than the good Lord). By the time I started experiencing early signs of labor the day before delivery, I was simply anxious to see what was in store and what my role in the whole thing would need to be.

As I lay in that Thursday morning sunlight, I knew it was almost time. But Wednesday came first... and that's when the sticky art of labor discernment began in earnest. A full day to know and wait and make a conscious effort to meet my daughter with deliberate joy.

On Wednesday, I awakened to contractions. That was nothing new but I was also feeling extremely ill. My body started to clean out (all you labor-experienced moms know what I mean). Pressure increased. These are definitely labor signs. The question is whether they stick this time.My labors do not follow the textbook directions. I do not have regular contractions of any regular duration or any bloody show until my water breaks. By that time... well... by that time, it's TIME. So I just spent the day contracting irregularly and waiting. My appetite was poor. My irritation level was high. I just wanted to lay down in bed and stay there until the baby was born.

Jesus, please just let me stay home in the calm and quiet.The next minute I would remember the wishes of my husband and the medical emergencies of past deliveries...Jesus, please just let me know when it's time to go.

Almost all of my deliveries have happened in the morning and I suspect it is because of the natural hormone surge that happens at that time of day. I thought that I'd go to bed, get some sleep, and likely have a baby by the afternoon. It turns out that this is precisely what happened.

Thursday... Birth Day.
As I lay in the stillness of the early morning, I felt fear settling in and my typical fight or flight response amp up. Escape. Sleep. Ignore. I seem to prefer a semi-conscious state when dealing with stress. I knew it was time to get ready to go but my body screamed STAY.

I began to slowly make plans. Wake up the Chief. Wake up Cookie, my 13-year old daughter who would be there for the birth. I had packed everything the night before. All that was left was to call our midwife and leave.

And then I fell asleep for another couple of hours.

When I woke up, I quickly recalled the situation and also that I had decided to laugh when I went into labor because I wanted to meet my daughter with joy. In fact, I posted it on Facebook to help with accountability. So I laughed. A stage laugh. And I plastic smiled. And then I really giggled at how foolish my fears were, placed it all in God's hands, and grinned with genuine delight. I was going to ignore my inclinations and weak temperament and let God light up the day. Come, Holy Spirit! My real smile came and went but I figured a plastic smile still trumps a frown.

Before leaving the house, I posted a prayer request on Facebook and checked my blog feed to look for updates of Sarah and her twin boys. An update showed that she was in labor so I offered a prayer for her and gave myself a pep talk:She's delivering TWO... I think you can handle one! Pressin' on.

The Ride.
The ride to the hospital was very different from last time. No transitioning in the car, thank God. I was definitely in labor but my water hadn't broken yet so I had the comfort of time. And the discomfort of time. I had time to relax and breathe and time to fret. I also had time to think about the fact that I actually had time for an epidural if I wanted one. Oh, temptation!!

I decided to ignore the thought and press on. If I engaged with that emotional issue, I would lose the decision I felt was best to a decision made in a spirit of fear. I'm ignoring you, epidural. You don't exist for me today. Soon. Soon it will be over.

Cookie was quiet as a mouse in the car. She is not a very verbally expressive person so I am accustomed to her silences during significant moments. But I know she was nervous and also that she was wonderful as she geared up for the great unknown. As we drove along, I thought that I could have prepared her better but knew she would be fine... and shortly, I was too consumed with labor to have time to worry.

The Hospital.
Our little one decided to come into the world on one of the hottest days of the Summer. And my husband decided that we didn't need the services of the complimentary hospital valet. Perhaps he thought it would encourage the labor process to walk in the blistering heat. At any rate, we took a long, slow walk across the black top. I waddled slowly and nervously and my two sidekicks carried our bags.

Aren't we supposed to go in through the ER entrance?
I don't know.
I think we are. That's what we've done every other time.
Let's just go straight up to maternity.
But I don't think we're supposed to.
We'll be fine.

I'm the rule follower. He is the rule breaker. We've both travelled a little closer to the middle over the years but our inclinations still reveal themselves regularly.

We went directly up to maternity while my heart raced and my muscles contracted. I hate this place, I thought. Plastic smile. Plastic smile. We were buzzed into the maternity ward and our midwife was sitting right at the desk, beaming from ear to ear. 

“We've been waiting for you! Let's have a baby!” My blood pressure settled down and I smiled a real smile. Thank you, God, for this woman.

We were ushered in to our room and a nurse asked if I would like to be examined. NO. I'll wait for the midwife. Thank you though. Plastic smile. The birthing tub was set up on one side of the room, already filled and warm. The two nurses attending were cheerful and quiet.

Blood pressure taken. Baby monitored. As soon as we get a few contractions, you are free to do what you like. You can get in the tub, use the exercise ball, walk around, whatever. I was so grateful for the offers but all I could think was: I would like to go to sleep. I would like to just lay here. I said, "Thank you so much" and lay back to wait, feeling slightly guilty for not using the lovely tub they had prepared.

In the meantime, my husband was changing into his superhero costume. It's invisible but he definitely has one that he uses on such occasions. He stationed himself at my side and his presence in that room grew and grew. I could sense his movements and confidence at every moment even during the hard contractions. I knew that he would allow nothing harmful into that room and nothing good out... and that I could rest and focus on the baby and birthing process without another care.

On the other side of the room was my sweet Cookie, who was about to get the surprise of her life I think by witnessing the birth of her little sister. I had prepared her a little but was reluctant to get into any major detail. Not that I oppose detail, but I know that no birth is the same and that this one would go the way it would go no matter what she was expecting. She knows basic biology and the scientific outline of the process... what I could not really prepare her for was the reality or my actions. Because I didn't know myself what that would be. I did not doubt that she would be mature enough to handle it well. I did wonder if it would scare her off motherhood... or whether it would just motivate her to become a midwife. At that moment, however, she sat quietly. I was aware of her presence and prayed that she would witness a smooth and happy delivery.

When the midwife walked in, I looked at Cookie and thought Here we go. She's in for it now. And then I forced myself to ignore the worry.

We had talked about the midwife breaking my water before. Normally, she is reluctant to do it because it brings on a fast and heavy labor but this is a non-issue with me because I have fast and intense labors regardless of what anyone does. Her exam found me to be at 5cm dilated with increasing intensity of contractions so we knew that everything was ready. There was no point in waiting and tiring out. Let's have a baby.

My water broke at about 10:30am and we had a brief period of calm (about 2 contractions) while my body processed the idea of change. I was encouraged to get up and move around to "facilitate" labor but interiorly and in action, I heartily rejected this proposal. I did not want to facilitate labor. I wanted slow and steady. The babies come quickly without my help. I'm just going to lie here and wait for her.

Our midwife led the nurses out of the room and the three of us were left in silence. I stayed on my side  with my eyes closed and Mr. Wonderful periodically pushed me to drink ice water which I did my best to do. Then they prayed...

Merciful Jesus.
My husband was on one side and Cookie on the other, a few feet away. They took turns leading a quiet and gentle Rosary. Gentle as a breeze and powerful as the ocean, those prayers led me deeper into labor and closer to the arms of Jesus...

Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, I give you my heart and my soul... Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us... breathe, breathe, Jesus, Jesus... O Blood and Water, which gushed forth from the Heart of Jesus, as a fount of mercy for us, I trust in You...

It was an experience of a steady increase of waves of grace and pain. My conscious focus was keeping every muscle as relaxed as possible through each contraction. I have read a lot about the effect of tension on pain during childbirth and wanted to give my body the advantage of having me work with it instead of against it. Keeping that focus and calm came easier with the rhythm and lifeline of prayer.

At the beginning, I was able to offer up the struggle for the intentions of my friends, family, and all who had asked for prayers. As things progressed, I began to beg Jesus to hear the prayers offered by others on my behalf.

Closing my eyes helped me focus. If I opened them, the busyness of the visible room, the curtains, machines, and wallpaper, distracted me from focus and I would start to feel a surge of panic. Start to think of how I could get out of this situation. The primary mental obstacle was the constant urge to let my fear get control and look ahead to the larger pain that I knew was coming.

The Rosary concluded and my own prayers increased in frequency and decreased in complexity. Keep me here, Jesus. Keep me right here. Mercy, Lord. Have mercy... keep me here. I fell into praying that prayer over and over again because I knew that anticipating fearfully was a problem. If I could only stay focused on him and calm in the present moment. Keep me right here.

Focus on the Baby.
One great advantage to having birthed so many children naturally is that I can feel the process of labor with some degree of clarity. For my first children, I just felt like a huge ball of pain. It just happened to me and I didn't know what was going to happen next or when it was going to happen. That kind of experience lends itself to panic and I do understand how so many labors degenerate into frantic interventions. As an older mother, I now understand the process. I know when transition is imminent. I understand what it means to be in transition. When it feels like you're going to die, you're almost done. I can feel the descent of the baby and am able to tell my support team to be ready because birth is happening.

You're doing great, honey. She's almost here. My husband's love and confidence has a way of flooding over me and I believe him when he speaks.

I reached a point in this delivery when I could feel the baby descending and her head beginning to make significant work of the cervix. I told my superhero to go get the midwife because it was just about time. He took his time and walked around the bed so that he was standing and looking at my face. I admit I got a little grumpy. What are you doing? I told you to go get her.He told me that he was observing me to see if it was really time. I understood what he meant because he is really, really good at being a birth partner. He is an expert actually. But when mama says it's time... please go. He did go. He was perfect... not too soon, not too late.

Humor.
One of the oddest, most surreal moments during my labors is during transition. It is the point at which I am focusing and feel like I'm going to die with each contraction and the rest of crowd in the room is... well... they're waiting and chatting. Chit chat. As in, so you won't believe what my dog did yesterday kind of chit chat. And I'm in my own little world but still conscious of these waiting, cheerful people gathered around quietly talking about other things.

During this particular labor, the discussion turned to the suffering of expectant fathers. My guy made a comment about how difficult it is to watch someone you love in pain and not be able to physically help them. The midwife returned with a very passionate tribute to the terrific suffering of fathers in that position and how under-appreciated that suffering is. I had a lucid moment in between contractions and could not help myself: Yes, I am definitely under-appreciating his role right now.

The room paused and then laughed and someone commented that I must be doing all right because I still had my sense of humor. And I thought that the statement was funny in an ironic (not a ha ha) kind of way and added to the surreal quality of the whole thing. Surreal but sweet. A calm and happy peace descended upon everyone, like the 2 minutes at a surprise party before the guest of honor arrives. A little whispering, a little laughing, a reverent hush. An expectant joy.

Delivery.
I had only three full transitional contractions that were each separated by two very mild ones. I have never had such a beautiful breather before. With the second one, I knew that she would be out with the next contraction. I could feel her moving and pressing and I gave notice: HEAD!

One push and they told me to stop. Little breaths, Mel.That is when they clear out the breathing passages of baby and whatever else they do. It is also that moment when you think the world has gone crazy... telling you to stop. As if you can. As if you can without exploding and dying.

Second push and she was all out and I am shaking and wishing that I could feel my fingers. I could hear her little cries and could think nothing other than Thank God for minutes on end.

I apologized for yelling so much and the midwife told me that she loves to hear good hearty yelling because she believes it helps with the pushing. Cookie made sure to tell me that I didn't just yell... but that I also screamed and squeaked. Thank you, darling. I don't remember squeaking but I guess she was probably paying better attention than I!


Baby.
Because I have a wonderful husband and midwife, no one took the baby away. She nursed within 5 minutes and stayed and stayed. We didn't know her weight for another two hours because they just let me love her. Nobody poked her or put in eye medicine so that she couldn't see me. She nursed and looked at me with big eyes and then slept the sleep of pure contented happiness.

They didn't cut the cord right away so that the baby could benefit from the final minutes of cord blood. The midwife offered to let Cookie cut the cord but she declined. I would have declined as well. Give that job to Daddy! But Cookie did get the opportunity to learn quite a bit and the midwife took a very interested and active role in helping to teach her. Cookie was mostly quiet but she was very attentive and completely enthralled by the new little life.

She ended up staying for hours and pondered more than she talked about all that had happened. The details of her head and heart take a while to unravel and reveal and so that first day was spent quietly and happily. I don't think there is another soul in my household besides myself who is quite so in love or attached to this little one. Daddy loves her deeply, of course, but there is a maternal quality to my daughter's attentive care that is impressive. I have to think that watching the miracle of her being birthed has enhanced that bond. I have no regrets about bringing her with us. In fact, I think her presence made the experience even more beautiful. I do admit that being so exposed to additional people is humbling, but it is a feeling that was easily overcome when surrounded by so much grace and blessing.

The Gentle Birth.
I wouldn't normally use the words "gentle" and "birth" in the same sentence... or ever... but there was a quality about this one that demands it. The pain was something I don't care to remember. It was not gentle. But the way that our Lord led me through the circumstances and actions of delivery were so lovingly merciful. He did not take the pain away. But HE was there. And HE transformed fear and suffering into something magnificent.

At one point during the final moments of delivery, I recalled our last labor and the incredible focus that came with calling on the name of Jesus out loud. His name is not magical... not a token word that makes things better like the clicking of Dorothy's ruby slippers. His name is His Presence. Crying out to our Lord does not necessarily diminish pain, but brings focus, like a camera lens being adjusted in the very soul. I remembered and called on Him and was surprised and grateful to hear the midwife affirm my prayer.

I have wondered in the past whether the smiling martyrs were smiling because they were miraculously relieved of the pain inflicted by their tormentors. I used to think that it must be so, but now I wonder if Jesus became just so much bigger and more present than their pain that they were able to smile in spite of it. Of course, I am not like those martyrs and have never even been inclined to smile through childbirth... but there is no doubt that He attends to us when He is called and carries us through.

Recovery.
We were left alone for most of our recovery. The fact that ward was unusually busy, the midwife had given a "hands off" directive, and that we are experienced parents, convinced the nurses that we didn't need much fussing over. We have had difficulty in the past with uptight staff who don't understand our more relaxed preferences or our desire to keep the baby with us. This was not one of those times. By the time we were ready to leave 24 hours after the baby's birth, not a soul was there to poke, prod, bother, or fuss at us. I got into the wheelchair and we rolled home... to the loving arms of the rest of our "babies."

I always forget how challenging the first days with a newborn are, trying to balance the needs of the baby, the household, and my own recovering body. But I haven't forgotten how quickly the time goes. How quickly they grow. How beautiful each moment is and how the human memory wipes so many of these moments away eventually. And I'm breathing it all in deeply and intentionally.

One of my favorite quotes is from Fr. Benedict Groeschel and I have been rolling it around in my mind frequently lately, hoping to live the message more fully:

When all is said and done we will be saved by the beautiful.
Life is good. Life is beautiful. And that beauty trumps all the hard, scary, painful, busy, anxious days of life. Perhaps that is why we suffer when we give birth. God needs us to pay attention. Something really big is happening here and it shouldn't be taken lightly. A reminder that I need to place my entire motherhood at the foot of the Cross, starting from the very beginning.
God be praised! 

Quick! To the Batmobile! {Our 6th Birth Story}

First of all, I want to shout a heartfelt THANK YOU to all who kept us in prayer as we prepared for the birth our little one. There is no question that God answered those prayers. He allowed us to have a little bit of adventure as we welcomed our new son...but He never let us go! Here's our tale, in brief, for those of you who love to read birth stories as much as I do...

You'd think that after 5 full-term pregnancies I'd be an expert at labor and that the answer to the age old question of "When do I go to the hospital?" would be a relatively easy one. Unfortunately, life is seldom so simple and in the early morning hours of November 4th, I found myself lying in bed asking that question and wondering whether or not I should wake up the Chief.

There's a general rule of thumb for knowing when to go in to the hospital called the "411 method" and it goes something like this: Contractions 4 minutes apart, lasting 1 minute, for at least one hour. I can't say that I've ever strictly used it but it's a good guideline for knowing when the event is imminent and to cancel dinner reservations.

My contractions were not like that. They were very, very strange and I didn't know what to make of them. I awakened to a sharp pain but it was unlike anything I was expecting. None of the subsequent contractions were longer than 15 seconds and all were less than 2 minutes apart. 

"They do hurt...but do they hurt enough? Why are they so short? Maybe it isn't a contraction. Maybe it's horrible food poisoning." I lay there for a few of them and then got up, determined to find out what the problem was.

The intensity continued to increase but they still remained only about 15 seconds long. I could walk through them with some difficulty but 15 seconds doesn't throw much of a crimp in any journey. Should I wake him or not?  "Honey, it's time." Better safe than sorry, right? "Should I call Mom and Dad?" he asks. "Sure." I think I'm sure, anyway.

Only about 1/2 an hour had passed since I was awakened by the first pains but still I hurried around the house preparing to leave. Where are those tennis shoes? Suddenly, I felt strong contractions, a POP and a gush and knew that I did not have time to tie those shoes. On went the ugly baby blue Crocs and I renewed my preparations with a rising panic and a fervent vocal prayer: "Please Jesus, get me to the hospital on time. Please. Please." 


After my water breaks (and it always does), labor goes very quickly. I knew from experience that I had, at most, 45 minutes before the baby would be born. The hospital ride would be about 25-30 minutes. No time to wait for our babysitters. We had hoped not to wake any of the children but the Professor was called upon in time of need and grandma and grandpa arrived to find us long gone. It turned out to be a very good thing that we hadn't waited for them.

The car ride was one that I hope to never experience the like of again.  (Cue Knight Rider theme song.) I am so grateful that traffic was minimal in those dark morning hours. I am also grateful that my husband had the good sense to break a number of traffic laws (prudently and safely, of course) along the way. I hadn't been paying much attention to the time up to that point. I knew we were rushing around in the 4:00am hour somewhere but didn't note the minutes.

In the car, it was easy to see the time and we were cruising along the empty highway at 5:00am. The contractions were decidedly longer and very much consistent with the final stretch of active labor. I could feel the pressure of the baby and I knew that in a very short time I would be in transition. I have never had more than 5 transitional contractions (usually just 3) once they begin but they are doozies since most of my dilating occurs in that short time (going from 2 or 3cm to 10cm in 45 minutes following a water break). I have never had to push more than 3 times to deliver.

Have I mentioned that I was becoming a bit anxious that we wouldn't make it?

The Chief called ahead to the ER so that they would be ready for us and wouldn't stop us to fill out paperwork. "Please bring a wheelchair...baby is coming." The car trip ended up only taking about 20 minutes and progress was going more quickly than I had estimated. I felt like laughing when I saw the number of staff ready to greet us at the door and thanked God for my husband's excellent professional connections in the medical community!

The ride in the wheelchair seemed awfully long. My legs were shaking so badly from the pressure that I felt a little silly... like a pumpkin shaped jumping bean. I was trying not to make any horrible pain-related noises in the halls and just tried to pray. 

"Jesus... Jesus... Jesus." 

The nurse deftly deflected the paper-gatherers as we rolled through the halls. "No time," she said, "She's been here before...let's get to this baby first." I was so very grateful when we pulled into an oh-so-familar birthing suite room. My midwife arrived immediately (bless her heart) and measured me at 6 cm. Transitional contractions began...and at 5:24, just 8 minutes after arriving at the hospital, the baby was delivered.

I wish I could tell you that I was the picture of calm and grace. In reality, I yelled my head off during those few minutes and had great trouble collecting myself following delivery. I know that I am blessed to have short labors but the degree of intensity is definitely higher for that brief period. My easiest labor (ha ha) with the smoothest recovery was 4 hours long. The shorter they get, the more violent the actual labor feels and the more shell-shocked I feel afterwards.

I happily admit that, overall, it was lovely to have the baby so quickly! "It's over! He's here!" is what every laboring woman longs to say. And the baby is placed in arms...well, what's labor pain compared to that joy?

The short labor was also a little harder on the baby. The descent was so rapid that the normal "squeezing" of the lungs did not happen and they were filled with fluid. Baby got a lousy APGAR score (4.5) and a "Code Pink" call to the neonatal resuscitation crew. The nurse told me that it is common for very rapid labors to be rough on the babies. But the rapid descent was also a blessing since it prevented him from taking in the meconium that had gotten into the amniotic fluid. Thankfully, he recovered quickly with no ill-effects.

There was so much that could have gone wrong that day. So many points at which things could have gone differently and changed the course of events. What if I had stopped to tie my shoes? And waited 2 more minutes to wake up the Chief? What if we had waited for our sitters? What if my baby would have been born in the car and needed that neonatal team...but they weren't there?

Do you ever wonder if God hears the prayers you offer for bloggers across the miles? You don't have to wonder anymore. He heard you.

In times past, with longer labors, my husband has been able to lead me through prayer. I remember all those times and treasure them. This time, there was no room for a verbal Hail Mary but I do remember calling on the name of the Lord in my panic and pain. I heard my husband say, "Don't worry. He's here. He's with you." Those words brought great clarity to me in that moment. I was able to focus on them and was greatly comforted. It was the super-condensed version of labors past but his words reached my ears and my heart and renewed me in faith and hope. I am so grateful.

One slightly comical blessing of the day was that the decision of whether to get an epidural was (once again) removed from my hands! It looks like it will continue to be my lot to walk straight through that pain even when I wish to go around it.

Baby Update: Healthy as a little horse. Calm as a cucumber. Nursing voraciously. Cute as a button. An absolute blessing and a joy...it is such a privilege to be a mother. The months of sickness and the discomfort and the pain of labor have culminated in a greater love than I could have imagined. Even the previous experience of motherhood (5 times in my case) cannot prepare a woman for the preciousness of another new life. It's always a sweet surprise. We forget too quickly what the Almighty can do. God's works are marvelous!!