Blog Roll

I don't know about you guys, but I always love seeing who other bloggers are reading. I haven't updated ye olde sidebar blogroll in...uh, ever, actually, but I do have a fat handful of regular reads that I'd like to share, though I'm guessing you're already all over lots of them.

So, I present to you in no particular order, my regulars.

First up, my pick for girl most likely to be my bff/ person I'd most love to sit down to a beer with: Bonnie. (Don't be creeped out Bonnie, it's just that, I love you.) I always click if she has something new, because she always manages to be classy, forward (but not too forward, you know? Like me, for example), charitable, funny as hell, and real.

Best fashion blogger/I needed to laugh: Duh, it's Grace. And because she's always mucho self deprecating and all kinds of humble, I don't even hate her for looking like a teenage supermodel, 4 mewling babes notwithstanding.

Best life in the trenches/sprinkles of profound faith: Ana. Plus, we knew each other in real life, first! (Remember when I crashed your wedding Ana? I mean yes, technically I was invited, but I think I RSVP'd like one week out? And then came as they third wheel to my sister and (now) brother-in-law, because I'd just gotten dumped. Charmed, I'm sure she was.) Oh, Imma add Kathryn to this category too, as a late entry, because my brain failed. Her stuff during her sweet boy's NICU stay is especially poignant.

Best photography/design/boy mom stories: Carolyn. Love her stuff. And she's also a resident maternal supermodel, but again with the humility and grace.

Most supportive "we got this"/here's how you DIY it: Jenna. Can't believe I forgot her!

Favorite crunchy mama. Well this one's a toss up. I love Nell and Haley both so much, and I think it's incomplete to call either of them "crunchy" so I think I'll go with eclectically organic with a heaping side of orthodoxy. Both so fascinating and wise. Nell gets extra points for being the cheerleader of the entire internet, and mad props to Haley for her sick social media guru skills (I participated in one of her FB parties once and holy interactive, batman.) So, it's a tie.

Most likely to make me look around and sigh, wishing she were sitting in my living room drinking coffee (or wine) and watching Downton Abbey with me: Christy. Love her writing, can't believe how much she reads, and can't fathom the length of her winters.

Blogger I wish would post more frequently: oh gosh, this one's another tie. Kaitlin and Regina are both two of my favorites, and are both so busy and important they never have time for my blog reading pleasure. Ahem, ladies.

Most underrated Catholic blogger: Michele. And I don't mean underrated like "nobody reads her and they need to be, "(though if you're not, you do need to be!) but just that she seems to fly under the radar and her stuff is so, so good. She's also a published author so prooooobably she is focusing her energy on loftier stuff than blogging, but when she takes the time to write, you are never sorry you clicked over. Plus her daughters are darling.

Favorite local blogger: New-to-me fellow Denverite Megan. Love her writing, love her story, love her solidarity as I boycott Target and salvage our family finances.

Experienced (read: doesn't wring her hands and sob at bedtime every night daddy works late) mother I'd most like to apprentice to. Jen or Hallie. Really either of them could teach me everything I ever needed to know about not losing my damn mind in the next decade or so, I believe. Colleen would probably also slap some sense into me.

Sporty blog: I love Susan and her beautiful reflections on motherhood and running and being a rockstar wife.

Living faith: Molly. She handles the gritty, non-always-easy and sometimes makes your throat catch. But always beautiful.

Unknown(ish): Kristine's is a blog I've been creeping for years, I think I found her originally through Jen's old blog, but I honestly can't remember. Anyway she has 4 beautiful babies, runs ultra marathons and dresses like a runway model so...I can't look away. Also, minimalism + clean eating. Can't get enough.

Fav non-Catholic blog: another one I've been reading literally for years and years is NieNie's. She's LDS and definitely super into it, but I just skim the heavy religious posts, and honestly, her commitment to her faith and her family is admirable. Also, her clothes/house/kids/pics are stunning. She and her husband survived a horrific plane crash a few years ago and she's a burn survivor with an amazing comeback story.

Smartest blog: probably Anne. Her curated content is so interesting. I like Joanna too, but some of her stuff is morally questionable.

Fav male blogger: I don't read hardly any man blogs (sorry guys?) but I do like Daniel's and Dan's.

My political muse(s): Julie. Or maybe Mary. Gah, another toss up. Both are so smart and witty and generous in their coverage of "the other side." You'll be a better person for reading them.

Home decor: love the Nester. I really like Ashley's stuff too, and Caitlin's.

Girls I just want to close down the bar with: Kate. And Steph. And Katrina. And Lisa. And Cari. And Dwija. And Rosie. And Kelly. Okay, pretty much everyone on the aforementioned list.

Can I just tack a few more on here? I mean, who can remember the entire internet? Okay cool: Olivia,  Anne, Kendra, Mary, Agnes, Cam, Christine . . . (dot dot dot, because I'm sure I'll think up a few more.)

I'm sorry if I missed anyone! I tried to retrace my frequent trolling steps so I'll have to come back and add to this list if I encounter any omissions, because dang this got long, and my back hurts from siting, and the friggin Patriots just won and the friggin Seahawks are currently winning. Blergh.

Anyone you love who I'd love?

Not done yet

You guys.

Thank you. Thank you for the overwhelming outpouring of support and encouragement (are those the same thing? Kind of.) that you shared via comments and emails the past couple days. Dave pointed out to me shortly after Monday's post that it seemed like kind of a Dear John letter for the 'ol blog, but nope, not the case.

I'm not going anywhere. Except perhaps to a shorter duration of total time spent on line. Which will probably and hopefully result in more good content here, not less.

In the interest of full disclosure, I just flopped a piece of bacon across my keyboard, quite by accident, and now my cursor is greased.

(Whole30 Day 12: Keepin' on keeping on.)

Breakfast: 2 eggs, 2 slices bacon, some dried apricots, 2 shots black espresso
Lunch: 1 million pistachhios, 1/2 cup of leftover beef stew (paleo-ized for compliance) half a cucumber, 2 strips of bacon
Dinner: Acorn squash soup and roasted veggies
Snacks: slices of ham, pistachios, apple slices

You're the best.

This is my mission field

I laughed when I clicked open a reader's email this morning (can you believe I still have readers after my last few posts? Me neither.) to the subject line "just what the world needs, another mommy blogger."

She's right, I laughed to myself. And then I thought a little longer about it and actually, you know what? That's exactly what the world does need.

I work in the news, which means I wade daily through the endless cycle of blood, suffering, horror and abuse that qualifies as attention-grabing. I read all the headlines, and I take note of all the trends cycling out there. I don't have to tell you that it's grim; 5 minutes of channel surfing will make that clear to anyone.

Here's the thing though, despite the tired old adage about how if it bleeds, it leads and the sad reality that horror is endlessly fascinating in a broken world: we need good things to put into our bodies. We need good food, clean water, and, just as desperately but perhaps less apparently, we need good news.

Ultimately, we need the Good News, but we need little 'g' good, too. We need to read stories about how moms are holding their children tight at night and simultaneously cursing the nap-striking phase while marveling at the soft, sweet baby skin still covering their big strong toddler's body.

We need that shot in the arm that reading about another woman's experience with childbirth/schooling/potty training/depression/marriage/illness can give. In our virtual village here on the web we can give - and receive - the kind of support many of us don't have in our physical villages.

Beyond that though, the world needs to see the truth, goodness and beauty of motherhood and family life. And while I'm under no impression that the world reads my blog, nor that I particularly exemplify those big three most days, I do feel a certain civic responsibility to put it out there. (I mean yes, I guess I must also be an attention-seeking over-sharer, but that just makes this particular medium a natural fit for me.)

Maybe your medium is creating meals for friends with new babies or challenging illnesses in their families. Maybe you create beauty by throwing fabulous parties in your warm, artistically and lovingly decorated home (I'm looking at you, Meg). Maybe you are an amazing conversationalist who doesn't mind chewing the fat with the lady behind you in line at Target, or, (horrors) maybe you actually seek out strangers with whom to converse pleasantly.

Here is my point (what a relief); we all have something beautiful, life-giving and necessary to contribute to the world. It might seem little or insignificant to you, or even redundant. But beauty is redundant. It's the breathtaking over-and-over again of the sunset that keeps us looking up each night, marveling over the colors and the clouds. And let's be honest, pretty much all newborns arrive sporting the same red 'n wrinkled look, and yet a glimpse of the innocence in their squinty eyes and the tiny, mewling cries coming out of their mouths before the epidural fully wears off are enough to bring a grown man to tears.

So what I'm saying is, if you feel like you have something to say, you'd better speak up, because this world could surely use another voice proclaiming something Good. God knows there's plenty of bad news coming from every direction. And there's no such thing as too much beauty.

Sarah and the Saints

A little over a week ago a family a few degrees of separation from ours lost their mother and their youngest unborn sister. I'm sure many of you have seen stories of Sarah Harkins floating around the internet -- just this morning the Washington Post did a beautiful write up on her life. I didn't know Sarah, but I did know her brother, and we had probably a dozen friends in common. She and her husband graduated from my alma mater the year before I transferred there, but Franciscan is a tight knit alumni network and you can never completely escape the 'Ville.

Although we didn't know one another, her death has rocked me to the core. For the first few days after the news broke I was incredibly anxious and on edge, looking around me in disbelief at my perfect life, waiting at any moment for the phone call or the accident that would change everything.

I don't know if this makes sense, but the death of this woman, this lovely friend-of-friends, seemed to momentarily knock the spiritual wind out of me, so to speak. I could not see how a good and loving God could have allowed such a tragedy.

Yes, but Ebola. But Israel and Syria and Ukraine and Boko Haram and Maylasia Airlines and homelessness and poverty and SIDS.

Yes, I know. So much suffering. So much evil.

But this was personal. It wasn't something far away, happening to someone I'd never met. I mean no, we'd never met. But I felt a connection to this dead woman that I could not shake.

Every time I came across another tribute to her life, I clicked. Every time another fundraising opportunity popped up, I felt compelled to give and to share on social media. And in every one of the pictures of her sweet, innocent children accompanying the story of her tragic end, I saw a future of fathomless grief for a family not very different from our own.

I wept against Dave's shoulder, railing against a God who would take a pregnant mother and young wife from her family. I scrolled through her blog backwards, reading post after post from a woman whose faith was clearly lightyears ahead of my own, and whose love for life radiated off the page.

I couldn't understand.

I still can't. The Harkins family didn't just lose a mother. Her husband lost his best friend, his lover, his partner, and his greatest earthly consolation. Her children lost their caregiver, their teacher, and their primary catechist. The void her death leaves is massive.

In all of my clicking and scrolling during last week, I came across something beautiful written by a friend of hers, something that switched on a light in my brain in a kind of 'aha' way.

I cannot understand this kind of suffering, she said (or something close to it, forgive my paraphrasing) and so I'm praying to Sarah, asking for her intercession for us all as we try to cope with her loss.

What a simple solution. And what a preposterous idea. (Non Catholic readers, stick with me here. You're about to get a crash course in the Communion of Saints.) And yet it was the first thing I'd seen in connection with her loss that made any kind of sense.

Of course we should be begging for her intercession. I thought, who better knows the specific needs of the family she left behind?

I realized that the anger I'd been feeling towards God was misdirected. He doesn't cause our suffering in this vale of tears. But only His mercy can make any sense of it. Sarah's seemingly senseless and random death was simply the end of her earthly narrative; but her influence on the still-unfolding story of salvation history just hit the big time.

So I started praying to Sarah Harkins, right then and there. And I believe with every fiber of my being that she can hear our prayers, and that she is presenting them before the throne of God, and that she has a powerful interest in interceding for tired, overwhelmed mothers trying to reach and teach their little people and love their husbands well.

I've talked to a couple other friends in the last day or so and they have enthusiastically informed me that they, too, have been asking Sarah's intercession in these particular areas. These were casual acquaintances of hers, and women who'd never heard of her before reading her obituary, and yet each one of them confessed to feeling a powerful and particular connection to her.

This doesn't explain her passing. It doesn't make sense of the loss of a 32-year-old woman in the prime of her life and the middle of her vocation, striving to raise a happy, healthy, holy family with her husband.

Death is ultimately the most unnatural thing that will ever happen to us. We were not designed to die. We were not created for dirt and ashes. The fractured reality rent by sin has condemned each of us to suffer its fate, though we have a Savior who opened the way into the next life by the shedding of His blood. Still, I think I can speak for the majority of human beings (now there's a statement) when I say that few look forward to the end of their mortal toil.

The dread of death, the fear of the unknown, both are evidence to me that it wasn't meant to be like this. We are longing for a return to something that none of us remembers, and yet, we each of us will suffer death. Why then, should it be so surprising and so disturbing when it comes?

Sarah's death has called me back to life in a real way. The sudden here-now-there of her story has jolted me from a sort of creeping pragmatic agnosticism, giving God cursory nods and an hour on Sunday but little more beyond that.

But that isn't His plan for me. That isn't His plan for anyone, to live as if He is in one place and we are in another, and eventually the twain shall meet but only after 80+ years of satisfactory time on earth.

He wants more.

Sarah knew that. As her fingers fashioned the beads of the clay rosaries she crafted, she must have pondered the mysteries each one represented.

This morning I went to send an email to another girl named Sarah on my phone. I began to type "Sarah H" into the address bar, and Sarah Harkin's name popped up on my screen.

Stunned, I scrolled through a series of 4 emails we'd traded back and forth. More than 2 months ago she had commented on a post here on this blog, and I'd responded to her. I couldn't believe it, and I certainly didn't remember it. I want to share a small portion of something she said. It was real, and it wasn't sugar coated, and I pray her family won't mind my sharing it here:

"After 4 kids spaced close together and homeschooling thrown in the mix, I am hardly the poster child for mommy bliss. It is hard. Hard is not fun. But that's ok. There are times when it is fun - but God forbid the rest of the world sees the hard times on your face!"

It is hard. But that's ok.

Thank you, Sarah. I hope you'll continue to pray for those of us in the trenches from your heavenly vantage point. I pray for the courage to live the kind of life you did.

Booty bombs and clickables

Joey and John Paul have been engaging in a fascinating new pastime for the last 2 weeks. It involves climbing to the highest elevation in the room and launching off in a semi-squat position and landing with a sub-floor shaking thunder in the middle of the carpet. Did I say I was fascinated? That's probably not the right word.

Over and over again, JP in particular will shout to me, "Mommy, watch me jump! Look at this booty bomb!" (don't ask). And over and over again I have to look up, cringe, and wait for the seemingly ankle-crushing landing after increasingly long periods of mid-air hang time.

Little boys are terrifying. And endlessly entertaining.

I have all kinds of reflections and thoughts rumbling around in my head about this and how it is keeping within the very essence of their masculine nature to do things that are bold, potentially life-threatening, and limit testing. And I just have to sit back, sipping my coffee, and wondering whether or not I am indeed going to have to pick up that frequent flier punch card that the ER nurse warned me about at our last visit.

(It's been at least 4 months since then, injury fates, so I'd best shut my mouth.)

In lieu of anything more substantial to offer you this fine Sunday morning, I'll leave you with some of my fav clicks from the past week. And, if I could beg some of your prayers for my grandfather, who is dying, I'd be grateful. Most of our extended family was able to gather in his home last night for a private Mass and it was incredibly peaceful. I'm praying he doesn't have too much longer to suffer, and that he experiences a peaceful and happy death filled with reconciliation and forgiveness.

Onward to clickage:

Mary AMY (reeeeeeally bad with names, proof positive) from Motherhood and Miscellany (who I am pretty sure I met last weekend and who was absolutely delightful, if I'm remembering the right sweet face) wrote an excellent piece on a subject I'm mostly unfamiliar about, and, frankly, uncomfortable over. It's so important to remember that our crosses do not look the same! And that something that I perceive to be a struggle and a cross in it's own right (super fertility, to be precise) is actually, ironically, what other women are praying fervently to receive. Life is crazy.

This book was a gift in our swag bags last weekend, and while I rolled my eyes at the title, I found myself deeply and almost immediately engaged. I ripped through it in 3 days of bedtime reading, and I strongly encourage you fellow mamas to do the same.

This piece from Bonnie, recapping Edel and her own (identical to mine!) fears and anxieties about attending was so great. Plus, the playlist she compiled for me? Solid gold. Songs #1 and #2 are my fav so far.

probably laughing at something said by Bonnie. Photo credit: Kevin the awesome.

This song is catchy and basically awful. But you know who isn't awful? Hilary Duff. My little sisters and I have been fangirling over her since circa 2001, so please enjoy her really embarrassing return from retirement. (Props to her for not going the slutty n' sultry route, however.)

Happy Sunday to all! May your day be punctuated by cold beer, warm sunshine, and silent children in the pew.

Summer high

We've been basking in the unexpected joy of a house full of some of our very favorite people this week, imported all the way from Rome and stationed in our downstairs area for a few days, much to the delight of Joey and his bf+f Isabel. She and he are just the cutest little people of the age of 3 that you'll ever see. Totally worth rhyming about. So we've been touristing in our own city, drinking the most incredible wine I've ever tasted (see: cheated on my Whole30, but man was it worth it), and generally doing more than just library, petting farm, splash park, repeat.

Living it up.

No filter, and also no energy for the return hike in those 2-year old legs on the left...

In between social events I've been walking, doing laundry, thinking about maybe packing for this weekend, and trying to gather some notes together in my brain so that I don't cause Hallie and Jen to look at each other over their cocktails and confess in furtive whispers, "Wow, she's a lot better on (digital) paper."

So who all is going to be there in that vast, faceless crowd, anyway? And who can I count on to meet me on the rooftop for some serious quality time by the pool? I have a sensible black Speedo I picked up at Costco last summer and I'm not afraid to nurse in it, so I can almost guarantee that if you stick with me we will command the full and undivided attention of the rooftop bar staff. 

If you read this little blog and you're going, drop me a note and I'll look for you when I'm nervously scanning the crowd, wondering how best to use the baby in my arms as a prop. Also maybe I'm looking for someone to sing female vocals on this track when the karaoke mic drops. Just something to pray about.

7QT: Unaccompanied minors, amazing customer service, and why my hideous redecoration of our little-used living room has me smiling so big

1. You know who's awesome lately? The customer service industry. Or rather, two particular companies (FitBit and Timi & Leslie) which have been completely and utterly surprising in their responsiveness and kindness to a poor customer in need of service.

Exhibit A:

My beautiful diaper bag, purchased in a fit of hormonal indulgence at 37 weeks with Evie. I get compliments on its beauty at least twice a week, and nobody ever suspects it's a diaper bag. But the material is pulling at this one teeny corner of the notleather and I was saddened and surprised. My last T&L bag lasted me 2 years, including one spent trotting back and forth to Italy, with no such signs of stress. I emailed the company, the asked for my receipt and a picture of the offending corner, and bada bing, a brand new bag is coming my way and I get to keep the "old" one. Sadly they have discontinued the color I loved and purchased it for, so it turns out my lucky little sister is probably the one getting a new diaper bag out of this situation, because none of these really struck my fancy. Shhhh.

2. I've also got an email in to the good peeps at FitBit, thanks to your lovely suggestions, and I'm feeling pretty optimistic about that whole situation, too. The week of retail redemption is at hand!

3. I'm getting so excited to meet all my Edel girls in just 2 short weeks! I'm also kind of in denial that I'm going to be getting a weekend "off," albeit with a baby in hand and a mic in the other, but hey, one can't accurately call any sort of trip a vacation once offspring have sprung, am I right?

4. I have gone ballistic decorating and rearranging my house ever since the Nesting Place burned up my Kindle a few weeks back, thanks to Jen's recommendation. Steph says it well when she identified it as a shot of decorating heroin to the vein, or something along those lines.

Anywho, I've got a happy new edition resting comfortably in our living room that goes absolutely not at all with anything decor related, and yet when I behold its ugliness I smile to myself and whisper inaudibly It doesn't have to be perfect to be beautiful. But what about the opposing corollary, it doesn't have to be beautiful to be perfect? Copyrighting it.

Definitely not feng shui. And yet, perfect...

5. So yeah, I finally pulled my itching trigger finger on a Craigslist treadmill at long last after walking into the feral kid's club at our gym Tuesday morning to retrieve my rat pack and had a few moments during which I could not locate the youngest member. Not in the stroller I'd wheeled in, not in the caretaker's arms...oh, there she is... sitting on the bottom level of the soft play structure IN THE ARMS OF A RANDOM 5-YEAR-OLD GIRL. Just to clarify, my 6 month old daughter, who cannot sit up, was being held by a strange child. The daycare worker happily fetched the baby along with her accompanying brothers while my normally confrontational self stared dumbly, accepted the compromised baby without a word. (Don't worry, I picked my jaw up off the floor and called the front desk after I got home. But still.) Needless to stay, Evie's kid's club days are over until she turns 4 or gains 20 lbs, whichever happens first.

6. I just finished reading C.S. Lewis' Perelandra for perhaps the seventh time, but definitely the first time in several years, and I had forgotten how utterly astonishing it is, how deeply spiritual and how moving, and how very good fiction is for the soul. I'm all about memoirs, DIY manifestos and self-helping manuals, but once it a while it's just so good to get lost in another world. (Thus far in my literary life, only C.S. Lewis and Michael O'Brien have the capacity to move me on a deep spiritual level, but I'm always open to suggestions.) Perelandra is the kind of book that will, quite unassumingly, cause you to set it down and momentarily lose yourself in contemplation of the nature of God. And it is most definitely not what one would traditionally call spiritual reading. It's beautiful, captivating and engaging prose of the first degree.

7. I have a problem with terrible music. The problem is, I like it. The corollary problem is that my 3-year-old son sometimes asks me to sing "every word to the airplane song for me, Mommy." and then I can't. Because adult themes and language. At least he's not into Ke$ha. Yet.

See you at Jen's place?