Snapshot of the Day

ANNOUNCEMENT

2009-07-08T14:55:00.000-07:00

ANNOUNCEMENT:

Snapshot of the Day has MOVED! I have consolidated my once divided interests into a cohesive and what I hope is a more professional package. Please, please, please come visit me at my new home!!

http://mollysabourin.typepad.com

on the road

2009-06-30T14:55:00.000-07:00

Pull over, pull over! they squealed - our four squirmy, sweaty, agonizingly bored children desperate for a break from the nausea inducing monotony of a seven-hour car ride - when they spotted an outstretched thumb by the side of the road. He was on his his way to Chicago, just him, his Martin guitar, and his glassy-eyed dog, hoping to carve out a modest career for himself in that big ole windy city where good music (not that canned and contrived "top 40" drivel) still means something. It'd be way cool of you to help me out, he said.

Next thing I knew, we were shoving Arthur books and piles of Goldfish cracker crumbs off of the only seat available. Sorry for the mess, I told him. What's your name? Where are you from? Our bearded and mysterious hitchhiker replied only in riddles. I am every man. I am light born of darkness. I'm still searching for my birthplace in this land of anonymity and endless pasts.

He was hard to read, impossible to summarize and yet each of us, from my husband on down to little Mary, saw a bit of ourselves in that calloused-footed stranger. We traveled for hours in comfortable, contemplative silence until all too soon a steel and glass embedded skyline seemed to rise majestically, instantaneously, from the asphalt. Drop me anywhere, he told us confidently. Every street is paved with enlightenment. Troy pulled our van up to a curb outside a diner. Well, It's been real, he offered finally, sincerely, almost gratefully after a long and pregnant pause. Then just like that (poof!), to our astonishment ... he was gone.

Yesterday, I heard a melody soft and entrancing on the radio. It stopped me dead in my tracks, pierced my soul. I waited breathlessly for the morning DJ to announce the name of the title and artist. Could it be? I wondered anxiously before impulsively turning the volume down quickly to zero. I would choose to believe so, to preserve my image of him as a noble wanderer born to fly up from out of the ashes - to let the memory of that encounter (our brush with greatness? madness? genius?) serenade me ever more. Oh, what a song!

O.K. O.K. so maybe we were really just giving Troy's cousin, ERIK, a lift to a nearby coffee shop but that photo, I think, deserved a bigger and better narrative.

How silly am I? : )

...in which the Sabourins take a vacation

2009-06-28T21:55:00.000-07:00

So I honestly did not anticipate how thoroughly I would enjoy getting away, out in nature, for a full week with my family. Troy grew up vacationing in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan where in summer the days are long, the lake water cool and kids roam free on bikes, scooters and skateboards throughout their neighborhoods. I can see now why he, why anyone for that matter, would get the urge to leave behind television, Internet, cell phone coverage and head North.

We stayed at his late grandparent's house, which is now mostly empty save for a couple of beds, arm chairs, pots and pans and a coffee maker (whew!). We bought groceries on an "as needed" basis. We read, played board games, took long walks, went on field trips and actually rested - really and truly relaxed. More than once I awoke in the middle of the night, snuggled up close to my peacefully sleeping husband, and simply relished in the light breeze pouring in through our window and in the knowledge that we had nowhere to be at any certain time, nothing pressing or urgent to rush out of bed first thing in the morning for.

We are stuffed, filled to the brim with pizza and ice cream, ice cream and pizza. Tomorrow, later today even, we will hit the ground running but with a little less harried perspective and seven days worth of new and fantastic memories binding the six of us just that much more intimately one to another.

let go

2009-06-18T13:11:00.000-07:00

Before

After

Last year my excuse was the book and the fact that I'd started homeschooling my children. I was legitimately super busy and cut myself some much needed slack in order to accomplish two very significant undertakings, reminding myself all the while that the resulting chaos would only be temporary. It dawned on me, however, while in Indianapolis (see previous post) that although Close to Home was published in March and the school year was basically over, I was still living by the seat of my pants and not in an endearing, "wow, she's so laid back," kind of way.

The truth is, I'd developed some pretty debilitating habits involving procrastination and impulse shopping (at thrift stores and garage sales) as a way to relieve stress. I was forgetting important dates, scrambling to find things (keys, cell phone, swim goggles, etc.) on a regular basis and filling our house with s-t-u-f-f. I felt like the walls were closing in on me and that for Troy's sake (who wants to come home every night to a distracted and frazzled spouse?), for the children's sake (what kind of an example was I setting?) and for my sake (clutter heightens my anxiety, keeps me gazing over yonder where the grass is always greener, makes me grumpy) it was time I let go of what was holding me back from becoming a deliberate manager of my home instead of a helpless and unwitting victim of circumstance, blown here and there and everywhere by my whims and feelings of guilt, even shame and dissatisfaction.

So I started with the kitchen. For eight whole hours I went through drawers and cabinets and each and every shelf, tossing expired spices and throwing all kinds of duplicate gadgets, plastic cereal bowls, never used linens, etc., etc., etc,. in big "donate" boxes. I thinned out my possessions, keeping only what was necessary until some semblance of order began to emerge - until everything had a place. I scrubbed the baseboards, dusted the ceiling fan, wiped down the appliances until I could barely move due to so much sweat and grime and soreness. For nearly a week, I did this daily from early in the morning till often past midnight. Not one cranny of this old house escaped my scrutiny.

My parents, bless their hearts, came to help out with the basement. It was a monumental job as for years it had been our dumping ground. Every time I went down with the laundry the sheer volume of junk overwhelmed me. When it too was finally emptied, and cleaned and sorted through, I teared up in relief. As each room was scoured and gutted of excess, I began to fall in love all over again with our sweet home. Our garage is full now, and I mean FULL of bags and toys and even furniture. I keep taking loads to our local resale shop whenever I'm out running errands.

Although it was grueling (I won't lie), simplifying our lives by getting rid of all the "extras" has been extraordinarily satisfying. Troy is happy. I am elated. The kids, who initially mourned the loss of their 5,000 stuffed animals, board games with missing pieces, mildewed train tracks, and torn dress-up clothes have come around, thanks to their easy to keep clean bedrooms, the rediscovery of treasured items they'd totally forgotten about (having been long ago buried at the bottom of their toy chest), and our decision to encourage our kids to get outside and play by going in with our neighbor on THIS!

This Saturday, we leave for vacation and I will, for once, be able to drive away without carrying the mental burden of knowing I've left a mess behind. Less is more, so so much more. May God give me the strength and discipline to think twice before hitting clearance sales or letting the clutter breed and multiply. For me, it is a quality of life issue and am I tired of being inhibited by my lust for things and negligence.

baby, baby, sweet baby

2009-06-14T05:35:00.000-07:00

Jennifer announced to us she was pregnant on the first night of our wine tasting trip last October. We were over the top excited for her and anxious, even then, to meet the teeny tiny somebody for whose sake she was guzzling sparkling juice instead of Merlot, Chablis and Cabernet like the rest of us. To say that for the following nine months Jen was a "trooper" would be an understatement. Since we'd seen her last, our dear Jennifer had endured months of bed rest, countless uncomfortable and intrusive exams and then finally an intense delivery, via c-section, weeks earlier than expected. Beth, Paige and I were desperate to help in any way we could.

Two weekends ago, the three of, plus one Benjamin, packed up Beth's car and drove to Indianapolis. The Larsens (Jennifer, Nathan, their son, Owen, and now one Thatcher Finnegan "baby Finn") live in a way cool section of the city where neighbors take great pride in their historic bungalows and carefully manicured lawns. Jennifer's own charming house is drenched in warmth and character, in the same delightful, eclectic style she's brought to every dorm room and apartment she's ever inhabited. "Where are you going to put that big, red Lobster?" I asked her recently, when we were shopping for antiques and quirky, vintage home decor. "It will go great in Owen's room," she told me. And it does (see above). And I adore that she is completely unafraid to display what makes her happy, including the awesome crafty cut-outs she and Owen and our friend, Kara, made out of xerox copied photos of Owen's and Kara's (from a high school prom picture) heads attached to paper bodies. Aren't they precious?

Finn, well he's just the cutest little thing. After forcing Jennifer upstairs to rest and catch up on some sleep, Paige, Beth and I took turns rocking, changing, feeding and inhaling him - all seven some pounds worth of soft and dainty sweetness. It was wonderfully relaxing to be together like that, cleaning someone else's house, staying up late and talking. I hadn't realized how in need I was of a get away. I came home refreshed and determined to make some changes - changes I'll expand upon in my next post. We're growing always, all of us, always adjusting to new stages. There's always, every day, something significant to discover about yourself, your kids, friendship, love, and faith, of course faith - pulsating, woven tightly, in and throughout all of it. The older I get, the less I claim to be absolutely certain of. Mystery, the Mystery, is bigger, broader, holier, more breath taking, more demanding, more incomprehensible and yet, at the same time, more accessible than I ever, in the past, ever, ever imagined possible. New life has a way of peeling back, just a bit, the cloudy veil of earthly now-ness revealing the brightness of what could be, what should be, what IS.

Dear Prudence

2009-06-12T14:57:00.001-07:00

The entire recital (which managed to completely pack out our high school auditorium) was Beatles themed. Priscilla's group danced to Dear Prudence and Mary's to Yellow Submarine ("That is NOT a beautiful song," she once complained to me). I was out of town, having made plans long before the date for the recital was set, and so my parents generously offered to help Troy get the girls ready. Seeing as that process involved tights and hair pins and sparkly pink lip gloss, I know he was grateful.

I checked in frequently by phone, trying to imagine them on that stage, savoring the details being provided for me by my niece and mother. Yes, Mary did wear the sailor hat after all, despite swearing up and down that she would not put it on - not for the dress rehearsal, not for the show, not EVER. No, they didn't get overly nervous. Yes, they remembered their moves, for the most part. Yes, it was as special a night as they'd hoped it would be.

The sweetest part was my husband who told me later that he'd totally underestimated how much he'd enjoy watching his two daughters perform their little hearts out. Half way through the program, the director announced the names of the three girls who were chosen to join the accelerated ballet class (OK, watch out here because I do plan on bragging just a little bit) and right there in front of that big old crowd she called Priscilla up, handed her a flower, and congratulated her on being one of them. Priscilla beamed, I was told. Troy was so proud.

You can bet your ballet shoes I won't miss it next year!

fill pockets with trinkets (closets with shoes)

2009-05-27T13:31:00.000-07:00

Do you ever read something and then feel, literally, like you've been punched in the gut by it? Here is what I came across recently, or more accurately what was quite purposefully shoved into my field of vision, hammered into my consciousness by God, Himself, because I believe in things like that - in divine intervention for those of us who relate all too well to the Apostle Paul and his, "For what I am doing, I do not understand; for I am not practicing what I would like to do, but I am doing the very thing I hate," line:

The bread you do not use is the bread of the hungry. The garment hanging in your wardrobe is the garment of the person who is naked. The shoes you do not wear are the shoes of the one who is barefoot. The money you keep locked away is the money of the poor. The acts of charity you do not perform are the injustices you commit. St. Basil the Great 4th century

Shoes. Shoes. Shoes. It's so embarrassing, but I adore them - I collect them like stamps or coins and it has all seemed so innocuous because I buy my flip-flops, clogs, heels and sneakers from consignment stores and at outlet malls. It's a couple of dollars here and a few dollars there and, good gracious, I'm harming no one. That's what I tell myself anyway when digging around through my closet, that happens to look like a Payless Shoe Source, for a match to my tangerine colored sandal.

But what if it's not about who I'm hurting or not hurting? What if what I'm justifying here is an addiction to things, to my impulses? This morning, my coffee maker was acting up so at 8:00 am, still wearing my complete jammies, I piled the kids in our van and drove through a Dunkin' Donuts because heaven forbid I go even thirty minutes without caffeine. When was the last time I felt that same sense of urgency to feed, dress, quench the thirst of someone else? What's five dollars here, ten dollars there to someone who is truly hungry, truly in need of the most basic of necessities? I admit to you, it is hard, quite uncomfortable for me - like having a bone set back in place that's been broken. I want to be healed of this, this enslavement to my vanity and comfort, to regain my full range of motion - if only I can endure that initial pain of letting go of my desire for more "stuff" and trust that there is freedom and satisfaction in saying "no" to myself every once in awhile and "yes" to Christ's command to love others as I love myself, which is a lot, apparently, so I best get busy. I might have to go (whew) out of my way to make that happen.

you're gonna make me lonesome when you go

2009-05-26T07:26:00.000-07:00

I broke the news while we were eating dinner last week and it was about as well received by my family as a pro-hunting lecture would be at a PETA convention. You're leaving us?! wailed my daughter, Priscilla, looking all desperate and hurt and betrayed, offended. I'll only be gone a couple of days, sweetheart, I assured her, thinking she'd perhaps misunderstood my explanation, that maybe when I said, long weekend in Indianapolis, she'd heard, three month safari in Africa, but I was wrong.

A COUPLE OF DAYS?!! WHAT WILL WE DO WITHOUT YOU?!

My friend, Jennifer, just had a baby, this gorgeous baby:

and I am beside myself anxious to get my hands on him. There are three of us (all mothers ourselves) heading out there shortly to do what we can to help and to celebrate with Jen, her husband, Nathan, and son, Owen, this remarkable blessing named Finn. It's hard to believe that my kids are at an age now where my presence, while certainly preferable, is not mandatory. I am stuck somewhere between giddiness and nervousness because of it.

I've taken a turn as of late - it feels like I've just emerged from a cave of hibernation, a sometimes dark, mostly cozy little shelter from the bigger, stroller-pacifier-nap-free world outside where people do things besides change diapers and breast feed (huh?), and my eyes are having a hard time adjusting. For most of my adult life, I've been either pregnant or nursing (sometimes both) and there is an element of fear in starting over as a thirty-four- year-old woman with, because of my children's ever increasing independence, the energy and wherewithal to pursue dreams and ideas that up until this point have lain dormant. It's scary as heck to put yourself out there and yet, at the same time, sort of thrilling. I believe it's healthy for me to develop, at this stage, my own skills and interests lest I become an overly meddlesome, micro-managing, suffocating kind of parent whose entire sense of well-being rides on the actions and attitudes of my endearingly quirky and enigmatic off-spring.

You'll be fine, I tell them, because they will be. Troy is more than capable of holding down the fort while I'm gone. No, the challenge will be in my head where feelings of guilt and apprehension will battle those of gratitude and excitement for control of my thoughts and emotions. It's more than a weekend get away we're dealing with here, it's my embarkment into another, unfamiliar, more hands-off, phase of motherhood - it's my chance, their chance, our chance to fly.

reminding me of how good life can be

2009-05-23T18:04:00.000-07:00

They came with their pack-n-plays, sippy cups and star wars figurines and we inhaled those tiny boys, those bright and brilliant little men - so busy, busy, busy and curious and delightful. We gathered together again to eat and laugh, drink and remember, sit out on the porch and just be for a minute. The weather cooperated, the inflatable pool drew in our kids and then some - the yard, our house was nothing short of teeming, brimming over, with activity. Twenty wet towels, four dozen donuts, two broken dishes and ten, No more talking. It's time to get some sleeps later, they gathered their stuff, we hugged goodbye and dispersed. Now it's back to our grind and to their grind, to our separate jobs and responsibilities. Thanks for coming and for reminding us of how good life can be. It was a wonderful weekend, my favorite, favorite kind of weekend! We love you!

days aren't long enough (yet another "pay attention!" kind of post because I'm so very forgetful)

2009-05-21T10:14:00.000-07:00

I took these two pictures only fifteen minutes apart - or maybe I took one last spring and the other today. But then again, how in the world could the time have passed by that quickly? When did Mary's hair and Benjamin's legs grow? How did their faces mature without me noticing? This morning I bought another headache of an inflatable pool, the kind that takes forever to blow-up and fill with water and then just as long to drain and put away again. What a rip-off, I grumbled initially, thinking I'd just spent $30.00 dollars (last week? last month?) on the now useless, leaking, blue and white pile of plastic gathering dust and cobwebs in our garage. I thought it was ridiculous to waste money again on something so expendable until it dawned on me that it had been two whole years since I'd last had to purchase one - that we'd gotten days and days and days and days worth of play out of our last pool. How is it warm enough already to go swimming?

I took a look at my calendar last night and scratched my head at all of the filled-in squares, at all of the events scheduled, at the brevity of summer. So much to do! So much to do! So easy to get lost in the details, forgetting the here and now. But my house is dirty! But my e-mails are accumulating! But I don't know where to begin, how to catch up! But, hold it a second; don't I feel that way always? Am I not hopping right back on to the same tired old treadmill? Wait, life is blooming, my kids are blossoming, love is ripe for the picking, the devouring! Take it easy there, sister. Let's keep this all in perspective. The days aren't long enough, there's no extra time for brooding and moaning over petty things, inconsequential things, over things that simply won't count for much in the end.

In a living room in Indianapolis, sits one of my dearest friends in the world rocking her sweet and healthy newborn after the most horrific pregnancy and birth you can imagine. On Saturday, I'll see my godson, my delightful, adorable godson and his just as adorable twin brothers. They will splash with my children in our brand new extra large pool - oh boy are they excited. Tonight I will go to book club. I really like book club - what a treat! Yesterday, was my grandpa's birthday, my grandpa the prolific blogger. My brother's new podcast about film and culture is now up on Ancient Faith Radio and I am thrilled because I think he's brilliant. The weather? simply gorgeous! My kitchen? a disaster! My future? A complete mystery. Better to soak in, drink in, swallow all I can than to tune out those fleeting chances to participate in something significant and eternal. Better to keep my eyes open, taking one - small - step - at - a - time.

Another year has come and gone
Another circle ‘round the sun
Another thousand tears have fallen
I don’t ever count ‘em ‘cause
I’m surrounded by your love
And days are never long enough

Four more seasons on parade
Show their colors then they fade
But that won’t happen to us, darlin’
We’ll remember how it was
Then begin again because
Days are never long enough

Time’s never late
Isn’t bound by our fate
Try as we may
Love might never be found if we wait
Until the sun comes up
On another day my love
Days are never long enough

Time’s never late
Isn’t bound by our fate
Try as we may
Love might never be found if we wait
Until the sun comes up
On another day my love
Days are never long enough

-Days Aren't Long Enough

Steve Earle

before you met me I was a fairy princess

2009-05-19T19:46:00.000-07:00

People are always telling me how lucky I am to be raising a real live princess. Isn't it fabulous, they ask, to hang out with royalty all the time? And then I laugh a little and try to break it to them gently that it's actually quite a bit harder than it seems. Because what they don't reveal in Disney films is that princesses, real live ones, require a lot of upkeep - they have many, many needs and opinions to take into consideration before heading out the door to run an errand or visit a friend. They break down sometimes in frustration when others fail to recognize their uber-specialness, their inherited right to be catered to.

Sure there are plenty of time-outs on the "whining throne," plenty of lessons on how princesses ought to speak (kindly) and ought to share (generously). Surely, surely, it is labor intensive but along the way, I've been blessed by her conviction that what appears, upon first glance, to be ordinary and mundane has the potential to become majestic with but a simple change of perspective. Princesses, real ones anyway, find beauty in everything. For now, I am the mother of a tiny queen in training. What can I say? It's the role of a lifetime and I'm trying my hardest to appreciate every minute of it - to curb the "give me-s," the sense of entitlement, without dampening her enthusiasm, imagination, confidence and spunk. Someday, I'll look back and recall only the sparkly, shining parts. I'll say to the mother of a crowned three-year-old at the library or in line at the grocery store, Well, goodness, aren't you lucky? My memories will, like all great fairy tales, remain charmingly biased and golden.

when I see you smile

2009-05-17T14:20:00.001-07:00

We could not have asked for more perfect weather in which to cruise down Lake Shore Drive staring at the sights, the familiar landmarks, the hordes of people jogging, biking, sailing, exploring. Saturday was museum day for all of us Sabourins, except poor Priscilla whose up and down fever kept her home with grandma and grandpa (where she was lovingly coddled and doted on). Mary had her first big alone adventure with her godparents, the Lamberts, at the Kohls Children's museum and Troy, Ben, Elijah, my sister-in-law, Carrie, and I headed to the Museum of Science and Industry. It was crowded, of course, which necessitated plenty of "Stay with us!" reminders but other than that, all went smoothly - except for that time when one of our boys (can you guess who from the pictures?), who had brought along some saved up birthday money, bought a souvenir in the gift shop causing his penniless brother no small amount of agony. True to his nature, however, my little trooper got the envy all of out his system relatively quickly and was able to fully enjoy the many hands on, climb on, way cool displays and activities the museum had to offer. It was a joy for me to watch them ooh and awe at some of the same exhibits I liked as a child. It made me smile to see them smile. And yes, in case you were wondering, you are listening to a cover of the song made famous by the 80's band, Whitesnake. Does it make anyone else besides me nostalgic?

come by storm

2009-05-14T07:36:00.000-07:00

I heard it out loud: CRACK! A flash of light. A roll of thunder. I was wide awake at 2:00 am - awake as a nocturnal newborn at the breast of her sleepy mother. For the remainder of the storm I sat upright, half mesmerized by, half terrified of, nature's fury. I felt small, small and vulnerable but my husband, my children, they rode it out peacefully, kept right on dreaming. Finally, though, near the end, when of all that sparking and booming had, for the most part, run its course, Benji stumbled into our bed and I was grateful for his need to be comforted. There is nothing to worry about, sweetheart, I whispered confidently, repeatedly, just like I was supposed to. Hours later, I awoke to brightness, to a dry calm. I tend to be braver, coherent, less forgetful, when the sun is shining.

Mom! You've got to look at this! Out front my eldest son was pointing wildly to a massive tree limb blocking our sidewalk and blowing the minds of passers- by with its hugeness and gnarled branches reaching out into the street like the fingers of a zombied corpse. It was a haunting scene, one I couldn't look away from until they came in with their chain saws and, quick as a wink, cut the whole mess down into manageable, cartable sized pieces. And now no evidence remains, save the jagged, exposed, butter-colored, bark-less insides of a trunk maimed and scarred by the violence of spring.

I think I need a nap but, boy oh boy, it sure is nice out. I'd kind of hate to close my eyes in the midst of such beauty.

home away from home

2009-05-12T12:26:00.000-07:00

Click the pause button on Playlist before playing

I have featured Cedarwell before on this blog because I like music - quality, melodic, thought provoking music, the kind you can't get out of your head ...in a good way. We were fortunate enough to host Erik G.Neave, Mr. Cedarwell, himself, and his band mate, Jared, for the weekend. They were incredibly patient with our over excited kids and even kindly obliged us with a song - a new one I hadn't heard before. Any musician who can perform beside an antsy six-year-old without missing a beat is, in my book, a bona-fide professional. You're welcome anytime! Consider Chesterton your home away from home while your out and about performing in our neck of the woods. Keep up with the writing, the creating and expanding of your vision! We'll be listening!

drove to Chicago...

2009-05-10T14:38:00.000-07:00

Despite the fact that I was once desperate to get away from the noise, our postage stamp of a backyard, the graffiti, the outrageous sales tax and the rats in our alley and that I love my little town, my quiet, slower paced, non-urban, Indiana neighborhood, when we drove into Chicago on Saturday and saw the skyline, I felt my pulse quicken because they're beautiful - all those buildings, all that extraordinary architecture, all those memories of fumbling into adulthood, falling in love, becoming a mother.

It seemed significant that my first official "Close to Home" speaking event was taking place in this very city, at the very parish where I learned about, and eventually converted to, Eastern Orthodox Christianity. It was surreal, to tell you the truth, coming back years later and within this particular context. No other location on earth could have filled me with such melancholy. The parking lot, the fellowship hall, the cracking stucco, the deep red carpeting brought to the surface so many long forgotten emotions. Oh the hurdles we've leapt as a couple, as a family. How remarkable to look back on a decade's worth of breakthroughs, sacrifices and trials and realize, from this present vantage point, that what had seemed at the time like a series of chaotic and random events was in all actuality an orderly yet mysterious divine master plan in motion.

We walked into a room of mostly familiar faces and after many affectionate greetings, I delivered the talk I had prepared on, "Being Orthodox in a Non-Orthodox Society." My small audience was supportive and attentive and smiled encouragingly, even when I paused, when I totally blanked out for a minute or two. I spoke on fellowship, on the importance of us reminding one another, every single chance we get, of our eternal aim. I was very uplifted by our discussion afterwards (we certainly need one another, don't we?), attended vigil and had a lovely, lovely dinner out in Greek town with old and new friends. On the ride home, I couldn't stop smiling. Nothing, I was reminded this weekend, is more satisfying than both giving and receiving Christ-like love, than filling our minds and hearts and our souls, our conversations, with less fluff and more substance. Thanks to all of you who came and to those of you who were thinking of me and praying for me from afar! I've been beyond blessed by your kindness and generosity.

hard times

2009-05-06T15:20:00.000-07:00

I placed the "whining chair" in front of a mirror because even little Mary becomes distracted from her anger by the contorted expression of fury on her slender face. Lately, everything makes her frustrated. Lately, I've been busier than usual encouraging the use of words, polite words, instead of screams and wild gestures.

I had forgotten (Can you believe that is even possible?) how hard it is to be three. You're finally old enough to have these really great ideas, like wearing high-heeled dress-up shoes to Church, eating sugar straight from the canister, taking your older sister's Hello Kitty stickers from out of her desk drawer and decorating your bedroom wall with them, forgoing pants, and then they're shot down, those genius plans - every one of them. There are ants, too, creepy ants; sometimes, when your eating cereal, a drop of milk from your spoon lands on your nightgown. And naps! Oh, my gosh! Oh the cruelty of being needlessly interrupted and forced to lie down.

All my kids went through this. Elijah especially and since he was my firstborn, I took it so, so personally. I can remember now both of us laid out on the couch in tears, exhausted and just plain sad from butting heads over everything.

I still get exasperated, (I mean, how can you not?) but experience is slowly quieting those accusatory voices in my head berating me for my lack of parenting skills and my child for his or her lack of maturity and discipline. I put forth genuine effort not to add to stressful and sometimes embarrassing situations undeserved speculations about my sons' or daughters' long term characters, based on these short term stages of development and self-awareness.

This too shall pass should be tattooed on the forehead of every toddler, every preschooler, every moody adolescent and impulsive teenager. Weather the storms and bask in the love, the laughter (because three year-olds are also very, very funny), the invaluable discoveries about ourselves and our expanding resilience - that's what we do as moms. And then we pray because these kids aren't mini-versions of ourselves, we don't own them, they aren't robots we can program into submission. They were placed in our care for a time by God, Himself, for us to adore, care for physically, spiritually, emotionally, lead by example.

Someday, Mary will wake up, like Elijah does now, get dressed, have breakfast, and make it through a morning of errands without breaking down into fits of hysteria over trivial things that seem huge when you're small. She will clamor for independence and I will squirm inwardly, longing for the days when things were less complicated - when she wanted nothing more than to be held by me, when we'd spend the afternoon in the wooden "whining chair" staring at our reflections, discussing the importance of "pleases" and "thank yous," snuggling, apologizing, and for the 100,000th time, starting over.

Vacation - All I ever wanted

2009-05-04T08:25:00.000-07:00

Oh man, I love this picture because, first of all, aren't Troy's Aunts and mom adorable? I also love it because, look! There is "Close to Home," four copies of it, on a beach in Aruba! I feel a little sunburned and more relaxed just thinking about at least my words taking an exotic vacation. The chances seem pretty slim that I, myself, will be so fortunate anytime soon. The "sisters" snorkeled, mingled with ostriches and butterflies, lounged in the sun, took a jeep safari and even met the president (see below). A good time, a BIG time, was had by all!

The Sabourin family will be hitting the YMCA pool, the local parks and the Indiana Dunes this summer -we'll be keeping it real here in the Midwest. My dream is that one day my children will entertain themselves at all of the above places while I sit in the shade and simply watch them. After ten years of pushing (higher mama! higher!), catching, balancing, chasing and wading (while dodging inner tubes and aggressive splashing), I am ready to move on to other, less physically strenuous, outdoor activities involving iced coffee, SPF 30 sunscreen, a lawn chair and a novel. I'll yell out, "That's great, honey!" in response to a cartwheel or under water handstand till the cows come home, or at least until its time for dinner. A-h-h-h ... can you imagine? Paradise.

momma's in the kitchen

2009-04-29T13:05:00.000-07:00

I got to do this this morning: make breakfast, set the table and drink some coffee before any of my children woke up and asked to stir the batter (I know that it is sweet and character building and all, letting your kids help you out with the preparing of family meals, but sometimes, like at 6:45 a.m., it is really nice for me to be able to work alone in my kitchen).

Ah, Mondays. School. Ballet. Laundry. YMCA (hopefully - I need to, I really need to move my body, to break a sweat) and this week, every afternoon of it, I'll be getting ready for a talk I'll be giving on Saturday the 9th at Holy Trinity Cathedral in Chicago on the topic of "Being Orthodox in a non-Orthodox society." Come by (it starts at 2:00 pm) if you get a chance!

I've just started twittering . Have you tried it? HERE are Deacon Michael Hyatt's (CEO of Thomas Nelson Publishing and host of the Ancient Faith Radio -AFR also twitters, btw- podcast, at the Intersection of East and West) reasons why you should.

Uh oh, they're awake and stomping. It sounds like Jurassic Park upstairs. Have a great one, friends. Live like you mean it.

a blistered hand on the handle of a shovel

2009-04-27T19:36:00.000-07:00

Ah! My kids are filthy - unplugged and tuned in to the sweetness and unlimited adventurousness of their own imaginations. As they say in the addictive cyber world of Facebook, I "like this." If you pass our front sidewalk but stop short of crossing the street, you'll find an idyllic patch of grass and dirt where sits, not an electrical outlet for recharging iPhones in order to receive second-to-second updates on all the banality, lurid gossip and delirium within society at large, but a land of dinosaurs and mud pools and dandelion trees. You'll find the touchable, kissable, flesh and blood components of a smaller existence, one more rhythmic than jolting.

It isn't a hide under a rock and plug up our ears, blindfold our eyes, brand of being I want for my family (I am so thankful for the sense of connection to far away friends and the opportunity for developing new ones that the internet has provided me), but one of balance. I want our greater reality, the reality that fills our minds, our souls, even, to be made up of school lessons, face-to-face conversations, shared meals and our communal reception of the Eucharist on Sunday mornings.

There is a time to surf and a time to shut down - to walk away from what is lifeless and distant, from that fiery urge to know everything NOW. There is satisfaction, whole and solid, on the other side of withdrawal from the steady stream of technological stimulation. There are fairies to house and feed, I've been told by my daughter Priscilla, in our yard wet with dew, teeming with tales mysterious and miraculous of re-birth, new growth, unmanufactured beauty. There is much to do today, much worth striving for! Let's get started!

Television is a medium of entertainment which permits millions of people to listen to the same joke at the same time, and yet remain lonesome.

-T.S. Eliot

Back Porch Mary (and Elijah and Ben and Prissy)

2009-04-27T08:57:00.000-07:00

It was National "Hang Out On Your Back Porch" Day (What? You hadn't heard?) and so the kids and I played, schooled, ate, folded laundry and enjoyed the perfect 73 degree weather within the confines of our own humble porch, which was lovingly screened in two summers ago by my husband, Troy, and his handy-dandy father. It was very, very pleasant - so enjoyable, in fact, I went an entire morning and afternoon without once having to ask forgiveness for thinking negative and bitter thoughts about the states in this great country of ours with spring seasons that start in March, even February (and with beaches not infested with biting flies)! My Indiana neighborhood, with all of its newly blooming dogwood trees, looked downright vacation destination worthy, picturesque, like an ear of corn in a pink satin husk - still unpretentious and yet a little bit fancy. I can't help it, despite my intermittent grumbling about the unpredictable weather, the flatter than flat landscape, and the scarcity (at least in our area) of authentic ethnic restaurants (No, I am sorry; Pepe's doesn't count), I truly am a Midwest girl at heart.

darling, i'll take care of you

2009-04-25T11:35:00.000-07:00

What did I do this weekend?

I attended the book club we started three months ago with some of the ladies from our parish and from our neighborhood - women I thought I knew because I saw them, chatted with them on a weekly basis, but it turns out there is quite a bit more to the people in my community than what initially meets the eye. I was moved, profoundly so, by the courage and quiet heartaches beneath their placid and smiling exteriors. I am so thankful for these multi-generational relationships we are forming- relationships I'm certain are salvific because they inspire me to do away with the petty grumbling (Waaahh! My jeans are getting tight!) and to get busy treating this life as a sometimes joyful, sometimes sorrowful, "get off your butt and find genuine satisfaction in the exhausting and rewarding experience of giving something or someone your all" kind of a journey, instead of a banquet thrown in my honor throughout which it is expected that I be catered to and entertained.

I clung to my feverish baby girl because three-year-olds, when they're sick, prefer to be touched and sung to and tickled lightly on their backs. They like you to stay with them until they're sleeping soundly enough to not feel you slowly, ever so cautiously, remove your numb and tingling arm out from under their aching bodies so you can unload at least the top rack of the dishwasher before they weepingly call you back again, before they notice you're gone.

I let Elijah go alone to the library. I let him cross THE street, the one with the two-way traffic because my husband, Troy, who as a kindergartner rode his bike every day to and from his elementary school, assured me he was was old enough, that he was ready. My ten-year-old came home beaming, carrying under his arm books he had picked out and checked out all by himself. It had been terribly hard for me to say "yes" but the look of gratifying confidence on my eldest son's face confirmed his need for some independence. It is clear to me now that this whole parenting gig is only going to get more complicated over time.

I did laundry. I painted teeny-tiny toe nails. We tried out our new popcorn popper and I had myself a few of those foil covered chocolate easter eggs I had hid in the freezer to save for "later." I lost a lot of sleep. I laughed hard while talking on the phone with a friend. I read several of the minute-to-minute updates on the swine flu and then decidedly stopped reading figuring too much information will lead only to hysteria and speculation. I prayed for wisdom, guidance and peace, and for God's will to be done on earth as it is in Heaven.

My, oh my, what a ride! How abundant are the opportunities for growth, for love, for learning. Pay attention, Molly! You're neck deep in the thick of it.

To expect too much is to have a sentimental view of life and this is a softness that ends in bitterness.

- Flannery O'Connor

all our worries keep getting in the way

2009-04-23T09:57:00.000-07:00

To thick-headed, forgetful, me:

Breath in, breath out, stop and take an objective look around you at the seemingly oppressive situations in which you find yourself: The loneliness, the never large enough paycheck, the son or daughter, spouse or co-worker, neighbor or stranger pushing your every last button. Examine prayerfully the deadlines tapping you threateningly on your shoulder, the should haves, could haves, would haves clouding your view of all that is still good, still genuine, still lovely. Face your fear of being hopeless, being rejected, of losing everything. Admit you’re an idiot sometimes, because we all are sometimes - idiots cold and stubborn and undisciplined.Yep, it's crazy alright -crazy messy, crazy hard; claim your incompetence. Acknowledge it's scary, having not the slightest idea what is in store for you tomorrow.

Ask for the strength, then, not to fix things, not to brazenly change the world, not to be certain but rather to look inward, to be ok with the ambiguity, ok with the unglamorousness of your cross. Ask for the grace, the unquestioning humility to believe in the mystery of Divine order – that all of it, all of this, has been orchestrated for the very specific purpose of chipping away what is dull, what is self-serving and numb in order to uncover the Christ within you. God, it’s tiring, too exhausting, to try and make sense of the unknowable. It takes Faith, a great deal of it, to throw up your hands, to throw in the towel, to fully, completely, willingly surrender.

I want to love, love as Jesus loved. So whatever it takes, I guess - Lord have mercy. I’m not the one directing, here; let’s get that straight.

Won’t You help me, please, just sing along?

Experience: that most brutal of teachers. But you learn, my God do you learn.

- C.S. Lewis

enjoy yourself

2009-04-22T12:12:00.000-07:00

For the first six months or so, I worried that our pace was too slow. I feared with all my heart our kid's boredom. And it was definitely an adjustment, alright - going from rush, rush, rushing (Where are your shoes?! Grab your backpack! The bus is coming!) to my lingering over a cup of coffee in the quiet of an early "no one has to be anywhere at a certain time" kind of morning, and then turning around to face Yikes! all of my children, in their pajamas, hungry for breakfast, at home with me. What a relief! How terrifying! What am I doing? This is crazy!

Only recently did we start adding in extra-curricular activities. It was great and all, especially for Elijah who discovered a perfect fit (finally) in drama and for Priscilla who took right to ballet. We ended up finding something for everyone and then another something until our days began to feel hectic again. This week we dropped t-ball for sweet Benjamin who had been if-y about it in the first place and who struggled a bit with the weekly two hour practices. "He's only six-years- old," I forced myself to remember. "He'll grow into his interests, develop concentration skills like Elijah did, when he's older."

Yesterday, we took it slow. Between assignments, my children colored pictures, read library books, squabbled, snacked, rode their bikes up and down the street out in the sun. Yesterday, I helped them with their spelling, their math, their Language Arts. I worked some, I tidied the house some. Yesterday, I did not feel like the walls were closing in on me, like I was short changing my family by not stuffing their lives with stimuli - structured things to do. Yesterday, for a change, I didn't stress over what I couldn't give them. I simply relished in their ability to enjoy the little things.

Every once in a while, I have to stop and re-examine my priorities. I have to ask myself if my decisions about the children reflect my conviction that this life is a preparation for the life to come or if I'm, in all honesty, just trying to keep up with the Joneses. Do I want the smartest kids? The prettiest kids? The most talented kids? Or do I want for them to be resilient, patient, accepting of disappointments, empathetic to the pain of others, satisfied with less rather than hungry for bigger and better, addicted to "more?"

I can't do it "perfect," (What does that even mean?) but I can certainly work on my attitude - exemplify graciousness, perseverance, self-control. I can encourage them to love sacrificially, to think before they act or speak, to look at every day as a day to celebrate and to learn from rather than merely "get through."

It is warm and no one is sick and we are fortunate, very fortunate, to have plenty of food, clothing, a roof over our heads. That is enough, I think, to warrant my gratitude and a renewed determination to put on some blinders and focus on these kids, on my abundant blessings, on one interaction with my loved ones and my neighbors at a time.

my baby sparkle and shine

2009-04-22T06:11:00.001-07:00

Ah, to be so optimistic - to greet an ordinary Wednesday in a satiny gown, a pair of cowboy boots and a bejeweled crown. Watching you spin and turn and pursue fanciness for its own sake with the same passion and diligence of grown ups, myself at times included (sigh), chasing doggedly after prosperity, control and respect, makes me irrationally (the best kind of) happy. You make me happy, every morning, by waking up first and coming to find me in your footed jammies all full of sleepy and cuddly affection. I want for you, for me, for our family, to help each other slow down a little and discover the joy in loving people over things, in seizing every opportunity to create beauty and community where before there was emptiness, gaudiness and isolation. Live, sweet Mary! Don't waste your time, your youthful energy, on anxious thoughts about tomorrow! Dance today! Play today! Shine and Sparkle!

Joy

Let a joy keep you.
Reach out your hands
And take it when it runs by,
As the Apache dancer
Clutches his woman.
I have seen them
Live long and laugh loud,
Sent on singing, singing,
Smashed to the heart
Under the ribs
With a terrible love.
Joy always,
Joy everywhere -
Let joy kill you!
Keep away from little deaths.

-Carl Sandburg

Rainy Day Stay

2009-04-21T07:24:00.000-07:00

I am glad today for the rain. After so much jubilation, so much chocolate, so little sleep, we are spent and in need of rest. I am home, home with my children, home with my memories, home with my solid and savory resoluteness to view all of this through the clarifying lens of Life - life undiluted, life resurrected.

What's changed? What is less vile about the mud on my shoes, the unseasonable coldness? Nothing... but also everything. It is I who was altered by the arduous journey through repentance, an "in your face" type of realization about the stubbornness of my weaknesses, and into relief, sweet relief, rather than my circumstances.

I am glad today for the stillness, the sobering grayness, the chance to reflect for just a moment on the magnitude of this other option, this alternative to running around in circles with my tail between my legs, involving redemption from the chaos of being ruled over by my whims, my emotions, my hyper-active worries, and courage born of blood stained love.

O death, where is thy sting? O hades, where is thy victory?

Christ is risen, and you are overthrown! Christ is risen, and the demons are fallen! Christ is risen, and the angels rejoice! Christ is risen, and life reigns! Christ is risen, and not one dead remains in a tomb! For Christ, being raised from the dead, has become the First-fruits of them that slept.

To Him be glory and might unto ages of ages. Amen.
- St. John Chyrsostom

Joy!

2009-04-19T22:41:00.000-07:00

Christ is Risen!

We had a wonderful, wonderful, wonderful Pascha! I am stuffed, dog tired, and still basking in the utter joy, the hope, the triumph of our Savior's Resurrection.

My love to all of you!

Nightmare on Waverly Street

2009-04-01T16:31:00.000-07:00

And thus it begins: our 2009 tour of every park within a ten mile radius of our home. Yesterday, I dropped Priscilla off for her first softball practice at a nearby elementary school and she jumped right in - no clinging, no second thoughts. Next we drove to another town and to another playground to take Benjamin to t-ball. He too was rearing to go and only once (I believe) did he get all caught up in the excitement of the moment and tackle another player going for the same ball he was. Meanwhile, Mary fell on the monkey bars and bumped her lower lip which bled profusely without her knowing it. She touched her bloodied mouth with her fingers and then used that same hand to push the hair from her eyes and, apparently, rub repeatedly her little face before finding me and asking, Mama, can you lift me on to that swing? I suppressed a small scream; she look like something from out of a horror film, a horror film starring Tinker Bell. Note to self: always, always keep a container of wet wipes in the mini-van.

Tomorrow, they both have practice again at two totally different fields and I am kind of wondering now why I was the only mother frantically writing down these dates, locations and times on her arm with a black Bic pen (thanks for the hot tip, Beth) as the coaches explained their hardly consistent practice schedules. I am hoping that with more experience, I, too, will be able to nod my head knowingly and answer, "O.K. Alright. M-m-m, H-m-m," and really mean it.

yellow submarine

2009-03-31T13:29:00.000-07:00

My son, Elijah, will most certainly be the type of dad to have over sized buttons made of his children in their soccer uniforms, baseball hats and gloves, etc. and then pin them on his lapel to show off at work (that is if movie directors or Zoologists even wear blazers). Yesterday morning, he was with me at Mary's ballet class where he pointed out repeatedly to the other moms present which of the little dancers was his sister (they already knew, by the way) and, Oh my gosh! Isn't she cute? Look at her now! Mom, put this up on the blog! Turn the camera that way to get her face!

The above two and half minute video will give you a small taste of my eldest son's (borderline braggy) enthusiasm for everything his little sister does and doesn't do, it will showcase Mary's mad dance skills and reveal what weighty issues are on the hearts and minds of those of us in small town America:

Will the three-year-olds get their routine down in time for the recital?

I'll keep you posted.

It's possible these things may be on backorder...

2009-03-30T18:52:00.000-07:00

If I could go back in time, start completely from scratch, here is what I would have registered for for my baby shower:

1. A Room-Sized Bed:
I would want it to stretch from one wall to the next so that Elijah and his future siblings, with their bad dreams, growing pains, sniffly noses and frigid toes, could come and go as they pleased without Troy and I being forced to lie on our sides all smashed together, like sardines.

2. A Whirlpool Bathtub:
Because if you're going to spend that much time hiding...I, mean, relaxing in your bathroom, you might as well do it up with bubbles, jets, candles, the whole shebang.

3. A Fry Daddy:
Everything, my kids would be quick to assure you, tastes better battered and fried. My picky children would write thank you notes, tributes, odes to me daily if only every lunch and dinner crunched in a "good way," like McDonald's French-fries.

4. An Espresso Machine:
I hardly think this needs an explanation.

5. A fenced-in Acre of Land:
For my kids to run and run and run and run wild in without getting lost or struck by a motorized vehicle.

6. A Few More Hours In My Day:
Preferably...no, on second thought, most certainly while the children are sleeping, to catch up on correspondence - to keep in better touch with all of my old friends, new friends and family members.

7. A "Finder":
Some sort of robot or contraption (think "Rosie" from the Jetsons) that could locate in seconds missing keys, wallets, library books and Mary's teeny tiny ballet shoes.

8. A Self-Cleaning Mini-Van:
Because we could live off the pretzel crumbs that have spilled between the car seats and onto the floor of our Toyota Sienna for at least a week.

9. A Referree:
I mean I'd want the whole deal - the striped shirt, the whistle, everything. He could step quickly into an argument between the kids, make a call, and penalize the offending player, saving me from all sorts of migraines throughout the day. If he could also help with the laundry, that would be a huge plus.

10. A Do-Over Button:
For when I overreact and would like try again to speak calmly to my child, this time while keeping everything in perspective.

11. A Good Thai Food Restaurant:
Because our neighborhood doesn't have one.

12: Walkie Talkies That Actually Work For More Than 30 Minutes:
So I could keep in touch with Elijah as he ventures farther and farther away from me, and our house, in pursuit of some independence.

13: A Life Time Supply of Junior Mints

Did I forget anything?

wonder

2009-03-29T18:16:00.000-07:00

They are called Pyanski Eggs and every Lent, our parish keeps the supplies for making them out and available in the basement to both the kids and adults who like to work on them during coffee hour. It is a multi-step process requiring more concentration then one might think a child had in them, particularly a certain six-year-old boy child who is fidgeting always, always fidgeting, and yet, as you can see above, my son, Benjamin, daughter, Priscilla, and niece, Isabelle (with the patient help of "godfather Steve") worked diligently and with rapt attention on their own colorful creations for a long old time. I am looking forward to putting all of their eggs in a basket on my dining room table as a centerpiece for our Pascha Feast. Ahhh, Pascha.

April begins the overlap of soccer, drama and ballet with tee ball and soft ball. I'm feeling a little behind already and a bit melancholy. I am not too sure at all that these two things are even remotely related but they are the dominant emotions keeping me company at the moment while I drink my coffee and await the sound of footsteps stomping hungrily down the stairs. It is a brand new week, a brand new morning, and presently I am lingering expectantly, somewhere between intimidation and inspiration. What will I do with the clean, blank, whiteness?

I've been spending my evenings, recently, with a young Flannery O'Connor. A week ago, I found a biography about her in our library's New Non-fiction section and I've become, now, even more fascinated by her life and writings. Her father died when she was just fifteen-years-old and she wrote the following, two years later, in a tattered old journal:

The reality of death has come upon us and a consciousness of the power of God has broken our complacency like a bullet in the side. A sense of the dramatic, of the tragic, of the infinite, has descended upon us, filling us with grief, but even beyond grief, wonder. Our plans were so beautifully laid out, ready to be carried to action, but with magnificent certainty God laid them aside and said, "You have forgotten - mine? "

Wonder. Maybe that's what it is - wonder at the enormity of it all. Life and death, the power and consequence of our every day choices, my role as a mother to these children so young and hopeful, needing me to stay hopeful by keeping my eyes locked on Christ while the waves, the turbulent waves, lick at my knee caps.

Here comes little Mary.

And now it begins.

I know why the caged bird sings...

2009-03-25T18:50:00.000-07:00

I took the thirteen pairs of boots that have been strewn about our front door for the last four months downstairs to the basement yesterday! It is by no means balmy outside but I can get out of bed, now, and head to the kitchen in my jammies for coffee without first donning a long sleeve shirt and sweater to be topped off with a pink fleece jacket. The ice cream truck has been circling around my neighborhood like a vulture eyeing its pint sized, beaten down by the cold weather, victims who congregate at the corner for upwards of 30 minutes just waiting for the tell-tale sing-songiness to become louder and louder, signaling bomb pops and Sponge Bob Square Pants bars are coming closer and closer, maybe just around the corner ... MOM! Can I PLEASE have a dollar!!

Big News: Elijah made the front page of our small town newspaper! Last week while at the library, I signed a whole bunch of wavers granting permission to the children's librarian to take a picture of my oldest son reading intently to "Buddy the Bird" who lives in a cage on the check-out counter and who Elijah has taken a real, NOT just kidding around, interest in. I forgot about it all until Elijah's godfather e-mailed me to say Elijah was a star and then my parents brought over their copy and I was tickled (that's the best word I can think of ) to read the caption under his photo, which stated, "Sabourin says Buddy prefers Choose Your Own Adventure books." Other News: So HERE is where you can find my interview with Kevin Allen of the Illumined Heart (see my last post)!

It is Friday. How do the weeks fly by so quickly?!

catching up...

2009-03-17T11:00:00.000-07:00

So, obviously, I've been a little tied up lately. This afternoon, I had my first offical interview about my newly released book with Kevin Allen, host of the wonderful, Illumined Heart, podcast - an interview I was busy thinking about and preparing for for days. It went pretty well. I enjoyed the experience. It will air this Friday on Ancient Faith Radio. Check back here later if you want the link.

Besides that, I have been working on two different posts regarding two excellent books that have just been published and which I desire to share with each and every one of you. The first is called, Naming the Child, and was written by the lovely, genuine and talented, Mat. Jenny Schroedel, and the other is called Pictures of God, by John Skinas. Stay tuned for additional details, and in the meantime follow the links to find out more!

Some bad news: my printer is not reading my camera's memory card for some reason and thus the "snapshot" portion of my Snapshot of the Day blog is in bad shape. Note the random picture choice (the last to be read successfully by my ornery printer) of me modeling, to your great delight and interest I am sure, my new million dollar glasses from Walmart.

I got new glasses from Walmart, you see, because as I age, my already weak and blurry eye sight continues to deteriorate. When your that bad off they have to jump through all of these hoops, apparently, to thin out your lenses so they weigh less than two pounds each making my finished pair of Sarah Palin (as I like to call them) spectacles outrageously expensive.

I went to the park around 4:00 pm with the kids, to unwind a bit and feel the sun on my face. It was very, very refreshing. Priscilla has started writing these really sweet and detailed prayers and has decided to become a professional prayer writer but Elijah confided in me that he didn't think that sounded quite right. Benjamin has twice this week been able to play with "the big boys" at Elijah's friend's house. Mary has been working diligently on her "Yellow Submarine" dance routine which she and her fellow three-year-old classmates will perform in an upcoming dance recital on a real stage. She has already warned me that she will NOT be wearing the sailor hat that comes with her costume.

I, who am absolutely not a tea drinker, have fallen in love with Good Earth Spice tea. I drink it in the evenings. It tastes exactly like a stick of Big Red gum.

A special thanks to Sylvia, author of the Adventures of an Orthodox Mom blog for posting THIS kind and thoughtul review of "Close to Home." It made my day.

Take care of yourselves, dear friends and family!

Now off to bed.

there's no business like show business

2009-03-13T05:54:00.000-07:00

I am still trying to get used to the fact that I, a woman who puts forth great effort to "blend in" in social situations, have children who naturally stand out - loudly, boldy, unselfconsciously. Last night, I dropped off an under the weather Mary at my brother's house, picked up my niece, Isabelle, who joined Benjamin, Priscilla and me on an outing to Valparaiso to see Elijah perform in a play put on by the kids in the drama workshop he's been attending these last five weeks (Thanks again, Papa and Nana! The acting lessons have been a perfect fit for him). Elijah played the prince in a skewed and comedic version of Cinderella. It was cute - a little hard to hear as many of the actors spoke softly, but still delightful.

I truly believe, however, that no one in that theatre enjoyed it more than Benjamin who more than once laughed hard enough to nearly pause the entire performance as the audience and cast members alike turned to gape at us. With Isabelle on my lap and a camera in my hand, I wasn't swift or agile enough to grab Ben's shoulder and flash him my "tone it down" face, which I pull out in these kinds of situations where he is swept up in the moment, reacting twelve times more exuberant, more over the top, than appropriate. He was fiercely proud of his brother, as is obvious by the last several seconds in the above video, and cannot wait for his own chance to get up on a stage and perform. Oh good gracious.

what goes around comes around

2009-03-11T05:58:00.000-07:00

So if you wanted to see a bunch of Sabourin kids wail in anguish and beat at their breasts over the cruelness of a mother who would dare to compile such a vile combination of vegetables and curry sauce and then deem it edible for the whole family, you should have stopped by our house last night around 5:47 pm - at the exact time I was declaring the requirement of taking at least two "polite bites" non-negotiable. Priscilla rallied and then gloated over her talent at being able to down the whole bowl without vomiting. Benjamin wept silently while Elijah tried relentlessly to negotiate (What if I took out just the peas and potatoes and ate the rest?). Mary held the same spoonful in her cheeks for over twenty-five minutes before finally surrendering and swallowing whatever hadn't been drooled out the side of her tiny lips. Troy and I went on dining and conversing like all of this Oscar worthy drama was just par for the course, because...well, it is.

As our parents would gladly (even gleefully) tell you, this is payback time for my husband's and my picky eating tendencies as children. Twenty-five years ago, while my mom was shaking her head at the hissy fit I was throwing over her stuffed green peppers and spaghetti squash and while my future in-laws were pulling over again to the side of a McDonalds parking lot to wait for their son's special order of a plain something or other, I have a hunch they were dreaming of the moment when we would look on dumbfounded at our own teary sons and daughters staring wide-eyed at their dinner, covering their mouths with their hands in horror, and understand fully, apologetically, how trying it can be to come up with meals (besides pizza, of course) that please everyone.

That day, those days, have officially arrived and now here is your prize, Papa and Nana, Grammy and Grampy, for enduring so patiently our maniacal fear of things that were green, things that crunched, things that were mixed together:

From the bottom of our hearts,

WE ARE SORRY.

etc.

2009-03-08T13:44:00.000-07:00

I am wiped. It's been an intensive week. The good news is that I am slowly overcoming my "joining things'" phobia. You are now reading the ponderings of a book club, church outreach committee, and homeschool co-op member, the co-manager of coffee hour, a coach's wife, etc., etc. This is great for me, personally - becoming a more integral member of our community and parish, but it makes for a longer lag time between snapshot of the day posts and for some random, rambling, hardly cohesive reflections - like this one.

The pictures are from a homeschool lesson I did with the kids on North American Saints (yes, Ben does wear that bowling league looking flame shirt fairly often). I have been really trying to include them in our Lenten experience. They are old enough now to participate in our Lenten readings, prayers and Church Services. Homeschooling has given me an opportunity to discuss at length, with the older three in particular, why we fast - why we prepare so intensely for Christ's Resurrection! Talk, talk, talk - I just keep trying talk about it conversationally and to answer honestly all of their (many) questions. It's an exciting time and a crucial time, I believe, for seeking constantly God's wisdom and patience!

Today we made birdfeeders out of peanut butter, bird seed and pine cones. We hung like a dozen of them up in the two trees on our front lawn and then we waited for the red birds, blue birds, finches, sparrows to fly back to Indiana en masse in order to feast on our irresistible "all you can peck" buffet but not one single bird showed up. We tried not to take it personally. Maybe tomorrow...

The sun has been out - hurray, hurray! It's lighter longer. I've been sleeping well. I've been enjoying immensely listening to all of the Ancient Faith Radio podcasts I've been wanting for months to catch up on. I found out that when people call you on your cell phone, you still get charged. ouch. I am 3/4 of the way through the three mountains of laundry that have been sitting in my living room since Saturday. I apologize in advance for any misspelled words as I am too tired to put this through spell check. It is thirty-three minutes exactly past my bedtime.

I owe many of you a phone call (outside of peak hours of course) , a letter, an e-mail, a telegram. It weighs on me, to think that my warm and loving and appreciative thoughts can't always find enough minutes in the day to express themselves by way of consistent correspondence. Please know (I hope you know who you are by now) that you are certainly on my mind and in my heart. I pray for you by name while vacuuming and while lying with Mary until she finally stops squirming and whispering, falls asleep for her afternoon nap. I pray for your health and that a peace which transcends all understanding will overwhelm you, will strengthen your faith and bring your courage.

Tuesday, with its ballet class, library run and eye appointments, is awaiting. Good night, my friends. Sweet dreams.

a little sunshine

2009-03-04T06:06:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, we received a package - not just any old package, mind you, but like the coolest package ever. Is there anything for us? The kids asked me, like they usually do whenever the mailman stops by, and usually I say, No, not this time. But yesterday, on that special day, instead of answering in the negative, I said, Why, yes, there sure is! Look at this! Together we oohed and awed at the Australian return address.

Over the past year I've had the privilege of becoming acquainted, through Ancient Faith Radio and blogging, with a lovely woman - a fellow mother, a fellow writer, a kindred spirit half-way around the globe. We've exchanged e-mails, narrowed the gap as much as possible between her world and mine but never did she and her family seem closer to us than when we opened that lovingly packed "nappy" box filled with all kinds of treats from her native Australia. There were snacks and sticker books, art prints and little toy animals. Benjamin claimed the boomerang and has yet to put it down since. Elijah now knows an impressive amount of facts about Australia's dangerous wildlife. Priscilla has already starting gathering the items she wants to include in our "America" parcel (she likes that word, she's decided). Are there candy bars in Australia? What about music boxes? Mom, I want to give them something that they can't buy or find in their country!

What I really loved was the lengthy letter, all handwritten and full of tidbits about my friend's day-to-day life. I read it slowly, over coffee, imagining someone just like me with the same fears and longings working out her salvation so very far away, and yet those miles are being erased by a shared goal, a shared conviction, an intertwining of our lives through technology and now these tangible, edible, graspable offerings so generously and thoughtfully bestowed upon us. I was also moved by the photo - such a sweet looking family. I have placed it upon our prayer shelf, among the icons and candles, surrounded by saints, by Christ and the Theotokos. Every morning and every evening I will include them in my intercessions for patience, for peace, for perseverance. I will look at her and remember, when I feel isolated, discouraged, weary from pursuing the Truth, that we are saved as a community, that Christ is fully present in our relationships. Pleasing ourselves, obsessing over our own productivity and comfort, will never ever be as satisfying as sacrificing our time and resources for one another.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, Selena, for sending a little hope, a little wonder, a little sunshine over my way.

It's your turn to empty the chamber pot!

2009-03-03T05:41:00.000-08:00

Winter is fighting with spring, announced the Park Ranger at the Maple Festival we attended yesterday as a homeschool group. Who do you think is winning?

U-m-m, what did you say? We can't hear you because there are icicles growing out of our ears.

Yes, it was a beautiful morning - bright, clear, crisp. The information regarding how syrup is made (Did you know it takes 40 gallons of sap to make one gallon of Maple Syrup?) was indeed fascinating. The tour of the Bailley family home, believed to be the first non-native Northwest Indiana residents, lead by silver-haired guides in Little House on the Prairie dresses, was equally awe inspiring (and I only felt a tad bit sheepish about my inability to stay on top of my own homemaking duties despite having access to electricity and running water). It's just that it was so darn COLD. We pretended to be trees shaking our arm branches in order to get our sap... I mean, our blood flowing and everything, but our teeth went right on chattering and the complaints about numbing appendages grew louder and more desperate until finally the field trip was over and we ran to back to our mini-vans for refuge from the bitterness of a battle for warmth and an end to those exhausting mitten hunts (Did you leave them in the car? In your coat sleeve?), we're clearly losing - by a landslide.

Are you ready for some soccer?

2009-03-02T12:11:00.000-08:00

Benji on the move!

Ready for action.

The Team

The Coach (and his biggest fan)

Ben and Elia

Coming home.

Elijah's been in drama since early February, Priscilla in ballet, Mary in gymnastics - Ben's been waiting forever for his special activity to begin. This past Saturday, finally, was his very first soccer game. Apparently, there were more players than anticipated because last week we got a phone call from our YMCA begging for help. Was there any possible way that my husband could volunteer as a coach? There was. He did. I had a wonderful time watching the two of them from the folding chairs on the sidelines. Benji, the only boy on his team, had a hard time at first not grabbing the jerseys of the kids running beside him, but by the end of the game was using primarily just his feet to maneuver the ball, had soaked his hair in water to look a little more sporty, and had taken to lying down flat on his back in disbelief whenever his opponents scored a goal.

Troy, very gently, suggested the ball be passed in an orderly fashion instead of impulsively kicked in any old direction. He planned a defense where, instead of the entire team crowding together around the action, two of the players stay planted in front of the goal. But alas, twenty minute old habits die hard and these first timers held fast to their original notion that it is every man for himself out there. The important thing is that Ben had a great time - and that, no matter what the outcome, there are always treats at the end. I was proud of him for staying focused and proud of Troy for being so sweet and so involved in our community and in the life of his son. I believe this will be a positive experience for both of them.

quiet now, quiet

2009-03-01T13:19:00.000-08:00

Thy grace hath risen, O Lord, the illumination of our souls hath shone forth. Lo, now is the acceptable time; the season of repentance hath come. Let us cast down the works of darkness, and put on the works of light, that we may pass the great tempest of fasting and reach the summit of the third-day Resurrection of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, the Savior of our souls. - The Aposticha for Forgiveness Vespers

Imagine, I told Elijah, if I never stopped Mary from gorging on sweets - if, when every time I caught her with her hands in the brown sugar bag, with mouthfuls of sugar dissolving on her tongue and dripping from her lips like syrup, I did nothing but stand by and watch her attempt to feed an insatiable desire for that which, in the long run, will make her sick. Part of loving her is enduring her protests, her disappointment at being separated from passions empty and addictive. I know that it is very difficult to understand, at your age, how a parent saying 'no' and 'not now' is, believe it or not, an act of mercy.

This afternoon, after Liturgy, we gathered again as a congregation to bow before one another, to ask forgiveness of one another, to begin, as a community, to take part in Great Lent. We will fast from meat and dairy, we will remove from our daily routines distractions loud and numbing, we will attend services breath-takingly, hauntingly, beautiful in preparation for the Feast of Feasts, for the Resurrection of our Lord and God and Savior, Jesus Christ.

If you knew me, how impulsive I am, you'd understand how very trying, how very necessary is this period, this gift from God, this deliberate separation from my greedy, forgetful, self-centered spirit passions empty and addictive. You'd know why pausing, why emptying my mind of frivolous stimuli, my stomach of foods heavy and rich, will inevitably bring me to my knees in frustration in despair over my own lack of discipline. I will be forced to come to terms with my dependence on Christ's compassion, to face head on truths I usually push away: my lust for earthly treasures, my obsession with comfort, my mortality.

Yet even in the midst of intensive repentance, we, the Church, anticipate with renewed zeal, the moment when Life will conquer sin and hell - our victory over death through the sacrificial love of the Holy Trinity. We wait and watch for the Bridegroom so as not to be off flitting and fretting about when at last He arrives in all His splendor and glory. By stretching ourselves spiritually, emotionally, physically, we'll find the joy at having arrived at the empty tomb (finally!) that much more satisfying and triumphant.

Quiet now, quiet. Throughout Lent, I will dispense with the music on this blog. I ask for your prayers and forgiveness. For my haughtiness, my vanity, my apathy, my laziness, I am truly, truly sorry. May God bless you and keep you in His perfect, His redemptive, His incomparable peace.

My darling, you look wonderful tonight!

2009-02-26T20:28:00.000-08:00

A special thanks to my sister-in-law, Michelle, for capturing these fantastic photos of Mary all gussied up for a spectacular evening out involving Old Country Buffet and a little Bingo, perhaps, or maybe a piano bar downtown. I can't stop looking at them.

little boxes all the same

2009-02-26T06:16:00.000-08:00

These little cookie cutter neighborhoods have been sprouting up all over this place - looking eerily like the subdivisions devouring rapidly the diminishing open spaces between our town and the shopping center we frequent the next city over. A week ago, I found THIS printable worksheet and its been, More, mommy, please! More houses! ever since. Mary just likes to cut them out. Priscilla and Ben find textured surfaces, like our antique furnace covers and heavily plastered walls, that make interesting patterns when paper is laid over them and rubbed with a crayon. I like these homemade ones better because at least they vary in color and I can gather them in a pile to put away and bring back out whenever the children and I feel like it. They aren't rooted by concrete to our fields and farm land, encouraging our addiction to excess with their insane amount of square footage, cathedral ceilings and three car garages. They can't bury us in debt, can't separate so severely the haves from have nots. I appreciate their accessibility, and heart windows.

lola

2009-02-24T16:56:00.001-08:00

So, see if you can guess which of my children are thrilled that we are dogsitting their cousins' puppy, Lola, and which one thinks that a four pound, sweet-faced, silent little monster has invaded our home with the malicious intent of licking all of her barbie dolls.

it's time to get together for the Sabourin show tonight

2009-02-24T05:21:00.000-08:00

If someone were to say to me, So describe a typical evening in the Sabourin home, I would show to him or her the above video and simply reply, Well, there you have it. To most, I would guess, this two minute clip might seem pretty uneventful but to me its like capturing a significant era and my children's characteristics in a bottle. They won't always be content to sing over and over again every 7th word to a Disney ballad while prancing around, turning in circles, on our rug . In fact, as you can tell, Elijah, now ten years old, is nowhere to be seen. He created this repetitive form of amusement when we still lived in Chicago and passed it down to his younger siblings but presently prefers to spend hours in his room with legos, a drawing pad, and more recently, J.R.R Tolkien.

You will notice that, as usual, my niece, Jane, is over and that she and Mary are wearing Princess dresses much too big for them. That is their main shared activity, whether here or at my brother's house - playing dress-up and then making us watch them "do a show," a show believe it or not we never get tired of gaping at because those are our tiny girls and their every move thrills us. This is also a perfect example of Benji's exuberance for life, for music, for body humor, which he consistently maintains (much to my joy, chagrin and fascination) in all situations he encounters. Priscilla, no longer content to spin idly like the little ones, is off in the corner, memorizing the lyrics she will later perform with the utmost seriousness to a crowd of thousands gazing at her attentively from our couch, which is really an auditorium. And I will let her have that moment (much to the disgruntlement of Ben and Mary) all alone on the "stage." She, too, is growing up and needing time to herself - snippets of uninterrupted time to explore, under my watchful and yet, hopefully, non-intrusive, not over controlling eye, her own likes and dislikes, her dawning passions and ambitions.

I want to remember these days with clarity - their breezy unselfconsciousness, the sound of my happy and carefree kids being just kids, the nights of free and live entertainment I will ache for when they are older and desperate to fly from this nest. I want to more fully grasp and and be thankful for the fact that, for now, my "typical" is exceptionally transparent, extraordinarily rewarding, remarkably fleeting. I want a front row seat to this craziness as long as possible.

we'll leave the light on

2009-02-22T12:49:00.000-08:00

It was a bit more hectic than it used to be, when we'd plug in the baby monitor in Elijah and Priscilla's room and walk upstairs from our half of the two-flat we co-owned in Chicago to yours to watch a movie, eat enchiladas. We've been busy multiplying- busy settling in. We're separated now by a couple hundred miles, less apt to stay awake past 10:00 pm. My kids were staring anxiously out the window for an hour before your arrival. To them, to Troy and I, you're family.

From Friday to Sunday, we made meals, cleaned up meals, laughed and marveled at the children. Every room of our old house was filled with life, with action, every dish we owned dirtied, every memory recalled even as new memories formed. It was a bit more hectic, more fun, more meaningful. It was awesome of you to pack up your stuff, pile in your van, and make the effort to come and see us, just because.

I always feel melancholy right after you leave. It quiets down and makes your absence from our every day lives that much more obvious. We will play phone tag several times a week, leaving long and rambling messages, but it's not the same - not the same as watching Benjamin and Thomas playing Battleship, talking intently over coffee, delighting in Russell and Elliot learning new words, new signs, pretending their hands have been chopped off by Darth Vader's light saber, hearing Jared and Priscilla sing a Beauty and the Beast themed duet.

I don't care how many more little ones we add to the mix; I don't care how loud or how messy it gets; I don't care what time of the year, what time of day or night it is, you are always welcome, always, always wanted; we'll leave the light on.

here I am, here I am

2009-02-20T07:44:00.000-08:00

You've been sleeping awfully hard lately, dosing off before your younger sister, Mary, in the bed below you has ceased with the, "Mom! I'm thirsty! and I forgot how to close my eyes!" routine she been practicing with an annoying degree of diligence. You're exhausted, I think, from being so big and yet so little simultaneously.

I am always taken aback by your random bouts of shyness - when you bite your lower lip, stare down at your toes, cling to my waist. No baby talk, I whisper, discreetly in your ear, until eventually you pull away from me, straighten your posture.

I'm so busy with the boys, the rough and tumble, distracted boys and tiny Mary, still quick and unpredictable. I count on you to be your old dependable self, eager to please, easy to manage and I thus I come down too hard when you compromise that reliability by wandering instead into episodes of poutiness or silliness or even rarer, straight-up defiance. I forget sometimes to take into account that you're imperfect, like I am imperfect and just as prone to lose myself, my patience, my confidence, in the moment.

This morning I got you dressed for a special day downtown with daddy. You picked out your new red shirt and sweater, your gold shoes. We had to hurry because the train was leaving in thirty minutes. We had to hurry so I pulled your hair when I brushed it, and then you barked at me. Don't speak to me like that, I growled, imitating exactly the tone I had just forbidden. We humphed at each other until your coat was finally on and I came to my senses. Have a good time, sweetheart, I offered warmly, and you instantly brightened.

It is my job to be the mom - calm, stable, consistent. You, Priscilla, are but a child awakening to a world not always fair or kind or safe. I can't guarantee much, but I promise you this - I will never stop trying, stop forgiving, stop apologizing. I know you need me, the pray without ceasing me …

Here I am, here I am.

Indiana Awesome

2009-02-19T13:24:00.000-08:00

When any of their grandsons turn ten, Troy's parents (A.K.A Papa and Nana) take them to the Lego store and let them pick out something especially grand. For months, Elijah has been talking about it, dreaming about it, deciding what to get and then changing his mind. This past weekend, his time to shop for that perfect Lego something had finally arrived. When we picked him up, he was beaming. In one hand was a gigantic Lego bag and in the other, a much smaller one from McDonalds.

He chose Indiana Jones and the Temple of the Crystal Skull. Since Monday night, he has been busy piecing together an impressively realistic, adventure fraught, play scene complete with trap doors and evil enemies half the size of my thumb. It is cool - so cool, in fact, Elijah declared it an even better gift then the Nintendo DS (the one he keeps desperately begging for and we keep not buying him because, first of all, its too expensive and him owning it would mean he'd never make eye contact with us again) would have been.

In an effort to save his birthday treasure from the same tragic fate of so many other toys and games we've broken and scattered, Priscilla, Ben and Mary have been forbidden to touch and/or breath on any of the Lego blocks that comprise this specific set. The girls, for the most part, are fine with this but Benji, oh boy, he is struggling. It was just my fingernail!, he yelled this afternoon when Elijah accused him of breaking the Sabourin commandment by brushing his pinky against the whip in Indiana's c-shaped hand, I didn't even feel it!

Hold on buddy! Only four years from now, it will be your turn!

Chesterton Literary Society

2009-02-18T12:25:00.000-08:00

It's getting busier and busier all the time around here, which explains why I haven't posted and why just looking at our calendar makes me reach for the extra-strength Tylenol. It's a good hectic, though - full of visits from friends, birthday parties, dance classes and...yes, as you can see from the above photos, enlightening evenings spent sipping wine and eating cheesecake while discussing the plots and characters within a variety of fine books.

We Hoosiers have corn, the Dunes, the Indianapolis 500 and now, I am pleased to announce, the Chesterton Literary Society (pretty fancy, uh?). For months I'd wanted to organize some sort of book club and, finally, we have gathered and committed to meet again to discuss our next novel in mid-March. This past Friday, we focused on Jane Austin's Northanger Abbey. It was such a pleasant night - exactly what I'd hoped for. As a stay-at-home mother, I find it absolutely delightful to not only leave my house and children behind for a few hours but to also nurture my mind with great stories and conversation. If you ever find yourself in our neck of the woods on the second Friday of any given month, feel free to join us!

read us any rule we'll break it

2009-02-13T06:11:00.000-08:00

I like to call these two Laverne and Shirley. My Mary and her cousin, Jane, could not look more opposite. They bicker, dream up hair-brained ideas, and are fiercely loyal to one another. It makes my sister-in-law, Paige, and I laugh to watch them interact. It's like my husband, Troy, and my brother, Bobby, have gone back in time and become inseparable little girls. It is weird as a parent to see your spouse's features on the face of your child - weird and completely endearing.

On another note, we are leaving in the morning to spend a long weekend at my in-laws. I am so looking forward to it. Papa and Nana (I know you are reading this and thank you for that), break out the cereal and ice cream! :)

all I want is you to be my sweet honey bee...

2009-02-12T08:02:00.000-08:00

Ahh, love is in the air! I know this because all morning long, Priscilla and I have been frantically creating thirty some valentines to hand out this afternoon at our homeschool co-op Valentine's Day party. I am really so above this holiday. You've heard the argument, right? That it's become heavily marketed. That it's only real purpose is to make tons of money for

Dear sweet, kind and generous husbands everywhere (mine included) who may need a bit of help reading between the lines,

Hallmark and Russell Stover, Whitman's, Fanny May. I mean, c'mon, it's pretty silly, paying

This weekend, your significant other is hoping with all her heart that you will shower her with words filled to overflowing with sweetness.
four dollars for a sappy card and twenty dollars more for flowers, flowers that wilt and die.
She is expecting at the very least an actual card (which is different mind you than an, "I love you, babe," scrawled in pen on a piece of notebook paper).

I'll tell you what we don't have and that is any extra cash for romantic frivolities.
If you also arranged for a babysitter to come over so you could take her out to dinner, that would pretty much make you
I am very secure in Troy's commitment to our marriage.

a super hero in her eyes - one able to refresh and refuel his weary spouse in a single bound. This day only comes once a year so try not to

I know deep down how much he appreciates me...and that is enough.

blow it. Much love, your adoring wives.

But for all of you into that kind of thing,

I hope you have a very Happy Valentine's Day!

Paper Airplane (I wish I could stay out of his way but that's much too hard for me)

2009-02-11T05:16:00.000-08:00

Can I go around the block by myself, mom?

Well, last year you couldn't because you were five and terrified of dogs, even tiny ones. Because you not only talked to strangers, but chased them down to say, hello, or ask why they were bald or old or just different in general from you, so small and curious. But yesterday, emboldened by unseasonably warm weather, you asked again. A friend invited you over, a friend who usually just calls for Elijah but, oh the joy, he included you as well in an invitation to act out scenes from Star Wars in his front yard, one street behind us. I could feel the desperation exuding from your eyes, your very skin. But would you break down in frustration if they, the older boys, played roughly or changed the rules mid-game? You're still a ball of energy and impulses. This year, nonetheless, it feels unnatural, unwise, to deny you a taste of independence. Because you, my middle child, my youngest son, will not be held back. By restraining you, I would lose you in the end. You are exactly, in this way, like your father was at your age- discontent to sit at home. I predict that you, too, will make your parents very proud, very proud and incredibly nervous. You will test my faith and remind me why a life shrouded in fear and apprehension is a life half-lived. You are my opposite. You are precisely what I needed.

Yes, Ben, you may go.

Please be careful.

let's be together and weather the weather

2009-02-10T11:29:00.000-08:00

"Why is it summer here?" asks Mary, pointing to patches of naked grass, "and winter there?" There being the other half of our yard still covered with snow. I am sure there are all kinds of eerie explanations as to why, in Indiana, in the middle of February, it is 63 degrees outside but I am much too busy soaking in the sun and inhaling the mild air to dwell on them just at the moment. Here comes Elijah pulling his sister in the wagon. I hear the swing set squeaking, my children singing at the top of their lungs. It won't last, I know but, s-h-h-h, let's please not spoil it. Today, this afternoon, I'm less overwhelmed, more optimistic. And fancy that - nothing's changed but the weather.

Announcement

2009-02-09T09:15:00.000-08:00

For a long while, I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. It wasn’t the exhaustion or sudden loss of freedom per se; I was sure that eventually time and experience would remedy (or at least numb) the ill effects of those violent intrusions on my health and emotions. When the claustrophobia and hormonally charged periods of baby blueness came and went and came again those first several months, I knew deep down in my gut that they were not the cause, not the root anyway, of my discontentment either. I wanted to be a mom. I was committed wholeheartedly to this invaluable opportunity to raise and nurture my children. No matter how hard I tried, however, to line up my thought life with my set in stone convictions regarding the sacredness of parenthood, I couldn’t make one consistently reflect the other. In my mind, bouts of resentment, impatience, and insecurity were obviously signs of failure – were simply incompatible with good and prayerful parenting. What was dampening my experience as a mother (aha! I finally figured it out!) was that impossibly wide chasm between my ideals and capabilities. My main objective in life, then, became to cross it.

To combat my incompetence I sought voraciously the advice of others. I positive disciplined, sleep trained and chore charted my way to success – success that would last a week or so before I’d lose steam and give up, and then agonize over my laziness? my selfishness? my flightiness? To be honest, I didn’t know what exactly was wrong with me! Somewhere there was a key that could unlock that mystical secret of maternal satisfaction and until I found it, I would dart all over the place testing theories and hypotheses claiming posession of precisely what I was longing for. Out there lay my happiness, perfection and fulfillment. I was always but an article or surefire tip away from arriving at that mommy plateau from which everything runs smoothly and where everyone, parents and kids alike, respond pleasantly and appropriately from that point forward to life’s challenges.

In the midst of a never ending voyage toward an ambiguous and elusive finish line, I began to open up, out of frustration, to my fellow mom friends. What I discovered repeatedly, surprisingly enough, was that each of us was struggling with our own unique self-doubts. Each of us was worn out from trying to live up to our impeccable standards. Each of us was concerned that our children were abnormally something – shy, aggressive, willful, behind in development, you name it. It also began to dawn on me, however, that those conversations so honest and yet seemingly unproductive in which I vented to a supportive and empathetic peer provided comfort unlike any how-to manual I had ever combed through for answers. Feeling part of something bigger than the little lonely world I was dwelling in and worrying in and yet would sacrifice anything to stay in, brought me real and sustained peace. In apartments, houses and condos around the globe were women and men just like me – parents who adored their kids, parents whose families were flawed, parents inching their way toward enlightenment two steps forward and one step backward at a time.

Several years ago I got an idea in my head. I wanted to chronicle my experience as a new mom coming to terms with the actualities of her role. I wanted to state clearly and candidly the misconceptions holding me back from taking ownership of my position as the mother of these distinct children placed divinely in my care. I desired to scream from the pages of a book not, “Here is how you do it!” but rather, “You, my friend, are not alone!” I am abundantly thankful for Conciliar Press and for their willingness to take a chance on me. With Conciliar, I was able to freely and thoroughly examine motherhood in light of the Orthodox Christianity I had converted to. It was rigorous work, writing with four small children on my lap and at my feet, staying up later than I should to finish just one more thought, one more paragraph. It was (and still is) scary, I’ll admit it, to become so vulnerable through the sharing of my faults and fears. But bigger than the challenges were the revelations! I was floored to find out how applicable and transforming are the teachings of the ancient Church to modern day men and women in the throes of disciplining, praying for, and doting on their children.

It is finished; I can scarcely believe it! Close to Home: One Orthodox Mother’s Quest for Patience, Peace and Perseverance is now available to pre-order at Conciliar’s website. I am honored for this chance to reveal how my numerous mistakes and disappointments, a sense of community, and the teachings of Jesus as revealed through the mysteries of His Church, are enabling me to focus less on what I can’t be or do and more on what God can. I want to take this opportunity to thank you, all of you who have listened to these podcasts and read my blogs and who have inspired me to wake up each morning and try all over again to be a little more like Christ than the day before. Let us continue pursuing the unearthly gratification that comes from serving one another, uplifting one another – from loving sacrificially in the name of the Holy Trinity our spouses, sons and daughters, siblings, parents and neighbors.

hey hey pretty baby

2009-02-07T19:57:00.000-08:00

feasting on petit fours

Isabelle and Elia

Mary Catherine

yum

the lovely Miss Kris

a fancified Paige

my Priscilla

GLITTER!

dancing

angels

the one and only Josie

What, I ask you, is more adorable than a roomful of sweet little girls (and one just as sweet spider man) celebrating fanciness and glitter and ice cream? Thank you to Paige, Isabelle and Janie for inviting us to your Fancy Nancy party! We had a splendid time.

Reflecting Light

2009-02-05T11:56:00.000-08:00

We fought all the way to the library. We fought off tears and the urge to run away from one another. It's too much sometimes, having to love and raise and educate my children. I'm not always up to it. To tell you the truth, I lose momentum, cave into frustration, run out of steam. As usual, I was bundled, but I neglected to put on boots. Through my silvery flats and black stripy knee socks I felt the slush, dirty slush. Well that figures, I thought, like Eeyore counting his mishaps, on top of everything else, my feet are wet. Oh bother.

Once inside, the five of us scattered. In separate aisles, separate spaces, we unwound. I watched toddlers running loose - heard screams of protest, whispered warnings; all around me were mothers in the messy, demanding, thick of it. I was comforted, in good company, not alone. Check this out, said Elijah, my nine-year-old. And together we marveled at a picture of hands painted expertly to resemble zebras, alligators, lions - spectacular stuff- in a kid's magazine. That is amazing, I assured him, relieved and grateful for the olive branch he was extending to me, having cooled off and forgotten entirely how unfair, how intolerable is his life as an eldest son.

The moment passed, as it usually does. Our despair gave way to acceptance, warm and manageable, with but a simple change of scenery. We weren't broken it turns out, only shaded for awhile from the goldenness of our potential. We lost sight of what is good, even holy, about being bonded, fused together, for all eternity. We forget and then remember and then forget again all the time. So it goes with faith and sacrifice: up and down, mountains and valleys, joy and sorrow.

It isn't less cold than before but the sun is bright, brilliant. The icicles (or "sharps," as Mary prefers to call them), so jagged and intimidating, protruding downward over our porch have begun melting. Seen this way, transparent and dazzling, reflecting the light, winter seems pure and clean and promising.

Harsh, healing, hectic, invigorating, binding, freeing - it's all just a matter of perspective.

Cedarwell

2009-02-04T17:16:00.000-08:00

Photo by Austin Warnock-Indianapolis Indiana austinwarnock.wordpress.com

Recently, Troy's cousin, Erik, stopped by to see us on his way to Chicago. Erik is a musician. His band is Cedarwell. Eleven years ago, when Troy and I got married, Erik was just a kid and it’s been remarkable watching him really come into his own as an artist. I've wanted to play some of his songs, here, on my blog and just yesterday (finally) discovered this one, Black Lung, on Playlist. It's one of my favorites.

Last Thanksgiving, Erik recorded Black Lung at his uncle's lovely home in Battle Creek, Michigan. Troy's family knocks me out in that they are all unusually talented and supportive of one another, which is why Erik included them, his aunt Bev and several cousins, in the process of creating something so beautiful from out of nothing. It was late in the evening when I sat silently, so as not to disturb the rhythm of a lyricist giving birth, between my two sisters-in-law and watched on with fascination as various relatives played the violin, the flute, the piano in accompaniment to Erik and his back-up singers (also relatives - my husband, Troy, among them). It made me marvel at the miracle of music - how it reaches it out and grabs you by the soul.

Erik is out there making a go of it, sacrificing much to share with thousands of fortunate listeners, both here and abroad, his time, his passion and his talents. It is a privilege, now, for me to share with you something rare and refreshing – melodies thought-provoking, raw, unpretentious, unpredictable and sometimes haunting. Click HERE to hear more of Erik’s songs or to find out additional information about Cedarwell.

Tomorrow, for sure (unless my front and back doors are literally barricaded with snow), the children and I will go on some kind, any kind, of errand. We will leave this house!

I've got my love (and high calorie snacks) to keep me warm

2009-02-03T18:29:00.000-08:00

This, my friends (attacking a humongous tub of cookies and cream ice cream with a spoon), is a bad idea. But, really, I have an excuse - a pretty good one - for my reckless behavior!

I know I promised that I would try and limit my references to winter and cold and ice, but OH MY GOSH! It is SNOW, SNOW, SNOWING again. Ten inches are expected. All you can see out our window is white. All you can hear is the wind howling and the sound of my children's fingernails clawing at the walls - oh yes, and my teeth chattering.

We are dry and all static-y. The kids are red cheeked and pale. We try and forget about bike rides and tire swings by playing dress-up, dancing in the living room and making treasure maps. I try and compensate for my atrophying muscles and lack of vitamin D by, sh-h-h-h (its a secret), mindlessly snacking (for the record, I've never pretended my plan was logical).

Homeschool co-op has been canceled for tomorrow (Wednesday) because of...you guessed it, yet another blizzard. Quick! Hide my jelly beans, the tortilla chips and animal crackers! Grab a blanket my darlings, find the Winnie the Pooh book (what a fantastic read!) and let us pass another day all curled up and cuddled together, dreaming of spring.

Ballerina Girl

2009-02-02T17:07:00.000-08:00

Oh 5:00 pm Monday Ballet Class, how does Priscilla love thee? All night, I tell you, she's been counting and re-counting the ways. First there's the outfit, pink and flouncy. Then there's the teacher, skilled and devoted. The classroom? Appropriately mirrored with a ballet bar and CD player. And best of all are the positions and movements. Priscilla stretched and swayed and flexed with all her might, her energy, her attention; she was zealously eager to please. She is a butterfly, my daughter, social, and happiest when able to get out there in it and spread her wings. Is this really worth the time and expense? I wondered, while giving our debit card to the woman handling registration (It is difficult to afford anything "extra" these days). I couldn't have asked for a more satisfying confirmation. Thank you, mama! Thank you! Only six days left till next time! Priscilla told me as we drove back home.

You're welcome, baby.

more time

2009-02-01T12:47:00.000-08:00

Saturday was a work day - work, work, work from 10:00 am to 5:00 pm. That's how it goes when you're a habitual dawdler and let the clutter pile, gather dustily under beds, multiply. My motivation was ballet, gymnastics, soccer and drama - I've got handwritten receipts pinned to my corkboard confirming the fact that each of my children is now enrolled in an extra curricular activity of their choice. I delayed this chauffeuring stage as long as possible, but they're chomping at the bit to express themselves and since no one is wearing diapers anymore or napping regularly or needing to be nursed, I suppose there's nothing to stop us from moving forward into this next phase of parenting.

I've got the house in tip-top(ish) shape and our calendar up to date. We've purchased leotards and dancing shoes, a whiteboard to hang in the kitchen. All written down, it looks a tad overwhelming but then again, kind of exciting simultaneously. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, we are booked. I never dreamed, when they were babies and we were sequestered in our condo without a car, that the weeks would eventually fly by instead of drag on all slow and intensive to the tune of Sesame Street and Goodnight Moon being read by yours truly over and over and over again.

This morning, due to hours of extensive reorganizing, things went smoother than we'd anticipated as we dressed and clipped fingernails and tamed cowlicks in preparation for Divine Liturgy. Instead of rushing and wasting fifteen plus minutes on searching for clean and/or matching socks, at 9:00 a.m. we were ready -ready to go ahead of schedule. There was time leftover, more time for pre-communion prayers and gathering necessities (i.e. Kleenex and Chap Stick). There was time, in fact, to everyone's absolute joy (I am deciding, here, to generously interpret the phrase, A-w-w Mom!, as an indication of pure delight) for a photo!

Nothing makes my heart soar like the sight of them, the four of them all together captured permanently in a state of well-groomedness and vibrant youth. I just took that picture and already I am nostalgic. Already it is evening and a new week is upon us. As I type this they are changing, maturing, growing in their beds.

What a crazy amazing adventure is motherhood.

and you decorate my life

2009-01-29T13:24:00.001-08:00

And After

Yesterday, I sent them all upstairs to tidy their rooms. It was a relatively quick process for the boys - toys in the toy box, books on the bookshelf, clothes in drawers. Priscilla, however, paced herself, dawdled. She would not be hurried. "I think we should call this chore decorating, instead of cleaning," she told me. You can call it sky diving as far as I'm concerned, is what I thought, but what I said, was, "That sounds perfect."

For nearly two hours, Priscilla "decorated," while singing loudly, Away in the Manger, Little Drummer Boy, and yes, of course, The Van Lear Rose. She avoided for the majority of that time the "in your face" all over the floor mess, choosing rather to focus her efforts on tying ribbons around the necks of her stuffed animals and moving her wall stickers from over her desk to over her bed. "I've decided to hang my dresses on the other side of Mary's," she yelled down to me. And then I smiled, because Priscilla, my sweet, sweet girl, is exactly like her mother - because when faced with a monumental task, I am also drawn to random side projects such as sorting through markers, counting game pieces, organizing shoes and shirts by season and color.

I have piles, loads, mountains of laundry to wash. I best get started and that I will... in just one minute. But then again, maybe first ...oh, I'm sure I'll think of something. Bake a cake? Frame some photos? The possibilities are literally endless.

I am the Fly Lady's worst nightmare.

regret

2009-01-28T20:26:00.000-08:00

I guarantee that I'll regret this in the morning. The very first thing I learned in my self-taught, trial and error based mothering school was to never go to bed with your kitchen a mess (and always wake up early enough to put your contacts in and take a few swigs of coffee before your kids begin calling out from their cribs and bunk beds for some breakfast). I'm almost positive that my own mom never once broke that rule. I have memories of her scrubbing countertops well past 10:00 pm, all bleary eyed and absolutely determined (to the point that it was less of a "choice" and more an undeniable instinct) to maintain order.

For three nights in a row, I have caved in to my sleepiness. I find that every couple of weeks or so I go through an obligatory, Ahhh! Too much stuff! Too much to do!! Too much for me to handle!! phase in which I curl up in the bathtub, and then my bed, with a book and hide for awhile from the enormity of it all until I remember how I've let my prayers slide and how off-kilter my priorities have become.

I'm there now, hovering, slowly waking from my stress induced stupor and wondering how in the world I slipped right back into it after vowing to stay alert. Promising "never again," I am realizing, is like shooting myself in the foot. Saying, "next time," however, fully acknowledging and accepting my own frailty, allows me the freedom to beg for mercy and move cautiously forward (rather than standing in place, immobile, paralyzed with disappointment over my lack of stick-to-itiveness).

Tomorrow is Thursday, Thursday the 29th of January - a perfect day for developing tunnel vision, losing site of the peripherals so daunting, so discouraging. One thing at a time.

...teach me to treat all that comes to me throughout the day with peace of soul and with the firm conviction that Your will governs all.

Here comes the sun?

2009-01-28T06:49:00.000-08:00

Apparently Kmart knows something the rest of us don't because yesterday, when the kids and I stopped in there before heading over to the library, it looked like they were gearing up for a full on beach party. With our chapped lips, lingering coughs and in multiple layers of outerwear, we stared awe struck and not a little confused at the patio sets and gazebos next to aisles of bubbles, jump ropes and squirt guns. It is still January, am I right? And in the Midwest, winter lasts well into March, even April.

But who is to say that Martha Stewart hasn't concocted from out of phyllo dough and decorative tissue paper an early (and elegant) spring? Perhaps Ms. Stewart, Kmart and their lucrative Everyday brand are going to surprise us with a warm and sunny February.

Well now, wouldn't that be a good thing?

I'm only going over home

2009-01-27T06:22:00.000-08:00

It had been awhile since I’d been really taken aback by the fact that I am aging, and quickly at that. In college, of course, I wrote entry after melodramatic entry in my Salvador Dali themed journal about being on the "cusp of full blown adulthood" (oh mercy), but then I got settled into my role of wife, mother, inept housekeeper and no longer had hours of time on my hands to meditate of the fascinating subject of "me." Recently, however, my grandmother passed away and since then I've been finding myself dipping back into memories of childhood - recalling moments, people, sights and smells I hadn't thought about for years, and now here I am longing for them.

In the above photo, I am five-years-old and my cousin, Kelly, whose smooth and platinum hair I always envied, is standing next to me. We're in Ohio at a family gathering and I can picture pretty clearly what we probably ate, what we were playing before and after this snapshot was taken. I know that whenever we stayed with my grandparents, we loved making forts and Pepsi in bottles and individual boxes of sugar cereal with toast for breakfast. Three out of four of my kids are now older than I was then and quite frankly, that is hard for me to wrap my mind around.

I like the mid-thirties in that I finally feel truly comfortable in my own gradually wrinkling skin. But the speed with which life passes by as I get older and older still, can be unsettling. It is good though, I think, to feel death's breath as I move forward, God willing, into the second half of my existence on this earth. Or then, again, perhaps tomorrow ... well, you get the point. I need as many incentives as possible to make every single second count for more than merely "something." Stay focused.

can't steal my happiness

2009-01-26T09:29:00.000-08:00

The kids and I woke up hacking and uncomfortably dry, cracked, raw, scratchy. What we need up in here is an industrial strength humidifier and a big old vat of Lubriderm. Our weekend was the kind of busy that might leave a visitor under the assumption that our house had been rifled through by vandals or torn asunder by a tornado touching down in our living room. I'm not exactly sure where to begin, as usual.

Now don't get me wrong, MANY, many times I have greeted a brand new day with the less than optimistic realization that, Oh my gosh, these four kids aren't going anywhere! And then the whining starts over school assignments, chores, being breathed on by a sibling, and I second-guess that mammoth decision I made to educate the children myself. But for some inexplicable reason, I am presently being blessed with the capacity to actually appreciate the boisterousness and aliveness of my environment.

The bulk of us are still in our jammies. We've been snuggling on the couch reading history books and snacking on pretzels. Mom! Where are the Kleenexes? they ask me every five minutes or so. I stroke their hair; press my palm on their foreheads to check for fevers. The truth is, I really, really like them.

I could dwell, I suppose, on other scenarios involving me in a silent house organizing my spice drawer but why in the world, if you really stop and ponder on it, would I think that would make me happier than being all wrapped up and invested in the lives of my incredible, outrageous, family members? I have six more hours to go until my husband gets home from work; I'm praying now, as I write this, for the strength to make the most of them, to keep my thoughts and "what if?" daydreams from betraying me.

She was the belle of Johnson County

2009-01-24T13:53:00.000-08:00

Ah! Nothing warms me up like a little Loretta Lynn on an icy Saturday morning. For your listening and viewing pleasure I present to you two versions of the same family favorite, Van Lear Rose. The first is sung expertly by seven-year-old Priscilla who listened to the song on CD no less than 75 times in order to memorize all the lyrics. The second (below) is sung/shouted by three-year-Mary. Enjoy!

life may hand us lemons...

2009-01-22T16:18:00.000-08:00

All morning I rehearsed out loud my answers to the questions I was anticipating she might throw at me.

Who are you talking you?! Priscilla asked

It focuses mostly on the interior lives of mothers, I replied.

Paige, my sister-in-law and hard working publicist, arranged for me to be interviewed this afternoon by an area newspaper about my book. I was really looking forward to it.

We arrived at the agreed upon meeting spot, our town's only coffee shop, a few minutes early, press kit in hand.

Are you here to see Alex? said the girl behind the counter.

That we were.

Well she's sick and can't come. She wanted me to tell you.

And thus I'd practiced (and broke out my knee high boots) for naught.

But lemonade! Lemonade and Silver Linings! That is for sure my new motto and to prove it, I came up with three distinct benefits of being stood up by our reporter:

1. I ordered and then drank leisurely a four dollar beverage containing two shots of espresso and chocolate syrup.

2. Paige and I had a chance (see above) to strategize a bit, without our children interrupting us, and generate new ideas regarding the marketing of Close to Home.

3. One of the coffee shop employees took my name and number to give to the owner, who apparently likes to support local authors by displaying and selling their books and even having them come and do readings on the weekends.

Oh boy, and tomorrow is Friday.

It's just coming up roses all over the place.

long long journey

2009-01-22T05:39:00.000-08:00

Four years ago, I imagined a resource that would bring comfort to mothers, not by providing answers but rather by acknowledging and articulating their most intimate struggles and assuring them they are not alone. I dreamed of being able to reflect very, very, honestly on both my difficult and joyous experiences while expressing clearly my conviction that motherhood is sacred. Two years ago, Conciliar Press agreed to help me fine-tune that idea and after many, many months of writing, re-writing, than crying a little bit, then revising, I am thrilled -beyond pleased to announce that the book is not only finished but that it reflects fully my original vision. Above is the cover. Coming soon - very soon - will be the rest. I will post updates regarding the upcoming pre-release sale and other new information as I receive them.

Thank you, thank you, thank you for your encouragement and prayers throughout this long, long, journey!!

never saw blue like that

2009-01-20T12:57:00.000-08:00

This blog is my collection of silver linings - my lemonade squeezed from lemons life has sporadically handed out for me to do with what I may. There are very few scenarios too downright horrific to extract any hope from. The bulk of the challenges I'll encounter, while wrestling my doubts and pressing onward in pursuit of love, freedom (from myself) and purpose, I'll endure, pray through fervently, and then decide to either learn from them or harbor resentment. My overarching goal, here, is to develop through practice and awareness, a genuine spirit of gratitude.

Because it is true that absence does indeed make the heart grow fonder, I am thankful for the changing seasons ushering in and back out again warmth then coolness, long evenings then shorter ones, blossoming trees, fierce looking icicles, wild strawberries. I am choosing (and using all of my determination to do so) to meditate on the above photos of our park, taken in late summer when the blueness of the skies no longer impressed me - when the sweat burning my eyes had me pining for a breeze so chilly, it would take my breath away.

Someday, I am sure of it, I will once again feel upon my shoulders the heat of the sun. I'll wear a single layer of cotton instead of scratchy woolen sweaters and knee socks. I will nostalgically post my memories of lazy weekends watching the snow fall out our window. I'd be wise, however, to focus all of my current energies on seizing the present - forecast, frustrations, ages of my children, the present chances to inhale my blessings and unearth something, anything, as many things as possible, worth celebrating.

your love is better

2009-01-19T17:26:00.000-08:00

Troy was off of work today and we had fun, fun, FUN being together! He took over homeschool while I cleaned and caught up from the weekend. He and the kids got through their history, math and calisthenics (Troy added that new component to our curriculum just this morning) in record time and then we all went on an outing to Barnes and Noble. Tonight we had dinner at a reasonable hour, ate ice cream for dessert and watched a movie.

It takes surprisingly little (I forget that sometimes) to make me content - thankful, encouraged, happy.

Quality time with my family means the world to me.

* Thanks to Beth for her Martin Luther King's Day post! The best kind of friends are the ones who can shake you awake from out a stupor of "indifference." I needed this today.

You've got to keep your mind wide open

2009-01-18T17:15:00.000-08:00

At the risk of you rolling your eyes and muttering under your breath that, Yes! We get it already! It's been a crazy intense winter in Indiana! I'm going to dedicate this one more (One last? We'll see) post to the topic of snow.

For the most part, my kids have adjusted to spending twenty minutes prep time on dressing appropriately before heading out to play. Piles of hats and boots and mittens and scarves we now keep constantly by our entry way for them to rummage through and mix and match. Elijah, Priscilla, Benjamin - they are tired of being cooped up inside.

Three-year-old Mary, however, has had more difficulty overcoming these seasonal inconveniences, opting rather to stay warm and coat-free in our living room with her Rubbermaid tub full of Barbies and baby dolls. She's braved it a few times, but only briefly. It's just not her thing, I figured. And that was that.

Here is your choice, my husband, Troy, who is a strong believer in children getting out of doors as frequently as possible, told Mary yesterday, take a nap or go sledding with us. Begrudgingly, she chose the latter. And then as preschoolers are apt to do, she surprised us once again by quite suddenly and inexplicably opening her mind to the possibility that adapting to (rather than avoiding) our blizzard-y environment can be less than miserable, enjoyable even. Almost two hours, three snowball fights and ten snow angels later, Troy had to lure her out of our yard with promises of pizza.

All night it snowed; it's snowing now. When I took out the garbage, it was up to my knees. Everything is white, thickly white and sparkling. I'd be annoyed, I suppose, exasperated by its relentlessness if I wasn't so in awe. You should see my street, I'm not kidding - it's extraordinary.

Good Day Sunshine

2009-01-17T13:07:00.000-08:00

It reached (positive) 20 degrees today. Compared to negative ridiculous, that seemed downright balmy and thus Troy and my brother, Bobby, took all the kids sledding. Yes, for those concerned, we have officially left the house! I have also, though this may fit under the category of Too Much Information, taken a shower and changed my clothes after four days of wearing the same old ratty sweat pants and warmy fleece jacket. We are all, slowly but surely, regaining our sanity.

If you fall, I will catch you. I'll be waiting.

2009-01-16T05:46:00.000-08:00

At first glance, the Sabourin household might seem awfully conventional, unexciting, in that my family and I are rarely called upon to risk our lives by fighting evil and injustice or, let's face it, to even put real, non-jammies, clothes on before lunchtime.

I'll have you know, however, that we are certainly no strangers to bravery or nail biting drama.

I'm not sure all of what happened prior, to tell you the truth, but what I witnessed in our very own living room was, I am certain, nothing short of heroicism. It was Tri-bot's time to shine, to showcase his quick and steady reflexes in the midst of danger. And Barbie? She's recovering, and reflecting on past choices that, in retrospect, were probably less than wise.

What? Get out more?

I'm delirious?

Well if those of you living in regions warm and mild who have graciously expressed their interest in having us as neighbors wouldn't mind, we'd liked to be picked up now.

I will be waiting. :)

when we've come down with cabin fever

2009-01-14T13:58:00.000-08:00

Remember before, that one time, when I said the snow was beautiful blah, blah, blah...like Narnia? Well I've altered my position slightly in light of the blizzard like conditions that have, over the last few days, replaced our mild and idyllic winter wonderland-worthy weather (whew!), forcing us indoors lest we literally freeze our flesh off. Tomorrow, so they say, the wind chill will approach -20 degrees.

Benjamin sprinted this afternoon, singing nonsense in his usually outlawed "High Opera" voice, upstairs then downstairs and I didn't stop him - until, that is, I was CERTAIN I would lose it if he continued with his Parade O' Hyperness for just one more second. I am trying to cut him, and all of us, some slack -the children and I, so pale and chilly and stir-crazy. We're a little desperate around here to see a face not belonging to an immediate family member. I think when the mail man stops by on Thursday, we'll invite him in to stay for tea - him or the UPS guy or any other brave soul out and about in our neighborhood, A.K.A the new tundra of the Midwest. We're not picky.

every girl's crazy about a sharp dressed man

2009-01-13T16:13:00.000-08:00

In all our fifteen years together, first as boyfriend and girlfriend and then husband and wife, Troy has maintained a rather minimalist wardrobe consisting mostly of Dickies pants and vintage western wear button-ups. He has always been low maintenance, shopping for new attire only when absolutely, and I mean absolutely, necessary. A year ago, however, he got a different job - a job requiring that he wear ties, sport coats, full-on suits and fancy shoes (or in other words, shoes that cannot be worn while skateboarding). Suddenly, we were frantically checking department stores, on-line stores, for more sophisticated items neither of us imagined he would ever consider purchasing and then ironing or, oh my goodness, donning on a daily basis.

Troy wakes up early in the mornings before my eyes have fully adjusted to the still too bright details of my surroundings, before I am even able to process what day it is, much less what my husband looks like as he darts from room to room getting ready. Each night, however, when he walks through the door, I am taken aback all over again by this handsome, sharp dressed man kissing me hello and hugging the children - this updated, slightly more dignified version of my beloved spouse.

He cleans up nice. I think I'll keep him.

Not just another manic Monday

2009-01-12T08:17:00.000-08:00

Turn the light on, I told my husband, Troy, at 5:45 this morning as we lay paralyzed in our bed unable to shake off the exhaustion preventing our heavy eyelids and comatose bodies from responding to the alarm clock ruining everything, maybe that will help.

It started last evening around 7:00 pm, the Sunday malaise signaling the dawn of a brand new week void of any pleasant disruptions, such as a national holiday or unseasonably warm weather. When finally we did pull back the covers, just in time to race around all flustered, making breakfast, preparing school lessons, pouring copious amounts of coffee into to-go cups before parting ways, I felt immediately the mounting pressure to be very, very productive. And yet, as usual, I had no plan - no fool-proof method for rounding up chaos and transforming it into order.

So it was manic alright, my Monday. It was laundry this and squabble that and Mom, I don't want to...(just fill in the blank, anything will apply). It was going to be typical, I figured, pretty textbook in its lack of noticeable highlights and ability to frustrate this stay-at-home mother and her four antsy children, still all revved up from our special weekend. But, boy oh boy, it turns out I was mistaken.

You see, on this date, the 12th of January, I was not born. Thanks to three-year-old Mary, who remembered that fact and then shared it with her siblings, my afternoon would defy the blah Monday odds by turning strangely celebratory. There was Play-Doh cake and singing and a too brief respite from the intensity of my responsibilities. There was a minute or two when all cares and concerns were forgotten in the excitment of this, my 72nd (I know, can you believe it?!) un-birthday.

And that is honestly all I have tonight to offer you in terms of optimism. It was a stressful day, a long day, a blur of plain old hard work and isolation punctuated by this one unusual occurrence. It is essential, now, that I grab hold of that singular sweet memory and release the remaining tension and regrets. Move on!

I didn't have time to register for gifts, by the way, but if you're interested in sending a little something to me (you know, in honor of this most recent non-milestone), just let me know and I'll provide you with a few tasteful suggestions. In the meantime, I'll drink this glass of red wine and toast the silence in my house. Cheers to 8:00 pm bedtimes and tomorrows!

(I wish I lived) Close to you

2009-01-11T14:13:00.000-08:00

Someone, I won't say who (but his name rhymes with "hobby" and we grew up under the same roof), likes to make good natured fun of my obsession with capturing moments, events of sometimes great (or of little) significance, with my fabulous new digital camera only to then summarize them with the sweetest and most numerous of words possible. This post, and these emoticons - :0 :-) ;) ;-)> - and this melancholy song are being to presented to you today in his honor.

Oh friends who converged at our home in Indiana for a quick weekend reunion, I want to thank you! To Beth and Jared, our former house mates and co-owners of the "Commune," our old Chicago two-flat, I appreciate you driving yourselves and our godson, Thomas, and the ADORABLE twins (Russell and Elliot) all the way from Iowa just so we could spend a couple of days together. To Greg and Marian, Mary's godparents, and the two nicest and most delightful individuals you could imagine, it was wonderful, as always, to bask in your calming presence. To our family members, who helped with cleaning and cooking and provided plenty of opportunities to laugh uproariously, I am grateful that you're stuck with me, and all my sappiness, by way of birth and marriage.

Standing together in Church this morning, I was imagining how utterly spectacular it would be to transplant each and every one of you from your current locations to various houses on my street - to walk on over and say "hello" on a random week day afternoon, to share a music stand with you in the choir, to see you whenever I wanted, to be your neighbor. But alas, I'll have to settle for these every so often occasions when our schedules align miraculously. I'll have to continue on with the fashioning of frequent and sentimental blog posts, posts that help me pause and drink in all that is good and salvific and meaningful in my life. I'll have to immediately start planning a "next time"...

please come back soon.

entertaining

2009-01-08T17:45:00.000-08:00

So I thought you'd like to see our back-up plan for when we lose the two stations we currently kind of get (It's embarrassing to admit how many fuzzy episodes of Dateline's To Catch a Predator I have watched...or more like endured while folding laundry on a rip-roaring Friday evening) because we don't have digital T.V. or cable. I am totally not exaggerating when I tell you that the above banana box, expertly crafted to resemble a working television, has provided my kids with hours of entertainment. So intensely do Priscilla, Ben and Mary stare, in fact, at the Barbies and Rescue Heroes dramatizing (via Elijah's adeptness at story telling) imagination inspired adventures on that make believe screen, it nearly warrants an old school lecture on how sitting too close will hurt their eyes, fry their brains, stunt their growth.

While, admittedly, a few kinks still need to be ironed out (i.e. how to best recreate sporting events using Star Wars action figures and Polly Pockets), I am pleased overall with my family's ingenuity, our can-do attitude, our ability to think outside "the box" (Funny, right? Do you get it? Box?). Now if only it were possible to concoct some kind of a computer (preferably one similar to the new ultra thin MacBooks) from out of Play-Doh, a milk carton, and bobby pins, for when our ancient Toshiba inevitably crashes. Where there's a will there's a way, isn't that what they say? I'll for sure keep you posted on our progress.

Snow Day

2009-01-07T19:25:00.000-08:00

We've had rain and lots of ice and extremely cold temperatures, but it's been awhile since we've had some good old fashioned snow - the kind of snow that coats our sidewalks and trees and roof tops. This is the scene from our front door and despite my growing annoyance with winter and its various complications (Where are your boots, Ben? Please don't poke holes in the plastic covering our windows. The car will warm up soon, I promise.), I can't help but find it absolutely beautiful, ethereal, mystical - like Narnia.

Are you feeling better than before?

2009-01-06T19:05:00.000-08:00

Yesterday morning it was a tummy ache (The same one Mary had, and then Benjamin - the one I'm sure to get shortly) that had you whimpering on the couch and begging for blankets, apple juice, a back rub. These sort of needs I can handle. But I am bracing myself, however, for the days when that face, that wounded spirit, resist my efforts to provide comfort by way of treats or soothing words because your pain and disappointment, born out of humanity itself, must be endured for faith (for courage and hope divine) to truly blossom. I pray now, sweetheart, and forever, that these small acts, my present acts of unconditional love offered continuously, in the name of the Holy Trinity, will help sustain you.

There's a hidden life for everyone.
Sorrow remains though you can tell no-one.
The Host on your tongue is a perfect moon.
It does shine inside you.
You shine into the room.

And I can only say that I have hoped for you.
Safety from fears and darkness
Are you feeling better than before?

- Innocence Mission
You are the Light

no more an orphan girl

2009-01-06T08:50:00.000-08:00

What Mary wanted was an American Girl Doll, which was approximately seventy dollars out of our price range. While at T.J.Maxx, however, power shopping with Troy's sisters the day after Thanksgiving, I came across this (see above) lovely little darling with glassy blue eyes and synthetic yellow hair. For a fraction of what I'd pay to make my daughter's fervent (yet ever evolving) Christmas wish come true, I could bring home and wrap up something...I mean someone similar to the hard to resist characters featured in each of the numerous American Girl Doll catalogues scattered around our bedrooms, the dining room, the office, faded and torn from so much page turning and damp with drool. I winced a bit in the checkout line remembering back to how a friend of mine reacted to a Cabbage Patch Kid imposter, all lovingly hand made in an obvious and deformed body shape kind of way, she'd received in lieu of the real "signatured bum" deal. Let's just say it was precisely the type of let down I was hoping not to duplicate. "Best of luck to you sweetheart," I whispered as encouragingly as possible to the look alike who would very soon be presented to my often fickle preschooler. "If this doesn't work out, don't take it personally."

If Mary noticed that her gift wasn't exactly what she'd asked for, she didn't let on. "Take her out, mama!" she begged, handing me the box her pristine baby doll was firmly affixed to via a thousand silvery wires. And then finally, when free of her excessive packaging, my daughter held her in her arms, we asked her what she'd name her brand new friend. "Kit," she replied immediately, without any hesitation. And just like that, she became family. Now it's "Kit this," and "Kit that," and "Be quiet, Kit is sleeping." It seems they've adopted one another - two teeny tinies in need of someone (just their size) to hold on to.

you're the gift I've always wanted

2009-01-05T11:40:00.000-08:00

My beautiful sister-in-law, Paige

The bejeweled arms of my niece, Isabelle

My eldest, Elijah

Grandpa Mike

Yours truly, surrounded by cuteness in the form of my half blinking Ben reunited with his buddy, Isabelle

John Maddex - dad

Ooh, Look at that angel face! My other niece, Janie.

What a joy to be together again! This past Sunday, the Maddex and Sabourin families reunited over omelets and pancakes after weeks of being scattered between here and Texas. My brother, Bobby, and his wife, Paige, and their two girls, Jane and Isabelle, drove the thousand plus miles to Austin where Paige's parents and siblings reside, and where they found much needed warmth in a kinder southern climate and in her hometown friends and relatives who welcomed them back with open arms. They asked me to watch over their fish while they were gone, but then I killed it, so that was sad (and a pretty good indicator that I am not, nor may never be, ready to care for anything else alive besides my husband and four kids). Paige sweetly assured me, however, that her girls would indeed recover, especially in light of the brand new puppy, Lola, they received as a Christmas present.

Tomorrow is Theophany, the Feast of the Baptism of Jesus, as well as the 5th birthday of a hopefully resilient, Isabelle. Providing naps go well, and no one comes down with a fever or a stomach virus or some other unexpected ailment between now and 7:00 pm, we'll all gather again at St. Elizabeth's and together (what a blessing in the midst of all those head ache-y responsibilities breathing down my neck) attend, and wonder at, Christ's revelation of His divinity in the River Jordan, which brings continued healing to all of us who thirst incessantly for something more, for something lasting.

you said you let your hair down...

2009-01-04T16:19:00.000-08:00

We piled into the van on Saturday evening and made the two hour journey home from my in-laws' (where we never hurried once to get to anyplace in particular and slept in and ate ice cream till our mouths were numb from all that frigidness mixed with chocolaty sweetness - euphoric bowl after bowl full). These photos capture pretty darn well the general goofiness of a certain rested Mr. and Mrs. Sabourin, who were fortunate enough to escape for awhile the recent steady string of sewer and thermostat and oven debacles, not to mention the mother of all gas bills, awaiting them back at their headquarters in Indiana. This song, this album, is our stay awake music and thus I am providing you with a very accurate depiction of Troy and I on the road, enjoying immensely the quite rare and refueling "alone" time we managed to make the most of from the front seats of our car while he drove and I remembered why, exactly, I fell so head over heels in love with him in the first place.

I'll Leave the Kitchen Light On

2008-12-30T06:33:00.000-08:00

Troy and I are suckers for old houses, which explains why we hastily bought our own Victorian beauty without looking once at anything else in the neighborhood. Lately, however, we've found her "quirks" to be less than charming. It's been one thing after another and I'm ashamed to admit that my eyes and heart have wandered, have gazed lustily upon the up and coming subdivisions boasting street after street of newly constructed masterpieces featuring whirlpool tubs, walk-in closets, granite counter tops. "Our lives would be better," I convince myself, "Not only better, but safer and perfectly perfect, if only..."

Late last night I came back from the grocery store and from the garage saw the golden glow of our kitchen, all warm and welcoming. Just beyond that creaking screen door were the remnants of a meal shared with my very favorite people in the whole wide world. Just up the stairs and around the corner, there were books being read and kisses exchanged. Just inside those cracked and plaster covered walls was my firecracker of a family: a gift worth more, so much more, than the time I've been wasting on pining for luxuriousness, for ease - for an illusion.

she's the best around

2008-12-29T10:14:00.000-08:00

Much like Ralph Macchio she was the underdog, openly mocked by the bigger, more experienced knights who were stronger, yes, but no match for her speed or her passion. It was David vs. Goliath, Daniel Larusso vs. Johnny, all over again. Throwing caution to the wind, Mary faced her dangerous adversaries head-on in a "winner-takes -all" battle of wits and brawn. They snickered at first, due to her tiny frame and her unconvential choice to don a lacy peach gown beneath her armor, but they didn't laugh for long - oh no. Sweep the leg, kid! the crowd screamed and cheered in unison. That's all it took to awaken within her the raging beast that would force her trembling competitors to surrender on the spot and prove to everyone that she's the best - the best around.

our finest gifts we bring...

2008-12-28T12:46:00.001-08:00

Pause Mr. Cash before playing video

I had no doubts that Priscilla would give 155% to her performance. For days and days she practiced, Listen, mom, listen! And then I sat down on the couch for yet another round of Drummer Boy, Jingle Bells and What Child is This? With gusto and emotion reserved only for the most special of occasions, Priscilla provided those well-known Christmas classics with new life (and sometimes alternative melodies and lyrics). Benjamin, on the other hand, was not as...well, I guess the word would be dedicated to the process of preparation.

This morning we all oohed and awed at our transformed church basement, now a dimly lit stage worthy of Broadway caliber musicals, and the children, excited children, fidgeted their way through liturgy. I pulled Benjamin aside before he darted down the stairs, No silliness, please, I reminded him ... again.

They were angels, all of them, angels -sweet voiced and exuberant. Benjamin, especially, embraced the experience of being heard by an attentive and encouraging crowd of adults. I was so proud, so delighted, so transfixed by the adorableness of the moment.

joy

2008-12-25T13:34:00.000-08:00

Christ is born! Glorify Him!

Well, it's Christmas and we are soaking up the loveliness of Divine Liturgy, feasting foods, togetherness and yes, presents. We've had a wonderful day and I am bursting at the seams - I will explode, in fact, if I wait any longer to tell you that I'M B-A-A-A-C-K! Guess who received a new and better digital camera from her parents and grandfather to replace the one she broke? Guess! Are you stumped? O.K. fine, it was me and I am so surprised and thankful. After the New Year, I hope to inundate you with Snapshots a Plenty, but for now, my dear friends, I wish you a Blessed Nativity! Enjoy your families, your festive meals, and most of all enjoy the peace that comes through faith in the Incarnation. May God bless you with joy, with unfazable hopefulness.