Parenting dilemmas

It used to be that I had to do background checks on high school girls for babysitters. Now I'm doing background checks on high school girls for homecoming "dates." Eek.

Last weekend was homecoming for my teenagers - the school week had dress up days and class contests. The football game and crowning of princesses was Friday night. And the dance was Saturday. A weeklong festive brouhaha, which to my cynical self seems rooted in a desire to inculcate school spirit in teenagers in order to elicit future donations when these teenagers are middle aged alumni, but to my kinder self is a welcome diversion in the middle of the fall term that seeks to inspire a feeling of community and good will. I had my first job as a substitute last week, and thoroughly enjoyed observing the teenagers rally, while at the same time I thought they probably shouldn't be distracted from their studies. On the other hand, thinking back to A Separate Peace, I wonder if the school tames something in the teen heart by sanctioning a week of theatricality.

The week made me realize we're at another challenging stage of parenting - navigating "relationships."  I was hoping maybe the issue of dating wouldn't come up until college. My older son went to the homecoming dance with a group of friends - one is from a family of five with a kid at Thomas Aquinas College, one is another former home schooler, another is in all the same AP classes. My son asked this last girl to go to the dance with him, but her parents won't let her date, so she bought her own ticket. Great! The tickets were way more expensive than I thought they should be, so I was glad we didn't have to finance another one. While nothing is certain, I felt no hesitation about approving oldest son's request to go out to eat with this group of kids.

My second son asked a girl whose parents we have met several times. They are at church every Sunday and seem like a nice family. But then her friend invited them to go in on a limo ride to the dance after a dinner party at her house beforehand.  This friend has a brother who is a senior who was going in a different limo with his friends to the dance.  Hmm - riding in a limousine sounds like a pretext to drink from flasks. I was hesitant to give permission. I emailed another person whose opinion I trust as well as you can trust someone you've known since August, and this person loves that family and was going to be at the dinner party with her daughter. That made me feel better, but it's no fun to be in the position of making a decision about trusting teenagers. In the end the sophomores did not ride in a limo, but in their parents' Suburbans. And I picked them up at the end of the evening - they said they had a good time, no one appeared disorderly, and the week ended with me realizing my anxiety had been useless as usual.

Parenting is a catch-22. In some regards, it seems like you're doomed if you do, and you're doomed if you don't.  Practice attachment parenting, home school, guard your children's purity, and they rebel against you.  Try to be attentive, attuned, engaged, and they wonder why they aren't happy all the time when they are adults. This article from The Atlantic, "How to Land Your Kid in Therapy," about how young adults who should be well adjusted and satisfied are seeking therapy because they feel anxious about not feeling happy and being unable to make decisions, got under my skin.  The author concludes that these young adults had parents whose focus on ensuring their kids' happiness has backfired by making their grown children less resilient.  It made me question whether we shouldn't just put this next baby in daycare and public school, and I'll work 50 hour weeks and ignore the kid so he'll develop resiliency and learn to suffer.

I followed the reading of that article with Simcha Fisher's article-response to Matt Walsh's rant about public school. More food for thought. I tend to side with Fisher, with experience of private, public, and home school. None of the options are perfect. And every child has different needs. My kids have had some great teachers in public school and Catholic school.  My now eighth grader had a wonderful 7th grade year in public school after being home schooled for 5 years and going to Catholic school for 2 years. His trip to DC for winning the ecybermission competition was the feather in his cap, but he also excelled in drama and band and at the science fair - all things we didn't do at home.  He just got back Iowa test scores and did fabulous, like his two older brothers.

Meanwhile, the three youngers had terrible math scores.  Their language arts scores were fine, which perhaps reflects the fact that they were taught at home for the last 2 years by a teacher who majored in English and doesn't really like math and who was just worn out enough to say, "All right, you can be done with math for the day" when a little more drill or corrections should have been done.

I know, test scores don't assess a child's true gifts, and I'm not really that worried about them. But I see it as an indication that home schooling longer was not a good choice for me or for these kids.

Walsh brought up the history of public schooling in his argument. I've read about John Dewey's crusade for mediocrity. I also know that Catholic schools don't protect kids from bad choices any more than public schools.  But I also see that they offer my kids other opportunities, including that of learning to make good choices. My two oldest wouldn't have signed up to be peer mentors for the confirmation classes if they weren't invited to the high school Bible study by a friend from their school.  Maybe they are making good choices now because I home schooled them for five years or maybe because they went to public school the last two years and saw a lot of kids make bad choices.  Or maybe it's God's grace.

When I assess our parenting style, I see us in the middle of the road. We aren't like the author of the Atlantic article: offering choices about food and shopping and activities hasn't happened often around here - people with a bunch of kids can't please them all, nor can they be arbitrators all the time. We are protective about friends and activities, but I don't think we've sheltered our kids from death, disappointment, disease, deprivation. The Navy has made sure they've felt a little pain. I can be a little bit of a tiger mom about school work and reading, although no where near so much as an Amy Chua; my husband can be a slave driver about keeping the house, yard, and cars clean.  He's not as demanding as his dad was, but we both have tried to drive a message about the virtue of hard work and delayed gratification into the kids' brains.

So I'm hoping my kids won't have to go to therapy when they are older. I hope they won't lose their faith either.  But no school choice comes with guarantees, nor does any parenting style.

Back to The Atlantic article: Aside from making me question my own parenting practices, a regular occurrence, the article raised a bigger question that the author didn't address at all -- why do these people think they should be happy all the time?  Why are they seeking therapy because they don't feel satisfied all the time?  Isn't it normal to feel a little disappointed or melancholy at times?  As a person of faith, that sense of longing for something more and better is the God-shaped hole in the human heart that can only be filled with faith, not a cause for seeking therapy.  It's a human condition, not the result of over-attentive parents. Maybe these attentive parents gave their children misplaced expectations, but isn't it rather a universal experience to find that your childish vision of adult freedom and happiness is an illusion?  So perhaps it's not as important whether we send our kids to school or educate them at home, as long as we teach them that our purpose in life is not earthly happiness, but to know, love, and serve God and be happy with Him forever in eternal life.

Perhaps those therapists mentioned in The Atlantic article will help those young adults learn to recognize the benefits of a little bit of suffering and longing rather than blaming their parents for trying too hard to make them happy.  And I pray that my own kids will learn to recognize the need for faith to guide them in a world filled with choices good, bad, and ambiguous.

On Reading Trollope

Just as I suspected: I stuck with Anthony Trollope's The Eustace Diamonds long enough to get drawn in and enjoy the story.  Although Trollope was prolific and is still popular in certain small circles, I had never read any of his novels.  I had started this one a couple of times only to set it aside in favor of something more gripping. But I finally read far enough along to get to know the characters and to care about them, even though they aren't really very likable, except Lucy Morris, the governess, and Lady Fawn, her employer.

The plot: Clever young girl from a good but indebted family gets herself married to a Lord.  Lizzie Eustace is very beautiful, but she doesn't have any gifts or abilities other than a talent for lying and manipulative dramatics.  Her love for romantic poetry extends only to the extent to which it provides her a frame for her own narrative and a text to study up on how to woo a husband.  Her first marriage is a success: She marries Lord Eustace, gets herself an income and a son, and then he obligingly dies.  For a year or so she plays the part of the sad widow, but she quickly realizes she must find another husband.  She's lonely and an object of interest because she has thousands of pounds a year and an estate in Scotland.  She's finds herself courted by her cousin and another young peer, Lord Fawn.  Her cousin is in love with Lord Fawn's sisters' governess, Lucy, but he is an up and coming barrister with a political career in Parliament and he needs money.  Lord Fawn proposes first, but unfortunately, shortly after Lizzie Eustace accepts him, he learns how conniving she is, and that she is involved in a potential lawsuit with her late husband's family about some diamonds her husband let her wear. The contention is that these diamonds, worth 10000 pounds, are a family heirloom, and since they weren't listed in the will, they couldn't be simply given to Lady Eustace.  She, of course, claims (dishonestly) that he expressly gave them to her while at their estate in Scotland (since everything at the estate supposedly belongs to her).

That's the set-up. The rest of the 700 pages go on about Lizzie's attempts to keep the diamonds, Lord Fawn's internal debate about breaking the engagement, Frank Greystock, the cousin, and Lucy's secret engagement, and Lizzie's other romantic entanglements, with the crisis occurring when the diamonds are believed stolen and then actually stolen.  Lizzie's dishonesty is finally revealed, her false friendships are tested and found wanting, Lord Fawn escapes from a disastrous near-marriage, while Frank and Lucy finally make their engagement known, even though this means Frank will sacrifice future prestige for future happiness, if all goes well.

I loved reading this, even though it did drag on. Pure escapism into a very different world. The women do little but try to find husbands and entertain.  Money and prestige are hugely influential in this hunt. (The most dramatic part of the novel is a foxhunt where the ladies nearly outride the men - a metaphor, I assume?) Trollope must not have had much faith in happy marriages. And he certainly saw money/greed as a huge motivation for human choice.  The introduction of this book went on and on about the politics of the day in regard to inheritance and titles, of which I understood very little, other than that Trollope was writing during a period of cultural shift, and he captures the pretense at decadence very well.

What captured my attention was the acceptance of the status quo and the fear of going against public approval. Lord Fawn is terrified of breaking off an engagement with a girl who is obviously a terrible match for him. Why would anyone think badly of him?  Today, no one thinks a thing about broken engagements (or broken marriages). Frank is afraid both to deny his affection for Lucy (and seeing himself as a romantic hero) or his need for money. No one would think badly of him for marrying his rich cousin instead of the girl he has won the affection of. And poor Miss MacNulty, Lizzie's companion, and Lucy Morris. Since they have no family and no money, they have no prospect for happiness without a romantic miracle.  They are limited to earning their income by accompanying rich people around and listening to their petty problems.  Theirs was a very small world.

What a contrast to today. Potential spouses can be found worldwide, thanks to the internet. Breaking a promise means nothing. Women have opportunities to seek their own fortune. Fortunes are made and lost and made and lost.  Family of origin is not destiny.  But people are still motivated by greed and vanity. They still gossip.  They still lie and steal and litigate.  Human nature doesn't change even if our circumstances do. Which is why it's so much fun to read about human nature in Victorian dress.

Pregnancy Journal

I got a call yesterday from the nurse at my ob/gyn.

"We just heard from the perinatalogist with results from your exam and tests."

A little pit of panic opened up inside. The perinatalogist did blood work and the in-depth 3D ultrasound. The US photos looked good, but were the blood tests pointing to a problem?

"Based on your history of pre-term labor, they want you to start Makena shots as soon as possible."

What? My history? I have had 6 children. The first one was born at 35 weeks. The others were, in order, 38 weeks (an estimate because I never menstruated before he was conceived), almost 41 weeks, 41 weeks, 41 weeks and 40 weeks.  Yes, the first was early. But he weighed 6 lbs 11 oz, and other than being a little jaundiced, having some reflux, and being born with no eyebrows, he was fine.

He was born 3 days after I returned from a trans-Atlantic flight to England with my mom. We spent a week traipsing about the Cotswolds with my sister who was spending a semester at Oxford.  Flights were only $300 from Boston, and we were living in Rhode Island at the time.  I begged permission from a doctor at the Navy base (silly to say "my dr" because I never saw the same person twice) who said, "If you were 36 weeks, I'd say no, but go ahead and have a good time."  It was too wonderful of an opportunity to pass up.  One of the most memorable moments was my mother pronouncing the word "uterus" as we crossed paths with a group of young male students out for some ale. We were having some conversation about what would happen if I fell down, and my mom was explaining how the water in the uterus protected the baby.  I also discussing with my sister making a pit stop near the White Horse of Uffington. It was so foggy that we could have just squatted in the grass with privacy. No need for shrubbery. Did we or didn't we? And then there was the day we were exploring a little village and happened upon a church and an old rectory. I think it was the parish of Katherine Mansfield, but I've been known to mix details.  As we were strolling through the garden, the elderly inhabitant of the Olde Rectory shooed us away, informing us that visitors were welcome at the Rectory, not the Olde Rectory.

So anyway, I came home after a grand week, and turned right around to head back to Boston to meet up with my husband's brother and best friend from college. If I had had any understanding of contractions, I might have recognized signs of prodromal labor as we did the historical Boston walking tour, miles of it.  In retrospect, I might have prevented pre-term labor with an little sit-down and water.

But nonetheless, since then, I have never been encouraged to take progesterone or its new commercial variety, Makena, during any of my other pregnancies. In fact, I remember being told not to worry too much about being pre-term with the second one.  Of course, medical policies shift and change (no soft cheeses or sprouts?), but I see this recommendation as an example of why our medical system is broken.

Some issues:
1. I had never heard of Makena, so I did a little research.  These shots, given weekly starting around 20 weeks, cost about $700- $1440 a piece, and could run upwards of $30,000 per pregnancy for 18-20 shots. Meanwhile, shots of compounded progesterone are about $15 - so a total pregnancy cost of around $300.  Apparently these are now hard to find.  I have government healthcare through the military. Why should I pass on this cost to the taxpayers if I don't really need these shots?

2. One of the side effects of the shots is that they could cause pre-term labor and miscarriage, which they are supposed to prevent.  I know these lists of side effects are legally required and could be very rare if nonexistent. I don't doubt that the shot can help people who are at high risk of pre-term labor.  But I don't truly believe that I am high risk.

3. The perinatalogist offered me at least 4 different tests for genetic disorders. I could have said, let's do them all right there. Instead I agreed to do the AFP test, which I have declined in the past because of its high rate of false positive results.  If something amiss is indicated, then maybe we'll opt for additional testing, although another ultrasound may be sufficient to determine if we need to be prepared for anything unusual at delivery. He pointed out that one test comes from two different companies, one of which is significantly cheaper if our insurance declines to cover the other.  I get the feeling he can order up any test he wants and pass off the cost to insurance companies.

4. Why haven't my other doctors warned me of preterm labor or prescribed weekly shots? Am I really at risk or should I have stayed home back in 1997?

5. I intend to decline the shots. But as I was thinking about my little bit of research while I was jogging yesterday, I felt a little uncertain. What if I do go into preterm labor? Every pregnancy is different.  If I start having contractions and then deliver at 34 weeks or earlier, how awful will I feel about turning these shots down?  Doctors have a corner on emotional blackmail. If you don't do what they recommend and the worst comes true, you are responsible for whatever terrible outcome occurs.  I've thought about pointing out that these shots shouldn't be taken by someone with diabetes, and since I have tested on the border of gestational diabetes 3/6 times (I've failed the 1 hour glucose test every pregnancy), this is a pretty good excuse.

6. Pregnancy is a time of great anxiety, much of it irrational, and I'm sure doctors feel pressured to make sure everything turns out perfectly for their patients because of the history of parents pursuing legal action for those times when things aren't perfect.  The last time I saw a civilian doctor, with number 5, I had to start paying an extra $15 "education fee" halfway through the pregnancy because the doctor's malpractice insurance kept going up through no fault of his own. Another dr. friend told me about how a lot of OB doctors are leaving the field or not doing high risk deliveries anymore for the same reason.  So I get why doctors feel obligated to offer these tests and preventative medications.  I just wish they would give a straight answer about the real risks and benefits.

7. I was questioned by the nurse at my first appointment about why I didn't come for care until my 13th week. I couldn't really go into the whole reason - Well, I thought I was only 12 weeks, and my appointment originally was scheduled for the week before, and I hesitated before making the appointment because I thought I might miscarry/didn't want to admit I was pregnant, etc, etc. And I wasn't in a hurry to start the monthly dr's appointments.  -  So I told the nurse that I had trouble getting an appointment that fit my schedule. I knew not much happened at that first appointment. I had already picked up my prenatal vitamins weeks before at the clinic on base, so I was taking vitamins. Do you really need more than one appointment in your first trimester? Probably only if you might potentially terminate the pregnancy.

8. Found myself at a coffee shop table with a new mom in the spouses' book club.  I asked her where she delivered and which doctor she saw. Her dr. is in the same practice as the doctor I went to see.  She proceeded to tell me a lot of information about her birth plan, her labor, what she thought went well and what she would've preferred to have been different. She obviously had done a lot of research on pregnancy and delivery. I felt a little deceptive because I didn't admit that I have six other kids and that I'm probably 15 years her senior. Maybe she knew. I also kind of like pretending this is my first baby when I'm standing in line in the grocery store while the kids are in school, even though by the overflowing abundance of my cart it should be obvious that I have other kids at home.  Every baby is kind of like a first baby. This is my first baby as an AMA patient (advanced maternal age - shouldn't that be older than me?)

9. It seems to me that there's a lot of unnecessary procedure in maternity care - not to mention unnecessary stuff in maternity/baby productland. The only things I've really want to buy are a baby jogger and a car seat.  But I'm also susceptible to anxieties and fears for this baby and for myself.  Like every pregnant lady, I really kind of appreciate going to the doctor monthly for the reassurance that everything is fine, the baby is growing, your body is working as it should, even though for a normal pregnancy, those appointments seem a bit unnecessary.

10. I think I have begun to feel the baby move - or is it just a gas bubble? I want to trust that this pregnancy, labor, and delivery will be just as unremarkable and have the same happy ending as the others. But being out of practice and much older has me undeniably worried that some misfortune will befall us this time around. We have been incredibly blessed with healthy kids and uncomplicated deliveries. May the blessings continue.

Quick Takes on Life in Sunny SoCal

So we've been here almost three months now.  Pictures are on the walls. I know my way around town. I have updated all our important paperwork except my driver's license. I'm banking on the military spouses protection clause to cover me. Most places we live, I like to try to blend in as much as possible. But I'm still withholding a decision about identifying as a Californian.  Plus I like my picture and the pretty pink background on my Guam license.

Why not become Californian? This is the promised land to some people, manifest destiny, most beautiful climate on earth.  It is nice to wake up every day and not have to think about what the weather is going to be like.  But it was the same way in Guam, except rainier and hotter. I miss rain a little.  But mostly I just still feel like a stranger here, partly of my own choosing because I'm hesitant to make connections when I know I'll have to pull back when the baby comes.  My source of interesting information, NPR, had a preview of a show coming up on identity. Can we choose our identity? "Identity is place" said one voice.  Troubling thought to those of us who are transients.  Of course I beg to differ, and yet, every place we live gets compared to what I knew as home for the first half of my life.

Some comparisons:
1. Paperwork, paperwork. California has more paperwork than any place we've ever lived. I thought about signing up to substitute teach. I'd have to take a test, buy a license, get fingerprinted and TB tested, and then apply.  The process is off-putting. So I can pass out worksheets and watch kids fill them out? Most places you just have to be alive and have a couple college credits to substitute teach.  The same daunting prospect of paperwork and fee paying has me putting off taking my 16 year old to get his driver's license. His permit from Guam means nothing here.  We'll see if the amount of chauffeuring children becomes daunting before I break down, file the pages of paperwork, and pay the fees for him to drive (+ the increase in insurance).

2. Beautiful People and Beauty shops: There are a lot of beautiful people here. This is both a happy thing and a sad thing.  I was noticing at the teen Mass on Sunday how many pretty young girls were there. I wondered if my boys noticed. I like that natural hair and make-up are in style right now, rather than the permed and sprayed look popular when I was a teenager. (Mercifully not coming back in with 80's fashion.) And hopefully the message these girls are hearing at Mass is encouraging them to value their inner beauty even more.  Beauty is obviously big business: clothing boutiques, salons, spas, etc. are everywhere.  The priest quoted some statistics on the amount of money spent on things like salons and dog groomers last week at Mass to lead into his homily on the Gospel about the rich man and the poor beggar Lazarus.  I can't imagine what is spent on plastic surgery and fancy cars.  I felt guilty about what I spent on my haircut a couple weeks ago.  I continually struggle with what is a fair amount to spend on making our home attractive - there is a place and a need for beauty. But how do we balance that with a call to give to the poor and to live simply?

3.  Especially since there are so many homeless people here. I saw a number of 1074 homeless people in our town listed in an article about a recent fundraiser. I'm surprised the number is not higher.  Most of the major intersections have panhandlers on each corner. There's a guy who hangs out near the corner of our church. Our church offers Wednesday night suppers and St. Vincent de Paul services. This guy could probably walk up to the rectory and get assistance.  I have very mixed emotions about helping panhandlers. In some ways I feel it's enabling a weakness to pass out spare change. Am I called to hand that guy on the corner a dollar every time I drive by? Wouldn't these individuals be better served by seeking help from a social service worker who can assist them in job-finding and addiction management? Another a story on public radio described how landlords in Nashville are providing apartments to homeless people. About 25% are expected to fall out of the program through eviction or some other fallback, but that means 75% are on the road to recovering stability.  But it does tweak your conscience to leave church after putting cash in the basket without handing a couple dollars to the dirty guy on the street.

4. Other common sites:  Thrift stores and vintage cars, especially Volkswagen vans.  If people aren't driving luxury cars, they seem to be driving vintage cars. This must be where old cars come to retire.  Recycling is certainly a part of the culture here.  How many main streets have thrift stores next to their touristy gift shops and gourmet restaurants?  How many places can you go where you find a glass storage jar with a screw on lid (good for storing homemade granola) for a $1.99 in the thrift store, then walk a couple doors down to an antique store and find the same jar for $15.99? (I didn't buy either one, although my sister-in-law praised its usefulness.) We also saw an enamel lobster pot with a 200% markup from the thrift store version.

5. Traffic.  Happily, my daily drive to and from school doesn't pass through congested areas, unless an accident has occurred. But I drove my son to Long Beach the other day to catch a ferry to Catalina Island for a field trip. I think it was 81 miles away. It took just under 2 hours to get there leaving at 6 in the morning. It took just under 3 hours to get home leaving at 8:30 in the morning.  I think there are more people stalled along the highway than the total population of Guam.  Discouraging. I took a detour on a side road for a while, just to have a change of scenery, but then I was haunted by the sight of a giant fiberglass donut on top of a tiny shop with a line coming out the front door.  Those must be good doughnuts. All I could think of for the next 30 miles was how much I wanted a doughnut.  I don't usually eat doughnuts because they are so fattening, but lately all I want to eat is sugar and fat, sugar and fat. I raided the marshmallows for our camping trip in desperation.

This reminds me of a cartoon.

6. Scruffy people who aren't homeless. I like to run sometimes on the boardwalk along the ocean front.  This is also where many of the homeless people hang out.  The sidewalk stretches for about five miles, and you could go farther through the neighborhoods at one end or along the highway at the other end of the walkway.  The homeless community seems to congregate here maybe because there are lots of public bathrooms or because there are lots of restaurant trash bins with leftover food and plenty of places to sleep on the benches and beaches.  Certain spots along the walk, like under the pier, smell strongly of stale beer and urine. Not pleasant. But a couple of these malodorous areas are where the surfers park and put their wetsuits on and off before launching into the waves.  One area known as surfer's point is always full of people who look like they slept in their cars and haven't showered in months - except maybe rinsing off seawater. I'm constantly surprised by how old these surfers are.  I always pictured surfer dudes as guys with bleached blond hair and fit bodies, but most of these guys look over 50 and a bit like penguins in their wetsuits.  Maybe it is easier to surf if your body weight is in your belly instead of in your shoulders and biceps.

7. Things that might make me switch my allegiance: beautiful flowers, ocean life, good coffee, the missions, nice people, the mountains.  Plenty to be thankful for.

Don't take the turns too quickly!

We were supposed to camp in Sequoia National
Forest last weekend, but thanks to our elected
officials, we spent a night lakeside at a county park.

Campfires are fun where ever you are.

Another view from our drive.

Side tour: Cave paintings from the 1600's. Or from a rock and roll album?

Playing with panorama: Mission Buenaventura

Mission Santa Barbara courtyard.

Mission Santa Barbara. Great museum.

  

PS. Happy Birthday to my sister!

See Jen for more quick takes.

Recent reads

From a used book store. It wasn't for sale. "Beloved Books, Ye are to me,/An unretorting family,/ Ye, for each day's irritation, / Always bring a consolation, /During all sad perturbations, / With your silent inspirations. / How should sadness come, or gloom, / While ye lie about my room, / Or look down from friendly nooks, /My benison upon ye; Books."

I can't seem to read much more than kids' books these days. Part of the problem is that I can't keep my eyes open after putting the kids to bed.  I had been known to fall asleep during the nightly rosary occasionally, but now it's a nightly routine. No better place to fall asleep than in the arms of Our Lady, someone once said. But I do get frustrated every time my husband wakes me up from my cramped position on the couch to tell me to come to bed. Pregnancy exhaustion at work.

For example, I can't keep my eyes open through Trollope's The Eustace Diamonds.  I have 4 hardcover Trollope books that we've been moving around for years. In the interest of getting rid of books, I'm trying to read those I've been holding onto for the future. The future is now! After this one, I will either be able to let them all go, or maybe if I invest enough time into this one I will begin to develop appreciation for Trollope.

Nonetheless, I did just finish the memoirs of Fr. Ray Ryland, Drawn from Shadows into Truth, his conversion story, after weeks of reading small bits. My grandparents knew Ryland when he was a part of the Disciples of Christ Church. They went to the same college in Oklahoma, so  I have a personal interest in reading his story. It is readable, although perhaps not grippingly so, notwithstanding personal connection. Perhaps most interesting to me was the fact that he met and studied with such an influential group of people. He started his theological studies after World War II, an energetic time in all denominations. Among his mentors:  Dean Sperry of Harvard Divinity School, Paul Tillich and Reinhold Niebuhr at Union Theological Seminary (and Cardinal Avery Dulles' father), and later then Bishop Bernard Law and Fr. Louis, Thomas Merton. Ryland went from Disciples of Christ to Unitarian to high church Episcopalian before he became Catholic in his search for truth. The writings of John Henry Cardinal Newman were also hugely influential in his conversion, although he read Newman as an Episcopalian differently than he did as a Catholic.  I got a bit bogged down in the last couple of chapters are about church history, distracted by more dramatic juvenile fiction, but Ryland's story was an interesting read.

 Much easier to read were Ungifted by Gordon Korman and The Incorrigible Children of Ashton Place by Maryrose Wood. Finished both in a couple hours each.  Ungifted was an entertaining tale of an underachiever who accidentally gets sent to a school for gifted children. He gets himself in and out of a series of scrapes and makes friends with the geeky kids at the school. The message about how even misfits have gifts was pretty predictable, but characters were likable and the plot fairly novel. Only hesitations in wholeheartedly recommending are that the ending hinges on an act of revenge and the marine brother-in-law seems more interested in his dog than his own baby. 

The Incorrigible Children was not what I expected. I imagined the children would be more terrible than they are. I didn't realize the heroine is a Latin-loving governess. The writing invites comparison with Lemony Snicket's, but isn't as dark. There's a gothic feel to the setting and plot - 19th century governess comes to huge mansion to take care of three children found in the woods who have apparently been raised by wolves.  Most of the mystery involves the absentee Lord of the castle. 

I enjoyed the book more than I thought I would, but also was angry at the ending, which is a cliffhanger that opens the way for a sequel. (Book 4 comes out in December. Not sure how many total are planned - probably depends on sales figures.) Not only is there a cliffhanger, but there's only the barest hint of closure, which is frustrating because it seems purely mercenary to make this into a series instead of just writing a longer book.  If the book had had a satisfactory ending and then a sequel had been made about the children a year later, that would be one thing, but the way this books ends with all the plot strings hanging out unresolved is offputting. The climactic moment comes about 5 pages from the end of the book.  I'm not a big fan of serial books to begin with, although I know serialization played a big part in the birth of the novel, so the publishers are probably aiming to please the preteens who love serials, instead of cheapskate me, who wants a complete work in hand.

On the positive side, the governess, Penelope Lumley, is appealingly likable, and the book contains little nuggets of good advice from Miss Lumley's teacher.  The titular children are fascinating and not really incorrigible, so the title is a bit misleading.  The setting, Ashton Place, is imposing but not as dark as the castle in say, Jane Eyre or Wuthering Heights.  So other than the ending, I enjoyed reading the book. I just wish I hadn't looked at the author's website. Some of her other books look silly (a girl discovers she is part Celtic goddess and worries about what to wear?) and she has a nice big photo of a bag made of condoms on her blog. I can tolerate left-wing authors, but I'd prefer to read people who aren't loud about their political views, especially about teaching kids about safe sex. That's my prerogative. Disenchanted.

Finally, we are almost finished reading aloud the last of the Ramona series, Ramona's World, the only one I had never read before. I don't know what we'll read next. Everyone has been enjoying these books, and we've had one of our longest strings of nightly reading aloud in years  Maybe I'm more dedicated to it because I'm not working and the kids are in school. Maybe because the kids have loved this series, even though 4 of the 6 have already read them. (Ok, the older boys aren't really listening, but the 6th and 8th graders are, as they pretend to read their own books.) Need to find something to continue the trend. Thought about Homer Price? Something similarly humorous and heartwarming? Something a little more challenging? Recommendations?

Coffee and Choices

I'm typing on my new iphone while drinking terrible coffee at the Chevrolet dealer waiting for an oil change. Can I admit how much I'm enjoying this hour? Guilt-free reading and internet while drinking free 6 oz. cups of coffee from a machine that makes cafe latte, cappuccino, mocha, and espresso all taste the same. (I tried them all.) There is nothing else I can be doing while waiting for the car to be ready.

The first part of the day was spent floundering about for purpose.  Looked for online teaching jobs. Tried to figure out a way to maneuver pick up and drop off if I sign up to sub in the public schools. Talked to our insurance agent, a friend from college who married a friend from college, about downgrading our life insurance to save money for tuition. These friends have 2 kids. I made a comment about paying tuition for 6 to which he responded, "Well, that's what you wanted when you had them."

I guess so. I didn't mention that we have another on the way. No need to spread the word until the baby is born, when its cuteness and the siblings' joy will win over the naysayers.

At least, that's my hope.

Meanwhile, I've been struggling to recapture the vision of our family that we married with, idealistic youth that we were. I was fresh from reading the classics, discussing what is good and true and beautiful, and inspired by a professor's family, literate, musical, European, more than slightly out of step with popular culture. I had read the papal encyclicals on family. My husband was indoctrinated by the humane vision of his education in neoclassical architecture: a vision of a sustainable life where you work, live, and play in a community liberated from the automobile. We would have a houseful of children whom we would raise in the faith, surrounded by loveliness, and all happy in each other's presence. Money would mean nothing to us. We would live on love and homemade bread. A hazy, rosy dream of which bits and pieces have come true; other pieces failed to match reality.

Now here we are redefining our lives again. I keep searching for employment, even though supposedly money means nothing to me, and in six months, I'll have a baby attached at the breast.  Will I be able to recapture that youthful idealism about the power of positive parenting? Of course not. What to do with just one baby? How do I avoid wasting time on the internet if I don't have something now to keep me busy? More volunteer work? Take classes? Discover a new career that can be done at home with a baby on my lap?

Choices, choices.

Sometimes place dictates our choices; sometimes we have more choices than we can manage.  In Guam, the limitation of choices was liberating. Now, in Southern California, we have more choices than we know what to do with as we decide how to shape our days.  First we chose the school, which limited our scope somewhat. Then the place to live. Now the structure of our daily lives. So many options: what sports, what volunteer possibilities, what extra-curriculars, what church activities. This or that or that or that... Now that a baby is on the way, I'm having a harder time deciding to commit. In six months, I won't want to do anything. But right now I'm bored at the car dealership.

What's not helping with this situation: Reading fashion and dwelling place magazines at the car dealership. Reading articles about women and work (cautionary see This and this  links) and talking to acquaintances who accept the majority view of what makes a family: two working parents, two kids involved in a variety of activities, who eat plenty of farmers market produce, take vacations, get their hair and nails done, and keep up with popular culture - movies, fashion, technology, etc.

And listening to another piece on the radio (NPR, of course) - an interview with a social scientist about what the future might look like- greater income inequality, fewer service and entry level jobs because of technological advancements, more opportunity for creative ingenuity. But he pointed out that the happiness quotient may not be so unequal because services like health care and education will be cheaper and more available.

What does make people happy?  A big income was never a part of my youthful vision. Simple, simple, simple. But with enough spare change for European vacations, perhaps...

What is helping: reading Thomas Merton; he's completely off kilter with the message of these women's empowerment organizations. Love. Pray. Do God's will. Seek silence and sacrifice.

Another solace: "wasting" time looking at old photo albums while supposedly putting things away. Look at those happy babies. Our days were quiet but full. Do I wish I had worn myself thin working? I'm not sorry I filled our house up with babies back then. I loved our quirky apartments sans air conditioning, with rolling floors, close to neighborhood parks and the library.  I loved the friends we made and still hear from. I loved the little gardens I planted and left behind. I loved the places we discovered or rediscovered from toddler vantagepoints.  I'm still not exactly happy about the thought of going back to midnight wakefulness and changing diapers and don't plan to join a playgroup, but the bitterness of "starting over" is fading.

And I look around us now. We have souvenirs to remind us of our adventures in Guam and living in the midst of great natural beauty. The beauty of the tierra rejada - the scorched earth (translation of a roadname we looked up) - is beginning to grow on me. We are on the go here in a way that we weren't in Guam, but my kids are still happy, and we are starting to make friends with nice people. I like that the kids don't mind spending a Saturday sorting canned food at Foodshare and then picking vegetables at an "amusement farm" or taking a hike to a dried up waterfall. I like my kids. We don't have any corner on perfect domestic bliss, but we have crafted a life that is deeply satisfying, as long as I don't listen to the champions of ambition about joining my fellow women in their grapple to the top of their careers, or on the other hand, the champions of domestic perfection who craft and bake and raise prodigies.

So here's Thomas M. on a few things:

The fruitfulness of our lives depends in large measure in our ability to doubt our own words and to question the value of our own work. The man who completely trusts his own estimate of himself is doomed to sterility.” 
― Thomas Merton, Seeds of Contemplation

Am I sure that the meaning of my life is the meaning God intends for it? Does God impose a meaning on my life from the outside, through event, custom, routine, law, system, impact with others in society? Or am I called to create from within, with him, with his grace, a meaning which reflects his truth and makes me his “word” spoken freely in my personal situation? My true identity lies hidden in God’s call to my freedom and my response to him. This means I must use my freedom in order to love, with full responsibility and authenticity, not merely receiving a form imposed on me by external forces, or forming my own life according to an approved social pattern, but directing my love to the personal reality of my brother, and embracing God’s will in its naked, often impenetrable mystery.
-Seeds of Contemplation

One of the most important -- and most neglected -- elements in the beginnings of the interior life is the ability to respond to reality, to see the value and the beauty in ordinary things, to come alive to the splendor that is all around us in the creatures of God.
-  No Man is an Island

It is better to find God on the threshold of despair than to risk our lives in a complacency that has never felt the need of forgiveness. A life that is without problems may literally be more hopeless than one that always verges on despair.
-No Man is an Island

The lives of all the men we meet and know are woven into our own destiny, together with the lives of many we shall never know on earth. But certain ones, very few, are our close friends. Because we have more in common with them, we are able to love them with a special selfless perfection, since we have more to share. They are inseparable from our own destiny, and, therefore, our love for them is especially holy: it is a manifestation of God in our lives.
-No Man is an Island

There is a dark force for destruction within us, which someone has called the "death instinct." It is a terribly powerful thing, this force generated by our own frustrated self-love battling with itself. It is the power of a self-love that has turned into self-hatred and which, in adoring itself, adores the monster by which it is consumed. It is therefore of supreme importance that we consent to live not for ourselves but for others.
-No Man is an Island

Genius. Beautiful. He makes it all sound so easy, so clear. But it can be so hard.

On Sunday services

Our third son is now enrolled in confirmation class, which started this weekend. It's a two year program here. Although I appreciate the idea of the freedom of the individual to discern readiness for Confirmation, there is a part of me that wishes the sacrament was linked to a specific age like First Communion. Since every diocese has a different program, we have had to accommodate to the diocese in which we live. Our oldest would have been younger than his classmates if he were confirmed in Mississippi, but he was older than his classmates in Guam.  We've registered our third son a year earlier than most kids here in case we don't get follow on orders to stay here, since confirmation class is a two year program in this diocese.

I was confirmed as a high school junior, but I have several friends who have skipped the parish confirmation programs and worked through their priest to have their kids confirmed after home instruction in the faith at much earlier ages.  A family member who married into the Greek Orthodox community had her children receive all three sacraments of initiation as infants. I suppose I should do more study into the history and meaning of the sacrament to make more discerning decisions about my kids' reception of sacraments, but I also don't want to place our family outside the community of the parish and the diocese.  While I don't necessarily love everything about our new parish (the Gloria makes you want to do jazz hands!), it does have a vibrant community.  The bulletin is six pages long. And the web page is the best parish website I have ever seen - the bulletin, links to ministries, links to resources, photos of parish events, etc. etc.  The youth program is active and run by a graduate of Franciscan University of Stuebenville.  So we will accommodate ourselves, rather than asking the pastor to accommodate us.

As a part of the class, the students are supposed to attend the Lifeteen Mass on Sunday evenings. Since we had planned a hike for the day, we decided to all go to the evening mass, instead of the very early morning Mass. Another accommodation.

The church was packed. More old folks than I expected. The students sat with their groups in the front. Our family sat in the middle surrounded by singing, swaying worshipers. The musicians were really talented. The priest gave a heartfelt but thoughtful homily about the four kinds of poverty, material, emotional, intellectual, and spiritual in response to the Gospel reading about the beggar Lazarus.

This service was in diametric contrast with the Mass we attended last week at St. Thomas Aquinas College. That church was designed by one of my husband's college professors, and I've always appreciated the TAC classical program, so we had been meaning to make the not long trek to the school for Mass.  The congregation there, too, was mostly adolescents and young adults, along with a number of young families. It wasn't completely in Latin, but was definitely a high mass, with the music sung or chanted by the talented choir.  The service was very reverent, conducive to prayer and contemplation.  And although we were full of the Spirit after the hour and a half Mass, we all had plenty of appetite for the spread at the convivial dining hall after the service.

From the TAC website

It is perhaps one of the spiritual riches of our faith that it provides space for many charisms.  I may prefer the high Mass we attended last weekend at St. Thomas Aquinas College because my own temperament or charism is more reserved and formal. But I'm glad that people who want the guitars and lyrics of praise and worship music have a place, too. As I sat in Mass, I thought of our dear friends at other parishes around the country.  Each place has had its own feel and style, but I still felt connected to those friends knowing they were praying the Mass that day, too. Although separated by time and space, we are joined in the eternal celebration of God's love.