Do I get a t-shirt for that?

So, last weekend was a busy one.

I really dislike starting a new sentence/paragraph/topic of discussion with "so". That's why I did it here; to make this point. I guess to me it feels like jumping to a conclusion or stating a consequence without first developing the argument. It's as if the speaker/writer has been having thoughts going on in his or her head and then all of a sudden, mid-thought, decides to include the audience. (I'll admit I'm guilty of both). I've noticed this lately, as in over the past few years. It's become part of our vernacular, like "if you will" and "per se". Seriously, how many people correctly use "per se"? I don't really even know what it means, but, trusting that my audience probably doesn't either, I throw it in every now and then.

If I were comfortable using "LOL", this is where I would insert it, as your clue that the preceding was intended to amuse. Don't be offended. Just be amused.

Last weekend was in fact busy. Once again, the powers that be scheduled the Knox County Corn Fest for the same weekend as John's birthday party. Between party-planning, party-preparations, parading, and actual partying, last weekend was, to say the least busy.

I think I'm finally recovered. Pretty close anyway.

Friday night, I regained custody of my sewing machine, which was fortunate, because I had to sew Thomas the Train flag pennant banners (modeled by Elijah in the previous blog post). I wasn't up too late, but I found it really hard to sleep because I was so nervous about the race the next morning. That's right, I ran in the Jerry Gudehus 5K at the Corn Fest Saturday morning.

Saturday morning dawned gray and rainy, but hey, I wasn't complaining, because we need the rain. Matt informed me that running in the rain was a sacrifice I should be more than happy to make for his bean crop. Anyway, this meant that I had to rethink my running wardrobe. I had planned on shorts. But, in the interest of not freezing, I decided to go with leggings, against my better fashion judgment. You see, I think leggings look great on other ladies, but I think they just tend to accentuate the length of my size 10 running shoes, which are, in fact necessary, for my size 10 feet.

I was very nervous; I ate a doughnut and half a banana, swigged some coffee, and chugged quite a bit of water, the breakfast of champions meets breakfast of tired mamas. I was pretty sure I was going to throw up. I know, I know, silly to be so nervous, but I was anyway. I was afraid I would come it dead last, which I knew was not logically possible as the event was a "run/walk" and I knew I would be able to run the whole thing. I kept reminding myself it would in fact be physically impossible for me to be dead last.

It did rain (gently, just sprinkles) the entire duration of the race, but I finished. I was careful not to go too fast at the start, because that's what all the running-advice websites caution against. This unfortunately resulted in over-caution and therefore over-slowness. I did not meet my time goal, but I came very close. My strategy for my next 5K?

Run faster.

A great strategy, right? Considering I haven't even run at all this week, due to exhaustion and the commencement of harvest, this strategy may not prove viable.

My sister-in-law and brother-in-law ran with me.

"Do we get a t-shirt," she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"Sweet! Sign us up!" she replied.

And by "ran with me", I mean M.A. finished nearly 10 minutes ahead of me, and Greg was pretty close to me. I probably would never have been brave enough to attempt this without them being my partners in pain. And my boys were waiting there at the finish line, cheering for me. Matt reported that they were very impressed with their mama. At least John was, anyway, Patrick was just clapping because that's what Patrick does, especially if someone else is clapping.

And here is something else for your amusement: I medaled!

Done laughing yet? Yes, that's right, I got second in my age division.

In my age division. That phrase is key.

The competition is much tougher in the 30-39 age division than in the 20-29 age division. That means I've probably won my first and last racing medal, as I'm nearly no longer 29.

I was just thrilled that I was able to stick with my training regimen all summer (it was hot, and I had some pretty intense ankle/knee/hip pain from time to time). Plus, I acquired some sweet safety-cone-orange running shoes, and fashion is always fun.

I had decided at the beginning of the summer that I needed to do something to get out of the house, something to get some "me time". I decided I would either take up smoking or take up running. I decided running would be cheaper and healthier. I thought I might even lose a pound or two or ten.

And, while I haven't lost a single pound, I certainly feel healthier. I went from struggling to run for 60 seconds at a time (that was the beginning of my Couch-to-5K training protocol) to running for 30+ minutes at a time, so I'm pretty proud of that.

Saturday afternoon, I returned home, on jello legs to continue the party prep. But, since I could barely move, mostly I just rested until church that evening. By the time Mass had ended, I was at least regaining consciousness.

Back at home, staring glassy-eyed at my filthy kitchen floor, I twitched my nose and waved my magic wand, but nothing happened. Finally, Sunday morning I found my supermom cape and by noon, we were ready to party, Thomas style. Choo-choo!

P.S. I haven't managed to run even once this week, which is not good, as I'm running in a 5K to benefit Alex's Lemonade Stand 10.2.11. I've blamed it on the fact that we've been busy with harvest, but I'm really, just.still.plain.worn.out. I'd like to sleep for a week. Or maybe, if PW would just sleep at night, I'd settle for that.

Happy Birthday, John!

Four years ago this morning, I woke up with a baby in my arms.

John Matthew Clark was born at 1:17 a.m. on September 12, 2007. He weighed a robust 8 pounds, 3 ounces, and if I’m remembering correctly was 22 ½ inches long, although to me, measuring a baby for length seems a bit subjective.

The day before, I finally gave in and agreed to an induction on my doctor’s advice. My due date was supposed to have been the 1^st of September. It’s funny the little things you worry about when considering the day your child will be born.

I was reluctant to induce that day in particular because I did not want him to be born on 9/11. Dr. Early gave me the option of waiting until the next day to induce, but I feared that would result in me having a baby, not on September 12, but instead on the 13^th, which didn't seem like such a lucky day to me. So, as it turned out, we agreed to do the deal about 1 o’clock in the afternoon on the 11^th, which resulted in John being born about 12 hours later on the 12^th…sandwiched right in between 9/11 and Friday the 13^th.

So, today John is four, though his capacity to worry is sadly far beyond his years. Last night before bedtime, he told me shyly and sadly “Mom, I love you. I hope a great sickness does not sweep through our town.” I’ve known for a few months that John greatly fears that his parents (and his mother in particular) will die. He watched the Veggie Tales Story of St. Nicolas last week, and “a great sickness swept through Nicolas’s town” and his parents died. I can certainly relate to this fear, as I lived with this very real fear about half my life. It’s heart-wrenching to see John coping with this same fear. And I can’t lie to him; he’s too smart for that.

So, yesterday, while the rest of the world was commemorating the 10^th anniversary of 9/11, we were celebrating John’s 4^th birthday, just one day early.

I will freely and self-consciously admit that when it comes to my kids’ birthday parties, I have a weakness. I just can’t help myself. When I start planning, I always intend to keep them small, low-key, and requiring a minimum amount of effort from myself and those I con into helping me, but somehow, it never works out that way. (Thank you, M.A. I know that I have no business throwing a party without your help!)

It starts with selection of the theme so that the cake order can be placed with Lynda the cake lady. I tell Grandma Cleva what the theme is, my idea for the cake; she tells Lynda, and she brings it to life. And, it typically snowballs from there.

It amuses me to think over in my mind the theme of each birthday party, year-by-year. John’s first birthday party was rubber duckies, complete with a swimming pool full of little rubber duckies. He splashed in the pool with a rubber bib over his shirt because we had to keep the dressing on his Broviac catheter dry. I also made ducky-shaped mints and ducky-shaped chocolates.

Birthday #2 was an M&M theme, and the pool that held the duckies a year earlier became the site of a corn scramble…a great way to get rid of the parade candy acquired at the Corn Fest earlier that day.

Buzz & Woody took center stage when John turned three, and this year, for John’s fourth birthday party, it was all Thomas, all the way. I was lucky to find red, green, and blue gingham fabric on the $1.50/yard rack at Wal-Mart, which made the perfect Thomas tablecloths. I even made Thomas-themed pennant-flag banners. Patrick went crazy when he saw them for the first time. He was thrilled.

John got an insane amount of presents, including trucks and trains, books and clothes, and even a tiny little bicycle from Grandpa Dennis. And some age-inappropriate gifts from Uncle Ben, specifically, real live ammunition for the .22 that Ben got him before he was born.

The weather cooperated fully, and we roasted weenies at noon and feasted on homemade chocolate ice cream and cake. And the kids all played NICELY together and shared the loot fairly well.

We even had the honor of hosting a collection of students Matt’s cousin Jonathan brought home with him from Benedictine College in Atchison, Kansas. Some of them had also attended John’s 2^nd birthday party, too. I think there were four of them besides Jonathan, but I can’t be sure. If I’m remembering right, Jonathan brought home a total of nine friends from BC for the Corn Fest weekend, but some of them had left for home the night before. He seems to collect people, has followers perhaps. We were thrilled to have them, and they seemed to have a good time.

So, my children are admittedly spoiled when it comes to their birthday parties, and this is most evident by the fact that John & Patrick really don’t seem to think their birthday parties are that big a deal. After all, there is a “Happy Birthday” banner that has now officially hung in my kitchen for a full year. I never got around to taking it down after John’s 3^rd birthday party. So maybe it’s obvious to them that every day is somebody’s birthday.

I know my tendency to make a big deal of my kids’ birthdays was at least partially formed by our experience with John. At his diagnosis, I feared he wouldn’t see his first birthday, and every subsequent birthday is made that much sweeter as a result. John was a fabulous host yesterday, making sure his friends had their party favors and cups to drink their tea. He patiently (at my insistence) thanked each person for their gift before moving on to the next present. We are so very proud of him.

And, in case you’re wondering Patrick’s first birthday party featured a shamrock theme, inspired (duh) by St. Patrick and some old shamrock bedsheets I found at a yardsale to use for tablecloths. His second birthday party will feature Bob the Builder. It’s not till February, but you just can’t start planning these things too early, especially since tax season can get pretty hectic in February.

***I can't believe I forgot to mention it, so I'm adding it here. When John opened each present, he gasped and exclaimed, "I wuv it!" and "Just what I wanted!" (regardless of whether he had ever thought about wanting that particular item or not.) It was just too darn cute! 

Happy Birthday, Grandma Helen!

Today is Grandma Helen’s birthday, so be sure to remind her about it if you see her. Not that she’d forget it…that woman never forgets anything! We love you, Grandma!

Four years ago today…I was not having a baby. I wanted to be having a baby. September 1, 2007, was his due date, so four years ago, I was a few days past what was supposed to have been the big day. He arrived instead, September 12, after I broke down and opted for a labor induction. No, John is not yet old enough for preschool, as he was not 4 before August 1. It’s hard to believe the child who was completely non-verbal at 2 and finally catching up to “normal” verbal ability at 3, now talks non-stop. He has an incredible vocabulary, and I enjoy eavesdropping on the conversations among his trains, tractors, and trucks. He is intermittently sweet and belligerent. He misses his Grandma Diane and his old house, and chief among his concerns are the possibility of his own mommy dying, his desire to accumulate more cars and trains,  and a shortage of apple juice. He mentions almost daily his desire to have a baby sister, in spite of our insistence that there is no way, were we to have another baby, that we could guarantee a girl.

Patrick, on the other hand, does not want a baby sister. He made that perfectly clear when he met his new cousin Carli a couple weeks ago. Patrick sat on Uncle David’s lap while I held Carli and showed her to John. Uncle David noticed a tear silently running down his cheek. When David asked him what was wrong, Patrick could no longer hold back. His little face crumpled, and the silent tear became heartbroken wailing. He wanted his mommy. Clearly, he is not done being the baby. As always, I enjoy keeping mental lists of my boys’ favorite things. Patrick’s, at 18 months, include:

1.       Mommy’s hair.

2.      Anything that makes a motor noise (either by itself or supplied by PW).

3.      Chapstick (John also had this obsession, although he actually had chapped lips, thanks to his Accutane therapy).

4.      Tools, specifically tape measures.

5.      Bob the Builder.

6.      Climbing on mommy’s desk, specifically to color on things, like the computer monitor or walls.

7.      Climbing over fences.

8.      Climbing onto the kitchen countertops so he can access the knives and pepper.

9.      Climbing in general. He’s very good at it.

10.   And, new last week, moving furniture.

Taking My Own Advice

From time to time, I take on various self-improvement projects, some of which are fruitful. During 2011, these projects have included praying, cooking, running, reading, and sewing, and probably others.

Inspired by The Millionaire Next Door, by Dr. Tom Stanley, I’ve decided to get a better handle on my family’s living expenses.

I’ve decided to put myself and my family on a budget.

I heard that. You gasped. “What?! No Clark Family budget?! But she’s an accountant! She has to do a monthly household budget.”

Well, there, I’ve confessed it. Like a carpenter sleeping under a leaky roof, a mechanic driving a crappy truck, and a farmer with a crop failure in the backyard garden, this accountant keeps no household budget. Shame on me. Budgeting is my new self-improvement project.

Back when I worked in the real world…what seems like a hundred years ago now…Matt & I created what the author of the book calls “an artificial environment of economic scarcity,” or something like that. Basically, this means, when you get paid, you take money out of your paycheck and save or invest it first before you pay bills or buy groceries. The idea is that if one feels like she has no money, one will act like she has no money and thus blow less money on fake pearls, fountain soda, and super-cute shoes. Well, this worked fine as long as I had a paycheck, but like so many things in our lives, cancer changed this too. Working while our infant was undergoing cancer treatment was neither practical nor desirable and thus there was no steady paycheck to facilitate this strategy.

On the first day of every week each one of you is to put aside and save, as he may prosper, so that no collections be made when I come.—I Corinthians 16:2

When the most intensive phase of John’s therapy ended, I went back to work briefly on part-time basis, then opted for self-employment. Matt & I have never taken the time to re-implement this strategy that served us so well in the early years of our marriage. It was not that it was not possible to create a new household spending strategy; we just lacked the initiative to do so.

If you’ve ever been a farmer or a farmwife, you know that those summer months between the time you apply your hard-earned cash (and, if your banker agrees, perhaps some of his) to purchases of fertilizer, fuel, seed, and chemicals, and the harvest season when your crop comes to fruition can get long. The same is true in the tax preparation business, which is also seasonal.

Thanks to the nature of our jobs, the threat of actual economic scarcity is always at the back of my mind, and sometimes at the front of it. That’s why I’ve decided to adopt a defensive strategy against this threat.

“The plans of the diligent lead surely to advantage, but everyone who is hasty comes surely to poverty.”—Proverbs 21:5

I’ve identified at least 4 elements of this strategy.

1.       Household Expense Account

I always advise my clients who are business owners to have separate checking accounts for their business and personal spending. This is another bit of my own advice I have been slow to adopt, but, a couple weeks ago, we opened a checking account just to pay household expenses. This will avoid having dozens of transactions posted vaguely every month to “owner’s draw” in the general ledgers of our businesses.

2.      Monthly Transfer

After estimating monthly household expenses, I will transfer to this account only enough to cover this amount and use this money for discretionary household spending. No more will I use the excuse of accumulating credit card points to justify credit card use. I’ve heard somewhere that researchers have discovered that shoppers tend to spend more when using a credit card as opposed hard cash because the expenditure is not as real when you’re using plastic. This supposedly holds true whether or not credit card holders carry a balance or pay the card off every month. I should look up the statistic and cite it here, but my boys are nagging me to get them drinks, so I won’t right now. I really don’t think this behavior pattern holds true if one is a disciplined spender and saver, but as I confessed, I no longer am.

3.      Grocery Envelope

I honestly do not have a good idea of what we spend on groceries, but I know, next to our house payment and health insurance, it is our largest monthly expenditure, and furthermore, it is an expense which we can control from month to month. So, I’ve put myself on Dave Ramsey’s envelope system with regard to grocery spending. At the first of each month (today) I intend to put the cash estimated to be required for our monthly food expenditures in an envelope and attempt to use only this money to feed my family. I actually did this last night, right before buying 2 gallon of milk and a dozen eggs from the grocery store and 2 pizzas from Casey’s. So, before the month even started, my grocery fund is down $30! I fear I have not been realistic about the amount of cash I’ll need. But that’s the idea; to quantify the expense, then work to reduce it.

4.      Just say “NO” to Wal-Mart

I loathe above most all things a trip to Wal-Mart, but that’s not why I’m finding it important to avoid it. Analyzing our household expenditures year-to-date, I was ashamed to see how much money I have spend at Wal-Mart. Of course, al lot of this was no doubt groceries, but you and I both know, a lot of it was not. It’s difficult for me to get a handle on grocery spending when shopping at Wal-Mart because, inevitably, I’ll buy a pile of fabric remnants, a birthday gift, and a new toilet seat, in addition to $100 worth of groceries. Yes, I suppose I could pay for the groceries separately, but that’s one reason I dislike going to Wal-Mart; I don’t want to be stuck behind that woman who is paying separately for purchases for work, her Grandma, and each of her own 4 kids. I find I’m not nearly as tempted to buy stuff we really don’t need if I shop at Dollar General, simply because they really don’t have anything I actually want. Sure, their laundry soap and toilet paper may be a little more expensive, but if I go in to buy laundry soap and toilet paper, I only come out with laundry soap, toilet paper, and a gallon of milk, which we always need anyway.

I’m planning on a grocery trip in the next few days; we’ll see how it goes…

The Proverbs 31 Woman & Some Other Stuff

Me & the Proverbs 31 Woman

Sometimes I like this passage of scripture. Sometimes I do not. The “Proverbs 31 Woman” inspires me on a good day, but she haunts me on a bad one. This scripture was in my head today (guilty conscience, I think) so I decided to read it tonight, and take inventory. What follows is part serious, part tongue-in-cheek, but all honest. (The scripture part is in italics, and Proverbs 31:10-31, The New American Bible)

When one finds a worthy wife,

Her value is far beyond pearls.

That’s why engagement rings have a diamond, not a pearl.

Her husband, entrusting his heart to her,

Has an unfailing prize.

She brings him good, and not evil,

All the days of her life.

Well, I try.

She obtains wool and flax,

And makes cloth with skillful hands.

I guess I should get a sheep.

Like merchant ships,

She secures her provisions from afar.

I secure my provisions from Sam’s Club. That’s afar.

She rises while it is still night,

And distributes food to her household.

I rise at dawn, so I can sneak out for a run, lest I get stuck having to fill someone’s sippy cup.

She picks out a field to purchase;

Out of her earnings, she plants a vineyard.

Matt picks out the fields. I planted a garden this year. It was a total failure.

She is girt about with strength,

And sturdy are her arms.

Because I pack children around all day. Able-bodied heavy children.

She enjoys the success of her dealings;

At night her lamp is undimmed.

I like it when people pay their bill. I like it when I sell stuff on Etsy. My lamp is undimmed because I’m blogging.

She puts her hands to the distaff,

And her fingers ply the spindle.

I don’t do this.

She reaches out her hands to the poor,

And extends her arms to the needy.

I help people minimize their income tax liability, thereby preventing them from becoming “the poor.”

She fears not the snow for her household;

All her charges are doubly clothed.

And they all have gum boots.

She makes her own coverlets;

Fine linen and purple are her clothing.

Fine sweatpants and paint-spattered are my clothing, though I have been known to make a blanket, or two.

Her husband is prominent at the city gates

As he sits with the elders of the land.

He talks with the guys at the auto parts store. And at the elevator.

She makes garments and sells them,

And stocks the merchants with belts.

I make aprons for sale on etsy.com.

She is clothed with strength and dignity,

And she laughs at the days to come.

Yes, strength, dignity, and sweatpants; I laugh because it’s better than crying.

She opens her mouth in wisdom,

And on her tongue is kindly counsel.

People pay me for tax advice. And, I’m pretty nice about it.

She watches the conduct of her household,

And eats not her food in idleness.

I enforce time-outs. And I sneak M&Ms during naptime.

Her children rise up and praise her;

“You’re the best ever mommy; the best mommy ever!”

“Good supper, mom.”

Her husband too, extols her:

“Many are the women of proven worth,

But you have excelled them all.”

Yep, that’s pretty much what Matt says.

Charm is deceptive and beauty fleeting;

The woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.

Give her a reward of her labors,

And let her works praise her at the city gates.

A full night of sleep would be nice, once in a while, too.

So, there you have it, a quick, very literal inventory of my womanly worth. 

Now, for a couple brief updates on what I haven't blogged since the last post:

Grandma Elizabeth fell in May and broke three ribs. After a week in the hospital, she's been in the nursing home since. Hopefully, she'll be able to live on her own again. At any rate, I really don't see the harm in letting her try, if that's what she prefers.

We lost our dog, Ernie, to kidney failure in May. He would have been 10 in November. My dog Maggie was Ernie's mother, and I gave him to Matt when I was a sophomore in college after we'd been dating a little over a year.

John had his routine CT and MIBG scans the last week of June. Both scans showed there is no active neuroblastoma in his body, which means he won't have another scan for a whole year, just a urine test in December. That's incredible to me. Three years ago this summer, I feared he would not see his first birthday, and now, he's nearly four years old, and cancer-free. John is healed, and I pray that he will stay healed.

He is healed, and I pray that I will be one day too. But I fear I will never be. I will never know normal. So much has changed since that summer he was diagnosed. I no longer carry a thermometer in my purse. Or EMLA cream. I don't have his oncology nurse-practitioner's pager number memorized. I don't panic if the gas tank gets below 1/2 full (we always kept it filled up in case we had to make a quick trip to Columbia). I don't pin a medal to John's shirt every morning, and I don't wear one that matches around my neck every day (mostly because PW would break the chain if I did.)

But a lot of stuff hasn't changed. I feel a twinge of panic when he tells me he has a tummyache. Or a cold sore. Or a bug bite. If he doesn't take a nap for a week, I panic because of his restlessness. If he naps faithfully everyday for a week, I panic because I worry about why he's so apparently exhausted. If he wakes up sweaty, I panic. If he feels a little warm, I whip out the thermometer, pronto. (Fevers and nightsweats can be tumor symptoms). 

When PW is unusually crabby and clingy, I fear that he has cancer and briefly toy with the idea of calling his pediatrician to have a urine study done to check for neuroblastoma. I did even do this once, and she agreed to it, bless her heart.

Enough of that. I guess my recovery will be a lifelong process.

What else?

Patrick has started talking...single words, unintelligible to all except his family. Like John at this age, "socks" and "hot" are among his first words. Recently he's added "boots"; and it really frustrates John when PW picks up a shoe or a sandal and calls it a "boot." He's very proficient at animal noises. He loves to watch TV, and Shrek is his favorite movie. I am ashamed of this fact. But he also really, really loves books. He even enjoys "reading" them on his own, not just being read to. And, what's even better, John likes to read to PW, and PW likes John to read to him. This is a wonderful thing in my life. I really find Patrick's love of books and TV/movies amusing, as John was indifferent to the television, and he downright loathed books of any kind until after his second birthday. Patrick is very fond of both Papa Larry and Papa Dennis. His favorite foods include grapes and dill pickles, and he has an insatiable sweet tooth that rivals my own. He's also trying to learn to jump off furniture, which makes my heart stop several times a day.

John never stops talking, and it's hard to believe that a little more than a year ago, he could barely express himself verbally. One of my favorite things to do is to eavesdrop on the conversations he has while he's playing. Invariably, the scenes he acts out with his cars or trains involve someone's birthday party. About a week ago, he told me, "Mom, I am very angry. I am very angry because Levi is having a baby sister, and her name is Car-wee, and you know that I want to have a baby sister. And I want one." This went on and on as I kept explaining to him that it's hard to get a baby sister and maybe it would be ok if he had another baby brother. And, clearly frustrated, he would again explain to me that he is very angry (specifically angry and me and not Levi or anyone else) and so on and so forth. Obviously, he thinks the only thing keeping him from having his very own baby sister is his own mother's stubborn unwillingness to get him one. (I am, by the way, not presently pregnant). John is unbelievably sweet and lovable, but also short-fused, independent, and bitterly determined against anything he decides to be bitterly determined against, including using scissors properly, eating scrambled eggs, and receiving any kind of assistance in getting into or out of a shopping cart.

Hopefully, I'll post again in less than 3 months!

bdc

God Hears a Child's Prayer

(It’s past midnight, and I’m not proofreading this. Sorry.)

I have been at times lately, greatly concerned about the spiritual health of my firstborn. It seemed like, early on, he was on the right track. I don’t remember what exactly his first word was (other than mama), but I do remember that his first three words were “socks,” “hot,” and “amen.” By age two, he even had his own unique version of the sign of the cross; he would tap his throat following a prayer, just a minor deviation from the standard forehead, belly button, left shoulder, right shoulder protocol. It was absolutely thrilling to a mother who had prayed so fervently that God would spare her the anguish of losing her firstborn,

But then, as he approached his third birthday prayer life significantly deteriorated.

He would listen while I prayed aloud at his bedtime, until he became old enough to protest. “Mommy, no prayin’!” he would insist. I realized that perhaps my praying had been a little overwhelming to a toddler/preschooler who already seemed to have the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Perhaps I should have stuck with an Our Father or Guardian Angel Prayer, but do you think I did? Nope. In the interest of formation of his young conscience, I included a lengthy discussion of sinfulness, repentance, and forgiveness in the nightly prayer. Then I moved on to thankfulness for our health, followed by a plea for healing of Grandma Diane and for continued healing of John. Finally, I closed with a request to keep “mommy, daddy, John & Baby Patrick safe”. I’m sure I from time to time as the need arose and time permitted, I threw in a request for more or less rain, world peace, or the election of a fiscally libertarian and socially conservative president.

It’s easy to see in hindsight why I might have turned him off of the whole prayer concept. But recently, he seems to be putting the pieces together, a little at a time. When he remembers it, he likes to take his “God book” to Mass with him. (It’s a book of children’s prayers with a convenient carrying handle for the preschooler on the go.)

And, until recently, he adamantly refused to fold his hands, bow his hands and even pretend to pray before meals. Now, I’d like to say this recent development (him finally participating in mealtime prayer) can be credited to Matt & I taking a stand and refusing to pray (and thus refusing to let the meal begin) until everyone solemnly folded his hands and prayed together. This seems unlikely, though, as meals for John are simply a mysterious ritual for which he has no real use.

His daily diet goes something like this:

morning hot chocolate, apple juice with miralax, apple juice, two frozen peas and half a can of cranberry sauce for lunch, followed by naptime water, afternoon hot chocolate, iced tea for supper with one chicken nugget and 3 tablespoons of BBQ sauce, then bedtime water.

No, I don’t think his new compliance on the prayer issue has anything to do with the threat of not getting to eat his fish sticks. Rather, I think it has more to do with the fact that his younger brother (ever eager to please, or maybe just scared straight) caught on to the prayer routine and gleefully takes a moment away from blowing on his food (ever mindful of safety, that Patrick is) to clasp his sticky hands together and wave them around so everyone can see he’s big enough to pray just like everyone else.

At any rate, John has finally been joining us in prayer now at mealtime for the last couple weeks. His prayer goes like this “Blessusso, blessusso,” then mumbling gibberish for the rest of the prayer. He finishes up with the sign of the cross, which really reminds me of a flight attendant instructing passengers in the proper operation of the emergency oxygen masks, and usually goes something like “Father, Holy Son, Spirit, God on High...A-MEN!”

So, now comes the part I really wanted to share with you. My number one purpose in writing this blog is to maintain a record for myself of at least some of the amusing things my boys say or do, and this morning, John did something that is, at least to me, worth recording.

I heard him hollering from the parlor (that’s right, we have a parlor, not a livingroom, and it has a davenport, not a couch…you can laugh here…it’s a joke) something I didn’t immediately understand. I came in from the kitchen to figure out what he was saying, which was “I’m spending time with the Lord.”

“Ok. Good,” I said, or something like that, and went in to see what this meant.

He had procured not one, but two step stools, and was apparently holding a prayer service of some sort. He had used one stool to climb up into the window seat. (It is in fact a high window seat, but he does not require the stool to climb up onto it; however, I bought the stool at a yard sale last weekend so it’s a new favorite toy, and has a role in whatever game is going on). The second stool, he had actually placed on the window seat and was, of course, standing on it. Thus, he had constructed a dais and explained seriously and patiently, “Mom, I’m praying. We have to be quiet in church.” “Ok,” I said.

I tried to go on about folding clothes while he mumbled gibberish, punctuated occasionally by a very plainly articulated “Lord, hear our prayer”.

He kept getting mad at me because I was supposed to “be quiet in church.” But I wasn’t saying anything, so I couldn’t figure out what the problem was. Finally, he got me to understand that I was supposed to be praying. So, I started with “Our Father”. This seemed to satisfy him, except for I was supposed to intone “Lord, hear our prayer” at the end. So, I Our Fathered some more, and I Hailed Mary, and I Confessed to Almighty God and to You My Brothers and Sisters. All were acceptable, as long as I punctuated them with “Lord, hear our prayer” every now and then.

When it was made clear to me by the lector that  I was not yet finished, I continued praying an unscripted prayer, dutifully inserting “Lord, hear our prayer” here and there. I figured it couldn’t hurt me anyway.

All the time I was praying, John was praying lilting mumbling gibberish, interrupted every so often by “Lord, hear our prayer,” (again, the slow articulation was in stark contrast to the rest of the prayer.)

Finally, I looked up from my praying after a few minutes, and John said, “Church is over. You can go now.”

So, I did. I went back to my laundry. With a smile.

I think this immensely gratifying, happy mom moment prompted me to share John’s spiritual struggles tonight because I can’t share my own. I have instead taken a moment to reflect on just how normal my little boy is. I think about cancer every day, many times a day, but he doesn’t, and for that, I thank the Lord.

For the fact that he doesn’t know the debt of gratitude I owe for his healing, I thank the Lord.

And that thoughts of cancer may never consume his consciousness, I pray to the Lord.

Lord, hear my prayer.

Good night, and Good Friday.