#7quicktakes

Life has been a little insane lately. Here are 7 random happenings from my world recently.

-1-

There were two deaths in my circle of the world last week.   Two sets of parents each lost their young son.  The family for whom I asked prayers in my last post lost their 20 year old son to illness Sunday at 3am. My cousins lost their 17 year old son Monday at 3pm, who was shot in the neck by a drug dealer. I will write a little about them in my last two Takes, but first, let's have a little humor, shall we?  Laughter is good.

-2-

My husband and I were enabled by my mom to get to confession Saturday morning.  She came over to watch the oldest two so that we could go. Hurray! Walking out of the confessional is literally like stepping out, cloaked in sunshine, daisies and butterflies encircling my head, with an internal big, fat, yellow smilie face (because, forgive my vanity and over-awareness of cultural norms, but, I imagine that I'd look plain stupid waltzing out of the booth with a childish grin on my face, even though I have every reason to!).  Basically, it's like this:

To double the intense feelings of having been forgiven and saved by God's mercy and grace, I walked into the church to say my penance, and there's Exposition of the Blessed Sacrament.   Silence & peace.  There were about 20 others (mostly blue haired ladies, because we young people like to put off "gettin saved" until we've had our jollies of youth) scattered throughout the pews, kneeling in silent prayer.   For once I was allowed to fully feel the weight of my sins lifted from my shoulders without worrying about a get-away juice cup or the I-Have-To-Peepee dance of my oldest son, the grace and mercy of God washing my soul and embracing me for who I am.  So silent it was that you could hear a pin drop.  It was more silent than silent.  One could probably hear a cotton ball land on the carpet,  ...or the overly punctuated, and long, drawn-out PFFFFTTFTFT! OF MY BABY FARTING!

Ahh.  Brought back to earth by my senses.  Yes, I brought Collin because his breakfast is attached to me.  I was not embarrassed because in light of the room filled with elderly ladies and gentlemen (who didn't budge at the sound), I thought, "Hey! it just as easily could have been any one of all y'all!" ...and I sensed they knew it, too.

-3-

So I've obviously been extra emotional due to these deaths of children: Joseph was 20 and Justin was 17. But it doesn't follow that I've been extra patient with my babies.  In fact, I've felt a little more frustrated by them.  And by "a little more" I mean,  A LOT MORE. They sense that I'm experience emotional strain and they reciprocate it.

 That's all there is to it. Grocery shopping Sunday evening, I was wearing Collin on my hip in a sling, while attempting to push my ever growing heavy shopping cart.  My neck started hurting as I was throwing my weight into steering the cart around the corner to the next aisle, where I needed to buy 5 lbs of pasta. "great, 5 more lbs to haul..." I was thinking as I heard giggling on the other side of the aisle, approaching my direction.  I rounded the corner to a near collision with an adult woman, my age, breathless and laughing.  Face full of joy, cheeks pink with exhilaration, hair swinging in her face as she halted just short of my heavy cart.   There was a child on her back! 

"OH! I'm so sorry!" she apologized.  I realized she was rapidly gaining control of her countenance and being made to feel foolish by my shocked and probably condescending gaze, "I'm just playing ...a...a game... with my kids.." and she moved around me, with one kid piggy backing and two or three skipping behind her.  I managed to squeak out, "No, it's okay!" but I don't think she heard me.   Too late, I realized that this woman was beautiful. She was incidentally pretty, taller than me (and that's saying something!), but the beauty I beheld was magnified because she wasn't angrily, hurriedly shopping like the mad woman I was, trying to de-shelf half the store and haul it home before someone on my hip wanted to nurse. Granted, she didn't even have a shopping kart with her so I have no idea what she was doing, but it was refreshing to see her, in a place associated with tantrums and impatient children and parents, playing with joy. I wished I could have stopped her and introduced myself. 

-4-

Monday morning, I walked into the living room to behold the couch and carpet strewn with what looked like a complete Poptart in the form of crumbs. I stood there, eyeballs bulging, and I ate my own words as I heard my son speak them for me, "What a mess!  Do you think Momma wants to clean that up?  No, she doesn't!"  I was ashamed that I have spoken semi-sarcastic words like this and they've stuck to my son's mind.

-5-

Monday night, after hearing the news of my cousin, Justin being shot and dying in the hospital, I was completely in angst and frustration over the matter.  So of course, my oldest two were hyper, as if I'd fed them nothing but cookies and undiluted fruit juice all day, bouncing and running and and jumping and tumbling all over the living room.  My middle child, who has turned into a finicky eater, would not eat his macaroni and cheese I'd served for dinner (SERIOUSLY WHAT TODDLER DOESN'T LIKE MACARONI AND CHEESE?!), so I was attempting to administer a cup of yogurt before bed time, as he ran from one end of the living room to the other in between bites.  

I was trying to get him to sit down and let me scoop away, getting the feeding over with asap, but it wasn't working.  He just kept jetting away... In frustration, I absentmindedly shoveled one more spoonful of yogurt-- INTO MY INFANT'S MOUTH?!!? I blinked my eyes and realized the baby in my arms was enjoying the vanilla yogurt I'd just given him.  

"WHAT AM I DOING?!?!?!" I cried in bewilderment.  I don't plan on introducing solids until he's 6 months old and can sit up, unassisted.  And that was it for this momma.  After everyone in the house took turns crying over tooth brushings, gathering lovies and ceremonious fallings upon the floor due to "slippery carpet syndrome" and subsequent "slippery bed syndrome" ("The bed's too slippery, I can't get in it!!!!!"), my husband and I bade goodnight to our snuggled cherubs. 

-6-

 Joseph Langenkamp, 20 years old, passed Sunday morning around 3am.  It's hard to write his name. This family, the Langenkamps, is a family I grew up watching in the pew next to my family at St. Francis de Sales. I remember watching them, dressed head to toe in hat and suit attire, complete with handkerchief, each Sunday.

 I watched them as a family of three children, blossom to the family of nine, each baby with the signature Langenkamp baby blues and shock of white blonde hair.  They shame a family with a wildly behaving only child, while their 5 youngest, sit peacefully in the laps of the four oldest.  

They are the family that exclaims to the world "IT CAN BE DONE!" without ever having to open their mouths.  The Langenkamp's children are 7 boys and 2 girls (I have hope yet for a baby girl!).  Joseph, the second oldest, contracted Ecoli at a very young age and has been fighting illness since then.  For him, a simple runny nose could turn into hospitalizing pneumonia.  This past weekend, that is basically what happened, to save the details.  His heart stopped three times.   My husband and I look to Joseph's parents as mentors, as a living testament to the fact that children are a beautiful and physical sign of God's love to us as a gift, and that having more than two children is, in fact, the opposite of the burden that our culture cries. Knowing this family, I am comforted knowing that Joseph was fully spiritually equipped to confidently face death and enter into God's Kingdom.  I pray that my husband and I will do that for our children.  It is the most important thing parents can do for their children.  I am devastated for Mark and Sue, and their remaining children. Please pray for them to feel and know God's peace. I also ask for the intercession of St. Jane Francis de Chantal, patron of parents separated from children. (!!)

-7- 

My mother's family is large.  She is the youngest of 8 children. So, I have many cousins, and many, many more second cousins. Many of my first cousins are old enough for me to consider them an aunt or uncle.  My cousins Mike and Joann are the fist of the many Aunt & Uncle-type cousins.  It is their son who was shot, trying to purchase marijuana with counterfeit money. Tossing my frustrations aside over the circumstances of Justin's death- and knowing that my frustrations must be fractional to his parent's complete shock, I focus on the beauty of familial love here on earth. During the funeral Mass (if you've never been to a Catholic funeral, you are missing out.. it is the most beautiful type of funeral I've ever known, and been given the most fulfilling kind of closure), father gave a beautiful homily saying something very simple: "Do not ask WHY our beloved has been taken from us, you will drive yourself mad.  Ask HOW.  How can we prepare ourselves to meet our beloved in the end?" 

Contrary to the homily, I spoke with my dear, dear Aunt at the reception afterward, who looked at me with the most troubled eyes I've ever seen. "....why...?" she shook her head. And me, with my most inept ability to speak with compassion or feeling emotion, barked out in a Fr. Corapi-an voice, "Get in front of the Eucharist."  She looked taken aback by my lack of compassionately-worded support, yet she closed her eyes and nodded, silently, signaling to me that she understood.   Only in Christ can we be given answers.  

That is what I meant to say. But I am not a speaker. 

I walked away, going, "WHAT DID I JUST SAY?!" This was to my aunt, the grandmother of Justin! I can only attest that The Holy Spirit took the reigns at that moment because I am not that bold a speaker. 

-1-

I've never had dreams of food -that I can recall- however, I dreamt of melting butter last week, when I had meant only to thaw it.  Then, in real life, I woke up going  "hmm, that's strange." because I am a diligent thawer of something as delicate as butter.  And wouldn't you know, later that day, I melted the two sticks of butter I'd sat out to thaw.  GAHHH TWILIGHT ZONE!

-2-

And then I took a Tarjay Vacay.  I have been waiting for nearly 4 years for Disney's Peter Pan to be "released from the Disney Vault" and come out on DVD in order to have more boyish movies for my children.  Aside from the racism, sexism, negative ideals about the family, smoking and violence I never noticed until now displayed in the cartoon,  I love it! So, little me strolled up to the movie section, gazing at the rows and rows of the de-vaulted Peter Pan treasures, and texted my husband, asking him if he wouldn't mind me purchasing a BR/DVD for our boys.   He responds with: "Jif! Crunchy! Juice! Granola Bars!" So I say to myself, okay, he approves and also requests a few other things... crunchy peanut butter... etc

I walk in the door at home and present my husband with his crunchy Jif peanut butter and he blurts out, "Why did you want to get Peter Pan?"   "uhhh.... for the boys. You know I've been talking about getting it for the last few years! I know they'll love it."  I pulled out the DVD and a look of confusion followed by a look of hilarity crossed over his face.   "OHHH, I was talking about Peter Pan peanut butter!"

...let it be known, that I never, ever discuss peanut butter brands with my husband, nor have I ever purchased the Peter Pan brand.  

Blinded by the belly, my dear. PB&J on the brain.

-3- 

I want to put out a visual of what a typical evening with my boys may look like.  As this was happening to me on Monday night, I oddly wished for the moment to be captured and saved, to laugh at in later years: some may visualize me, hair curled, eyelashes curled, makeup brushed, rosy cheeked, while the children play and the baby giggles and blows sweet little raspberries in a nearby Moses basket, as I gently hum the tune of Debussy's Clair de Lune and stir a decadent, simmering pot of spaghetti sauce...

En réalité:  I am barefoot. Yes, that's about the only thing correct from the above speculation.  My hair is unwashed, frazzled, and some part of it has swung and is caught by the corner of my mouth.  I try to spit it out as I realize I am also spitting into the frying pan currently sizzling and possibly burning the vegetables I was single handedly trying to sauté.  

In the other hand is, of course, cradling my 5 month old, who is currently nursing my left boob.  At five months, Collin is too big to simply cradle with one arm.  So how am I nursing him and stirring my vegetables at the same time?   Barefoot I am: one foot, flat to the floor, the other, hoisted up, toes grappling onto the oven door handle while my leg is bent at a 45 degree angle, supporting the lower half of my nursing 5 month old.

Spitting, sizzling, nursing, slurping, sweating.  To top it off, my 3.5 year old nonchalantly waltzes into the powder room, right in front of my nursing/cooking spectacle, swinging his arms happy as a lark, bellowing, "I'M GOING TO DO A POOOOPY-POOP!", which means to me that in 2 minutes or less, he'll need his fanny wiped clean. "Well, sure."  I replied.

-4- 

I can't guarantee much about life, but something I absolutely guarantee is that if you're trying to blog with an infant who is learning to use his limbs, he will make sure you stay disciplined about time spent writing by slapping your device, inadvertently erasing an entire unsaved draft.  "1, 2, 3...." deep breath. It stunk anyway.

-5-

I want to share this beautiful piece I read earlier this week.  Sarah Mae posted it on FB.  It weaves itself further into my Lenten effort of magnifying the Lord, lessening myself, and serving my family better. When Craig and I argue, it always helps each other when we acknowledge that we are both still trying to fill the occupations into which we've placed ourself: A mother, a father, a housekeeper, a provider. It wasn't like we were married and BAM! "Carolyn possesses all the grace, patience, and selflessness needed to be a mother and wife!"  and likewise for my husband.

We got pregnant, got married (yes, in that order) and BAM! I found myself saying, "WHY do I have to be the one searching under the bed for all Craig's dress socks!? WHY can't I have a half hour to give myself a manicure?!" "One of my biggest adjustments to motherhood was the constant giving, giving, giving. [...] I did not even know I was selfish because I had lived my life pretty selfishly all of my life and had never really been accountable to anyone. But then when I had my children and they were always always always there, I did not have anything in me that knew how to handle the burdens."

Something I could have been told 50 times by veteran moms all around me, and I still could not have sufficiently prepared for, is the LITERAL giving of myself: body, time, thoughts and words. ALL OF ME.  My morning coffee. A moment of silence to collect my thoughts during a time of high stress. The well laughed about peeing-alone. My prayer time. My personal space. Anything I enjoyed to myself, I have given to my children, or I have set aside for them.  Babysitting or nannying couldn't have even prepared me for it, because baby sitters get to go home at night and sleep a full 8 hours, uninterrupted, and return the next day, having enjoyed the solitary moments of applying makeup or showering. 

"I had never faced my own selfishness until I had children.

Now as an adult, I can see that my children have been my training grounds for building godly character in my own life. Jesus wanted me to learn to be like Him so He gave me children.

When I was so very helpless and overwhelmed and wanted answers, I turned to Him and to the Bible. How did He influence His disciples? How did he lead them in such a way that they all gave their lives to His cause?

Oh, how I wish the answer had been an easier one–Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friend.

And then, He, the God of the universe, knelt down on the dirty floor and washed 120 dirty toes of men feet, the night He was going to sacrifice His life for these very same men!

Oh, Jesus, I never knew this is what it would take to be a true Christian–a believer with integrity. But, if giving up your life is what you did–as you said, for an example for me to follow, then it must become my own standard-the way to reach my own children–to lay down my life…."

This is a hard truth.  And if someone is a person of material comforts, it would be enough to say, "...and that's why I'm not having any children." or, "..and that's why I'm only having ONE child..."  Those words are reflective of a very empty sadness. An empty sadness that I have been guilty of allowing myself to be deceived in the past.  I used to not want any children, if you've not read my past posts, for the above reasons.  My children bring my husband and I to Christ.

-6-

I have to postpone my final installation of my 3 part piece, Simplicity, Sanity, & Supermoms til next week.  I've had allergy issues this week, or maybe an oncoming cold, rendering me foggy-minded.  It's taken twice as long to write my 7 "quick" takes.

-7-

I'd like to use my seventh take to ask for prayers for a couple my husband and I look to as mentors: for their ill son, who's currently hospitalized.  I don't feel comfortable sharing details, but please pray for their son's health and his parent's peace of mind and trust in God's will.   Also, join me in prayer for our Holy Father Pope Benedict XVI during his last week in the papacy. The only other pope to voluntarily step down was Pope Celestine V, in the year 1294!  That's over 700 years ago!

"Pope Benedict felt a great affection for St. Celestine. He declared a Celestine Year from August 2009 to August 2010 to commemorate the 800th anniversary of the saint's birth and he visited the saint's relics twice during his pontificate. During a trip to L'Aquila in 2009, Pope Benedict placed the long woolen pallium he received when he was elected on the saintly pope's casket and left it there as a gift. Pope Celestine is mostly remembered for "his reluctance to take up this sort of burden of the Apostolic See" and "actually flees when he hears word he is going to be made pope," Birk said. He was plucked at the age of 79 from his secluded life as a Benedictine monk and hermit and thrust into the pontificate after the College of Cardinals broke a two-year-long deadlock and elected him in 1294. While he never fled, Pope Benedict never kept his reluctance to become pope a secret. The then-78-year-old pontiff told a group of German pilgrims the day after his installation that he equated the growing consensus among cardinals to elect him pope as "an axe" getting ready to fall on his head. He had been looking forward to a life of peaceful retirement and said he felt "inadequate" for a job that demanded great "dynamism" and strength. Pope Benedict's coat of arms features a bear carrying a pack, symbolizing the weight of the episcopate. Pope Benedict has said the image gave him the encouragement to carry out his ministry like a beast of burden, but with confidence and joy."

Source here.

I find this all extremely interesting and am left in wonderment about BXVI's spiritual role in our time, especially for the duration of his life from this point on.  I agree with Elizabeth Scalia of Patheos blog, that Benedict XVI may be The Quiet Pope.  But it doesn't follow that quiet be uninspiring, or unmoving. 

I just edited my entry and am disgusted that each Take begins with "I WANT" "I'D LIKE" OR "I HAVE" ....Cue the Beatles song, I, Me, Mine.  Yuck. 

                -1-

My husband and I, together, tuck our boys in for the night. We always say a small prayer, asking for God to bless each boy as we trace the cross on each sweet forehead.  It's what my Mom and Dad did for me and my siblings before bedtime.  More and more often, though, we've been adding the Hail Mary when we tuck in our oldest. So last night, Craig and I must have been particularly exhausted because it wasn't until we'd finished the Hail Mary that I realized instead, we'd simultaneously recited -loud n proud, mind you- our dinner prayer without skipping a beat. ("Bless us, oh Lord, in these thy gifts...").

                -2-

I do not like surprises.  Which honestly, if you know me, makes complete sense.  I need control. I need to know what's going on.  I want what I want, and I'd rather tell someone exactly what I want, negating the surprise factor,  instead of letting someone guess, and most certainly guess wrong. (I KNOW! I am childish!)  I detest being lied to, misled, or deceived in any manner- EVEN FOR FUN.  Mostly, this is due to personal history issues, but I also have a firm suspicion that if someone is willing to lie for laughs, they are also willing to lie for anything else. Sorry, Debbie Downer here. However, it kind of ties in with my becoming less journey. I know I should allow surprises!  I should trust my loved ones!  Especially God, and His surprises.  So, I'm conflicted here in my motives for not enjoying surprises.

                -3-

Couple my disdain for surprises and my quick-to-be-snarky attitude and thar be humiliation.  Two Examples: One Christmas, I was mall shopping with my MIL and SIL.  My momma-in-law points over to a well known health/body/skin care store and asks me what I thought about it.  "Uhh, just a BUNCH OF JUNK," I replied, killing the subject -even though, I'd never stepped foot in the place. So Christmas Eve, I open up a present from my MIL, and it happened to be a beautiful array of lotions from that store.  I held it up, humiliated, and declared in good humor, "...just a bunch of junk!"  We still laugh about it today.

                -4-

My husband and I usually watch a movie or TV show a few nights a week, if it's early enough and we've corralled the boys to their beds. My Our favorite show to watch, any time, is Cake Boss and Next Great Baker.  I even have great aspirations to one day make a trip to Hoboken NJ to visit the Carlo's Bakery and purchase goodies.  My husband and I always comment on the pastries they create on the show, whether or not we'd enjoy the taste, or what we'd like to see done differently.  So I didn't think anything about it when my husband asked me what I thought about one of the pastries shown at the opening segment of Cake Boss.  Brashly, I replied, "I have absolutely NO interest in those, whatsoever."  Fast forward to a day ago and an annoying FedEx truck guy was ringing our door bell.  I looked at the return address on the package:

Carlo's Bakery, Hoboken NJ.

                -5- 

I got to taste the pastries I had "absolutely NO interest in, whatsoever," from Carlo's Bakery.    

Tiny surprise it may be to some, it was beautiful to me.  I experienced delight for maybe one of a handful of times in my life at a surprise from my loving husband.  Sheepish, stands the snarky woman.

              -6-

 If you haven't yet, please check out my current 3 part piece about Bare Minimum mode.  Here's the link.  Look for part two, What I Cook to Maintain My Sanity, to pop up in a few days. 

              -7-

I made Meatloaf for the first time last night.  I have a prejudice about it, and have always referred to it as MeatLOAD.  I think the name sufficiently describes my feelings about the dish.  It was a success, however, and I am pleased to add it to my list of easy, freezable menu items.  I'll include the recipe in Part Two of my Bare Minimum series.

Welcome, welcome to a belated Friday's Quick Takes, hosted by Jennifer Fulwiler at Conversiondiary. It is Sunday night.  I'm happy to report that Jennifer seems to be doing well and home from the hospital after her health issue from the previous week.  She wrote about it here. So, we'll get to it then! My quick takes this last week encircle the further lessening of myself ...kinda.

1) I am beginning to think that my Friday's Quick Takes will perpetually be posted on Sundays. I just can't seem to get it done on Friday, or even Thursday night! I'm working up to it. Hoping to improve!

2) I started blogging in 2005. I began writing as an outlet, just trying to work my brain out loud. If I go back to my very first blog entry… it’s embarrassing. Really embarrassing. And kind of depressing; I wasn’t well.  I was wrapped up in selfish artist world trying to connect points in my life without fully devoting my heart to my faith.  How sloppy, grappling, and how empty! Skip forward 8 years and one gains confidence with writing once one has conviction about something. For me, getting married & having children really sped up the reversion process of my heart. Early 2012, I connected with a beautiful group of women through the blogging realm. Their ideas, their prayers, and the faith that we share is something that encourages me daily, as a woman, as a wife, as a mother, as a Christian striving for holiness, and as a "hey-you're-not-the-only-20something-mom-out-there-who's-trying-to-live-out-the-Faith!". Because I'll tell you what: we get to Mass and short of booking it out of there afterward, we don't linger with a hungry infant and two super squirmy toddlers, let alone seek out and mingle with the other young parents and their squirmy babies.

3)  Getting out of bed is something I struggle with every. single. day. I am a tired person.  One of the ladies I’ve had the pleasure to meet through intranet recently shared a blog through Pinterest. And wouldn’t you know, I read this entry last week and had a small prayer answered. I’ve always been le tired. In first grade I wrote a book titled: I am Tired. Through high school, my parents wondered if I was on drugs because of the amount of sleeping I did (I actually got Mono one summer- slowest summer of my life). Becoming a mother did not magically transform me to a wakeful, motivated, morning person. In fact, becoming a mother has made it much more difficult.

It’s been whispering to me that WAKING UP is part of the “becoming less” that I need.  By denying myself the simple pleasure of lazing in bed for a half hour more --and let's face it, it's really more of a frustration than a pleasure knowing that you need to be up anyway-- I've started my day off with a YES to my vocation as a mother, as a servant of God for whatever the day brings me.  Rather than a "...zzzz...10 more minutes, Almighty Father..." And this blog entry confirmed it:

The heroic minute. It’s time to get up, on the dot! Without hesitation, a supernatural thought and … up! The heroic minute; here you have a mortification that strengthens your will and does not weaken your body. That’s from St. Josemaria Escriva’s The Way #206. And then there was this quote: Conquer yourself each day from the very first moment, getting up on the dot, at a set time, without granting a single minute to laziness. If, with the help of God, you conquer yourself in that moment, you’ll have accomplished a great deal for the rest of the day. It’s so discouraging to find yourself beaten in the first skirmish! The Way #191.

So, as part of this year’s goal of becoming less, I will strive for Heroic Mornings. Laugh if you will. But that is exactly how I have to think of my mornings, or else I’ll lay there, wishing for 20 more minutes. Thank you friend, for pinning this blog.

4) ...but then Saturday, I slept in with my baby until 10am... (My courageous husband heroically conquered the morning for me, bless him).  "I shall diminish"...when I get out of bed.  ...FAIL.

5) However, Saturday evening, I became a fully grown woman. I made my mother's spaghetti and meat balls.  I wanted to cook for my MIL, whose birthday is on Monday. So why not spaghetti, right? Pasta is easy and feeds lotsa people. I really enjoy cooking (which I didn't know until I got married), and don't mind detailed methods, or a little prep (I don't mind the occasional frozen pizza, either). My mom's spaghetti sauce, however, is unlike any sauce I've ever tasted. It's not difficult, but it has a few surprise ingredients. The recipe actually belongs to my Aunt's (ex)mother-in-law, who is 100% Italian and immigrated by boat to NY. The recipe, in my mind, is one of those that is so good, we the lowly, unseasoned, amateur cooks dare not defile the sacred deliciousness by trying to actually MAKE it.  I feel that I need be at least 40 years old before I should be allowed to cook something like this. BUT, Saturday evening, at 28 years old, I made it, and felt that I'd crossed the threshold into GROWN-A** WOMANHOOD. ...ahem. Excuse me, I couldn't help it...

6) After the evening of cooking, eating, baking, cookie-monstering, carrying sleeping children to bed and finally peeling the skinny jeans from my not quite as skinny legs (I managed to cram myself into non-maternity jeggings for the first time sans extravagant muffin top), I got to have a mo' with the ol' iPhone and its apps. Scrolling through Instagram I was delighted to see this! Shared from none other than one of me marvy Cathsorority ladies. It reminded me of my failings, but I strengthened my resolve to crack on with it!

7) I am very blessed to have been able to have my hairs cut. Oh yes, all of them. My hair stylist (whom I've been following from salon to salon for over 4 years because she is fantastic), chopped nearly a whole foot in length from the shoulders down. I turned around in my chair to behold what looked like a pile of snakes laying, tangled upon the floor. The photo doesn't really do the serpents justice: 

If getting a haircut were to be a painful experience, I'd have to say it hurt so good. I wanted the long dangly, gangly strands to feel pain as they were sliced off. But they didn't, the stupid, dead things. They didn't even know they were gone. Irritating things. Anyway, how do you like me NOW! 

I decided to finally participate in the weekly “7 Quick Takes Friday” hosted by the really neat Jennifer Fulwiler over at Conversiondiary. She’s really fun to read and her story is inspiring. Go look!

7 Quick Takes, for me will be a simple way to keep blogging, to keep it structured, and to keep it brief! BRIEF! I’m not good with brief.

I suppose that’s why I don’t like Twitter so much. Ehhhh.

So here are my first 7:

1) Still haven’t had my hair cut. And it’s enraging. Not by choice, but just by the fact that one hair appointment can buy 2-3 boxes of diapers. Clean hineys are more important than long, stringy, banshee hair. I entered a “guess how many M&M’s are in the bowl” contest at a local hair salon to win $150 gift card and a Chi Flat Iron. I even prayed to win— something some huge part of me thinks is silly… Like why would anyone pray to win a gift card, or for the Bengals to win…? Contests and games seem silly to pray about -yet in light of knowing God to be present in every aspect of my being, I’ve yielded to the fact that I must invite Him there too. Even into the little insignificant trifling parts of my life, I want God to be there! So I prayed that, if it be His will, I might win the gift card so that I could get my hair chopped. But God was like “NEIN!”

Oh well. I suppose not then. Banshee hair I shall embrace for a while longer. …as I shriek while some of it slides from my shoulder and flops into a poopy diaper, or, as my second son uses it to lovingly wipe his snotty nose. So it is “Mein Kampf.”

2) The whole family has caught colds. I’ve even caught something. And I NEVER get sick.

My husband isn’t allowed to get sick either. It always seems to me that as soon as I mention someone (friend, family, distant acquaintance) has so much as a runny nose, my husband suddenly comes down with a life-threatening illness. I basically tell him to get over it and do a netipot. I am the epitome of a compassionate wife.

So I’ve learned not to say anything, and lo, my husband remains perfectly healthy. But this time, both of my oldest are markedly not feeling well, so theres no hiding it. Craig felt bad yesterday and I worked hard to belay my impatience with illness and make him tea and administer medication. —BUT WHAT’S THIS!? I, the lady of the house, am beginning to feel a slight scratchiness of the throat?!

Well, then it must be real.

‘Tis simply a cold, but I haven’t even had a cold in so long, I’ve forgotten that it really can slow one down. I’m praying that my littlest (3 months old today) doesn’t catch it.

—and now I pledge to keep the rest of the takes really quick.

3) 4 months later, I am still crocheting the baby blanket I set out to make for our youngest boy. Will it ever be finished?

Yarn 4dayz.

4) Bottom half of our Christmas tree’s lights have blown. I suspect foul play from my oldest boy.

Yes, a blanket is our tree skirt. NOH8.

5) Please, go watch this video: A new reality TV show featuring Jennifer Fulwiler about her life and her conversion from Atheism to Roman Catholic. It’s called Minor Revisions. Jennifer is a writer and through her blogging she wondered aloud to the blogosphere about the existence, or non-existence, of God, and was converted through her intellect and research, through her questioning, and her willingness to be transformed.

I enjoy this so very much because it isn’t some sappy, emotional, spiritual story with some grand pomp-and-circumstantial event marking her conversion. At least, her conversion doesn’t seem to be what so many seemingly typically expect to learn from converts. Fulwiler uses her brain to consciously draw conclusions. Not that others don’t use their brain… but I don’t think I need a source to declare that many people see a Christian mentality as ignorant and just plain stupid.

I’ve striven to reach out to those people who are repelled by the sappy, feel-good emotions of Christianity. Believe me, I know them. I’ve felt them… I feel them daily. But emotion is fleeting and not firm enough to build a foundation of religion upon— at least for me. This is how I wonder if many people are repelled by Christianity: because sometimes it seems so fake and filled with a layer only as thin as tissue paper. People shouting “GOD IS AWESOME” over and over again… “PRAISE GOD!” without actually praising Him. And for many people, that suffices— and blessed are those people!!! Truly, they are blessed, those who do not need or even want proof! But for me, I’ve always required more. I’ve needed the deeper layers. I need and crave profundity. Jennifer Fulwiler begins to describe this in the first of her series. Watch with me and tell me what you think! She’s also wittingly funny :) I’d like to dedicate an entry or two with further thoughts on her story, paralleled to mine.

6) If you’re looking for a simple gift for friends or family this year, I recommend these:

Source: mybakingaddiction.com via Carolyn on Pinterest

but not if you’ve got a nut allergy. Sorry. My nephew has a nut allergy, so I find myself always aware of allergens. But these are really, really delicious.