Children and the Naughty Kinds of Sin

Melanie of Wine Dark Sea has this observation to make while discussing a point raised by Amanda Witt on Keeping Children Innocent When Lesbians Move In:

People complain about the lack of homilies about homosexuality, birth control, abortion, pornography and all the other hot-button cultural issues. But a priest must discern how to speak pointedly on the issues and yet not strip the children in the congregation of their innocence. By speaking about the principles rather than the details I think priests could address the issues that need to be addressed. Also, I think most priests could benefit by talking more to parents and hearing about their concerns, finding out about what they need to hear about.

This struck a chord with me after a homily two weeks ago, when the priest, usually very theoretical, and still more theoretical than he could have been, elaborated for an eternity about the sin of the woman taken in adultery, and the sins of her accusers, who, he pointed out, likely derived some perverted pleasure from the act of watching her so closely as to be able to catch her in the act. He discussed marital infidelity in society, and how the injured party is frequently attempting to heal a breach that s/he doesn't even know occurred (or it might have been the guilty party who tries to make amends for the sin the other does not realize s/he committed. It got a bit fuzzy.) There was also some mention of impure acts and how society encourages them. At any rate, I was dreadfully worried that the 10-year-old would ask me the meaning of "adultery" or any number of other terms. I needn't have feared. In this case he had the insight that I possessed as a child--knowing when NOT to ask about a subject. However, my husband and I didn't ask what particularly he liked when he mentioned that he liked the homily. I should probably mention that this was a post-Spring Break homily.

If I were a poem. . .

Though the poetry itself is rather bad (I could do better--and have), it is nice to know that this fun, but totally random little quiz identified me as the verse employed by Dante in the Commedia. Give it a whirl! Hat tip to Melanie of The Wine Dark Sea Blog!

I'm terza rima, and I talk and smile. Where others lock their rhymes and thoughts away I let mine out, and chatter all the while. I'm rarely on my own - a wasted day Is any day that's spent without a friend, With nothing much to do or hear or say. I like to be with people, and depend On company for being entertained; Which seems a good solution, in the end. What Poetry Form Are You?

Nostalgia: The Early Years of Cable TV

Every now and then I remember something from my childhood that requires investigation with the powers of the internet. Usually these are television shows. Occasionally, I have investigated toys that I owned--with the result that I now own once again, thanks to eBay, a Yoda that functions as a Magic 8-Ball that my mom bought me for Christmas when I was about 5. I desperately wanted Star Wars action figures and the Darth Vadar carrying case. But Yoda was a pretty cool substitution. Did anyone else have Princess Leia Underoos? Oh, yes, and Wonder Woman, too. And perhaps Bat Girl and Super Girl. I suspect that these may be memories I share with AmyReads! After all, how could such a devoted comic book fan be raised without Wonder Woman Underoos?

My all-time favorite memories of early cable involve Fraggle Rock. After a friend in the graduate program introduced me to eBay several years ago--perhaps as many as 6 or 7 years ago--I supplemented my 1990s VHS of Fraggle Rock with the original HBO Video releases from the 80s. It was a happy day when Fraggle Rock was released on DVD, and an even happier day when they were released on DVD as complete seasons--I am waiting anxiously for season 3. There was a time when I could hardly find anyone who remembered Fraggle Rock, but as people my age became primary consumers, and those younger became interested in the 80s, either as a partial remembered decade, or as my friends in high school looked back to the 60s and 70s, Fraggle Rock shirts, patches and such surfaced in the trendier stores.

With the easy availability of Fraggle Rock (there are even dolls available in Target!--I have some of the 1980s fraggle dolls, played-with, but in good shape), I turn occasionally to old Nickelodeon cartoons. My siblings remember well some of the children's shows that were on in the late 80s--"David the Gnome," "Eureeka's Castle," "Sharon, Lois and Bram's Elephant Show"--which I watched with them on occasion, when I was home from school. My memory even extends back to the really weird days of Nickelodeon, with the science-fiction-esque "The Third Eye" (which was too creepy for me--I was probably about 5). Some of the shows I enjoyed, but were either short-lived or aired in the early morning, were "Belle and Sebastian," "Danger Mouse," and "The Mysterious Cities of Gold." The latter was aired a bit later than the other two, and of the three, my favorite was "Belle and Sebastian"--a dubbed anime based on a series of French novels about a young boy and his Great Pyrenees dog, Belle. (It occurred to me recently that two of the names I have seriously considered for offspring have been, well, Belle--Isabelle--and Sebastian!) The boy was in search of his mother, a gypsy, and on the run from authorities, who confused the gentle (but huge) Belle with the violent "Pyrenees Monster"--a dog who terrified villages. Classic! Unfortunately, the only copies I have found of the series available for purchase are clear bootlegs. :( At least the vendor is honest about it--he digitized them himself. And matters are further confused by the presence of a band called Belle and Sebastian. Hmph.

Tonight, my husband threatened to call our daughter "DG"--for "DangerGirl"--after she balanced herself on an inverted toy pail. And suddenly I remembered Danger Mouse! (DM, as he was known by his assistant Penfold.) These were the early days of Nickelodeon, before Alanis Morissette had even heard of oral sex! (we hope) To my surprise, there is not only a dangermouse.org, the complete series is available on DVD! I rather think that they wouldn't be as funny as they used to be, but British humor being what it is, I could be wrong! There was also a spinoff called "Count Duckula" that was amusing--a vegetarian vampire duck. Hah! Both incredibly British.

This has been a fun if pointless ramble down memory lane. I welcome any of your own fond memories of Nickelodeon, early cable, or whatever! I am also a huge Sesame Street fan (before the rise of Elmo), and received the "Old School" Sesame Street DVDs for Christmas! My daughter & I have fun watching Sesame Street and Fraggle Rock during the day, though she is developing an odd preference for A&E's Pride and Prejudice. Unlike some of us, it's the music and not Colin Firth that attracts her!

Thinking about Leisure

Andrew Greely, in his book The Catholic Imagination, makes the point that Catholics (by which he means cultural Catholics rather than strictly practicing Catholics) have a different concept of time, in particular, of leisure time, than non-Catholics. Basically, Catholics, in unconscious defiance of the Protestant "work ethic," place more value on time away from work than on time working. Not that we don't see value in work, but work is a means to an end--often an end that has to do with the accumulation of time to engage in other activities, be they familial, spiritual, intellectual, whatever. This rings true for me, as it does (I'm sure) for anyone from New Orleans. We don't live to work, we work to live. And many of us try to find the type of work that most closely resembles leisure in which to engage.

Considering that Spring Break just ended for the university at which I teach, and considering that very little of what I did during that week was "leisure" in the strictest definition, it seemed a good time to reflect on these things--or at least, to have the students reflect on these things! So I had them do blogs for the week on Spring Break and leisure. I asked them to consider Spring Break from a non-student perspective, and ask themselves who benefits from Spring Break. On the topic of leisure, I asked them to interpret it creatively. Well, I had to clarify somewhat, and this is how I did so:

Spring Break

By having you reflect on Spring Break, I was trying to induce you to get outside of yourselves a bit. Yeah, Spring Break is a great time to have fun, but do you think for one minute that the university, in gracious recognition of how hard you work, decides that you deserve this time off? Don't bet on it!! The university administration works a lot harder than you do, and puts in regular 40 hour work weeks, yet staff and faculty in administrative positions don't get a full week off. So what? Are they trying to get rid of you for a week? Vacations are great and all, but businesses don't regularly just give their employees a whole week to do with as they choose--so Spring Break clearly isn't a reflection of how life is in the real world. Employees have to "earn" vacation time over a set period of time and then ask permission to be able to take off even a few days, much less a week. So why are you, as college students, so privileged? And what about schools that don't offer Spring Break? Schools that, instead, have quarter systems to squeeze as much classroom time into the shortest number of months? Do they value education more than those schools that do have a Spring Break? Basically, who is Spring Break benefiting--besides the students? Because I can't imagine that the universities believe that you work too hard or that you can't get enough time to do what you want in the semester and you need a whole week to party. After all, what are Thursdays through Saturdays or Sundays for??

leisure time

This question was intentionally vague, but I believe it may have been
too vague. To answer that leisure time is time to relax is like
saying that recreational activities are things that people do to have
fun. The only possible response is. . . Um. . . yeah. Of course. So
let's get beyond that a bit. Things I'm interested in hearing about are:

* who has leisure?
* are some people deprived of leisure?
* does everyone deserve leisure?
* does everyone need leisure?
* is leisure a right?
* do all people WANT leisure? (regardless of whether they need
it or not)
* are there right and wrong ways to use leisure?
* are we as a society supportive of leisure?
* is too much leisure a bad thing?
* do we take leisure for granted?
* I think Ben Franklin may have been the one to say "idle hands
are the devil's workshop"--what does that say about leisure? are
there people who still believe this, and if so, in what contexts?

I'm hoping that this will get them to probe a little more deeply into both of these questions. Of course, there are arguments implicit in my questions. And clearly I can be a bit of a hard ass sometimes. . . (Pardon the expression)

I'm back. . . and where I've been

For Spring Break I took a trip to Louisiana to visit my grandmother, who has been suffering from a strange condition. She has had near-constant recurring UTIs, but more disturbing has been her severe memory loss. My siblings, mother & I were summoned to visit her by relatives who feared that she wouldn't know us if we did not visit soon. A day or so before our visit, she was hospitalized upon the discovery, by my aunt, of a staph infection in her hand that the nursing home where she has been by doctor's orders neglected. It is perhaps a testimony to her physical strength that she was able to recover from the infection. Incredibly, our visit marked a turn for the better. She was able to remember things--specifically, she remembered that we were coming and asked my aunt if she had seen me on the evening I was supposed to arrive! She conversed with us almost like normal, with only a couple of lapses of memory like losing one's train of thought. She particularly enjoyed glimpses of my son and daughter--her only great-grandchildren (so far). On Friday, before we left, I told her my new news, and she was "tickled," as she said. My husband and I discussed the possibility that knowing the news would give her some hope--something to look forward to, perhaps.

Unfortunately, she was released from the hospital to the nursing home the same day, and relatives have said that she had taken a turn for the worst as of yesterday. I am left to wonder whether the downturn is because she is away from the IV in the hospital, or because of the psychological pain of being in that environment. It is a sad condition. I am left to wonder why she was not treated sooner for the staph infection--was the nursing home staff unconcerned because of the possibility that they would, by neglecting the infection, provide a bed for a new resident? This is cynical on my part, I know, but as a nurse told my aunt, a healthy young person may have been able to wait for a doctor's visit to see about the infection, but not a weakened 77-year-old woman. Her own parents lived well into their 90s and retained their mental faculties; I hate to think that she would accomplish less, or that her mind would deteriorate while her body remained strong (relatively speaking).

I was able to spend only one evening with my aunts and cousins, and only one full day in Louisiana, though I would have liked to spend more--the other two were spent in transit. We have been rather estranged because of distance and circumstance, misunderstandings among siblings, hard feelings because of missed visits, and any manner of petty things. But we are not ones to hold grudges, at least not for long. Interesting that this week's gospel reading should have been the prodigal son. . .

At any rate, I am back now, with obligations fulfilled, though perhaps only minimally and not quite satisfactorily. But such is contemporary life, when in spite of our increased ability to travel quickly, the demands on our time are such as to limit even further our ability to spend time as we would like to do--particularly when sentiment and not profession motivates us.

Update--I didn't need to read this account of a nursing home experience, but on the other hand, it answers some of the questions in my post. I really wish there were a way for my grandmother to go home NOW. If this is what she is facing daily, it's no wonder her mind does not want to resist the decline.

I AM, I am: A Rare Reflection on a Homily

In general, I tend to be slightly frustrated with homilies, even fairly good ones. The composition teacher in me wants to ask, "where is your thesis?"; to comment, "you introduce too many ideas in that paragraph" and "your composition lacks focus," "you repeat your point rather than elaborating" or "did you exceed the maximum word limit?" I generally prefer compositions that are too long to too short, as long as they remain on-topic with no unexplainable digressions. I do think there is some value in critiquing homilies, even in this manner, because it requires the ability to summarize or restate what the point or points were, with the possible result that we review and analyze the points of the homilies themselves, not just the possible structural imperfections! (Yes, we are paying attention to substance, too!--perhaps more than when I grade papers...)

This evening, the homily was given by a deacon who endeavors to stick close to and explain the readings, sometimes a bit too literally or pedantically, but I generally appreciate the effort to connect the readings to each other, to the particular feast day or liturgical season, or to the theology that they inform. He focused primarily on the first reading, from Exodus, in which Moses encounters the Burning Bush (a scene of Ten Commandments fame, and it's hard not to picture Charlton Heston--or, secondarily, Michelangelo's Moses). Particularly, he addressed the name by which Moses would call God as proof of his truth to the Israelites: I AM. In contrast the the great I AM, he recounted occasions on which no one answered "I am," occasions on which someone was asked to take personal responsibility for one's actions: "Who is responsible for the underwear up the flagpole?" "Who is responsible for moving the teacher's Volkswagon onto the sidewalk?" "Who is responsible for the mess in the kitchen?" He pointed out that society doesn't particularly like for us to answer the question, "Who is responsible?" with the response, "I am," particularly in the case of sins, which are increasingly explained as being something other than sin.

What he did not say was, I think, the most interesting point of the homily, the one which I would have tried to coax from the student writing an essay on the subject (in another life, when I have the occasion to grade a composition on a religious theme--my students would willingly write them, but I could not, in my current setting, fairly grade them because of the hogwash that they would offer for religious justification; in order to have an intelligent composition on religion, you likely have to have the ability to discuss religion openly in class as a valid topic, and to stress that religion and logic are compatible). The Deacon did not say, but I believe implied on some level, that by taking responsibility for our actions, by saying "I am" to the question, "Who is responsible?" we are able to participate in the Divine purpose in our lives, and in the Divine presence in the universe--by being the "I am"--the motivating force in our own lives, the moral agent that takes responsibility for our own actions--and doing so in accordance to our understanding of God's will, we are reaching for the "I AM." This can apply to any number of instances, and it has to do, at times, with participating in (or facilitating) the good that may come from evil and sin. Here, I clearly diverge from the homily, and I am thinking of two things--the "doing evil to undo evil" arguments for legalization of abortion, as a default argument, of sorts, and an extreme example to explain the point, and the co- or sub-creation within Creation that Tolkien portrays in The Silmarillion.

In The Silmarillion, Tolkien creates the Valar as sub-creators, whom Ilúvatar created in order to participate with him in Creation. Each of the Valar sings a part in the beginning melody, a song which brings about the actual substance of the universe. Melkor, the greatest of the Valar, seeks to challenge Ilúvatar (sorry for the oversimplification), and weaves discordant sounds into the melody in an attempt to take control of it himself, but each time, Ilúvatar is able to create still greater music and harmony out of the discord. This idea of creating beauty out of discord is extremely significant for Tolkien, and is a profound reflection on the Doctrine of Original Sin and the Incarnation. I understand the Great I AM, the underlying responsibility for the universe, in these or similar terms.

It is in reference to the personal "I am" that I invoke the problem of abortion. I invoke above, reluctantly, but because they are the most visible and dramatic example of the theology I am trying to invoke, the arguments that abortion should be permitted in the cases of rape and incest. The justification is typically seen by those who oppose abortion in all cases, on moral grounds, as seeking to "fix" an evil situation by acting in a manner that is intrinsically evil. In my terms, when asked, "Who is willing to take responsibility for this new life?" it is the refusal (or inability, in the face of the evil situation) to answer, "I am." The "I am" is not the answer, in these cases, to the question, "Who is responsible for creating this new life?" (The answer to that would be "I AM.") In this situation, the personal "I am" is having the strength (admittedly, such an act of responsibility would take considerable strength, and there is no way of knowing if any one of us would be equal to the task) to be responsible for transcending the evil, and participate in the Divine task of turning discord into beauty.

I am a strong believer in personal responsibility, and it is easy enough to recognize in perhaps the majority of elective abortions, the refusal, supported by numerous discourses, to take responsibility for one's own actions. But in the case of the usual exceptions, rape and incest, it is more difficult. The obvious answer is, "you can't answer evil with evil," but that answer is only partly satisfactory, and has always left me wondering whether there might be another way to answer this to address the injustice of making someone who is not, through an act of her own will, responsible for the situation take responsibility for the actions of another. (Notice I do not seek to answer the anticipated objection, "Well, is the Church going to support this child for her?"--The question is not relevant.) This is not where this post was meant to go, but it is, as I said, the most obvious example of being the remedy to a sin that is not one's own. Taking responsibility for one's own sins, the actual subject of the homily, is more straightforward. Furthermore, when one's personal sin yields a good result, it is not an excuse for the sin, but evidence of the turning of discord into beauty, and hence, a revelation of Divine goodness--the "I AM" behind the "I am."

It was a Lenten homily, and also a Spring Break homily, perhaps intended to save the priests time in the confessional before Easter listening to tales of Galveston. For me, it made sense of a puzzling passage--why "I AM," anyway? Was it just a Hebrew thing that didn't translate well?--and some puzzling moral issues, and provided a much longed-for excuse to blog about Tolkien. All in all, a successful homily!

P.S.--Part of the curse of teaching composition is that abortion is the ready-made example for EVERYTHING!

Quick Lenten Meals #3: Fusion Shrimp Wraps

Disclaimer: Unlike my previous recipes, this recipe depends on the availability of certain packaged foods in your area. But as it is likely that suitable substitutions can be found, I will post this anyway, so that it doesn't look like I'm slacking! ;)

Ingredients

Frozen, fully cooked shrimp (number of shrimp depends on number of portions desired)
1 Tbsp butter
garlic granules (optional)
1 jar of Archer Farms Peach-Pineapple Salsa (from Target)
1 box Marrakesh Express Mango Salsa CousCous (if you can't find it locally, here is a website that carries it)
1 can black beans
flour tortillas

Habanero tabasco (optional)

1. Prepare couscous according to package directions. Black beans can be drained, rinsed, and put into the couscous water to cook together, which produces a good flavor but grey couscous, or warmed separately and mixed after cooking. (I prefer the first option!)

2. Melt butter in a saucepan. Add garlic granules if desired. Sauté shrimp in butter until warm. Do not overcook or your shrimp will be tough to chew. Some of the water from the frozen shrimp should cook out at this stage.

3. Add desired amount of Peach-Pineapple salsa. Add habanero tabasco, which contains mango puree, to taste. Continue to cook until salsa is warmed and shrimp flavor permeates. Remove from heat.

4. Warm tortillas in a frying pan. Assemble couscous, beans, and salsa-shrimp mixture. Enjoy!

Family Values and Other Meditations on Children's Literature

Recently, I ordered the set of Little House books from the Scholastic Book Club. I decided that having a daughter and finding them at a reasonable price were sufficient reasons to buy the series I read as a young child, then as an older child, and as a teen--the only set I read nearly as often as The Chronicles of Narnia, though the two series are worlds apart (no pun intended) in genre. Looking desperately for something to read yesterday that was relaxing and not too challenging, and rejecting, for the moment, A Canticle for Leibowitz, which I recently bought from the Second Chance Book Adoption (thanks, Chris!), as being too post-apocalyptic, and therefore potentially too thought-provoking, I remembered the Little House books, unwrapped, but still untouched. So last night, I selected These Happy Golden Years, the book in which Laura is courted by and marries Almanzo, and in which she teaches school for the first time.

Predictably, the novel was thought provoking. After all of these years, I had forgotten few events, but some of the descriptions of the events stood out for me anew. After spending her first full week at home after a dismal experience boarding with the head of the school board and his wife during her first teaching job, Laura reflects on the contrast between her own home and the Brewsters':

But best of all were the mornings and the evenings at home. Laura realized that she had never appreciated them until now. There were no sullen silences, no smoldering quarrels, no ugly outbursts of anger.

It was with a shock that I realized that this was precisely the difference between the home my husband and I have made, and the one in which I grew up. These sentences may mean nothing to my children when they read them, or else they will sympathize with Laura without knowing exactly what she has experienced. To me, they summarized a contrast I have felt within my own life, and for which I am grateful. My mother has not yet escaped that past, and I fear that there is little I can do to help her. Similarly, in Little Town on the Prairie, the "ordinary" (stereotypically Irish, perhaps) quarreling of the Clancys, by whom Laura is employed as a seamstress, disturbs her because the behavior is so foreign to her: Laura was so upset that she could not eat, she wanted only to get away.

A meditation followed:

So much of children's literature these days is intended as self-help, of the pop-psychology variety, intended to make children recognize, and perhaps wallow in, the short-comings of the world around them. Rather than displaying personal strength and the ability to meet challenges, they portray children who "need help" in order that the "actual" child reader will know what it means to "need help." I welcome an assessment of this by someone with experience helping troubled children professionally; I venture to assert that having similar experiences in which to wallow would compound rather than alleviate one's own problems, and that stories that show magical solutions to real world problems are still more damaging. I did not need a story to tell me that my family was dysfunctional, and I did not need a story to validate that being dysfunctional was O.K.--it was not O.K., and acknowledging that may have given me the ability to change my own life accordingly. Though I never thought of the stories in this way, the Little House Books, by holding up an ideal, may have allowed me an escape from our family situation, and shown me what could be possible through mutual respect between husband and wife, parent and child.

A further context for this meditation is my son's recent experience of reading the award-winning, but to my mind wholly unsuitable Each Little Bird That Sings, which centers on the life of a family of undertakers, children who are confronted with the death of strangers and who must, in the course of the book, confront the deaths of two elderly relatives and a beloved dog. The baby, probably not much older than my daughter, sings about people being dead to the tune of nursery rhymes. I'm sure this is all very "helpful" to children's psyches. However, my 10-year-old was soberly meditating on the fear of death after reading this wonderful piece of children's literature. At his Catholic school, he should be taught more about the meaning of death in the context of eternity than in the context of worldly fears. In the Little House Books, he would be learning about the challenges of life, and how they contribute to its wonder and joy. I may be naïve in preferring the latter to the former; nevertheless, I feel that it holds more value to the human person.

The Little House Books also offer useful lessons in generosity, albeit towards one's family only. I have a difficult time understanding where taking care of one's own (extended) family fits with Catholic ideals of generosity and charitable giving. Is giving to one's family being charitable? Some would say not. If caring for one's family precludes one's ability to give generously to strangers, does it fulfill one's obligations for charity? I am not well acquainted with Catholic social teaching, so I do not have the answers.

My brother has expressed his resentment--in words and actions--that he has had to share in the financial responsibility of the household. Admittedly, he is 18, the 5th of 6 children, but his venom is great, and does not fit with how we lived when I was part of the household and he was young--he was only 7 when I married. Without elaborating on the situation, my mother's unstable financial state has been further weakened by health concerns. In this college town, my brother has been exposed to a world in which undergraduates drive Lexus and BMW and Mercedes; more moderate incomes drive Mustangs. To not have a car to oneself at 18 is the exception rather than the rule. Talk is cheap, and money is cheaper. He has been well poisoned, who used to be generous.

In the Little House Books, Laura willingly and gratefully takes on jobs that she hates--that intimidate her, expose her to danger and unpleasantness, jobs that keep her in town from dawn until dusk, though only for short periods of weeks at a time--in order to contribute to her family's efforts to send her sister to the college for the blind in Iowa. She feels a deep sense of contentment, upon leaving to be married, at having contributed to her family, and feels able to leave and feel satisfied at having material things of her own because she has been able to give of herself to her family. In contemporary children's (or young adult) literature, would generosity or selfishness prevail? Which do we need more in today's world?

Putting things into perspective. . .

I ran across this post, Some Thoughts on Motherhood, on the Wine-Dark Sea blog, as I followed the Darwins' request for prayers on behalf of Melanie Bettanelli, who faces cancer in the aftermath of a miscarriage. The post fits with an overall theme of mine--the vocation of motherhood, on which I hope one day to have non-reactionary observations to post! It also puts a number of things into perspective, particularly as it deals with the grief of losing a child, which is perhaps something most (?) expectant mothers fear on some level, myself included. I can't summarize my reactions, though the words "shame" and "sympathy" come to mind, and perhaps "humility"--my recognition of another person's humility and the experience of being humbled by another's experience.

I appreciated another post on Wine-Dark Sea titled Lent on God's Terms, which is also relevant to how I've been feeling this Lenten season (she thinks, realizing she has just eaten a Lenten candy bar). It is a feeling many I know have shared; it's as if somehow we were not, collectively, ready for Lent--at least several of the Catholics I have read, spoken to, or emailed. In my case, I have not felt particularly spiritual since well before my Toddler and the Mass post. Perhaps these posts will lead me to a new era of maternal spirituality. Certainly, I have a new incentive to pray.

Pregnancy Anxieties, part 1

At the time that I wrote my two blogs about Catholic moms, careers, and unplanned pregnancies, I had a strong suspicion that I was pregnant with my third child. Turns out, I am. If you know me in the world outside the blog, please don't mention it just yet, as I am not quite ready for the news to go public (especially since my first doctor's appointment isn't until April 2, and I'm always rather afraid of something bad happening in the meantime). Also, pleeeeease don't make with the Catholic jokes until later. I can't really handle them right now. You can save them for the series of posts I'm planning: one in which I ask for people to say happy, excited, cheerful things; one in which I ask for people to tell me all of the obnoxious things that people tell to women who are pregnant--especially who are pregnant again, too soon, and then perhaps one that asks about Catholic large family jokes or even perhaps blessings. I need all of the blessings I can get!

You see, I really wasn't ready. I thought I would perhaps wait until my daughter was 4 or 5--after all, her brother was about to turn 9 when she was born. I wanted to determine how her very strong little personality would develop for a while, and I feared that she would be a "middle child"--the attention-seeker who feels persecuted by his/her siblings and parents. I did not want this for her. She has a sweet disposition, but has entered the most frustrating age!! I remember being frustrated with her brother at this age, and the frustration didn't lessen until he was 4 or 5, though the later frustration was perhaps a symptom of his ability to communicate rather than the inability, which is what we are facing now. She is very needy, and wants my (usually) or my husband's (frequently) attention most of the time. Brother is a big help, but it is a real challenge to keep her happy these days. I also need to investigate the possibility that she has recurrent urinary tract infections, a fear with which the doctor poisoned my mind when she had a UTI at about 9 months. The "asserting her will" phase is further complicated by the fact that my house is NOT baby proof--not even remotely baby proof--not baby proof in any sense of the word. So all is not well in toddler-land.

I worry that no one will be excited for me. That I will be greeted with pity, which, I believe, has already happened. That I will be regarded as foolish. That those who express joy will harbor a secret pleasure in seeing me humbled. I did not have a baby shower with my daughter on purpose, because I didn't know who would come anyway, and it was never custom in New Orleans to have a baby shower for a second pregnancy. But for this one, I feel like I might like one. This might be because a baby shower forces people to at least pretend to be happy for the pregnant mother. I was most insistent that I receive a baby shower for my son, also unplanned, but more so, and so dreadfully afraid (with reason) that no one would step forward to give it that I organized it myself, for the most part. Perhaps I felt confident enough in myself not to need other people being happy for me with my daughter--they were already, and it didn't necessarily matter, because I was happy.

Which perhaps brings me to the real cause for my anxiety over what others will say. Anyone who knows me will know that I rarely care for other's opinions. Except that I feel, in spite of the fact that I am happily married, a deep sense of embarrassment and shame. Because, as I mentioned before, intelligent, mature women don't have accidents. I don't really believe that, but that is what feminism would have us believe, isn't it? And regardless of the issues I have with feminism, it's hard to eject the poison from our consciousnesses. The Catholic arguments aren't really working for me, because as a self-styled intellectual and a long-time skeptic, I have deep reservations about doing, feeling, or thinking something because a religion tells you to do so. Conversion or no conversion, I can't purge something so closely embedded in the fiber of my being--or at least I haven't been able to do so yet. This is a point that was not helped by the homily I heard on Sunday, in which the priest discussed ecumenism. He mentioned that while we believe that the Catholic Church holds within itself all of the necessary elements of salvation, that we share with other denominations some of the elements necessary for salvation. While his point was that we can enter dialogue through this common ground, it rather sounded like, if you can't be Catholic, other options can lead you to salvation also. While this is the grounds according to which Catholics recognize the potential for those outside of the Church to achieve Salvation (an idea my mother was not taught in parochial schools), it is not necessarily something that one wants to banter about to Catholics who are feeling discouraged. And as if to illustrate the point, I saw someone in my department yesterday whom I know to have been ordained a Catholic priest. He left the clergy, married, and is now an Episcopalian priest (and a conservative one, from all accounts). So instead of regarding him and wondering the reason for his decision, albeit a difficult decision, this homily allowed me to see the rationale according to which he must have acted, making the choice for the love of his now-wife that he felt, from the weakness of our common human condition, to be necessary at the time. There is, of course, more to the theology issues, but I will leave them for now. . . perhaps forever.

I worry about being a bad parent, particularly to this new one. I have high standards for everyone, but my highest standards I reserve for myself. If I am frustrated with my beautiful little girl right now, how much more will I brush her aside to care for a new one? I don't know how my mother did it. Especially without any support from her husband. And already I am making compromises in my high ideals in anticipation of the new arrival. It was a matter of pride for me to wait until delivery to find the sex of my first two. I am now considering finding out in advance, simply to make it easier on myself--not to enhance the excitement, but to know whether I need to assess the situation with boy clothes, or if I can rest assured that I have things covered with clothes from my daughter. My son and daughter never did take bottles. I now feel that I will probably pump and give the new baby at least one bottle a day. I can not decide whether I am compromising my beliefs about child rearing because I am not mentally or emotionally prepared for this baby, or if I am simply being practical, given the fact that I still need to complete a degree while caring for a toddler and an infant.

And of course, I worry about finances. My husband is woefully underemployed given his education and talents, and has settled for his present position in support of my academic pursuits. My financial aid is exhausted, and I'm not sure I will qualify for alternative loans next academic year. I'm not even going to address bills, but while we have made significant progress on the credit card-type debt over the past 4-5 years, student loans and car notes (of which we have 2, though only one car) pose significant problems. We will be moving into a better school district, which brings additional expense, and would like to get a 2-bedroom, though with a baby on the way, a 3-bedroom would be more legal, if less practical in terms of layout (and price!!). A good friend who will shortly be giving birth herself has told me of a Mexican proverb that a baby is born "with a loaf of bread under its arm." This could be taken more or less literally, assuming that the family situation will work itself out, or that, specifically, families find ways of making things work financially in order to support a new baby. I believe both of these things to a degree, though I must confess to a weakness of faith with regards to God's intervention in financial difficulties. It has just never been something I believed--that God intervenes in financial matters, perhaps because of the emphasis in the Bible on relinquishing one's material possessions.

I have always felt that a baby is indeed a blessing, and precious, and that babies are a joy, and help people to cope with situations in positive ways, so I know things are going to work out somehow. I also maintain the belief, expressed elsewhere, that motherhood does not restrict the mother to the home, and that, in particular, an academic profession and parenting are perfectly compatible. But I know I have significant challenges before me, and I can use all of the prayers and encouragement that you have to offer.

Not Meant to be a Homeowner

Recently I discovered, once and for all, that I am not meant to be a homeowner. For lack of a better post, I will treat you to the reasons why. Utter financial ruin notwithstanding, there are a few basic, practical reasons having to do with the maintenance of a home and having to pay for it. I'm the kind of person who doesn't like to change the oil or rotate the tires on a vehicle. . . How much more costly is the upkeep of a house? It is much easier to complain to the landlord or fix the problem and deduct the cost from the rent. Of course, we frequently fix the issue and do not deduct the amount from the rent, if it was a minor problem, or if it wasn't an "approved" expenditure. Also, we have been without an overhead light in our kitchen since November, as our landlord works offshore and could not replace or fix the fluorescent light that once illuminated our cooking--and laundry--area.

However, the most important reason why I am not suited to homeownership might have something to do with inconstancy--you decide. I have difficulty staying in the same place for very long. I find that all of the elements that I once found charming, the "quirks" of the home, if you will, begin to prey on my consciousness. I feel the walls closing in, and I must seek escape--a change of scenery--a permanent change of scenery. Although I prefer working at home to working at my office (a dreary place), since we have lived in our current house (6 years now--the longest we've lived in one place since we've been married), I have changed my work area several times--from room to room, replacing furniture, lighting, etc. I could put it down to procrastinating, but it really feels like an urgent need for change, and I can procrastinate well enough without moving heavy objects, thank you very much. What else are blogs for?

When I was in college--a "fuzzy little adolescent poet," as one enlightened professor called me--I wrote a poem that I called "No Suburban Love." Ostensibly about not settling down in yuppie comfort, it was about the incompatibility of domesticity and passion and my then-belief in the impossibility of finding lasting love. Truly, a Romantic, naïve poem in many ways, but not one from which I am so distant that I can no longer see its charms. After all, the evocation of "plush carpets" and "soft Sylvania lighting" was quite nice. And, indeed, its evocation of place is true for me in a superficial way. I am not one for settling into one comfortable house, unless I have just not had the means or opportunity to find that particular house, the means and opportunity being attached to my goal of achieving a Ph.D. and finding a job that will allow my family to live comfortably. The one house to which I was attached was sold, unfortunately--my grandparents' house. I wrote a poem about that one, too, in which my grandfather's spirit infused the porch swing, the cypress tree, the brick-paved yard. It was a New Orleans poem, not a suburban poem, and felt more real.

So I find myself, after 6 years of living in one place--having only, since we were married, ever lived in a place for one year at a time before now--looking for a 2-bedroom apartment instead of our 3-bedroom, 1400 sq. ft. (rental, old) house. This will mean getting rid of a lot of "stuff"--"stuff" which is threatening to suffocate and crush me under its burdensome weight. I have heard that moving every so often prevents the accumulation of "stuff." I am willing to experiment to see if it is true.

Quick Lenten Meals #2: Shrimp or Crawfish Jambalaya

In this recipe, I will be using crawfish, which I found frozen from Louisiana (not China) at a good price (cheaper than the Chinese crawfish!). Shrimp will work just as well. With larger shrimp, you may want to cut them in half or thirds to insure an even distribution of shrimp throughout the dish. This is a main course, not a side dish!

1-2 Tbsp, butter
1 onion, finely chopped
1 bell pepper, chopped
16 oz. frozen crawfish, or an equivalent amount of shrimp
1 can diced or crushed tomatoes
1 1/2 c. rice
3 cups of liquid (water with the tomato juice added)
1/2 tsp salt (less if your seafood has added sodium)
pepper and cayenne to taste

1. Melt the butter in a pot. Sauté the onion and bell pepper until onions are transparent and the bell peppers are soft. Add pepper and cayenne, and a portion of the salt.

2. If your seafood is frozen and precooked, add and cook until barely thawed. If your shrimp are raw, cook until they have turned orange (or pink, depending on the variety) and opaque.

3. Add the rice and sauté until the grains begin to look translucent.

4. Before the grains of rice begin to brown, drain the tomato juice to use later and add the tomatoes. Add the 3 cups of liquid (drained tomato juice and water) and bring to a strong simmer. Add remaining salt.

5. Cover, reduce heat to low, and cook for 15 minutes, or according to the cooking directions for rice. Some climates may need to add more water, I believe. Avoid the temptation to stir, but do make sure you don't smell burning. If your rice sticks and burns, your fire is likely too high and your water cooked away before the rice was cooked, so be cautious!

Enjoy! Makes a whole lotta jambalaya! Enough to feed a family!