Thanks to the comment she posted on my blog, I discovered blogger Entropy's "Sphere of Influence," which raises a lot of good, Catholic questions. It is refreshing to see a blogger really engaging with issues of faith, including asking questions when questions need to be asked and seeking faithful answers. I am engaged at present with her questions for Traditionalists, on which post I have been embarrassingly outspoken. She asks and answers some good questions about Virginity in a slightly older post, and I have found any number of probing discussions by browsing around a bit.
In a more academic mode, I was able to engage with fellow grad-students & professors to give input about the standard syllabus for Freshman Composition--the bane of every incoming Freshman (who didn't test out) and the 2nd year grad students who have to teach it. My gripe--teaching a novel for one of the major papers when they haven't even learned what they need to about writing yet, and won't with the distraction of "Argument as Literature" or "Arguing about Literature." Introducing the novel to the course was part of a two-fold effort to engage the university with a community reading project and pacify grad students who wanted to be teaching literature. I would rather be teaching literature (except that it requires more prep work that I won't need with a new baby on the way and I'm finally fairly happy with my syllabus for the first time in 6 years of teaching). But pretending that a writing course can accommodate literature and all of its assorted teaching baggage--er, difficulties--strikes me as a little naive. Besides that the novels in question were not particularly compelling to me personally, and it's never fun to teach someone else's "pet issues." Sure, one involved literacy, but from the perspective of literacy-acquisition and racial injustice, which is not where I'm coming from at all, though it is interesting in its own right. So we discussed the issue of teaching a book, the particular writing assignments, and some general strategies for improving classroom interaction. All good.
After this meeting, there was a brainstorming session for the 4C's conference (College Composition and Communication), which will be in New Orleans next year and I need an easy-to-get-to conference on my cv. Being on home turf is always a good thing, especially since the family could come with me and I hate traveling alone (which would not be an option anyway since I will have a 4-month-old!). So we talked about possible panels and it looks like we will be organizing one around the people who are working with literacy theory. One person is doing literacy acquisition narratives, one is doing technology & literacy, and I am doing literacy as portrayed in literature. I was informed of an article that intersects somewhat with what I am doing--even down to the time period. Also, I was able to explain--in rather more detail than I expected, after being asked to elaborate--what I am writing about for the dissertation. This had the happy result of making me think about what I was doing. An hour or so later, in Cheddar's, we ran into a former professor of my husband's, who also asked for the dissertation-in-a-nutshell, and giving the quick & dirty account of one's research project is always a beneficial thing. So I find myself slightly more interested in thinking about work than usual--all in time to prepare for tomorrow's class. Oh well. That's how it works! But at least it will be a workshop-y class, which I advocated at the meeting today and which seem productive for my class this semester. Those classes have much less prep than the ones in which I really have to teach something.
Interesting that these on-campus meetings were possible because my son was home (he had a cold, but wouldn't have been going to school anyway). Otherwise, I would have missed the first meeting, which began at 3. I realize that I need a bit more of this talking-to-people about academic stuff. It's just a pain to drag myself to the meetings to interact with people. I need to work on that. Did you notice "sloth" as one of my major sins?
Monday, April 16, 2007
7 Deadly Sins
| Greed: | Medium | |
| Gluttony: | High | |
| Wrath: | Very Low | |
| Sloth: | Very High | |
| Envy: | Medium | |
| Lust: | Very Low | |
| Pride: | Very Low |
I don't disagree with too much, here. I did figure pride would be higher, though.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Forced into homeschooling?
Possibly. For 5 weeks, anyway. I don't really know what to do, since the teacher that taught my child 1st-3rd grade has refused to take him "for his own good." Essentially, she's afraid he won't get much out of the time. Or doesn't want to bother. I don't think he'll get much out of the last 5 weeks anyway--what child does? I just want him to be enrolled somewhere so he isn't regarded as having too many absences. I'm not sure what the public schools' policies are with regard to readmitting students who were homeschooled for all or part of a year, but I doubt if they're pretty. I don't want him to start summer early, because that's sending a bad message. But I'm afraid of him being mistreated by his Catholic school teacher who gave homework over Easter. And of course, there is pride involved--mine. And I've got a lot of it. But I'm no more equipped to figure out what to have him do for the last 5 weeks--not to mention buying the supplies--than I am to take college Calculus! Ugh! On the other hand, this would mean about $450 more in my pocket (that I could use to buy supplies for 5 weeks) and someone to watch the baby while I took a bath so I could try to get out of the house more to attend meetings. We could call it--what term do they use in Montessori? "practical life"? Still, this means a lot of anxiety. But more than if he stayed in school??
Thursday, April 12, 2007
School Year Woes
Dear Dr. Principal,
I realize that you have likely heard from me more this school year than any other parent, and for that I apologize. I have maintained the confidence that you realized that I was motivated not by a desire to cause trouble for you or for Mrs. Teacher, but by my own standards of excellence for education, expectations of St. Parish School, and desire for an educational environment conducive to my son's learning. Unfortunately, in all of these things I have been disappointed. In fact, the area in which I have had satisfaction with St. Parish School was your attentiveness to my concerns, whether or not they were able to be resolved through the means you had available. I'm sure you realized long before now, and suspected earlier, that we will not be returning to St. Parish School next year. I do believe that had you entertained my request to switch Student to Mr. Other Teacher's class at the beginning of the year, our overall experience would have been better. However, it is too late to change that at this point.
At this point, there are too many things for me to enumerate as I sit and reflect on the frustrations of the past school year. I have such low regard for Mrs. Teacher as a teacher, from her time management, which caused her class to be behind Mr. Other Teacher's from the beginning and caused the many tests on Mondays when the class had not covered the material in time to have a test on Thursday or Friday, to her manner with the students, who are frequently belittled and almost never given a straight, honest answer to a straight, honest question, to her conversational skills, which cause her to talk louder than, faster than, and over any adult with whom she is attempting to have a discussion--I can only imagine how the children must fare--to her refusal to respond in full to parental questions and concerns, or refusal to take them as questions without feeling that she is being personally attacked. I have also mentioned her bad attitude toward taking the children to Confession.
All year, I have refrained from telling you about how every time I asked a question of Mrs. Teacher, Student was harassed in class. I was frequently asking for clarification of the assignments--many of which did not have instructions printed--so that I could understand the points deducted from work that otherwise looked well done to my eye. This is a consequence of sending papers home and actually having parents who are interested in looking at them and understanding what is being required of their children. I have the impression that this is not common at St. Parish School. When I ask a question, however, Mrs. Teacher, rather than answering me directly, asks Student what I wanted to know, demands if he understands what he did wrong, and otherwise browbeats him over the content of the assignment--which was never my intention. In one case, this resulted in Student's receiving a 50 on an Enrichment project, since, instead of forwarding my request for information to Mrs. Special Teacher, they had a verbal discussion about it, Mrs. Teacher asked Student why he didn't know this or what I wanted to know about the assignment, and never communicated directly to me about the issue. All she had to do was give me Mrs. Special Teacher's email address, which was not on the St. Parish School web page. Instead, Mrs. Special Teacher insinuated that Student had been rude to her, and I punished him only to find out that Mrs. Special Teacher was being grossly hyperbolic. This kind of communication breakdown should never occur. I asked a simple question, as I did many times this year. Instead of getting a simple answer, my son was called up and questioned, when he was not privy to my concerns.
This occurred once again on Wednesday of this week. I asked about a math assignment which, according to the directions on the worksheet, Student completed correctly. In response to my questions, Mrs. Teacher said that she added to the instructions, telling the children to write the words "line segment," etc. Now, Mrs. Teacher is the type of person whom I can see any person--even an adult--misunderstanding because she speaks so rapidly and superfluously. In addition, when the children seek clarification, she often refuses, telling them that they should have been listening the first time, or belittling them for not understanding how to do something, like a diorama, or answering, "Do we tuck in our shirts if we wear jeans with our uniform shirts on Tuesdays?" with "What do you think?" instead of a straight answer. Any child would become discouraged by this condescension and stop asking. Student completed the assignment according to the written directions, and received a 71 instead of the 90% he deserved. She refuses to answer whether his grade accurately reflects his understanding of the material, or if this is simply to teach him some kind of lesson. Even according to her directions she should award an additional 2 1/2 points, giving half-credit for 5 of his correct answers that were marked incorrect and raising his grade to a 77%, though I still do not think that this is representative of his mastery of the material. I believe that her refusal to address this issue further is intended to silence me and punish him for my questioning, or to hurt his feeling to such an extent that he will not confide in his parents. My feelings are justified by today's insult.
Today, when asking Mrs. Teacher today about his AR (Accelerated Reader) level and point goal being lowered and asking to exchange a book, Mrs. Teacher responded to him, adding, "Unless you want to complain to Dr. Principal about it." Now, Student has never, to my knowledge, complained to you about anything. Can you tell me, then, the purpose of this comment? In case you suspect him, Student could never invent such a comment. It is beyond anything he could have conceived. This is on top of being told when received 100% on a science, "See what happens when you study?" Clearly he is being singled out because of my questioning. No child should be subjected to this treatment.
I do not expect anything I have said to make any impact that will extend beyond my child's situation during this school year. I can't imagine that Mrs. Teacher's manner or methods will change in future years. Even if I could provide some kind of physical proof of my claims, I do not believe that she would be willing to confirm or correct these issues. Perhaps if every parent had the same issues, something might be done. This is not possible given the difference in involvement, knowledge of classroom events, belief in children's truthfulness, and standards of educational excellence among parents. One parent might protest that her child was ridiculed for bringing Easter treats for the class. Another might protest having her son excluded from a pizza party because he has severe difficulty in reading. Still another might protest having her son excluded from a pizza party because computer malfunctions prevented him from reaching his AR goal by 5 points. When the children are witness to these issues among their peers, they can only become demoralized. Children are resilient, but it is this kind of treatment that I wanted to avoid by keeping Student out of public schools for so long.
Failing any lasting impact on what I feel is a grievous fault in the school, I want to know what can be done THIS year--for US. If Mrs. Teacher is confronted, Student will suffer, and nothing will be resolved. If I could keep Student home without penalty for the remainder of the school year--and be reimbursed for tuition--I would do so. However, I feel that he would benefit from the next six weeks' material. I assure you that I am as tired of questioning and protesting as you are of hearing my questions and protests. But I am literally, as I said in my subject line, at wits' end. I can not even suggest a resolution. I appeal to you, as the principal, to suggests possibilities for resolution. I do not want to confront Mrs. Teacher or be confronted by her. I do not want to have her put the blame onto Student as she has done every time I have asked her a question. I want him removed from the situation. I just don't know how best to accomplish this at this point. I wish it would never have gotten this bad. I wish, instead, that this could have been averted by something other than a compromise of my ideals. As it is, I have compromised my ideals and we have been penalized anyway.
I do not feel that this is beyond the scope of your authority, and I wanted to consult you first since I believe you have truly tried to assist us this year. However, if you feel that this is beyond you, please let me know whom I should contact--whether Msgnr. School Pastor or Mr. System Head
I hope that you understand the seriousness of this matter, and I hope we can come to the resolution that will be best for Student.
Thank you for your patient attention to this email.
Sincerely,
Literacy-chic
I seriously need to go to Confession for all the things I have said and thought about Mrs. Teacher. My patience has been sorely tried, and I have not risen to the occasion. For reasons like the above, I envy you who home-school. I suppose this is why I am posting this as evidence to strengthen your resolve to home school. FYI--this is a 4th grade class situation that I am describing. *Sigh*
*I in no way support or endorse the AR (Accelerated Reader) Program. It is faulty beyond comparison.
I realize that you have likely heard from me more this school year than any other parent, and for that I apologize. I have maintained the confidence that you realized that I was motivated not by a desire to cause trouble for you or for Mrs. Teacher, but by my own standards of excellence for education, expectations of St. Parish School, and desire for an educational environment conducive to my son's learning. Unfortunately, in all of these things I have been disappointed. In fact, the area in which I have had satisfaction with St. Parish School was your attentiveness to my concerns, whether or not they were able to be resolved through the means you had available. I'm sure you realized long before now, and suspected earlier, that we will not be returning to St. Parish School next year. I do believe that had you entertained my request to switch Student to Mr. Other Teacher's class at the beginning of the year, our overall experience would have been better. However, it is too late to change that at this point.
At this point, there are too many things for me to enumerate as I sit and reflect on the frustrations of the past school year. I have such low regard for Mrs. Teacher as a teacher, from her time management, which caused her class to be behind Mr. Other Teacher's from the beginning and caused the many tests on Mondays when the class had not covered the material in time to have a test on Thursday or Friday, to her manner with the students, who are frequently belittled and almost never given a straight, honest answer to a straight, honest question, to her conversational skills, which cause her to talk louder than, faster than, and over any adult with whom she is attempting to have a discussion--I can only imagine how the children must fare--to her refusal to respond in full to parental questions and concerns, or refusal to take them as questions without feeling that she is being personally attacked. I have also mentioned her bad attitude toward taking the children to Confession.
All year, I have refrained from telling you about how every time I asked a question of Mrs. Teacher, Student was harassed in class. I was frequently asking for clarification of the assignments--many of which did not have instructions printed--so that I could understand the points deducted from work that otherwise looked well done to my eye. This is a consequence of sending papers home and actually having parents who are interested in looking at them and understanding what is being required of their children. I have the impression that this is not common at St. Parish School. When I ask a question, however, Mrs. Teacher, rather than answering me directly, asks Student what I wanted to know, demands if he understands what he did wrong, and otherwise browbeats him over the content of the assignment--which was never my intention. In one case, this resulted in Student's receiving a 50 on an Enrichment project, since, instead of forwarding my request for information to Mrs. Special Teacher, they had a verbal discussion about it, Mrs. Teacher asked Student why he didn't know this or what I wanted to know about the assignment, and never communicated directly to me about the issue. All she had to do was give me Mrs. Special Teacher's email address, which was not on the St. Parish School web page. Instead, Mrs. Special Teacher insinuated that Student had been rude to her, and I punished him only to find out that Mrs. Special Teacher was being grossly hyperbolic. This kind of communication breakdown should never occur. I asked a simple question, as I did many times this year. Instead of getting a simple answer, my son was called up and questioned, when he was not privy to my concerns.
This occurred once again on Wednesday of this week. I asked about a math assignment which, according to the directions on the worksheet, Student completed correctly. In response to my questions, Mrs. Teacher said that she added to the instructions, telling the children to write the words "line segment," etc. Now, Mrs. Teacher is the type of person whom I can see any person--even an adult--misunderstanding because she speaks so rapidly and superfluously. In addition, when the children seek clarification, she often refuses, telling them that they should have been listening the first time, or belittling them for not understanding how to do something, like a diorama, or answering, "Do we tuck in our shirts if we wear jeans with our uniform shirts on Tuesdays?" with "What do you think?" instead of a straight answer. Any child would become discouraged by this condescension and stop asking. Student completed the assignment according to the written directions, and received a 71 instead of the 90% he deserved. She refuses to answer whether his grade accurately reflects his understanding of the material, or if this is simply to teach him some kind of lesson. Even according to her directions she should award an additional 2 1/2 points, giving half-credit for 5 of his correct answers that were marked incorrect and raising his grade to a 77%, though I still do not think that this is representative of his mastery of the material. I believe that her refusal to address this issue further is intended to silence me and punish him for my questioning, or to hurt his feeling to such an extent that he will not confide in his parents. My feelings are justified by today's insult.
Today, when asking Mrs. Teacher today about his AR (Accelerated Reader) level and point goal being lowered and asking to exchange a book, Mrs. Teacher responded to him, adding, "Unless you want to complain to Dr. Principal about it." Now, Student has never, to my knowledge, complained to you about anything. Can you tell me, then, the purpose of this comment? In case you suspect him, Student could never invent such a comment. It is beyond anything he could have conceived. This is on top of being told when received 100% on a science, "See what happens when you study?" Clearly he is being singled out because of my questioning. No child should be subjected to this treatment.
I do not expect anything I have said to make any impact that will extend beyond my child's situation during this school year. I can't imagine that Mrs. Teacher's manner or methods will change in future years. Even if I could provide some kind of physical proof of my claims, I do not believe that she would be willing to confirm or correct these issues. Perhaps if every parent had the same issues, something might be done. This is not possible given the difference in involvement, knowledge of classroom events, belief in children's truthfulness, and standards of educational excellence among parents. One parent might protest that her child was ridiculed for bringing Easter treats for the class. Another might protest having her son excluded from a pizza party because he has severe difficulty in reading. Still another might protest having her son excluded from a pizza party because computer malfunctions prevented him from reaching his AR goal by 5 points. When the children are witness to these issues among their peers, they can only become demoralized. Children are resilient, but it is this kind of treatment that I wanted to avoid by keeping Student out of public schools for so long.
Failing any lasting impact on what I feel is a grievous fault in the school, I want to know what can be done THIS year--for US. If Mrs. Teacher is confronted, Student will suffer, and nothing will be resolved. If I could keep Student home without penalty for the remainder of the school year--and be reimbursed for tuition--I would do so. However, I feel that he would benefit from the next six weeks' material. I assure you that I am as tired of questioning and protesting as you are of hearing my questions and protests. But I am literally, as I said in my subject line, at wits' end. I can not even suggest a resolution. I appeal to you, as the principal, to suggests possibilities for resolution. I do not want to confront Mrs. Teacher or be confronted by her. I do not want to have her put the blame onto Student as she has done every time I have asked her a question. I want him removed from the situation. I just don't know how best to accomplish this at this point. I wish it would never have gotten this bad. I wish, instead, that this could have been averted by something other than a compromise of my ideals. As it is, I have compromised my ideals and we have been penalized anyway.
I do not feel that this is beyond the scope of your authority, and I wanted to consult you first since I believe you have truly tried to assist us this year. However, if you feel that this is beyond you, please let me know whom I should contact--whether Msgnr. School Pastor or Mr. System Head
I hope that you understand the seriousness of this matter, and I hope we can come to the resolution that will be best for Student.
Thank you for your patient attention to this email.
Sincerely,
Literacy-chic
I seriously need to go to Confession for all the things I have said and thought about Mrs. Teacher. My patience has been sorely tried, and I have not risen to the occasion. For reasons like the above, I envy you who home-school. I suppose this is why I am posting this as evidence to strengthen your resolve to home school. FYI--this is a 4th grade class situation that I am describing. *Sigh*
*I in no way support or endorse the AR (Accelerated Reader) Program. It is faulty beyond comparison.
Monday, April 9, 2007
Church Fathers Quiz
This is oddly appropriate. . .
The site further says to check out Tertullian: Treatises on Marriage and Remarriage: To His Wife, An Exhortation to Chastity, Monogamy for more information on Tertullian.
An interesting note: when I redid the quiz, changing the answers to the ones I almost chose the first time, I got St. Jerome, who happens to be my confirmation saint! (Because he's crotchety and holy!)
You’re Tertullian! You possess many gifts, but patience isn’t one of them. You’re tough on yourself — and on others. You’re independent, too, and you don’t like to be told what to do. You wish the Church would be a little tighter in discipline. As for the pagans, you’ve pretty much written them off. Sometimes you think the Church would be a better place if you were in charge. Find out which Church Father you are at The Way of the Fathers! |
An interesting note: when I redid the quiz, changing the answers to the ones I almost chose the first time, I got St. Jerome, who happens to be my confirmation saint! (Because he's crotchety and holy!)
Some Easter Thoughts
Fellow-blogger Jen of "Et tu, Jen?" has chronicled her Lenten journey toward entering the Catholic Church this Easter. I have been pondering Easter- and Triduum-posts over the past several days, but did not know quite where to begin or what to say. But here's a bit of a remembrance. . .
When I entered the Church, it was on Halloween, not Easter (oddly enough)--I was Confirmed with a college Confirmation class and Baptized by the Bishop just before the Confirmation. But the rites involving the Elect always make me teary, remembering, and Easter was when I first knew with certainty that I not only desired with all of my heart to become Catholic, but that I would be Catholic in time.
It is interesting, perhaps, to note at this point that the Lent after I became Catholic and we had our marriage blessed, I was pregnant (no coincidence, there! It finally seemed "time" to have another baby). The following Lent, I was breastfeeding. This Lent, I was pregnant! Basically, what this means is no fasting! Actually, I did fast on Ash Wednesday, but I found it very difficult--both to muster up the will to fast and to physically maintain the strength. I found out a few days later why it was so difficult! So Lent for me opened on a rather un-spiritual note. I believe the spiritual aspects of Lent kicked in for me a few weeks before Easter, when Fr. Michael called up the RCIA candidates and sponsors and had the congregation kneel during the petitions and a laying on of hands (not necessarily in that order). I couldn't help thinking of this experience when reading Jen's blog. A friend informs me that it was likely one of the Scrutinies, and indeed, my husband noted that it had a very ancient "feel." From the time the Catechumens came forward until when we rose, I found myself crying. . . and I can't just relegate it to pregnancy hormones! :) Nothing like that has happened to me in years. I am very grateful for those moments.
The services leading up to Easter are my favorites of the liturgical year. The Holy Thursday mass, for me, is the most special and significant, celebrating as it does the institution of the Eucharist. Since my son had already been to mass at school that morning, my husband & I asked my mother to stay with my son & daughter (our first "date" this year, and we went to mass!) and went to the mass alone. This year, there was more emphasis on the washing of the feet than on the institution of the Eucharist, which led to a homily about service, in which Father revealed that he was ordained on the day of the Live Aid concert. It was incredible to hear him speak of his experience, and even more incredible to hear this slightly severe English-educated Irish priest choke a little on his words--a bit during the homily, but again when accepting the oils that had been blessed at the Chrism Mass earlier in the week. The foot-washing was done among the congregation, which meant that those seated around the chosen felt an acute sense of awkwardness--as it should be, I believe. And for anyone who follows these things, the priests of this parish washed the feet of men and women, emphasizing the common role of service of all of the baptized rather than the strict theological interpretation favored by some that sees in the washing of the feet the institution of the priesthood among the disciples. There is value in both interpretations, but it seems that if the latter interpretation were played out in the mass, only the feet of the ordained should be washed. After a long, beautiful mass, we rather guiltily snuck out of the adoration--the "watching with" Jesus present in the Eucharist to rejoin our little ones, the smallest of whom was missing her momma.
Holy Thursday always reminds me of a poem by Alfred de Vigny that I translated when I was an undergrad: "Le Mont des Oliviers": Then it was night, and Jesus walked alone/ Clothed in white, like one who is already dead/ the disciples slept at the feet of the hill,/ Towards the olives, a sinister wind blew. . . A few lines later: He fell to his knees, his chest against the earth;/ Then looking at the sky, called, "Oh My Father!"/ -But the sky was black, and God did not respond. While this revels that the interpretation is not strictly Orthodox (what French poem is?), the sense of agony made a deep impression on me. Alas! So did the sense of futility communicated by the poem, but that is more complex, something that is still moving, though not because of its truth. It is a beautiful poem, and I always think of it at this time of year.
Good Friday, the whole family went to the 2-hour service, much to the consternation of the 18-month old! But, all things considered, she didn't do too badly. It was solemn and beautiful, though differently so, and the 10-year-old was a bit concerned about the adoration of the cross. I understand; I can't bring myself to kiss the cross. I confided to him that this is truly the weirdest thing that we do in the Church all year--but that it is a sign of respect and reverence. Surely, no one can deny that it is a bit weird. But I also let him know that whatever he was comfortable doing was fine. I came to realize that the color scheme of the church can influence one's perception of the service. The past 2 years, we have attended a church with a white interior. When shadows fall, they are cold and grey. The church we have been attending is brown and warm--my friend has said, like a hunting lodge. When it is dark, therefore, it still retains the warmth of the wood and brick in the shadows. On Good Friday, the cold and grey is more effective.
Our pastor (I haven't officially changed our affiliation, but we will) was trying, on Palm Sunday, to induce everyone to attend the entire Triduum, in which he was remarkably successful, given the attendance on Thursday and Friday. But no one can tell me that the correct thing to do with a family is to attend the Easter Vigil. We attended twice; once to see a friend confirmed, but the Baptisms were brief. The second time, 40-something were Baptized, and my son, who was old enough not to squirm, fell asleep. My husband and I were asked to do a reading during the Vigil after I entered the Church, which is why we were there. Admittedly, it was beautiful, but I have come to realize that the Easter Vigil is not really part of the cultural celebration of Easter. This may not be a valid argument for some, but when you consider that the RCIA program was not even in place until relatively recently, the Vigil only recently recovered the significance that it holds in the Church today. This weekend, I had particular pity for those who were to have a full-immersion baptism in the frigid rear section of the church, particularly the one we attended last year and the years before, on a 40-ish degree day with sleet and rain. It must've been chilly.
There is something about the light streaming onto the altar on Easter Sunday that holds a special significance for me--it imparts the joy of Easter. I prefer last years' gospel in which Mary Magdalen discovers the empty tomb and Jesus, whom she "supposed to be the gardener." This line, too, takes on special significance because of literature, in this case, 'The Gardener" by Kipling. But of course, Easter is always beautiful.
I missed hearing this year the gospel devoted to the "good thief." But he was mentioned, and this is always a special passage for me.
In all of this, pregnancy has presented some special challenges. I already mentioned the inability to fast. This also extended to an inability to abstain from meat, which, yes, is allowed. I have seen some holier-than-though male bloggers confidently declare that while a pregnant woman can certainly forgo fasting, that there can be no reason for her not to abstain from meat on Fridays, since there are so many other forms of protein. I only hope the woman who asked the question does not hold herself to such a standard. Her pastor will tell her otherwise. And I wish that the person who made the declaration could experience morning sickness--or the milder facsimile that I experience, in which only certain foods will prevent the nausea. And this means that when you need chicken nuggets, a fish fillet will not suffice. I tried. And then there was the day that my little piece of toast with the cheese melted on top sat all day on the table with one bite taken out of it. Yes, it was protein. But it was clearly not the protein that my body wanted at that particular time. Meat has the advantage of being, in some forms, rather easy on the stomach compared to cheese, tofu, and certainly the quicker forms of fish, which generally involve grease. I haven't even had much of a taste for shrimp.
So this weekend, fasting before mass and then sitting through longer-than-usual-services was a challenge. Sunday was not a good day for it. I also believe that, having waited an interminably long time for incense in the mass, the particular blend of incense was not agreeable to my pregnant sense of smell. It was beautiful to inhale the smoke drifting towards us, but it settled in the space between and above my eyes for the entire mass, and carried into the day beyond the end of mass. I have never had problems with incense before, and I hope that this problem does not recur throughout the Easter season. I love incense.
So the family parts of Easter were a bit messed up by my headache and stomach-y issues, work schedules of my siblings, and the baby girl's nap schedule. But my son and brother (who is 12) had an egg hunt in my mother's house, and our potato salad and pork loin were excellent. On Saturday, my brother came to dye eggs with my son and I cooked a pot-roast, a rare event for me, since cooking meat intimidates me. And now my husband can have chocolate again, and coffee from Starbucks, which is real cause for celebration!
I seem to lack some pithy conclusion, or even a natural end like the end of a journey. I hope everyone's Easter was as blessed as mine has been, and that if your Lenten journey was difficult, as mine was, that there was cause for joy at its conclusion. I believe that I was my own offering for Lent, and that becoming used to this pregnancy was my task. My doubts will continue to surface over the next months, but I believe that the initial darkness passed--rather quickly, actually. Now, if the nausea would pass also. . .
When I entered the Church, it was on Halloween, not Easter (oddly enough)--I was Confirmed with a college Confirmation class and Baptized by the Bishop just before the Confirmation. But the rites involving the Elect always make me teary, remembering, and Easter was when I first knew with certainty that I not only desired with all of my heart to become Catholic, but that I would be Catholic in time.
It is interesting, perhaps, to note at this point that the Lent after I became Catholic and we had our marriage blessed, I was pregnant (no coincidence, there! It finally seemed "time" to have another baby). The following Lent, I was breastfeeding. This Lent, I was pregnant! Basically, what this means is no fasting! Actually, I did fast on Ash Wednesday, but I found it very difficult--both to muster up the will to fast and to physically maintain the strength. I found out a few days later why it was so difficult! So Lent for me opened on a rather un-spiritual note. I believe the spiritual aspects of Lent kicked in for me a few weeks before Easter, when Fr. Michael called up the RCIA candidates and sponsors and had the congregation kneel during the petitions and a laying on of hands (not necessarily in that order). I couldn't help thinking of this experience when reading Jen's blog. A friend informs me that it was likely one of the Scrutinies, and indeed, my husband noted that it had a very ancient "feel." From the time the Catechumens came forward until when we rose, I found myself crying. . . and I can't just relegate it to pregnancy hormones! :) Nothing like that has happened to me in years. I am very grateful for those moments.
The services leading up to Easter are my favorites of the liturgical year. The Holy Thursday mass, for me, is the most special and significant, celebrating as it does the institution of the Eucharist. Since my son had already been to mass at school that morning, my husband & I asked my mother to stay with my son & daughter (our first "date" this year, and we went to mass!) and went to the mass alone. This year, there was more emphasis on the washing of the feet than on the institution of the Eucharist, which led to a homily about service, in which Father revealed that he was ordained on the day of the Live Aid concert. It was incredible to hear him speak of his experience, and even more incredible to hear this slightly severe English-educated Irish priest choke a little on his words--a bit during the homily, but again when accepting the oils that had been blessed at the Chrism Mass earlier in the week. The foot-washing was done among the congregation, which meant that those seated around the chosen felt an acute sense of awkwardness--as it should be, I believe. And for anyone who follows these things, the priests of this parish washed the feet of men and women, emphasizing the common role of service of all of the baptized rather than the strict theological interpretation favored by some that sees in the washing of the feet the institution of the priesthood among the disciples. There is value in both interpretations, but it seems that if the latter interpretation were played out in the mass, only the feet of the ordained should be washed. After a long, beautiful mass, we rather guiltily snuck out of the adoration--the "watching with" Jesus present in the Eucharist to rejoin our little ones, the smallest of whom was missing her momma.
Holy Thursday always reminds me of a poem by Alfred de Vigny that I translated when I was an undergrad: "Le Mont des Oliviers": Then it was night, and Jesus walked alone/ Clothed in white, like one who is already dead/ the disciples slept at the feet of the hill,/ Towards the olives, a sinister wind blew. . . A few lines later: He fell to his knees, his chest against the earth;/ Then looking at the sky, called, "Oh My Father!"/ -But the sky was black, and God did not respond. While this revels that the interpretation is not strictly Orthodox (what French poem is?), the sense of agony made a deep impression on me. Alas! So did the sense of futility communicated by the poem, but that is more complex, something that is still moving, though not because of its truth. It is a beautiful poem, and I always think of it at this time of year.
Good Friday, the whole family went to the 2-hour service, much to the consternation of the 18-month old! But, all things considered, she didn't do too badly. It was solemn and beautiful, though differently so, and the 10-year-old was a bit concerned about the adoration of the cross. I understand; I can't bring myself to kiss the cross. I confided to him that this is truly the weirdest thing that we do in the Church all year--but that it is a sign of respect and reverence. Surely, no one can deny that it is a bit weird. But I also let him know that whatever he was comfortable doing was fine. I came to realize that the color scheme of the church can influence one's perception of the service. The past 2 years, we have attended a church with a white interior. When shadows fall, they are cold and grey. The church we have been attending is brown and warm--my friend has said, like a hunting lodge. When it is dark, therefore, it still retains the warmth of the wood and brick in the shadows. On Good Friday, the cold and grey is more effective.
Our pastor (I haven't officially changed our affiliation, but we will) was trying, on Palm Sunday, to induce everyone to attend the entire Triduum, in which he was remarkably successful, given the attendance on Thursday and Friday. But no one can tell me that the correct thing to do with a family is to attend the Easter Vigil. We attended twice; once to see a friend confirmed, but the Baptisms were brief. The second time, 40-something were Baptized, and my son, who was old enough not to squirm, fell asleep. My husband and I were asked to do a reading during the Vigil after I entered the Church, which is why we were there. Admittedly, it was beautiful, but I have come to realize that the Easter Vigil is not really part of the cultural celebration of Easter. This may not be a valid argument for some, but when you consider that the RCIA program was not even in place until relatively recently, the Vigil only recently recovered the significance that it holds in the Church today. This weekend, I had particular pity for those who were to have a full-immersion baptism in the frigid rear section of the church, particularly the one we attended last year and the years before, on a 40-ish degree day with sleet and rain. It must've been chilly.
There is something about the light streaming onto the altar on Easter Sunday that holds a special significance for me--it imparts the joy of Easter. I prefer last years' gospel in which Mary Magdalen discovers the empty tomb and Jesus, whom she "supposed to be the gardener." This line, too, takes on special significance because of literature, in this case, 'The Gardener" by Kipling. But of course, Easter is always beautiful.
I missed hearing this year the gospel devoted to the "good thief." But he was mentioned, and this is always a special passage for me.
In all of this, pregnancy has presented some special challenges. I already mentioned the inability to fast. This also extended to an inability to abstain from meat, which, yes, is allowed. I have seen some holier-than-though male bloggers confidently declare that while a pregnant woman can certainly forgo fasting, that there can be no reason for her not to abstain from meat on Fridays, since there are so many other forms of protein. I only hope the woman who asked the question does not hold herself to such a standard. Her pastor will tell her otherwise. And I wish that the person who made the declaration could experience morning sickness--or the milder facsimile that I experience, in which only certain foods will prevent the nausea. And this means that when you need chicken nuggets, a fish fillet will not suffice. I tried. And then there was the day that my little piece of toast with the cheese melted on top sat all day on the table with one bite taken out of it. Yes, it was protein. But it was clearly not the protein that my body wanted at that particular time. Meat has the advantage of being, in some forms, rather easy on the stomach compared to cheese, tofu, and certainly the quicker forms of fish, which generally involve grease. I haven't even had much of a taste for shrimp.
So this weekend, fasting before mass and then sitting through longer-than-usual-services was a challenge. Sunday was not a good day for it. I also believe that, having waited an interminably long time for incense in the mass, the particular blend of incense was not agreeable to my pregnant sense of smell. It was beautiful to inhale the smoke drifting towards us, but it settled in the space between and above my eyes for the entire mass, and carried into the day beyond the end of mass. I have never had problems with incense before, and I hope that this problem does not recur throughout the Easter season. I love incense.
So the family parts of Easter were a bit messed up by my headache and stomach-y issues, work schedules of my siblings, and the baby girl's nap schedule. But my son and brother (who is 12) had an egg hunt in my mother's house, and our potato salad and pork loin were excellent. On Saturday, my brother came to dye eggs with my son and I cooked a pot-roast, a rare event for me, since cooking meat intimidates me. And now my husband can have chocolate again, and coffee from Starbucks, which is real cause for celebration!
I seem to lack some pithy conclusion, or even a natural end like the end of a journey. I hope everyone's Easter was as blessed as mine has been, and that if your Lenten journey was difficult, as mine was, that there was cause for joy at its conclusion. I believe that I was my own offering for Lent, and that becoming used to this pregnancy was my task. My doubts will continue to surface over the next months, but I believe that the initial darkness passed--rather quickly, actually. Now, if the nausea would pass also. . .
Sunday, April 1, 2007
The Ugly Green Monster, or Being content with your own challenges
It is always difficult comparing oneself to others. It is perhaps more difficult not to compare oneself to others. The tendency is one that every parent (every parent, that is, who does not encourage such comparisons) combats as soon as his/her child enters school. "Tommy is 3 pages ahead of me in math!" "Jimmy read 3 books and I'm only on my second!" "Caleb and Cody run faster, and Ruben is a better soccer player!" But in all reality, I think most adults are equally guilty of comparing themselves to others, and that the result of such comparisons is the inevitable envy of others' situations. It is a struggle to remember, at times, that our situations are frequently the results of our own different goals and choices, and that others' challenges may be more difficult than ours, even if their circumstances seem better in one way or another.
This is something I have struggled with ever since coming to Texas. The standards by which native Texans judge life--especially the financial aspects of life--are radically different from how I understood things growing up in New Orleans. Graduate students still being supported by their parents and grandparents provided my first great shock, but I think this difference really gelled for me when a friend's husband remarked that he didn't think they were yuppies yet, but that he hoped to be so one day. To me, the term "yuppie" represented something like Matthew Arnold's use of the term "Philistine" in Culture and Anarchy, or the term bourgeois to societies that value aristocratic culture. To him, "yuppie" represented a standard of income and comfort to which he aspired. As I remarked to a student the other day when we were discussing graduate school and income, specifically, the idea that some B.A. degrees have a greater payout than many graduate degrees, it definitely depends on your perspective whether a graduate degree is "worth it." My family already earns more than my family's income when I was growing up (inflation notwithstanding), and my mother had 6 children. I am only on #3.
Though I have stopped panicking about the financial aspect of this pregnancy, having found that my insurance will probably only require us to pay about $600 for every aspect of this pregnancy and delivery, it will not be easy on us to have #3 at this stage. We just decided that we could afford #2, when we were confronted with the choice, shortly after her birth: reconcile with the USDEd or be garnished. (Forbearances fell through the cracks.) We considered ourselves to be doing pretty well, comparatively. We were better off financially than we ever had been since marriage. My husband's job was more stable (since he gave up the teaching that he enjoyed) and he was guaranteed a paycheck 12 months of the year (which I am not). So I was shocked when a friend of mine, newly married herself, devoutly Catholic, a great advocate of NFP who considered me an NFP "success" when I became pregnant shortly after becoming Catholic, presented me with a couple of shopping bags of baby "gifts"--chosen from the crisis pregnancy center where her Dad worked. Was I to be a charity recipient? I in no way felt like I was the person for whom those goods were intended. I was married, my pregnancy was "planned". . . I could only assume that she either believed that my daughter was an NFP success because I was "open to," but not necessarily trying to achieve, pregnancy, or that we were too poor to be able to afford another baby. Either impression was disturbing.
Inevitably, when one is close friends with people, particularly, it seems, with couples, one becomes acquainted with their financial situations. In the case of this friend and her now-husband, I know that they planned meticulously (albeit quickly) for marriage by taking stock of their various resources, considering their compatibility and God's will--things that it would not have occurred to me to do, and which, if considered carefully, would have contraindicated marriage because of our financial situations at the time. So we came to realize that these newlyweds, who did not have children and did not have to pay rent because of an arrangement with the homeowner, made roughly twice our income. Other friends exceeded our income by something like three times, but did not feel financially secure enough to have a family, in spite of their significant lack of debt. We have always struggled. It may have been wrong to compare ourselves to others who did not choose graduate school, or who did not finish or work continuously towards the degree the way I have. But the comparison was inevitable, and the seeming unfairness of the situation preyed on my mind. It also puts one at a disadvantage in a friendship to feel as though, if your friends can't afford a child at $100K, how can they respect your decision to have a second at $40K?
I have discussed elsewhere the dilemma of helping relatives who need financial assistance after being displaced by Hurricane Katrina. We pay for two cars, but only have use of one.
Things will not be easy, and I am still over a year away from the possibility of a tenure-track job, though all the instruments we have agree that motherhood decreases a woman's chance of achieving tenure, either because of her own decisions in the matter or others' prejudices. Fatherhood, by contrast, according to an article I can no longer find, increases the man's chance of advancing in academia, providing his fatherhood is a subtle aspect of his persona. My husband had to abandon the possibility Ph.D. a while back, in support of my own Ph.D. (though perhaps not permanently). So I'm pretty much our hope for any increase in income. Later, not now.
And here I am, working on #3.
The question occurs to me, once again. . . What is the role of Divine Intervention in financial matters? There are many whose blogs I have read, notably Jen at Et tu, Jen?, as well as commentors on a previous post of mine, who believe explicitly and implicitly that God does provide materially and in tangibly noticeable, even dramatic, ways. I have always experienced it as a slow inching, by degrees, to a slightly more preferable state, followed by a number of setbacks like a seized tax return after loan consolidation paperwork fell through, or sabotage by graduate coordinator of the Ph.D. program that my husband would have graduated from by now, or the sabotage of a willful department head who could not see why someone with a family and an excellent teaching record deserves to teach, and be paid for, the full-load of 4 classes instead of 1.
If I accept my own view of things, that God does not directly intervene in financial matters, but provides for our needs in other ways, I can not account for others' financial-relief-though-prayer stories. However, if I accept others' faith in God's provision for our material needs--in some cases, wants--I am faced with the dilemma not of why my needs are not met, but why others, in worse situations than mine, do not have the benefit of divine intervention. As for myself, I have either to conclude that I lack constancy in prayer and faith in this particular area of God's mercy, or that my situation is not bad enough to merit Divine Intervention, which I can accept, but I know that there are more pious people than I who are very, very desperately poor.
This was not intended to be a post primarily about finances, however, but about envy, comparing oneself to others, and finally preferring one's own challenges.
There are many other occasions that arise that encourage one to compare oneself to others. Mothers everywhere discuss childbirth experiences, early feeding issues, jaundice. . . I have twice had friends less experienced than I with breastfeeding spared the agony I faced with a child who would not wake up to nurse--who lost a pound of her birthweight while I waited for my milk to arrive. Whose doctors did not have to push formula, and who did not make them feel deficient. Baby and I survived these trials, and more. And it is difficult to see others breeze through. . . Except that one of my friends had to travel 3 hours in the days after her son was born to spend time with her father in his last days. She found that she was pregnant about the time that he learned that he had cancer, and had little if any hope of it being cured. So her unplanned pregnancy resulted in her father being able to see his new grandchild before he died. What a gift! And had she had to struggle with my new baby struggles, her ability to find time for her father would have been compromised. My other friend who has wonderfully had unparalleled success with breastfeeding almost lost her baby due to complications, endured an emergency C-section, and had a terribly emotionally taxing pregnancy even before the onset of health concerns for the baby. Her positive breastfeeding experience has allowed her a measure of comfort in all of this. It is impossible to feel actual envy in the face of these circumstances, and it helps to be able to recognize that our difficulties are our own, unique to us, given to us with a recognition of what we are capable of handling, and from what we will benefit most in our particular circumstances.
Since finding I was pregnant, I have found more blogs discussing--often in grim detail--the emotional and physical pain of miscarriage than I ever suspected existed. I already knew of 3 fellow-graduate students who suffered miscarriages since I was pregnant with my daughter. This is not healthy reading for someone in her 9th week of pregnancy, but it does make it clear to me that my feelings about this baby--and this pregnancy--are not ambiguous. I did not expect that they would be, but being confronted with it concretely is a blessing of sorts. In the midst of my sadness and sympathy for others, I realize that I prefer my own challenges, and pray that I will not have to face what they have bravely endured.
Similarly, the financial burdens I have are ones to which I am fairly accustomed at this point. They weigh me down. They are ugly. They seem inescapable--and may well be. But they are my own challenges. I have a wonderful, supportive husband who understands me and does not demean me or my experiences in any way. We both value much in life above money, and we will hopefully teach our children this attitude. Likely we are not as generous as we could be, but since we both returned to the Church, this has been improving. It is difficult to be generous when one's mind is focused on one's own financial troubles! We love one another and our children. We will accept this new life with excitement. We have goals that are non-financial that may be within reach! So at the end of the day, the comparisons between our life and the lives of our friends do not hold up. We are living as we have chosen to live in many ways; we accept our own challenges and are satisfied.
ADDENDUM--Here is the source for my comments about academic motherhood and fatherhood, above, from The New Republic's Open University blog feature. Evidently the same search term yielded this result and one of my posts! It never ceases to amaze me how the web works. . .
This is something I have struggled with ever since coming to Texas. The standards by which native Texans judge life--especially the financial aspects of life--are radically different from how I understood things growing up in New Orleans. Graduate students still being supported by their parents and grandparents provided my first great shock, but I think this difference really gelled for me when a friend's husband remarked that he didn't think they were yuppies yet, but that he hoped to be so one day. To me, the term "yuppie" represented something like Matthew Arnold's use of the term "Philistine" in Culture and Anarchy, or the term bourgeois to societies that value aristocratic culture. To him, "yuppie" represented a standard of income and comfort to which he aspired. As I remarked to a student the other day when we were discussing graduate school and income, specifically, the idea that some B.A. degrees have a greater payout than many graduate degrees, it definitely depends on your perspective whether a graduate degree is "worth it." My family already earns more than my family's income when I was growing up (inflation notwithstanding), and my mother had 6 children. I am only on #3.
Though I have stopped panicking about the financial aspect of this pregnancy, having found that my insurance will probably only require us to pay about $600 for every aspect of this pregnancy and delivery, it will not be easy on us to have #3 at this stage. We just decided that we could afford #2, when we were confronted with the choice, shortly after her birth: reconcile with the USDEd or be garnished. (Forbearances fell through the cracks.) We considered ourselves to be doing pretty well, comparatively. We were better off financially than we ever had been since marriage. My husband's job was more stable (since he gave up the teaching that he enjoyed) and he was guaranteed a paycheck 12 months of the year (which I am not). So I was shocked when a friend of mine, newly married herself, devoutly Catholic, a great advocate of NFP who considered me an NFP "success" when I became pregnant shortly after becoming Catholic, presented me with a couple of shopping bags of baby "gifts"--chosen from the crisis pregnancy center where her Dad worked. Was I to be a charity recipient? I in no way felt like I was the person for whom those goods were intended. I was married, my pregnancy was "planned". . . I could only assume that she either believed that my daughter was an NFP success because I was "open to," but not necessarily trying to achieve, pregnancy, or that we were too poor to be able to afford another baby. Either impression was disturbing.
Inevitably, when one is close friends with people, particularly, it seems, with couples, one becomes acquainted with their financial situations. In the case of this friend and her now-husband, I know that they planned meticulously (albeit quickly) for marriage by taking stock of their various resources, considering their compatibility and God's will--things that it would not have occurred to me to do, and which, if considered carefully, would have contraindicated marriage because of our financial situations at the time. So we came to realize that these newlyweds, who did not have children and did not have to pay rent because of an arrangement with the homeowner, made roughly twice our income. Other friends exceeded our income by something like three times, but did not feel financially secure enough to have a family, in spite of their significant lack of debt. We have always struggled. It may have been wrong to compare ourselves to others who did not choose graduate school, or who did not finish or work continuously towards the degree the way I have. But the comparison was inevitable, and the seeming unfairness of the situation preyed on my mind. It also puts one at a disadvantage in a friendship to feel as though, if your friends can't afford a child at $100K, how can they respect your decision to have a second at $40K?
I have discussed elsewhere the dilemma of helping relatives who need financial assistance after being displaced by Hurricane Katrina. We pay for two cars, but only have use of one.
Things will not be easy, and I am still over a year away from the possibility of a tenure-track job, though all the instruments we have agree that motherhood decreases a woman's chance of achieving tenure, either because of her own decisions in the matter or others' prejudices. Fatherhood, by contrast, according to an article I can no longer find, increases the man's chance of advancing in academia, providing his fatherhood is a subtle aspect of his persona. My husband had to abandon the possibility Ph.D. a while back, in support of my own Ph.D. (though perhaps not permanently). So I'm pretty much our hope for any increase in income. Later, not now.
And here I am, working on #3.
The question occurs to me, once again. . . What is the role of Divine Intervention in financial matters? There are many whose blogs I have read, notably Jen at Et tu, Jen?, as well as commentors on a previous post of mine, who believe explicitly and implicitly that God does provide materially and in tangibly noticeable, even dramatic, ways. I have always experienced it as a slow inching, by degrees, to a slightly more preferable state, followed by a number of setbacks like a seized tax return after loan consolidation paperwork fell through, or sabotage by graduate coordinator of the Ph.D. program that my husband would have graduated from by now, or the sabotage of a willful department head who could not see why someone with a family and an excellent teaching record deserves to teach, and be paid for, the full-load of 4 classes instead of 1.
If I accept my own view of things, that God does not directly intervene in financial matters, but provides for our needs in other ways, I can not account for others' financial-relief-though-prayer stories. However, if I accept others' faith in God's provision for our material needs--in some cases, wants--I am faced with the dilemma not of why my needs are not met, but why others, in worse situations than mine, do not have the benefit of divine intervention. As for myself, I have either to conclude that I lack constancy in prayer and faith in this particular area of God's mercy, or that my situation is not bad enough to merit Divine Intervention, which I can accept, but I know that there are more pious people than I who are very, very desperately poor.
This was not intended to be a post primarily about finances, however, but about envy, comparing oneself to others, and finally preferring one's own challenges.
There are many other occasions that arise that encourage one to compare oneself to others. Mothers everywhere discuss childbirth experiences, early feeding issues, jaundice. . . I have twice had friends less experienced than I with breastfeeding spared the agony I faced with a child who would not wake up to nurse--who lost a pound of her birthweight while I waited for my milk to arrive. Whose doctors did not have to push formula, and who did not make them feel deficient. Baby and I survived these trials, and more. And it is difficult to see others breeze through. . . Except that one of my friends had to travel 3 hours in the days after her son was born to spend time with her father in his last days. She found that she was pregnant about the time that he learned that he had cancer, and had little if any hope of it being cured. So her unplanned pregnancy resulted in her father being able to see his new grandchild before he died. What a gift! And had she had to struggle with my new baby struggles, her ability to find time for her father would have been compromised. My other friend who has wonderfully had unparalleled success with breastfeeding almost lost her baby due to complications, endured an emergency C-section, and had a terribly emotionally taxing pregnancy even before the onset of health concerns for the baby. Her positive breastfeeding experience has allowed her a measure of comfort in all of this. It is impossible to feel actual envy in the face of these circumstances, and it helps to be able to recognize that our difficulties are our own, unique to us, given to us with a recognition of what we are capable of handling, and from what we will benefit most in our particular circumstances.
Since finding I was pregnant, I have found more blogs discussing--often in grim detail--the emotional and physical pain of miscarriage than I ever suspected existed. I already knew of 3 fellow-graduate students who suffered miscarriages since I was pregnant with my daughter. This is not healthy reading for someone in her 9th week of pregnancy, but it does make it clear to me that my feelings about this baby--and this pregnancy--are not ambiguous. I did not expect that they would be, but being confronted with it concretely is a blessing of sorts. In the midst of my sadness and sympathy for others, I realize that I prefer my own challenges, and pray that I will not have to face what they have bravely endured.
Similarly, the financial burdens I have are ones to which I am fairly accustomed at this point. They weigh me down. They are ugly. They seem inescapable--and may well be. But they are my own challenges. I have a wonderful, supportive husband who understands me and does not demean me or my experiences in any way. We both value much in life above money, and we will hopefully teach our children this attitude. Likely we are not as generous as we could be, but since we both returned to the Church, this has been improving. It is difficult to be generous when one's mind is focused on one's own financial troubles! We love one another and our children. We will accept this new life with excitement. We have goals that are non-financial that may be within reach! So at the end of the day, the comparisons between our life and the lives of our friends do not hold up. We are living as we have chosen to live in many ways; we accept our own challenges and are satisfied.
ADDENDUM--Here is the source for my comments about academic motherhood and fatherhood, above, from The New Republic's Open University blog feature. Evidently the same search term yielded this result and one of my posts! It never ceases to amaze me how the web works. . .
Saturday, March 31, 2007
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.
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!
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Friday, March 30, 2007
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!
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!
Thursday, March 22, 2007
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)
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)
Sunday, March 18, 2007
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.
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.
Sunday, March 11, 2007
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!
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!
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!
Friday, March 9, 2007
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?
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?
Thursday, March 8, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, March 6, 2007
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.
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.
Sunday, March 4, 2007
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.
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.
Friday, March 2, 2007
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!
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!
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