Seven Quick Takes Friday, Vol. 41

Lining up with Jen of Conversion Diary for the usual Friday party!

I

So far, so good on the 7 posts in 7 days challenge, although last night was close. I've learned a few things this week: I reallyd do have time to blog on the days that Little Bear naps on my lap, it's hard to force myself to come up with something to write about every single day, and linkups are definitely not "cheating" posts!

II

I also learned, on a completely different note, why it is a bad idea to walk a couple of miles in flip flops. Yes, I always knew in my head that it wasn't a great idea, but I didn't have any practical knowledge of why until yesterday. It was a gorgeous day, and Little Bear was resisting a nap at the top of his lungs, so I drove to campus earlier than I needed to pick Matt up, put Little Bear in the ergo, and took the longest route possible to walk to his office building. It didn't connect that I was wearing flip flops until I was almost half a mile from the parking lot, and being a stubborn woman, especially since the child had finally fallen asleep, I just kept going. By the time we met Matt and walked back down to the car, I had large blisters on both feet and the skin was cracking and starting to bleed. No more flip flops for me for a while!

III

It should be okay to keep going for walks, though, right? As long as I wear socks and proper shoes? I've gotten out for at least one walk every day this week, and already agreed to another this afternoon, and I really don't want to skip it. Getting motivated was hard at first, but right now I know how good I'll feel afterwards and how much Little Bear and I will both enjoy being outside, so I don't want to lose that momentum. Winter is coming fast enough, and it will be much harder to want to get exercise when it is cold.

IV

Posting every day definitely has the downside of using up the things I would normally save up for Fridays... I have nothing here.

V

The children's room at our public library has a large, whimsical mural covering one wall: a parade of fairy-tale figures wends from a timber-framed castle toward the woods, where Alaskan animals and fanciful creatures alike look on. We sat in front of it reading stories the other day, and I was struck by the incredible details I'd never been close enough to notice before: in a fairy house high up in a spruce tree, a daddy stands on the balcony holding a baby no bigger than Little Bear's thumbnail. Farther down the tree, the mom looks up at them, and you can pick out every teeny flower embroidered on her apron. A gypsy in the far-away procession shakes a tambourine, and you can just see each of the bells. It's incredible! Little Bear was too wrapped up in staring at the paper stars hanging from the ceiling to pay much attention to the mural, but that'll come as he gets older.

VI

We did a bit of saint-day feasting this week: for St Mary Magdalene on Monday, I made a nice moose roast; for St Bridget of Sweden on Tuesday, we had Swedish meatballs; and yesterday, for St James, my mother made a lovely plum tart. Today we celebrate Sts Joachim and Anne, parents of Our Lady, but I'm not sure yet what I'll be doing for it.

VII

Little Bear is using words to communicate more and more: The other day he saw me standing in the kitchen eating a scone. He crawled over and pulled himself up, saying "Mama! Mama!" When I picked him up, he pointed to my scone and exclaimed, "Dat!" He grinned and bounced when I gave him a bite, and when he finished it he pointed to my scone and said "Dat!" again. It is so much fun to be a part of him learning new things every day!

Have a lovely weekend!

7P7D: Bedtime for Nazgul

How is it late o'clock already? Jen's 7 posts in 7 days challenge is harder to keep up with than it sounded...

All during the day, from before he wakes up until we carry him into the bedroom in the evening, Little Bear is Little Bear. When his pajamas go on, though, it's like Cinderella's stroke of midnight: he transforms into Little Nazgul. 

He has perfected the ear-piercing shriek, and performs it for us frequently as we go through the process of putting him to bed. They aren't unhappy cries -- he thinks it's fun. I have no idea why this noise only comes out at bedtime, but it's sure better than hearing it all day long. His ear-splitting pre-sleep play is usually narrated in a dry voice by whichever parent isn't currently being attacked:

Little Nazgul: (bites Daddy's nose and shrieks)

Mama: Nazgul is hungry.

Little Nazgul: (blows raspberry on Mama and shrieks)

Daddy: Nazgul is playing.

Little Nazgul: (pounces onto Daddy and shrieks)

Mama: Nazgul is hunting.

Little Nazgul: (shrieks)

Daddy: Nazgul is angry... because I am tickling him.

Neither of us would go so far as to say that we enjoy being the Nazgul's victim, but it's a lot of fun to be a part of his play and know that he is happy. If only he was willing to do this before late o'clock at night!

7P7D: Fruit-full Thoughts

Last night I stood at the kitchen counter, cleaning berries and listening to the wild laughter coming from the living room as Matt and Little Bear played together. Sticky orange juice trickled down my hands as I closed my eyes and breathed in, savoring the wild medley of scents in front of me: sweet, pungent salmon berry juice, earthy blueberries, sharp, spicy Labrador tea leaves. It smelled of home, of summer, of who I am. The Pandora station shifted into one of the themes for the The Lord of the Rings, and suddenly I was blinking back tears. "Please, can we skip this one tonight? I'm sorry," I called to my confused husband. "I just can't..."

Looking at photos I brought back from a summer hiking trip in the mountains, a college friend once exclaimed, "You don't live in Alaska, you live in Middle Earth!" And it's true. Up in the mountains, the plants are too green, the water too clear, the sky too vast to be real. From the first time I heard Howard Shore's soundtrack, I have associated it with my favorite -- to my mind, the most beautiful -- part of the state: a region of the Alaska Range, mostly above treeline and dotted with mountain lakes. If the homesteading act was ever renewed, I would build a cabin there in a heartbeat.

Hiking and camping in those mountains every year from when I was very young is one of the best memories I have, and if you asked me suddenly to picture a time or place when I was very happy, I would probably see myself high on a ridge, looking out across a lake. I would feel the wind in my hair, smell the tundra and the sunshine and my liberally-applied perfume of DEET, taste the frigid stream water and tart berry juice, hear loons calling, beavers slapping, ground squirrels chattering. I've always intended to share this area, my favorite place, with whomever I married... And now we have been married two years, nearly, and haven't been able to do any camping at all.

I understand; you grow up, and real life gets in the way, and you can't do the fun things that you thought would come with growing up when you were younger. Children happen, medical problems, tight work schedules. I do understand, really. But being out berry picking yesterday, with the sudden onslaught of the sights, and smells, and sounds, and sensations of all of those happy times growing up, brought home to me how very, very much I missed all of that. How long it had been, and how nothing else could really take its place. 

That's when the tears came. The m-word (moving) has come up many times recently, between frustration with the work situation and the long, cold winters and the astronomically high cost of living, and I have to admit that for many reasons it is the logical decision. But emotionally, it feels like pretty much the worst idea ever, and the idea of leaving is tearing me up. Nothing will be the same, and I'll be leaving behind so much that I love. There aren't any definite plans yet, but we both know that it will probably happen, maybe even within the next year. And last night, I realized that that meant that I might never see my mountains again.

So like the mature adult that I am, I sat down with my husband to explain why making a trip there was important to me and discuss whether we could find a way to make camping with the child work, right? Ha. Well, that did eventually happen, after an hour or two of him being confused because I was sad but wouldn't say why and just apologized for being selfish when he asked... But because he is wonderful, y'all, he did get me to talk about it and was totally open to the idea, pointing out several logistical problems we will have to try to work around but being willing to help me find solutions, like finding out whether Little Bear will sleep in a tent before we drive five hours away from home, and looking for ways to keep him happy in the car on such a long drive, and working around his office's very, very busy schedule in August and September. I am so blessed to have such a husband.

There's no guarantee it will happen this summer, but we will try. And if it doesn't work, letting him know how much I miss being out in the mountains means that we will at least get some more hiking in; we've been uneasy doing much of that on our own without bear protection, but since we're collectively getting just that for our anniversary, that's no longer a concern! I'm so grateful to him, and so excited to spend more time outdoors.

Salmon berry, AK blueberry, store-bought blueberry 

7P7D: Berrying

July, usually mid-July, marks the beginning of our berry season. Blueberries, then salmon berries, cranberries, cloudberries... We are so blessed to live somewhere with such natural bounty, and where we can just drive ten minutes out of town, hike into the woods, and pick! I haven't been able to go berrying for several years, having a brand-new baby last berry season and being busy with work and wedding preparation the previous year, so being able to get out this year has been so enjoyable; kneeling amid the boggy tussocks, smelling the trees and the plants and the sodden ground, reveling in the wide-open space with no other human in sight or earshot... If we ever move away, well, I'm sure I would be happy anywhere as long as I had my husband and my son... but the outdoors of Alaska is like a part of me, being out in those woods is as instinctive as breathing, and leaving it behind would be painful.

Little Bear and I met my mom and a few of the kids to pick blueberries this morning. We tromped through the tussocks for maybe a quarter of a mile to find a patch they had noticed when they were out Sunday afternoon. Blue everywhere! I love looking ahead through the trees and seeing a bush that is more blue than green... and we found plenty of those today! Little Bear had fun for a while sitting on a blanket, watching my little sisters and trying to dump their buckets, while I picked almost a half-gallon of blueberries and an overflowing pint of salmon berries. We have to go back; there were still so many out there, and I would love to have a freezer full! Fresh fruit is ridiculously expensive here even in the summers; it is important for us to preserve as much as we can to eat during the winter.

I didn't go out looking for salmon berries today, but they were ripe and beautiful and everywhere and I just couldn't resist. I think I have enough for two small jars of jam; I'll probably wind up picking more, though. The blueberries will just be frozen in quart bags after I finish cleaning them, to go in pancakes and muffins and smoothies and such. 

Our picking time was cut short today because someone didn't take a nap this morning, and was all done being awake but couldn't bring himself to lay down and go to sleep. He got a good nap this afternoon, though, so maybe we will even go back out with Daddy once he gets off work? We shall see.

7P7D: My Love-Hate Affair With Cry Rooms

Today is the first day of Jen Fulwiler's epic blogging challenge, 7 posts in 7 days. You can link up at Conversion Diary to join the fun! I wasn't initially going to participate; "I only get a couple of posts up a week because I just don't have time," I tell myself. But honestly? It's because I'm too much of a perfectionist. I don't have enough to say on that subject, don't have the perfect words for it, that photo isn't good enough, nobody really cares anyway... I talk myself out of so many posts. So here we go: a whole week where I have to get something published every single day even if it isn't perfect.

This weekend, Kendra at Catholic All Year shared an upsetting exchange with a priest over whether children belonged in church, and asked for thoughts on cry rooms. (She wants them all filled with cement.) I dislike them, use them anyway, have seen good ones and bad ones, and think that the problem isn't really about cry rooms at all.

As she and many others have said, cry rooms tend to be loud and wild places where children can do whatever they want while the parents chat and totally ignore the fact that they are in Mass. I hate it. If we wanted Little Bear to learn how to behave in that sort of environment, we would take him to the McDonald's play place. It frustrates both him and me to be in a cry room like that: him because he sees other kids laughing and running and at one year old is incapable of understanding why I keep hushing him and restraining him on my lap, me because, well, it's wrong and disrespectful and distracting and just reinforces the prejudices of those members of the congregation who don't want kids in Mass. Closing the door keeps the noise level down, but I've never seen a cry room that was actually sound proof. 

If cry rooms bother me so much, why do I wind up in one at least once almost every time we go to Mass? Because the idea of cry rooms is good; you is could even make the argument that it is necessary. A place for the parent of a crying baby or small child to take the young'un to calm them down and help them get back to a state where they can return to Mass with the rest of the congregation, instead of struggling to control a tantrum in the pew and bothering everyone else or just flat-out leaving. Having a place dedicated to this is a good thing, particularly when it's situated so they can still see and participate in the Mass. When Little Bear becomes fussy and simple quieting efforts don't work, I quickly move him to the cry room until I can get him quiet or until the next hymn, when he will be happy and distracted from whatever is bothering him by looking at everyone else singing.

Or, I try to. If the cry room is full of laughing, playing children and chatting adults, or all of the seats are taken because whole families with older children decided to sit there (why do people do that??? It's a cry room. Some people actually need to use it; your four elementary- and middle-school kids probably don't), I wind up out on the front steps or down in the basement, anywhere I can find a seat far enough away to keep my child's wailing from upsetting others.

The problem isn't cry rooms; it's the adults who abuse cry rooms. Sitting in the cry room should be a therapeutic measure, not a preventative one! And maybe I'm a terrible person, but I do not feel guilty for tapping a woman on the shoulder as she's chatting about milestones with another parent, pointing to her children shrieking and wrestling on the floor, and suggesting--in a whisper--that she do something about it. I would never, ever do that to a parent who was making even a token effort to control her kids, but for those who seem to have forgotten that they are at Mass or that they have offspring, a quiet reminder and offer of assistance (I'm sorry; your child just hit that girl. Can I do anything to help you?) can be an act of charity. 

The pastor can be a very important part of how people see, and to some extent use, cry rooms. I've noted before that our pastor is just excellent on this front; he reminds the congregation at least once a year that the many young children in our parish are a blessing, that they belong in Mass, and that the cry rooms are only there as a place for parents to temporarily bring children until they are able to rejoin the congregation. Does everyone listen to him? Of course not. But it helps; it helps tremendously.

In a case where the pastor is less enthusiastic about children at Mass, or less vocal and refrains from curtailing negativity from congregants, it's hard to say exactly what the right response would be; going to a more family-friendly parish is an appealing option, but isn't always possible. Getting to know like-minded parents and making an effort to "take back" the cry rooms may work in some places. Maybe the parish religious education director would have ideas of ways to catechize parents on the importance of teaching their children from the very beginning about proper, reverent Mass behavior. Offering quiet, gentle reminders to other parents can also be surprisingly effective, and may not make people as huffy as you expect.

Dealing with the circuses that many of our cry rooms seem to devolve into is not fun, and can be terribly frustrating when you just want to pray and keep your own child(ren) in check, but take heart! The cry room can be a good thing if used properly, and the first step to turning a wild cry room into a proper one may be in your hands.

Seven Quick Takes Friday, Vol. 40

Linking up with Jen for another round of (very) quick takes!

I

Having the dryer running in the background is a huge help in putting Little Bear down for a nap, but he always wakes up when it ends because the buzzer is so loud. I know, first world problems.

II

Could I ask for prayers for Matt's aunt? She is hospitalized and suffering from several serious conditions right now, and the doctors don't sound terribly encouraging. 

III

Has anyone else experienced night terrors with one-year-olds? It happened again last night, and it's so hard to hold him as he screams and sobs and refuses to wake up so I can comfort him. I asked the nurse about it the other week, and she was surprised -- I guess it's not normal to start before age 3.

IV

More rain for the firefighters this week; no torrential downpours, but we've had something fall from the sky every day this week. Wednesday afternoon was gorgeous, though, and I took Little Bear for a walk all the way to Matt's office. It's close to four miles, and I was a little disappointed that it took me a whole hour, but I enjoyed the walk and it was fun to surprise him by showing up as he finished up for the day.

V

My mother was cleaning out her files of old school papers the other day, and when I stopped by yesterday, she had the folder of all of my tests/papers/report cards set out for me to look through. As I flipped through it, my sophomore year PE log caught my eye: log hauling - 3 hrs; splitting wood - 2 hrs; shoveling - 2 hrs; skiing - 2.5 hrs, etc. Oh, homeschooling.

VI

I'm looking for some nice, neutral tones of fast-drying nail polish... Any suggestions? And do they make any that are non-toxic, so that I can stop worrying when Little Bear sneaks up on me and bites my toes?

VII

I made bread pudding on Monday, and it turned out so well that I have to share the recipe; I found it in one of this past winter's issues of Ruralite magazine, but failed pretty badly at following the actual recipe so I'll note my changes:

2 cups half-and-half (or if you can read as well as I can, 2.25 cups heavy cream)

1 egg, beaten

2 cups sugar

1 teaspoon (or tablespoon) vanilla extract

Half a loaf of French bread (or Irish soda bread)

4 tablespoons of butter

Cut the bread into half-inch cubes. In a bowl, combine all other ingredients except butter (I melted the butter and added it at this step, because I'm so good at following directions). Dump in bread and stir, making sure it is thoroughly wet. Heat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Pour into greased 8x8 baking dish. If you didn't already add the butter, cut it into little pats and scatter them across the top. Bake uncovered for 50 minutes.

The recipe called for topping it with a white chocolate sauce; caramel would also be good, or fruit of some variety. We used the leftover blueberry pie filling I made last week, and that was very good. Little Bear sure like it!

Have a wonderful weekend!

Falling by the Wayside

I'm 0 for 2 so far this week on celebrating feast days... Thankfully today is a feria! The closest I got to doing anything for St Bonaventure on Monday was trying to convince myself that eating stale bread for dinner was in keeping with the spirit of the early Franciscans; I may have lost points for drowning it in cream and eggs and making bread pudding out of it, though. Probably. Yesterday, I had the best of intentions: for Our Lady of Carmel, we were going to read about the brown scapular after dinner while eating caramel ice cream sundaes. Except Matt doesn't like caramel. And I forgot to buy any, anyway.  And Little Bear shoveled applesauce into his mouth too quickly and gagged, and no one ate dessert last night because we were too busy cleaning up and bathing him...

Why is it so difficult to stay on top of things like this? It shouldn't be difficult to look ahead to the coming week's observances and work some little thing into our schedule or menu for feast days and memorials. It shouldn't. How hard would it have been to actually write the words "caramel sauce" on last week's grocery list? Would it have been so very taxing to use the brown sackcloth table runner on Monday? To read aloud one paragraph related to the day, or find one related prayer to say before bedtime?

Fostering a Catholic environment within our family is important to me, and I don't understand why I'm having so much trouble. I only have one kid, and he is becoming more independent and happy to play on his own for short periods of time, so that's no excuse. I dislike blaming him, anyway, because he really isn't a difficult child and I know that my lot is pretty easy. So why can't I find a few minutes to do this?