The highlight of a somewhat stressful grocery shopping run to Whole Foods today was seeing an orthodox Jewish man. I have a deep love of the Jewish people, and often have to resist the urge to run up and hug them. I squeal in delight when I see them walking to their shabbat services, and wearing the trademark fedoras. This fellow was a big guy with a jolly belly (looking very squeezable), and was sporting his white tassels at the corners of his shirt. We kept running into him as we were attempting to buy the boys’ food, and he took a special delight in talking to Boo Boo. By the time we got to the check-out line, they were chatting it up like old friends.

Later, I mentioned to Boo Boo, “Do you know that nice man in the grocery store? That was a Jewish man; one of God’s chosen people.”

“Really?! A Hebrew!” Boo Boo exclaimed, “How did he get way over here from the Holy Land?”

“Well, after the Jewish Temple was destroyed in 70 A.D., after Jesus died, the Jews dispersed, but mainly settled in Spain and Germany; now they live throughout the world,” I explained.

And to connect things for him even more, I went on to say, “Remember Adolf Hitler and the Nazis? They were very mean to the Jewish people in Germany and in Europe, so it’s very important that we are nice to them.”

That sparked Boo Boo into action. “Do you know what I’d do to Adolph Hitler?” he said. “I’d sneak up behind him and head-butt him in the back. Then I would make him my chiefest friend, because he’s my enemy.”

A little incredulous, I responded, “That’s what Jesus asks us to do: love our enemies.”

Boo Boo repeated, “Yep; that’s what I would do to Hitler … after I head-butted him …”

Now that M-Cat is six months old, we’ve started the next stage of her development: real food.

At first she was very happy to sit in a high chair and try the store-bought babyfood — organic only, of course, for my princess. But then she stopped opening her mouth for us about a week into it. I asked our doctor at her well child appointment, and he said that successive babies often want more flavor and texture earlier than firstborns — as mothers get more adventurous with their eating with additional babies, which affects the breastmilk’s flavor. (That’s definitely true for me — I douse my eggs with hot cayenne sauce every single morning!)

I thought it was an interesting theory, so I tried it out. We were having chili that night, so I squished the tomatoes, beans and meat with my fingers and hand-fed her. Boy, did she open her mouth, and want more! I’ve been using a food mill since then, grinding up whatever we’re eating, and generally she’s been loving it.

It’s amazing that she’s eating more diverse and more textured food now than Boo Boo did when he was over a year old. What a relief! I ended up bringing him to a feeding clinic at our local children’s hospital when he was 15 months old, because he wouldn’t transition from smooth baby food to textured finger food. (What we go through — and what we put our kids through! — when we’re first-time parents. =P)

One more instance of how it almost gets easier with each kid…

Christmas is over and done with, but we’re still shoveling. I feel like I’ve shoveled more snow in the last few days than I have in my whole life. We have had to do a few hours a day, in shifts, to keep all the paths, sidewalks and driveway clear. Sometimes I make the boys “help” me, for a few Starbursts.

We’re getting so much white stuff, that we’re running out of places to put it, and the banks we’ve created are getting higher than we can lift the shovel to deposit more of it.

Sadly, on Christmas, it was so warm it was raining on top of all the snow, so we couldn’t even play outside. This morning we awoke to more snow falling, on top of what I am sure is a wicked layer of ice. Good thing we really don’t have to go anywhere, besides Mass tomorrow…

Despite joyful Christmas cards and shopping euphoria, Advent is supposed to be a penitential season of prayer, fasting and almsgiving — just like Lent. Accordingly, my book club chose to read St. Augustine’s “Confessions” for December.

I very much wanted to be assigned this book again, because — I confess! — I never read it when it was assigned to me the first time, in Theo 101 my freshman year. How ironic that I neglected to read the one book that could have possibly shed some light into my life as I was entering into my darkest time away from God.

I do remember my professor (who, providentially, became my confirmation sponsor five years later) reading aloud one of the mot beautiful, and profound, passages of the “Confessions”:

Late have I loved you, O Beauty so ancient, and so new. Late have I loved you! You were within me but I was outside myself, and there I sought you! In my weakness I ran after the beauty of the things you have made — the things which would have no being unless they existed in you! You have called, you have cried, and you have pierced my deafness. You have radiated forth, you have shined out brightly, and you have dispelled my blindness. You have sent forth your fragrance, and I have breathed it in, and I long for you. I have tasted you, and I hunger and thirst for you. You have touched me, and I ardently desire your peace. Amen.

Amen is right! Finally reading this book was a very cathartic experience for me, as it expressed some of my thoughts and feelings better than I ever could have. It brought to mind years of pain and misery without God, but it also made me more grateful than ever for my reunion with Him and my life with Him since then. His mercy endures forever!

The other day, as I was doing a religion lesson with Boo Boo, we were talking about actual sin (mortal and venial sin), which we choose to commit. St. Joseph’s Catechism explained that mortal sin “drives Our Lord out of the life of the one who commits it.”

Boo Boo looked at me in uncharacteristic seriousness and asked me, “Mama, have you ever driven Jesus out of your life?”

Though a bit surprised, I answered him truthfully, and then had a chance to talk about my conversion and eventual choice to live a life of grace, with the help of God. I know with a passionate and extreme person like him — and like myself, and like St. Augustine — it’s never too soon to talk about the good and bad choices that lay ahead of him, and the constant availability of God’s mercy and forgiveness. And like St. Monica, I have a feeling I’m going to be spending some serious time praying for our eldest son.

I took M-Cat into the doctor yesterday for her six-month check-up. It turns out that she’s not so fat anymore.

Height: 26 inches (50th percentile)

Weight: 15 pounds, 12 ounces (50th percentile)

Head circumference: 17 inches (75th percentile)

The doctor declared her practically perfect in every way, and she’s exactly average and proportional for height and weight. When I reported the findings to Dear Husband, he said, “We don’t have a fat daughter anymore…” with a twinge of sadness.

So no more Fat Cat. No more M-Fat. I’m not even sure M-Cat is that applicable anymore.

Are these two “Ralphie” and “Randy,” or what?!

Adrian Peterson at the 2008 Pro Bowl

Out of the blue yesterday…

Boo Boo: Mama, can football players marry?

(I’m thinking he’s asking me this because he’s often looking for a profession that is compatible with the married vocation, unlike his brother, who says he wants to be a priest and doesn’t want to get married…)

Mama: Sure, they can.

Boo Boo: Then I wonder who Adrian Peterson is married to…

I mentioned our friends’ little boy, Thomas, last week. He was born at 25 weeks gestation a year and a half ago, but has been doing pretty well — all things considered — since then.

But he’s been having some serious issues since his doctors attempted to remove his trach three weeks ago. This dear little boy was supposed to be home and healing a week ago, but he’s still stuck in limbo at the hospital, sedated, while his parents have to play the wait-and-see game. They know he won’t be home for Christmas.

Please join in praying nine Memorares a day for a Christmas miracle, so Thomas’ parents can bring their son home and reunite their family as soon as possible. (You can show this family your support by posting your promise to pray on their blog…)

MEMORARE, O piissima Virgo Maria,
non esse auditum a saeculo, quemquam ad tua currentem praesidia,
tua implorantem auxilia, tua petentem suffragia,
esse derelictum.
Ego tali animatus confidentia,
ad te, Virgo Virginum, Mater, curro,
ad te venio, coram te gemens peccator assisto.
Noli, Mater Verbi,
verba mea despicere;
sed audi propitia et exaudi.
Amen.

In English translation, the prayer is:

Remember, O Most Gracious Virgin Mary,
that never was it known that anyone who fled to Thy protection,
implored Thy help or sought Thy intercession,
was left unaided.
Inspired by this confidence,
I fly unto Thee, O Virgin of Virgins, my Mother;
to Thee do I come, before thee I kneel, sinful and sorrowful.
O Mother of the Word Incarnate,
despise not my petitions,
but in Thy clemency, hear and answer me.
Amen.

I am in love with our children, of course, but I AM realistic about them — and how much work we have ahead of us. It will be a veritable miracle of God’s doing if we can somehow mold our firstborn into a consistently considerate, empathetic, virtuous person. How many times a day can we possibly tell him, “The world does not revolve around you,” or “Can you see that there are other people I need to tend to besides you?”

We take this “job” pretty seriously around here, and are sometimes tempted to despair. That’s when articles like these give us a much-needed laugh and reality check. Thanks, Onion!

I love, love, love taking photos and getting photos taken of my children. Yes, I am inordinately proud of them, and I think they are the most phenomenal and gorgeous people on earth — I’m their mother!

So here are some of my favorites from our annual photo session at Sears (as I mentioned previously, we bought the copyrights to them)…