You might notice that the site looks a bit different now. Hugs and thanks to Paul and John who so generously donate their time and talent to their goofy big sister… I love you guys!

Thanks so much to everyone who wrote me about donating to the Susan Torres Fund.

You all might be interested in watching her husband, Jason Torres, on Larry King Live tonight at 9:00.

Confession here: I really like to watch Survivor. Dan and I have been known to harbor a secret addiction to the show, each of us rooting for our own favorite contestants to win the million dollars. We were “outed” last year when we had to be away from home on a Thursday night when the show aired. We asked ourselves: What is more important, keeping our television addiction a secret or knowing who got voted out and why? We swallowed our pride. I called Dan’s brother and asked him to tape the episode for us. He stifled a snicker and obliged.

The funniest thing about reality TV is that it isn’t real. Trapped on a desert island, surrounded by television cameras, running through obstacle courses, and aiming to win large sums of money? That’s not reality. Once I even saw an ad for a different kind of “reality” show where unmarried couples “tested” their love for one another while staying at a luxury resort on a tropical island. That’s not even close to reality.

If couples really want to test their love for one another, they should get married, take on a mortgage, and have four or five kids in as many years. Now that’s reality. I might even admit to watching a show like that.

The adorable latest additions to the Bean family: Rex (Golden Polish rooster, pictured here), Regina (Black Australorp hen), and Muchacho (Speckled Sussex rooster).

Everyone should have the opportunity to hold a baby chick. To feel its tiny helplessness–weighing almost nothing–in the palms of your hands. To hear its constant peep-peep-peeping. To stroke its soft fluffy feathers and to watch its bright eyes blinking back at you with perfect trust. Holding such a wonder within your own grasp inspires a tangible joy and gratitude for all of God’s creatures.

Baseball season is officially over. Unending practices in the wind and rain–Over. Games that go on into darkness–Done. Even a post-season barbecue gathering at the coach’s house and awards ceremony–Finished.

To commemorate this momentous accomplishment, this morning I decided to venture into forbidding territory I cleaned out the diaper bag. So that the rest of you can feel oh-so-superior about the immaculate state of your family’s going-out gear, I will share with you what I found:

? Three pounds of rocks, dried-out pieces of vegetation, pinecones and other “treasures” collected from various wooded areas near baseball fields.
? Five used and thoroughly squished juice boxes, three empty–two not quite.
? One unused juice box, thoroughly squished and leaking.
? One pulverized package of peanut butter crackers.
? A dried?up wad of baby wipes used (I think) to clean post-lollipop faces.
? One prehistoric-looking diaper, tightly wrapped.
? One plastic container for holding baby wipes, empty.
? One bag of honey-lemon cough drops, open and filled with sand.
? One golf ball-sized, sticky wad of unidentifiable organic matter.
? Piles of Quickie-Mart receipts for emergency purchases of potato chips, granola bars, cans of soda, candy bars, and other “dinner” items.
? A variety of coins, total sum: $3.12.
? One grime-covered bottle of sanitizing hand lotion, empty.
? Four pacifiers: two blue, one pink, one chewed beyond recognition.
? Half a dozen pieces of baby and toddler clothing, some worn–all in desperate need of laundering.
? And finally, I found exactly NO DIAPERS and NO WIPES.

There. Now don’t you feel good about yourself?

You can read another article of mine on Catholic Exchange today.

I am not a therapeutic shopper. I am not one of those women with a handbag and a pair of shoes to match every outfit and I do not have a refrigerator magnet that reads “When the going gets tough, the tough go shopping.” Really. I’m just not like that.

Okay, now that I’ve gotten that out of the way, I can tell you what happened yesterday afternoon: My darling children got on my nerves. It seemed like every 12 seconds (It was probably more like every 8 seconds, but really who’s counting?) I was refereeing some squabble or another.

When they played battleship I heard “I never get a turn!” and “That’s not fair!” and “Stephen’s stealing the pieces!” When they played in the sprinkler, I heard “She’s splashing me!” and “He’s soaking the towels!” and “The big kids are hogging the water!” When I fed them lunch I heard “He took the rest of the pretzels!” and “She drank my milk!” and “He’s looking at my sandwich!” Seriously.

Enough, already. I put Gabrielle down for a nap, packed Raphael into his car seat, and grabbed the car keys.

“Where are you going?” everyone wanted to know… especially Dan.

“I don’t know,” I answered, and that much was true. I was feeling frazzled and was intent on leaving. I hadn’t thought beyond the blessed silence that would envelope me when I closed the car door. When I pulled out of the driveway, though, I figured I really should go somewhere. So, where did I go? To a quiet churchto pray? Um, no. To chat with a girlfriend? Wrong again.

I went to the mall and I bought shoes. Yup, shoes. Two pairs of sandals marked 60% off for me and even a tiny pair for Gabrielle.

It wasn’t until the ride home that I came to the distressing realization that I had become a cliche. The going got tough and the tough went shopping. I bought shoes. And yes, it was therapeutic, thank you.

He who loves father or mother more than me
is not worthy of me; and he who loves son or
daughter more than me is not worthy of me; and
he who does not take his cross and follow me
is not worthy of me. He who finds his life
will lose it, and he who loses his life for my
sake will find it.
Matthew 10:37-39

Lord, this week help us to “lose” our life on earth so that
we may enjoy heaven with You in the next.

We have snails. Four of them, to be exact: Slowy, Sparky, Bugle, and our newest addition, Stripey.

Kateri has been keeping these slimy, shelled critters in a terrarium for a couple of weeks now. She watches them untiringly. She cares for them like babies. And boy, does she talk about them.

“I saw them eating rotten leaves this morning,” she reports cheerfully. “I added some bark in there–they seem to like bark–and I put in some more mud and water. They like it wet. I don’t want them to dry out, you know” and on, and on, and on.

Never having looked at snail up close, I was not sure what all this fuss was about, but then Kateri brought one in the house to “meet” me. Suddenly, I found myself face to face with a comical creature. Its mouth was open and its miniature eyes peered out at me from the end of long tentacles (Kateri told me that’s what they are called). Its slimy body was well, slimy, but it shimmered in the light. The buff colored shell was lovely in its swirling simplicity.

Every day, my children invite me into their world–a world where the wonders of nature are readily accessible, where any kind of joy might be inspired by what we find under the next rock, and where the snails have names. It’s an honor to be here.

Hotel Rwanda is really worth watching. Based on a true story, this film tells a moving tale of one man’s quiet heroism in the face of inhuman atrocity. Some scenes are violent, but not unnecessarily so. A very uplifting story!