I Have Only Today

My life is an instant,
An hour which passes by;
My life is a moment
Which I have no power to stay.
You know, O my God,
That to love You here on earth -
I have only today.
St. Therese of Lisieux

To the person who got here by searching for “how to train husband to change diapers,” I hope you found what you were looking for.

To the person who got here by searching for “throng underwear,” I hope you didn’t.

I think it is very accommodating of you to provide a “candy-free” checkout aisle. These kinds of conveniences make a harried mother feel like she is understood by supermarket management and that the folks getting her business have given some thought to the ease of her shopping experience. Great idea–very nice. But…

Just what exactly makes you think that a mother who goes out of her way to choose your “candy-free” checkout aisle, is going to welcome the sight of dozens upon dozens of colorful plastic kiddie games, toy cars, and pretty dollies alluringly displayed at toddler eye level? Do you honestly think that a Tony Stewart matchbox car is easier to pry from the hands of a market-weary 2 year old than a Snickers bar?

I don’t like being suckered into spending an extra $2.00 on plastic junk. Next time I’ll go for a good old-fashioned chocolate bribe. Then at least there’s something in it for me.

My Friend: I think I must be losing my mind. Do you know that I went into the kitchen 5 times this morning to check if I had left the iron on?

Me: Are you serious?

My Friend: Yes!

Me: No, you must be kidding.

My Friend: I’m not!

Me: No, really… You iron?

I have a holy card with an image of the Blessed Mother nursing Baby Jesus. The two of them seem so tranquil and loving as they gaze into each others’ eyes. It looks like such a peaceful, calm, quiet moment.

Well, my Raphael has NO IDEA how to do that.

You’d think the child had biting spiders in his jammies or something. The boy is quite simply a tornado of non-stop motion–kicking, slapping, squirming, stretching, and twisting around to see what in the room might possibly be more interesting than his lunch.

What’s more, it never fails that when he and I are engaged in this kind of wrestling match er, nursing session, Gabrielle decides she needs some snuggling. In my lap. With her arms around my neck. Right now.

Add to this a few more of the necessary hugs, kisses, pick-me-up-mommy’s, and the forcible separation of fighting brothers that make up the rest of my day and I am what you might call touched out. Too often, by the end of the day, I bristle at the mere thought of one more tiny person’s flesh making contact with mine. I feel a desperate need to stand in an isolation chamber and decompress. Just don’t touch me. Please.

And I felt justified in my negativity. But then the other day I got an email from a reader who shared the following with me:

When I read your life everyday I often wonder if my mother ever had felt this way. I sure hope so but when I was born, she was over 40 and I was the tenth one of a family of eleven. As I grew and became aware of what was going on around me, I really thought she didn’t like her situation. She was often angry and I didn’t think she loved me at all up until her death bed when she finally raised her hand and slowly rub my face in a soft gesture.

Thank you for bringing back memories and please do not forget to touch every one of your children with love every day of your life so that they don’t wait like me until the end.

Touch?.

Bless the Lord, O you his angels,
you mighty ones who do his bidding,
obedient to his spoken word.
Bless the Lord, all his hosts,
his ministers that do his will.
Psalm 103:20-21

Click here for a Litany to the Holy Angels.

Click here for angel food cake.

I have shared my recipe for basic pie dough here.

After weeks of reviewing vowel sounds, sounding out, and making blends, Juliette finally read her first sentence this morning: The pig sat in the mud.

Early on, she was entirely focused on individual letters and the sounds they make. Then she put those sounds together to make words. And today, at great long last, her painstaking, patient work finally paid off. Those words came together to make a sentence–a real sentence that expressed a complete thought: The pig sat in the mud.

What joy! What a revelation! What satisfaction!

I sometimes feel that my day-to-day life has a lot in common with the process of learning to read. It’s easy for me to get lost in the tiny tasks that fill my days: Change this diaper. Chop these vegetables. Sweep this floor. Grade this math work.

With my attention on these little duties alone, though, I too often lose sight of the whole picture of my motherly vocation. These little things are necessary parts that make up the whole, just as sounding out m-u-d is a necessary part of Juliette’s first sentence. These little things are only important because of what they mean when they come together.

Sweeping a floor is just sweeping a floor until it is understood as one small part of a greater whole, a higher calling. Perhaps I need to pause more often to read the sentences. Only then will my focus change from the little parts to the complete thought–the whole story.