I can’t decide which is weirder:

The fact that one of Dan’s co-workers asked us to watch his pet eft while he is away for a few days?

Or the fact that I don’t even think twice about keeping an amphibian on my kitchen counter?

Earlier today Ambrose pulled me aside and made a startling confession:
“While I was at the hospital, you left the room for a minute, and I was flipping through the TV channels and I… I… saw some Sponge Bob Square Pants.”

I tried not to laugh.

You see, I don’t let my kids watch Sponge Bob Square Pants. For some of you this probably makes me a bad mom–I am depriving my kids of silly but innocent family-style fun. For others of you this probably makes me a good mom–I am researching various television programs and carefully choosing what kinds of cultural influences my children will and will not be exposed to.

That’s not really true, though. At least not about Sponge Bob. The truth is, I just don’t like the looks of him. I’m prejudiced that way. I have never even watched a single episode of Sponge Bob, but I don’t like the way the pictures are drawn. And those briefs he sometimes wears? Well, they look kind of gross. Vulgar, even. What do I know?

Anyway, quite predictably, my Sponge Bob Square Pants prohibition has led to some of my children’s preoccupation with all things Sponge Bob. In fact, if you happen to ask 4 year old Stephen what his favorite television show is, he will proudly declare that it is none other than Sponge Bob Square Pants. That’s right. A show he has never seen.

Stephen’s fascination was only reinforced this past summer when his grandfather gave him a special birthday present: Ants in the Sponge Bob Square Pants. When he unwrapped it, the other kids’ eyes grew wide with scandal. Stephen, however, felt deliciously naughty as he pulled it from the box and hugged the plastic figure to his chest.

“Sponge Bob!” he cried with glee. “My favorite!”

Dan shot me a look that said “What on earth was my father thinking?”

Who knows? Maybe he asked Stephen what his favorite show was.

All of this has started me thinking about the rules we make for our children and how we might avoid the “forbidden fruit” syndrome. If we outlaw Sponge Bob doesn’t that just make him all the more appealing? If we tell them to say no to drugs, alcohol, and premarital sex, won’t these things seem suddenly more attractive and alluring?

I suppose there is no easy answer. There never has been a pre-set outline to follow in order to achieve parental perfection. It’s trial. And likely some error. It’s communicating and explaining not just the rules but the reasons behind them. It’s convincing them that we really have their own happiness in mind at all times and that is the driving force behind all the rules. It’s teaching them not only to obey God, but to know Him and to love Him, too.

It’s picking your battles. It’s always being uncertain. It’s second-guessing and starting over and trying again. It’s the hardest thing and the most wonderful thing and the most daunting thing you have ever done. And that’s how you know you are doing it right.

A recent article I wrote about rebellious Catholic teenagers for the National Catholic Register has gotten at least one Catholic teenager up in arms. Here is some of what she writes:

The reason why this article aggravated me is because it is another one of those “I led a bad life, but I have learned my lesson, and look! I didn’t turn out so bad!” Frankly, I am sick of it. If you really want to talk about it being hard to be a teen, talk to those who actually don’t give up their morals and work every day to be faithful to God. Talk about those teens who are left alone in their convictions and daily have to wake up with knots in their stomachs because they feel like no one understands why they are the way they are; and even after feeling like this still don’t back down. That is a true witness! I know that we all make mistakes, but give a witness story of someone who had found interior joy and peace yet still struggles with his peers… The only testimonies we see are from people who have screwed up, but through the grace of God, changed their ways and have become “a new person.”…Come on! Talk to us about someone who stays true to their faith! That way those teens who are striving to live a holy life style can not be afraid and not feel so alone.

So, my new assignment: Find out if there are any struggling but faithful Catholic teens out there who might be willing to share their stories of everyday witness to Christ and His Church. Stories of everyday struggles and triumphs in the face of a contrary culture might be just the boost other teens need to remain faithful themselves.

Calling all faithful Catholic teenagers… Are you one? Do you know one? Email me!

1. They call that other piece of furniture in the hospital room a “chair” and not a “bed” because it’s not meant to be slept in.

2. Buy Advil.

3. And call a chiropractor.

4. The parent who spends a sleepless night in above-mentioned chair and the parent who picks up son at the hospital and handles his discharge and the parent who has a crabby 20 pound baby strapped to her aching body and the parent who drives above-mentioned sick-to-his-stomach son and above-mentioned crabby baby home in a rainstorm should not all be the same person.

5. Remember that now would be an excellent time to hit up husband for a hugely expensive and extravagant Christmas present.

6. Like a personal chiropractor.

7. Or a nanny.

8. Or both.

9. When post-operative son gets home, takes a nap, and then with a sly smile asks how much television he will be allowed to watch the next day while the other kids do their schoolwork, know that he is on the mend.

10. Thank God for that.

Ambrose is out of surgery and doing well. Thanks very much to all who offered prayers and sent notes of encouragement–it means a great deal to me! I am headed to the hospital and will be away for the next day or so. In the meantime, here are a few things to keep you busy:

♥ For Seasonal Activities: Check out the St. Nicholas Center for some wonderful stories, crafts, recipes, and activities to help you and your family celebrate Advent and the Feast of St. Nicholas (December 6) this year. I am so very impressed with this site!

And EWTN has some lovely stuff up for Advent.

♥ For Baking: Do your family a favor and try these delicious pumpkin muffins Kateri made for us this morning.

And ’tis the season to fill your freezer with batches of lovely Christmas cookies Here is my recipe for gingerbread cut out cookies. Bake ‘em and frost ‘em and freeze ‘em!

♥ For Reading: Finally, click here to read my latest column from the National Catholic Register .

Thanks again for all of your prayers–they are working well–please continue! See you tomorrow!

What a gift our faith is! What amazing power we believers possess in prayer!

I was a little hesitant to share this here as I aim to protect my son’s privacy. But since I also aim to gather up as many prayers on his behalf as I possibly can, here goes: Ambrose, my 7 year old, is having sinus surgery this morning and I hope that you–my generous readers–will join me in praying for a successful procedure and a full recovery.

I was struck by the power of prayer just the other day when a woman I know (who professes no belief in God) heard about the upcoming surgery.

“Good luck with that,” she offered, “We’ll have good thoughts.”

Good thoughts? I know she was trying to be nice. I know she meant well. But her helplessness in the face of an uncertain situation was positively striking. Okayyyyy, I wanted to tell her, but good luck and good thoughts won’t do much. I would much rather you prayed for my son.

At other times I hear people say, “All we can do now is pray,” and I find these words remarkable too. All we can do is pray? All we can do is bend God’s ear? All we can do is use a direct line to ask the Almighty for favors and protection? Why, isn’t that everything?

So, this morning while it was still dark, before Dan brought Ambrose into the hospital, I cupped my son’s sweet face in my hands and told him I would pray for him. That was all I could do. And now I am left here to do the rest of what mommies can do laundry, packing lunches, and caring for babies until I take over at the hospital later on.

In the meantime, I will pray and I will ask you to pray too. It is all we can do. And thanks be to God–it is everything!

(as she handed me her mittens)

Gabrielle: Help, Mama. My puppets fell off.

Watch therefore, for you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or in the morning, lest he come suddenly and find you asleep. And what I say to you I say to all: Watch.
Matthew 13:35-37

Stir up thy power, O Lord, and come, that by thy protection we may be rescued from the dangers that beset us through our sins; and be a Redeemer to deliver us; Who livest and reignest with God the Father in the unity of the Holy Spirit, ever one God, world without end. Amen.

Great family Advent resources are found here and here.

We had a quiet Thanksgiving home on our own yesterday. Just the nine of us. Just as we had planned. With all the busy-ness of our day to day living here in this house, it was indeed a nice change of pace to just spend a day making a special dinner and sharing it together. The steady snowfall we awoke to in the morning would have spoiled any plans we might have made for traveling anyway.

After an early afternoon dinner, though, the snow had let up and so we headed over to Dan’s father’s house to bring him and Dan’s brother some pies for dessert.

The mood at Grandpa’s house was relaxed and cheerful. The kids always seem to sense the “happiness” of special days and modify their behavior accordingly. They recited their Thanksgiving poems and watched football with the men. It wasn’t until after double servings of pumpkin and apple pie with heaps of ice cream that the children remembered Grandpa’s basement. Grandpa’s magical basement.

You see, Dan’s mother was a keeper. A saver. A never ever ever throw anything away and if anyone else does take it out of the garbage and pack it away-er. It used to drive her family crazy. And I must admit that I never quite understood it myself. I need my space. It keeps me sane. And I am the first to admit that I can be rather reckless with the black garbage bags. I would rather throw ten things away and wind up missing one of them eventually than keep all ten things piled up in stacks or squirreled away in boxes on the off chance that one of them might possibly come in handy some day.

But Dan’s mother thought differently. She figured if it was good once–or if it might be good ever–it was worth holding on to. And hold on she did. She was astonishingly organized about it. She kept things in their original packaging, with their original receipts, wrapped and labeled, in giant storage bins in the basement.

Which brings us to Grandpa’s magic basement. Though we lost Dan’s mother over 8 years ago, out of respect for her memory, Grandpa has held onto her basement full of “stuff” through the years. And so it was that after double desserts yesterday evening, the children begged Grandpa to bring them downstairs. He consented and the entire gang of them disappeared for nearly an hour.

When they emerged at the top of the basement stairs, their arms were filled with goodies. A guitar. A Mexican marionette with only slightly-tangled strings. A dancing plastic smurf. Hardy Boys books. Unopened cereal box prizes from cereal they don’t make any more (Remember Crispy Critters?). And–here’s the best part–Dan’s entire boyhood collection of Battlestar Galactica and Charlie’s Angels trading cards. Oh yes.

The kids were positively gleeful. “I can’t believe how cool these are!” they shouted. “Grandpa has all the best stuff!”

I reminded them that they have their late grandmother Dolores to thank for all the cool stuff. And I have to wonder at God’s providence in these family matters. No one understood why Dolores was so intent upon stashing away every little thing she came by. Perhaps even she did not understand the motivation behind her drive to save, to keep, and to hold onto.

But I get it now. What she didn’t know was that she was saving cool stuff for her seven grandchildren–seven children who would never have the pleasure of knowing their Grandma here on earth. Seven grandchildren she would have loved with immeasurable love. Seven grandchildren she would have given and given and given to–if only she been granted the opportunity.

It is only through her saving–her compulsive holding on–that Grandma Dolores has managed this connection with her grandkids. These are the things she deemed worthy of saving. These things stored in their dusty 1970s packaging. These things wrapped in plastic and faded yellow paper. These are the things she cherished and she packed away lovingly. Dolores just knew someone would need this stuff someday, and it turns out she was right.

Grandma’s precious stuff is her precious bond to this next generation. And I am grateful for it.

You can read my article about Catholic Thanksgiving at Catholic Exchange today.