Stephen: (opening the refrigerator and looking for lunch)
I think I’ll have some of that turkey, some steak, and… a hot dog.

I am updating some of my links and would like suggestions for some good sites for Catholic dads and/or men. Any suggestions?

On Monday, we took the boat out on the lake. All nine of us. We packed a lunch, donned life vests, and headed onto the wide and wonderful water. It was quite an undertaking. By the time all of us were seated and the boat was actually moving, I was exhausted already.

But the fun was just beginning.

The sky was clear and sun was fiercely hot, just as it should be for the start of summer. The wind whipped through our hair and the cool spray splashed our faces as we sped across the lake. Raphael sat wide-eyed and motionless in my lap, either mesmerized or terrified. He wasn’t saying which.

Gabrielle, however, showed no fear. She repeatedly tried to lean over the side to touch the water, causing me chronic heart failure. Ultimately, she had to be relegated to sitting on the floor at my feet while I wondered aloud why on earth there would be no seatbelts in this fast-moving vehicle. Fortunately, no one laughed at my crazy-worried-mother ranting as no one heard it—the roar of the motor and the whistling of the wind filled our ears. It was a tense ride. I sat silently counting seven heads… over and over and over again.

After a short while, we stopped and anchored the boat in a quiet spot near the shore where the kids could dive and swim. Raphael doesn’t swim, though. He quickly grew tired of the close quarters and lack of entertainment and he began to cry. And then he screamed. He was hot and sweaty and miserable. I cooled him with the water and distracted him with lunch. That worked… kind of. Eventually, he fell asleep in my lap and stayed that way. All through the rest of the kids’ swim, their lunch, and then our packing up and heading out on a quiet tour of the lake.

As we glided under bridges, cruised past small islands, and visited other lake landmarks, I shifted Raphael’s heavy warm body in my arms and realized I was a great deal more relaxed than I had been a just a few hours earlier. Gabby sat close and rested her head against me. Gone was the anxiety about a potential overboard passenger. I wasn’t counting heads anymore. Okay, maybe just once or twice. But with my entire family close together in one spot just enjoying our time together, I could feel the warmth of our blessing, just as surely as we felt the sun upon our backs and shoulders.

“Where to?” Dan called out to me above the sound of the wind.

“Anywhere’s good,” I smiled back at him. And I meant it.

I have heard from a number of moms who struggle with this issue in one way or another: How to balance duties to your vocation versus time spent in leisure pursuits—online, on the phone, watching TV, or other “time wasters.”

The computer is probably the greatest temptation. It’s just so accessible, so instantly gratifying, so pleasantly connected to other real live grown up human beings. Before you know it, you might have spent 45-60 minutes reading blogs, visiting discussion forums, and catching up on news, but basically accomplishing absolutely nothing while your household falls apart around you. I know I have been guilty of this, and it always feels terrible afterwards.

One way that I control this temptation is to schedule online time only during specified times in my daily schedule, while the baby is napping and after other work has been done. I have heard of others who set a timer for themselves and only spend 20-30 minutes at the computer each day. Still others designate certain days of the week where they avoid the computer altogether.

If you are wondering if you spend too much of your day involved in any one particular activity (computer, telephone, television, etc.) a good way to test yourself is to avoid that activity for a day or so and see how much you suffer (or maybe how much your house and family benefit). In my experience, this can be a good gauge of how large a part of your life that particular activity has become.

So, share with us please. Do you spend too much time online in your day? How do you keep your online time in line? What strategies have worked for you and would you recommend for others? Answer here and then go clean the kitchen floor, okay?

Please God love our soldiers and guide them
to do good. Protect them from all harm and be
with them in weak moments. Love them so they
are strong and follow Your will. Watch over
them and embrace them in your goodness. Bring
our fallen soldiers to heaven to live with you
always. Love, comfort, and protect their
families left here on earth.
Amen.

Yesterday afternoon in the course of a fifteen minute car ride with my two oldest sons, the conversation covered the following topics:

Whether the world’s largest monster truck has ten foot tall tires or fifteen foot tall tires.

What exactly is inside the middle of the earth and how we can be sure.

Which of the Super Friends has heat ray vision.

How we used to know someone who was a super talented burp-talker, and how come we never see that kid anymore?

Which position each of them would try out for on which major league baseball teams and how many Hummers they could buy with their starting salaries.

How to make the fish you are holding up in a photograph look larger than it really is by holding it in front of you, closer to the camera.

How to make the fins of the above-mentioned photo fish stand up most impressively, by holding it diagonally.

Who could eat more cheeseburgers in a single sitting, the dog or their father.

Since I also have daughters, conversations like this one in my household are usually broken up a bit by discussions of how to wear one’s hair, which flowers might look pretty in the bathroom, and how cute the baby is.

My sweet sister has five sons. My dear friend Rachel has four sons. And I have four sons too. But yesterday it occurred to me that saying that is not at all the same thing. Not even close.

I have this cool little thing where I can look up the internet searches that have brought people to my site. These can be an endless source of amusement, consternation, and sometimes disgust. I try to focus on the amusement factor. Following are some of the searches that have brought people here to my little corner of cyberspace, along with my opinion of the likelihood that they found what they were looking for:

danielle bean ironing? Not likely. I suppose I should suspect my husband of searching for this.

gagging empty stomach? Likely, but not recently, thanks be to God.

stomach bug blog? Well, we try not to be.

girls whose shirts are too tight for their spare tire? Quite unlikely. Not around here thankyouverymuch.

child misbehaving in church? Yeah, we’ve got that.

nudist beach family pictures? My dear, dear searcher, you have truly come to the wrong place.

four months post partum and 15 pounds to lose? Very likely. Sigh…

ancient torture devices? Unlikely. But I won’t rule it out.

guiness record in baby deliveries? Not likely. Heaven help us!

finding nobility in motherhood? I sure hope so.

Saint Bean? We’re working on that.

And he said to them, “Go into all the world
and preach the gospel to the whole creation.
He who believes and is baptized will be saved;
but he who does not believe will be condemned.”
Mark 16: 15-16

When the kids put on bathing suits and turned on the hose this afternoon, my first inclination was to bring Raphael inside. To protect him. If you recall, this is the baby who was terrified of the grass earlier this spring. He is frightened by the sound of the computer printer. He cries when he sees his father working with a nail gun. I was pretty sure that frigid water from the hose would not be his idea of a good time. But as it turned out, and as you can see, I was being silly.

It may be time for me to stop babying my baby, but that doesn’t mean I can’t still take pictures of his bum.

Retrospect and hindsight can be miraculous things. Something about the passage of time, the cleaning-up of messes, and the soothing of terrified toddlers just seems to make a story more laughable the next day. But yesterday afternoon, I wasn’t laughing.

Eamon had baseball practice. What else, right? Dan brought him there but then had to return to work, so the rest of the gang and I arrived shortly afterward to relieve him. I am embarrassed to admit that I was feeling rather in-control-of-things. The kids and the house were reasonably clean and organized. I even had a Grand Master Plan for dinner. Around here and at this stage in my life in-control-of-things is at best an occasional, fleeting feeling.

After occupying the kids at the playground for a bit, I took the baby and Gabrielle along as I wandered closer to the ball field to watch Eamon practicing.

I should not have done that.

I became pre-occupied with watching him hit and was only vaguely aware of the fact that Gabrielle had meandered a few yards away to where Kateri was playing. On the very edge of a tall piece of granite that jutted out from the bank of a steep hill. Now I do not use the word “tall” casually. This built-in rock was about 10 feet in height. A good mother might have been more aware of its presence and the threat that it represented to a tiny girl. But that’s beside the point, isn’t it? Please?

Anyway, Gabby perched her bottom at the very top of this precipice for several minutes before I noticed her. And by then it was too late. Just as I began my hasty stride toward her, just as I opened my mouth to say, “Don’t move, Mommy’s coming to get you!” she slipped and she began to slide.

I arrived just in time to stand beside Kateri. Cue the slow motion. The two of us watched helplessly as Gabrielle slid feet first, down, down, down, with her arms raised up toward me.

“Mamaaaaaaaaaaa!” she called out as she slid to her hapless fate. And hapless it was. Because the ground at the bottom of this particular cliff-on-the-sidelines-of-a-baseball-field was a bit soggy. Okay, more than a bit soggy. It was boggy. As in up to her knees.

Since I had watched the entire episode and knew her descent had been a rather gentle one, I was not too worried about serious injury. I tried to remain calm, but Gabby made no such attempt.

“Oh, help, help, help!” She screeched, as she tried to pull her feet from the muck, reached helplessly toward me, and then shrieked again.

Valiant Kateri rushed down into the bog and boosted her little sister by the bottom while I reached—still holding Raphael in my arms—to grab hold of her. It was just like one of those over-dramatized rock climbing disaster movies. Our fingers stretched toward one another.

“Grab… my…hand!” I shouted into the wind.

“I…can’t!” she cried.

In the end, Kateri gave one brave and final all-out heave-ho, I leaned farther down than it probably was safe to do while still holding the baby, and… cue the triumphant music… we connected. By one arm, I pulled Gabrielle to safety, sat her sobbing, trembling body down on the wet grass and kissed her.

I looked up and saw Eamon standing over us.

“Uhhhhh, is that your family over there?” another kid on his team had said to him. “One of them just fell in the swamp.” So sorry, Eamon.

I looked past my son and saw bleachers full of baseball parents gaping at us. Where were they when we needed them? Anyway, practice was over.

After a rudimentary clean-up, the eight of us stopped at the grocery store (remember that Grand Master Plan for dinner?) on the way home. When we exited the store, we walked through the parking lot and toward the van, duck-like, in single-file. Grass stained boys, grubby girls, and Gabrielle sporting soggy sandals and mismatched, orange leopard-print shorts that were the only change of clothing I had in the diaper bag. Pushing a cart and carrying an exhausted and clinging Raphael, I brought up the rear with my muddied shirt, uncombed hair, and weary expression.

As I passed a pickup truck parked next the van, I noticed a young man in the driver’s seat, looking over the gang of us with a grin. It was a real grin. A genuine grin. Both amused and admiring. I couldn’t help but smile back.