Mama-luia

I am feeling well, but tired. Life is busy, just in attempting to "do things" -- useful things, like eating nutritious homemade food, making said food, keep an orderly home, and of course, delight in every waking (and sleeping!) moment of my darling. That cliche about babies growing up so fast is true. He already seems so much more grown up, Hence I am intent on relishing him in his infancy while I can. And now, so can you. Cuteness to the max, no? PS Please ignore the tim e-stamp on the picture on the one picture. For some reason, my Kodak EasyShare thinks Noah is already two years old.

I can't believe I am about to say this but. . . there are only 155 days left until Christmas! (Now don't you just want to slap me?!) In all seriousness, though, I am ecstatic at the idea of Christmas '09. I am certain it is because it will be my first Christmas as a mom (with a child ex utero). Now we can establish our own family traditions, decorate our own tree, watch with delight as Noah opens his first Christmas presents. I might even cook a turkey! Why, though, am I blogging about this during the summer? Let me first say this: I have extremely high ideals for our family. I suppose this isn't different from most mothers! I regularly fantasize about a smooth blend of attachment parenting, distributism, delight-led learning (through Montessori and Waldorf-inspired education), apostolic farming and general togetherness centred around the liturgical year, with, of course, appropriate crafts to reflect the Church calendar. I realize I am not capable of meeting such high...

1. We're really beginning to make this place feel like home now! I am so excited that Patrick has been putting up our art (as I don't trust myself with a hammer). Meanwhile I sit in a half-lotus on the glider, and frequently interject with "Noo, not there. THERE!" (The reason I am confined to the glider is due to nursing, not laziness, FYI.) 2. On the subject of homemaking, I attacked our library with a vengeance today, sorting Theology into Scripture, Magisterial documents, saint lives, dogmatics and spiritual theology. Then onto philosophy, history, and literature (with equally obsessive sub-categories). My big concern, though, is where to put the "popularizers"? You know, Christopher West , John Eldredge , Rick Warren (cough) , and the like? I hate putting them into Theology with the likes of Garigou-Lagrange, St. Thomas Aquinas, and St. Teresa of Avila, among others. My compromise? A "Christian Living" section. Sidebar: while visiting w...

St. Francis of Assisi has always been my favourite saint. Sure, I flirt, devotionally speaking, with your Thereses and Gianna Mollas, but St. Francis always calls me back to him. Maybe it's because I'm nothing like him! I say this because I keep thinking about holy poverty and family life. It is so tempting to amass so much stuff , in the name of improving our family: every little appliance to "simplify" life, endless wicker baskets to organize (I do get weak in the knees at Wicker Emporium. I'm a sucker!), more hangers, a better broom -- these all seem like worthy purchases, no? They're simply for the upkeep of our home! And then , CDs to help make sure Noah is exposed to good music, books to make sure Patrick and I don't lose our liberal-artsy roots , despite careers and family life taking us away from full-time study, and of course, (cough) clothing. I flatter myself when I think of St. Francis de Sales' admonitions to be presentable, and find mysel...

I have had a rough couple of nights, like any mom with a very young baby. Yet unlike most moms, the source of my sleeplessness has not been my baby, but rather, myself. I find myself wide awake at one, two, and three o'clock in the morning, near tears and feeling utterly helpless and weighed down with the immense responsibilities of raising an actual human being, something I feel so unworthy to do, and at which I feel hopelessly incapable of succeeding. Besides that, I find myself destraught at the the idea that I don't know when I'll get to see many of my best friends again, now that we've left Ontario. I hate the feeling that I will become the "peripheral friend". As in, when my name comes up in conversation, the response would be "Oh yeah, I vaguely remember her. But then she had a baby and up and moved away. Pass the Cheetos, would you?" Anyway, Sunday morning at Mass, I found myself for the first time in a long time praying from my heart. It wa...