Lent and St. Joseph Day

So, Lent.

(I need to remember to take these sorts of pictures before it gets dark. 

The shadows make it look unintentionally somber and extra Lent-y.)

I am embracing a "gentle Lent" again this year. My spiritual director says, "We choose our penance, but God chooses our Lent." You know what God chose for me this week? A (rather funny) doozy.

Please be forewarned: 

if you have a weak stomach, or are otherwise squeamish, 

scroll down to the photos of my kids. 

I took the kids to the dentist, an hour away from here. It involved lots of driving and complaining from kids about the length of the car trip. Then a dentist visit-tantrum from one child resulted in only one getting his teeth checked. After we ate lunch at the nearby McDonald's, I realized I had forgotten water bottles. So I took them to Shopper's to buy new water bottles, then drove home. I was already exhausted when we walked in the door. Then the power went out just when we had got home and I had slid a pan of potatoes into the oven to roast.

I forgot about the potatoes and simply fed them the meat I had cooked in the crockpot and the brownies I had made earlier (being Patrick's name day, we always have brownies that day). I put them to bed early, then crashed from dentist-hijinx-exhaustion.

I woke up the next morning and realized the potatoes were still there. So I decided to see if they would turn out if I cooked them anyway. After a few minutes, I noticed a bad smell, like singed hair. I opened the oven to discover a burnt mouse carcass there. Closing oven door with an immense shudder, I carried on with the morning homeschooling lessons until at least the oven cooled down. Returning to the oven after appropriate span of time, I discovered not one, not two, but THREE. DEAD. MICE. in my oven.

So I got to discard of them (even repeating that makes me feel ill all over again), take the kids to the store to buy Easy-Off oven cleaner and rubber gloves -- and a Somersby blackberry cider -- and after they were in bed, I treated myself to a night of oven-scrubbing, with booze and Ed Sheeran doing their utmost to make me think I wasn't actually cleaning dead mouse particles out of a place where I actually prepare food.

So now that I have told you my traumas, let's move on, shall we?

St. Joseph's day, one of my favourite feasts of the year.

The boys were pretty excited to have wine glasses to drink from.

He recently lost two teeth and now looks way more like the almost six year old that he is.

And our traditional dessert of cream puffs was a hit, naturally. The whole day was a flurry of baking (and child-rearing) as we approached the climactic dessert.

This was Anna's first year getting her own and she was suitably thrilled.

He's just fantastic. This expression is so "him."

And we found quite possibly the world's largest baby carrot. Noah said it looked like a teenaged carrot.

 This candid moment makes me so glad for the gift of siblings.

Our makeshift St. Joseph altar. I made that watercolour sign with the quote from St. Teresa of Avila at the kitchen sink, with my back turned to the kids. I wanted a quick decoration, but I knew if I set up the paints at the table, the kids would want to join me, and that process just seemed like more work than I was willing to commit to at that moment.

Also, these photos are proof of my mental block about ironing. Ma Ingalls is rolling over in her grave.

It was the boys' idea to add some tools to our altar, and I thought it was a charming addition.

I am keenly aware that their season of real "young-ness" is dwindling. My sweet niece is now seven, only a year and a half older than Noah, and she no longer seems like a "little" kid, but a young version of a "big kid." I do need to savour these moments with them so young, because the next phase of parenthood is always just on the horizon.