I have sort of given up

...waiting for my web page at The Record to be updated. Perhaps it's their policy not to post all the columns from the paper version, for which I write, on the internet (fair enough), or perhaps their web elves may be struggling with issues beyond my comprehension. So for the time being, I will be posting my columns here rather than links. 


Here's one that appeared in the April 18 issue of the paper, originally titled: 

Overcoming the Post-Transfiguration Blues*

I'll take it

According to LifeSiteNews' Facebook stats, my Dangerous Housewives article was the second-most read item on LSN this past week. It's still on the "most viewed list" at Merc too. When one's writing career is as 'modest' (ie. relatively unsuccessful) as mine, that's kind of a big thrill. At any rate, it's probably more uplifting than giving a campaign speech in front of someone's garage and having hardly anyone show up for it, and then being told that one of your chosen 'hosts' might not even vote for you.
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Thank heaven for the internet

And may its power increasingly be used only for Good. We all have issues that we are afraid or ashamed to bring into the light of day. The internet assures me that I am not alone.

Funniest question of the day

Courtesy of my youngest:

"Mom, where is that book I can't find?"

The well-trained Catholic child

In anticipation of Good Friday abstinence, Miss Pinkerton #6 and I were whipping up a rather large (baked in a turkey roaster) and rather delicious-looking batch of vegetarian chili this morning. (It is my life's ambition to get beyond merely delicious-looking food, and achieve stuff that tastes good too.) I made up the recipe, so maybe I'll post it if it turns out. If not, we will never speak of it again.

Anyway, Miss P6 was stirring away, inhaling deeply as I added the spices. "I wish I could eat this right now," she said with a hint too much disordered-food-love in her voice. Then she checked herself and added, "I don't think this meal is going to be very Lenten." I guess that depends on whether the recipe succeeds. As I often tell people, most of us are called to carry our crosses; my husband and kids are frequently compelled to eat theirs.
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Will and Grace

...was the original title of this column, my latest at The Record, a Catholic paper in Perth, W. Australia.

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"I'll take Jesus Christ for 2000, Alex"

The other day I was testing the youngest Miss Pinkerton (7), who is preparing for First Holy Communion this spring. I have made up some written exams, based on the catechism series we're using (Faith and Life, Ignatius Press--shout out to the one and only Daria Sockey who authored the text we're using this year).

The last question on the exam was multiple choice. "Who is Jesus Christ?" The choices were:
a. the Son of God
b. the Second Person of the Blessed Trinity
c. the Saviour of the whole world
d. a special friend who loves us and wants to live in our hearts
e. all of the answers above

Miss P. chortled confidently and responded as if she were on Jeopardy and about to score on the daily double, "I'll have to take E!"

There are a lot of grown-ups would couldn't answer that question correctly.
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Out of the mouths of babes

Why I am a Mother

(A list compiled for me by Miss Pinkerton #2, when she was between the ages of  3 and 4. She is now 20.)

I am a mother because:

*I wash people’s bums

*I cook meals

*I have a fat tummy

*I do laundry

*I pick up things around the house

*I read to my children

*my face looks like a mother

*I smell like a mother (hand lotion)

*God saved me for a mother

That about covers it!

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Bittersweet

Pursuant to my last post, I wanted to recount our poignant day on Sunday, which was the last official day that our family spent together as members of one household. My eldest daughter, of whom I am immensely and justifiably proud (and who, incidentally, never set foot in a school of any kind, public or private, until college) took possession of a house yesterday and Moved Out of The Nest. She has a good job with a large corporation (sorry, Occupy Movement, some of us have to work for a living), and, having pretty much paid off her student loans (saving and working hard every summer of her university years), felt ready to take on a mortgage.


 And more than ready to take on some independence, if not some Tupperware. It's not easy going from your own apartment (and cool fun roommate) in university to renting one corner of one (shared) bedroom in your mom and dad's rather smallish home. Having to ask if you could have friends over. Being aware that (groan) mom was worried if you didn't come home before midnight.

Homeschooling mom moment of the day

Mom: Are you girls enjoying the Authors card game?
Misses Pinkerton: Yes!
Mom: Are you learning lots?
One of the younger Misses Pinkerton: Yes, I've pretty much memorized all the titles of the books by Jane Eyre!
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By request

A reader (OK, my niece!) wanted an online version of a column that appeared in Catholic Insight in 2008. There was a version at the freelibrary.com, but the doofus who transcribed it filled it with typos. (Yes, Virginia, there IS a difference between "rive" and "strive".)

A real Catholic family  (first appeared in the July, 2008 issue of Catholic Insight)

Although we are a minority, many Catholic couples strive to live in obedience to Humanae vitae. Some of us have a dozen children; some have none. When you have a big family, it’s nice to find safe haven in the sub-culture of the traditional Catholic world (places like homeschooling events, chastity rallies, pro-life conferences, etc.). Families who are somewhere in the middle (say, three or four children), sometimes feel at home nowhere. In secular society, they feel obliged to apologize for having so many children. In some Catholic circles, they feel they must apologize for having so few.

Better late than never

In my ongoing protest against this, where Amazon.com is selling downloads of my articles without my permission, and I don't receive a cent of the proceeds, I'm posting my stuff free online. My September column from Catholic Insight

Kill me quick, Lord

Our family tries to have devotions each morning before my husband Dan leaves for work. We pray for particular intentions and share the daily Mass readings, which Dan reads to us. I say “tries” because sometimes, some of us (even occasionally the mom) don’t make it out of bed on time. This is particularly difficult during the summer holidays, when the kids tend to stay up later at night, and thus sleep in a bit more often in the mornings. But we do our best, and resuming the fall school schedule will no doubt help a bit.

Early last month (when I wrote this column), the first reading was from Numbers (11-15). It described one of several instances where the Chosen People were also the Irritating People, whining and carping to Moses. He finally loses patience, and in turn complains to God: "Why hast thou dealt ill with thy servant? And why have I not found favour in thy sight, that thou dost lay the burden of all this people upon me?”

Oh, how a mother can relate.

Fresh MILK (for the Mrs. Blurns of this world)

Who are currently in the throes.

An old article of mine, first published...well, so long ago that I can't even remember the year. Between 1996 and 1998, in Nazareth Journal (may the magazine Rest In Peace). Note: this is the unedited version. There was no online version available to cut and paste, and I wasn't about to manually retype the print version.

The School of Love

                                                               

“I hate you!” Celeste’s shrill voice rings out. A  moment later she storms out of the bedroom.  “Mom, Geneva has all the blue blocks and she won’t give me any.” I tell Geneva she has to share, and Celeste, that she must not hate anyone.

"Mom...I just don’t  get this.” moans Christine, her forehead banging despondently on the table. We have started a new unit in math, and the concept still hasn’t clicked. I glance at the clock: 11:30--time to make lunch, and we haven’t even begun working on Language Arts. I was hoping we’d be finished school by noon today. Another shriek  comes from the girls’ room. This time it’s Geneva.

“Katherine’s wrecking my house!” I fetch my toddler, who in turn begins to scream because she’s being banished from Lego Land. The blue block dispute, still unresolved, comes to blows. Now three children are crying, and the fourth is asking plaintively who invented school anyway. We still haven’t started Language Arts. Maybe we’ll do it this afternoon when Katherine goes down for a nap. If Katherine goes down for a nap.

After lunch, we finish school and Katherine sleeps. Needing some time alone, I allow the girls to go downstairs and watch a movie.  I brew some tea and collapse into a chair, burying my nose in the latest issue of Nazareth Journal. But the unswept floor, dirty dishes, and baskets of unfolded laundry are burning a hole in the cover of my magazine. Suddenly I feel so tired...am I getting a  sore throat? (Sigh...this is only Monday).

Lukewarm MILK (Mommy's Little Helpers)

I was running late after music lessons and grocery shopping today and scrambling to get dinner ready (ie. supper). In the bustle of the kitchen, I called out, "Would anyone like to wash some lettuce?" Not one, but TWO of my daughters piped up immediately with a reply. Feeling bested, the older one scowled at the younger, who shouted triumphantly, "I said No first!"
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Got MILK?

The votes have been cast! Actually, not, but I've used my psychic mind powers to try to deduce what our readers would wish us to call the new mommy blog feature, if they had an opinion on the matter, or, for that matter, if there were readers... and the verdict is... MILK. (Mothers I'd Like to Komfort.) There is just so much more, metaphorically and literally, that you can do with MILK than with MILTH, which isn't a word, and moreover, rhymes with filth. (We get enough hits from kinky porn-seekers as it is.)

So Motherhood, bring us your poor, your tired, your barfed-on, and we will try to offer some words of Komfort and Konsolation--indeed, the Milk of human kindness. Or maybe just a smile.
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Another new feature: MILTH... or MILK?

Got this idea yesterday from this PWPL post (which in turn links to another article on One More Soul).

For some time I've been reading (in various publications and sites) about how old mature and experienced moms ought to "give back" and do some comforting and mentoring to the younger moms going through stressful times. Experienced, yes (23 years, 7 kids); mature, not so much. One would think mentoring would come naturally, and I suppose at one point in history, it did. But I'm a Baby Boomer, and generally not given to thinking of anyone but myself.

So to atone for this and to take one more step toward becoming "an active, useful sort of person" (Pride and Prejudice, Ch. XIX), I thought I might start a mommy blog. But then I thought, "Hey, I already have two blogs, and I don't even use one of them," so that idea seemed a bit redundant. Instead, I thought it made more sense to begin a new feature on this blog and call it MILTH (Mothers I'd Like To Hug)--or perhaps even more appropriately (on multiple levels), MILK: Mothers I'd Like to Komfort, with the added feature of consoling moms who--like me-- are homeschooling and often feel they're not doing a very good job of it. (Hey! Why not let DOH's legions of readers decide! Vote now in the Comments Section on which name you'd like to see.)


[crickets chirping...]


Once when I spoke at a conference, I was (grossly undeservedly) described as "Erma Bombeck for the 21st Century" but since virtually no one under 50 knows who Erma Bombeck is, maybe I'll just aspire to "The Canadian Pre-Menopausal Simcha Fisher" (even though that's undeserved too. I am not worthy to peel the linty lollipop from underneath her wool socks).

So here's the first installment, which is not really mine (I don't have time, because I'm LATE FOR SCHOOL), but boy, is it ever worth reading. Fr. Dwight Longenecker, on how a devotion to the Sorrowful Mother* can help suffering moms. Beautiful.

h/t Shea

* In the Roman Catholic liturgical calendar, Sept. 15 is the Memorial of "Our Lady of Sorrows", one of the many titles by which we honour Mary.