Another Late Night Rambling

It's 3:31 a.m. and I can't sleep.

It's my own fault really. Tonight I saw Paranormal Activity with my best friend. I knew it dealt with demon-stuff. I can handle ghosts, chainsaw wielding maniacs and aliens, but demons...that's another story. I think after seeing and experiencing the awesome goodness that comes from God that I will stick to happy movies and thrillers. But that's a blog for another day.

However, as I peruse through facebook to distract me from getting freaked out (while trying to sleep my cat came barging through my bedroom door scaring the living poo out of me...) I discovered something.

Today I got to spend time with my mother at her work's Halloween party. Many memorable snap shots were taken and my mom uploaded them to an album on her facebook. I was looking through them and saw a picture of me wearing a silly mask and only my bright green eyes were showing. But then I thought "I didn't take a picture with that mask on. At least I don't remember... Oh look, mom tagged herself instead of me." Then I realized that those sparkling green eyes were not mine- they were my mother's. In true McAdams goof-off fashion she took a picture of herself with a silly mask on.

I discovered that I have my mom's eyes. You know how there are kids who look SO much like their parents that it's just down-right freaky (my brother's children are a prime example)? Well I never have "seen" that with my mom. My dad is on the shorter side, so I probably got my lack of height from him. He also has kind of arched eyebrows which mine kind of resemble. My nose is definitely not from my mom.

But I have her lively, sparkly green eyes.

And that makes me so very happy.

P.S. I'd post the picture on here, but I would then fear the wrath of my mother!

What Becomes of the Broken Hearted: My Pregnancy and Miscarriage

This story is not an easy one to tell. It’s probably not an easy one to hear either. However, I have found that reading other women’s stories of their own miscarriages has helped me a bit in my healing process. I feel telling my own story will help me in the process of moving forward and perhaps if some woman stumbles across this blog after suffering her own miscarriage, I can help her too. This will be a long story, but I am not just focusing on the miscarriage part- I want to also focus on the happier times before we got that devastating news…

I remember sitting there looking at my Natural Family Planning (NFP) chart with a huge smile. All the signs pointed to me being pregnant. It used to be a guessing game when my period would start, but after learning about my cycle by using NFP I knew that I should have started my period four days prior. And my basal body temperature I took every morning was remaining high- another sign of pregnancy.

After taking the pregnancy test I was expecting to see two very bright lines announcing the glorious news that I was indeed pregnant. Instead I saw one bright line and a very, very faint line beside it. It was so faint I thought I was imagining it. I decided to wait at least five more days and take another one- surely by then the line would have darkened up. Of course me being the very impatient person I am, I couldn’t wait five days, so three days later I purchased one of those Clear Blue Easy tests- the one that digitally say “pregnant” or “not pregnant.”

With a huge smile on my face I called my husband to the bathroom. I had always imagined a very grandiose and special way of telling him that he was going to be a Daddy, but all I did was hand him the test that said “Pregnant” on it. I hadn’t seen my husband smile like that in a very long time!

I wanted to stand on top of a tall building and announce with a megaphone that I was pregnant- I was SO incredibly happy. I had always dreamed of being a mommy and was excited for all the fun (and not so fun) stuff that came with the job. I knew this is what God designed me to do.

We told our very close friends and parents the happy news. Then the news started to slowly spread and leak out….to grandparents, uncles, aunts...co-workers…..old high school friends. But we were fine with that. We were bursting with happiness to tell everyone.

During my first OB appointment the doctor did an internal ultrasound and the gestational sac measured around four weeks. My doctor was a little concerned because according to my last period I should have been about seven weeks. He set up an appointment for the following week to check the baby’s progress. I was a little freaked out at first, but after studying my charts, I knew exactly when our little one was conceived. Four weeks was about right. Sure enough, the next week at my appointment our little one measured five weeks, six days. The doctor informed me that we were a couple days shy of seeing a heartbeat, so he scheduled us to come in after two weeks. All we could see on the sonogram screen was this little round circle that was nourishing and growing our baby. I LOVED that small circle.

Those days were filled with excitement. Ryan and I immediately started “arguing” whether it was a girl or a boy. My best friend , Ashlee, and I started coming up with in-utero nicknames. Some we came up with where Clarice, Gizmo, and Hoss.

I started rubbing cocoa butter lotion on my belly every night because a friend had told me the day she found out she was preggo she started rubbing it on and she didn’t get stretch marks. (Who knows if it was going to work for me, but I was still going to try it!)

I was definitely experiencing pregnancy symptoms. They weren't very comfortable, but I welcomed them. I felt blessed to be pregnant.

We received congratulations cards in the mail and a little package from the doctor’s office with a newborn baby diaper sample, prenatal vitamin samples, brochures and magazines about pregnancy. I would hold the little diaper and just marvel at how small it was and how I couldn’t wait to meet the little one whose cute little bottom would grace this diaper.

Out went the caffeine, deli meats and hot dogs and in came lots of water, healthy food and prenatal vitamins. I started doing some exercises on my Wii Fit- I was determined to get healthy for my baby!

I started reading What to Expect When You’re Expecting. Each week that passed I read of the amazing changes and growth our baby was going through. I would skip ahead and read about the months filled with baby kicks, hiccups, and being able to tell the gender of the baby. I was really looking forward to those days. I poured through the pregnancy magazines we got from the doctor’s office.

I knew that my next doctor’s appointment would be around the time my baby would be eight weeks old. The book said my baby would be the size of a large raspberry. I didn’t think I could make it a full two weeks to see my little berry on the sonogram screen, but thankfully my mom planned a trip for her, my oldest niece Emma and I to go to Colorado to visit my cousins during that two week wait. That would occupy my mind to think of other things besides sonograms and heartbeats.

While we were out there I decided to tell my Colorado cousins that I was expecting. In a couple of days I would have my sonogram and once we saw the heartbeat we were going to tell the rest of the family, but I figured that since I was going pee every five minutes and had occasional bouts of nausea they might suspect something was up. They were thrilled. My cousin Sara would come and rub my belly. I know some women hate when people do that, but I welcomed it.

The Colorado trip was amazing, even though I couldn’t ride the 100 ft. tall “Skycoaster” that swung people out by a harness mechanism over the 1200 foot Royal Gorge since I was pregnant. But I was OK with that- I didn’t want to do anything to harm my baby.

I came back to Waverly on Monday and was excited for the next day- that was our sonogram day! I had just had an amazing time with my family and now was excited to focus on my own little growing family.

We went into the doctor’s office on Tuesday. I was so excited- I knew I was pregnant, I had the symptoms, I saw the little circle on the sonogram screen before, but I didn’t really feel pregnant. But I knew once I saw that heartbeat that it would change my life forever. I sat in the examination room and the doctor came in to say, “Our sonogram machine is broken.” I was SUPER annoyed. We drove 25 miles to go to an appointment just for me to pee in a cup and have my blood pressure taken?! And we didn’t get to see our baby?! He asked if we wanted to wait a week to come back to his office or schedule a sonogram at the hospital the next day. Of course I opted for the latter. I was very disappointed. But at least I didn’t have to wait a week- in less than 24 hours I would get to see my baby.

The nurse told me to have a full bladder when I did my sonogram so the next day I drank my weight in water and juice. Driving to the hospital was an unusual experience- I was SO excited and happy yet I felt uncomfortable because I needed to go potty but I wasn’t allowed! Of course the wait before we went into the room where they did the sonograms seemed to take an eternity but finally I was lying on the paper-covered exam bed. This was a day I had dreamed of. I was so excited when the sonogram tech squirted the goo on my abdomen and started moving the sonogram device around and the screen displayed black and white grainy images.

I was expecting to see my little raspberry sized baby right away and was looking anxiously for the little fluttering heartbeat. The tech kept moving it around and taking pictures of my ovaries and different views of my uterus. “OK lady, let’s get to the good stuff!” is what I kept thinking, but she was just doing her job. “There’s your bladder,” she said. Wow did it look big and I thought if she kept focusing on ovaries and my bladder I would pee myself! I was starting to get worried/annoyed/uncomfortable when she said that she couldn’t quite see anything and she would do an internal sonogram.

I went to the bathroom (sweet glorious relief!!!) and wrapped a sheet around my waist. I was a little worried, but the tech didn’t seem too concerned and maybe my little Gizmo was just hiding. And surely with an internal sonogram I would REALLY be able to see my baby and the heartbeat.

I laid down and she inserted the wand. And there it was- the gestational sac. But it looked EXACTLY the same as it did two weeks previously. There was no raspberry-sized baby, no fluttering heartbeat- just that same circle I had fallen in love with weeks before. “You’re measuring 5 weeks, 3 days. Does that sound about right?” NO, NO, NO… this was NOT right at all. I was supposed to be eight weeks. NO, NO, NO….what on earth has happened? The machine must be broken….NO, NO, NO….

I calmly said that 5 weeks, 3 days was not right, I should be around eight weeks. She then informed me that I was either still really early or I had a miscarriage. I knew in my heart which one it was.

Instead of the happy words of “Congrats, here’s your baby! Here’s the head, the heart, you’ll be due to have it on such and such date…” it was the cold, steel-like words of, “I’ll have to have the radiologist take a look and call your doctor.”

We sat in the waiting room to see what our next step was. I was in pure shock. The sonogram tech came in and said, “I’m not a doctor, so I can’t say what has happened for sure, but your doctor will see you tomorrow morning at 8:40 a.m.”

The twenty-five mile drive back home I was a sobbing, blurry mess. I was screaming in anger. I wanted this horrible nightmare to vanish. I had never EVER felt so heartbroken in my entire life and I felt this crazed, scared lack of control in myself. I truly wanted to disappear.

I could in no way call my mother to tell her the news that I may have lost the baby. She had been so excited of our baby news and couldn’t wait to tell everyone that she was going to be a grandma to her fourth grandchild. I couldn’t bear to tell her so my husband (God bless him) called her up for me. He also called my father and had to tell his own parents the sad news.

That night my husband and I prayed a rosary together, held each other and cried. However, we both had a little hope that perhaps we could get a miracle. No one had said for sure that I had a miscarriage. We hung on to that very slim chance of a miracle.

The next day we went to the doctor. Instead of the usual exam room I had been in they took us to a sort of “meeting” exam room. The doctor came in and said, “Well, I don’t think it’s a miscarriage.” I asked for clarification- “You DON’T think, or you DO think?” “I DON’T think…” he said. However as he kept talking it seemed that first statement was a load of bull. “I hate to say it, but there’s about a 95% chance that you have had a miscarriage.” What the heck? Make up your mind, Doctor!

Our next step was to do a blood test that day and another one the next day to see if the pregnancy hormone in my blood was declining. He said he would call me the following afternoon.

The next day after my second round of blood tests I was an anxious mess. I cleaned the entire apartment from top to bottom. I prayed a lot. I knew in my heart I had suffered a miscarriage, but since I still hadn’t received the “official” news I was in agony of thinking perhaps there was a chance I was still pregnant. The waiting was horrible.

My doctor said that if he didn’t call by 3:00 p.m. that I should call. At 3:01 p.m. I made the call. “You knew I’d forget, huh?” he joked. Enough with the wise-cracks Doc- I am in NO mood for funny. “Yeah, it looks like your pregnancy hormone levels are going down.” Instead of breaking down, I calmly asked what the next step would be. He suggested that since I was so early naturally miscarrying would probably be the best way. If the miscarriage hadn’t occurred in a couple weeks then I could have a D&C (a surgical procedure where they scrape away the remains of the baby and lining of the uterus.)

I had already made up my mind the day before that if God forbid I did lose the baby I would do this naturally. I have never had any kind of surgery before, so the thought of even a minor procedure scared the crap out of me. I knew it was going to be a very difficult time emotionally and physically but I was prepared (or I thought I was) to deal with it. I believe my womb is a sacred place and I felt for my unborn baby’s sake that I would do this in the least abrupt way. (I know that makes no sense…but in my own warped way it makes perfect sense to me.) Miscarrying naturally was the best option for me.

I hung up the phone and was too shocked to sob or even move. Ryan came to hug me and being in my beloved’s arms- those strong arms that take care of me, that work hard to provide for us- I broke down. It’s hard to describe my feelings. I had never felt this kind of pain before. I felt empty, my heart was broken and I felt like I would never again feel happy. I was experiencing the lowest of lows. To borrow a quote from Theodore Roosevelt: "The light has gone out of my life."

Ryan again made the calls to our family confirming the news. I pathetically text messaged my friends and threw my phone in my purse, not interested in answering it for a long time. My mom dropped everything and drove the three hours to Waverly to be with me. Ryan was in agony if he should call into work. I told him to go, and that I would be fine with my mommy with me. She came and spent the night. The next day we explored Lexington's Civil War battlefields and drove to Richmond. But then she had to leave, and the sadness crept back in. While she was there I barely thought about the miscarriage.

However the next day my best friend Ashlee came to bring me comfort and spend the night. She taught me how to make home-made noodles, apple crisp and salsa. Such wonderful comfort foods to get my mind off of all the horrible events that had taken place. We watched movies and chatted. When she left I bawled. I had to face what was going to happen.

We received sympathy cards and were assured that people were praying for us. A lot of people expressed that “They just didn’t know what to say.” And I completely understood where they were coming from. What do you say to someone who’s had a miscarriage? It’s all so heartbreaking. I only have two close friends who have babies, and they never had a miscarriage. I felt so alone, until we posted our news on Facebook. Many wonderful women sent me private messages telling me of their own sorrow of miscarriage. Some girls I barely even knew, but hearing from them gave me great comfort. And I thank you all who wrote me emails, prayed for us, stayed with us, and grieved with us from the bottom of my heart. God bless you.

I really don’t want to get into the nitty gritty details of the actual miscarriage. I choose to focus on the good rather than the bad. The entire natural miscarriage lasted about twelve days and could be described as a really long and heavy period. Praise be to Jesus that I never had a high temperature or passed too much blood to have to go to the E.R. There were two days that were particularly horrible. Around the fifth day the bleeding and cramping suddenly went away. I thought it was over and thought “Hmm, that wasn’t too bad at all.” Oh boy, was I wrong. I woke up around 2:30 a.m. with extremely horrible cramps. They came every ten minutes. I never have gone into labor but these cramps weren’t the run-of-the-mill cramps I’ve had in the past with my period. Nothing helped the pain- I tried ibuprofen, a heating pad, a warm bath. I was so exhausted but lying in bed made it worse. I camped out in the bathroom begging for this whole thing to be over. I finally crawled back into bed around 6:30 a.m. and that was the last time I remember looking at the clock.

The next morning I promptly called my doctor for some pain meds. I got some Vicodin and while it didn’t take away all the pain, it did take the edge off and made me laugh hysterically at a car commercial. Best of all it helped me to get some MUCH needed sleep that night.

Somewhere in that blur of days I realized we found out about the miscarriage on August 28th- the feast day of St. Augustine. So Ryan and I decided to name our little one Gus.

I never went back to the doctor. He never ordered a follow up appointment or weekly blood work to see the rate of my falling pregnancy hormones. He was a nice guy, but as soon as the miscarriage occurred he had a “Well, you’re not pregnant, so we’re done with you” attitude. I was OK with not going back. I don’t think I could handle being in a waiting room full of pregnant women.

It was hard enough to see all these women putting up belly pictures and sonogram pictures up on Facebook. I swear days after I found out about my miscarriage four women found out they were pregnant. I immediately "hid" them and prevented their status updates being shown on my Facebook homepage news feed thingy. Whenever they would post their joyous news I’d immediately get so upset. It wasn’t fair. How come my own joy had been taken from me?

My 25th birthday was a bit of a sad one for me. I would have been past my first trimester on that day.

But slowly, things are getting better. There was a point where I never thought I’d be happy again. I was in such a dark place of depression and despair. I still have that pain, and I believe I’ll carry part of that pain the rest of my life. But now I’ve found that I can unblock those pregnant women’s statuses and congratulate other women who have recently found out they are pregnant.

Some days are better than others. During the miscarriage I didn’t talk to ANYBODY- not even my own mother about what was going on. Now I feel like I can bring it up and talk about it, but on my own terms. Some days I think I’m doing just fine, but then something comes up, like seeing my pregnant neighbor’s baby shower, and I fall apart. But the next day comes and I look to the cross for strength and guidance. Our loving Father never fails in helping me through the bad days.

Of course I clung to my faith. I plan to write an “epilogue” sort of thing in a couple days to explain how I’ve used my Catholic faith in the healing process. This is quite long already, and I don’t want to drone on any longer. Thanks for listening to my story.

“Mommy, please don’t cry.

The angels are always singing.

I love to sing with the angels!

You’d be proud of me.

I have a pretty good voice. I must have gotten it from you.”

-Mommy Please Don’t Cry…There are No Tears in Heaven.

Cooking Success!

You may have remember my lament on how cooking usually turns into a disaster for me.

I received quite a few comments on my facebook regarding this, and the biggest piece of advice I got was to be patient and start off small. I cooked chili a couple weeks ago and it was pretty good. (So good my husband said, "Wow, I feel like I just ate a Thanksgiving meal...soooo full. Now I'm ready for a nap!")

I've been on a bit of a baking kick too. Recently I made some brownies and banana nut muffins. Of course I used the boxed mixes, but I was just too timid to go all out and bake from scratch.

Last week I was blog hopping (a perk of being unemployed) and I came across a recipe for peppermint chocolate chip cookies. Basically they're good ol' chocolate chip cookies with peppermint extract and crushed candy canes sprinkled on the top. (I used peppermints. Of course I should have just waited until the day after Halloween to find candy canes.)

My mouth watered when I read the recipe and saw the picture of the finished product. I thought to myself, "I have to make those for Christmas!" But these cookies involved eggs, flour, sugar...not opening up a package of pre-made cookies already in convenient one-inch ball-form. I decided to go for it! But then fears crept into my head...I burn down the apartment weeks before Christmas...or I don't burn down the apartment but I make them wrong thus making my entire family sick with food poisoning during the holidays.

I decided to do a bit of cooking baking practice. We went shopping after Mass for the ingredients. One of the things I had to buy was a flour sifter. I never ever had used one of these. (And just a side note: I know that flour today is already pre-sifted, but thanks to Google I researched this topic and many people claim that sifting makes better cookies, cakes, etc. Sure it was going to be extra work, but I needed ANY AND ALL help to make these cookies taste good.)

As usual, while at the store, I called my mom for advice.

"How do you salt butter?" I asked.

"Huh?" my mom asked in a very puzzled voice.

"The recipe calls for salted butter."

"It's a certain kind of butter, you'll find it next to the regular butters and margarines."

"Does it it have 'salted butter' written on the package?"

"Yes."

I'm sure she hung up the phone with a smile. I on the other hand hung up the phone with a Homer Simpson "D'OH!" feeling.

I came home and was excited to get started. But I was completely un-organized (something that makes me panic-y) and was making a HUGE mess (another things that makes me panic-y) I had flour on the floor on the floor, on my feet, in my hair. Peppermint pieces were stuck to my socks. I was giving myself pep-talks, yelling and stomping my feet.

Surprisingly, when I put the dough into the fridge to chill, it looked normal. During that hour I cleaned up and mopped and felt a little better about my surroundings.

Finally I put the rolled up dough balls into the oven and waited. Ten minutes later I took them out. They looked like cookies! They smelled delicious! As I waited for them to cool I was still a little wary....

Finally I couldn't wait any longer- I bit into one. I was expecting to bite into uncooked cookie dough 0r a big powdery chunk of flour that hadn't been mixed in well. To my delight- it was very yummy!

I ate a couple cookies and called my mom to tell her the good news.

My husband loves them. Of course he will eat just about anything.

Finally- a small success in the realm of cooking!

If you'd like the recipe I used, go here!

Shame on Me

I have a lot, I mean A LOT of pet peeves.

Unfortunately a lot of them have carried over to my experience during Mass. My brother wrote a very funny blog post about the Top 50 Annoying Things at Mass. A lot of them ring true for me!

Today I was really looking forward to Mass. I have had a crap-tacular week and was really needing some quality God-time. I had read some reflections on this week's Scripture readings, and of course was ready to welcome in the graces by partaking in the Holy Eucharist.

However, when I walked into Mass I realized they were having a Children's Mass. Normally I love these kinds of Masses and truly enjoy them, but today I wasn't really in a Children's Mass kind of mood.

They have a children's choir and I don't know who it is, but there is someone who practically yells out the words of the songs. (I know this is the norm for how kids sing, but this doesn't sound child-like. I'm thinking it is an adult, but I could be wrong.) It's like nails on a chalk board to me.

They always sing the Gloria. The way they sing it is great for kids, but it is one of those ditties that will stick in your head for like a week. *Gloria (clap, clap), Gloria (clap, clap), in excelsis Deo!* (Ahhh...it's back in my head now!)

So instead of enjoying the readings I sat and sulked that I was going to be perpetually annoyed the rest of the Mass, all while STILL having the Gloria stuck in my head. I was grumpy and was mentally and spiritually acting like a three year old. My guardian angel must have given me a nudge because I took a second to actually listen to the Homily. And what the Deacon was preaching about caught my attention.

He said that too many times we wait until we have big issues to deal with or a lot on our plate when we finally fall to our knees to ask God for help. We don't have to wait until we are blind like Bartimaeus to cry out to Christ for help. God is always there for us. God's cell phone always has minutes, always has service. It's on our end where the communication is faulty.

Boy did I feel guilty. I've had a horrible week and have barely reached out to God for help. Instead of asking God for patience during this Children's Mass I just immediately went the pouty-route.

And honestly there wasn't anything for me to really be annoyed at. It's was a Children's Mass for goodness sakes! How beautiful is that! "Whoever welcomes a little child like this, in my name, also welcomes Me." (Matthew 18:5) I sure wasn't being very welcoming.

Finally I made the choice to welcome God's grace and I really did feel it. During the offering these absolutely adorable kids, probably around four or five, brought up the gifts. They were all spiffed-out in their school uniforms and they looked so joyous in bringing up the gifts to our priest. They had big toothy grins and I could honestly see the light of Christ radiating through them.

"Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven." (Matthew 18:3) Instead of turning to God with a child-like dependency I turned my back on Him. "Sorry God, I'm just not feelin' it today. I don't need your help."

I started to really pay attention to my surroundings. The church was packed. Even the much-avoided-front row pew was filled. (And it wasn't Christmas, or Easter or a baptism! Shock!) I've been to a couple of Children's Masses there before and I had never seen it so full. How lucky we are to be a part of the Universal Church. I was sitting next to my brothers and sisters in Christ listening to the same readings that we also being heard all over the world. We all were about to celebrate the Eucharist and truly be a part of the Body of Christ. I was with family.

Mass is not about "the show." It's not all about the music, or a dynamic priest who gives awesome sermons, or the amazing architecture. It's about God. We are required to go to Mass. God made this rule not for His own sake- but for our benefit. And there I was, ruining a true "Heaven on Earth" (because that is what Mass is supposed to be) by wallowing in my own self-pity.

I need to learn patience. I need to learn trust. And I need to learn to get used to that Gloria song, because my husband and I are truly blessed to be a part of a very good and devout parish.

Ravens are Flying...

This upcoming weekend is Benedictine College's Homecoming. My husband and I would love to go back to visit the place where we met and fell in love. However, he has to work this weekend so we'll have to find some other time to visit. If you'd like to know how I discovered Benedictine you can find it in the post about my "spiritual growth spurt."

I wasn't a typical Benedictine student. Since I transferred there I never got to sit at the "Beanie Banquet" or even receive a transfer beanie (I had to request one a week before I graduated.) Beanies are a special tradition to Benedictine. I think we are the only college in the U.S. to uphold this tradition where freshman students wear these small skull-caps during the first couple of weeks of school and if an upper class man pulls off said beanie they have to "kaw" (loudly!) like a raven (our beloved mascot.)

I definitely did not belong to any clique. I wasn't a jock, a party-goer, musician or an artist. The group I would have definitely "belonged" to was the large and diverse group that was proud to be devout Catholics and upheld the teachings of the Church (after all, I was a Theology major!) I wasn't involved in any groups in campus ministry, or FOCUS, or the pro-life group (even though I so longed be a part.) I disciplined myself so hard that I refused to let any extra-curricular activities get in the way of finishing college. I was afraid if I stayed hours chatting in the Caf that I would be tempted to miss class. Sure, I wasn't participating in the "extra-curricular" activities I had at my previous schools, but I was so scared that even getting too heavily involved in campus ministry would get in the way of my studies.

I did make a few great friends, and I got along with my classmates, but I wasn't involved in late night runs to Daylight Doughnuts, have study sessions in the library or Haverty Center, or go on trips to the March for Life in Washington D.C. with my friends.

I never even learned the Fight Song.

But I am totally OK with all this. I am 110% proud to be a Raven and miss my days of being a student there.

Sure I had some problems with some of the administration, but since the college is growing quickly there are bound to be changes not everyone is happy with. And I know there are people who complained about their time at Benedictine. There are Facebook groups and comments of how horrible they think this college is. Even though I've complained as well, I get SO MAD at these comments.

How about focusing on the GOOD rather than the BAD? Those that complain cannot say their entire time at Benedictine was so horrible. Give me a break. (OK, I'll get off my miniature soap box now. Everyone has a right to their own opinion...)

So in my tradition of making lists, I will continue in what I miss about Benedictine College.

• Even though the college is growing, it is still a small community. The classes were small and I knew a lot of the students there. (Even if they didn't know me.) I felt I was a part of a very large family.
  

• Speaking of the word "community", I got SICK of hearing that word while I saw a student, but now I look back on it with fondness. The few times I went to eat at the Caf I observed a very diverse group of students. Many had different interests and beliefs, but we all were in the same boat: trying to get through school, figuring out the future, fighting boredom in Atchison and adjusting to this whole "growing up" thing.
  

• I loved my teachers. And not just my theology teachers. Dr. Nick was hilarious and insightful, Brother Larry had a lot of "cocktail information" and even my philosophy professors (a subject that makes me cringe a little bit) were funny and actually made some sense. All the professors I had genuinely cared about their students' well-being and growth.

• I miss the actual campus. Sure there were those KILLER stairs and hill between the Student Union and Admin (or St. Benedict's Hall, sorry- I'm old school.) But exercise is good right? (Well except when you are running late and have to physically RUN up those stairs...) The campus was right next to the Missouri River, and the whole campus was just beautiful. The trees, the flowers, the landscape. And even in winter when the first snow fell there was this quiet sense of peace. Now they have the beautiful Marian Grotto. (They always get the good stuff when we leave huh?)
  

• The library is where I spent my time preparing for my comps and studying for midterms. I always felt really safe and at home since I was surrounded by students with the same concerns and stresses as I was having. I knew I was not alone.

• I miss going to Mass at St. Benedict's. I especially miss the Student Masses on Sunday nights. I felt I was with family, and we were literally experiencing Heaven on Earth. The Liturgical Choir was amazing and really helped me to focus on celebrating the Eucharist. I miss having people to talk to about religion (and who actually share my same beliefs.) I miss people getting excited over a new piece of reading the Pope comes out with or when the Bishop comes to campus. I miss seeing a real spiritual fire for the Catholic Church. Perhaps that is what I miss the most...

• There was always something to do or a club to get involved with. Even though I did not take advantage of this, I know that if I wanted to I could go see a soccer or rugby game, listen to a speaker, or go see my fellow Raven's hard work and research on Discovery Day.

• I miss those glorious days when I really did not feel like going to class and I'd go up to the classroom and seeing a sign on the door saying "Class Canceled."

• I say this now that I've graduated, but I kind of miss those times right before a final. Everyone was nervous and anxious. But like I've said before, we were part of a community- we shared each other's pain.

• I loved participating in concert chorale. I loved the music concerts and productions offered by the music department. Kudos to you guys and girls.

• I loved the genuine pride of Benedictine that was shown in our sports programs. That was definitely a unifying force.
  

• I miss "The Joe." I obviously was not a resident at this all boys dorm, but Ryan was, and I LOVED the guys who lived there.

• I miss the excitement around the time of Christmas Break. The decorations, the parties the Advent Masses. We all worked so hard during the semester and were looking forward to going home to our families and getting a break.
  

• When a student tragically passes away, there is always a sense of unity in grieving this student. We all truly feel the pain of losing a part of our "family."
  

Gosh, I feel myself getting teary-eyed thinking back on my time at Benedictine. I remember during my last weeks there I was ready to be DONE FOREVER. (Of course I had been planning a wedding as well- I was a wee bit stressed.) A friend who graduated from a different college said I would miss it once I was out of there. I thought that was pure hog-wash. Sigh....well he was right (once again.)

I'm sure others have much more exciting memories of Benedictine. But these are mine. And these memories I will truly cherish forever.

"Surround her with your goodness and keep her in your peace.
May Benedictine flourish, her family increase.
Like dappled trees in Autumn
or flowers fresh in Spring,
your glory casts its beauty where souls in wisdom sing."
-O Lord of Every Blessing

Alma Mater: Music From the Vatican

I have been asked by a gentleman working on a music project on behalf of Geffen/Universal, to write about a project titled "Alma Mater: Music From the Vatican". I have not heard this album in it's entirety; however, I have heard a snippet of it and have been asked to write about how I feel about it.

As some of you may know I enjoy singing for my church choir back home for Christmas, Easter and other special occasions. I even chose St. Cecilia, the patron saint of musicians and Church music, as my Confirmation saint. I get horrible stage fright when I sing by myself, but hearing the soothing tones of the organ and the harmonious voices of my fellow singers blending together brings peace to my soul. My priest (who happens to be our conductor) has told us that when we sing "Panis angelicus" during communion, people come to receive the Body of Christ with tears in their eyes. Music is such a strong source of emotion.

They say that singing in Church is "praying twice" and that Church music in general is a very powerful form of prayer. Our own Pope Benedict XVI has said, "I am convinced that music really is the universal language of beauty which can bring together all people of good will on earth." How true and beautiful is that? In our world we may have different languages or customs that seem to separate us, but music is one thing that each of us can identify with. We listen to it to relax, to celebrate, to worship, to mourn, to enjoy, etc.

This album is due to be released November 29, 2009 (the First Sunday of Advent.) There are many things that catch my attention. First of all, this album is made to honor the Virgin Mary. The title "Alma Mater' is translated to "nourishing mother." And isn't that what the Mother of God is? She nourished Christ in her womb and while He growing up and beginning His ministry. She nourishes all of us with her love and relentless intercession.

Secondly, this album features the voice of Pope Benedict XVI. Not only do we have the Virgin Mother of God as an inspiration, but we have the Vicar of Christ lending a part in this musical piece.

But what attracts me most to this album is the music itself. When the composers started making this music they used Gregorian chant and classical choirs as a base. However they add other ethnic music to it. It's so easy for us to think of music of the Catholic Church as very Western- the chants, the choirs, the gargantuan cathedrals, the monks singing in prayer. The organs, the classical orchestras, Hadyn, Schubert, Vivaldi. But I think it is very important to remember that the Catholic Church is universal. Think of the churches in North Africa or Spain or South America who integrate their own cultural ways of music into the Mass. It's beautiful. Christ came to save everyone and I'm sure He appreciates all types of music, as long as it is respectful and true to the Catholic Church.

So there is still the classic and beautiful melodies of Gregorian Chant, orchestra and the choir in this album. But the ethnic elements add a spiritual flare to really embody the Universal Church.

I love all types of music. I truly enjoy the classic Western music, but I also love to listen to cultural music. So this album definitely has caught my eye.

If you'd like to read more of the press releases and additional information regarding this album, click here.

They also have a You Tube video, where you can hear part of the music.

"Sing a new song unto the Lord; let your song be sung from mountains high. Sing a new song unto the Lord, singing alleluia! Yaweh's people dance for joy. O Come before the Lord. And play for him on glad tambourines, and let your trumpet sound!"
-Sing a New Song, Dan Schutte

My Darling Husband

It's a lovely fall day. The sun is finally shining, the Chiefs are playing (albeit losing as usual) (UPDATE: The Chiefs actually won! WOO HOO!!!); I have an apple cinnamon candle burning and a pot roast and vegetables warming in a crock pot. The best part of it all- my husband doesn't have to work today and we get to celebrate our six month anniversary. No flowers or cards were given and we do realize that not many people "celebrate" their six month mark. But today is a special day.

Ryan and I met in January of 2006 at my first ever college class at Benedictine- speech class. I remember Ryan walking into the classroom. He was wearing a Chiefs hoodie, a Chiefs hat and carrying a Dr. Pepper can with a zombie-look on his face. (I could tell right then and there he was NOT a morning person!) He was pretty cute especially since he was wearing Chiefs stuff. After I gave a speech about my brother being a cop in Kansas City he came up to me after class and mentioned that he had two uncles that also worked for KCPD. Our friendship budded from there.

We practiced our speeches together, complained about our relationships, made random trips to Wal-Mart and Sonic and chatted before another class in the hallways of the Admin building.

We started dating in October of that same year. That was such a fun time. We'd hang out in his dorm room and watch movies and funny You Tube videos. We'd do our homework together and run to McDonalds (or Sonic, or Taco Bell, or Dairy Queen) for a break.

This may sound weird but one of the funnest parts of our relationship was when his little brother Conor came to hang out with us. We'd talk sports, the Office, movies. Many laughs were involved. In fact it was Conor who took me out to a movie before Ryan ever did!

When I met his family they were so welcoming and loving. I loved getting in the car with Conor and Ryan and travel to Kansas City. Ryan has such a close-knit family and I always hoped that I would someday be a part of it.

The fall semester of 2007 was insanely crazy. I was taking 19 credit hours, my grandfather had passed away and I was doing some observing/student teaching for one of my education minor classes. I had papers galore that were due, projects for my 4th graders to be done and was still catching up on homework that I had missed during Grandpa Joe's funeral. One week was particularly crazy and Ryan decided that Friday we would see a movie in Kansas City. Before we left he wanted to take me to a place he had driven by when he did his internship with the sheriff's department. It was a place called State Lake and he thought I'd like it.

I took my camera to take some pictures of the beautiful fall leaves around the lake. Ryan pointed out a particular spot to take a picture. I snapped the pic and turned around and there was Ryan- down on one knee with a ring box. I was in pure shock. We had talked about marriage even when we were just friends. I knew we'd get married, but after the incredibly stressful week I had gone through, getting engaged was not on my mind! (He had to ask my twice because I was speechless!)

The following is a note I posted on Facebook very shortly before my wedding:

I'm getting married in 48 days.

Holy crap.


I've had most of this wedding planned since I was in 5th grade. Ashlee (my maid of honor) and I would dream up what colors to use, who the bridesmaids would be and print out fake wedding programs. The only missing piece of the plan was the groom.

I thought wedding planning would be fun, and most of it has been. A friend of mine told me that if he and his wife would do their wedding all over, they would have eloped. I thought, "Nah, that won't be me." Boy was I wrong. I have people coming at me from all directions saying I need to do this, I need to play this, I need to order this, I need to book this, I need to decide this...AHHH! I want the wedding in the Church- that comes with rules I am ready to accept. I want all of my family and friends to be there- that comes with a large guest list which I gladly accept. But it's all those nitty gritty details that people are shoving down my throat. I am that type of girl who has a "it'll all work out great in the end" attitude. I refuse to be the bridezilla who has every detail planned to a tee and if the plan gets out of wack then I become a fireball of fury. It's getting to the point that I can't wait until this day is over with. It shouldn't be like that.

I also am losing sight of what this day is about. I'm marrying the perfect man for me. I can't believe I get so focused on the DAY and not the MAN I am marrying.

The man I am marrying was my best guy friend before we dated. We talked about everything ranging from old loves to the Chiefs. We had fun going to Sonic, browsing Wal Mart and practising our speeches for speech class together.

The man I am marrying makes me laugh. He can say the most random thing and I'll laugh until I cry. We have so many inside jokes that people would think we're crazy at what we laugh at.

The man I am marrying takes care of me. When I'm sick he bends over backwards to make sure I'm comfortable, runs out to Wal-Mart for soup and 7-UP at 2:00 a.m. and takes me to the E.R. even when I refuse to go, because he knows I am very very sick. He holds my hand when they poke me 100 times at the ER for an IV even though he can't stand needles. He also laughs at me whenever the morphine kicks in.

The man I am marrying encourages me when I'm down. When I have three 15-page papers due at the same time and my normally sweet disposition (HA!) is changed to a super brat, he pops in a Robot Chicken or a Full House or Friends episode in the DVD player because he knows that's just the ticket to get me to calm down, de-stress and re-focus.

The man I am marrying asked my mother's permission to date me and to marry me. That's old school. Some people scoffed at that when I told them that's what he did. Yeah that's old school- but it's also very respectful and honorable.

The man I am marrying wants me to get to heaven. He wants Christ to be an active part in our relationship. He used to go to Mass and confession because I kind of forcefully suggested he go, but now he does these things because he wants to. He does them because he loves God and wants to better himself for the Kingdom of Heaven. He wants me and him to spend eternity together with God and the angels.

The man I am marrying loves me for me. I know I can be a spoiled, self-centered brat. There have been times I have not been good to my family and friends... and to him. I can be a drama queen, loud, obnoxious and crazy. But he loves me and wants to spend the rest of his life with me. (Something my mother can't quite wrap her head around...lol.)

So now when it comes to what color ribbon to get for the napkins, what song will be played while I walk down the aisle, who will sit where...those things aren't important. I'm beginning a marriage. God willing Ryan and I will have miniature versions of us running around someday very soon. We're going to grow old together- still watch the Chiefs and dote on our grandchildren.

I can't wait for my wedding day. But I'm more excited about my marriage with Ryan Patrick William Crawford!

**************

Our wedding was a big one. It was stressful. We could have had a smaller wedding and during the wedding preparations I was beginning to think that perhaps we should have cut down the guest list. But when I was up at that altar looking into the eyes of my beloved, physically feeling the grace of God wash over us, it meant the world to me that my best friends were backing me up as bridesmaids and that all of our family and friends could witness our Sacrament. I wouldn't have changed anything about our wedding day. I know the Sacrament is between Ryan, myself, and God, but it was such a joyous occasion that I wanted everyone there to share in our happiness.

Now it's six months after the wedding. We still joke around and watch You Tube videos. I'm trying to learn how to cook so we can stop depending on Taco Bell for our nourishment. Although we don't hang out with Conor as much as we used to, when we do, it's still full of laughs.

We've had our own heartbreaks and struggles with jobs and finances. But we know that God will take care of us in our time of trouble and need.

There are minor struggles- like when there are little white specks of toothpaste on the bathroom mirror and his chin whiskers are sprinkled around the sink after he shaves. I clean the sink and mirror (and his empty pop cans) and think "I'm on a path to sainthood." However, I am certain there are things I do that drive him nuts as well.

We strive to keep Christ an active part of our relationship. After all, it was through Him that we have our life, our family, our friends...and each other.

Happy anniversary to my best friend, my soul mate. I love you more than words can say.

Tick, Tock...Can't Sleep

It's around 2:00 a.m. and for the second night in a row, I can't sleep.

I have so much on my mind.

My interview last week went really well. They said they'd have an answer around Oct. 20th. So this past week I've been laid back and chill- because I wasn't waiting by the phone anxiously awaiting a call. But now it's closer than ever to October 20th. I keep praying that the owners make a wise and spirit-filled decision regarding who they will hire. I also pray that I am ready to accept the answer they give me. If they say I am hired I need to prepare myself to get into "work mode" (a mode I've been out of for about a year.) If they say I am not the one for the job I need to prepare myself to accept God's will and take the next step in looking for another job.

Today I got a little sad. My neighbor is pregnant and due in November. I've rarely seen her since my miscarriage (thankfully), but today I saw her in all her preggo glory. And she was unloading some things from her car that clearly looked like baby shower items- pink ballons, a cake box and numerous gift bags and gift baskets. Some days I think I'm doing pretty good emotionally since my miscarriage, but days like today all I do is cuddle up to my husband and dog and cry my eyes out.

I plan to someday blog about my miscarriage experience. Some may frown on that, but I have found healing in reading other women's stories of their own miscarriage. Maybe some woman will happen upon my blog and find healing too.

On a happier note- I've been asked to write a blog showcasing a project of music from the Vatican. I will be posting that in the next couple of days!

Worrying Away....

A couple nights ago, one of my very good friends called me to vent. She was having a bit of a panic attack because she was about to face a lot of big life changes all at once. These are all good changes, but any change, especially after being in a safe and stable routine for years, is a little scary.

I told her it was normal to be freaked out when a bunch of changes are in sight. I told her to focus on one change at a time and not to worry about everything all at one time. Pace yourself. Have confidence. Know that a little bit of extra effort will be needed in some areas of your life that wasn't needed before.

She said my advice made her feel a lot better. She had calmed down a little bit. I was happy to help my friend.

Sigh... isn't it funny how you can readily give out advice, but you can't follow it yourself?

So why can't I follow my own advice?

On Saturday night I couldn't sleep. I was awake with worry. What if I didn't get the job? What would I do from there? What if I did get the job? Moving would be stressful. What kind of contributions could I make to my job? Ryan and I were going to discuss getting pregnant again in a couple of months...would my job get in the way? Would something always get in the way of having children? What if I did get pregnant soon...could I find a babysitter? How would me starting a new job affect our finances? Will Ryan ever find a job with better hours? Could we ever buy a house? Are we going to be stuck in an apartment forever?

Here I was worrying about a job I haven't gotten, a child I haven't had and a house I've never seen.

Here I was freaking out about everything at once. I wasn't focusing on one thing at a time. At this point I need to focus on preparing to hear back about this job opportunity. Then we'll see where that takes me.

One thing that I failed to mention to my friend is that we are not in charge. That job belongs to God. I've mentioned it before- I need to "let go, and let God." He is the one who knows the best path for us to take and He will take care of us in our time of need and fear. Sometimes I wish God would just send me an email to tell me what I needed to do next. But He is such a loving Father that He gives us the freedom to choose how we move down the path of life. I sometimes fear that I am not following His will. But again, He is so merciful that he gives us the Holy Spirit to guide us in the right direction.

We all worry, and that's a normal part of life. We just have to remember to add God into all parts of our life.

Happy Birthday Mom!

Today is my mom's birthday. I'm sure she doesn't want me to blog about her, but I am going to anyways. She's special to me- one of the most important people in my life. I blog about important people... :-)

My mom is one of the strongest single mothers I know. I feel so blessed that she's my mom. Growing up I knew that we weren't super rich, but that never really bothered me. We didn't have a car, for the longest time we had no phone and I knew we had these things called "food stamps", but I never once felt like I was "cheated" out of anything. She always made me feel loved and protected, whether it was letting me sleep with her when I was scared even though I kicked like a crazy person or taking extra-special care to make the perfect Halloween costume for me. She found ways to make what could have been hard times- like Christmas- very special with heart-warming memories I will cherish forever. Maybe I never had the coolest shoes in school, but she instilled in me the value that happiness doesn't come from money. However she did spoil me sometimes (OK, a lot actually..)- getting the Super Nintendo system was pretty awesome!

I know I tease her about always taking Jamie on neat vacations while he was growing up and not taking me anywhere, but she made sure I wasn't always stuck in Tarkio. Sometimes we went to Indian Caves or Charity Lake. There were even some non-spectacular moments like the Mound City flea market that seem almost mundane, but are special little memories I cherish. She frequently took me to movies and out to shop. She used to send me to my Uncle Alan and Uncle Steve's in south Missouri for my own little mini-vacations.

I know this may be hard to believe...but brace yourselves- I wasn't a perfect angel growing up. I was Little Miss Drama Queen. I had an older brother, but since he was already out of the house when I was five I was basically an only child. And boy did I act like it! We butted heads ALL the time in high school. Mostly over boys. I thought she was being unfair and un-cool. Now I realize that she was being protective and loving. I thought I knew it all back then, I was so ego-centric and she "just didn't understand." However, she wasn't overly-strict. She let me stumble and fall in a healthy way to learn my own life lessons. She was the perfect amount of strict- I didn't go all wild and out of control like some kids of very strict parents do, or become disobedient and troublesome like some kids whose parents didn't put forth limits or rules.

After my high school years, when I struggled to find myself, my mom was always there. Even though she was absolutely furious for me quitting college, she calmly let me know a few weeks afterwards that she would always be there for me. And she truly was. I had financial troubles, men troubles, school troubles- and she helped me through it all without batting an eye.

One of the best feelings I get is making my mom proud. She absolutely adores my husband (she often jokes that he's a saint for putting up with me...funnily enough his mom says that I'm the saint for putting up with him.) So walking down the aisle at my wedding was amazing because not only was I going to marry my best friend, but I knew my mom was happy. She had witnessed me dating a few stinkers in my past, so I know she was truly happy to witness true love and a new member joining our family. And when I walked across the stage to get my college diploma, I had tears of joy in my eyes, not only because I had FINALLY FINALLY FIIIIINALLY finished college, but also because I knew my mom was so happy I had graduated. Part of that victory was for her.

I grew up without a father. I didn't meet him or know anything about him until I was eleven years old. Although I was curious about who he was, I never felt a need to even want a father around. My mom performed the jobs of mother and father so well, that I was perfectly content and satisfied with just my mom. She also raised Jamie without his dad in the picture. What an amazing woman. She had a newborn and a 13 year old son to take care of and she was working as a bartender and going to college after a nearly 18 year absence. She even took me to her classes; that's how devoted she was as a mother and student. And not to brag, but I think my brother and I turned out pretty good without having our dads in the picture. We both are in loving marriages, work hard and are devoted Catholics. She instilled in us a love of family, love of hard work and a love of life. She did good. Real good.

When I was a teenager I so longed for my mom to be a pal, a good friend instead of a woman who wouldn't let me stay out past midnight or take my boyfriends to my room. But I thank God that she wasn't all buddy-buddy back then, because that just wouldn't have been the best way to parent me. But now I can say we are best friends. We still drive each other crazy, but I hate going a day without talking to her on the phone. One of the joys in my life is to come back to Tarkio and sit out in the back yard or ride around town and just talk and be around her.

Mom, your birthday is almost over, but I hope you know that I love you very, very much. All the happiness in my life has come to me through you. You are an amazing woman and I hope to become more like you when I "grow up."

Happy birthday Mom.

I love ya!

For He's a Jolly Good Fellow

There are many things I could write about today. I could write about President Obama being awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. I could write about how police officers get a bad rap in today's media. These will have to wait for another day. Because this day is devoted to the memory of my Uncle Mick.

Today would have been my dear Uncle Mick's 60th birthday. Usually my family has a big celebration to mark the occasion. There's usually a picture montage with a musical background and many, many beers used to help celebrate. Since Mick passed away at the too-young-age of 54, he didn't get quite the same type of celebration. Instead, at our family reunion after his death we did see a picture montage, but Mick enjoyed it in heaven instead of here on earth. However there were still many, many beers and lots of stories and memories shared around the campfire.

I always smile when looking at pictures of Uncle Mick. I only have fond memories of him. There are just so many.

What I remember the most is his smile. The above picture is my favorite one of him, because it shows how his smile just lights up any room. He had a jovial, infectious laugh and there was always an ornery twinkle in his eyes when he laughed and smiled.

He was always so tall and skinny. When he was in his police uniform he seemed larger than life to me when I was a small child. He was such an amazing Chief of Police for nearly 20 years. Everyone loved him and he was a comforting sight to see while driving around in his cop car. There was one time while his daughter and I were in class when a guy who lived next to the school keep revving up his motorcycle engine, disturbing and annoying our class. Megan called her dad to have him stop the noise. We all looked out our classroom window and saw as Mick pulled up to the guy and his motorcycle. Instead of staying in his car and giving a stern warning, Mick got out of the car and started chatting with the man. From where we were standing it looked like a relaxed, casual conversation. No scolding, no warning. They were talking for so long we kind of got bored. But we never heard the motorcycle engine rev up again.

There was another time when we were very young when Megan and I let out my pet bird, Tweety. He was flying around the house and landed on a shelf that wasn't too stable and he fell behind this very heavy buffet cabinet. We both FREAKED out because we love animals and couldn't get my poor bird out from behind the buffet. Thankfully Uncle Mick was sitting in his cop car in the church parking lot beside my house looking for speeders and as he put it "fighting crime and/or evil." We begged and yelled for help and he calmly walked over, pulled out the cabinet and there hopped out Tweety. He was our hero!

I remember the looks of pride Megan would get when her dad came to the school in his uniform to hand out junior patrolmen badges and when she got to ride in the front seat of his cop car to throw out candy at parades. I was always kind of jealous of her to get to do all those cool things. But I was proud too, to have my Uncle as a police officer.

I remember Uncle Mick's goofy nature. He always had jokes- some funny, some that just made you groan. One of my favorites: What does a snail, riding on the back of a turtle say? Answer: WEEEEEEE!!!!! There are many other "Mick-ism's"

He always had little songs to sing. When my nephew Maxwell was born Uncle Mick was always singing, "Bang! Bang! Maxwell's silver hammer, came down on her head!" when Jamie and the kids came to visit. He also had a little ditty while driving across the Missouri River, something like "The Ol' Muddy Mo, the Big River...." something like that, but I have forgotten the rest.

And of course- who can forget his love of Schlitz beer. He loved it so much that the bars in town had to order it especially for him since he was the only one in Tarkio to drink it! He was always trying to get others to try a sip and his apartment was filled with Schiltz memorabilia. He would have been thrilled to learn the brewing company changed the recipe of the brew to make it more like it was in the good ol' days.

He instilled in many his love of the Beatles. Shortly before his mother passed away she made sure Mick got a ticket to see the Beatles live in concert in Kansas City. Whenever I see something related to the Beatles I always think of him. He probably would have wanted to purchase the Beatles Rock Band video game set when it came out this past September.

Then there was the little things I remember. He always had cinnamon Certs candies. He loved baseball and football and religiously cheered on the Kansas City Royals and Chiefs. He always stopped by when family was in town. I remember being annoyed as a little kid when mom would pull in beside Mick's cop car and they would talk and talk and talk... He always seemed to be running late, because he was laid back and in no hurry. We called it "Mick Time." There was a time he reasurred my best friend and I that the walkie talkies we carried around while cruising Tarkio couldn't be heard by everyone.

Many are heartbroken that he was taken away so suddenly. But we have to remember- he has the best seats in the house. He always sees his two beautiful daughters growing up to be outstanding and wise women. He always sees his three beautiful grandchildren blossoming into amazing and adorable little people. He always sees his sister- his best friend- grow closer to her faith and become more involved with different activities. He always sees his nephew follow in his footsteps in regards to law enforcement and in his areas of wit and humor.

He was reconciled to God at the end of his life, so I am certain he is in a better place. Uncle Mick's life reminds me to enjoy the time I have here on earth, cherish the memories with family and friends, hold no grudges, laugh a lot, smile through it all, and simply live.

But perhaps most of all, Uncle Mick's life reminds me that our ultimate end is not here on Earth. I strive each day to be able to earn my way into Heaven, where he is now. Heaven will be so awesome- there will be God, Love Himself, the angels, saints and last but not least- our family.

And there, in all of of his heavenly splendor, will be Uncle Mick singing "Dog on a radiator.....hot dog!"

Beautiful Fall

It's that time of year....the days get shorter, the weather gets cooler, and the landscape bursts with beautiful shades of red, gold and brown.

I absolutely love fall. I'd say it's my favorite season of the year, but when the first snow falls, I say winter is my favorite; when the tulips start to peek out of the ground, spring is my favorite; when the pool finally opens and it's sunny until 9:00 p.m., my favorite is summer!

I'm in the mood for listing, as you can see by my last blog. So I'll do it again, it's easier for me to type and doesn't bore y'all too much!

Why I love fall:

-hoodies

-the smell of burning leaves

-pumpkins (picking out, carving)

-the sound of crunching leaves under your feet

-turning on the heat for the first time (I love that musty smell that first comes out)

-putting stuff in the crock pot and smelling the yummy smells when you come home from work or school

-FOOTBALL!!!! (College, pro, high school- I love em all! I have great memories of attending high school football games!)

-caramel apples- yum!

-mums

-Halloween and Thanksgiving (I love the food, candy and history involved! I'm a nerd, I know..)

-decorating (My mom is the best fall decorator- the pumpkins, Indian corn, small gourds, neat Halloween stuff)

-chili

-the fall TV line-up (FINALLY my shows are on!)

-fall-scented candles

-apples in general

Autumn is such a peaceful and beautiful time. And it's a time for change. I feel a change in the air for my life... the job interview this past Tuesday went very well, so I'm hoping that a change of scenery will be in store for my husband, my doggie and I.

Like I mentioned a few blogs ago, I'm trying to get healthy. Eating-wise, I'm still eating junk, but just not as much! I'm walking about three miles a day, except for the last couple of days since I've been sick. I'm taking vitamins and getting to bed before midnight.

I'm making some changes with my appearance as well. I have never been or ever will be obsessed with appearances. But after dressing up nice for my interview I realized there are some areas I can "tend" to. I need to tweeze those eyebrows! I need to keep my hair brushed and a little bit of make-up isn't a bad thing. And for the love of Pete....I need to wear anything besides sweatpants!

I've been doing pretty good spiritually; I haven't been through a dry spell in awhile. I'm continuing daily reading devotions and praying nightly with my husband. However, I know that spiritual dry spells are always lurking around the corner. I'm trying hard to stay devoted even when it is not easy.

What a beautiful time of change.

In the Motherhood

When one thinks of a "vocation" most of the time the thought drifts to someone entering the religious life. However it can also mean entering the vocation of mother or father.

I have known since I was a little girl that my vocation was to be a wife and mother. It wasn't one of those "I like to play with my dolly, I can't wait to be a mommy," I mean I knew I was meant to be a wife and mom. I wrote in my little diary when I was young how I couldn't wait to meet a nice boy and get married and start having lots of babies. I even had names picked out (Miranda Lauren? I wonder where I thought that one up!)

When I was eleven years old my oldest niece was born. The joy and happiness she brought to my brother and his wife was so exciting. Again, I couldn't wait to grow up to start a family of my own to feel that excitement.

Over the years Jamie and Abby added two more children to their family, Max and Molly. I loved it when they came to visit my mom and I- they brought such fun and entertainment! It was always a treat to get to babysit them all. Throughout the years I babysat them I imagine what it would be like to raise my own children.

Last week I babysat my cousin's three adorable children. They are four, three and two years old. The days were filled Nick Jr., baby dolls and playing store. Although there were times I felt overwhelmed (I never before had to get three kids ready for preschool!) I had a very enjoyable time!

The blogs I am most addicted to are the ones that mothers write. Some of my favorites include Momopoly and Beautiful Chaos. I catch a glimpse into the world of these amazing women and their adventures of being a wife and mother. After reading their blogs and then looking at mine, I'm reminded of what a boring life I lead!

I know some moms and other women will either roll their eyes or yell at the computer, "You're nuts!" for what I am about to write.

Here is what I am looking forward to when I become a mother:

-hugs

-kisses

-runny noses to wipe

-sippy cups

-boppys

-watching Disney movies

-pigtails

-the sacred bonding of breastfeeding

-scrapped knees to bandage and heal with a kiss

-seeing my husband teach our kids about sports

-tricycles

-Osh Kosh

-Easter egg hunts

-the triumph of potty training

-Elmo

-teaching them their ABC's

-Halloween costumes and trick or treating

-hearing their first words and seeing their first steps

-Christmas morning

-strollers

-silly dance time

-crayons

-imaginary friends

-birthday parties

-bed time prayers

-First Communion

-baby dolls

-Kansas City Royals baseball caps (Ryan wore one ALL the time as a little kid)

-wiping baby drool

-Oreos, popsicles and lolly pops

-minivans

-summertime at the pool

-sports practices and ballet lessons

-checking the closet for monsters

I could go on and on, really- I had to cut some out!

I love my husband so much that I want to see a little part of him in our children. I see how awesome he takes care of me that I just know he will be an amazing father.

My heart aches to be a mother. For five glorious weeks while I was pregnant I was a mother. I am still a mother at heart.

Job Interview!

I have an interview with the Catholic Radio Network on Tuesday morning!

I am certain the Holy Spirit led me to this job posting. It's a funny story if you want to hear it.

Mainly I am writing this for PRAYERS! Please pray that all goes well, and if it's not meant to be that I accept God's will! I would appreciate it so very much!

This job feels so right to me and I would be honored to work for the betterment of the Church!

Wow, that's a lot of exclamation points I've put in this posting. I'm just so excited!!!