DOG HAIR DOG HAIR EVERYWHERE!

I'm going crazy here, people.

We got our darling beagle Chandler in September of 2008. I knew then he had a major shedding problem. I was OK with it.

Then I had a baby and my OCD kicked in BIG TIME.

For some reason during the first couple of months of Joe's life the dog hair wasn't so bad. Sure I'd find an occasional dog hair on his outfit, but nothing major.

For the last couple of weeks I've been finding dog hair EVERYWHERE. On his changing table, in his bath tub, on his bouncer, on his bassinet sheets. It's maddening, I tell you!

I think the fact that my house is in ruins right now is adding to the stress. Not only do I have dog hair, but both Joe and Ryan are sick, so I have snot AND dog hair to deal with. Plus 4,398 piles of laundry, pacifiers and used Kleenex strewn on the floor (covered in dog hair, of course), Christmas presents to put away and organize and dishes to be put in the dishwasher. (Plus legs to be shaved and teeth to be brushed... but I digress...) UGH, looking down at my computer keyboard I count 4 pieces of dog hair. AAACKKK!!!!!!

I swear I vacuum but 2 hours later the place is covered again. We give Chandler baths, but not too many, because his skin dries out, then he itches, then it rains dog hair (which is I think how the dog hair ends up on high surfaces.) He doesn't sleep on our bed, but he does sleep on the couch.

I need advice- how do I quell the dog hair fiasco? Shave him? Cover him in duct tape? Or should I come to terms that I will never have a completely organized and clean house EVER again?!

*shudder*

Be Not Afraid

I have found my best form of prayer is studying the face of my sleeping son.

Last Sunday I started a novena to St. Michael the Archangel. I wanted protection from fear and an increased faith in God. The novena isn't over yet, but I can feel its graces working already.

I hesitated publishing my last post, because I didn't want it to seem like I was throwing a pity party for myself. However, I am so thankful I hit the publish button because I got so many wonderful and inspirational comments. They were little blessings and helped me tremendously. I am forever thankful for those that commented and offered your prayers. I knew motherhood would be a huge adjustment, but I guess I didn't realize just how big. Your comments reminded me that just the simple things, like nursing my son, can be a form of prayer.

So instead of worrying and fretting while I nursed Joe, I just stared at him. Instead of searching for words to say to God, I just marveled at his masterful artwork in creating every perfect detail of my son. When I came to terms with that being an acceptable form of prayer, I knew things were starting to get better.

It was today that the chains of my spiritual dry spell were finally broken.

Ryan decided to go to the super-duper early Mass and I chose to stay home and go to the 11:00 Mass. When the alarm chimed for me to get up I was immediately put in a bad mood. Ryan would be home soon and he would take care of Joe while I went to Mass. I have no problems going to Mass alone, but I just didn't feel like going today. I was nice and toasty warm all snuggled with Joe beside me. I nursed him and with a soft little sigh he drifted off to sleep in my arms. I was still so tired and watching my Joe sleep made me even sleepier. I didn't want to get out of bed and walk through a drafty cold house, get ready and then drive the 25 miles to church.

I did eventually get up, because missing Mass isn't an option for me. But I wasn't happy about it.

God knew I needed to go to Mass by myself today. He knew I needed to be distraction-free to hear the message he was about to give me. (My darling husband and son are my favorite distractions!)

During the opening blessing, Fr. Kevin mentioned that today's reading would focus on St. Joseph's "yes" to God's will in deciding to take Mary as his wife. I immediately perked up because of my great devotion to St. Joseph. I'm glad I started paying attention because Fr. Kevin's words in his homily seemed like they were meant just for me.

He talked about how Joseph had an idea on how his life would go, but then God threw a wrench in that plan. That got me thinking- Joseph learning his betrothed was pregnant with a child who wasn't his and eventually becoming the adopted father of the Savior of the world must have been quite a shock to him. He was probably very content before he got the news- he was betrothed to a woman he loved and cared for deeply. She was beautiful and kind. He couldn't wait to start their life together. He probably had plans on what their new home would look like. He imagined celebrating feasts and celebrations with his darling wife. He imagined growing old with her in their normal, simple and humble life. He probably assumed that when he and Mary had lived their lives and passed away that in a hundred years they wouldn't be remembered.

Well, we all know that isn't quite how Joseph's plans turned out. That reminds me of the saying, "If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans." God probably got quite the chuckle out of Joseph's plan. "Oh, my dear Joseph, my plans are so much better than yours" is what the Lord Almighty probably thought... and I know he thinks that about me too. Maybe it's not in God's plan for Ryan and I to live near family or to have a bunch of kids. Whenever I think of my plan not lining up with God's I focus on the "BUT I WANT IT MY WAY!" and I forget to remember that Father really does know best. I forget that he only wants what is best for us and his will is ultimately good, even if it doesn't match up perfectly with how we want our life to go.

Fr. Kevin also mentioned how fearful Joseph must have been. He had a huge decision to make regarding what should happen to Mary since she got pregnant outside of marriage. Then when he realized the magnitude of the truth of the situation, he had to face his fears and completely trust in God's guidance. He had to face the fear of being the guardian of the Messiah. He had to face the fear of being looked down upon by society since he chose to stay married to Mary. He had to face the fear of journeying into an unknown life in Egypt to escape the evils of King Herod.

I finally realized what is really responsible for my spiritual despair. It is fear. I am fearful of many things. I'm afraid that God doesn't love me as much as his other children. I am afraid of what other people think of me if I proclaim my love of my faith. I'm afraid I will offend someone. I'm afraid people will think I am a fool for not using birth control and wanting a large family and rejecting some aspects of our popular culture. I'm afraid that we will never have enough money to be at peace. I'm afraid I will be a horrible mother and fail to raise my children to get to heaven. I'm afraid some tragedy will strike my loved ones. I'm afraid that we look like failures to other people. I'm afraid God doesn't trust me in doing great things with my life. I'm afraid God doesn't trust me to be a mother to many children and that's why his will was for me to have a c-section. (Can you tell that I still have some hang-ups on having a c-section? I need to realize that not everyone has the "perfect birth." Look at Mary- I'm sure she didn't plan on having her Savior son born nearly a hundred miles from her home in a cave with livestock. It's not like the archangel Gabriel added at the end of the Annunciation- "Oh yeah, and your son, the King of the World, will be born in a barn. After you travel, like, for forever.")

I need to stop being so afraid. I need to learn to trust God (that's hard for me- a stubborn, sinful control-freak.) HE WILL TAKE CARE OF US. HIS WILL IS THE BEST FOR US. I am hiding behind my fear. I am letting my fears and worries control my life and get in the way of my joy.

Earlier this week I read a post written by the lovely Betty Duffy. She writes about how she refuses to let other people and situations steal her joy. Instead of succumbing to anger, she refuses to let the good stuff of life be stamped out. I need to adopt this mentality. Instead of being all glum that I had to have a c-section and possibly future c-sections, I can't let that take away my joy of having a healthy beautiful child. If some day I announce my 5th pregnancy or a pregnancy soon after a birth and we get judged and criticised, I won't let that take away my joy of being able to participate in the miracle of life. The next time I get bummed out that my husband has to work late or miss a family get together, I won't let that steal my joy of being thankful that he has a job and that I do get to spend a lot of time with him. He could be in the military and be gone for many months at a time. Instead of worrying so much about being secure financially I need to remember my joy in knowing we have wonderful family members that have been generous to us and that there are more important things in life. There might be people out there that have no debt and own their own home and have matching furniture, but can't get pregnant or find a spouse. If someone makes a comment that drives me crazy at a special function, I won't let that take away the joy of having a good time.

I know I can achieve not having my joy stolen. I have done it once before. I was a little late getting to the church for my wedding (and I HATE HATE HATE being late for ANYTHING... it makes me super anxious) and our cake was a little lopsided because of the platter it was on. That might have freaked out some brides, but I refused to let it take away the joy of this special day. My wedding day was one of the best days of my life, and even though there were minor mishaps, the sacrament was perfect.

Yes, I did think of all this after his homily was over. During the offertory the song director decided to change the song selection. We sang "Be Not Afraid." It was like God whispered into the ears of the director, "Someone in the congregation needs to hear this." As we were singing, "Be not afraid... I go before you always. Come, follow me, and I will give you rest" tears started filling my eyes. I don't mean to sound melodramatic, but I could physically feel the spiritual dry spell lifting from my soul. It was like my heart was made of stone, and God finally touched it, and the stone shattered and I could feel the grace just infuse through my body. It was like I had been tense for months, and I could finally breathe and take a sigh of relief. I choked on the words of the hymn and tried so hard not to bawl like a little baby. Like the words of the song said I could finally be at rest because God is always there.

For the first time in months I walked up to receive communion with a happy heart. Again, tears filled my eyes as Fr. Kevin said, "The Body of Christ." My "Amen" was stronger than it has been in a very long time. I could feel the grace from the Eucharist solidify feelings of peace.

As I left church the sun was shining after a long gloomy morning. I knew for a fact that my spiritual dry spell was over because a man dressed up as Santa Claus came in church and "Ho, Ho, Ho'd" right before the final song. No, I am not anti-Santa, but that gimmicky stuff at Mass usually makes me want to tear my hair out. Instead I smiled and found joy in seeing all the little kids' faces light up.

In some ways I wish that I could have gotten over my dry spell at the beginning of Advent so I could have had a more meaningful beginning of the liturgical new year. But Advent is a time of waiting. I have been waiting for Jesus to come to my heart and fill it with grace and he has finally come on this last Sunday of Advent.

I now have a week to really enjoy and appreciate the Christmas season. So this will be my last blog post for awhile. I am going to find joy in wrapping gifts for my loved ones. I will find joy in sewing my husband's Christmas stocking. I will find joy in sitting in the living room with nothing on but the Christmas lights and hold and snuggle my son. I will find joy in giving my husband a kiss when he comes home from work and holding his hand. I will find joy in making cookies and a gingerbread house with my nieces and nephew. I will find joy in singing at Midnight Mass and being with my hometown parish family. I will find joy in sitting around and talking with my family and eating good food. I will find joy in knowing that Jesus Christ is my Lord and Savior and he loves me and will take care of me.

The last song we sang in Mass today was "O Come, Divine Messiah." The refrain verse is, "O Come, Divine Messiah, The world in silence waits the day, when hope shall sing its triumph, and sadness flee away.

Finally, my sadness has fled away.

Many blessings to you and your family! Have a very joyful and merry Christmas!

Little Girl Telling the Story of Jonah

Oh my goodness... this is so adorable! At first I thought she was reading from a script, but she is reciting this all from memory!

My Hopes and Fears As a Catholic Woman

A couple nights ago I hit rock bottom. Well, maybe not quite rock bottom, but it was pretty darn close.

I wouldn't call what I am going through a spiritual dry spell. It feels much worse than that. In my experiences of dry spells I am usually just very lazy and have no motivation to strengthen my relationship with God. This one feels different. I try to pray. I try to pay attention at Mass and make use of the graces I receive. But when I pray, no words come out. When I am at Mass it just sounds like a bunch of meaningless words.

The other night I was bound and determined to have a nice long talk with God. I even set the mood for contemplative prayer. I had my sleeping son in my arms, nothing but Christmas lights on and classical Christmas music playing softly in the background. The scene was beautiful- the lights creating a calming ambiance, the relaxing music, and being all snuggled up, nice and warm, smelling that wonderful baby smell radiating from my sweet boy.

It was the perfect atmosphere for prayer. My son, husband and dog were fast asleep so I didn't have to worry about any distractions. Yet, here I was, searching for the words to use to speak to God. My mind was blank. I have a million and one things I need to pray about, yet nothing came out. It was like God and I were sitting at a table across from each other just staring at each other. We have so much to say, but no one is talking.

After awhile I gave up and went to bed. An hour or so later, Joe woke up to nurse. Usually he falls right back to sleep after he's done but this night he was starting to fuss. I was worried that he would wake up Ryan. Normally Ryan would get up to help, but he had to work the next morning at 6:00 a.m. Thankfully Joe calmed down before he got too loud and I put him in his bassinet.

It was about 30 minutes later, just when I had gotten back to sleep, when Joe started crying again. I picked him up and sat with him in our bed and tried to rock and soothe him. That didn't work. I tried burping him. Nothing. I tried offering my breast again. Maybe he wasn't finished eating after that first feeding. That one really didn't work and he got louder and louder. I was getting so frustrated that I couldn't comfort my child.

Ryan woke up before I had a chance to get out of there. I was so tired and I didn't want to get out of bed. But finally I realized that Joe wasn't going to be comforted in this room so I reached over on my night stand to get my glasses.

I accidentally bumped my glasses and I could hear them fall and skid across the floor. I don't have a lamp next to my bed so I'd have to go searching for them in the dark.

I laid Joe next to Ryan and I tried to move his bassinet so I could get to my glasses. The darn thing wouldn't move. Usually it rolls but one of the wheels was stuck and I couldn't move it. I tried lifting it but it got caught on the carpet. In my frustration I kicked it out of the way. I finally found my glasses. I picked up Joe and started walking out of the room. I nearly tripped over the footstool to the rocking chair and I muttered a curse word into my innocent son's ear. Talk about feeling even crappier about yourself...

I finally made it into the living room. I sat in the recliner where I had sat just hours before. Joe started drifting off to sleep on my shoulder and I held him close. I buried my face into him and let the tears fall. I didn't want to be like this in front of my son. So full of anger and frustration. No happiness or joy on my face. It seems like that is how I've been for quite some time.

I sat in the dark. No pretty Christmas lights or music to lift my spirits. You'd think that here, in one of my darkest hours I would finally get over those stumbling blocks of prayer and be able to reach out to God.

No such luck.

I've had a couple of days to reflect on my actions and attitude. Nothing has really changed. Sometimes the only prayer I can get out is, "Lord give me faith" over and over again. I guess that is better than nothing.

I want to be the best Catholic woman I can possibly be. I feel like I am failing miserably at that goal. I compare myself to others way too much. I observe on facebook and other blogs of these awesome holy women. They pray rosaries, they go to Bible studies, they have nightly prayer devotions with their husbands. They seem so incredibly happy. I remember a conversation I had with a friend when we were discussing those people who just seem to be bursting with happiness all the time. "There's no way they can be that happy," she said. I agreed... to a point. I've seen these people. And most of the time they are devout Christian. I know their life isn't perfect. Maybe they aren't happy 100% of the time, but they are at peace. I know this to be true, because I was like that at one point- when it was easy to talk to God and not be ashamed to be called his daughter.

I know many people have the same troubles of feeling like God doesn't hear their prayer. I have felt like that for months. I feel like a little kid tugging on my Daddy's shirt, desperate for any kind of attention. "Father! God!" I yell, but he's too busy showering graces and blessings on his other children to really notice me. He pats me on the head and says, "Just a minute" but like a toddler I have no patience.

I once read a post about women who prayed to St. Gerard, patron of expectant mothers, and they shared their good news of being able to avoid a c-section or having a wonderful natural childbirth. I got jealous. I had prayed to St. Gerard not to get pre-eclampsia and begged not to have a c-section and look what I ended up with. Sure, during my long process of induction I told God that he had control of my body and that I trusted him, but deep down I was begging that a miracle would happen and my cervix would open up and I could have the birth I wanted. I thought I had enough faith in that miracle, so when things didn't go as planned I was upset. Did God not have enough faith in me that I could handle a natural childbirth? Does he not think I will be a good mother to 4 or 5 kids so he made it so that achieving that number will be more difficult since more than likely I will have to have repeat c-sections?

I get mad when I don't get my way. Then I get pissed off at myself because I realize how damn selfish I am being. MY SON IS HEALTHY. Sure, I had some blood pressure complications after his birth, but they went away and I am healthy too. Why must I insist on focusing on the negative and forget about the blessings? I have tons of good things in my life to be thankful for and has answered my prayers before.

Why can't I be like those perpetually joyful people instead of a Negative Nancy? Last December, a college classmate of mine lost her baby son when he was only 24 weeks gestation. Her facebook status was always positive and showed her up most faith in the Lord. "Praising God in the storm!" was one of her statuses, and I couldn't believe her unshakable faith. Here I am complaining about having a c-section when there are women out there who would kill for a c-section if it meant that they could have a living and breathing baby in their arms. I want to be like her- I want people to say "Wow, she has such great faith." I want to be an inspiration.

Maybe I don't pray enough. Maybe my side of the relationship between God and me is so screwed up. But I've prayed and prayed for certain things to happen and they haven't yet. I know that God doesn't answer yes to all prayers and in our suggested time frame. However, we haven't received ANY direction from him. My husband and I feel like we are at a dead end and waiting for God to tell us what to do next, and he hasn't. It is taking a toll on me. I feel utterly depressed and in despair sometimes. This isn't a depression that can be fixed with the Zoloft I am already taking for postpartum... it's a depression only felt when it seems like your Father in Heaven has forgotten about you.

What really upsets me is that I'm afraid that if I don't live up to be a good Catholic woman, then I will fail as a good Catholic mother. A couple weeks ago I received my magazine issue of Family Foundations from Couple to Couple League. I flipped though it and there was an article about Advent family activities. I got excited about the possibilities of doing faith-filled activities with Joe someday.

I look at my friends' pictures on facebook and some of them are so beautiful they bring tears to my eyes. One woman has pictures of her young sons playing with rosaries. She's also baked a rosary out of cupcakes and made saint cookies. Another friend of mine has pictures of her little boys playing Mass. I've read blogs of women whose daughters are very interested in learning the faith.

I know Joe is a little too young to start his interest in Catholicism. So far in his 14 weeks of life he's only missed Mass twice- one of the Sundays he was still in the hospital after he was born and the other was when he was really sick. He used to always snooze during Mass, but now he is usually awake in a quiet alert state. We've had a lot of comments on how well-behaved he is. I'm sure that won't last forever! I also read to him a children's rhyming Bible he got for his baptism, but that's pretty much it when it comes to exposing him to the faith.

But when he is old enough to understand, what kind of role model will I be for him? How can I teach him to love the faith when right now I feel so troubled by it? How can we have family rosary time if I don't ever pray the rosary now? How can I teach him to love Scripture when I rarely crack open a Bible? How can I teach him to pray when my prayer life stinks? How can I teach him to be a happy person, when I feel depressed all the time?

I don't want to half-way parent in any area: in my child's health, education, emotions and especially in their faith formation. But since I can't take care of myself in these areas all the time, how can I take care of a child's? I want to have a lot of kids. I want to glorify God. I want to make a difference. But how can I when I feel so far away from Him?

In the end, I know things will work out. I am definitely learning the meaning of waiting during this Advent season. If I don't have faith in God, then I have nothing.

Sewing My Fingers Together

It was about a month ago when I made my first glorious venture into the Christmas section at Wal-Mart. I saw the Christmas stockings and realized that Joe would need one. Then I got the crazy idea of making it myself. Wouldn't it mean more to him to have a one of a kind stocking his mama made with TLC rather than a mass-produced stocking that was probably made by some bleeding-fingered child in China? I could use my childhood stocking that my Aunt Betty made me as a pattern. How hard could it be?

Then I imagined the possibilities of having a sewing machine. We can't afford to buy curtains for our whole house, but if I knew how to sew I could make my own! I imagined my future daughter all decked out in pretty little dresses I make for her. I could hem my slacks and jeans! (As a short person, hemmed pant lines are a must, but since I can't afford to have all my pants hemmed they drag on the ground. I probably look like a hoodlum.) I could fix my husband's clothes!

I could also learn how to make home-made gifts. I know some people cringe when they hear they are getting something home-made, but I love these types of gifts! They can become treasured family heirlooms. Think about it- most baby blankets or quilts that are passed down from generation to generation aren't from Target or Babies R Us. They are usually handmade. This is probably my Pollyanna view of the world peeking out, but wouldn't you rather snuggle up in an afghan made with love by your aunt or grandma?

The problem with making Joe's Christmas stocking was that I have never touched a sewing machine in my life. However, I was determined to teach myself how to sew with one. Long ago I taught myself how to crudely hand-sew when I figured out how pillows were put together.

I love doing crafty things, but due to frustrations and procrastination a hobby never develops. I tried to teach myself how to knit with one of those "Teach Yourself" books and that turned out to be a horrible yarn-y mess. I tried to teach myself how to crochet with yet another do-it-yourself-guide. That went a little better. Thanks to YouTube I finally figured out the weird diagrams in the book and got off to a somewhat good start. I can make a nice little square, but then I lose tracking of counting stitches and it ends up lopsided. I've gotten those tiny little cross-stitching kits and can usually finish one of those... unless the thread gets tangled or I screw up a row and end up throwing the darn thing across the room.

I have dreams. I want to be crafty. I want to make beautiful things and sell them on Etsy and make money from home. I want to be that woman that everyone wants to invite to their baby shower because they know they will get a beautiful handmade quilt from me. I want to be able to make super awesome Halloween costumes for my kids that are much cooler than the store bought ones. I want to make rosaries for my family to use in their devotions. I want to make purses to give out to cancer patients. Am I sounding a bit over-ambitious yet?

My mom asked me what I wanted for Christmas and I said, "Well I kind of want a sewing machine." Why "kind of"? Well I figured if I actually got one it would just sit there gathering dust next to my exercise ball. I have dreams, but I figured they would never come to fruition. Besides, I had looked up how much sewing machines were, and I couldn't justify someone or myself spending $150 on a machine that would become a place to dry noodles on or something.

Black Friday rolled around and my mom pointed out that there was a sewing machine on sale for a reasonable amount at Wal-Mart. We drove 33 miles to Wal-Mart and I was worried that since it was in the middle of the afternoon that all the sewing machines would have been bought out or that they weren't on sale anymore. Well I guess not everyone wants to be as ambitious as me- there was a whole crap-load of them on shelf, still on sale. We bought one and picked up some fabric.

I took the sewing machine to my house and opened it up. I opened the instruction manual and right away was overwhelmed. What do I do when I am confused and overwhelmed? Call my mom. "What the hell is a bobbin for and why do you have to put thread in the bottom compartment thingy?" She explained as best she could over the phone and I hung up a little less confused.

I sat there examining the different parts. There was tape and cardboard underneath the presser foot (yeah I didn't know it was called that until later... at this point I called it the metal thingy.) I needed to lift this up to take out the cardboard packaging. I looked at the manual and couldn't figure out which one was the lever to lift it up. 15 minutes later (I'm not kidding) I finally figured out that I knew where it was, I was just using it wrong. This was going to be a looooooooooong process.

The sewing machine sat there for a few days. It was on a desk right next to the doorway to the kitchen and every time I walked past it I could sense it was mocking me. "Haha, why don't you give me a try? You won't sew your fingers together...or will you? MUAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!"

Thank the Lord in Heaven the sewing machine came with an instructional DVD. I popped it in and saw how they threaded the machine and all that good stuff. It looked so easy. I could make a bobbin! Setting the thread underneath? Didn't look hard at all!

Psshh.... yeah, right.

I made a bobbin with no problems. I threaded the upper and lower threads with relatively no problems. But bringing up the lower thread was a hassle. As I tried over and over again and kept running to my TV that was paused on the section on how to raise the lower thread I was beginning to wonder if this was going to be an epic fail. Was sewing going to be like training to be a ballerina or Olympic gymnast- you have to start young, you can't start when you're 26 years old to be successful. Was it too late for me to get a handle on this?

FINALLY I got the lower thread up. What I did differently this time, I had no idea. So the machine was all threaded and ready to go. I got an old pillow case to practice on. I started sewing and realized I didn't have the presser foot down. D'OH!

I practiced for awhile. I was nervous to start on Joe's stocking. Then my dear sweet trusting husband decided to let me fix one of his shirts. As you can see in the picture, it didn't go very well. But I say it adds character, and half of the shirts you find in stores have funky stitching. It's the style!

Finally I went for it. I put my mental soundtrack on of the theme song from Rocky to pump myself up. It was time to sew Joe's stocking.

Long story short (and I do mean long!): I did it!

It's not perfect, but that's OK! It resembles a stocking plus I didn't sew my fingers together! That's a success in my book!

Below is my stocking that I used as a pattern.

Next up is sewing a stocking for Ryan. After that- the possibilities are endless! (Right? Just humor me, people!)

New Traditions: Little Star

I absolutely love traditions! (Perhaps that is a reason I dearly love the Catholic Church? Me thinks it's a possibility!) I love taking a part in them and even hearing of other people's traditions. Maybe I enjoy traditions so much because they have a sense of familiarity and for those old generational traditions it's kind of neat to take part in the same thing that someone long ago participated in.

One of the reasons I get so excited for Christmas is because there are a lot of fun traditions that take place during this time. If a certain tradition isn't upheld I get a little upset (for example, I pouted last year when Midnight Mass was cancelled due to a massive blizzard and this year I expressed my shock and disbelief when my mom informed me that my hometown had cancelled its annual Christmas parade, even though it has been years since I've gone.)

I spent a couple weeks at my mom's house to help her out after her heart procedure. While I was there I helped her decorate for Christmas. We put up the tree and the next step was to get out all my old holiday stuffed animals that I have collected since I was probably about four years old. However, my mom came up from the basement with a "bad news" look on her face. The sack of stuff animals had somehow gotten wet and a lot of them had a thick coat of mold and mildew. Some of them we were able to save, but one cherished item- my Christmas Muppet Baby Miss Piggy from McDonald's had perished. I thought that I would have been devastated and run to the computer to find another one on Ebay, but to my surprise I wasn't all that upset.

Rest in peace, dear Miss Piggy.

I think part of the reason I wasn't as disappointed as I thought I would be was because I had plenty of other stuffed animals and traditions to enjoy, plus I felt it was time to move on from some of the traditions of my childhood and focus on traditions for my own little growing family.

Last year was Ryan's and my very first Christmas as man and wife. I thought we'd start a whole plethera of brand new traditions, but we've mostly borrowed/compromised from our own families. I haven't been able to think of anything fun and new. I figured Joe is still too young to start traditions with him. That was my thinking until I got the wonderful opportunity to review the new children's book by Anthony DeStefano called Little Star.

I was thrilled to receive this copy since I am a huge fan of DeStefano's writing. You may have read his A Travel Guide to Heaven and Ten Prayers God Always Says Yes To.

Little Star starts off by a little boy asking his father about the Christmas star. The father proceeds to tell him the story of Little Star. All the stars in the heavens were excited because they hear a new king was to be born. Each star was hoping they would be the one to shine the brightest when this baby was finally born. Little Star was the smallest star in the sky and often ignored. He figured he didn't stand a chance to be able to shine for the new king.

When Jesus is born, the stars are confused because this mighty king was born in a lowly stable. Only Little Star is able to humble himself and understand the true meaning of Jesus' message. He burns bright to keep baby Jesus warm and in doing so, burns himself out. Even though Little Star is gone from the sky, we still honor him by putting up stars on our Christmas tree.

I absolutely loved this book. It's a unique take on the story of the Nativity of Christ. DeStefano brilliantly portrays the Gospel message of Jesus coming to save all of mankind- even the poorest of the poor and that even the littlest being can make a huge difference. He writes this story in a way that children can understand the message of our Savior and in a way that adults can reflect on.

Mark Elliott illustrates this book and the pictures are absolutely beautiful! They aren't too "cartoon-y" so adults can appreciate their beauty, but at the same time children can enjoy them as well.

If you'd like to hear the story and see some of the illustrations, here is a YouTube video of Pat Boone reading Little Star.



I think I've found a new Christmas tradition for our family. I hope Joe and our future children will look forward to reading this story year after year. I highly recommend this wonderful children's book for your own family. Maybe it can be a new tradition for you too!

Poor Baby...

My poor little man is sick. The past week he's been somewhat congested, fussy and not eating as much as he usually does. But these past two days has been horrible- last night being the worst. He couldn't breathe through his nose because it was full of snot. No amount of snot sucking or saline and water solution was clearning him up.

He was up most of the night because he couldn't breathe and was extremely fussy. I took him to the bathroom and sat him in the bouncer while I turned the shower on super hot to steam the bathroom. That helped a little bit but after awhile he became miserable once again.

We took him to the doctor this morning and they ordered a chest x-ray to see if he had pneumonia. Thankfully he doesn't have that but does have to be on antibiotics for a few days.

We take the ability to blow our noses for granted! He'd feel so much better if he could just blow that snot out or hock a loogie!

I hate seeing him so miserable. My heart breaks for him and I wish I could take his pain away. This is his first time being really sick. I never knew just how hard it would be to see my child so helpless. I know he will get better and be a little tougher because of this, but it still is hard on both of us!

Even though he's sick doesn't he look absolutely adorable in the picture above? Note the scarcely decorated Christmas tree in the background. We haven't had time to finish decorating, but that's alright- I'm loving the extra cuddle time!