Oh, dear me!

The journey of the wise men was not without misfortune.

What's Joseph Looking At?

Quintessentially Canadian.

Decembrrrrrrrr

We've reached that point in the season where the first cold snap is inevitable. The consequences of such a deathly dip in temperature is that the amount of time the kids can spend outside is expressed by the following equation:

x = Time spent dressing, y = Time spent outdoors,

y = x

Often the equation looks like this:

y = x - Time before first child needs to pee or tears have frozen on child's cheeks

Take your pick.
While dressing the kids this morning I wondered aloud why confessors bother giving penances to young mothers; isn't four sets of mitts, hats, zippers, boots and other paraphernalia enough to provide reparation for our temporal offences...
I do believe that the picture below is of Benjamin and Joseph; but I could be mistaken. They're wearing the right clothes and standing in the correct backyard, but as no exposed flesh was available at press time,I cannot say with certainty that those are two of my children. Ah, Joseph must have read my mind. At least we know who the boy on the left is.

An attempt at winter fun. I had asked Benjamin to pull Joseph around in the sled but Ben was literally imprisoned in a bank of snow.

Joseph wondering why he has no sensation in his extremities.

The first attempt at re-entry (to the house, that is).

As you can see, Benjamin wasn't trying to shirk his duties when he claimed snow paralysis.

The only one I don't have to dress. For such things, I am thankful.

Which one are you celebrating?

Xmas and Christmas
A Lost Chapter from Herodotus
by C. S. Lewis

And beyond this there lies in the ocean, turned towards the west and the north, the island of Niatirb which Hecataeus indeed declares to be the same size and shape as Sicily, but it is larger, and though in calling it triangular a man would not miss the mark. It is densely inhabited by men who wear clothes not very different from other barbarians who occupy the north- western parts of Europe though they do not agree with them in language. These islanders, surpassing all the men of whom we know in patience and endurance, use the following customs.

In the middle of winter when fogs and rains most abound they have a great festival which they call Exmas , and for fifty days they prepare for it in the fashion I shall describe. First of all, every citizen is obliged to send to each of his friends and relations a square piece of hard paper stamped with a picture, which in their speech is called an Exmas-card . But the pictures represent birds sitting on branches, or trees with a dark green prickly leaf, or else men in such garments as the Niatirbians believe that their ancestors wore two hundred years ago riding in coaches such as their ancestors used, or houses with snow on their roofs. And the Niatirbians are unwilling to say what these pictures have to do with the festival, guarding (as I suppose) some sacred mystery. And because all men must send these cards the market-place is filled with the crowd of those buying them, so that there is great labour and weariness.

But having bought as many as they suppose to be sufficient, they return to their houses and find there the like cards which others have sent to them. And when they find cards from any to whom they also have sent cards, they throw them away and give thanks to the gods that this labour at least is over for another year. But when they find cards from any to whom they have not sent, then they beat their breasts and wail and utter curses against the sender; and, having sufficiently lamented their misfortune, they put on their boots again and go out into the fog and rain and buy a card for him also. And let this account suffice about Exmas-cards.

They also send gifts to one another, suffering the same things about the gifts as about the cards, or even worse. For every citizen has to guess the value of the gift which every friend will send to him so that he may send one of equal value, whether he can afford it or not. And they buy as gifts for one another such things as no man ever bought for himself. For the sellers, understanding the custom, put forth all kinds of trumpery, and whatever, being useless and ridiculous, sell as an Exmas gift. And though the Niatirbians profess themselves to lack sufficient necessary things, such as metal, leather, wood and paper, yet an incredible quantity of these things is wasted every year, being made into the gifts.

But during these fifty days the oldest, poorest and the most miserable of citizens put on false beards and red robes and walk in the market-place; being disguised (in my opinion) as Cronos. And the sellers of gifts no less than the purchasers become pale and weary, because of the crowds and the fog, so that any man who came into a Niatirbian city at this season would think that some great calamity had fallen on Niatirb. This fifty days of preparation is called in their barbarian speech the ExmasRush .

But when the day of the festival comes, then most of the citizens, being exhausted with the Rush , lie in bed till noon. But in the evening they eat five times as much supper as on other days and, crowning themselves with crowns of paper, they become intoxicated. And on the day after Exmas they are very grave, being internally disordered by the supper and the drinking and reckoning how much they have spent on gifts and on the wine. For wine is so dear among the Niatirbians that a man must swallow the worth of a talent before he is well intoxicated.
Such, then, are their customs about the Exmas. But the few among the Niatirbians have also a festival, separate and to themselves, called Crissmas , which is on the same day as Exmas.

And those who keep Crissmas, doing the opposite to the majority of the Niatirbians, rise early on that day with shining faces and go before sunrise to certain temples where they partake of a sacred feast. And in most of the temples they set out images of a fair woman with a new-born Child on her knees and certain animals and shepherds adoring the Child. (The reason of these images is given in a certain sacred story which I know but do not repeat.)

But I myself conversed with a priest in one of these temples and asked him why they kept Crissmas on the same day as Exmas; for it appeared to me inconvenient. But the priest replied, It is not lawful, O Stranger, for us to change the date of Crissmas, but would that Zeus would put it into the minds of the Niatirbians to keep Exmas at some other time or not to keep it at all. For Exmas and the Rush distract the minds even of the few from sacred things. And we indeed are glad that men should make merry at Crissmas; but in Exmas there is no merriment left. And when I asked him why they endured the Rush, he replied, It is, O Stranger, a racket ; using (as I suppose) the words of some oracle and speaking unintelligibly to me (for a racket is an instrument which the barbarians use in a game called tennis ).

But what Hecataeus says, that Exmas and Crissmas are the same, is not credible. For the first, the pictures which are stamped on the Exmas-cards have nothing to do with the sacred story which the priests tell about Crissmas. And secondly, the most part of the Niatirbians, not believing the religion of the few, nevertheless send the gifts and cards and participate in the Rush and drink, wearing paper caps. But it is not likely that men, even being barbarians, should suffer so many and great things in honour of a god they do not believe in. And now, enough about Niatirb.

Just One More

In these remaining days of Advent, stop the rush and "consider well and bear in mind what our good God for us has done in sending His beloved Son". (Bonus points to the reader who can successfully identify the Maritime connection.)

And Other Haunting Melodies

I am continuing with the Advent/Christmas carol theme. I apologise to all Advent purists who are angered by the slightest mention of Christ's arrival while we are still awaiting his birth; but, oh shame, I am listening to these Christmas carols during the weeks that precede the great feast. So, here's another one. This one is decidedly Canadian. I first heard it when singing in my high school choir. We sang the completely English version but I find this one far more true to (what I imagine) it was originally like. When I first heard this version I wept ... and the kids looked at me from the corner of their eyes and suspiciously asked why I was crying. How to explain? Beyond me. It also seems a fitting hymn for the Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe. When you hear it, pray for the population from whom it came.

In the Bleak Mid-Winter

I have been searching for this carol ever since my father showed it to me a few Christmases ago. Today I found it on Holy Experience and I couldn't help but post it. We are definitely in the bleak mid-winter here and carols such as these warm the heart. The very bleakness of our winter reminds me of the landscape into which Christ leapt from on high bringing His light. Dave woke early enough this morning to attend the second of three Rorate masses being offered on the Fridays during Advent. What time? you ask. Mass was at 6 am and lit solely by candlelight. It is this sort of richness of liturgy that makes me so thankful to be in a church that understands the need to feed our human senses. Despite our early start I am still somehow unshowered at nearly 9 am. Bleak? Yes. Enjoy the carol and the images that accompany it. My favourite is the one that my father pointed out to me; in his words, "A very mumsy, very English woman" kisses her child just as the choir sings of Our Lady's worship of the Christ Child with a kiss.

Advent at our house

I know that I've kept you waiting (and, I imagine, the suspense is killing you); but Advent is all about waiting, n'est-ce-pas? So, here you have it, Advent at our house. I'm sorry but I couldn't resist the alliteration in the title... (since changed)
I do love a well-decorated house but I am also a strong opponent of clutter. (My mother once said that if I could hang the furniture on the walls I would). Thus, having never been able to decorate something well without the result being clutter or an overwhelming desire to rip down the garlands after a few days of their hanging, I opt for simplicity; rather, minimalism. The result: an Advent wreath, an Advent calendar, two creches (I'm branching out), two hanging Christmas balls made of pine cones and other Christmas Canadiana, and four stockings hung by the (unused) fireplace with care. Oh, wait, there are also two green bottles that each house a faux stick of some sort of red berry as well as a real sprig of pine. And, the front door has a wreath sided by a bushel basket filled with evergreens and fake berry sticks. Wow, now that I write that down, it sounds like a lot but, trust me, it isn't. The above shot is a double whammy capturing our Advent calendar in the making and our completed Advent wreath. Congratulate me now: this is the first Advent wreath that has successfully achieved my standards of simplicity and un-annoyingness (word?) and, thus, has a relatively good chance of making it 'til Christmas.

And here is Hannah. She sometimes creates clutter but I am never tempted to clean her up. She does love to craft and was (practically) the only child who helped with the calendar. Jacob, our south paw, cut out houses with right-handed scissors and we applauded him for his effort. Hannah is decorating the Christmas trees with sparkle paints. Ahhh, sparkle paints.

This is not posed. She really is checking out her handiwork. The painting was quite relaxing and a wonderful way to spend time with just Hannah.

Mid-paint.

Here is the first of our creches. This is the soft and unbreakable version. It was a Christmas gift around five years ago from Jacob's godparents. Thank you, Jacob's godparents, without you I am sure that we would not have such a wonderful (and manipulable) creche set. This is also a bonus shot of my green bottle with fake berries and real pine decoration. The icon is always on display as this is our prayer table and the incense cup (thurible? help me out, people) is real; whenever I use it the kids begin to sniff suspiciously and wonder why it smells like church at our house.

The stockings: my mother made these for us when we were only Dave, Elena, Jacob and Hannah. Dave and I no longer have stockings and, if we continue to expand, I will have to bargain for my childhood stocking. They are beautiful, yes? Sitting atop the mantle is the breakable creche set which I inherited from my grandmother. Dear Gran Ruth fashioned this set herself. Today it is particularly poignant as this is the tenth anniversary of her passing. Rest in Peace, Gran.

This is Dave. He is not a decoration. But, he is trying not to smile as this photo is slightly posed. He really was reading from the Liturgy of the Hours as part of our suppertime lighting of the candle; but he thought it strange that I was taking a photo, so he made a valiant effort to remain sober-faced. Not smiling is very difficult for a full-blooded Afelskie; Dave also deserves applause.

And here is the completed Advent calendar. Each day we travel along the gold-ribbon road from one house to the next. The door of each house is actually a pocket into which fits a popsicle stick. Written on the popsicle stick is the name of a set of godparents, grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins, godchildren and so on for whom we pray on that day. When the day is completed, the popsicle stick is placed back in the pocket with the writing side out. We started this tradition last year and the kids absolutely love it. Yes, there are inevitable fights over the popsicle sticks.

Side note: The I am Third sign is from Madonna House and is meant as a reminder that God is first, my neighbour is second and I am third. Dave regularly jokes that he wants a new sign that says "I am Seventh". Yes, even the dog comes before our dearest Dave. Perhaps the sign should just say "I am (n + 1)th" where n equals the combined number of people and animals in the household other than one's self. Happy Advent.

St. Benjamin and the Bovine Order

Tonight at supper Benjamin (3.5 yrs) turned to Joseph and said, "Christ is Lord, Jo Jo."
I looked up and double checked to make sure that I hadn't misheard, "What did you say, Ben?"
"Christ is Lord, Mom. And you have to pray for Jesus," he answered.
"You mean you have to pray to Jesus?" I gently corrected him.
"Yeah, and Mary too."
To which his father added, "If those are the only things you know, Ben, you'll be just fine."
And then our still-waters-run-deep son prepared for a third and final statement. My ears perked up expecting a piece of wisdom to complete his theological trinity.
I was humbled.
"I wish I had a cow on my head." Yes, Ben. In some ways we all do.

Mommy 0, St. Nick 1

Yesterday, December 6th, was the Feast of St. Nicholas. A lovely tradition celebrated on this feast day is that of the children in the house setting out their boots the night before in the hope of a visit from St. Nick during the night. The little ones wake on the morning of the feast and rush to their boots where candies, chocolates and little trinkets await. Or not.

You see, this mommy got it in her head that, because December 6th was a Sunday this year, surely that meant that the Feast of St. Nick was trumped by the little Easter and bumped to the next day, Monday, December 7th. So, this mommy wisely informed her kids not to set out their boots on Saturday night because St. Nick was cooling his heels until Sunday night.

Luckily, this Mommy happened to peruse the pages of Facebook early Sunday morning where she noticed a liturgically-wise friend whose status read something like this: "Saturday night: boots laid out in anticipation of St. Nick on Sunday morn."

What? This mommy's mind began to race because she knew that within two hours her kids would alight from the van to a church where they just might talk to some other kids who were enjoying their boot bounty. So, this mommy ran to the garage where a stash of candy was sitting in the stroller (left over from the previous day's Santa Claus parade). She then deposited the candy canes, chocolate mints and a twoonie into each of her children's boots. She silently raised a prayer to heaven begging that her children would not recognise the candy that they had harvested on the streets of their small town the day before. Then, she asked her eldest son if perhaps he had left his boots at the farm because she just couldn't find them.

Her husband, who had no idea what she was up to, said: "But how could he have walked to the van if he hadn't been wearing his boots?" She replied with a meaningful stare.

Her eldest son bolted to the mudroom where he quickly checked the status of his boots. Not noticing anything out of place he told her: "They're there, Mom."

"Umm, yes, but, hey! why are they in a circle like that?"

Upon which her eldest son looked a little more closely, screamed with delight and called for his siblings.

"But I thought you said it was on Monday, Mom." (Only daughter, always perceptive.)

"Yes, thank God Saint Nick knows what he's doing because Mommy sure doesn't."

Her only girl, peering closely at her lollipop, wondered aloud, "Why is my sucker dirty?" (The streets had been quite slushy during the parade.)

"Ummm, let me wash it."

And that's what I will admit to. I won't admit to sending my kids to school on Friday, October 30th fully garbed as an angel and pirate only to receive them home at the end of the day divested (as much as possible) of their costumes because no one else was dressed for Hallowe'en. I still haven't had the chutzpah to ask when exactly their school trick or treats; but I do know that my children will somehow make their way through childhood in spite of their mother. Wish them luck.

Boy with a Screwdriver

**Update**
The dishwasher has been fixed: it is fully functional although it now requires a little extra hip action to engage the locking mechanism. All relationships are in good order, as well - no hip action necessary.

Anyone who doesn't acknowledge marriage and family life as a path to holiness is out to lunch. Yes: off their rocker, slightly deluded and not the sharpest knife in the drawer. What occasions this declaration? Well, many things; but, in particular, it's the dishwasher. The dishwasher and a couple of boys who shall remain nameless but occupy the first and third place in our gaggle of four. One of them is holding a screwdriver at the moment as his daddy attempts to remedy his wife's best friend. The other is playing trains in the front room: wise to the need to stay out of harm's way. The incident happened last night and it is now mid-morning on Saturday. Thus, both boys have relegated their misadventure to the annals of childhood memory while Daddy struggles with a flashlight, the water supply and a smattering of semi useful tools.

But, how does this all relate to holiness or growth in virtue? Let's rewind to last night, post-supper, post one punishment, pre another one. I can't even remember what the first incident was about. But, I do know that one child had been sent to his room and had only just emerged to apologise and receive forgiveness from one or both parents. Unfortunately the male parent was doing the dishes when this apology was proffered; thus, the resulting dance of jubilation (in which older brother lifted up younger brother and swung him round in a moment of brotherly love which warmed a mother's heart) was a little too close to the dishwasher whose door sat open in preparation for the reception of the remains of supper. Sigh.

One misstep and the combined weight of two brothers crashed down onto the open dishwasher door causing the (newly purchased in July) appliance to tilt forward, spring its door and crack in a sort of irreparable way. Uh oh.

Older boy ran to his room and younger boy remained happily naive of the gravity of his offense. Daddy looked crestfallen and Mommy thanked God silently that it was only a dishwasher and not a limb. And now, dear reader, we arrive at the moment of virtue - the growth in holiness. It is in these little mishaps that our parenthood is sorely tested. Do we lash out in anger, resort to a satisfying smack across the bottom or gather our wits and hope for grace? Because it's awfully hard to respond to grace when one is seeing red. But, he did. Forgiveness was granted and discipline was meted out but it's still hard and it's only a dishwasher. Later on, when the kids were sleeping and a bit more objectivity was possible, I said to Dave,

"You know, one day it will be the car."

He responded, "I don't think I would mind a car as much because we have to use the dishwasher three times a day and at least a car is insured."

To which I quipped, "You'll mind it when it's your first new car ever."

(To which he should have replied, "We will never own a new car. We have an ever increasing family and a teacher's salary." But he didn't; nevertheless, I reserve the right to add witticisms where I see fit.)

So, here we are on Saturday morning. The kids are blissfully unaware of any hiccups in our dishwashing ventures and Dave is drinking coffee while sitting on the floor in front of a partially assembled appliance. And, I am documenting the affair and hoping that we have traveled just a wee bit further along the path to heaven. Pray for us. Monetary donations are also acceptable.