Instalment 2

 For the first time in our entire marriage, I brought the kids to the Canada Day fireworks.  This is monumental, I appeared in public after Elena Standard Time.  Joe is clearly shocked by the presence of his mother.

 Jacob furtively eating popcorn while morphing into a zombie.

 One of the side effects of staying up too late is jaundice, at least in my case.  Hannah has many years to reach before things begin to go downhill.

 Like so many of our children, Sarah is often found on tables and counters.  This is completely my fault:  I am a very lazy parent when it comes to certain things.  When Joe was at this stage, instead of disciplining him not to climb on the table, I simply moved the chairs.  (Dave is shaking his head as I type.)  Also, this little girl loves cherries.  The juice dribbles all over her chin and, each and every time, one of her older siblings yells, "Mom!  Sarah is bleeding."  Fortunately, cherry season is short, and I have an excellent stain remover.

 Hannah took these photos one Sunday before mass.  The headless shot captures Sarah's propensity to steal her sister's shoes and to wear bracelets on her ankles - Rainbow Loom creations and plain old hair elastics.  If I try and touch them she screams.  My only opportunity to de-bracelet her is when she is in a very deep sleep.

 Documentation of her first time in pigtails.  Far too cute.

 His crooked smile never grows old.  One day it will charm some girl whom I am not yet prepared to meet.

 Perhaps Isaac is smiling because we live here:  cottage country.  The winters are hard but the summers, oh, the summers are blessed.  I went for a walk with a good friend the other night and we decided to take the trail by the lake.  We were greeted by a double rainbow that stretched almost across the whole sky.

And then we saw the geese:  seemingly innocent and harmless; but, in real life, waste factories with a surprisingly violent side.  Hopefully they aren't somehow representative of the country after which they are named.

Time for Photos of Summer

 These photos are going to come in chronological instalments.  This was the first Saturday after school ended.  Hannah attended her first overnight retreat and the rest of us drove my dad to the Ottawa airport.  After dropping dad off at Departures and wiping away some tears, we stopped off at Montana's for supper.  There was no air-conditioning and the temperature was over 30 degrees.  I think it was all a ploy to move people in and out of the restaurant at a super-fast rate.  Also, there are some photos in which I appear not to age; really, this is almost identical to my junior high school photos.

 Ben practising for his future pontificate.

One of the perks of Montana's is the deer antlers that the kids receive with their meals.  The antlers are inevitably torn by the time we leave the restaurant, but they provide adequate distraction until the chicken fingers 'n' fries arrive.  On a side note, a friend of mine asked me the other day if I ever tire of looking at Isaac and thinking, "Wow, is he ever adorable."  Truthfully:  No.

 Remarkably, I did not plan this rendition of hear no evil, speak no evil, see no evil.  Obviously, the children are brilliant; either that, or Ben is just angry, Joe is motioning for food and Isaac's antlers need to be tightened.

 I searched for a photo of Jacob and realized that he had gone to the cowboys rest room while I snapped photos.  Isaac soon followed.

In honour of Hannah's absence: a little sign that is meant to read, We love and miss Hannah, not, We plus miss love Hannah.

Running

I was sitting by the lake a few days ago watching the kids at swimming lessons; very early swimming lessons, 8 am.  Another friend was seated on the bench next to me and we were chatting, keeping an eye on the kids, and watching the teenagers in the Bronze Medallion lesson completing their 500 m distance swim.  I commented that what amazed me was those swimmers in the Olympics who swim distances of 10km.  My friend remarked that he simply couldn't understand why anyone would take part in a repetitive motion for such a length of time that has absolutely no spiritual or intellectual purpose.  Perhaps he was being hyperbolic.  Nonetheless, I was amazed by his words; they came as a bit of a revelation.  And I wondered if this is how many people regard those who run, bike, swim or work out on a regular basis.

Dave and I both run.  He is the far better runner and I am the plodder.  However, to my credit, I am the dedicated plodder.  Since the age of 18 I have more or less run 5km daily.  I take breaks during pregnancies when I change the run to a walk, but I keep going come rain or shine.  My daily run is a vital part to my day.  In fact, one of the reasons I hate staying out late is that I know that I might not be able to run the next day.  Honestly, my body never looks forward to my runs, but my mind certainly does.

Please pay attention to this part.  My running is not a natural outgrowth of a youth spent physically active.  Until I was 16, I was always overweight.  The one time I went to a track and field day was sometime in junior high when I managed to qualify for ball throw.  (I think that my qualification had more to do with lack of competition than athletic ability.)  My two aims in attending the track meet were to get the day off school and to buy chips at the canteen.  In fact, when they called the athletes to the field to compete in the ball throw, I made my way out of the stands, threw the ball approximately two feet, burst out laughing and returned to my chips.  Just to drive this point home:
the only award I ever received in the yearly Canada Fitness Test was the made-up one:  Participaction.  Ha!  The one time that I completed the required endurance run was in the annual dream that I would have as the Canada Fitness Test loomed closer.  Have I painted an adequate picture of the non-athletic child?  Good, let's move on.

Not only does this run allow me not to rigorously count calories, but it also has tremendous psychological benefits.  Those who know me well know that I suffer from what my father refers to as pernicious anxiety.  There, I said it.  My mother-in-law says that all women worry, but I don't think that she quite understands the lengths to which my mind can go.  My greatest anxieties revolve around sleep and health.  My sister, a fellow hypochondriac, jokes that our gravestones will read:  See, I told you I was sick.  Which brings me back to running.  Running, walking and being outdoors literally keep me sane.  When I feel exhausted, a run usually picks me up; when I can't stand the kids anymore, taking them for a walk is often the answer; when my mind is spiralling downward toward
despair, a run almost always pulls me a little closer to hope.

Thus, when this friend remarked that he had no understanding as to why people would needlessly exercise, I was amazed.  I sat speechless for a moment and then began to explain what I do on my runs.  I told him that I pray throughout all of my runs:  rosaries, chaplets and prayers of intercession.  The constant prayer keeps my mind occupied, helps the distances to move a little faster, and prevents my imagination from wandering down some of the more dangerous and well-trod pathways of my mental landscape.  More over, I offer up the painful hills and the long slogs when I just want to quit.  The suffering itself becomes a prayer.  My runs have taught me how to persevere and how to remain disciplined.  In fact, outside of labour and delivery, running has been the sole activity that has taught me both how to persevere and that I can persevere.  In essence, the discipline of daily physical activity lends itself easily to the discipline of a life of virtue.

I recounted this beach conversation to Dave, telling him that I often measure runs in rosaries:  2.5 km turnaround is one rosary.  He responded that, besides the possibility for prayer, a run is always an opportunity for contemplation.  I won't wax poetic about the smell of the pine plantation as I run past on a warm summer afternoon or the mist rising off the lake, but I will say that it is almost impossible not to think about one's life (or one's God) in a little more depth when one's body is engaged in a monotonous activity.  Running can become the background for practising the presence of God.

I'm not writing this in the hope that all readers will be propelled out of their seats and into their running shoes.  I'm not writing this to sound virtuous and unattainable.  My body is not built for running; I have never been small nor particularly well disciplined.  Therefore, if I can do it, you really can to:  run, walk, bike, swim, just get out there and move a little.  Your body, your mind and your spirit will be so thankful that you did.  Moms, daily exercise is really one of the best excuses and avenues toward getting that precious time by yourself.  What more can I say?  I just got off the treadmill and am sticky with sweat.  Today, I measured my run with one rosary and two youtube talks by Fr. Robert Barron.  And 500 calories - just an added perk.

Summer, so far

There are photos, believe me; it's just that those photos are on the two devices that Dave has taken with him to Renfrew for a dentist appointment.  Thus, you will have to put up with text.  If you are still out there, that is.

The winter was incredibly long this year - December through April.  When spring finally began, we warily welcomed its arrival, not entirely believing that it wouldn't somehow revert to winter again. Life around here felt a little like Narnia before the return of Aslan.  Aslan did tentatively return and spring brought rain and tulips and a reluctant summer.  Usually we can rely on the month of June being hot and sunny, producing kids itchy to break out of the school doors and into the freedom of those endless summer months.  This didn't happen.  Rather, June was more spring-like than summer-like and the end of school came abruptly and as a bit of a surprise.  "What?"  we asked, "Is it already summer, swimming lessons and the countdown to trips away?"

Summer, to me, stretches itself out like a canvas with endless possibilities.  Everyone is at home and the freedom of having another adult in the house brings child-free grocery runs, non-treadmill runs and a bit more adult conversation.  Also, no more school lunches - but that is another story.

This summer, like the weather, has been a little unusual.  We had visitors before the end of the school year, Dave returned to work for the beginning of July to clean up the classroom and last-minute appointments, tasks and responsibilities seemed to jump out of the woodwork.  I thought of writing creep out of the woodwork, but that would not adequately convey the startling manner in which these to-do lists seem to hit me.  As in:  phone calls telling me that I have missed appointments, forgotten an NFP teaching date and left my spiritual director wondering why I haven't shown up.  I guess my mind slipped into summer mode before it remembered to check the calendar.

Also, and this is a big also, our usual mid-morning swimming lessons were re-scheduled to 8 in the morning.  This means that kids who stayed up with the sun don't find it very easy to rise with their bedtime companion.  Neither does their mother and father.  One of us struggles out of bed, shakes the children awake, convinces them that swimming suits are necessary, and tries to force breakfast into tummies that are not quite ready to receive it.  And, oh, the water temperatures at 8 in the morning are   not very pleasant.  Lake water, when the ambient temperature hovers around 18 degrees, is character building, to say the least.  Today Isaac managed an attempted back and front float and then exited the water in tears.

There's not much else to add to this little update.  The kids are all as trying and humorous as they always are.  Jacob and Hannah, now 11, are hovering on the precipice of the puberty cliff.  Little signs of this new stage are cropping up, but mostly the talk is just plain funny.  Jacob told me the other day that he is not afraid of puberty as every man since the dawn of time has experienced it and, besides, he has a really good model in Daddy.  His only understanding of puberty and impending teenage-hood is what he has read in books.  Thus, he seems to think that his teenage years are going to hit him like a brick wall over which he has little to no control.  This was exemplified yesterday when I heard him and Hannah arguing over when was the best time to visit their relatives in Texas.  Hannah said that we should wait until Sarah, now two, is five years old.  Jacob looked up in alarm and cautioned, "No!  Hannah, that will be right when we are at the height of our bad attitudes.  Travel would be unadvisable."  I'll keep that in mind.