I Feel Pretty....and Witty and Brave

So far, Frodo Seven version 2-0-1-2 has not included many updates about family hilarity or hyjinx.  Not that there haven't been any.  I have a lot to catch up on.  

Today's post is about a brave little girl who had two teeth pulled and lived to tell about it.  The back story--when Grace was a baby, she did a face plant on the cement behind our house in Beaumont.  Her right front tooth was so deeply chipped that she had to have a baby root canal in order to keep it.  I can still picture the periodontist's office.  It was your basic nightmare.  Fast forward two years and the root of the same tooth was infected.  Pulling it was an option but she was only three and her mommy wanted her to keep her baby smile awhile longer.  Another baby root canal.  Since then, Grace hasn't had any real problem with the tooth other than discoloration but while her other front tooth is long gone, her semi-fake one was holding on strong.

I took her and Mia to the dentist the other day for a check up.  Here she is:

See the pretty boots in the dentist's chair....whose could those attractive boots be?.....

The dentist offered to pull her tooth and the one next to it that also needed to come out and explained his procedure very carefully.  Grace listened and when she heard the part about a "little stick" decided that she wanted nothing to with that.  The dentist then very unhelpfully suggested we try the "Now & Later" method of tooth extraction*.  Grace was thrilled with that idea but the store I tried did not have them.

So this morning, back Grace went to the dentist with Chris.  She had told me she really wanted Daddy to take her.  On the one hand, that made me sort of sad.  On the other, I am so glad our girls know they can trust their dad to be there for them and protect them.
Chris called and told me Grace held her mouth open and cooperated like a champ.  He was very proud.  And Grace was proud of herself.  Her sisters were impressed by the holes in her mouth--and of course, the blood.  They will also be impressed by any tooth fairy loot that appears under G's pillow.  I am not surprised by any of it.  Grace marched into the dentist's office and faced her fear with grace.  She is truly pretty and witty and very, very brave.  All things I already knew because I am her mama.

*The dentist suggested I warm up a Now & Later, wrap it around the tooth, let it harden and then pull it out.  Hardly a fool-proof idea if you ask me.

good patients, sweet sisters

(photographer's note:  the first version of this picture is technically a better picture.  The exposure is right and the color is good.  I like the second version better though.  It was overexposed but when I enhanced it, the girls literally popped out of the picture.  I like how this photo draws the eye right to them--and away from the disgusting photos of mouth cancer to the left.  Which just goes to show--a lot of photography is in the eye of the beholder and depends on some fortunate accidents--at least in my experience.)

Monday morning--BEFORE

Monday afternoon--AFTER

(photographer's note:  I really like how this photo turned out.  You are seeing it as I shot it.  I did no editing but I did have to take about six shots to get this one. It was the winner because of the color and Grace's hand on her hip to the right.  That was deliberate.  Which goes to show: paying attention to everything that's in the frame can really pay off.)

Another "brave" girl:

Mia is sewing more than a skirt these days.  The mom in me screams "yuck", but somewhere in the recesses of my mind I remember doing the same thing when I was Mia's age--with a safety pin I think.

Tragedy, Surrender, Hope and Heaven

Kirsten Anderson

My cousin Kirsten died late Tuesday night, victim of a freak accident.  She was 29 years old.  I have been able to think of little else this week.
There is something about the death of a young person that stops us in our tracks, reminding us of both the fragility of life and the cruelty of death.  "Not fair" is a very natural reaction. "Why would God allow this?"  is another.
As I have been thinking all of the above and more, I have been very aware that I did not really know Kirsten.  She was just a year older than my little sister Jamie who is thirteen years younger than me.  I am one of the oldest of the 33 Schneider cousins--number four maybe--and when I was a tween and teen, I hung with the cousins my own age.  As we all grew older and lost first my grandfather (1985) and then my grandmother (2002), the large family reunions that had happened regularly while I was growing up, stopped.  Between that and our move to Texas, it has been over a decade since I have seen a lot of my extended family.  So, I did not know Kirsten well.  In some ways, I feel that I do not have the right to grieve.  I haven't been able to talk myself out of it though.

Margaret Grace Schneider

My grandmother, GG, had a special fondness for Kirsten and vice versa.  I remember the Sunday that everyone came to Camp Kreitzer to see GG.  She was dying and it would be the last time many of them saw her.  Kirsten was there.  Her presence brought levity to the house and to my grandmother.  I was being a Martha that day, fixing food and playing hostess.  Kirsten was more of a Mary, sitting with GG, holding her hand, hugging her.  I don't think I've seen Kirsten since grandma's funeral.  It turned out to be a kind of last, all-family gathering.
I don't know if this will make sense to anyone but me, but I can honestly say that my immense love and respect for my grandparents extends to everyone dear to them.  Instead of "Mi casa, tu casa", it's "Tu querido, mi querido".  That definitely applies to Kirsten.


Over the past few days, this is the picture that keeps popping into my mind:

You may recognize it as Guernica by Pablo Picasso.  He painted it to represent the tragic bombing of the small Spanish town of Guernica by German and Italian forces in 1937 at the behest of Spanish Nationalist forces.  I had the privilege of seeing the mural in Madrid.  It is massive, awe-inspiring and frameless.  It has its own room in the museum.  It must have made its way deeply into me because the image often pops into my head when life drops one of its bombs.  Mostly I see the woman to the left holding her poor baby and the woman to the right wailing, hands raised to heaven.  I don't really like the painting.  "Like" isn't even the right word for the feelings it inspires.  I do think Picasso expertly captured despair, helpless suffering, and the question--"WHY?"
I think it's only natural to try to come up with answers to that question.  I've heard a few this week, presumably to offer hope or healing.  It's important to remember though that there are things we cannot know.  Holding on to our own made-up answers may help for awhile but if we insist on them, we miss the opportunity for something better---the opportunity to embrace the things we do know.  Most importantly, we know that God loves us and our loved ones more than any human being could.  We know that He is in charge.  In trusting Him completely without demanding answers or reasons, by completely surrendering ourselves to Him, we gain everything.
The person who suffers a prolonged death is able to gradually surrender his or her own life and hand it over.  In a tragedy like this one, loved ones must do the surrendering or risk living in a perpetual state of despair.  At times like these, it becomes very clear that "Hope" must be lived as a verb.
I "hope" that my cousin is having tea with my grandma in heaven.  Perhaps GG is reciting one of the many poems she knew by heart.  Perhaps they're trading stories, catching up and laughing.  Both GG and Kirsten had amazing smiles.  As for those of us still on this side, well, it's not called a "vale of tears" for nothing.

Sophie Belle

 Since my last post, Ella has developed a bit of competition as Sophie's BFF.  The new kid on the block is Belle.  Her favorite color is pink and she is a diva, complete with furry boots and matching accessories.  The jury is out as to whether she is a good influence on Sophie who is already girly to the max.  Time will tell.

The story--one day about a month ago, a card arrived in the mail addressed to Sophie Ruth Doyle from her godparents.  She could not have been more excited.  Mail!  Yay!  Even better, the card contained a $20 bill and a $25 gift card to Barnes and Noble.  Thank you Miss Hope and Mr. Ralph!  So generous.

After many conversations about how to spend her gift, Sophie decided firmly on a trip to Build-a Bear.  I told her that I would buy her B & N gift card off of her which gave her a small fortune to spend.  The only problem was the morning of our outing, we could not find the gift card.  Grace and Sophie had been playing with it and, after some searching, it was MIA.  What to do?  $20 wouldn't buy Sophie much of anything.  In the end, I did not teach the hard lesson and agreed to give her the $25 anyway.  (I found the gift card today under some papers beside my bed.  St. Anthony must have approved of my decision :)

First stop, the food court and Chik Fil A for Sophie's favorite food and people watching

love this face

After lunch, we headed down the "alligator" to Build a Bear.  Sophie had chosen her new friend on a quick tour of the store before lunch so selection was speedy.

the most important part

I never really understood this part

Taking good care

official naming

Sophie and I discussed names before and after lunch.  The three possibilities were "Kitty", "Belle" and "Gisele", all from movies.  I was pulling for Gisele but think that Belle fits perfectly. (I have a feeling that this process will be oft-repeated in the future...)

Ready to go

Belle couldn't be happier with her new play set.....

Belle in all her glory

pink fur, pink vest, pink boots, pink headband, pink purse, pink hearts on her sweater

and PINK BED

Better view of her best accessory....I want a purse just like hers...in my size

I have to admit, I may have had more fun on our outing than Sophie.  It wasn't my first time at Build-a-Bear but as the girls get older, it has gotten more fun.  And going with the pink theme made things more interesting.  I also have to hand it to the company.  The employees are great and the selection, phenomenal.  It's shopping and entertainment in one.  I want to go back for my own.  I saw a very cool Star Wars outfit I'd like to try on a dog.....

On a more somber note, I confess to being very sad over the news about Whitney Houston today.  So sad in fact that I did something that may bring much pain and suffering to Chris....I bought her greatest hits album.  

Why is it that so many of the stars that provided the backdrop for us '80s kids have self-destructed?  In her song The Greatest Love of All, Ms Houston observes, "I never found anyone to fulfill my needs".  I suspect that's the key.  More than money, success or fame, we all need to find love within a community.  It's a reminder to me as a mom to give my all every day to loving those in my own life.  It's all I can do and hopefully enough.

Whether you liked Whitney Houston's music or not, say a prayer for her today.  What a way to exit this world.

Happy New Week Everyone!

Besties

I don't remember where we were recently, but someone commented on how "precious" the girls are and asked them if they ever fight.  They answered honestly, "yes" (I would have added an "h" double hockey sticks before that yes if they'd asked me).  Despite the tussles though, the girls really love each other.  Lately, Sophie and Ella have been especially good buddies, going so far as to use the words "best friends".  

It's hard to say who takes better care of whom.  Ella is an unusual youngest.  She is a huge helper and is able to age up in most situations.  Sophie, on the other hand, has been voted most likely to be carried around in a cart while doing the homecoming queen wave.  Ha Ha.  In any case, they are constant playmates.  It's truly awesome to see.

"my baby," said Ella

I swear I want to eat them :)

(if you're a mom, I think you may understand...)

It's Friday!!  Enjoy it--eat meat--it's almost lent!

One Small Part of His Collective Mind

I'm on a roll writing about the more serious side of life and today, I'd like to share another story about my godfather, my Uncle Larry, who "shed the surly bonds of earth" on Friday, January 27.
Growing up, I was very aware that the men on my mom's side of the family considered talent in the areas of math and science to be superior to any other.  This was problematic for me because I did not particularly like either.  For years, I was apologetic about my leanings toward literature and drama and the fact that I was majoring in--gasp--Spanish.  It took time for me to understand that genius comes in many disguises and Truth can be found across disciplines.  Still, I never would have imagined my science/ engineering-minded Uncle Larry's brain to have softer leanings as well.
When I visited him two weeks before his death, I noticed a little book with a leather cover that he had set out for my cousin Caryn.  Caryn was there and she talked about making copies because it was full of things her dad had written.  There were reflections on life and even poetry.  I felt chills run down my spine as I read.  My uncle was a poet!  How was it possible that I'd never known that?
How well do we ever know someone?  In this case, it had been a decade since I'd been in touch.  Living so far away, I don't see very much of my extended family.  Even if I'd seen him though, would I have known what questions to ask to get to the heart of things?  Probably not.  More to the point--would I have dared?  I  hope so but probably not.
Below is one of the things Uncle Larry wrote in his book.  My cousin printed it on the back of the program for his funeral Mass.  I think it shows that my uncle had not only intelligence but wisdom as well:

The greatest gift God has given to individual man is the power to rationalize and think.  Within the limited framework of earth, the power to think is that element which makes each individual unique.  Then, for each of us to better know God within the limitations of our environ, we should strive to use our individual gift in such a manner that we continuously grow in capability while maintaining the knowledge that until we merge with God, we are but one small part of His collective mind.
LMS

Sacred Objects

 These boots have a history.  When I see them, I see Mia running, in shorts or a skirt, wearing them for the millionth day in a row.  She wore them till they were much too small and were quite hole-y.  She wore them for Halloween when she was Blessed Kateri.  She wore them through the summer because she liked them so much.  Then, last weekend, she added them to a pile of things for Goodwill.  Like the Velveteen Rabbit, they are destined for the trash heap but for me, these boots are "real".  I wouldn't be surprised if they started running and dancing on their own!  They are sacred objects because they were one with some precious feet for a season or two.  Letting them go will be, in a sense,  to let go of the Mia who wore them as well.  In her place is a new, older Mia.  It is at once a joy and a sorrow to watch these changes and while I long to save every single sacred object from their childhood, I don't have enough room in the house to bottle up all of the wonderful artifacts that remind me of my girls.  Letting go is truly an art....

Mia's "peace" shoes.  I may have to hold on to these........(while I'm perfecting the art :)

The Patience of Job

So--if you went to Mass today, along with a lot of "And with your spirit"s (I'm starting to love hearing that), you heard this:

Job spoke, saying:  "Is not man's life on earth a drudgery?  Are not his days those of hirelings?  He is a slave who longs for the shade, a hireling who waits for his wages.  So I have been assigned months of misery, and troubled nights have been allotted to me.  If in bed I say, "when shall I arise?", then the night drags on; I am filled with restlessness until the dawn.  My days are swifter than a weaver's shuttle; they come to an end without hope.  Remember that my life is like the wind; I shall not see happiness again".

Can you imagine a friend sharing something like that over coffee?  How would you respond?  Would you wonder why she was making those depressing statements or perhaps write her off as a complainer? 

A couple of things about Job:  First, in a past life, Job had everything good in life and was God's good and faithful servant.  Then, God allowed the devil to strip Job of all he had, little by little, until he was covered with sores and sitting on a dung heap.  Still, Job refused to curse God as his friends urged him to do.  He was faithful.  

It must have been lonely to be Job.  Equal to the loss of his earthly goods and family, Job must have felt the loss of his connection to the rest of humanity.  Because really--who would want to join in his suffering by sitting with him on the dung heap?  In the passage above, he shares the hard truth that he has learned--namely, that life on earth lacks meaning, flies by and is full of suffering.  Does anyone living in the 21st century doubt that those things continue to be true?

Still, how many times have you shared your own thoughts on that subject--life and its meaning--with others?  How many times have you opened up about how hard life can be?  I am a firm believer in the power of words and communication to heal.  I believe in the possibility anyway.  In practice, there are few circles in which that kind of sharing is welcome.  We live in a world where suffering is banished or marginalized.  Everything has to be "okay" or "hunky dory" or "a bit rough but we have it all under control" (big smile).  If someone were to say something like, "My life is like the wind; I shall not see happiness again", well, let's just say, more invitations to dinner might not be forthcoming.  Which is too bad.  Because there is a lot to learn from the Jobs of the world (and we're all Job at one time or another).  There are also many ways that we could help each other if we were more brave, more willing to risk or more ready to share who we truly are or are trying to be before God.

I find Job's statement, "I shall not see happiness again" to be very promising.  Just as we must lose life to gain it, we must let go of any expectation or claim to happiness in order to find it.  At the pinnacle of suffering, Job may in fact be closer to experiencing true fulfillment than he's ever been.  Of course, this is one of many paradoxes that must be learned over and again by each of us on our own individual journeys.  Like Dorothy's yellow brick road, it is a way we must travel for ourselves.  But we do not have to do it alone.  God gave us fellow travelers.  The price is simply humility--being our true selves, without masks or pretense, willing to serve our neighbor and be served by Him.  It's a hard call and the temptation to run away--in the form of a shallow life, complete with addictions--is strong.  Still, each day offers a new opportunity to choose courage and authenticity over superficiality and lies.  I think it's what Robert Frost meant by the "road less traveled".  And I struggle, with the patience of Job, to make it my road too.