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We had no intention of taking our little kids into church today. Our diocese is not holding masses yet, just communion services and with Thomas still recovering from major surgery, we planned on taking turns going in with our older children and leaving the littles in the car. But, as we dressed for church, they did too. Dresses. Dress shirts. They were excited. And I did not want to quell that excitement, so we grabbed their masks and brought them all into the church.

After the rain finally stopped, I headed outside and picked these. They grow in random areas in our flower beds and aren’t too attractive, if I am honest. But, I just cannot consider the thought of ripping them out. I see them. I smell them, and I think of my grandmother. They used to grow on the side of my grandparents’ house. And every time I see these blooms, I am reminded of her. She’s been gone as long as I have been married and I still miss her.

This morning, after prayer with all of the kids, I laid my head on the kitchen table. Pete looked at me and said, “What would you like to do today?”

“I guess, go for a run,” I responded, with not too much enthusiasm. That half-hearted statement opened the door just enough for my husband to give me the kick I needed. And, he, very gently, forced me out the door.

It is Tuesday morning and we are home!  Thomas is happily playing with his sisters in the living room while I sit at the computer to type this.  I wanted to take a few minutes to write out our experience and to thank everyone who lifted prayers for us or were involved in some way in this whole process.

Thomas and I headed down to Milwaukee Thursday evening to check into the Ronald McDonald house.
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I’ve been really struggling lately.  The lingering winter that just won’t seem to break into blooms and sun filled days, the death of a good friend, and the weight of decisions looming have made me feel more anxious and restless.  My kids were acting up this morning in the flurry of breakfast and school drop off.  But even before that, the voice in my head kept ringing.

As soon as breakfast was over, she ran up to her room to get dressed.  She had laid out her pink leotard, pink tights, and ballet shoes.  She even found her “tutu pink” undies so that she matched perfectly.  She beamed with excitement; a day she had waited and hoped for for a while, she would be starting ballet for the first time.

We drove to the class and I looked in the rear view mirror to get a glimpse of her.  She practiced her arm movements as if she were already in class.

5 months is such a short time.  5 months feels like forever.  We have been in our new state, new home for 5 months now.  Long enough for the excitement to wane and the honeymoon period to end, yet not long enough to feel like we are truly home.  

So I thought I would take a few moments to update everyone, and write mainly so I can remember just how our adjustment is going.  Like my previous post, when we were just weeks into the big move, we still love it here.

In the business of the morning, attempting to get my gaggle of children ready for school and mass, I forgot that today was October 4th, one of my favorite feast days. But it seems that even in the craziness of the morning, God was planting seeds for me to better embrace the message that He had for St Francis so many ages ago. 

As I was attempting to make sure all of my children were awake this morning, I passed by our little library nook in our upstairs hallway.

The wedding feast at Cana is one of my favorite scriptures and on Thursday nights, when praying the family rosary, everyone knows not even to ask to pray the second luminous mystery. It’s mine.

And over the last few weeks, “Do whatever He tells you” seems to have invaded all my prayer times and quiet moments, and clearly I need to be reminded of it, in these days when back to school photos grace my social media feeds.
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