Theology Thursdays-- Milk, mental illness, and a reminder

This morning was one of those mornings that need a do-over.

My husband has a new job, and with it he is required to participate in a bunch of extra stuff (classes, events etc.) which require outside preparation or study and so leave him with absolutely no time for the family.... a challenge we aren't unfamiliar with but which, when we had grown accustomed to having him around 24/7, is definitely not fun for anyone.  In a beautiful way, though, all this suffering and missing each other and stress and feeling sorry for each other and miserable draws us all closer together-- we miss each other, so we pay closer attention to details... and so we are willing to skip each other's little grievances. It's strangely nice.

Yesterday was kind of a landmark for that.
You see, along with my other mamma friends, milk becomes very important to me when I'm pregnant or nursing. Running low on milk will send me into a minor panic-- not only because the kids drink milk every morning and I need it for various baking projects throughout the day, but also because there is something comforting about having it in the fridge and being able to use it. I become a milk maniac, and since I'm pretty much always pregnant or nursing, milk is on my mind a lot these days. And my husband, who is responsible for milk-aquisition in this house, suffers the wrath of a mediterranean woman, complete with hand gestures, when milk quantities dwindle.

If I really stop and think about it, I don't know what I think will happen when I run out of milk.... the world will still turn and I will continue living-- but needless to say, milk-lessness is a sure way to put an end to my sanity. Which is why running "low" on milk can change my whole mood for the day. Until there is a full milk jug in the fridge, I am quite volatile and my emotions render me a bit explosive. Running low on milk, in this house, is dangerous.... because we all know that when Mama aint happy, nobody's happy.

Now why is this a problem? Because I don't drive. Therefore I am completely dependent on other people to take me to buy milk---which is why this week was such a milestone.

I got very nervous and annoyed yesterday when for over two and a half hours, my father in law came back to the refrigerator half a dozen times to pour what little milk we had left into a tiny glass cup and retreat to the garage, where he was experimenting with how much he could get away with irritating me. His project? Painting words on reams of copy paper with precious milk to see if he could then put a flame to the paper and see the invisible words. I was enraged. We had been "low" on milk for two days now, and last night, thanks to the milk writing fiasco, despite the LARGE sharpie warning I had penned, FIL-style, that cautioned: "DO NOT TOUCH,"  we finally Ran Out.

Darkness envelopped me. My mind ran through a million milkless scenarios. What would we do? How would we survive? HOW WOULD I DRINK COFFEE????

It was easy to get angry... after all, I reasoned, my husband had failed me. But rational thinking prevented me from doing that. He had had to go to the hospital early at the last minute, and he was under so much stress from all sides it was a miracle he was still standing.
The only possible time he had had to go to the grocery store, he had had to go and take care of something for his dad, who we live with and who is dying of cancer and suffering from a wide range of mental issues. Mentally, I absolved my husband, and when he came home from work at 11 and realized he had still not taken care of his family, he was very distraught, but somehow I found the love and ability to say: "Babe, it's totally not your fault-- when would you have done it?? We will live. Please just go to sleep, you need some rest."

I then proceeded to finish baking a couple loaves of bread I had started with my six year old in the afternoon. While I was exhausted and would have welcomed the opportunity to sleep, I've been faithfully baking bread in the evenings so that there would be fresh bread for breakfast for everyone. It keeps our grocery bill very low, and it makes my husband and kids very happy, and it's something which, over the years, has become a family staple and which means a great deal to all of us. Bread makes us happy, so it's worth the major work.

But.... I'm not gonna lie, I felt like an awesome, super holy saint. Which makes me a sinner. ;)

He went to sleep feeling better, but once I went to bed, I lay awake most of last night, hit with pregnancy heartburn for the first time this pregnancy, knowing that taking small sips of milk would have cured it and sent me to sleep.

He awoke at the usual ungodly hour and went off to work, leaving me and the children to start the day, milk-less. Determined to make the best of it-- I resolved to make chamommile tea for all and smile. I set to work boiling the water for the tea. Almost IMMEDIATELY, like a magnet, my father-in-law began to putter around in the kitchen. (He makes a point of staying out of the kitchen until people are using it, and then makes a point out of telling us how to use it during the entire cooking experience.)

First, he asked me to boil the tea in the microwave, giving me a ten-minute lecture on the electrical and fiscal benefits of doing so. Eager to just get it over with, I complied, although I loathe the microwave. Then he started straightening up the kitchen, walking behind me and putting away everything which I had taken out to make breakfast, only putting it all away in a new place, where it didn't belong. The entire time, he made what he considers to be polite conversation--- raving violently against liberals and blaming the woes of the world on Obama and Nancy Pelosi, and ranting about how Catholics don't understand politics and religion is dead.

I took long, deep breaths, assuring myself that I had been through this every day of my life for the past two years and that I could do it again graciously, but it was like this big sign flashing: "NO MILK IN HOUSE" was going off in my head, and in my mind I kept seeing an image of him dipping his paintbrush into the little jar of milk.

You see, my Father in law drives. And while he has no qualms about plastering a giant "D" on every item of food he brings into this house so that we don't touch it, he also has no qualms about eating whatever we make, asking me to make him special meals at random moments during the day with our food. He also acts like I've just asked him to donate a kidney if he perchance should be going to the grocery store and I hand him a five dollar bill and ask him for a gallon of milk. All of this to say... I was getting more annoyed by the minute.

I gritted my teeth and worked around him, dodged the word bullets, and smiled and nodded. And I felt like things were going pretty well until, all of a sudden, the bomb dropped.
He was standing very still, staring at the stove with strange little half smile on his face.

"So, I've been thinking about this for a few weeks and I want you to stop baking your bread. You are ruining my oven. It's not meant for that kind of use, it's not an industrial oven, and if you think I'm going to allow it, you can think again."
I closed my eyes and inhaled deep, pausing to wonder if I would be handling this any better WITH coffee. He has moments like this all the time, where he looks for things to get steamed up about and then carries on and on in his mind until it spills out into his environment.

Asking "why" is never a good idea for unmedicated with people with unacknowledged OCPD. You will hear why for the next two hours. It's always better to agree and wait. So I sighed and said: "OK, dad. Loud and clear. Roger. You can stop now."

Realizing he had been rude, but feeling like he was justified and genuinely had a right to be angry and concerned, he began the long-winded oven apologetics speech I had heard so many times before about the blinds, the refrigerator, the sink, the washing machine, the dryer, the cabinets, the carpet, the fireplace, the couches, chairs, and lamps, the fans, the bathtub, and all the other things in the house he has lectured me over in the past. This time, though, the longer he talked about internal oven workings and baking methods and his reasoning, the more hurt and angry I became. I kept my face still and as pleasant as I could, but my internal steam engine was working overtime.

When he had finally worked himself into a rage and threw out the final "nail in the coffin," of his rant ("I'm going to have to think about it, but I don't know that I ever want to see you bake bread again. I was a baker in the army and I never needed to use water in an oven. Your bread is probably failing because of the extra humidity-- the crusts are WAY too hard and that's not how they are supposed to be.") I was holding back tears.

The irony of the man who thinks MOONPIES ARE FOOD telling the French girl what bread is and isn't supposed to look like was too much. But I knew also that my pride was injured... and that I had to let it go.

For HIS sake, I live in a house where my children can not play freely, where my children can not run in peace in the yard, where I can not read a book, raise a blind, or sit down to write or school my kids,  make a pot of coffee, drink a glass of water, kiss my husband, close my bedroom door, dust a piece of furniture, pick up the mail, or talk on the phone, without being told-- or being debated-- about the reasons why I'm doing it wrong and being inefficient. It is like a literal living hell, especially when his OCPD begins to regulate the fire levels in the fireplace.... hello 84 and 5 degree nights inside when it's 60 outside. My own personal purgatory, complete with heat. Mental illness is HARD to live with.

I ran-- well, walked fast, because we aren't allowed to run in this house-- into the bathroom door, shut the door, and melted down. Ignoring the children pounding at the door asking to come in, I dissolved into a crying, sobbing, pitiful mess on the floor. And then, composing myself and setting my thinking aright, I began to praise God.

At which point He showed me: I am HERE. And I love you both.

Even in the midst of my milkless and miserable existence, even as I stood on trial for being a GOOD and responsible wife and tenant, even as I came under continuous pummeling from all directions..... He was there. With me. These were blows He had endured before: humilitating, unjust, and totally outrageous. These blows He had willingly endured had saved the world, and ensured peace on earth. Though He had prayed: "Father, take this cup from me if you will," He had also prayed: "But thy will be done."

I had promised to follow Him, and I couldn't accept to just follow Him in the glory of the resurrection. This is Lent-- and I must follow Him to the Cross. And I will.

Because Easter is just around the corner...which is why I suffer as I do. But I am not ashamed, for I know whom I have believed, and I am convinced that he is able to guard until that Day what has been entrusted to me. (1 Timothy 1:12)

God reminded me that what I really wanted was not a jug of cow's milk. I want God. I want the Love He is made of.


Like newborn infants, long for the pure spiritual milk, that by it you may grow up into salvation... (1 Peter 2:2)
Hasn't He promised us "a land FLOWING with milk and honey?" (Jeremiah 11:5)

I wanted THAT. Not milk. Not my own house. Not a break from my father in law.

Friends, are you suffering also right now?
Trust in the One who has endured all that you are faced with right now. But remember the words of Romans 8:18:   For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us.
We do not suffer for nothing. God knows every tear we shed. and we know that glory is just around the corner. Stand firm in your faith and suffer well!

Therefore, confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous person has great power as it is working. - James 5:16

Mama Mondays- Preparing the School Uniform

Part of our adventures into CLAA this past week have included time spent in the forum, in which I have learned so much of the practical, "how to" aspects of the structure of many amazing Catholic families whom I have secretly wanted to spy on but never had the opportunity to meet on their home turf.
Part of this is because I live in an area where there are very FEW large Catholic families, at least, large Catholic families who have well behaved, well educated children (they all seem to live in Dunn, where the Extraordinary Form is.... hmmmm. Well, I shouldn't be too harsh, there are a growing number of large families at my little Maronite Parish, too.)
Part of this is also that those large families that do make me suck in my breath and say "wow, you are awesome, how do you do that??" don't really have the same lifestyles as the majority of people and young families I see around Church. Whereas we have mommy groups and coffee dates and playdates and school til noon, these families I WANT to meet, who seem to be doing it right, are hardly ever "out," let alone "around."
We know they exist because we see their ten kids sitting quietly in a neat row at mass. But we never see them at the mommy/kid groups the Parish hosts or at women's events around town. I've asked moms like this to come speak at playgroups to encourage younger moms, especially because I'm encouraged by their clearly amazing parenting skills. And I laugh, bewildered, because.... they always say no.
I also find it amazing that many of my friends who don't have families that look like these families have many negative things to say about them. Here are some snippets of conversations I've had or overheard  people having about large, well behaved families we might see at mass.
"You know how they get those kids to behave like that? They go home and beat them."
"She can't really be that happy. She's probably medicated."
"If their kids are always like that, they must be stifling their personalities."
"Why don't they ever DO anything?? They are weird."
"There is NO WAY their kids are always that good."
Over time, I've come to learn through life experience and spending time with them at home that those families are often the happiest, the least violent, the most creative and expressive, and the most active. And yes, the kids are really almost always THAT good.

Once, my husband did some work on a house where the family had ten amazing kids. The whole time he worked, he couldn't get over how well the household operated. Mother was in the dinning room overseeing the schooling. The littles were playing nicely outside. The children took turns doing chores. The children didn't back talk, weren't rowdy, and were extremely nice. On the third day, they invited him in to eat lunch, and he accepted. Lunch was pleasant, delicious, simple, and fun. He discovered the family was Catholic, and that they went to the closest Parish near us where the Latin Mass is offered. He came home and told me I needed to meet this mother and learn from her.
A week or so later, we were meeting our priest out for dinner and drinks and their family walked in. I saw the mother and observed her with the kids... my husband was right. They were an amazing family. I stared in awe and amazement. And then dinner was over, and we went home. We haven't seen them since then.
I've considered dropping a note in her mailbox:

Hello! I noticed your family is incredible and I want to know the secret. No one out here seems to get it. Please help!

Of course, I never have. But I did pray, a lot. I wanted to know how she (they) did it. I wanted (and my husband wanted) a family that looked and behaved like that. Not just externally, but internally-- we wanted the benefits we saw in their personal holiness. So I prayed.
And God led me to something even better than this particular family, which God knows would have probably ended up disappointing me somehow. :D
Instead, He led me to the CLAA, which we enrolled in for the academics but which turns out to be a literal "how to" of what all these families I see and think... "WOW!" about are doing. And not because they are telling us what to do, but because the purpose of a classical education sort of encapsulates a certain idea: the pursuit of wisdom being tantamount to a "pure and perfect" education. The CLAA encourages you not just to talk about and think about holiness but to actually do those things which you talk about and  think about. It's not for the weak minded or faint of heart.

As a parent, I am not exempt from my children's call to holiness. I have to be the first one to make the sacrifices, to live right, to reach sainthood, if I expect them to follow. And that has been a revelation for us, because although we knew it on a practical level, we didn't realize how little we were actually doing it. In fact, in just two weeks of CLAA, we have realized that our lives were completely ordered around the wrong things and anchored in self-defeating ideas. Our actions didn't match our purpose, even though we thought we were so "different" from everybody else. Really, we were the same, just calling ourselves different.
What do I mean? I mean that instead of having a simple life anchored in prayer and work, we had a complicated life anchored in leisure. And it showed in our kids.

The first step in CLAA is not enrolling the kids and diving into the academics. The first step is to re-organize your family life so that you can handle the academics. Before enrolling, most families take a year or two just to teach their kids the basics of a simple, ordered life: family prayer times, chores, discipline, obedience, respect, sacrifice, etc. They learn to par down their meal plans so that they are healthy and sensible and not gluttonous. They learn to be a little self-sufficient and get their finances in order so they don't have to depend on anyone. They learn to be less social and more sacrificial. Then, once they have figured out the basics of the simple life, (which does NOT have to mean a farming life, of course-- just to be clear)  they can begin the academics. It's like enrolling in a saint factory (as if Marriage wasn't enough. :D) The hardest thing about it is just doing it..... because it's one thing to say "I start tomorrow!" But it's quite another to actually make the changes a good home education for your children requires. We already thought we were there. Now it is clear that we haven't even begun to scratch the surface. In fact, here I am writing a blog at 6 am instead of going for a morning run. You see what I mean? Guess I better write the rest in a few minutes, when I get back. :)

One of the first steps to a working schedule is to purge your home. Family watching too much TV? Throw the TV out. Spending too much time doing laundry? Get uniforms. This is something that my husband and I actually enjoy-- people are always amazed/annoyed at how easy it is for us to throw away/get rid of stuff that we have been given/had for years etc. We hate clutter, and when we live alone again, our house will be much easier for us to live in. (His dad is a packrat.) The reason CLAA families tend to do this step is twofold.
First, because "stuff" gets in the way of a holy life. It's a slap in the face of materialism to say: "I don't need or want that." It's also because CLAA families adhere to a rigid work schedule according to their family's needs. The best advice I have ever received thus far about time management has been this: "Make the family schedule. Get rid of EVERYTHING that gets in the way of the schedule."
Now, before you go thinking this means that at 7 AM you better be done cooking breakfast, or else, let me reassure you.... it's not so much the rigid time frame as it is the rigid structure of the schedule that matters: "Don't fool around," is the message. "Life is too short and we are supposed to be becoming saints. Is this activity/ conversation/ etc. wise? Is it helpful according to your goals?" It is serious. Too serious for many.

One of the first steps of purging is paring down the clothes. We have too many clothes. We stuff them in closets and forget about them. We vainly keep a million combinations of clothes around and for what? To leave off doing laundry for days on end?? To gripe at the mountain of laundry that ensues? Especially for large families, the clothing is usually the first thing to go.
One of the easiest ways to do this is to create family uniforms. Now I know what you're thinking... because I thought it too. UNIFORMS??
However, you have heard me say over and over again here that the best times of my life were the simplest-- in particular when I was in Basic Training in the US Army. And what did I have in the Army? A locker, containing three sets of work clothes, one set of dress clothes. A Bible. a pen. a journal. a flashlight. Some soap. a toothbrush. A hairbrush. The thing with the Army uniforms was that they were the best, most practical outfit for women and men to get pretty much ANYTHING done. There is nothing in the known universe you wouldn't be totally comfortable doing in BDUs. They are amazing. Once I was out of the army, I had so many clothing choices, and they were largely appealing and attractive, but none of them were as liberating as my old BDUs. We hardly wasted any time doing laundry, worrying about how we looked.... All we had time for was work, prayer, and a really rewarding rest period. (if we earned it.) Which is kinda the point of what we are trying to do here... only less.... military. or is it?
Sacrifice is the key to the Christian life.... and the Christian life is meaningless without it. We are weak, so we need discipline to help us do the impossible. I can tell you that nothing in the world is more rewarding than succeeding at a difficult task after enduring sleeplessness, hunger, and angry drill sergeants. The thrill of having overcome is like nothing else. The Christian life is good, but only if we endure to the end, and only if we allow ourselves to be disciplined into sacrifice. There is glory on the other side of pain.... we shouted it all day long during difficult field exercises: Pain is temporary, pride is forever. Pain is weakness leaving the body. Etc. etc. Kinda like my favorite quote from St Josemaria Escriva: "Blessed be pain. Loved be pain. Sanctified be pain. . . Glorified be pain!" (The Way, 208)

Sacrifice requires courage, and uniforms require courage, because we are essentially getting rid of everything that stands between us and God with regards to our lengthy list of excesses in the vanity department. (and no, that doesn't mean that a uniform should be UGLY. On the contrary.... we should never look frumpy or unattractive.) It doesn't mean that your uniform should be SIMILAR (like, the same thing every day. It can be one Monday outfit, one Tuesday outfit, one Wednesday outfit, etc.) What it does mean is that your clothes should be simplified. It shouldn't take half the day to determine what to wear to a certain event or on a certain occasion. Time wasted we will never get back. Simplify.

The considerations when making a uniform for yourself or for the kids are really simple:

1. What does modesty mean to your family?
2. What does your family do in a day?
3. How does your family manage laundry?

When it comes to uniforms, quality should always win over quantity (the French know this intrinsically, since they traditionally own very few items that are very good, high quality clothing. Americans, on the other hand, have closets overflowing with cheaply made clothes.) Colors choices should be harmonious so that you can mix and match if needed. And most people who have been doing this a while recommend about 10 pieces of clothing per person. (on average.)

So for example, in my house:

Modesty in dress means hiding those parts of our bodies which need not be revealed. At one time, it meant covering completely. But over time we came to see how this alienated us from the very world we lived in, and didn't fulfill our purpose of being "just like everyone else, only different." For us today, this means wearing decent clothes that don't give away our bodies. (General rules of thumb for us girls, for example, would be skirts past the knee and sleeves that reach the elbows as much as possible. Collars that aren't too low. Etc.)

In one day, we exercise, cook, clean, play, walk, garden, stand, sit, hostess, etc. So we need clothes that suit all of those purposes. (Good luck figuring it out, I STILL am.) An important consideration here is looking feminine-- it would be easy for me to order some BDU pants and tee shirts and be done, but is that really giving my husband the best of my womanhood? Not really, because he enjoys me looking girly.

My family does laundry as it comes in. We don't have a laundry day, we just do it as the hamper gets full.

I will post what our uniforms end up being later once we have figured it out, but for now suffice to say that I like the idea, that we are going to be implementing it, and that it isn't something that will happen all at once, but rather happen over time. I've been thinking about it for a few weeks now.

About two years ago, a friend approached me with the idea of having a "mommy uniform" to help keep me sane. I liked it, and over time, I implemented it to some degree. (I currently switch off wearing one of three long tiered skirts and a 3/4 sleeve tee from Old Navy during the week. On Tuesdays I usually wear jeans and a shirt because I have a bunch of mommies over and want to look less.... little house on the prairie. :D) It had never occurred to me to give the kids a uniform too, but now it makes so much sense! And something else I noticed.... here in North Carolina, even the PUBLIC SCHOOL children have uniforms!! Why wouldn't we?

For those of you who are interested, here is a link to the original article on the CLAA website that got me thinking. Do you have school uniforms? Mommy uniforms? Workout or Work uniforms? Tell me about them.