It has been multiple decades since I have attended confession.   For the longest time I felt the tug of Catholic Guilt whenever I saw the confession schedule listed in the weekly bulletin.  As if I didn’t feel guilty enough keeping this little secret of noncompliance, I would then see my sweet friend Ana faithfully attending.  If Ana goes to confession then I know for sure I should be in that line!  I am not above this sacrament of confession – I just have issues; none of which are with the Catholic teachings.  To be honest, I am a coward.  Out and out a scaredy fraidy! (not really a word but I like to use it anyway)  Once you have been away from the structure of confession it is hard to be motivated to get back in there.  The last thing I want to do is confess that I haven’t been there in 3 decades!   I would need to bring a snack and make a reservation for extra time just to get through my list – a lot happens in 30 years.

Since my last true and real confession I have comfortably subscribed to the very non-Catholic idea that if I admit my wrong doings to 3 friends it is no longer a sin and I am forgiven.  I know it is a loose idea that never gained any traction among my peers but it was a personal temporary fix for the rather large lack of recognition for my sins.  Then several years ago while sitting in church one Sunday morning, something miraculous came along I could really attach myself to.  The priest announced to the congregation there would be a Communal Penance Mass to absolve all our sins in one swoop.  That was it!!  This was the type of solution I was praying for to get me back in good standing with my faith.   I didn’t even realize this was an option but I wasn’t going to question it, I just needed to be at that mass!  From then on I would listen optimistically for another announcement of my new favorite confession of choice.  Unfortunately this is not a preferred mass, they are very difficult to come across and I would need to keep my radar up for other parishes announcing a Communal Penance Service.  I was willing to drive as far as I needed to get this done even though I was fully aware this was somewhat cheating.  I have plenty of sins to reconcile, so to wait for the Advent and Lent seasons in the unlikelihood this mass will come around again just to try and wedge in a quickie confession is definitely shameful.  Let me tell you though, the church was packed at this mass which was a strong indicator I was not the only parishioner avoiding confession!

True to my mission my ears perked up when the announcement was made during Advent this year that Fr. Charlie, a wonderfully entertaining priest that was visiting our parish, requested our attendance at a reconciliation mass.  I promptly cleared our schedule for Wednesday night.  This was my big break!   We walked proudly in practically skipping along, found our seats, got comfortable and waited for it all to begin.  It didn’t take too long for me to figure out this mass was not actually a Communal Penance mass at all, the only part that we achieved together was the prayer.  We were then introduced to several priests from surrounding parishes that joined us to hear our confessions.  Not only were we not getting a general absolution, we also weren’t going to be divided by a partition in a little room.  Holy Moses – this was face to face confessions; the worst kind!!

How did I land in this pickle!?  I tried to figure out my escape plan.  Do I gingerly walk out right now as if I am going to the bathroom and then have my children follow out intermittently one by one?  That seems terribly wrong…..Do I wait until we all stand to line up for the various priests and then just walk backwards until I reach the exit hoping no one notices?  Either strategy is flawed due to my kids being with me.  As the parishoners got up and bustled around to their priest of choice I stayed back in the pew pondering my options.  My biggest problem here is that ding dang Catholic Guilt again.  I can’t fudge this – I am supposed to be my children’s moral compass, their strong hold, their pillar of faith to the Catholic expectations that I have held them too.  If we leave they will exploit me for years to come and all credibility will be lost.

Not only was I grossly mistaken in the structure of this mass, I had written a lovely Christmas note to Fr. Charlie and got him a box of See’s Chocolates that I had planned to give him after mass to thank him for visiting our parish.   As it looked now, I was pathetically bribing the priest for mercy which was not the nature of my intent.  This was not working out at all in my favor.   It would be a miracle if the chocolates didn’t melt completely in the very tight grip of my sweaty little palms as I nervously waited in line to spill my heart out.

I have since looked up the Cannon Law on the great Communal Penance Mass that was a short lived solution to my sinful ways and learned that participating in the Communal Penance comes with a heavy obligation which requires in due time that I must attend a private confession.  There is a stop gap of sorts on a Communal Penance Mass in addition it is arguably not even an appropriate option unless we were in war or there were other grave factors in which the priest needed to receive confession from numerous parishioners in a short amount of time or if there was not appropriate time available to the parishioners to attend confession.  Now that I have this knowledge I realize, I was living sinfully for the last several years while so proudly partaking in the communal penance yet not following through on the expectations of the church law.  I have plenty of sins to deal with already and don’t need this one hanging over my soul also.  My ignorance was bliss though it sure didn’t make me right.

Though I bumbled along through confession, messed up the whole thing, and even cried, Fr. Charlie assured me that he and all the other priests at the monastery would be praying for me.  That pledge in itself was worth the humiliation I was feeling, though I am not sure it is a compliment to my confessions.   I gave him the chocolates and he sent me on my way.  By the end I had drained myself emotionally.  Facing fear does that but the walls of the church didn’t cave in, grace was mine and I left with my head held higher feeling like the weight of the world had been lifted off my shoulders.  I can confidently pledge to go back and maybe at the next confession I’ll even get there before Ana ~

If you haven’t set a YOU day on the calendar lately, delay no further, get it scheduled!  Today was MY day and it was fabulous!  I forget in between all the running around and balancing of life how very important it is to take a break and make a day for yourself.

I try to make the most out of a 3-day weekend.  That extra day is a priceless gift and I am not going to waste it on laundry, driving kids all over town or sleeping late.   Besides, knowing I have that extra day is enough for my brain to go into over drive.  I was all over the house Sunday getting odds and ends completed so that nothing could stand between me and this blessed opportunity.  My alarm went off at 9:15am with the message “no work today”.  That is all the encouragement I needed to jump in the shower and get going out the door with a cup of coffee, a cozy outfit, a pop of color on my lips, then Jackie and I were on our way to pick up my sister in law.

There was a parking spot second in from the front door at Nordstrom – I didn’t even have to race a Mercedes for it, it was just there waiting for me like the angels cleared a path just for us.  As we got out of the car there was a penny head side up – WHAT!?!  That clearly was a sign that this was all meant to be.  Our shopping went perfectly, every size was right without having to run back and forth from the racks while getting shut out of the dressing room in between.   The checkout line was quick, a coupon was in hand and Jackie had some new tops and a jacket in less than 45 minutes.  To be honest, I am not much of a shopper and this was not even my 11^th choice for how to spend the day off.  Sometimes you just go with the majority and hope for a good outcome. Going to the mall takes reinforcements.  Jackie is forever indebted to my niece Chelsea and/or my sister in law Tonia for always making some time to go so that Jackie can live out her teenage years with the same materialistic, fashion focus as most girls her age.  If left to me alone she would rarely see the inside of a mall.  So now you can understand the extra excitement for the parking spot and penny.  It is proof God loves Jackie!

While we were standing in the middle of the mall clogging up the flow of shoppers, trying to decide on our lunch options, I noticed over Tonia’s shoulder a Nestle Toll House Cookie stand!   This was a new attraction that we had never seen there before and yet another sign from the heavens that this day was all about my happiness.   It prompted us to get through the great lunch debate so we could eat and quickly make our way back to the cookie stand!   Every bite of those cookies was delightful.  Crunchy on the edges soft in the middle, oh yes, this was my day.

Our next stop was to get our nails done.  It has been years since I have had a manicure.  Again it all went so well, I was grateful for every single minute and the best little trio of ladies.  As we drove back to Tonia’s we agreed not to wait as long for a day out.  We admired each other’s nails, talked about the texture and taste of the cookies, went over the details of our purchases, and then we saw a rainbow!  Does it get any better than that?!  – I think not!

This week’s splendid mess is brought to you by the letter “C” for CRAP and the number “3” for the amount of children that claim they didn’t create this spill.  As per the standard operating procedure of most households, these things just happen miraculously on their own.  If anything, it is my fault for bothering to ask who might have done it.  The logical plan is to make them clean it up together but let’s be realistic for a minute; three teenagers cleaning up a concentrated, slick of detergent is sure to be smeared every which way with an entire roll of paper towels (they would never use the towels already sitting right there in front of them) and what will remain is a slippery residue that of all people, I will fall and break my head on the very next time I go in there with an armful of laundry.  So efficiently and for the sake of safety, I get to work myself, strategically using dark towels, white towels and other laundry to soak up the detergent.  Now I can rotate the appropriate detergent soaked laundry in the washing machine to clean the rest of the loads of laundry waiting for me in the hall.  BRILLIANT – which makes this situation a bit less aggravating.  What does still aggravate me is that every time I walk into the laundry room now, there is a stream of blue tears dripping from the rubber seal inside the door of the dryer going down the front to the tile floor.  I open the door, wipe all the way around it again using a damp cloth and yet, a day later, still dripping.  Not quite as thrilling as the weeping Mary statue in Israel that 1,000’s of people flock to, though I do think of that statue every time I see that blue tear weeping down the front.  My dryer is crying as if sympathizing (yep, I am claiming my dryer feels sorry for me – it’s been a long day, don’t judge me on this one)

As my kids get older I allow myself to believe we have covered every type of mishap short of burning the house down, but no – there is still something new at every turn.  I received the shout out from Jackie “Mom, you might want to see this”, which I knew for sure by her tone and urgency, that I was NOT going to want to see whatever she was referring to on this fine day.  When I mustered the courage to go downstairs and see exactly what the disturbance was, it reminded me of an incident when Corbin and Casey were little and had locked me out of the laundry room as you can read in my yet to be published book, chapter 5 “Brothers – Tell Me if This Hurts?”:

“Corbin and Casey have fashioned themselves as quite the industrious young men through the years.   At the tender age of 3 and 4 ½ they tried their hand at car detailing which meant washing my car while I was making them lunch.  I have found that most of their plans are launched and promptly executed in the time it takes me to make lunch.  Unfortunately they washed the car while it was in the garage but they sure beamed with pride as they enthusiastically told me about their big surprise.  They tried to vacuum it too but Corbin can’t use an appliance without taking it apart first, after getting the entire contents of the vacuum emptied all over the wet garage and up the side of the freshly washed van he could not manage to get the top back on and had to forgo the rest of the job.

I was learning fast to chase down silence.  The day they decided to help with laundry was really a sight.  They were always slightly ahead of my learning curve, so as I went looking for the source of trouble I was stopped momentarily for they had locked the laundry room door to delay my efforts.  I could hear but not see them, and since the sounds were alarming I did not have the time to run up the stairs for what would become my secret weapon, the butter knife.  This works swiftly at unlocking doors and should be with me always.  In the interest of time on this occasion I had to pound on the door, I knew the washing machine was on and the lid was up because it was loud, not muffled as it would be if I was washing a load of clothes.  There was all kinds of fun going on inside, up until I pounded on the door.  Then there was swishing and scurrying, slipping about and sliding and I could hear Corbin saying “Uh –oh, come on Casey; just a minute momma”!   I banged again.  This was taking a lot longer than it ought to since the washing machine was less than a step from the doorknob.  The rattling of the door, several failed attempts from their little fingers trying to unlock the door and then it opened with 2 little boys standing there, eyes wide, looking innocent as if nothing had been going on in there, however the wet legs with bubbles all up and down their bodies mixed with the dirt from their morning of play in the backyard indicated otherwise. They had taken a grand ride in the spin cycle of the washing machine and they were prepared to plead the fifth if it came to that.  All the evidence was there in front of my face and yet they were comfortable to make their plea of not guilty.  I am raising liars!  Not just a fib here and there, they can look me right in the face and lie without hesitation or any presence of guilt.  It is more than disturbing to know this is what I am up against.”

……and 12 years later, not too much has changed.  I will count my blessings that it was only a bottle of Tide this go around. Good night moon!

Thirteen years ago on January 11^th I had my only daughter.  What an adventure it has been!!

Unlike the relatable coming of age book written by Judy Blume, “Are You There God It’s Me Margaret” that preteens nationwide gravitated to in my youth – my daughter forged her own industrial pubescent experiment that created a divide between her brothers and her.  An experiment that resulted in the first ever realization that she was no longer one of them.  The little sister that once received 2 staples in her head from wrestling them or would keep up with their terrible ideas including being shoved down the slide while stuffed in a hockey bag with only her head peeking out the top was making a subtle announcement that changes were on the horizon!

There was no pre-warning of these changes for me to prepare or provide motherly advice, they began happening quickly and have been consistent since.  She started with a routine preteen activity that most girls test run but only a girl with 3 older brothers would stuff her bra with aluminum foil.  My dear misguided Jackie came beaming out of school one afternoon with a smile from ear to ear.  Such joy tends to be a 20/80 chance when exiting school, which I will add, was usually not in our favor.  There are days when I can see from her direct trek to the car at a fast clip with a serious face, and slouched shoulders that it is going to be a long drive home.  I am inclined to lock the doors and speed out of carpool without letting her in the vehicle.  Raising a daughter is exhausting at times, it is at those times that I need to rally, not run away, but push forward with every ounce of compassion.  I get my pep talk ready, move the travel pack of Kleenex into reach and plaster my face with an optimistic smile to try to balance the tears I know are about to unleash for any number of reasons.  I have to be on my best game to move through this with great understanding so it doesn’t take over our evening.

Thus the confusion for her extreme joy on this particular day.  Apparently she had taken the Costco size heavy duty aluminum foil that I had used to wrap left over pizza in for her lunch, tore it in ½, wadded the sections up and while in the bathroom stall at school, stuffed the bumpy, ridged, unforgiving, balls of foil into her training bra.  At carpool she was proudly walking to the car though I was not able to identify the source of her good spirits, it was an odd enthusiasm until she couldn’t stand her secret any longer.  “Did you notice anything different about me?”  she asked Casey with her shoulders back, face beaming brightly.  Casey studied her for a moment with no response, we were all waiting for the big conclusion.   She flicked the aluminum lumps with her finger and exclaimed “I have BOOBS and their hard as rocks!” Casey dryly responded “you might want to work on your symmetry if this is going to be a new thing”.   The sarcasm did not faze her.  She was more than happy to recount the steps she took and her handy work of constructing this distorted rite of passage.

Geez Jackie!!!  Those had to have hurt.  Her quest to appear older came with consequences that she was willing to endure.  She shamelessly insisted on wearing the ridiculous implants to her piano lesson which was a compromise we could agree on.  I give her credit for carrying it through without a single complaint though I did suggest the more traditional and gentle approach of toilet paper for future attempts.  Gladly this was a onetime deal.

My tomboy princess is now 13!  We packed away her American Girl dolls over a year ago.  The sturdy cardboard books I read over and over when she was a toddler are now replaced with novels, book series and teen magazines on her book shelf.   She sneaks through my closet to wear my clothes and she knows way too many personal facts about her favorite boy band, 5 Seconds of Summer which recently replaced her past obsession of One Direction.  The next several years will be a delicate balance of meeting her needs when prudent, staying steady in our structure, enforcing expectations and keeping a soft shoulder to lean on.  The best is yet to come…..

Bedtime is moments away; I have just completed all the extra details for the week ahead.  Christmas break is very welcomed time off, however, by this point I am anxious to get back to a productive schedule.  The over committed holiday season is finally wrapped up and we return to our much needed routine of school, work, homework and practice in a hurry tomorrow morning.

The first week of Christmas break is great but anything beyond that is just running-a-muck.  Having my kids home creates a swirl of instant mayhem with late nights equaling long lazy mornings, chores neglected, lack of sleep for me, unorganized meals especially when they eat the ingredients I need for dinner while I am at work and several un-important calls I receive while at work, one of which to tell me that Corbin and Casey are forcing their sister to do the Jillian Michaels Extreme Shed and Shred workout which I couldn’t care less about – follow the golden rule kids to only call if someone is bleeding or the house is on fire.  I cannot get them back to school fast enough!!   I was practically skipping and singing all day long with excitement.

Getting out the door is not a pleasant task and in no way a cooperative effort.  I have to implement and enforce rules to encourage movement towards our goal of getting to the car; my leveraging tool is missing their sport that evening to whoever can’t make it to the car on time.   The next crucial step starts with any sign of life I can rally.  They are not instantly responsive to my voice but if I can just get them to move a leg, wave a hand for a millisecond or better yet, lift their head ever so slightly, I am confident their brain will soon enter the race from pillow to being seated in the car.   By the 2^nd or 3^rd attempt at waking these bear cubs my approach becomes militant, not like the tenderness and joy they received in their younger years – I miss those happy faces in the morning.  My current day zombies bump along the halls aimlessly from 5:50am to 6:40 while I attempt to keep our time line in check (generally through gritted teeth and a tone that would resemble a cheerleader on crack) – it a mess at best but somehow we all make it to 3 destinations via 2 counties and 5 cities by 8:30am.  That is enough of a success for me!

Bright and early tomorrow we will hit the traffic once again, stopping for our traditional McDonald Monday of 2 sausage McGriddles, 1 breakfast burrito, an orange juice and a chocolate milk.  Though I am not a big fan of Ronnie McD food, this is our motivational gift to Monday that started when the boys began high school.  We used to only participate in a family favorite of Filet o’ Fish Fridays during Lent but have since added Monday’s however that is the extent that I am willing to contribute to that big red clown.  Jackie doesn’t join in the McDonald Monday experience but is a good sport to get up a few extra minutes early for the stop while she eats her apple and peanut butter on the go.

The next hour will be spent crawling down Interstate 5 at 20 MPH.  We listen to the radio, critique the topics, flip to our favorite songs and discuss all the happenings in life.  These moments creeping along through traffic are worth every minute and continue to strengthen our unity.  It’s during this drive I recognize the connective camaraderie which is the mortar that will seal their sibling relationship way beyond these final years at home.  The rest of the day will be spent going different directions fulfilling varying interests though this hour we are stuck with each other is priceless.  Memories in the making!

             What a difference a year makes!!   – not exactly a miracle but whatever

                                                 December 31st, 2014  12:15am               January 1st, 2015    12:15pm

I slid into 2015 sideways, not how I had planned such a grand number as 2-0-1-5!  I caught that flu bug that I am glad just kicked my butt physically (aches and fever) and not internally (I don’t think I need to go into specifics on that).  As I crawled into bed early Tuesday afternoon, defeated by the seasonal germ invasion I had heard was going around, I instructed my kids to get themselves dinner and a box of Theraflu – they managed getting dinner and forgot the second instruction.  Not to worry, 17 year olds love to drive so once they realized the missing action they piled back into the car and headed to the left side, 3^rd shelf of aisle 14 at the grocery store.  18 hours and 3 envelopes of Theraflu later and I was ready to rally for the very last few hours of 2014. This morning I woke up to a sunny, healthy 2015!  I am not one to be sick, I am not boasting, it just isn’t one of my things – like anyone else, I have several other challenges as you will or have noticed but health is not on that list at this point and I am very grateful.  It is a rare moment like this when I believe God and I are in sync.  That is not a thought that I have had often in my life, I tend to have more questions than answers from Him, but this small instance of grace in action is hopeful.  He and I both know that I have no sick time, He has clearly seen how quickly things pile up when this mom is down and He must have realized that every dollar of my paycheck is needed.   I appreciate the mercy and I am glad to be up and ready for 2015!  I have some big plans for the next 365 days and I can’t be wasting them.

I have been keeping tabs on social media and there is an excitement to the year.  Last year we globally drew a line in the sand from the instability and financial woes that had been casting darkness on so many for several years but change takes time so as we fought hard through 2014 and could exit with our heads held high; it is this year, 2015 that will be the breakthrough.  I can’t finish the race I started last year with a 100.5 fever.  I can’t be playing catch up right out of the gate!!!   I need every minute of this new fresh year to count and I am so excited for every little stride that comes my way. Today it is going to be clean sheets along with a thoughtful delivery of homemade turkey soup from my neighbor.  And so it begins!