My three-year-old, Jack, was watching me shave yesterday morning before leaving for church. Small rivulets wended their way from razor to hand to the lowest place possible, my elbow, and dripped. "What's dat?" he asked.
"That's water dripping from my elbow," I said, trying not to cut off my ear.
"No," he said. "It's milk coming from your boobies. Dat one," indicating my right nipple, "has chocolate milk and dat one has juice."
So my pictures are old. My blog is somewhat in disrepair, to be sure, ungroomed by its master, unfed. Kicked around some. But that's just where I am. Why should I post my thoughts online when I can do the job with pen and paper, just as well? The answer, I suppose, is family and friends more than anything - those who bother, those who are interested in the latest details of my quiet, quiet life (other than the screaming children, of course). But I stand guilty of negligence - I don't deny it is true. The slideshow, by the way, is entirely outdated. My daughter Cate, the baby in the slides, is now taking steps and exploring her world. So I need an update. But before I get to it, which may take a while, let me get to updating all y'all.
This weekend started with two inches of snow. I had to drive twenty minutes up the road to the nearest toy dispensary (the evil Wal-mart) to buy toys for Jack Henry, who turned three years old on Saturday. The highway was a sheet of ice and 4WD is not much help in such scenarios. But I persisted and made it safely, with very little drifting across lanes, and acquired the toys. I had Anna, Avery and Will with me and we ate breakfast at the in-store eatery (the evil McDonald's). By the time we came home, the ice was completely gone, leaving only some spotty slush along turn lanes.
Yesterday, in case you missed it, was Valentine's Day. I went to early Mass, taught Faith Formation, and then attended a catechist meeting. My family stayed home because my wife was not about to troll around Lexington for three hours with a truck full of loud children and a belly full of a 9-month-large boy. (Our seventh child is ominously due around the Ides of March.) I got home and we had a new cat. The same cat/kitten that has been driving me nutso for over a week with his crying outside my doors, begging to be fed and let in. The crying arose after my wife fed him and because my children, when home, are outside loving on him. My wife even said a prayer to St. Francis of Assisi about the cat - and she is not in the habit of praying to saints - so while I was gone, my newly-three-year-old boy, let the cat in. And in he stayed. I named him Francis because I figured the good saint deserved it. I honestly don't know if the cat will make it, as all he does is sleep. Laura will have to take him out to the vet one of these days. (We only have one functional vehicle at the moment, if you haven't yet caught up.) But Francis is quiet and seemingly content. And he seems entirely unphased by all the hissing and spitting from our 7-year-old cat, Talullah. He just stares at her, like he would a log. So he has some chutzpah, which is laudable, I suppose. Though he could be too sick to care if an older cat rips him apart. However, he will need "tutoring" if he remains, in the Larsonian sense of the word, if you know what I mean.
Lastly, I am currently struggling through a particular teaching of the Church. Pray for me, if you will. I feel as if the Church demands something of me and is unwilling to help with the burden she lays on my shoulders. Of course, I also understand that the Church expects things of me for my salvation. But I am confused at the moment. And there are also times I feel as if God has kicked me to the curb over this one, since the issue is far thornier due to the abnormal arrangement of my life. I am weak and often find it difficult to trust. So this is a matter I am taking to prayer over Lent, which begins Wednesday. The Orthodox seem more reasonable on this issue, more in line with the spirit of the law in question, than does my own Church. Alas, I am not Orthodox. Which may be a good thing as I would not be eating any meat or dairy for the next few weeks if I were.
Perhaps in the days to come, it will be something I feel I can more freely divulge here, but I'd rather talk to flesh-and-blood people about it first. Including God. Lord, have mercy. Right now it's not a conversation so much as it is a personal struggle.
Thank you all so much for your prayers today. Jack Henry is out of surgery. It was quick and successful. Jack was born with having only one testicle descended. The exploratory surgery's purpose was to find the other to place it, or find the remnants of the other and remove it. We are very thankful that they were able to find the second testicle and bring it down. He also had a small hernia that needed fixing, and that also went well.
I must say, Jack did much better than I would have done had someone been cutting on me down there. The boy's got balls (*hits drums* - Ba-dum-CH!).
Seriously though, thank you for your prayers. It was an anxious morning.
Please pray for Baby Jack Henry, who is nine months old today (and for his mommy and daddy). Tomorrow (11-14) he will be undergoing outpatient surgery and we're all a bit nervous, except for Baby Jack who's completely oblivious. It's not serious, but he will be put under for the surgery. It's also our first child to undergo any kind of surgery (other than stitches and staples).
Please pray for us, for no complications and for peace.
We visited a mountain today. We swam under its waterfall, I took pictures, and I discovered, while making a piddling hike, how out-of-shape I am. (My mirror says, a bit wryly for my taste, "I showed you so." My scale, he just lies low, fearing to draw my attention.)
I huffed my way back up from the falls - pushing Gigantor uphill in a stroller over rocks and through sand, with the stroller skiing as often as rolling. Gigantor, by the way, is precious little sweet Jack Henry. Here he is - his three-year-old brother is holding him, or being held down by him, depending on where you're sitting, I suppose.
Jack's Charminy soft. Squeezably so. When he wakes up in the morning and I hold his warm body against my chest, I am exorcised. Something restrictive, stressful, sick leaves me. It is similar to what writing does for me. But Jack makes it easy. He just has to be. I catch him staring at me from his car seat, his head is craned up and backward to see me driving, to see me. He sees me see him and he smiles. And, with a smile, something oppressive, something wrong peels away from me. There are so very many instruments of God's grace.
Jack Henry Lyons was baptized today, this fourth Sunday of Easter, this Good Shepherd Sunday. Here he is with Fr Jack.
The King of Love my Shepherd is,
Whose goodness faileth never;
I nothing lack if I am His
And He is mine for ever.
Where streams of living water flow
My ransomed soul He leadeth,
And where the verdant pastures grow
With food celestial feedeth.
Perverse and foolish oft I strayed,
But yet in love He sought me,
And on His shoulder gently laid,
And home rejoicing brought me.
In death's dark vale I fear no ill
With thee, dear Lord, beside me;
Thy rod and staff my comfort still,
Thy cross before to guide me.
Thou spread'st a table in my sight;
Thy unction grace bestoweth;
And O what transport of delight
From Thy pure chalice floweth!
And so through all the length of days
Thy goodness faileth never:
Good Shepherd, may I sing Thy praise
Within Thy house for ever.
Jack Henry was born at 11:38 a.m. on February 13. He weighs 8 lb. 4 oz. Both he and Mom are doing great.
Thank you for your prayers.
If I can ever work out this uploading files/pictures problem, I'll post pictures.
Woo-hoo!
