What does it mean to be a Little Boy?

     My fearless adventurer, my Kamikaze Kid. My heart-healer from the first miscarriage. The brother for the first son, my perpetual motion machine, the penny swallower. The treasure I was terrified I'd lose when I had that episode of costochondritis when I was about 7 weeks pregnant with him.
     He wears out the knees of every pair of pants that come his way despite manufacturer's guarantees otherwise. It is virtually impossible for him to stay clean outdoors unless it is a direct line from door to vehicle. Even then, detours to dirt or puddles happen.

     He laughs, he forgives, he never stops moving. He asked his 15-year-old cousin, "Do you know who you're going to marry?" It wouldn't have surprised me if his next question had been, "If you could have a dinosaur as a pet, which one would you choose?" followed by, "What is your favorite kind of ice cream?"

     This is the little boy who hated, was terrified of, the swings. His whole body would go rigid and he'd scream until taken out. He would panic whenever he'd see his baby sister in one--not because he wanted it but because he was afraid for her. Now, though, he helps her in and out and even will push her.
     He takes her bug-hunting in the back yard and once stepped in when a game of "chase" got too rowdy for his taste. Never mind his sister's playmate was within a month and pound of her; he still felt it necessary to put himself between them, fists on his hips to say, "That's MY little sister." His tone implied that this interloper had better not take liberties--he was being watched.

     He is exhiliarated on his bicycle (now that the training wheels are securely attached, of course). He wanted to join his big brother, 5 years his senior, on the soccer field. He wants to play baseball and maybe he will.
     There is no "middle ground" with Louis, no "second gear." It's full-tilt. I've said that it's either Seal Team Six or 25 to life for him; he'll grow up to do something death-defying and noble or, well, he'll end up incarcerated in the effort. A desk job, architect, attorney, engineer? No way. Not enough adrenaline there. Fire fighter? Absolutely.
     This is the child who made me understand those backpacks with leashes. He is my "picnic bathroomer" even when he's in his own back yard, or the park full of other families, or at the soccer field. No shame or modesty in that one. This is the one who, when he goes missing somewhere like a park or museum, I just throw up my hands and pray for. To panic is useless.

     He exhausts me, charms me, entertains and infuriates me. Like all my children, I love him more with every breath.

     And he's signed up for kindergarten at a Montessori school this fall. He can already read, so why do I feel the need to send him? And why him instead of anyone else? Am I sending my "problem child" off for someone else to deal with? Is that why I feel guilty? Or is it because I feel like I haven't tried hard enough to figure him out, to provide what he needs? Or am I just tired, or lazy, and can't bear to do kindergarten again? Am I misjudging things, putting academic expectations on him too early, seeing a problem where none exists that would be solved simply by time regardless of location?
    While I realize millions of children start kindergarten every fall, and both they and their mothers live to tell the tale, I am agonized over this. He, on the other hand, is excited. He gets a backpack! And lunchbox! He can't wait to go every day! I'll have to be sure he doesn't see my tears on his way out the door.

On skinned knees and wing clipping

In a strange convergence of circumstances, we've had some pretty profound discussions. Maybe I'm the only one who sees the parallels. I've been brewing this post for a couple weeks now.

Last Tuesday we had our homeschooling Catholic moms' Bible study. The girls--there are three eight-year-olds--donned helmets and went riding bikes around the block. It's a small block, maybe four or five houses per side, and they've walked it before in a large group (six kids or so?). Nonetheless I was a touch nervous as Madeleine hasn't done much turning on her bike. Of course, she returned with a skinned knee.
I had thought of this before. Knees covered in Band-aids are a staple of childhood, like splinters and mosquito bites. To attempt to prevent them, protect them completely from those things.... Down that road lay madness.
She didn't cry as I washed it, dabbed it with ointment, and bandaged it though there were some deep shuddering sighs and pinkish around the eyes. She did inform me later that it hurt some as we knelt for bedtime prayers; I figured some bruising on impact made sense and gave her a pass for a few days. Life goes on.

I've since finished reading E. B. White's Trumpet of the Swan during quiet time (Lou's naptime) as well. There is a chapter entitled "Freedom" near the end, where Louis (the main swan) and his love are offered perfect--and permanent--safety at a zoo. They will always have enough to eat, no danger of otter, fox, or other predators. The cost is Serena is pinioned--she gets a wing clipped and can no longer fly. Louis chooses freedom, the ability to go from the pond in Canada to the lake in Montana as the seasons dictate. He recognizes and accepts the risk of being hunted or not having enough food. It seems a simple enough choice. I pointed that dilemma out to the kids; they seemed thoughtful.

Also a couple weeks ago, as some readers already know, Dale's and my 11-year-old nephew was set upon by a dozen thugs who did enough damage to send him to the hospital. This is not a boy who shoots his mouth off or goes looking for trouble; he wasn't out after dark or in what would be recognized as a troubled area. He was walking around his neighborhood on a Sunday afternoon with his 9-year-old sister.
I was asked, "Where were any adults?" My guess is at home though their father may have been at work; perhaps one was grocery shopping. I'm not sure exactly where they should have been; to me, it seems a bit extreme to escort an 11-year-old and a 9-year-old around their own neighborhood.

Or is it? Since her birthday, coincidentally the same day as the assault, Madeleine has been permitted to walk the quarter mile to the party store on the corner alone. She's gone twice to get a gallon of milk. Yes, both times I watched the clock for the 20 minutes she was gone, keeping an ear cocked for her return while getting Lou down for his nap.
Am I leaving her vulnerable to such an attack? Should I be accompanying her still, an 8-year-old and me at over 8 months pregnant? When does "protective" become "paranoid"? Where is the line between clipping her wings and responsible parenting, and how many skinned knees will we have before she can fly?

Random questions--any help?

I'm unleashing the Power of the Blog, such as it is with my two dozen regular readers.

1. Does a Kindle get out-of-print books? Big sellers only? How obscure can the books be? See, I know and love a book junkie and a Kindle would really help with the the space issues. However, if it's only popular books or bestsellers, that helps very little. He's into relatively obscure Byzantine texts, out-of-print Catholic stuff, small publishers, etc. And once you have it on Kindle, do you have it forever or will it eventually zap off if it goes out of print?
The other, possibly more practical option, is for me to get the Kindle and donate/sell my various books. I don't have quite the eclectic taste my husband does.

2. I have a pair of boys' Bob the Builder overalls in a size 4T. Dale loved them and I'm planning on keeping them for Lou. However, we don't have the matching shirt I'm sure exists (I saw it on someone else's son). Does anyone know of, has anyone seen somewhere, a long sleeved Bob the Builder plaid shirt? How much will you want to part with it? And if you don't know what I'm talking about, don't worry. And yes, I've trid eBay and the closest I've found is a short sleeve one in 3T.

That is all for now. Thanks, folks!

Real Presence vs. Literal Presence

Our homeschooling group has a Moms' Night Out (MNO). There are usually a dozen regulars or so and we dish pretty explicitly. Some months ago, there were even pregnancy tests taken (one was positive). Really.

So it's no surprise that talk turns to religion. Don't get nervous; there is very rarely any raised voices or harsh words; it's almost always in the vein of clarifying one's own beliefs and educating others--not necessarily to convert anyone.

It seems a few folks had seen the video Common Ground and there were some questions about the Real Presence. I'd talked about it with one person before but... I'll be honest. My 1970's Glitterchesis was thirty years ago, and while Madeleine made her First Communion last year, Daddy did the teaching. I needed to knock some rust off.

See, in the video, Father Riccardo (whose orthodoxy I have no reason to question--quite the contrary) said something very like if not exactly, "It's not literally the Body of Christ." (I haven't seen the video--yet.) This gave me the screaming willies. I need to see this, and quickly, to put it in context.
I lead a busy life, so renting and watching videos is one of those things that gets done rarely. Instead, I mulled it. I thought about it. And I realized that "literally" has a very narrow meaning. It appeared I had two options.

Did I believe that Jesus' Body is literally made of unleavened bread and, were He to cut Himself shaving, would bleed wine? Hmm. That sounds vaguely familiar...

In a word--no.

The other apparent option if we're talking literally is that, upon consecration, the bread and wine undergo some kind of chemical change that turns them into Glorified Human Flesh and Blood-down to their molecular makeup.

That one is just as silly and even scientifically disprovable. Is there a third option?

I decided to consult the Catechism to see what actual Church teaching is. Paragraph 1374, in its entirety, says: The mode of Christ's presense under the Eucahristic species is unique. It raises the Eucharist above all the sacraments as "the perfection of the spiritual life and the end to which all the sacraments tend." In the most blessed sacrament of the Eucharist "the body and blood, together with the soul and divinity, of our Lord Jesus Christ and, therefore the whole Christ is truly, really, and substantially contained." "This presence is called 'real'--by which is not intended to exclude the other types of presence as if they could not be 'real' too, but because it is presence in the fullest sense: that is to say, it is a substantial presence by which Christ, God and man, makes himself wholly and entirely present."

Whoa. There's no talk of "literally." We look through the eyes of faith and see Jesus present sacramentally--really, truly present, but not literally. I mean, the Blessed Sacrament to my knowledge has not cured a woman's issue of blood by simple contact, restored sight, or healed a withered hand. While It may float on water, I don't think It will walk.

I'm not trying to be disrespectful. I'm trying to get a grip on the doctrine of the Real Presence and how to explain it. I read John 6 and it's like algebra--makes sense while I'm reading it but ten minutes later, it's gone. When I watch Common Ground, I'll bet Father Riccardo's explanation will help.

I think, though, that it's called a Sacred Mystery for a reason. Better minds than mine have thought about it for longer than I have time to do, and haven't been able to explain it fully. For those non-Catholics, "Sacred Mystery" is Catholic-speak for "let it go."

Varied questions

1. How long does it take to thaw a 17.46-pound turkey? Not roast; I'll read the directions for that. I just don't want to be digging the giblet bag out of ice on Christmas Eve.

2. How does one explain "Fear of the Lord" as one of the seven Gifts of the Holy Spirit to a seven-year-old?

3. What can a fourth child get for his first birthday that the others haven't gotten?

4. Is it worth it to go to dance class in potentially icy conditions the last time before two weeks off? I'm thinking "no," but will adapt if the ice doesn't materialize.

Thanks, all!

Christmas backorders

"Mom, why didn't I get the toy I really wanted? That I put on my list before Thanksgiving? Every other kid I know got one!"

"Well, honey... I'm so sorry. Santa left a note about that. It seems it fell off his sled on his long trip. He said that when he gets back to the North Pole and gets everything all straightened out after his busy season, he's going to have the UPS guy bring it."

"When?"

"It may take a few weeks, but it'll get here."