Archive for September, 2010

and it’s only Tuesday.

Jesus, I trust in You!


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It’s 5:30am. Do you know where you are?

I’m not sure I do. I’m sitting in front of the tube, watching Sesame Street, with my naked, peanut butter covered daughter standing in front of me. Marshal Grover and his wonderhorse, Freddie, are riding into the sunset. I’m dreading the imminent arrival of Elmo. In the words of Nancy Kerrigan, “WHY??? WHYYY????”

Well, I’ll tell you.

Last night, we ran out of diapers. We put Philomena to bed in a swim diaper, thinking, “We will change her after Will gets back from the store!”

Oh, how we laughed. We were young then, and foolish. Unfortunately, the shops were all close d by the time Will got to them. He called and offered to go to our 24 hour Walmart, which is a bit of a schlep. I uttered the now immortal words “Don’t worry about it, honey. You’re tired. We”ll get through the night.”

Foolish, foolish Lydia.

At 1am, our darling girl woke up, screaming that she was all wet. Pick baby up, strip crib, change LAST remaining swim diaper. Remake crib. Place child in crib. Sing her to sleep. Stagger to bed. Bear in mind, Will and I stayed up until 12:30 watching, I kid you not, a Gamera movie. Pass out. 5:30am, Philomena screams again. She is all wet. Will informs me it’s almost 6, so let’s just get up. He goes to Walmart, because it’s Sunday and nothing is open until 10. Philomena is naked, chilly, and standing on the floor in front of Sesame Street.

Well, Will’s back now. The diaper is changed. We’re getting ready to go to the 8am mass, so we can get it over with engage fully in the mysteries of our Faith. Philomena is cheerful for now, and giving out hugs. Coffee is on the way.

Pray for us!

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Awesomeness is my family.

“oooh. Music!”

“I feel the music!”

“I AM the music!”


This balloon hat and the ensuing chase earned the admiration of hipsters. Truly, a remarkable thing.

Philomena and her daddy coming into town on the Wells Fargo stagecoach. Philomena was not happy with the bright lights.

This one is from a while back. I post it in honor of Fatima Caravan #265’s audience appearence on EWTN. It’s my husband! He glows! He wears funny hats!

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Philomena Phamily Phriday

Philomena and her daddy have perfected their night time ritual by playing Monster Daddy and Monster Philomena. Every night, Philomena goes to get daddy to say prayers and then yells “Chase me, Monster Daddy!”  He chases her to the nursery, where we say “monster prayers”.  Adding funny voices is the only way to get Philomena to stay engaged. Then, it’s onto Monster Daddy’s back for a ride to the crib, and special “27 monster kisses”, followed by a monster hug, a monster kiss, a monster nuzzle, and, to top everything off, a monster head butt. She then says “goodnight, Monster Daddy. I love you,” in a growly monster voice.

I don’t know if this is normal.

We took Philomena to the pro-life prayer yesterday, and while she played on the sidewalk she started jumping up and down, saying “my brothers and sisters!” over and over again.

Last night we went to the first night of the Jazz Festival. Philomena got to be outside in the park after dark, and had a great time. We discovered that she is a rocker/hippie chick. She headbanged to  a Led Zeppelin-esque band that opened. She danced like she was at Woodstock. She received a balloon hat that had a balloon fish attached to it about two feet in front of her face.  She ran around in that hat,  trying desperately hard to catch the fish.  She went on the Wells Fargo stage coach twice, tried to breakdance, and charmed a very nice hipster hobo couple. I’ll try to get pictures up soon.

She decided to help prepare dinner by holding one of the cucumbers I was about to chop into a salad. She took a look at it,  said “I’m Larry the Cucumber” and sang the Hairbrush Song.

It’s been a good Philomena week.

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Pro-life Thursday

Not a lot today. It was a discouraging, frustrating, busy for the Savannah Medical Center day today. My daughter and I played on the sidewalk and laughed with each other. I kept thanking God for her, and wishing I could tell the six women who I watched go in how much it hurt not to have the two babies we lost through miscarriage, and how, if they couldn’t care for their babies I knew people who would take them.  There was a  crazy person to head off at the pass, and a nurse who dropped her friend off and said she just didn’t care if it was a baby.

Getting discouraged. At the same time, it makes me love motherhood so much more.  It’s more precious when you know how easily it can be snatched away.

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Here I wish to say a special word to the many young people present. Dear young friends: only Jesus knows what “definite service” he has in mind for you. Be open to his voice resounding in the depths of your heart: even now his heart is speaking to your heart. Christ has need of families to remind the world of the dignity of human love and the beauty of family life. He needs men and women who devote their lives to the noble task of education, tending the young and forming them in the ways of the Gospel. He needs those who will consecrate their lives to the pursuit of perfect charity, following him in chastity, poverty and obedience, and serving him in the least of our brothers and sisters. He needs the powerful love of contemplative religious, who sustain the Church’s witness and activity through their constant prayer. And he needs priests, good and holy priests, men who are willing to lay down their lives for their sheep. Ask our Lord what he has in mind for you! Ask him for the generosity to say “yes!” Do not be afraid to give yourself totally to Jesus. He will give you the grace you need to fulfill your vocation.

                                                                      -Benedict XVI during his UK visit

(h/t The Anchoress)

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Happy Padre Pio Day!

If you’re anything like me, you love curmudgeonly saints. Padre Pio is a holy curmudgeon extraordinaire. Yes, he was gentle and kind and altogether wonderful. He was also not afraid to lay the smack down when necessary. He’s adopted my little girl, and he’s my beautiful sister Rachel’s patron.  He had the stigmata for fifty years, and bore it patiently while all sorts of people tried to tell lies about him. The Devil regularly physically beat him up. He is further proof that Franciscans are just plain awesome.

Have a glass of chianti in his honor.  And get to confession.



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