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Browsing Tag: patience

In the Aftermath

When you send your kiddos to Catholic school, and one of your children is in 2nd grade (first communion time is INTENSE, y’all), you find yourself at church a lot once spring rolls around. A LOT. I mean, a lot a lot. On Facebook I jokingly called the month of May Faithapalooza–sooooo many church visits–and I wasn’t really kidding. Life around here has been in Catholic Overtime. I keep looking at David out of the corner of my eye to see if he’s freaked out yet, but so far he’s staying strong. He even made it through one church visit where there was unexpected rosary time (unexpected by me, I mean. Everybody else was prepared, well-used prayer beads in hand, while I looked like the dunce who mistook the church for a coffee shop and was wondering where my latte was. I said I was Catholic. I didn’t say I was, like, Best Catholic Ever). He only gave me an incredulous look once. Or twice. I can’t remember. I was still waiting for my coffee. In the middle of Faithapalooza, I went to…

Patience

I was downstairs in the family room folding laundry (surprise, there).  There girls were playing in the living room above me, which was only a half of a flight of steps away. I was lost in my own thoughts a little bit, foldingfoldingfolding, when the girls’ chatter escalated just enough to break through my navel-gazing.  From the sound of things, Saoirse was helping Quinn learn her colors, and had quickly grown exasperated: SK:  “Quinn! We’ve been talking about it every single day when Mom doesn’t see us and I’m not at school.” Quinn:  (unintelligible) SK:  “You know what it is!” Quinn:  “Pink!” SK:  “Yes! You got it!  Now, do you know what color this is?” I stopped in mid-fold to write down what they were saying.  It took me 24 years of life to decide to become a teacher. And, to tell you the truth, I thought I was a pretty decent one at the time. But Saoirse is four, and insists that she doesn’t want to have any other job in the world when she grows up than being a…

Saving Up for Her Therapy Now

I made my daughter cry today.  I raised my voice at my 3-year-old Saoirse (some would say yelled), at close proximity, at a decibel sustained for entirely too long, and made her cry.  I shouldn’t have yelled at her.  There was no reason to get that angry. We’d just gotten back from the grocery store.  It’d started out as a good day.  SK had her swim lesson this morning, and we were flying high on the pride that comes from swimming on your own, without help, for a whopping three seconds without drowning (Going into swim lessons, I heard:  “I loooove Coach Mike!”  Leaving swim lessons:  “I don’t liiike going underwater.  Let’s not do that again.”).  We desperately needed some kid-appropriate food in the house (you know, fresh fruit, yogurt, lollipops), so I decided to hedge my bets and duck into the store while the girls were in a good mood.  We grabbed an early lunch at the in-store cafe, and I figured that a full belly should hold the kids off for the hour (I was feeling optimistic) I needed. But…