Me at 40...

On November 6, 1970 I was born.  I had a mother and father who decided late in life to give it one more shot.  They had 3 older children and it seemed they were quickly approaching their 40th birthdays and it was "now or never".  Why not have a baby in the house again?

So after the Fireman's Ball near Valentines Day of 1970 my parents cooperated with God to create ME!

I have had a life like many people, some hard times, some great times.  I have cried and I have laughed, mostly I have laughed!  Like many young girls I struggled with my image and popularity.  Guys are just guys; they are so "normal" no pretenses or confusion (at least until they get mixed up with girls).  I remember in 4th grade my mom advised me, "Be nice to the boys, they will be your truest friends, the friends you can trust the most."  Anyway, back to ME.

My face exploded into a rash of pimples when I hit 5th grade and it came on strong!  Kids were so very unkind and especially my friends (the girls) strange as that sounds.  I would spend hours looking at myself in the mirror crying and saying "I hate you".  When I think back to this I am amazed I survived, this was so painful.  I was ugly and "strange" compared to all the other girls.  I did not have cute clothes, I had long hair and I wore it in braids (completely against my wishes), I had acne on every inch of my face and spreading down my neck.  The only thing that saved me was that I was athletic and because of my competitiveness I began to excel at sports, mainly basketball.  But I kid you not, I was the only girl on the team who wore Zips.  Zips were the K-Mart tennis shoe made completely of plastic, hard plastic, with NO traction.  Oh I know I was the only girl because I looked at every shoe I saw, praying for one pair of Zips or Adidas or Converse.  No chance -EVERY girl on the team wore Nike's. I couldn't have Nike's because my mom was not going to spend $20 on a pair of shoes!!!  So every month she bought me a new pair of Zips for $5 because a month is about as long as they lasted.  I tried to sell the whole "Nike's will last longer and in the end save you money" routine to no avail.  Oh well, what this did was build character.

Moving on to the point of my story...It was July 25, 1981 and I was waiting for my parents to get ready for Mass.  For some reason we were going to Mass on Saturday night this particular week.  Anyway, a commercial came on about a special broadcast later that night about the upcoming Royal Wedding.  "What?  A Royal Wedding?  There are princess and princesses?  Kings and Queens?"  I was befuddled over this, I thought royalty was in fairy tales only, not real life.

I ran into my parents room and frantically informed them that we had to hurry home after Mass because there was a very important TV special I needed to watch that night and I just couldn't take "No" for an answer.  I remember my parents looking at each other and laughing at my forcefulness.  I was a really good kid and very compliant with whatever I was told.  p.s. I wasn't perfect and hated when kids called me that, but I was a really good kid who had to act tough so I wouldn't get my rear end kicked.

To my amazement there was royalty in the world and the Prince of Wales was about to marry a beautiful young Lady Diana (I never called her Lady Di or Princess Di, I really didn't like when people called her those names).

Now, all summer it was my job to take care of the house.  I would get up by 9:00 am and dust, vacuum, wash clothes and hang them on the clothes line (no dryer in the summer), I washed toilets and sinks, washed woodwork and floors (no mop, hands and knees with "elbow grease" only) and before my mother came home the shag carpet was raked to stand as if it were brand new.  Our home was spotless and it was my job.  By 1:00 pm if, and only if, my jobs were completed I was free to go to the pool or play with my friends.  But on Wednesday, July 29, 1981, I woke up at 8:00 am and rushed to the TV but called my mother at work first to request the day off.  I sat glued to the TV the entire day watching and re-watching the wedding of Prince Charles and Princess Diana until 6:00 pm.  My life was changed!

I will spare you the long version (seriously???!!!) and simply say, Princess Diana saved my life.  I am who I am largely because of Princess Diana.  I loved her and I admired her quite deeply.  When many of my friends were becoming promiscuous, I decided to be chaste and worthy of a "prince".  I worked to support my growing collection of royalty (mostly Princess Diana) memorabilia, before this was cool.  I was in the local newspapers for my vast collection and especially important to me were the many letters I received from various members of the British Royal Family (Ladies-in-Waiting of course).

Everyone who knew me, knew that my life revolved around God and Princess Diana.  I became the resident expert on anything Royal.  People would say, "How is Princess Diana, Kalah?  Is anything new?"  as if we were best friends who spoke daily.  But I always had something interesting to share and never would I tell the rumors.  I couldn't bear to believe anything bad about Princess Diana.

In 7th grade I begged my mom to let me get my hair cut.  I wanted Princess Diana's hair style.  I wore pumps and tights the color of my outfits.  I wore pretty hats and beautiful jewelry.  I think my mom liked my interest in these things, we would have so much fun shopping for that perfect outfit I had in my mind.  Of course I only wore these nice things to Mass, I wasn't courageous enough to wear them to school. 

In my senior year of high school I went to my dermatologist in tears one day and begged for something, anything to stop the acne.  I wanted to be beautiful!  I wanted to not be ugly!!!  I went on Acutane, a new drug that was risky.  After 9 months, my face was clear.  I began to let my hair grow long, something it had not been in 6 years.  In these years with the short hair, I had grown tired of people pinching my cheeks and saying, "Look at those cute chipmunk cheeks".  Nice!!  Just what every girl wants to hear.  I decided I would grow my hair long and when I turned 40, I would return to my favorite "Princess Diana Hair".  I figured 40 year olds were old and really should not have long hair.  hahaha

On November 6, 2010 I turned 40!  Maybe it's the times, or maybe it's all perspective but I don't think 40 is old anymore.  I really do want my hair short, I love the Princess Diana style, for many reasons.  But I'm not so sure I want to have anyone comment on my chipmunk cheeks.  The only time I have heard this in the last 22 years was when I had my hair shoulder length and I was pregnant.  So last week I spent hours pouring over pictures of Princess Diana, considering the long-planned-for haircut.  I almost felt obligated to stick to the plan.  But I came to the conclusion, maybe 60 year olds shouldn't have long hair.  Oh, maybe 70...



Our Lady of Fatima...Pray for us

            

I received a phone call one day from a co-worker (we work for the Church), "Kalah, your mom signed up to have Our Lady of Fatima in her home this coming week.  Do you think she would still be interested?"  Anxiously, I said "Yes!"  So I went to the church and picked up Our Lady and delivered her to my mother's home.

It was Saturday, October 7, 2006 and my whole family was gathered at our parents home for their 56th wedding anniversary.  My mother was dying...

I walked in the house holding Our Lady before me.   Walking into my mother's bedroom, her eyes lit up and a beautiful smile came over her entire face.  "Oh, I forgot all about her!"  Mom said as she struggled to sit up.  I put Our Lady on the desk next to my mom.  What a perfect week for Our Lady to be with Mom.  Her health rapidly declined each day until late Thursday night when she passed into eternity, with Our Lady and her crucifix by her side, keeping vigil over her precious soul.  In just 77 minutes it would be the feast of Our Lady of Fatima!

At Moms visitation on Sunday, Our Lady was placed into a beautiful floral arrangement near Mom.  She went with Mom to the funeral as well.  It couldn't have been planned more perfectly.

I returned Our Lady of Fatima to the church on Monday, tearfully.  I didn't want to let her go, just like I didn't want to let go of my Mother, but it had to be...

I put my name on the list for my birthday in November and for the birth of my 5th baby in December.  I really needed Our Lady and her comfort at this deeply sorrowful time in my life.  And after each of my chosen weeks, I let Our Lady go to someone else who needed her, too.

I put my name on the list for the upcoming October.  I needed Our Lady to be with me over the 1 year anniversary of Mom's death.  Sadly, she had been lost!  I cried (oh, I cried all the time).  I pleaded with my co-worker to do all that she could to find Our Lady, I needed her.

One morning in early October I received a phone call from my co-worker, "Kalah, we found her!"  I went to bring her home and even better, there was no list since Our Lady had been lost for so long so I was told to keep her until a request came for her.  For three years she has watched over my family.  We have loved her in our home and I have drawn great comfort from her presence,  but I never felt I owned her, I knew she would go to someone else some day.

The other night I was reading the blog of a friend.  This friend is struggling with infertility and her heart is breaking because of this cross she must bear.  I decided to go to the quiet of my room and do what was necessary for a friend in need.  As I passed through the living room I felt the urging of both my mother and Our Blessed Mother.  It is time, time for Our Lady to travel again, to comfort another of her children who needs her.  My pain has lessened and my hope has increased and now my sister (in Christ) needs Our Mother.  Without a question or delay I packed Our Lady and delivered her to my friend, the first thing the next morning.  I know she is in good hands!  Both of them ;)

Our Lady of Fatima...Pray for us!

Just a side note:
In the box that Our Lady travels in is a blue knitted doily made by a sweet and humble lady who died just a few days before my mother and a piece of blue material to be used to cushion Our Lady in her travels, my mother put this there.  Both of these ladies put these items in the box far before they knew they would die in the same week.  God bless Dorothy and Helen, may their souls rest joyfully in your presence.

And another for my non-Catholic friends:
A statue is a statue.  Catholics do not worship statues and images they merely represent those whom we love but cannot see because the veil before our eyes will not permit us to see those spirits existing in eternity and no longer among humanity.  I have photographs of my mother all over my house and from time to time I may look into the eyes of the photgraph and make a comment but in no way do I believe my mother exists in that piece of paper.  If I had a ceramic bust of my mother it would be the same, simply a physical reminder of someone I love but cannot physically see.  Statues and images are the same, they help us remember those who once existed here and for whom we wish never to forget.

The Toy Museum

Hutches are a fun way to hold all of those precious items we want to keep safe from the sweet little hands we love (but are capable of so much destruction) while at the same time displaying our treasures to family and friends.  There are endless ways to paint or stain your hutch whether it be antique or new and who says a hutch is only for china?  My hutch was purchased for $75 at an auction; I painted it and filled it with toys that are extra-special to me, my husband and our children.  We call it "The Toy Museum" and every Christmas Eve our children are allowed to take out the toys to play with them, as long as they are treated with love!!!

Standing on the Outside...

When I was a child my mother, the extrovert, would tell me to "go make friends" with other children wherever we were.  Panic would overcome me and I would try to sell the better idea of me remaining at her side.  Now I wasn't as shy as that kid who cried, or rather, SCREAMED every moment of every day in Kindergarten.  Nevertheless I was timid and afraid of how I might be hurt if someone didn't like me.

As I grew older I gained many many wonderful friends, thanks to the outgoing nature of the first few who led me to the rest in one way or another.  My senior year of high school, I transformed into a social butterfly.  One day I just decided to say "hi" to everyone and rather than looking at my feet when I walked through the halls I would look people in the eyes and smile.  WOW that made a huge difference in my life.  Once I felt safe I would open up and become the crowd pleaser with my humor and wit.  Truthfully this "wit" was heavy on the sarcasm and since becoming a Darling Mother Dear I have locked that gift away in order to preserve the innocence of my children.  When you don't practice something for a long time, we all know, you lose it...

I believe it is in my nature to be standbackish rather than social in new environments.  Although I have long practiced or I should say labored to be extroverted, there is a constant voice (not a schizophrenic voice mind you) telling me how awkward I am.  This leads me to actually become awkward and eventually quit and go to my corner.

Being married to a party animal is often painful for me, especially when I am suffering through a bout of "I want my Momma".  See, when my Momma was there she made sure I had the courage to do things, she would say "Put me in your pocket" and send me off into the world.  But my husband just says, "Hey I'm going off to...see you later", while I stand there having a silent anxiety attack.  I give it a while and when I believe he has had sufficient fun I go to him and suggest we head home.  To which my husband often obliges (especially if I sell the idea that something at home will be SO much more fun).  Then again there are those times when my husband is having the most fun he can imagine for the time being and he tries to sell why I should want to stay.  I really don't like to be a party pooper, I actually like to have fun.  Some people in this world only know me to be a FUN person.  There was a window of about 10 years when I was a blast.  I'm glad I have those memories.

Recently we went to a party where we felt a bit on the outside.  The difference between the party animal and me is that he went off into the sunset to have fun and I drifted from one end of the party to the next looking for a friend and a safe place.  I tried to enter into different groups of people having conversations but it was only a success as long as they stayed to talk, when they walked away I was left thinking, "I wish I had a friend at this party".  Consequently I had several pleasant conversations with admirable people, but to remain standing on the outside after several hours put me over the edge. 

Driving away from the party I actually felt a panic come over me, "what's wrong with me" I thought.  At home I put the baby to bed and snuggled with my three-year-old, we said our night prayers together.  I remembered in my quiet that Father's homily that day was on humility.  I had thought I was a pretty humble person - I honestly don't think I'm better than other people.  I know my faults and I am pretty hard on myself for those faults.  But to feel alone and avoided is something totally different.  I actually thought to myself during Father's homily, "God, help me to be a more humble person".  Well I got a good dose of it that night...

Reflecting back over the last few days I see how necessary it was that I experienced loneliness.  I have ignored the loneliness of others.  I have enjoyed my popularity and wealth of friends as others stood on the outside looking in...

Shame on me for ever forgetting the suffering of an introvert, the preference of a little girl (at heart) to sit within the safety net of her Mother.   I hope this bit of hurt will cause me to be more sensitive to the sufferings of others and not become more withdrawn.  "God, help me to be more sensitive to the loneliness of others". 

Oh and "God, let me feel the presence of my Momma today.  I really miss her."

The original "Darling Mother Dear"

     Once upon a time, there was a lovely young woman from Denmark who was brought into marriage with a cad of a British prince.  This young lady became Princess of Wales on her wedding day. I know what you are thinking...but you have the wrong lady.  This young princess was named Alexandra and it was the early 1900's.  Princess Alexandra was beautiful, self-assured, faithful and independent.  She had to leave her homeland and family whom she loved dearly and move to a land where her mother-in law was queen and ruler and nothing else mattered.  It was expected that all princesses would do what was expected of them and their lives revolved around the expectations of the Queen.   When her mother-in-law (Queen Victoria) demanded to stand in presence at the delivery of her grandchildren, Princess Alexandra simply adjusted her expected delivery date so that it would be impossible for the Queen to arrive in time for each of her "premature" births. 

Princess Alexandra with Eddy, George, Louise, Victoria and Maud

     Princess Alexandra gave birth to six children in all.  Her baby (Alexander John) died the day after his birth, her eldest child (Eddy) died as a young man, which left her with four children into mature adulthood.  Princess Alexandra was a mother unlike other royal mothers of her time; she rejected the custom that her children should be raised by a governess and kept from her company except for times of pageantry.  Princess Alexandra adored her children, she bathed them and fed them, she read to them and comforted them.  The children naturally adored their mother in return, as a sign of this devotion the children affectionately addressed their mother as, "Darling Mother Dear".

     As a young girl, my loves in this life were of God, my family and the British Royal Family (especially Princess Diana).  I remember the day I came across this heartwarming information about Princess Alexandra.  My mother and I were driving in the car, I was completely enthralled with a book Momma just bought me.  This book is still one of my very favorites, it is a collection of front pages of British newspapers from the time of Queen Victoria to Princess Diana.  Anyway, as I came across the article about Princess Alexandra and her beloved children, I announced to my mother that one day my own children should address me as "Darling Mother Dear".  I remember this struck my mother as very funny, I couldn't understand why.

     When I became a mother, "Darling Mother Dear" just never quite rolled off the tongue as I had dreamed it would.  Perhaps in the Victorian era this was a simpler term of endearment but in the modern era, not so much.   Well, it was about five years ago, my small children were behaving mischievously (as children sometimes do) I instructed the children to do something and in obeying my request, first they should respond, "Yes, Darling Mother Dear".   Well, this struck us all as so funny and the kids have used it ever sense.  When they use it in public I like to see the response they get from bystanders, and for those inquiring minds who want to challenge what appears a formal upbringing, I like to give them a real education in the British Royal Family.

A bit of an introduction...

Several years ago my sister-in-law moved to Singapore with her husband and sons, she started a blog to keep us in touch.  I really liked the daily updates and I wished my life was interesting enough to start a blog.  Before long blogs became as common as email addresses and I was still observing from afar. 

Last year my husband and I began our homeschooling adventure and I wanted to start a blog to keep a daily record of the experiences we would make educating our children in the home.  Each day I put it off for another reason and here I sit, still dreaming of the blog.

Last month I decided I was going get off my duff and start the blog.  My blog was going to entertain, encourage, delight and inform others based on the experiences of my life.  My life is simply my life, like your life, filled with good days and bad days.  But each day is another gift from God to merit the place in Heaven He prepared for me.   This daily meditation is taken from my Missal (given to me by my husband for Mother's Day this year!)

"Remember, Christian soul, that thou hast this day, and every day of thy life:

God to glorify,                     Heaven to gain,

Jesus to imitate,                  Eternity to prepare for,

The Angels and Saints to    Time to profit by.

invoke.                                Neighbors to edify,

A soul to save,                    The world to despise,

A body to mortify,              Devils to combat,  

Sins to expiate,                  Passions to subdue,

Virtues to acquire,            Death perhaps to suffer,

Hell to avoid,                    Judgment to undergo."

Isn't that beautiful?

So back to the blog...I had to come up with a catchy name.  It had to identify me in every way.  First my love for God and my devotion to the Catholic Church; then to my family and then to my many interests.  This was a difficult task!

I went to the Bible and opened it up hoping a great verse would jump out at me, didn't happen.  I looked up some of my favorite movies, nothing.  Finally I went to my mom for help, seems reasonable right?  She always gave me sound advise (not that I always took it) the tricky thing is Mom died almost 4 years ago so I needed a creative way to get her help.  I reached for one of her books that I inherited and I opened it up; it was an old hymnal...perfect as Mom and I shared a deep faith.  The page opened to "O Sanctisima" I thought that sounded pretty cool but it just didn't click.  I flipped through and I fell to the page with the song "O Dearest Mother of Mercy", it swept the breath from my mouth and made my heart fill with joy.  All at once my mind rested on My Lord's Dear Mother, my Mother and Me.  My quest was over, my blog would be called the very thing my own children call me (Why?  I'll tell you soon) "Darling Mother Dear".