Prepare yourself . . .

for a lot of baleful head shaking over this story from Franciscophobes:  Pope’s Sharp Words Make a Wealthy Donor Hesitate.

Because when people say, “Francis has made me interested in the Church again, and I’m thinking of going to Mass for the first time in twenty years!” then that’s proof that his kind of evangelization is shallow and meaningless.  How do we know they’re the real deal?  (After all, when Jesus multiplied the loaves and fishes, and over 3,000 people were baptized that day, we know for sure that every last one those converts understood and were fully prepared to accept every tiny iota of the Gospel with no reservations and with complete and thorough fervor and sincerity.)

People returning to the sacraments? Pff. That’s the last thing we want.  But we’re talking about losing money here, folks.  MONEY. You see?  You see how the corrosive influence of this hateful man is beginning to play out? Francis the Destroyer strikes again!!!!1!!

Grief, hope, exhaustion, prayer request

I wasn’t sure whether to make this public or not, but what the heck. I know you guys are wonderful pray-ers, so if you could spare a quick Hail Mary or a “Jesus, help us” prayer, I would be grateful!

Yesterday, I was halfway through a post announcing that I am pregnant with a very much desired baby #10.  Then I started bleeding steadily all day yesterday.  Today, I have just about stopped bleeding.  I went to the lab yesterday, so they could test HCG levels.  They will do another test Wednesday afternoon, and I will get the results in the evening.  So, unless things take a terrible turn in the mean time, I will not know whether it’s reasonable to have hope for this baby or not. It may not be reasonable to hope.

Up and down, up and down. I have never had a miscarriage before. I know that’s practically a miracle.  We’ve had complications, but God has given us nine mostly healthy children with no losses.  I know that He has given us this baby, too.  Baby is the size of a blueberry, and is starting to sprout fingers and toes.  Or he should be.  Anyway, he is real, and I haven’t said goodbye yet.

I am keeping up hope because I would rather grieve a baby than not know how to feel, if I find out he is dead.  I am not trying to figure out how to feel, and I am not beating myself up over feeling the wrong things, or for forgetting for a moment what’s happening.  It’s just up and down, up and down.  My husband is working from home, and he will be home tomorrow. I am just keeping busy and staying warm, and am happy to be with my family.

At the Register: Do You Even Deserve a New Year?

A quiz.  The best thing I have written all year.

Advent chains – a very easy Advent activity!

My sister Abby Tardiff is once again providing a template for advent chains.

1.  Go to this link on Dropbox and print out all six pages.  Cut along the lines so you have strips.

2.  If you want to be fancy, you can paste the strips to colored paper — purple for the first, second, and fourth weeks, and pink for the third.  If you don’t want to get fancy, just use them as is, or let the kids color the pictures in.  Make a paper chain and hang it in a prominent place.

3.  Each day of Advent, starting tomorrow, December 1, you cut snip chain and read the appropriate verse inside.  This is a nice visual activity for kids, because they can see the chain getting shorter and shorter as you approach Christmas day.  Some people draw out the lesson that the chains of sin grow weaker and weaker as the Savior draws near.  One year, I gussied up a few of the links with a hint to where the kids could find some kind of treat (chocolate in the mailbox, that kind of thing).

That’s it! Thanks, Abby.

 

Seven Qui–WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF AM I SERIOUSLY THE ONLY ONE WHO REALIZES THERE IS A TRUCK GOING BY WOOF WOOF

Well, dog #2 is home with the Fishers.  As I write, Boomer is happy and contented, hasn’t ripped anyone’s throat out, dashed in front of an oncoming truck, or swallowed the dining room whole.  He is just placidly trundling around the house, mildly observing the kids as they hurl their bodies at him.  He is a one-year-old brindle English Mastiff, and was raised with three little kids and another English Mastiff.  His dog pal was older and died, and that’s why he needed a new home: he was just lonely while his people were away all day.

1.  He came with an electric fence system, which is wonderful and amazing.  These always sounded barbaric to me.  I was imagining a paranoid, cringing animal getting zapped constantly; but actually, it’s no big deal.  We plugged in the central unit in the hallway near the back door and set the perimeter size.  When he wants to go out, we put the special collar on, and off he goes.  It buzzes and beeps to warn him that he’s getting too close to the perimeter, so he just goes, “Nope” and turns around.  So far, so good!  I still get nervous when I see him bounding toward the road, but he stops when he gets to the boundary.

2.  His head is e-nor-mous.

It’s just begging for a derby, or possibly — what do you call it, one of those squashy hats that urchins selling newspapers would wear.

3.  Probably we wouldn’t have chosen the name “Boomer,” although it does suit his ponderous ways.  I just can’t shake the memory of a Florence King essay which featured a lesbian and her large and hearty partner named, you guessed it, Boomer.  Oh well, it’ll pass.

4.  The kids keep saying in a wondering voice, “He’s not biting me at all!”  Although they loved Shane, we just could not break him of mouthing on the kids.  He just couldn’t get it through his head that we didn’t want to be chewed on.  He thought it was hilarious, even when he drew blood, and it was a constant, serious aggravation for all of us; and honestly, some days, I felt like there was an enemy living in our house.  It’s very hard to be good to an animal who is hurting your kids, even if it’s minor and unintentional.  So Boomer’s  non-bitey ways are a big, big, BIG big big relief.  Boomer is older, he’s fixed, and he’s just not a spaz.  He doesn’t even try to steal the baby’s food.  We got to eat dinner without (a) having our food stolen or (b) hearing whining and screaming and frantic pawing at the door the entire time we were eating.  It’s kind of like paradise.

Watching Curious George with his best friends in the whole world (a.k.a. some kids he met less than 24 hours ago)

5.  I couldn’t figure out what he reminds me of, but it suddenly hit me:  a heraldic lion.  Or, a Samurai mask.  Or something on a totem pole from the Pacific Northwest.  Or, I don’t know what!  I guess he just looks like a dog.  Benny (age 2) saw him and said, “A bear!”  There is something almost stylized about him — maybe because he is so ridiculously muscular, but he doesn’t actually do anything.  He will charge around for a while outside and make some noise, but then he wants to come in and sit on his blankie.  Yeah, kind of like this:

PIC Ferdinand smelling flowers

 

He also has these completely gratuitous stripes, where are clearly only there to make him fancy.  (Actually, they make him almost invisible in the woods.  Very tricky!)

6.  The only thing is, he’s spent most of his life on a rural country road,where it was kind of a big deal if a car goes by, and it was totally appropriate to bark your fool head off to warn everybody.  We, on the other hand, live on a highway.  A rather busy highway.  So, you see where this leaves us all.  But it’s okay, because we’re not constantly getting bitten. It’s amazing how much grace that buys you.

 7.  Sorry there aren’t more pictures.  Here  is another picture of Ferdinand:

PIC

 

So there you have it!  Dog dog dog.  Don’t forget to check out everyone else’s 7 Quick Takes – and say a quick prayer for Jennifer, who is sick and not up to writing her own quick takes.

Irene’s Silent Night

Doesn’t know the words; doesn’t let it slow her down.
(Ugh, thought I had fixed the sideways image. Sorry, will try again.)

At the Register: Why busy parents should always go to midnight Mass

And it has nothing to do with “misery loves company!

At the Register: The Light of the Child

A poem, a tune, a painting for Christmas.  May the baby who brings us warmth and light bless you all!

If you want to talk us out of getting an English Mastiff …

. . . you have about 24 hours.

Oh dear, here is the story.  No, we’re not going to have two dogs.  Poor dear Shane of happy memory had a glorious but short life with us.  Here is what happened:  A couple of weeks ago, it was snowing, which always made Shane go completely bonkers with glee.  Someone opened the door, he shot past them, got hysterical because of the snow, and ran right out into the road.

It only took one car. He was hit hard.  Many broken bones, many internal injuries.  They carried him inside and called the vet, but you could see that there was no hope.  My husband and older son stayed with him and said good bye and thank you for being a good dog, and they put the poor boy to sleep.

Shane was a good dog. He was not smart.  He learned almost nothing beyond the basics.  But he loved the kids with all his doggy heart.  When he was just a baby, we took him to the beach.  One of the kids put Benny in a floating tube.  Shane was terrified of water — didn’t even want to get his paws damp — but when he saw what he thought was his baby floating away, in he went. (Of course he ended up tipping her over and getting everyone soaked, but he meant well.)  Here is Shane at the beach when he was just little:

and here is Shane having a wonderful day afternoon in a safe spot out in the woods, off the leash:

taking a break from zooming around, and laughing his head off, on the inside:

You see, a happy life.  I was not able to tell the kids that dogs just disappear from existence once they die.  I just couldn’t do it.  I know animals don’t have immortal souls.  But they have something.  Shane was someone, not something.

It was a hard few weeks, after he died.  Once the shock wore off, we talked a little bit about another dog, maybe a smaller one this time.  Our house is not big, and we were constantly tripping over Shane. We thought it would be smarter to scale it down, and look for a more sensible kind of breed.

Then this guy turned up:

PIC mastiff in red wagon

 

This is not the actual dog, but it looks just like him.  Here is another dog of the same breed:

PIC mastiff in back seat

The one we met is one year old, a brindle English  Mastiff.  He grew up with three little kids and another mastiff; but his dog pal died, and now he’s lonely all day.  He is like a slow-moving armchair, and lets the kids treat him like a jungle gym.  Damien and I went to meet him, and he seemed pretty much like our dog.  His paws are the size of candlepin bowling balls, and he will be growing for another two years.  I know, I know.

Anyway, here is a bit about  his temperament.  We will be picking him up — well, not “picking him up,” but getting him, on the day after Christmas.  He goes by “Boomer.”  He drools and farts and snores, and is completely ready to love you forever, unless you maybe might be going to hurt the family, in which case he will sit on you.

I know, I know.

What’s your roast beast?

My favorite part of How the Grinch Stole Christmas is where he brings back the roast beast. Because while it’s true that Christmas isn’t about presents or decorations or food, you really do want to have that special Christmas food!

PIC the grinch himself carved the roast beast

 

If we can manage it, we spend Christmas Eve drinking egg nog and decorating the tree, then going to Midnight Mass.  Then Christmas morning is presents and chocolate and a breakfast of eggs, bacon, fresh fruit, and cinnamon buns.  Candy all day.  Then — and here is the most brilliant idea we’ve ever had — Chinese take-out for dinner.  I think this tradition was instituted on the Christmas that I was 8 and 24/30ths months pregnant with baby #6, and was not up to cooking a ham or turkey that nobody wanted anyway.  But somehow, no matter how stuffed with marshmallow Santas you are, there is always room for meat on a stick.

For the rest of Christmas food (which we make during vacation, which means they may not appear until after Christmas day) here are my tried and true recipes, suitable for anyone who can follow directions, but isn’t especially gifted in the kitchen:

Skaarup’s Lunatic Fudge Lots of variations.  The kids like the one with crushed candy canes.  You don’t need a candy thermometer to make this stuff, and can turn out pounds and pounds of it pretty easily.

Buckeyes. These are delicious, and easy enough for the kids to make mostly on their own.  I just go in the other room and pretend I don’t know what horrors are transpiring.

NB:  I do not recommend adding a dab of chocolate to cover up the toothpick hole, unless you are prepared for candy that doubles as a female anatomy lesson.  Ha-cha-cha!

Peanut brittle.  I always hated peanut brittle, so I don’t even know why I tried this recipe. But it is fantastic.  Very light and airy, nothing like the tooth-loosening stuff you get at the store.  Oh, and the part where you add the baking powder and it foams up like crazy?  FUN.  You can also make it with other kinds of nuts.

I don’t usually make cookies, because they just seem to flow into the house on their own.  Also, I made terrible cookies.

How about you?  What are your essential Christmas foods?