Before kids my Thursday nights looked like:
Take three kids to the grocery store at once. Right. Haven’t done that in over a year. I mean, call me spoiled… or call me SMART. But it’s been well over a year since we took our kids grocery shopping. Usually one of us goes out sans children to complete to fortuitous task of stocking our pantry.
It’s actually quite the coveted job in this house, because of the blissful silence of label reading and aisle strolling whilst the other sorry parent (or uncle in last year’s case) gets to be a human jungle gym for an hour.
But no. Not today. Today I took the kids up to choir and because of the success of one event, stupidly decided to just ‘run into’ the grocery store and ‘pick up some stuff’ for dinner. I let myself be duped into thinking the most DANGEROUS THOUGHT for a mom, “I got this“. (head up to all my mommy friends : you never get it. ever.)
We needed three things: bread, salad, and eggs. How hard could that really be? Three things. Three kids. So I wouldn’t need a cart. I ran through the rules and loaded out the stakes, early bedtimes if I lost someone from wandering off, etc.
I scooped Charlie, 3, out of his car seat and inquired
‘Would you like to walk?’
Which translates in toddler-speak to ” Do you want me to chase you around the grocery store?”
Of course he said yes. And I fat, dumb, and happy obliged.
It took me about 10 minutes to realize the terror I had unleashed upon myself. I was in the produce section, picking up the lettuce when he and Jack started wrestling each other near the glass jars of garlic. Hmmm, I believe 1 billion is the amount of times I had to wrangle the two of them off of one another and hiss through my teeth,
“Knock it off!”
I kept dodging other customers and looking around all squirley hoping no other people would tisk at my lack of control. I gripped Charlie’s hand tighter and started stomping off to find the bread, commanding Jack to ‘march in front where I can see you” and feeling Mia trailing along hanging onto my other shirt sleeve.
Rounding a corner, and surrounded by a gaggle of customers in the deli line, Jack announced clear as a bell,
“Look Mom! It’s your favorite! Wine!”
NOOOO I cringed outwardly and inwardly. SHUT UP.
Of course, as you all know, ignoring a child only makes them talk louder. Especially when you really don’t want them to. Especially when you already looked like you couldn’t pull your life together.
“MOM!” (louder) “MOOOMMM” (pointing, louder) ” Wine! Look! YOUR FAVORITE!!”
And so, because I did not know how to react to the fact that I keep one measly bottle of wine on my counter, and apparently this is how my kid sees me… I giggled out loud correcting him,
“You’re so silly. That’s not Mommy’s favorite!”
Which in mommy language means
“Pipe down you nut. I don’t need people thinking less of me than they already do!”
I’m sure not one single person on that deli lined believed me. And if they followed me the rest of my trip, they might go pour me a glass themselves.
Because the rest of our ‘quick trip’, which in actuality lasted over a half hour, I was chasing Charlie, juggling eggs, putting items back on the shelves, yanking heads out of the bakery baskets of bread ( “c’mere Mia!! Smell this bread! Oh I wish we had this bread!” —– ” Oh so that lady can’t afford to buy her kids bread but she can buy wine. Tisk Tisk“)
Then. THEN. I made the crowing glory choice of the whole trip. I said,
” Hey. You’re not frazzled enough. You deserve to go through self-checkout”
HA HAH HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA (ETC.)
I’m such an idiot.
Because our self-checkout station was right next to a big, shiny, silver trashcan. Transaltion in boy : “Yum and Fun” And I had two ridiculously rambunctious boys in tow. And Charlie had been walking, holding my hand, but dropping to his knees every 2 feet of our trek up to self checkout. So I was in a GREAT mood by the time we got up there.
You know how with self-checkout, you have to scan the item then place in bag. But if you put too much in the bag or hang on the bag holder thingy, or sit on the bag holder thingy, or breathe near the bag holder thingy the whole register shuts down and says ‘Please wait for assistance’.
It was a really, really long check out process. A lot of
“Stop! Stop pressing on that! It’s reading your weight and throwing off the bags! They think we’re stealing!”
“Get away from the trash. We don’t touch trashcans”
“Stop licking that! WHYYYYY WHY ARE YOU LICKING THAT”
“STOP TOUCHING THE TRASHCAN DOOR”
“YUCKY! YUCKY! WHAT THE?!! WHY ARE YOU STICKING YOUR FINGERS IN THE TRASH??? WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOUUUUUUUU?????”
Yep. Never doing that again. Yep, I have a serious headache.
And yep, I’m writing this all down for you right now while sipping a glass of my favorite.
A guest post from my hubs, Tom, on this first day of Lent. Really, an email I found in my inbox when I awoke that was too hilarious not to share.
I hope that you all have a blessed start to the Lenten season today!
Today, I have washed my face, you see no dirt, only handsome smiles and joy;
Today I have not gone to church or stood on my street corner, I prayed in my room and I even locked the door, (I also prayed in the middle of my street);
Today, I have performed no righteous deeds, but have only continued to give myself sacrificially for my family, (and I pulled a guy out of the river to save him from drowning but that wasn’t a big deal- really);
Today I put my trumpet on Craigslist, I am exchanging it for a gong and some cymbals… not that you care, but I have also practiced muscle confusion at the gym last night… We’ll see if I can confuse my right hand from my left when I drop the $20 in the basket today… I’ll let you know.
I did this all before 8 am!
I wish you all as half a good a lent as I am already having!
You will be in my prayers.
P.S. “Turn away from sin and be faithful to the Gospel”
What ever happened to the gospel of Thomas? Child Jesus turning clay into 12 sparrows sounds pretty awesome to me!
So, I just discovered a memo I wrote to myself (yes, I always, always write my future self memos. Lots of them.)after I gave birth to Charlie, entitled “Postpartum Pointers” I am so glad I dug it up today, I really needed it! Thanks, ‘past’ Annemarie… ‘present’ Annemarie is grateful.
Anyway I thought I’d share it, just in case there’s other mamas out there who might need it too!
I was struggling a little bit over here. The whole Paul Coakley story had my heart tied in knots for days. I was following it since the whole thing showed up on my newsfeed just before Christmas. That’s right, that’s when we heard about Paul, a Franciscan University alum, “a legend” according to my sister-in-law…who had been diagnosed with Stage 4 cancer. Just. Before. Christmas.
And he passed away last Monday. Barely 3 1/2 weeks later. His beautiful wife Ann, 7 months pregnant and three young children left behind.
My heart was, is– so knotted, so heavy over this tragedy and with it being right on the heels of Sarah Harkin’s death, I just couldn’t find the words or the willpower to write about all this. The emotional upheaval I was feeling on Monday was immense. And I didn’t even personally know either Paul or Sarah. Why, why?
Do I even have a right to feel this way? So connected, involved in this yet…not? Am I allowed to feel pain? Is it strange that every time I think of Ann Coakley having to delivery her baby without the love of her life, my eyes well up with tears?
All of this really shook me. I sat on the couch on Monday, after belligerently shaking the gates of heaven for days begging God for some miracle, and finding out Paul had died. I was stunned. I had been so convinced, so sure of a miracle coming. Shocked and numb and…a little angry was how I felt.
My head was clouded, suffocated all afternoon with question after question for God
“Why does it seem like the good people are the only ones suffering?”
“What’s the point in being a faithful disciple, if the ‘lost sheep’ is the one fought for, protected? Shouldn’t we, the ones sticking it out through thick and thin get some benefit or protection for our loyalty?”
“How is this possible within six months, two devoted, faith filled, holy parents taken–just like that– from young families? Don’t we need all the good people we can get in this hedonistic society? “
“What is the point of all this? This life? If God wants us in heaven then why the heck did he put us through all this pain, suffering?”
In brief, I was having extremely earthly and naive philosophical questions. Because, well… because I am a human with human thoughts and human emotions. And I ask those questions fully aware of the correct answers but I ask them because the reality of my human nature is raw. And it doesn’t want answers. It just wants to pound it’s fists on a table and break down crying,
” It’s just NOT FAIR”
And because you read stories like this and you have a ghastly moment of awareness when you go,
“That could be us.”
And you are scared. Truly, deeply, gut wrenchingly scared. I got thinking that I wanted to be done taking risks in my life with love, because more love equals opening yourself up to risking more pain. And I can’t bear the thought of something this tragic happening to my husband, or one of my children. I want to hide, stay away from everything,
“leave me alone world! if I escape and hide, maybe you can’t get me suffering!”
I took these thoughts and convinced myself that it was all Facebook’s fault. If I wasn’t on Facebook, I would have never known about either of these tragic stories. I could have been blissfully living away in my little bubble. Happily ignorant of the profound suffering that my peers were going through. Selfish, I realized. Selfishly ignorant in my selfish little safe-bubble. Because I never would have been able to pray for Paul and Sarah. To offer my measly sacrifices for them and their families, to spread their story, to keep their memories alive. To ache and mourn together, as Heather so perfectly pointed out, like we are supposed to. Because we are the Body of Christ. And when one member suffers, we all feel the pain. Because, as my husband comforted me, “This life is our chance to choose LOVE”
Pope Francis’ recent quote ” This kind of suffering can only be explained with tears.” gave me so much comfort.
It is profoundly tragic what has happened. But I realized how much we need contemporary married saints. Married people who are holy yet from our era, relate-able, tangible… it’s too hard to relate to these married monarchs from the 14th century. We need them to pray for us from up there! Well, now look. Thank you, Paul Coakley for being a true example of Christian fatherhood and manhood. For loving your wife, spreading joy, protecting your family and fighting with every ounce of your being for life. And thank you Sarah Harkins, for giving us young moms hope and encouragement, for inspiring us with your example of holy wifehood and motherhood. For showing us how to above all else desire God and union with Him.
This is our time now, our chance to choose to love God. Love Him when it’s hard, love Him when it’s pain, love Him when it’s suffering, and love Him when it’s joy…. and with all the mundane moments in between.
I love the idea over on The Habit of Being to celebrate the ‘dailiness’ in our lives this 2015. It spoke so much to my heart. So much.
I’ve decided to participate and I look forward to appreciating the mundane much more this year. Join me… join us, will you?
Click on the icons at the top of the blog to follow me on Twitter or Facebook– or find everyone participating by using the hashtag #celebratingdailiness :)
8 years ago today, I was on my way up to the Divine Mercy Shrine with my whole family and my fiancee to get our brand-spankin-new engagement blessed. It was a day, a great gush of memories, I will always, always treasure. Maybe it’s the baby I just had five weeks ago, or maybe I’m just feeling sentimental but I looked through my journals and realized I didn’t have an entry about this wonderful time. So I decided to immortalize my memories forever on the world wide web. Actually, it’s just a heck of a lot easier to type than write by hand these days!
Hey, you don’t have to keep reading if your looking for sarcastic dry humor, because this could get a wee bit sappy.
8 years ago yesterday, January 5th 2007 was a really rainy day in New York. I was packing to head back to wrap up my final senior semester of college at Franciscan University. Christmas break was coming to an end, but I was really eager to get back to see my wonderful, wonderful, gosh-I-can’t-wait-to-marry-him boyfriend, Tom. Tom who lived 7 hours away in the amazing city of Pittsburgh, PA.
Rainy day, right? So naturally since I wasn’t going anywhere special or seeing any one other than my family, I sat around in my sweats and my oversized Columbia jacket, unshowered, listening to the Phantom of the Opera soundtrack and simultaneously checking my e-mail for the majority of the day.
I had reached out to Tom a couple times to but his phone kept going to voicemail. Which was odd. Eventually he called me back, and told me he was in the mall returning something from Christmas. He’d call me back later when he was done.
I popped on the tv in my parent’s basement and curled up on the couch with my pj’s and unshowered self when Mom stuck her head in asking if I wanted to go with her to adoration, then meet up with Dad and my sisters (like usual on Fridays) at Village Pizza. I really didn’t want to get dressed, and I remember actually debating if I should go or not. Honestly, I just wanted to talk on the phone with Tom…..eh what the heck. I went. I only upgraded my pj pants to yoga pants, kept the messy bun, make-up less, shower-less self in the super baggy hoodie and headed out with Mom. After all, I really didn’t care who I saw in this town. I had no one I needed to impress. Tom wasn’t here.
After holy hour, Mom and my sisters got ourselves a booth at Village pizza and we waited for Dad who was running late. It was pouring rain outside. Of course, because I was at the table, the conversation turned to wedding ‘one days’ and I told my Mom about a picture I had seen of a chapel length veil and oooo how I loved that veil, and I want a veil like that someday and…
“Annemarie!” She cut me off, almost exasperated, “You’re not even engaged! You’re not getting married anytime soon…”
Why was everyone still surprised to hear me talk like that though? I mean I only had been collecting wedding magazines since I was a freshman, and designing my wedding invitations since I was….like 12. And journaling about how I never wanted a honeymoon, just a homestead like the Waltons, and 7 kids and a wedding in a cotton dress with a black-eyed-susan crown…since I was like 10. (I totally have the journals–and dress sketches– to prove it. What a hippie) Regardless, I knew I wanted to be- was called to be- a bride, a wife, since…well… since as long as I could remember. Nothing was more convicted in my heart, brought me more peace, than the thought of marriage. Especially to this guy, Tom, who I knew the Lord had led me to. (Another story, another day)
So there we were, waiting for Dad who finally bustled in all wet with his umbrella. He came up to the table and leaned over to me, asking me in a hurried way to quick run out to the Volvo for him. Because he had left something for my sister Katie, who was also heading back to college, on the passenger seat. He must have seen the hesitancy in me because of all the rain, because he insisted “Can you just do that for me?” I knew he needed to place the pizza order, so I got up, no umbrella, and jogged to the parking lot.
It was dark, and wet but the street was lined with beautiful white Christmas lights still. I made it to the Volvo and dove inside the drivers side to stay dry while I searched for Katie’s gift or whatever it was. Nothing was on the passenger seat. I checked under the seat if it fell, nothing. Nothing in the visor, or the glove compartment. Checked the driver’s visor and found an envelope. With Tom’s handwriting all over it. Huh?
I opened up the envelope and immediately the words “be my bride” “marry me” leapt out at me from the dozens of scribbles filling up the page. My heart did somersaults and I quickly turned around and looked in the back trunk of the car where I saw duffel bags. Tom’s duffel bags. I was sweating. Crap, I realized, I wasn’t wearing any deodorant either! In a matter of seconds, everything clicked in my head what was happening and by the time my body does what it normally does when I’m surprised—shake uncontrollably– guess who was standing outside my car window.
Tom, with an umbrella (smart guy) was motioning to me to open the door and get out. Tears were rolling down my cheeks, partly because I couldn’t believe I blew the surprise too soon and partly because I was totally stunned…I got out and all he said was
“hhhhiiiiii” I whimpered
He was smiling so much, and I continued whimpering and waving the envelope
“What are you doing here? How did you get here? What are you doing? I thought you were at the mall.”
He told me he just came to drive me back to school. I looked at him like ‘yeah. right.’
“Let’s take a walk.” He was SO calm, so….rehearsed!
“A walk?” I started blubbering, ” But it’s raining!” But he took my arm and led me down the sidewalk back towards Village pizza. We got to the corner crosswalk and he pushed the button. We waited and then, he turned around, faced me and put both his hands on my shoulders.
All I remember him saying is “You know I love you.” and I thought “No. Not now! I’m in my sweats! I haven’t showered! I have no make up on! I am SO GROSS! WHYYYY”
Then, he knelt down on that sopping wet sidewalk, and I kept shaking like a leaf and blubbering. Actually I was crying so much, I said “What? You have to say that again, I’m never going to remember this, because I just can’t believe this is happening” Cars at the stop light were honking. He was crying. I was crying. I was shaking, he wrapped me so tight in his coat to stop me from shaking, I had to explain, through blubbering that I wasn’t cold just so, so, so, shocked. So caught off guard. SO HAPPY!
After the elation, and excited chattering that happens afterwards— when he told me how he’d been traveling over 9 hours to get to NY on time via busses and trains and my Dad picking him up at the station…. he stepped back, reached into his jacket pocket and said,
“So do you wanna see the ring or what?”
Because he kept the ring in his pocket, per his friend’s advice “ You always want the girl to say yes to you, not the ring” But who cared about the ring at this point? The love of my life was going to marry me! I didn’t care if it was a rubber band!!! I was going to be Mrs. Tom Thimons!!!
Of course, the ring made me cry even more. I love, love, loved it. A solitaire round diamond, set high in yellow gold. Classic, and old fashioned. Perfect. Just like him.
So that’s how it went, and we walked back into Village Pizza where I shakingly presented my rock to my family, including other relatives who showed up in the interim for an impromptu celebration. My parents were busting open a bottle of wine, and the owner of the restaurant offered his congrats, hugs and kisses from everyone all around….and I was still in my sweats. Oy. So much for being low on the radar that day.
What a day. What a totally exhilarating feeling and unbelievable moment. How much I praised God, and still praise Him constantly. And still turn to Tom and say,
“Thank you SO MUCH for asking me to marry you!!”
and he always answers me the exact same way,
“Thank YOU for saying ‘yes‘.”