On the Third Day of Christmas, I wrote this little post...

Actually, I wrote this last Sunday... but never got around to posting it, what with the last minute Christmas preparations and all. So, I'll just put it out here today, with an update at the end. Merry Christmas, everyone!

What I Learned This Advent

1) Don't procrastinate. You never know if your wide-open, nothing-going-on-but-Christmas-prep "Tomorrow" is going to stay that way. All of last week's "Tomorrows" certainly weren't what I'd expected, with Mom in the hospital from Sunday to Thursday. Now, I really wish I'd done a little more cookie baking and shopping and card-writing back in November. Oh, wait, that's when Dad was in the hospital. Never mind.

2) Be grateful. Always and in all things. There's always something to be grateful for, like having more time to spend with your folks (even if it's while they're stuck in the hospital). And of course, I'm very grateful that Dad is recovering from his triple-bypass, and Mom is home and OK without any surgery at all. I'm also grateful that my family can always find something to laugh about, even during stressful times.

3) I have the world's greatest brothers. They are so fantastic that I'm really very sorry that you don't have them for brothers. Your brothers may be nice, but trust me, they are not as nice as mine. I mean, would your brothers stay overnight with Dad, and not just expect their sister to do it? Would your brothers take turns in giving Dad rides to the dentist and to the hospital? Would your brothers blow away the myth that it's always the daughters who have all the responsibility of care for aging parents? Would they? I didn't think so.

4) I also have good kids. Not perfect, but pretty darn good. (I can brag a bit more about my brothers because they aren't my responsibility; I don't dare be so boastful about my own kids. For one thing, there are too many people with evidence to contradict me.) Anyway, it occurred to me on my fourth day of spending hours away from home at the hospital that I wasn't the least bit worried about my kids causing mayhem or generally getting into trouble at home. I'd come home each day to find that breakfasts and lunches had been made, and cleaned up after, and the child with a cold had been cared for and attended to, and some school work and piano practicing had been done. What more could I ask? I'll have to remember that the next time they're driving me insane with something or other.

5) St. Nick is the patron saint of harried Moms just before Christmas. I prayed for his intercession this season, because if I was going to get everything done, it would have to be with some help from above. So far, so good. I think we'll make it, with presents and stockings and Christmas dinner and all. I even had some help from a wonderful phone person at Back to Basics Toys... can you say "two-day shipping at the regular ground shipping rate?" God bless her! Most important, we had our traditional pre-Christmas confession: We make a trek as a family to Gesu Parish for confession, and then afterwards go out for dinner. That's the most important thing we do to get ready for Christmas.

6) Never say things can't be worse. Trust me, they can. I actually learned this one a few years back, but was reminded again this week. At about the same time Mom was getting checked into the hospital, a vicious cold virus began infiltrating my house. Our 15-yo daughter was the first to succumb. Tom was next, and then 8-yo daughter fell victim. The symptoms are splitting headache, sore throat, congestion, and a killer cough. Duration is about one week, if the 15-yo is typical. Yesterday, our 10-yo son came down with it. So far, our 17-yo daughter and I are the only ones standing. But wait, there's more: Tom twisted his back yesterday, so now whenever he coughs, he gets a knife stab in the back. See? Things can always get worse.

UPDATE:

As if to prove the point above, things have indeed gotten worse. Dad ended up back in the hospital on Christmas Day and is still there, though he's doing OK now. And, to top it off, I fell victim to the raging cold virus. My fashion statement now is a piece of red flannel peeking out above my neckline, covering up the thick layer of Vicks underneath. At least the red is festive, right?

Enjoy the Christmas season, my dear friends. I wish you all the blessings of health and happiness, and, failing that, then all the blessings of learning valuable life lessons!

As Yogi Berra would say:

"This is like deja vu all over again."

My mom is now in the same hospital that my dad was in last month, with the same doctors and nurses, in the same ICU, just two rooms down from where he was.

It started on Sunday when she collapsed at home. They called 911, and very quickly found she had extremely low blood pressure. The hospital did a couple of EKG's, both abnormal. Further testing indicated a possible mitral valve problem (leaky valve).

So, as of yesterday morning, we were facing the scary possibility that Mom might have open heart surgery, just weeks after Dad got home from his triple bypass.

However, as of this morning, we are hopeful that we might dodge that bullet. The heart surgeon -- God bless him -- is taking a very conservative approach. Mom did so well yesterday that he suspected she might have had a heart "shock" rather than a full-blown heart attack, and that the valve may be returning to normal.

Today they'll do another echocardiogram and make the decision after that.

This is not quite the week-before-Christmas that I'd planned. My to-do lists had things like "bake cookies", "wrap gifts", "decorate the tree", instead of "drive to hospital", "talk to doctors", "take care of Dad".

But as they say, "Want to make God laugh? Tell Him your plans." Well, I told Him, and he laughed... and somehow, I know, He'll help me get everything done that really needs to be done.

Happy St. Lucy's Day!

For years I've wanted to include a celebration of St. Lucy's Day in our Advent activities.

The Swedish tradition is to have the oldest daughter (some say youngest) in the house put on a white gown before dawn, walk around with a crown of burning candles on her head, and wake the other members of the family by presenting them with a tray of freshly baked sweet yeast bread and cups of coffee and hot chocolate.

This has always presented the following problems for me:

1) Before dawn?

2) A crown of burning candles?

3) Freshly baked yeast rolls?

4) Before dawn?

The only thing that really appealed was the coffee, but we have that every morning, not just on St. Lucy's Day, so it's hardly unique and festive. More like a required daily allowance of caffeine to jump start the brain.

Besides, most years, I'd just plain forget, only to realize sometime during the day that, rats, I once again missed St. Lucy's Day.

But not this year!

I'd asked my Guardian Angel to wake me for 6:45 a.m. Mass. He did, at 5:30. Too early, I said. How about something a little later? The second wake-up was at 6:15; plenty of time to get to Mass by the entrance antiphon. Good thing I did, because I was immediately reminded that it was St. Lucy's Day.

Hear us, O God, our salvation, as we rejoice on the feast of Saint Lucy, Thy virgin and Martyr, and grant us to learn the spirit of pious devotion.

I began spinning a plan to adapt the old Swedish custom to my American family.

First, the timing: Tom was taking the day off, so I could let everyone in my night-owl family sleep in a bit (avoiding that whole pre-dawn thing) and still have a little celebration.

Next, the treats. Freshly baked yeast rolls? I don't think so. But as long as I had to stop for gas at the Speedway on the way home, I could also grab some doughnuts. Close enough.

A crown of candles? Uh, no. I'm not fond of the smell of burning hair.

So, I bought six glazed doughnuts, set them on a round tray, wreath-like, put a tall white candle in the center of each one, went upstairs, lit the candles, and then proceeded into each bedroom to wake everyone, hopefully without setting the house on fire.

It all worked out just fine. There's nothing quite like the drama of flaming candles in a darkened bedroom to pop everyone's eyes open. And then nothing like the promise of doughnuts to get them downstairs for breakfast.

Too bad St. Lucy's Day is just once a year.

Reality Check

Time to 'fess up about yesterday. Did my idyllic version of the day come to pass? The snuggling up and reading, the baking of Christmas cookies, the playing in the snow?

Well, yes and no.

Playing in the snow? That's a HUGE yes. The two younger ones spent hours outside and had a blast. Fortunately, we weren't hit by that purple icestorm monster (it kept to the south), so the kids never had to come inside to hide from sleet and hail.

Snuggling up and reading? Well, mostly no, sad to say. The two younger ones were so busy playing outside that they never really were in a mood for sitting and reading, except for when they came inside to have hot chocolate at the kitchen table. They did some reading then. Still, I have to say that's mostly a "no" for them.

However, for the teens and me, there was quite a lot of reading -- sans snuggling. We took advantage of the quiet in the house, which of course was a direct result of all the outside time for the younger two.

[Note: the next part is being written mainly for my good friend in Bayfield who loves to hear about homeschool curricula; if you're not interested, avert your eyes.]

I wrote up study guides for my high schoolers for The Iliad and for the encyclical Humanae Vitae, as they need to write papers on both. I also googled for sites to help our Senior with her Advanced Biology (anatomy) course. We all three had some good discussions on various topics, and just generally got caught up on a few things.

[End of curriculum discussion; back to our normal boring blogging.]

OK, how about Christmas cookies? That's a big no. We baked not one single thing yesterday. Too bad, as I love baking gingerbread cookies, especially, on a snowy day. Oh well.

Dinner? As planned -- almost. Meatloaf, baked potatoes, but forgot about the leftover green beans almondine. We had corn instead.

So that was it.

Today is a gorgeous winter day; blue sky and sunshine making the snow sparkle. If I wasn't so lazy I'd go get the camera and post a few photos.

Snow Day!

Weather-wise, we're in the middle of a wintry mix, as the meteorologists love to say. It was snow-raining a minute ago, and now there are big, beautiful, fluffy snowflakes coming down, en masse. The satellite map shows solid white over us right now, but a huge purple zone is rapidly approaching: ice storm.

Every school, day care, and senior center in a four-county area is closed. Piano lessons for my younger ones were cancelled. So, it's a Snow Day in the Swart Homeschool!

We have a whole day ahead of us dedicated to playing in the snow (until the ice storm comes, anyway), snuggling up with books, maybe baking some Christmas cookies. Amazingly, I don't have to run to the grocery store for anything, and dinner is planned: a meatloaf I pulled out of the freezer, baked potatoes with sour cream, green beans almondine. (OK, in all honesty, the green beans are leftover from a little dinner party on Sunday night. I don't usually get very fancy on week nights, and green beans almondine is fancy, by my standards.)

The snow is coming down faster now and the purple ice monster is edging closer. We haven't had an ice storm in years. There is nothing as beautiful as the sun shining on an ice-coated world -- but it's a terrible beauty, as it destroys trees and anything they happen to fall on, causes car crashes, brings down power lines.

I hope everyone in the path of the storm stays warm and cozy today. And to all my homeschool friends: I hope you declare a snow day, too! :-)

More about teenage daughters

I just *have to* clarify something.

Remember when I wrote about having teenage girls in the house? I said that there were "boys, and crushes, and good friends". Well, the "boys and crushes" were in theory only. That is, there was talk about boys, and there were the occasional crushes, but we weren't actually dealing with real live boys coming to the house to date our daughters.

That's because we are so very 18th century. (According to one of our daughters, anyway.) Years ago, we'd set a rule: no dating until you're 18. We said it would be OK to go out with groups of boys and girls together after age 16 or so, but that was it.

In addition to setting that rule, we also did some reading and thinking and talking about the concept of "courting", as described in a couple of books (Arms of Love and Surrender) written by a Catholic homeschool mom. (The books aren't exactly great literature, but they are engaging reads - ha! a pun! - and they were particularly of interest to the teen girls in the house.)

"Courtship" sounds pretty old-fashioned. To some extent it is, since it's not much like the current concept of "dating" (which today often ends up being some version of "best friends with benefits", to use that unfortunate phrase). But I think courting isn't so much old-fashioned as just smart, and much less angst-ridden.

The point is for a young couple to spend time together by not just hanging out alone, but in a variety of situations, usually with other people. For example, having dinner with the family (with those potentially embarrassing little brothers and sisters, and worse, potentially embarrassing parents!), playing cards with friends (or those little brothers and sisters again), working on a project together (I know! let's have them wallpaper a room together; if they still like each other when it's done, they should get a free pass on the Pre-Cana classes), going bowling or ice skating -- anything other than just spending hours and hours alone together.

And that, as you've probably guessed, has a dual purpose: Helping the couple figure out whether they might, potentially, be a marriage match made in heaven, and also helping them avoid some dicey situations, physically speaking. That last part isn't about "not trusting them" (what parent hasn't heard "Don't you TRUST me?!?"), it's all about recognizing fallen human nature for what it is, and being smart about it, in order to save both of them a whole lot of grief.

Here's an interesting article about courtship, written by a young woman who attended Franciscan University, and here's another, a critique of an article written by Ginny Seuffert. If you read them both, I think you'll get a pretty good idea of the various philosophical approaches to courtship.

But I say: philosophy, schmilosophy. We're facing real life here, my friends. We have an almost 18-yo daughter.

I so wish we'd made that age limit 30.