bearing blog

Full-time.

Time for a blurry cell-phone selfie in the mirror in my closet:

That's not-quite twenty weeks.  I feel bigger than I look, I think.

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The other day, in the YMCA locker room, was the first time that someone said to me with a smile, "So is this your first pregnancy?"   

I love the shock value of "No, it's my fifth."  The wide eyes and the Wow.   I am pretty sure this makes me a bad person.

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I was pregnant with just number four the first time someone else -- in the same locker room -- followed that question with a brief lecture on overpopulation destroying the planet.  

I said, "I think we should welcome and accept children from all kinds of familes, don't you?"

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I have to tell you, I'm absolutely tickled to be pregnant with my fifth child.  Whether there would likely be a number five was a much-discussed subject around here.

 I really didn't know what kinds of feelings to expect -- I have experienced each pregnancy with more ambivalence than you might think, considering that none were surprises.   There's just so much going on physically, and so much preparation to make, and the ever-looming Day of No Choice that comes some estimated day in the future, and the hopes for a good outcome and the worries about all the bad things that might happen.

So I'm pleasantly surprised to find myself simply happy about this new child, and about the prospects of being mother-of-five, which just has a very cool ring to it, don't you think?  I feel like I'm earning a shiny new badge.

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At the same time there's been a sort of odd stop-in-my-tracks realization that, indeed, the way this story is turning out is that I am spending my entire, er, career or active life or whatever you want to call it, almost exclusively mothering.   I mean, I kind of knew that this was what was going to happen, but it sort of hit me in the last few months.

Don't ask me why this is hitting me now and not the last time I was pregnant.   I was thirty-five years old when I had my fourth baby, and what with the general intention to keep homeschooling as long as it is working out, I was already quite clearly not expected to be off the hook for full-time involvement until my mid-fifties.  I'll be thirty-nine when I have number five, which brings me into later-mid-fifties, not that big of a difference really.  

(Perhaps it feels big because I lost my own mom when she was fifty-four; in that sense there was and is an infinite distance between mid- and late fifties.)

I haven't, either, chosen to keep active in my field even part-time on the side -- I explored it for a while, and decided I didn't want the added stress; and I haven't, either, thrown my extra energy into working for any cause I care about.  The volunteer work I do is local, the kinds of things that parents do to help keep their kids' Scout troops and homeschooling co-ops going from year to year.  

I have a lot of energy, a decent amount of talent for setting up systems and organizing stuff (not people, just stuff); but apparently, I have a limited supply of giving-a-shit.  

Or maybe you could call it a limited supply of caring, and I  can't afford to spend it much except on the people I have relationships with.  

The people who need me, personally, to give a shit about them, and no one else can replace me.

This is not everybody's problem.  I have friends I admire who raise several young children and are also pillars of a community, doing good and useful and vital work.    I am happy for them and grateful for their example (and often beneficiaries of their efforts).

Caring for and about my family, even though there's nothing especially needy about my family, requires my full-time effort.  It seems this will last about as long as I can stand to have a full-time anything.

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That's the thing I wake up surprised about, almost every day:  That it's an endlessly fascinating challenge, that I always have something to think hard about, that I go to bed satisfied almost every night .  I am happy every morning when I step out onto the porch with my coffee and watch the school buses rumble by, or if I happen to glance further down to the end of the block, where the busy east-west road crosses, and can catch a glimpse of the morning rush hour line-up to get onto the highway.

My job takes me nowhere that I am not curious to explore.   And I've signed up for another adventure, is what it feels like.  And I haven't had time to pack yet, but I will.

No bonk this time.

I just got back from a late-evening trip to the gym.  

I never fail to be amazed by the transformative effect of a little bit of vigorous exercise on my mood.  I've been sick, so I haven't been to the gym much lately.

 Last Tuesday I tried to run for the first time in two weeks, and everything hurt terribly; one of the "gifts" of pregnancy, it seems, is an almost-eerie sense that tells you firmly, without necessarily being able to say why, "YOU MUST STOP THIS NONSENSE RIGHT NOW."  

I ran, stopped, walked, tried to run again, got the "I SAID STOP" feeling from somewhere deep within, gave up and went back to the stairclimber.  I think I managed thirteen minutes of elevated heart rate that particular workout.

Thursday I stayed home when everyone else went to the gym.

Saturday I tried to swim my usual mile.  I felt good for 1,150 yards and was making good time.  Then halfway across the pool I was suddenly overcome by violent nausea.  I rolled onto my back and breathed slowly, fighting the urge to vomit (I did not particularly want to ruin the lifeguard's day) until I made it to the edge -- stopped -- got control of myself -- staggered to the locker room, where I hid in one of the fully-enclosed showers and wrestled with the dry heaves for ten or fifteen minutes.

There is no bonk like the pregnant bonk, let me tell you.  (Link helpfully provided to keep your mind out of the gutter.)

But today was almost better.  I put the run off till right before bed just in case it made me collapse into a quivering heap; Mark volunteered to clean up the kitchen and tuck in the kids.  I spent 9 minutes on the stairclimber and then headed over to the track, thinking I would walk a couple times around to get the ol' ligaments used to the idea of footfalls again and then run for 13 more minutes, if I could stand it.  And if you can call it running.  I've developed a shuffly sort of gait where I imagine my pelvis sailing forward always the same distance from the floor, without any up-and-down.  

As I padded around the track I admired the women and men playing badminton in the gym on the level below.  Three of the women were lean and one of the women was rounded and muscular, and they worked hard, grunted and puffed and lunged, bouncing lightly on their toes, ponytails gently swinging back and forth as they watched for the direction of their next reaching leap.  Between plays they paced, brushing a strand of hair out of their eyes, sipped water and laughed.  I hoped they were not watching my conspicuous waddle.

I came around again and again, and muttered through my teeth in time to my footfalls, "After... this... pregnancy... I'm... going... to... set... a... new... P-R."  (Of course, that's with the mental reservation that any race I run after this pregnancy will be my new "now that I am a mother of five" personal record, regardless of how fast I go.)   So annoying to feel so slow.  Not that I was ever impressively fast, but I impressed myself, anyway.  I glanced down again at the limber badminton players, and tried to remember what it was like to feel good in my skin.

Only a couple more times around and then I can stop.

Every once in a while someone would wander up into the little alcove off the track where they keep the exercise ball and the mats and things, where people stretch before and after running or sometimes do situps.  When someone would come out and look out over the track for a moment I would pick up the pace.  I wanted to at least look like I was playing the part of "really serious running-type person who even runs when she is pregnant" instead of "ridiculous waddling person who probably just started her exercise program halfway through her pregnancy against the advice of her OB because she was gaining too much weight."  

Just about when it was time to quit I saw another person come in and I stepped it up -- and all of a sudden when I picked up that faster pace, it was as if a switch went on inside me and everything got light instead of dark and heavy.  I felt -- lighter and swifter, and nothing hurt.  My feet knew how to run again.  And I went around and around and felt my heart grow lighter too, and my mind, and I suddenly felt happy and optimistic.  I felt exactly as I do in the morning when I am halfway through my second cup of coffee and the caffeine kicks in:  this sense of well-being appears out of nowhere, and all of a sudden all the things I would like to do seem possible.

I ran on that feeling for five more minutes, faster than before, until the "OKAY YOU HAVE TO STOP NOW" alarm started silently going off somewhere in the middle of my back, and I went back downstairs to the locker room and changed.  

On the way out I bought two energy drinks with a swipe of my credit card, one for now and one for tomorrow, when I will start to sink down, in the somewhat silly hope that it would somehow deliver a placebo version of whatever essence I found twelve minutes into my intended thirteen-minute run.  

Just goes to show you don't know what's around the next loop of the track, even the same track you've been looping the whole time.

Elisabeth Leseur's "A Little Essay on the Christian Life" for her nephew: III, the active adult life.

Continuing a series on the writings of Elisabeth Leseur, which I started here.

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We're working our way through Elisabeth's letter to her nephew.    Elisabeth's approach in this letter is to explore the theme of orare et laborare as it unfolds through three stages of life, that is,

• the time of adolescent crises, intellectual and moral;
• the time of adulthood, of seeking and living out one's vocation;
• the time of venerable old age.

In my first post about this letter, I wrote about Elisabeth's depiction of the time of adolescent crisis, and in my second, I discussed her advice for getting through adolescence with one's faith not merely preserved, but tested, hardened, and the better for having been tested.  Here's how I ended that last bit:

I like how Elisabeth acknowledges what all young, eager people feel, that "real life" has not started yet, that what is "real" is the life to be lived in the future as a grown man or woman.   But Elisabeth identifies it with a more precise term, "your active life."  

At the same time everything that has gone into her essay so far demonstrates that Elisabeth takes the lives of young people quite seriously, and that the struggle of adolescence can only be won by manly courage.  It's obvious that she doesn't think of adolescence as an inactive life, or a dormant one.  I think the metaphor of the military training ground is apt; one does one's time there before entering "active" duty, and yet it is not a place free from peril.

Now, having recapped what I wrote two weeks ago, we'll move on to the "active duty" of the Christian life.

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Elisabeth on vocation:

When you... are ready to become an adult, it will be extremely important for you to recognize and follow your vocation.  The word vocation means "calling:" it is God's secret call to your conscience to follow the path that he has marked out... [E]ach of us is intended to do some special work and receives a task determined beforehand.  Human society would be wonderful and harmonious if everyone accomplished all the work given to him by the "head of the household," and if we, laborers of the first hour, tried to discover God's will at every stage of our life.

The reference to "laborers of the first hour" is to the parable of the workers in the vineyard.  It is, in this context, a subtle reminder that the one who remains in God's service from the very beginning of his life -- like Elisabeth's nephew, a so-called cradle Catholic -- can not expect to receive special accolades or a greater reward than those who come later.  And Elisabeth has attached to it a gentle note of responsibility.

This cannot be, because from the beginning evil entered into the world, but we can at least  take our stand among those who desire to carry out God's plans...

Therefore, when the time comes, try to discern God's will for you.

Elisabeth on how to discern one's vocation:

In order to do so, you must

• pray, 
• fortify yourself with the wise and loving advice of your parents and of others whose character validates consulting them, and especially of the priest, the friend and guide of your soul.  
• Withdraw into your depths alone with God; 
• face the thought of death, which clarifies so much,
• and try to recognize your tastes and desires
• and to discern what career and what kind of life will be the most fruitful for you and for others.  Try to see clearly where you will be able to do most good while freely developing your abilities.

Note the balance of outward-facing good works and inward development!  Elisabeth's idea of the Christian life is not a self-effacing one, but one of self-development for service.  She goes on:

Give as much time as necessary to this patient search; this discovery is worth the effort and refection that help you reach it.  It is better to spend a long time looking for the right road than to risk getting lost or choosing a hard and difficultpath.  Ask God to illumine you; he will not refuse you but will show you the way.

Discernment does not end with the discovery of one's vocation:

Then courageously begin your work, always trying to discern your true task and the most amount of good that you can do, telling yourself that, whatever your vocation may be, there are always people suffering in mind or body to be cared for, tempers to be calmed, and hearts to be healed... During this active phase of your life, let your motto always be Orare et laborare.

(Here comes the part that I know a lot of my readers, by now well up to their elbows in their vocations, will want to pay attention to.)

Prayer during the active years

Be faithful to your morning and evening prayer, and to that honest examination of conscience... However absorbing your occupations may be, every day reserve a few minutes for recollection and solid meditation, which will strengthen you for the struggle.  

Eucharist as a meeting between "friends" during the active years

Above all, receive holy communion often with simplicity, confidence, and love.  Approach our Savior without anxiety as the friend he is, able to understand and share everything, with whom you can talk about your joys and sorrows, your temptations, and even the doubts that he can remove, your human plans and spiritual desires.  

Elisabeth warns against a scrupulosity common among Catholics in her culture:

Do not imagine, as some do, that, before going to holy communion you must be "well disposed" or worthy of the divine visit.  Such an idea is the result of a misconception about the goal and action of the holy Eucharist.  When we are physically weak, we eat the bread that restores our life; let us do the same spiritually.  If we were saints, the same abyss would exist between God and ourselves; but since he fills it up with his love, let us go to him as friends whom he does not frighten and whom his goodness attracts.

And she warns against despair in the face of a lack of spiritual "feelings:"

Above all, never stop receiving holy communion because you feel no consolation.  Sometimes we deeply sense our Savior's real presence and are tempted to believe that this loving awareness ought to happen every time.  This is a mistake, for, if it were so, communion would be heaven, whereas it is only meant to be the ay.... Just as food affects the body, so does God affect us without our perceiving it...

Work during the active years

Live your life as a man, in youth and in maturity, filling it with strenuous work and make it holy through prayer.  Orare et laborare:  once more I ask you to make this your motto throughout life, especially during those years of mental and physical energy when you can do so much to further God's interest.

(It's sobering right now to think that these are "those years of mental and physical energy." I maybe need to stop complaining about being tired all the time.)

Although it may be possible later to make up for wasted years, they can never be replaced.  Privileged people like yourself will have to render a strict account of them.

Elisabeth seems to have an almost contemporary notion of the significance of "privilege," one that goes beyond ours, which generally stops not far beyond race, class, and gender.  She recounts the privileges that have been André's heritage here, and stresses that the most significant thing such privilege gains for him is responsibility to use its advantages in the service of God.  We can use this moment to pause and consider our own privileges and concomitant responsibilities:

It fills me with emotion to think about the good you can do with the gifts you have received.  You are beginning life under the following circumstances:  

• God has given you good health and intelligence;
• you were born into a distinguished and united family ;
• you have an excellent father and a Christian mother;
• you have received great gifts spiritually, baptism, confirmation, and the Eucharist,
• and also many signs of your heavenly Father's love for you.

Until now, you have been able to offer him nothing in return except a little love and good will.  But from now on, you should think seriously about what you will be able to do for him, and by means of what courageous efforts, good works, and strong spirituality you will become a true soldier of Christ [Miles Christi].

This concludes Elisabeth's discourse on adulthood; like the discourse on adolescence, it ends with a military note.

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I am struck by the repeated reference to Jesus, especially in the Eucharist, as "friend."  It's not an uncommon designation, of course, but Elisabeth has many designations to choose from -- Lord, King, Judge, Bridegroom, Messiah, among others -- and I am sure she has picked this one deliberately.  

Indeed, "friend" is how the landowner addresses the "laborers of the first hour" when they complain about their wages in the parable that Elisabeth has referenced earlier in the letter.  I am inclined myself to remember John 15:

You are my friends if you do what I command you.  I do not call you servants any longer, because the servant does not know what the master is doing; but I have called you friends, because I have made known to you everything that I have heard from my Father.

In a culture where an appropriate sense of unworthiness often leads to an inappropriate to fear of approaching the chief remedy, Elisabeth is, I think, making a point that Jesus himself has called us his "friends."  

He calls us "friends" not unconditionally; but the conditions are not only for the heroic, but for the humble. He requires of us, his "friends," only obedience to what has been made known to us by Himself.  Not some extra mile, not imaginary requirements to imbue us with special sanctity, not legalistic rules that we make up and attempt to impose on ourselves or on others over which we hold no teaching authority.  So we need not fear to approach the Eucharist, if only we have kept his commands, including the commandment to repent of our failures and seek absolution through the ordinary means that have been made available to us.

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It is interesting to compare the two letters, the one to a young woman, the other to a young man.  The advice in them is not so very different, except in tone.  We live today in a time that has succeeded in removing many artificial distinctions between males and females (yes, it tries also to remove necessary and good distinctions; but that does not negate the real benefits of having dealt blows to unnecessary and harmful ones).   Today's Christian women cannot escape an awareness, after medieval exemplars like St. Joan and modern exemplars like St. Edith Stein, of being called to the lives of milites Christi.   Today's Christian men have an awareness that to "'possess your soul in peace,' to be gently and lovingly composed," often requires virtue bordering on the heroic.  Perhaps because of this, I think men and women, and especially adolescents like those to whom Elisabeth composed her letters, can appreciate almost equally the somewhat-gender-tailored advice that appears in her two letters.   

 

Outside the hoverchair.

Stroller bans are in the news again, here and here.  Predictably, some parents are railing against this "anti-child" policy, and some people who don't really like children very much are retorting that the children probably don't belong in the restaurants and stores that have the ban in them anyway.

These attitudes only make sense if you accept the logic that having children requires having strollers.

I do not.  I do not, therefore, believe that restricting the number of strollers in an enclosed space is the same thing as banning children.  I wish more places would do it.

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My words are primarily aimed at young families, so that I might warn them away from the dependency on The Stroller before it's too late.  Therefore, I'm going to be blunt.  If  you have several children and have already become dependent on a stroller, you may not find my words appealing.

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Although we have fewer children, by proportion of the population, than we used to have -- especially in urban areas -- we appear to have more strollers in every place where families go.  It may not be so bad in recently developed areas, but older buildings and areas that were designed for previous generations don't have room for all the strollers.   If you go to a place that attracts families with small children -- the zoo or the state fair -- sometimes you cannot move for all the strollers running over your toes and crashing into the backs of your knees.  Little kids who happen to be walking can't see over them.  

It's not so much each individual's choice, as it is the sum total of a crowd's choice.  A few strollers here and there do not cause a problem.  But a large crowd of families, each of whom are pushing a large and bulky stroller, does.  In a small boutique store or cozy restaurant, one stroller may not cause a problem.  But if three or four parents happen to be in the store at the same time, and each has a stroller, there's a parking issue (and maybe a fire code violation, and maybe real trouble for guests who use wheelchairs or walkers to get around).  And the crowd-of-strollers problem reduces everyone's mobility.

Why's that?  Why do we have more strollers than we have room for?

The aging population of parents?  Could be.  If you have your first baby at age 39, you might not be able to carry him around as easily as a parent who has his first baby at 22.

Maybe it's not that there are more strollers, but the strollers are bigger, clunkier, and fancier?  I think that is part of the problem.  You have to admit, today's strollers can be huge and unwieldy -- a far cry from the folding "umbrella strollers" of yesteryear:  lightweight, not much bigger than a couple of large umbrellas, and only about fifteen inches wide when fully unfurled.  (I hear you can still purchase them.  Perhaps the restaurants could evade the "you're anti-child!"criticism by permitting umbrella strollers and rejecting larger ones.)

When I survey the crowds at the fair or zoo, I'm tempted to identify another factor:  Kids in strollers until they are five or six or sometimes even older.  (This is enabled by the large-clunky-stroller phenomenon.)  It stands to reason that if a population depends on strollers up to age six, there will be more strollers in it than in a similar population that only depends on strollers up to age three.

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Strollers, it seems, have undergone mission-creep.  Think about the movie WALL-E  for a minute.  You know how early in the movie, while WALL-E is still trudging around planet Earth stacking cubes of garbage, you see the old advertisement for the new fancy ship?  And how the little personal hovercraft mean "Even Grandma can join in on the fun?"

The hoverchairs in the film were created to assist people with more-limited-than-normal mobility.  But over the generations between the advertisement and the time of the film, the hoverchairs undergo mission creep, and using them is now normalized.  All the adults use them to get around all the time, and never walk anywhere:

So it is with the stroller.  A device originally intended for occasional use, or perhaps constant use for a short period in a child's life, is now routinely employed for long periods that encompass all of early childhood.

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A lot of people want a stroller.  But most parents do not need a stroller, certainly not nearly as often as they think they do. 

Here is when you need a stroller:

(1) Your child has a disability.

(2) You have a disability, or are pregnant; or you are Grandma taking the child out;

(3) You are going for a run and you require a specialized jogging stroller;

(4) You have two babies;

(5) On a particular day, for a particular reason, you plan to travel on foot for a time or a distance that is unusually longer than what your family is used to.

For the able-bodied with typically-spaced singleton children, daily getting-around does not require a stroller.  

Becoming dependent on a stroller is, in that case, a lifestyle choice.  And the aggregate of many such lifestyle choices is an unpleasantly cluttered environment, and a lot of children who do not know how to walk safely and considerately in public.

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Obviously, when I look at a given family shoving their double stroller through the mall, I cannot know whether that family has to deal with an invisible disability, or some special circumstance.  So -- no -- I am not judging your family when I see your giant stroller, unless it runs over my foot, in which case I probably will, at least for a minute until I recover my senses.

But when I look at an entire crowd of people shoving their double strollers through the mall, I can guess that based on the sheer numbers, a lot of them aren't dealing with disabilities.

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My advice to those who are already dependent on the stroller is to try to wean themselves off from it, or maybe to go cold turkey.  My advice to those just starting out is never to get dependent on the stroller in the first place. 

The easiest way to avoid becoming dependent on the stroller is not to buy one, not to register for one, and not to accept one as a hand-me-down.    

Say, "I'll wait to get one of those until I find that I need it."  

Then make do without it as long as you can.

Carry the baby.  Use a sling or a wrap carrier.  You are an able-bodied adult, and newborns usually weigh less than ten pounds; you once carried far more than that in your school backpack.  Enjoy having your baby close to you, high up,  where he can hear your voice and see the people at people-height.  

As the baby grows, you will continue to carry the baby, and you will get stronger.  The median twelve-month-old weighs less than 25 pounds, and almost all twelve-month-olds are under thirty pounds; if you're not used to it now, that may sound like a lot, but if you carry your baby regularly you will have strong carrying muscles.   And if the baby's growth happens to outpace you and you cannot carry the baby far, then you can always keep that cheap umbrella stroller in the car or entry-hall for the occasional longer jaunt.

Let your toddler walk.  Hold his hand and travel at his pace down the street.  Start with short walks, perhaps picking him up to cross busy roads and parking lots, and setting him back on his feet when you have arrived on the other side.  Take longer walks as he gets stronger and more confident.   Keep a lightweight cloth carrier rolled up in your bag in case you accidentally overtire him and you need to carry him home.  Talk to him as you walk:  about traffic safety, about large dogs, about other pedestrians.   If you haven't a smaller baby to carry, hoist him onto your back or shoulders from time to time to give him a piggyback ride.  Let him ride in the cart or rental-stroller when you go to a store that has them; when you go to a store that doesn't, teach him not to touch the merchandise, or don't bring him into that kind of store until he's learned.  Keep the cheap umbrella stroller around for emergencies; maybe break it out more often for a little while if your next baby comes along before your toddler is really ready to walk everywhere you go.

If you're not used to walking with a small child in public, this might be intimidating.  Traffic is scary, and so is the prospect of a big public meltdown.  But just as you trained your carrying muscles as your baby got bigger, you will train your awareness and your coping mechanisms as your toddler gets bigger.  You will be aware of the hazards of traffic, and you will choose your route accordingly, and you will teach your child to walk safely.  You will keep your toddler closer to you and you will become aware of the things that attract or frighten him.  You will learn to predict meltdowns and you will adapt your plans as necessary.  And as your child grows in stature and ability and confidence, he and you will grow in confidence and your outings will grow longer and more varied.

This is how adults get around with children, outside the hoverchair.

 

Role-model time bombs.

In a friend's Facebook timeline I see the exchange:

"Its a shame what Miley Cyrus has turned into. She was so sweet and innocent during her Hannah Montana days...someone a child could look up to....NOT ANYMORE. I don't understand Hollywood kids that feel being good, pure and innocent is a bad thing."

---

"[My eight-year-old daughter] can't understand why I won't let her listen to her new song. It's a shame. With lines about dancing like you're in a strip club and getting in line for the bathroom to get a line."

---

I think a lot of it IS their own doing... They feel if they are hard and rough, it proves that they are no longer little goodie two shoes. Some come out of it though after they realize they have gone off the deep end (Hillary Duff comes to mind). But the likes of Lindsay Lohan, Amanda Bynes, and Miley Cyrus....not sure if they will come out of it.

Me? I think we've seen it happen often enough, and we've seen the lucrative outcome in terms of publicity, that we can conclude they are part of a larger pattern.

I suspect that the sweet/pure/innocent girl starlet image is carefully crafted by the entertainment companies as part of a master plan. Their young fans -- who are generally several years younger than the starlets themselves and especially their young fans' parents are being set up. The entire point of the sweet/pure/innocent/girl-next-door image is the Big Reveal, set for soon after the starlet turns eighteen: the nude photos come out, or the paparazzi images from the Hollywood party, or the mug shots, or the drug charges. The new album comes out with the suggestive dance moves and the explicit lyrics.

And all of a sudden, this adulation that seemed so harmless when your seven-year-old was wearing heart-shaped sunglasses and clenching a hairbrush microphone, lip-syncing to the lyrics of that wholesome, fifteen-year-old TV cutie? Now your daughter's ten, and her most beloved role model is dancing on stage in wet lingerie.

That got awkward fast, hm?

I have taken to viewing the "Disney sweetheart" phenomenon as a trap: a role-model time bomb, set on purpose to go off for maximum impact, maximum headlines, and to sell maximum copies of the first semi-nude photo shoot. In this model, the sweet-innocent-girl-next-door is an image carefully crafted and curated to ensnare as many hits as possible. The sweeter and more innocent the better, because then the more sensational the headline when she Goes Wild.

There is, as you know, a thriving and only partly underground market in the images of young women who appear to be anywhere from twenty-one down to about sixteen. When a young woman who was recently well-known as an underage star comes of age and hits the centerfolds, there is a valuable association -- "Is she even old enough for that?!" -- that her handlers must rush to exploit before it expires.

In other words: The Disney-Channel sweet and childlike girl next door is merely Phase I of "Hot, Wild, and Barely Legal." These girls are not going off the deep end on their own. They are being groomed to go off the deep end, because a lot of people stand to make money when they "discover" the next Britney, the next Lindsay, the next Miley.

Don't fall for it. If your daughters want to emulate the image, evaluate the branded merchandise -- it's glittery tee shirts and sparkly berry-flavored lip gloss now -- but what will it be in three years? And evaluate your own complicity -- could it be that by buying into the sweet and pure act now, you are already participating in an act of exploitation, just one that has not yet come to fruition?

 

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Gratuitous belly pic.

Not even seventeen weeks, here:

Sorry about the blur.  I was rushed on my way out the door to church this morning and decided to take advantage of being all dressed up.  

You do realize that the baby is only the size of a turnip at this point, right?  It seems that I have swallowed an entire sack of them.

 

UPDATE:  I don't know why it says comments are closed at the bottom of this post as of right now (Sunday night).  I don't have comments closed as far as I know.  Am checking with Typepad.

UPDATE AGAIN:  I think it's fixed.  Some kind of billing snafu. 

Elisabeth Leseur's "A Little Essay on the Christian Life" for her nephew: II, getting through the adolescent crisis with help, prayer, and work.

Last time I wrote about the beginning of this essay, the theme of which is "Orare et laborare."  Just as a quick recap:  

 I want to say in a few words how prayer and work ought to exist together in your life and never be separated, and how spirituality and work ought to be combined together during the three major stages of your career.

The three stages of life that Elisabeth outlines are these:

• the time of adolescent crises, intellectual and moral;
• the time of adulthood, of seeking and living out one's vocation;
• the time of venerable old age.

In the last post I showed how Elisabeth described the adolescent crisis of faith.  She comments that the crisis is difficult and many don't survive as intact Christians, but that it's perhaps necessary to temper and harden strong Christians.

I find this to be a very interesting opinion to hold, one that is directly related to the problem of free will.  The problem of free will, in a nutshell, is that authentic love requires an environment in which we have the freedom to reject love and to do evil.  Here Elisabeth posits that authentic growth requires a hardening-off stage that some may not survive; a weeding-out, so to speak.  It is a stumbling block to many that God allows evil in the world.  A similar obstacle is raised by the idea that  God throws up dangers in our path, risking that we will not pass through them.  

But of course Elisabeth is working from the observation that some people "become depressed and irremediably disturbed" -- an observation we must, after all, grapple with -- and proposing that these are foreseeable casualties in a necessary struggle.  They are the cadets who are struck down in the training exercises that make soldiers for Christ.

 In this post I'll begin by showing her advice about how to navigate the weeds so as to emerge safely on the other side as a "strong apostle." Here we go:

But before you can reach this goal, you must face the struggle, (and we must discuss the methods to be used) if you are to pass through this crisis unharmed.  This accomplishment will make your faith conscious and mature.

Elisabeth's first advice to her nephew is to seek help in times when the intellect and the faith appear to conflict.

I find it very interesting that Elisabeth names the boy's mother, and herself, as mentors. Recall that Elisabeth framed her nephew's most important privilege of birth as being "son and grandson of Christian women."  Along the way she gives us a glimpse into her own concept of identity.

Above all, never forget that you have a mother to whom you can always unburden your heart; do not hesitate to tell her about ... ideas... doubts... difficulties... and all that affects your moral and spiritual life.  

Do not forget that I, too, can help you on the basis of my experience, the fruits of long, interior effort, and the grace God has done in me with no merit of mine.  He refused me a son like you, but I think he intended me to be your spiritual mother and perhaps of others as well.  He prepared me for this task by giving me experience of spiritual things and bringing me into contact with people of all sorts who either deny the faith or are hostile or indifferent to it.  By his grace the world within and the world without have made my faith indestructible...

I ask you, therefore, to come to me any time that intellect and faith appear to conflict.  

Here Elisabeth interjects a little discourse on faith and reason:

You have no idea how easy it sometimes is to disperse the clouds that confuse the mind.  It is quite possible for a beautiful harmony to exist among all the powers of our being... Nothing on earth is as beautiful as this union of human reason and faith, of earthly and divine knowledge, of an intense spiritual life and a very active outer life, entirely dedicated to the good.  A man who has achieved this excquisite unity of his entire being is truly strong... he is an apostle...

Elisabeth's second piece of advice, after seeking help from others to resolve apparent conflicts between faith and intellect, is to make use of "the two means" at his disposal:  prayer and work.  It's orare et laborare again!

First, prayer, particularly interior prayer, which Elisabeth calls "all-powerful":

When you face temptation, doubt, or cowardice, you must not argue or hesitate, or give in to the enemy, but throw yourself into God's arms...

[T]he life of reason and the spiritual life do not have the same methods and are not nourished by the same food.  The soul lives by prayer, just as the intellect absorbs intellectual nourishment and the body material substances; the soul dies when it lacks divine warmth, just as the body dies for lack of food and the mind for lack of an education... [P]rayer is the soul's breathing in God.  Never lose this breath by abandoning interior prayer, which is called grace in us and which gives us life.

Second, work, "which draws its efficacy from" prayer and which is "most useful:"

Work, serious work, prepared for and sustained by prayer, will help you to pass happily through those early years...

Begin to prepare for your future career by means of rigorous study.  It does not matter so much that you achieve brilliant success, for this is often due to innate ability and does not always involve sustained effort and energy.

I like Elisabeth's "no excuses" attitude towards a lack of innate ability.  After all, this is an essay on the Christian life, not the particularly-smart-and-talented-Christian life.

 Work conscientiously, doing what you can do... Be convinced that this is your absolute duty.  Christianity needs men of solid worth to represent it.  In the world few people are able to form a personal opinion about doctrine.  They look to its representatives for guidance, and the best way to make others appreciate and love Catholicism is, perhaps, to show simply by one's example what a Catholic is.

You will demonstrate once more that a man may be learned and highly cultured while remaining a humble, fervent Christian.

Elisabeth is, remember, writing to a specific person whom she expects to excel in the educated class.  But I think we can extend this with a sort of implied permission, since Elisabeth made the point about innate talent not being as important as self-application.    

In general, the Christian who works conscientiously can demonstrate that a man may be learned and highly cultured -- or an honest producer of quality work -- or interesting and engaging, kind and friendly -- or a successful and respected businessman -- or any manner of success in worldly endeavors -- while remaining a humble, fervent Christian.

The strength of your convictions joined to a delicate respect of for the consciences of others will, perhaps, contribute toward breaking down the absurd prejudice cultivated against us, and you will show successfully that all human knowledge collectively cannot obscure the pure light of God but, on the contrary, can only become more resplendent from its radiance.

But she is not only, or not primarily, talking about setting a good example in career-oriented work.   She means service as well:

By work, dear child, I mean the activities your age and studies allow you to do.  Persons of good will always have some spare moments that may become means of saving others.  I know no more touching sight than that of young people... who give their free time and their Sundays to visit poor families, to look after young apprentices, or to organize popular lectures and meetings that will bring them into personal contact with their less fortunate brothers and sisters.

Thes young men work for social peace and true charity... These are not merely political pipe dreams... rather, they are real reconstructions, built up on the cornerstone, which is Christ.

Last, Elisabeth encourages her nephew to appreciate how an environment that is full of positive influences will help him thrive:

You will be surrounded by affection, which will protect you from evil;

you will be sustained by prayer and... the sacraments, too.

You will be prevented from frequenting bad places of amusement and harmful acquaintances by serious activities and... good works.

So, to sum up, we have the following implicit advice for the turbulent adolescent years:

1. When troubled by apparent conflict between intellect and faith, ask for help from wise mentors.
2. Constantly pray interiorly, especially when assailed by temptation, doubt, or cowardice, and to prepare for and sustain the duties of your work.
3. Work conscientiously, doing what you can do, at studies or a career and in service of others.
4. Fill your life and your time with affection, prayer, the sacraments, serious activities, and good works.

In conclusion:

Consequently, I hope that you will happily navigate this period of youth and reach the age when your active life begins, not without having encountered evil (for you must learn to recognize it), but without its ever making you alter your route, and without your giving it anything but a glance of pity, reserving your heart for your future life and work.

I like how Elisabeth acknowledges what all young, eager people feel, that "real life" has not started yet, that what is "real" is the life to be lived in the future as a grown man or woman.   But Elisabeth identifies it with a more precise term, "your active life."  

At the same time everything that has gone into her essay so far demonstrates that Elisabeth takes the lives of young people quite seriously, and that the struggle of adolescence can only be won by manly courage.  It's obvious that she doesn't think of adolescence as an inactive life, or a dormant one.  I think the metaphor of the military training ground is apt; one does one's time there before entering "active" duty, and yet it is not a place free from peril.

Information theory.

Tuesday morning we drove out to see the midwives for the first time this pregnancy. It seemed like such a long time to wait -- but sixteen weeks is finally here.

There is certainly something to be said for being in touch with your own body and not dependent on machines that go bing to tell you that everything is okay. Still -- I admit it! -- I must not have really felt like the pregnancy was really real until the Doppler came out, the wand probed at my belly, and there it was, the unmistakable whoosh whoosh whoosh at 140 beats per second.

I almost can't describe it. The whole rest of the day I felt as I ought to have felt the moment the two lines turned pink. Exhiliarated and apprehensive and -- happy. I have been holding back, apparently.

(The fetoscope didn't pick up the baby's heartbeat, not unusual at 16 weeks. I am glad the midwife will dust off her Doppler for me.)

+ + +

Today the whole family came along. The three-year-old and my daughter who turns seven tomorrow played with the old, gentle house dog; the nine-year-old and the oldest who turns thirteen in two days stayed up in the little bedroom with us to chat with the midwives. Yes, I am feeling fine. No, no hemorrhoids or varicose veins. No, I am not feeling any movement yet. No, actually, I am not perfectly sure of my dates. I had brought a photocopy of my last chart to show, all marked up -- here and here, it isn't the clearest temperature pattern but I am guessing that the temperature rise is either this date or that one. Split the difference between them and that's how I calculate that I am sixteen weeks along. I handed the copy to J. (midwife no. 1) and she looked at the numbers and fiddled with the pregnancy wheel, asked for a clarification to some of my notes, then nodded and agreed with my guesstimate.

"Planned, or happy accident?" asked V. (midwife no. 2), leaning over to take the chart from J.

"Planned," I answer (as if you couldn't tell from all the check marks). "In all my other pregnancies I had a much better handle on the temperature patterns, but I am seeing the cycles starting to kind of go perimenopausal, I think, and they are getting harder to interpret. So I can really only nail this one down to a two-week window."

Maybe I should have felt weird about explaining all that in front of my two older boys, but I found that I didn't. I suppose that a good deal of the chart-explaining was mysterious, if they were even paying attention. They neither asked questions nor interrupted. I decided not to press them, but just to let them be, there on the periphery.

+ + +

Afterwards we stopped to have lunch at a nearby Noodles and Company. I had originally planned Getting Lunch Out as a specially indulgent treat, in honor of the first midwife appointment and the unusual excitement of having Mark home with us at lunchtime on a weekday. But my growling stomach made it known that I couldn't have waited till home anyway. I was ravenous, drained.

Such a happy occasion and yet so exhausting. I think that happiness, or perhaps changes-in-status-of-happiness, must take something out of you. Or maybe I was burning up energy with apprehension. By the time we got home I needed a nap.

But I feel better, so much better, now that I have heard back -- in a fashion -- from the little, quiet inhabitant. I suppose I am dependent on technology, and information. Why wouldn't I be, at least a little? It is the sea in which I swim.

 

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Comments were down, now back up.

Reader Tabitha let me know there were some commenting problems, which I think I have now fixed. So if you tried and failed to leave me a comment on my plea for calendar help or the latest on Elisabeth Leseur, please come back and try again!

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Help me, I'm a calendar luddite.

So this is kind of a plea for help.  

It isn't that I'm not reasonably geeky.  Really, I am.  Very comfortable in the Internet, cloud computing age.

But.  This is the calendar app that I use:

(I thought I'd make sure to include in the photo the background skin I selected, complete with pirate ship and wildebeest.)

I have tried in the past to transition to a shareable online calendar and I have always failed.  Something about the paper-and-pen -- about the memory cues that are triggered by the color ink I used or by the scrawly arrows that mark off a whole week -- the way the month looks hanging up on the wall -- the fact that it's always visible in the same spot in my house -- something in there comforts me and makes me feel as if I am On Top of Things. I do not get that feeling from electronic calendars.  And I thrive on that feeling.

But it is starting to get annoying (not to ME -- to those pesky OTHER people) that I am always saying "I can't confirm that right now, I have to go home and check my calendar" or "ha ha, sure I'd love to share my calendar with you, let me find a photocopier and a stamp."

I think I might have to go cold turkey in 2014.

Does anyone know of a twelve-step program for making the transition?  And what's a good app to use?  How do I do this painlessly?

If this helps at all:  

• of the two people whose calendars I am most in need of being in touch with or sharing, one uses Outlook and one uses Google Calendar.  
• Our family mostly uses Macs and iOS devices, but we do use Windows PCs on occasion.

Thoughts?