Today marks my 570th day of motherhood! I'd like to consider myself an old pro, but aside from the fact that the once-frequent "is she breathing?!" checks have subsided, everything looks about the same as it did on day one. Some days I look at my hair in the mirror and get a little scared as I remember the infrequency with which I now shower. Here are some of my shining moments as a mother:
Two of my sisters married two guys who are brothers. Yes. Read it again if you have to, but yes. If you're thinking of lightning striking the same place twice, four leaf clovers, seeing two shooting stars or any other assumed impossibility, you're on the right track.
I don't know how other people feel about the statistical anomalies in their lives, but I absolutely love the this duo-marriage dynamic in our family. It makes for excellently competitive doubles ping-pong and a really good source of the embarrassing-childhood-story kind of leverage when arguing against one of the brothers.
It's because of my connection to my two brothers-in-law-who-are-also-brothers (phew!) that I had the pleasure of meeting the boys in these photos and their family. I was able to join them as they support their son's First Reconciliation in preparation for his First Communion, and it was delightful.
Enjoy!
Rachel
My mom sometimes talks about how rough it was, right after my little sister Natalie was born. She tells about how she had moments of deep and difficult wondering how it could all work out, raising a baby that was so different from her other six children.
Early last week, my sister and I joked around with my mom about how crazy it would be for us all to drive to the pro-life march in Washington D.C. She was across the country visiting her family, and we were looking at two babies, five adults (two of them frantic moms), strollers, carseats and luggage, no sleeping, and one very tight car. Like we said, it'd be crazy to go.
It's not at all surprising that not even a day later, my mom got a flight changed, lost her luggage, bought back-up toiletries, and made it happen so that she and Natalie were packed and ready to drive through the night to D.C. There we were, rolling into D.C. at 4am like we always knew it would happen.
I think there's a part of the fight that my mom fought 25 years ago that's still unfinished, and it is that of echoing the same grace-filled whisper she heard, "You can do this. You were made for it. I will help you." It's the same thing she told me when I brought my baby home.
That's why we went this year and that's why my mom took us some 10 other times growing up. It's a peaceful way of passing momentum from one mother to the next.
Of course these aren't her words, they're mine, and I'm only telling it as I observe it to be as her daughter. And while this story is mostly about my mom, there's a whole lot of my Dad and Natalie in there. Who, like a champion, drove across the city in a pinch for those back-up toiletries, texted us hourly to check on us, and made oddly useful route recommendations? My Dad, supportive as ever. And who squeezed willingly in the smallest back-row seat the whole trip, upheld her standing title as "baby-whisperer", and maintained group morale by chanting upbeat songs at any given moment? Natalie, as wonderfully herself as ever.
This is only my most recent reason for being thankful for these three people, but there are many more. Being with my Mom, Dad and Natalie makes you start to think that three's not a crowd. Three is most definitely a party.
Enjoy,
Rachel
After the holidays this year, I found myself feeling like Christmas entertained me for a minute and then dropped me like a middle school date. You know how it feels. You question the meaning of life and where all the warm, fuzzy feelings have gone.
I went into Christmas very determinately trying to avoid this sweep of post-Christmas blues. I tried to focus specifically on the Catholic liturgical calendar, which so beautifully waxes and wanes in and out of seasons of preparation and celebration. Despite my efforts, I found that I slipped again!
Don't get me wrong, we get into celebrating at the Magree house. But, I may have watched one too many Hallmark movies, ate one too many Christmas cookies, and definitely, definitely bought Edith too many gifts (...not feeling guilty about this, though. Who knew how fun it would be to buy kids presents at Christmas..!!) And when it was time for it all to end, I had a hard time letting go.
It wasn't really until I let the sound of the celebration die down that the silent and humble whisper of the everyday caught my attention. I remembered once again how good life is when it wanes back into simplicity.
So, today, I'm posting photos of my two best reminders of the goodness God gives me.
If you would like to know more about me, this story will help. Two things: (1) I hate cleaning and (2) I like it when things are clean because I'm neurotic [internal conflict meter alarm blaring]:
I don't like cleaning bathrooms. I really don't. My husband doesn't either. So, when it comes to that terrible, dreaded, wow-its-been-a-month moment and it's my turn, I have to gear myself up to get in there and do it.
So, this time, I went to the dollar store and bought a squeegee. Why, you ask? Well, have you ever used a squeegee? It's the most satisfying thing. The nice, straight streaks that separate the clean from the dirty. So, I knew that if I had the squeegee I could look forward to cleaning the bathroom in order to see all the clean streaks of mirror, and we have a pretty wide stretch of mirror in our 70s-built bathroom. So, it worked. The bathroom cleaning was bad, but I did it because I wanted to see the clean streaks.
Cha-ching! Behavioral therapy, people.
So, if you can't relate to this story, I'm sorry you've read it and you're probably concerned about me. Don't be. I'll drink decaf coffee and it'll even things out.
If that story reveals anything about me, the photos of this group are even more telling of their fun-loving and hearty character. It was a blast to be with them to celebrate.
