Happy Thanksgiving!

Thank goodness for those pilgrims and Indians! What a great tradition they started. The turkey's in the oven - it's 6 a.m. - and I am wide awake. I wish you all the very best. Hopefully you'll have a breath today to pause to remember the people and things for which you are most grateful.

Bring on the turkey and pumpkin pie! Have a great holiday!

~ Maureen :)

Good Luck Ladies

So, tomorrow's the big day. Are you thoroughly exhausted yet? I've often said that moms give the holidays and men receive them. Of course, coming from a houseful of men I am definitely biased. And not in a good way!

For once, I'm in great shape for tomorrow. Just shove the bird in the oven and wait 'til it's done. Table's set, pies are made, sausage cornbread stuffing makings are ready and waiting to be assembled. Tomorrow it's whipped potatoes and sweet potatoes, open the cranberry can and we are good to go.

I'm glad we have our own Thanksgiving. I insisted years ago. I bucked the well-established family system and our young family stayed home for our own dinner. We visit everybody later in the day, but there's just something so wrong about not having your own Thanksgiving Day leftovers, you know?

Hopefully you are not working too hard preparing your own feast. The funniest thing about writing this blog is that I doubt if one single lady will read it. You're all too busy!

Gobble! Gobble! :)

Pumpkin Cheesecake Tarts

You will need:

12 oz. cream cheese – softened
¾ cup sugar
1 T. cornstarch
1 t. pumpkin pie spice
2 eggs
1 cup canned pumpkin
1/3 cup light corn syrup
Gingersnaps
~*~*~*~*
Line muffin pans with cupcake liners. Put one gingersnap in each cup. Beat first 4 ingredients until mixed. Add next 3 one at a time and beat on high for 1 minute. Pour batter into cups. Bake at 325 degrees for 30-35 minutes until just set. Chill 1 hour. Makes 24.
~*~*~*~*
Easy decoration – sprinkle a very small amount of green colored sugar after baking. My disclaimer: When you can’t stop eating these, don’t blame me!

Enjoy! :)

My Flak-jacketed Heart

I warn you, this is not your typical Thanksgiving column. If you are the kind of Catholic mom who truly smiles from within to all comers, who wakes each morning praising God for the wonders He has bestowed upon you, who exemplifies living life for the other – well, you may just think me an ungrateful wretch.

If, however, you are a tired mom, a mom searching for meaning in your day-to-day round, a mom desperate for an identity that fits like a glove rather than a gunnysack – then maybe you can relate to my Thanksgiving frame of mind.

A week ago, one of my editors asked her columnists for a list of thank yous to include in her blog on Turkey Day. I haven’t responded. I don’t know what to say.

Do I spout off the familiar litany: family, food, home, friends? That’s superficial, and I know it. I AM grateful for these things, but I guess I’m not jumping for joy over what I’ve grown to take for granted. I try to see the glass as half full, but relate most accurately to the half empty vessel. And I know that doesn’t make God happy.

I come with baggage which I can’t seem to shake. Certain times are better than others. Good stretches last a while, but I’ve never been able to latch onto the Pollyanna frame of mind for extended periods. Life happens. I’m in the midst of a trying time for which I’ve coined the phrase, “Tweeny Mom,” to label this time of my life. The really fun and heartwarming moments of young motherhood are long past, replaced by the It’s-time-to-let-them-make-their-own-mistakes phase. This phase sucks. I KNOW something is wrong. I KNOW it will hurt, but do they listen? Sometimes, but not nearly enough for my liking. And I hate it.

My parents aren’t getting any younger. And I hate that too.

I am pulled in so many directions. I do have the availability of more actual time, but how do I best fill my time? I haven’t figured that one out yet. We tweeny moms are surviving our second stint at paralyzing adolescence. “Older and wiser” doesn’t seem to matter much when the rules have changed so drastically. Add another item to the hate list.

Lovely column so far, don’t you think? I did warn you.

However, knowing that there is a God who loves me—warts and all—is something for which I am truly grateful. God is always there for us, no matter what we feel. No matter how far we sink into the pit He accompanies us. Too bad we drag Him down to our levels so often. Poor Guy! But we do, time and time again.

After much consideration, I think I’ll send this list to my editor:

1. Nobody loves me like my mom does. This love which springs straight from her soul is the nearest I will ever get to perfection until I die. Last week one of my brothers was visiting my parents when I arrived. After my mom’s greeting to me he remarked, “Gee, I never get that response.” No. No one does. Just me. And I love it.

2. For an instant each Sunday morning, a friend who sings in the church choir grabs my attention with a smile that bull’s eyes straight through to my flak-jacketed heart. And I smile back wholeheartedly.

3. In today’s e-mail from a friend – her last sentence, and I quote, “Hang in there with your family of men – that is why you are crazy, you know.” It is true. Undeniably true. Five men versus one me has affected me in more ways than I’ll ever fully understand. However, lately, one son in particular, can zero in on my mood, and give me exactly what I need. We are on the same wavelength. And if only for snippets, every so often, I crave that momentary soul mate.

4. And then there are my friends who never let me down. The constants to whom I may complain or brag, laugh or scream. It doesn’t matter. Like God, they love me—warts and all.

So, God, please don’t mistake my turmoil for ingratitude. I am grateful to You for all the blessings in my life – even the ones I may not readily recognize. Thank You from the bottom of my flak-jacketed heart.

Love,
Maureen :)

The Boy who Cried, "Jesus!"

Once upon a time there was a little blond blue-eyed baby boy who brought such delight to his parents by his very existence. As he grew older this boy warmed the hearts of all he saw with his prize-winning grin and smiling eyes. Each night he prayed, “Goodnight Baby Jesus. We love You, Baby Jesus. Amen.”

And God said, “I love you, too.”

This toddler soon fell in love with Barney, and had eyes for no other. He spent his days playing in the company of his brothers. “Thank you, Jesus, for my mom, dad, and brothers.”

And God said, “You’re welcome.”

Time passed and school began as the Barney infatuation waned. Besides plunking this child into a loving family, God also saw fit to give him a most precious friend in the boy’s first year of grade school. This friendship strengthened and flourished despite a rocky start. One day tiny punches were thrown over the charms of a pretty little girl. Both Galahads were suspended from school for three days. “Thank you, God, for not letting me really hurt my friend today.”

And God said, “Take care of that friendship throughout your life.”

God blessed this boy with speed. Running, running, always running – just like Forest Gump. Breaking records, earning medals, this boy sped through his high school years. “Please help me race my fastest today, Jesus.”

And God said, “I’ll be waiting for you at the finish line.”

One Sunday at Mass this college boy knelt with his family and prayed, “Please, God, help me this semester. I want a 4.0.”

And God said, “I’ll give you plenty of time to study.”

God heard this boy’s voice whenever the boy spoke.

One afternoon the boy engaged in a fierce battle with an opponent while playing Madden football on TV. “Jesus Christ! How’d he miss that pass!”

God heard the most familiar voice and dropped what He was doing to help the boy who sounded so urgent in his cry. And God said, “Oh, I guess he doesn’t really need My help after all.”

That night – “Jesus Christ! Why am I the only one who ever has to do the dishes around here?”

And God said, “There’s that voice again. What should I do? He called My name. Does he need My help this time? Let Me see. Oh…no…he doesn’t.”

Next morning – “God damn it!”

And God said, “What now? He wants me to damn something? This friend of Barney? I think I hear another of My children calling. I better leave here and see what she needs.”

“Jesus! Can’t somebody else get the phone? Hang on. Jesus Christ!”

“Jesus Christ!”

“Jesus Christ!”

“Jesus Christ!”

One day this young man received a package, heaven sent, you might say. Puzzled, he unwrapped the gift and stared at a coverless copy of what appeared to be a worn children’s story book. He began to read:

Once upon a time there was a blond blue-eyed baby boy whose job it was to watch over his father’s sheep. It was such a boring job day after uneventful day. The youngster was lonely and wanted someone to talk to besides sheep, so he hatched an idea.

“Wolf! Wolf! Help! Wolf!”

And his father raced to his son’s aid. But there was no wolf. The boy said he’d made a mistake.

A few weeks later, the little shepherd remembered how exciting it had been to see his father drop everything for him, and come running. So the boy did it again.

“Wolf! Wolf!” And his father came again. No wolf…again.

A third time this foolish child cried, “Wolf,” with no wolf in sight.

Months passed until one day the boy heard a ruckus among the sheep, and there it was – for real this time – a huge scary black wolf about to pounce.

“Wolf! Wolf!”

No one came.

“Father! Wolf! Help! Wolf!”

Still, no one came. The flock was desecrated in moments, fluffy white devoured to a lifeless, mangled red.

With nothing left to tend, the dazed boy stumbled into town. Where could his father be that he had not heard him? Had not come? In disbelief the boy ran right into his father.

“Why did you not come? I called and called. There was a wolf. The sheep – they’re all dead!”

And the boy’s father said, “I’m not falling for that one again, my son. Aren’t you a bit too old for such nonsense? You have called me needlessly time and time again. ‘Father, Father,’ you’d cry. I came to realize that my time was better spent elsewhere. I truly did not hear you today. I am sorry. Little by little I must have tuned you out.”

And the boy walked away, utterly crushed.

Shutting the book, our young man wondered who would send him such a story. And why? He spied an envelope, tore it open and read the note:

Hey! What’s up? Can ya take a look at this story for Me? The ending’s not quite right. Can ya help Me change it?
Later,
Jesus Christ

*****

Definite food for thought, don't you think, moms? This story was my CatholicMom column last week, and as a happy little postscript, I haven't heard, "Jesus Christ," around here in a week! Not that this could possibly be autobiographical or anything!!! Writer-mom scores one!

~ Maureen :)

Semper Fi

I wish to commend the honor, courage and commitment of the men and women who selflessly serve to defend our country. The following was written to honor a Marine who has been a best friend to one of my sons since they were in third grade together. This Marine has already come home safely from Iraq, but deploys to Afghanistan on Tuesday – the day before Veteran’s Day. Please keep him and another young man from the same high school, who is also headed to Afghanistan, in your prayers:

Infinite, Always Faithful, Love

You’re pregnant. You’re ecstatic. You call everyone you know. No one in the history of the world has ever had more urgent news.

You wait nine long months. Your baby boy arrives home and your infinite love overtakes him. No one in the history of the world has ever had a more beautiful baby boy.

He is yours, all yours. Oh sure, you must pretend to share him with the rest of the family, but in your core of cores you know he is all yours. You care for his every need. You are his entire world. What did you ever do to deserve such a love? You can’t recall, but you gratefully accept the gift. And you nurture the son.

From midnight feedings and bedtime stories to all that’s in between, you care for your son. You protect him. You shelter him from harm. You watch with astonishment as he grows and takes his first steps.

Years pass, memories etch. Your little boy is no longer a baby; he must go to that place called school with those children called friends. And you must do the grownup thing and let him go. You watch with apprehension as he boards the school bus.

As every season unfolds, your little boy unearths more of the world. He discovers basketball. No one in the history of the world has ever steered the ball down the court better. You watch with excitement as he swishes his first three-pointer.

And then come the girls. Ups and downs and turnarounds lead his heart to places where you can no longer protect him. You want to protect him, to keep him from harm, but now you must only advise, knowing he must do these things on his own. You watch with helplessness as his heart breaks; you send up thanks when his heart mends.

You consider yourself most lucky as you observe the circle of friends he has chosen. You feel the tug on your heartstring stretching a bit more as he embarks further away from you, but you trust his friends and you trust him. So it’s OK.

High school years fly by. You sit on bleachers in high school gyms, football stadiums, baseball diamonds and around quarter mile tracks. You hold your breath, you cheer, you live and die in the seconds it takes for him to catch that pass or to score that 1000th point. You are his biggest fan. No one in the history of the world is as special as your son.

You watch with pride as your boy-turned-man walks across the stage to accept his diploma. You step aside as he drives off to college. You understand when his choice detours and he returns home because no one in the history of the world has ever loved a son more faithfully.

And then he decides to become a Marine. A Marine. Your mind has a difficult time surrendering to this. Your baby, your son, turned soldier? It was one thing when he played soldier, but to be a soldier?

Ups and downs and turnarounds lead him to places where you can no longer protect him. You want to protect him, to keep him from harm, but now you must only watch knowing he must do these things on his own. He must go to that place called Afghanistan with those friends called Marines. And you must do the grownup thing and let him go. You watch with apprehension as he boards the plane.

Before you know it, the heartstring stretches across an ocean. You eagerly anticipate your Marine’s phone calls, letters and e-mails, for you know that beneath those dog tags beats the same heart of the baby you carried beneath your heart for nine months – the best heart in the history of the world.

You must step back. You have protected him and sheltered him from harm for as long as you could. It’s your son’s turn now to protect and to shelter a nation. It’s your turn to wait again…and to pray…until the day your baby boy arrives home and his infinite love overtakes you.

Semper Fi! Godspeed to all.

~ Maureen :)

Happy Birth-day, Mamazina!

I am very pleased to announce that Paula Schmitt of Mom Writer's Literary Magazine, for which I am copy editor and columnist, has joined forces with Joy Rose of Mamapalooza to create a new publication - Mamazina! The Fall/Winter 2009 transitional issue launched online last night: www.momwriterslitmag.com. Next Spring we will offer both a print and online issue for all you moms to enjoy.

Mamazina encompasses so much of motherhood. It's not just a magazine for moms of young children - it runs the gamut. It grows as we moms grow. We've had essays, columns, profiles, reviews and poetry about adoption, miscarriages, home improvements, empty nesters - funny stuff and tragic tales. In other words: It's true to a mom's life.

Personally, I target those searching moms who, like myself, may have forgotten what it's like to be a woman - those who have raised their children, and are in the time of their lives when minute-by-minute care for their children is no longer needed. So what do we do, we tweeny moms? We're stuck in the middle, and it's no less difficult than adolescence.

Join us at Mamazina to see how other women cope. And if you've a flair for writing, send your thoughts to us. Information is available on our site. We are a publication where "Women's Voices Unite." You are not the only one who has ever had the thoughts you are having. You are not crazy. You are not losing your mind. You are tired. You need insight as well as sleep.

Check out my column, Just Another Manic Momday, in this current issue: That's M-a-u-r-e-e-e-n! And search the archives to read my past columns dealing with this phenomenon of tweeny momhood.

Enjoy!

~ Maureen :)

The Candle Stays

Tonight my family of men and I sat down to dinner. What was commonplace for years has become a rarity. For the past week and a half I have been bitten by the flu bug. Although I haven’t yet let loose with a swine-like oink, I have been feeling pretty bad. Yesterday my only claim to fame was making dinner in a kitchen with more dirty dishes than clean before I began.

I kept it together. I didn’t get too mad. I’m resourceful. Certain utensils can double for others in a pinch. At the end we ate in the living room watching Notre Dame trounce their opponent. And dinner was appreciated by four.

But four isn’t six; four is not all.

Tonight I pieced together the last halfway simple ingredients for an edible meal. Mother Hubbard’s cupboards are bare. And tonight we were six; tonight we were all. I don’t know why, but I lit a candle and placed it in the middle of the table. I think somewhere in my psyche candles mean love.

We ate. We talked. Nothing special. I purposely brought up nothing disagreeable. Looking around the table at my five men I could have spouted plenty, and I’m sure they all could have reciprocated. But it’s difficult to be grumpy in candlelight.

When the first son started to bolt, I asked him to stay, saying simply, “Humor me. Pretend it’s Thanksgiving, and let’s hold hands.” My kids aren’t kids anymore; they are grown men aged 19-24. And they humored me – we all held hands.

A powerful strength lies in the family. Sometimes I wonder why none of my boys have gone off to college. What’s the draw to stay here to work and attend classes? God knows we certainly have our share of flaws. We know each and every button to push to bring out the worst in each other.

But when one is in need, another zeroes in on the cure. We try.

I can hold the fiercest feeling in my heart to walk out that door – Ooh, they’d miss me! – and someone will hug me or make me laugh or just be plain stupid, and thoughts of flight fly out the window. I survive another day among the men.

For good, bad or somewhere in between, I am one-sixth of this crazy pie called family. Our lives are intertwined. I’d like to think that the light that shone tonight was the Light – God’s Light – shining up a family in need of a little buffing.

The candle stays on the table.

Maureen :)