Five Dads

If you come here fairly often, you know that our youngest son and his wife recently welcomed their first baby, a sweet little girl.  So now all five of our sons, incredibly, are dads.

For the past few years, my prayer has been to live long enough to meet son #5’s first child.  He's five years younger than his next oldest brother, and he got married about five years behind the last of the rest of them.  I felt like my husband and I had been very blessed to see our four oldest boys become dads (more than once each!); so I would pray, "Please God, let me live to see my baby become a dad, too!" 

Now that I've met his darling firstborn child, my prayer has changed to, "Thanks so much!  I am eternally grateful!  Now if you don't mind, I'd like to meet a few more of his children, too, if you're going to send more. I don't mean to be greedy, but you know: ‘Ask, and you will receive; seek, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened to you.’  (Matthew 7:7)  Just asking, seeking, and knocking here…but Thy will be done, of course!”

                                            🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

It has been a unique blessing to watch our boys become fathers, let me tell you.  I can think of few things that have been more rewarding.  All five of them have embraced fatherhood with zeal, falling into the role as naturally as if they'd been born for it (and since they don't have religious vocations, I absolutely believe they were born for it).  

It's about the most beautiful sight these eyes have ever seen, watching these beloved boys with their children.  And to illustrate that point, I'm just going to end this post with a little photo dump (using some snapshots--not necessarily the most recent ones-- culled from the hundreds, maybe thousands, I have to choose from!).

Son #1 (father of 6 on earth, 4 in Heaven), 
with his youngest.

Son #2 (father of 4 on earth, one in Heaven, and one
on the way), with his third-born.

Our middle son (father of 5), with his firstborn.

Son #4 (father of 4), with his youngest.

Our baby, with his first baby.

I LOVE my family.  Love them to pieces.  These boys.  Their wives.  And the 20-going-on-21 grandchildren they've given us to treasure, as well as the five tiny precious souls who wait to meet us in Heaven (pray for us, sweet babies! We need your help!).

Thank you, God, for EVERYTHING!  Especially for these five dads.

The New Daddy

 

If this isn’t the sweetest thing ever, I don’t know what is!  (If you don’t know what’s going on here, check out yesterday’s post.)  💗

Daddy-Daughter Love

My husband and I are getting on the road today, heading south to spend a week and a half or so helping out son #3 and his wife Preciosa, who became the parents of a new baby girl about a week and a half ago.  With the birth of their sweet Princesa, they have two under two (big brother G-Man is 16 months old).

Right now, our oldest son has four daughters and our second-born has one small son. So we told our middle son that he and his wife will always have the distinction of being the first in our family to have children of both sexes (something my husband and I know nothing about, having raised only boys).  As everything was (is?) a competition in our all-boy house, he can claim that he's the winner at breaking that particular barrier.  His brothers may do it in the years to come, but he will always be the first.

It will be fun to watch yet another of our sons who grew up without sisters interact with his little girl.
 
So far, it appears to be a love match.

I know you're filled with the warmest of fuzzies looking at this precious image of daddy-daughter love, and saying to yourself, "That is without a doubt the sweetest picture I've ever seen!  How nice of Laura to share it!"  I know.  And you're welcome.

When I think of son #3 now, this saying comes to mind:

He will be G-Man's hero (I daresay he already is); and though she may grow up and find her own Prince Charming some day, he will always be Princesa's first love.

A Birthday/Father's Day Tribute to My Guy

I haven't known my husband my whole life.  But almost. 

Here he is at about 9.  It would be 5 years before I met him, 6 before we started "going together."  He was always the snappiest of dressers, even back then, as you can plainly see.

He is a funny guy.  When he sees that picture, he likes to poke fun at himself by pointing out that the ribbon he's proudly holding, earned at the yearly local Swimkana, is not a blue first place prize.

We went to the same Catholic high school and hung out in the same crowd.  Did you ever see that TV show "Happy Days"?  That was my high school experience.   (Minus the Fonz.)  No one had it better than I did.

Here we have Grace Kelly, Tom Buckley, and Jimmy Sullivan (sorry,
I'm making the assumption that you've read Finding Grace
 and will get that reference), chewing the fat after school.

Here we are, all dolled up to out to dinner on his 16th birthday--41 years ago!



Be still my heart!  Look at those eyes.  Move over
Doctor McDreamy.

Sometimes, I can hardly believe that I was the lucky girl with whom he chose to spend the rest of his life.  I have never stopped marveling at this great good fortune.  I am indeed blessed.

Here we are at our 1980 wedding, anchoring the receiving line at the
Knights of Columbus hall.  I think he is leaning over to say he can't believe
he has to stand there while all his buddies are enjoying the cocktail hour!

Here's my guy, getting ready for the job for which he was so perfectly suited:
fatherhood.  This was taken in 1983, before the birth of son #1.

My husband is far too humble to realize what a wonderful father he has been to our five sons.  But I'm here to tell you that there's no way they could have done better.  Fatherhood has been a true vocation for their dad.  His career has been in aviation, but he has never defined himself by that.  He's defined himself by a job he knows is far more important than flying airplanes: his duty to raise his sons in the Faith.  If the way his boys have turned out, and the excellent women they've chosen to build their own families with, and the joy with which they've embraced the role of fatherhood are any indication, he can rest assured that he's fulfilled that duty well.

Here he is in 1985 with son #2.  (I've used this picture before on the blog, and
explained that he DOES have clothes on in this picture--1980's shorty-shorts.
But it was Florida.And it was HOT.  And the males in my house,
both young and old, were often shirtless.)



Here he is in 1986 nuzzling son #3, at Sea World.

Have you been enjoying the Naval Aviator's mustache in these photos?  That's been gone for a while now, but it was a pretty suave look, don't you think?

He was nuts about them as babies.  But he enjoyed every single phase our boys went through.  He was their teacher in life, their coach in football and lacrosse, and the best role model I can imagine.  (If he's reading this, he will think I'm exaggerating, but I'm not.)

If you want to understand the kind of father my husband was, you can read this old post, and this one, too.  (The writing juices aren't flowing as freely as I'd like them to today, or I'd put together a whole new tribute!)

Now that his boys are all out on their own, he's completely enjoying playing the role of doting Papa to their children.

Happy Father's Day to my favorite guy!  You don't believe me when I tell you this, but you are the best.



A Toast to Fathers

My husband has savored every minute of being a dad--from the time our sons were babies until today, when one of them is a dad of three already and another is looking forward to welcoming his first boy in October. 

I don't think there's a more heart-melting sight than a big, strong, handsome, manly-man who is turned to mush by his children.  To illustrate this point, here's a snapshot of my best guy with son #3, taken about 28 years ago on a family trip to Sea World.

I am pretty much weak in the knees looking at this picture.

What a great father he was and is, and what a great example he's been for our five boys.  Because of him, they know what it means to be a good father.  They know it is a vocation--and because they've all wanted to follow in his footsteps, that is the one they've chosen.  As Catholic parents, of course we would have been thrilled if any of them had chosen a vocation to the priesthood; but we also know that in this crazy world of ours--where good is bad and bad is good, and so many children are growing up confused, depressed, and devoid of hope--there is a desperate need for good fathers.

The baby boy in that picture above is all grown up now.  He and his wife will welcome their first child a mere ten months into their marriage, and our son is already so excited about the role he's going to be playing in his little boy's life.

Preciosa gave him the cutest gift for Father's Day.  He opened it up at midnight, unable to wait 'til this morning.  As she says, "He's super pumped!"

Can you tell he's pumped?  Do you think he's looking forward to being a dad?

Boys need strong fathers as their role models.  But girls need them, too.  So I can't forget to give a Father's Day shout-out to my own terrific dad--and here's a picture of us back in the day, when I was just a teeny-bopper who was dating the super cute boy who would become a father to my sons.

And now for a toast to all the fathers out there who sacrifice so much, work so hard, and love so fiercely:  You have been called by Our Father in Heaven to be the heads of your domestic churches here on earth--a responsibility that cannot be taken lightly, by any means.  It's a daunting job, but you do it.  God bless you all--where would the world be without you?

Our Boys' Life Coach

My husband was always very involved in anything that interested our boys; one thing was football (something he'd played himself in his younger days), and another was lacrosse (which he hadn't).

He arranged his work schedule so that he could help to coach their Pee Wee and junior high football teams, and he even did a stint as a freshman football coach when one was needed during their high school years.  As an airline pilot, he was usually able to bunch his trips together so that he could be off and available for game day, and for as many weekday practices as possible.

When our boys discovered lacrosse, this man of mine ("my hero," as I like to call him) became such a knowledgeable student and true die hard fan of the "fastest game on two feet" that he ended up becoming an assistant lax coach as well, dealing mostly with the defense, throughout our sons' youth lacrosse years.  The head coach, a good friend of ours, saw early on how well he understood the game just from watching the action on the sidelines and asked him to join the coaching staff.  My husband reminded him that he'd never played lacrosse himself, and our friend replied, "That's perfect.  I can mold you."  From there, my husband eventually went on to become the head defense coach at our boys' Catholic high school, and for the many years he was in that role (and later he and our second oldest son--as the greatest defensive coaching duo NH high school lacrosse has ever known, in my learned opinion), he led the squads under his tutelage so well that our boys' teams were always ranked at the top of the pack defensively.

By the end of his youth lacrosse days, our oldest son had made a bit of a name for himself.  The summer after 8th grade, the head coach at the high school he was going to attend got wind of this, and he invited our boy--a mere incoming freshman--to go to a lacrosse camp at Johns Hopkins University with a group of older players who would be his teammates the following spring.  It was kind of a big deal for him to be asked to join them, and he was terribly excited.  There was just one problem: the camp was going to run for five days, from Thursday to Monday.  How was our son going to get himself to Sunday Mass, if the camp was on a secular university's campus and he couldn't find a church in Baltimore that was convenient to get to?  And if his coach was working as an instructor at the camp and couldn't manage to carve time out of his schedule to get him there, who would take him?  My husband voiced these concerns to the coach, who said, "Oh, don't worry, Mr. Pearl.  I'll see that the boys get to church."  Now in his defense, we did believe the coach had good intentions.  But we also knew that many, if not all, of the other players--despite the fact that they were for the most part Catholics--would use the traveler's dispensation, since it would probably be a big hassle getting to Mass.  (Not to mention that doing so would mean they'd have to miss a drill or a scrimmage.)  If our son was the only one who cared about going, chances are it wasn't going to happen.

Coach Pearl, with his two oldest sons.

The more he thought about it, the more this situation ate away at my husband.

[A quick aside: why do five-day sports camps always include Sundays?  I realize that lots of the coaches have other day jobs and maybe weekends need to be involved.  But couldn't some drills be postponed until later in the day on Sunday, so that those who want to can make it to church?  Okay, back to the story now.] 

Well, my husband decided to fly down to Baltimore on Saturday, rent a car, and book a room for the night at a hotel--all so that he could be there on Sunday morning to get his firstborn son to Mass.  It was just the two of them, and it was totally worth it.  Then he dropped our boy back off at camp and flew back home.

And I know what you're thinking--the fact that he can fly stand-by for free, one of the great perks of his job, made this sacrifice a whole lot easier than if he'd had to buy an expensive airline ticket.  That's very true.  But it was a sacrifice nonetheless; because if you were married to an airline pilot (or at least to my airline pilot), you would understand that the last place he ever wants to be on his days off is at an airport or on an airplane.  That feels too much like work.  Pilots are away from home too much as it is, and they guard their days at home, and their glorious nights sleeping in their own beds, quite jealously.  Where my pilot wanted to be was not on a plane heading down to MD, but relaxing at home with our four younger sons and me.  However, when it comes to the devout practice of the Catholic Faith and the role of Christian fatherhood--which means that the father is responsible for passing the Faith on to his children, so that they truly know just how important it needs to be in their lives--there is no sacrifice so great that my husband wouldn't make it for the good of his family.

Fast-forward to the following summer: our second oldest son, following directly in the cleat steps of his older brother, had made a bit of a name for himself in the youth lacrosse world, and the high school head coach decided to invite yet another incoming freshman Pearl to join a group of future teammates (one of them being his brother) down to Johns Hopkins for a five-day lacrosse camp.  The funny thing was that right away, the coach said to my husband, "And don't worry, Mr. Pearl.  I've got it all set up and I'll see that the boys get to church."

Do you think my husband heaved a sigh of relief and stayed home, or do you think he flew down to Baltimore again to make absolutely sure his sons were able to attend Sunday Mass?

If you guessed the latter, you are right.  He just couldn't leave it to chance.  But this time, at least, the coach really had made arrangements ahead of time to have someone take the group to church.  Since he was there anyway, however, that someone ended up being my husband.  And if I remember correctly, there were a couple of other lads on the team who joined the Pearls for Mass that day.

Some people might think this is the story of a dad who went above and beyond what's expected or necessary.  But I don't think there's any way our boys can look at those two trips their father took, when he would have much rather been enjoying his days off at home, and not realize just how important the Mass is supposed to be to faithful Catholics.  During those teen years, so many of our boys' peers were questioning the Faith--and their parents stepped back and let them figure out their own paths on their own "faith journeys," even if that meant watching them miss Mass every weekend.  My husband never had to lecture or harangue our kids about attending Mass.  They just did it because they saw through his example that this is what Catholics do; and Pearls are Catholics, so it's what we do.  Some kids might have been embarrassed to have their dads show up at lacrosse camp to take them to Mass; but to our boys, that was just Dad being Dad.  And accepting--without resentment or embarrassment--that he was there to get them to church on time was just them being them.  He showed those sons of his with his very loud actions that there are some things that take precedence over even your most beloved team sport.  God before lacrosse, that's just how it is. 

It should come as no surprise to anyone, then, that when several of our sons weren't meeting the kind of young women who were "wife material," they went on CatholicMatch.com and found soul mates who shared their Faith, morals, and values.  All three of our married sons met their spouses that way.  It should also come as no surprise that all five of them still go to Mass every Sunday.  Or that our three little granddaughters (who go by non-saintly aliases on this blog) were given the strong and beautiful names of some of the most eminent saints in the Catholic Church.  The Faith is simply part of who our boys (and now their spouses) are.

Our boys are were football and lacrosse players.  They are (or will be) sons, brothers, husbands, and fathers.  But above all, they are Catholics.

I give all of the credit for the way our boys embrace and live their Faith to their father.  He was once their football and lacrosse coach...but he has always been their life coach.

Shoveling through Tears

Back in the day, our five boys were the best team of snow shovelers a New England family could ever hope for.  My husband made sure that they knew the most efficient way to get the job done, and he got them out there when they were quite young to teach them how to do it properly. He did the same thing when it came to lawn mowing, starting out by assigning a small rectangle of grass and gradually having them move on to more challenging sizes and shapes.

We have a large front yard and a large back yard, and our driveway isn't quite airport runway-length, but it's pretty long.  And the thing that was so great about the way our boys worked is that as they got older and were able to take over the responsibility for the outside work from their dad almost entirely, they developed a system for dividing the work area--whether the yard or the driveway--into defined sections and going to town in the most efficient manner.  It was a thing of beauty to watch, I tell you--better than any synchronized swimming routine you've ever seen.  And they took turns being stuck with the least desirable sections, but they worked it all out on their own, without any input from dear old mom and dad.

I've blogged before about my boys and how much we miss their big strong arms and backs, now that they've all grown up and left us.  [Sniff, sniff.]  I mean, we miss them, too; but boy, we really miss their muscles.  We miss having them as our live-in work detail, our dependable team of laborers (who might have been underpaid, but were definitely not underappreciated).  Here's an old post on the subject, written not long after our youngest took off for college in South Bend, IN in 2011.  I was new at being an empty-nester back then, and trying my darndest to adjust to all the changes that were taking place around here.

We have "guys" now (something our boys could only dream about in the good old days when they were the ones keeping our grass trimmed and our driveway cleared off): we have a yard guy and we have a plow guy.  These guys are necessary for us now.  My husband goes away for days at a time for his airline job, and that would leave me to dig out when we get dumped on by winter Nor'easters.  Sorry, Charlie--I just don't have the upper body strength to handle that kind of thing on my own.  I can push a lawnmower when my hubby's not here to do it; but we travel so much these days to visit our kids and grandkids that if we didn't have a lawn service to keep things under control in our absences, we would get ourselves kicked out of our nice cul-de-sac neighborhood.  So we have guys.  I love our guys.

Anyhoo, we got some snow on Sunday night, but the plow guy doesn't come unless we get three inches, and it was just under that.  When I talked to my husband (who Face-timed me from his layover hotel in Moscow), he told me not to worry about shoveling it, but on Monday I decided to do it anyway.  It was fluffy and light, and I knew that if I didn't clear it off soon, it would continue to get packed down every time we drove on it until it would be impossible to shovel.  So I was out there, on a gloriously sunny but ridiculously cold afternoon, thinking about this and that as I rhythmically scraped the shovel from one side of the driveway to the other, and suddenly I stopped and stood there, shovel in hand, while the tears coursed down my face.  I miss my boys, I thought.  I was hit completely out of the blue with the most painful longing to watch them troop outside as a team to divide and conquer the driveway together--just one more time.  To see them young again, sometimes laughing and pelting each other with snow, and sometimes bickering because one or the other wasn't pulling his weight.  Yes, I was even feeling nostalgic about the bickering.

I never would have thought that just the simple act of shoveling a few inches of snow off the driveway would make me so nostalgic and sad.

When my funny second oldest son got home from work and I told him about my weird little crying spell in the driveway, he assured me that he and his brothers don't miss those slave labor days one bit.  They do not get nostalgic about them, he assured me; they do not cry, and they do not sit around thinking, If only we could all go and shovel Mom and Dad's driveway together again.  So I ended up laughing, and all was good.

The end.

WWRW: DAD IS FAT, a New Review, and a Giveaway

 -1-

I just finished reading Jim Gaffigan's DAD IS FAT, which I gave my husband for Father's Day this year.  He read it first (mostly while away from home, in between flights), and said it made him laugh out loud--which came as no surprise, because our family has been a fan of the funny man's comedy routines for a long time now.   He told me that Gaffigan's deep love for his wife Jeannie and their five (and counting!) young children is evident throughout the book, and that his observations on marriage and fatherhood are not just hilarious, but are also surprisingly profound.  Obviously, after that endorsement I had to read it for myself. 

I, too,  laughed a lot while reading this delightful book--loudly and often--and I kept stopping to read passages aloud to my husband.  Even though he'd just read the book himself, and he might be in the middle of an important task (like paying the bills or bidding for next month's trips), he would patiently stop what he was doing and listen, and then he'd laugh along with me.  That husband of mine--he's phat, that's what he is.  He knows how much more fun it is when we laugh together rather than separately.

Gaffigan reveals that he and his wife are Catholic, and they are obviously open to the idea of having as many children as God wants them to.  As he puts it in the forward, in a letter to his children, "Given how attractive and fertile your mother is, there may be more of you by the time you're reading this book."   What's rather surprising and laudable is that the Gaffigans live in a crowded two-bedroom apartment in NYC, because the alternative is that dad would have to spend hours every day commuting to and from the suburbs--and he isn't willing to give up that precious time, when he would much rather be spending it with his wife and kids.

The comedian's takes on the dad's role during labor and delivery will make you chuckle: "During labor, the father-to-be is always attempting to justify his presence in the room: 'Hey, I'm the dad.  I'm on the team.  I caused this.  Well, I'm in the way, so I will just stand here in the corner and take pictures.'"

It is obvious that Gaffigan worships his wife, even when you're reading humorous passages like this one: "I am undeniably lucky to have married a woman like Jeannie.  She is energetic, hardworking, and takes incredible care of the kids and me.  However, during our marriage there have been periods when she has become rather lazy.  Jeannie describes these periods as 'pregnancy.'  My view has always been, pregnant or not, that does not mean she can't move some cinder blocks."

And of course, his favorite jokes revolve around how pale he is ("Let me tell you, there is no boost to the ego like putting sunscreen on the top of your balding head, but I think swimming in a pool in a long-sleeve sun shirt is up there."), how fat he is ("I put on more weight than Jeannie during each of her pregnancies.  I justify it by thinking, 'Well, just another thing I'm better at than she is.'"), and food ("Once my daughter Katie ate the icing off a cupcake and then asked for more cake on her bread"--my husband loved that one).  Gaffigan cracks wise on every page, but he also reveals the heart of a loving family man.

I don't think I should give away any more funnies.  If you're married and have children, you really must read this book.  It's a riot (but it's sweet, too).  And I didn't think I could love Jim Gaffigan more than I already did...but  now I do.

-2-

I recently heard from my friend, author and Catholic Writers Guild president Ellen Gable Hrkach, via e-mail.  She wanted to let me know that she'd finished reading Finding Grace and had written a review.  I was so thrilled to see a new review (lucky # 13!) on my book's Amazon page, and I thought I'd share it with you here.

I would be so excited if one of these Wednesdays, it's what we're you're reading!

**********

4.0 out of 5 stars Epic Coming-of-Age Story, November 13, 2013

Ellen Gable Hrkach "award-winning author" (Pakenham, Ontario Canada)

This review is from: Finding Grace (Women's Inspirational Christian Fiction) (Kindle Edition)
Author Laura Pearl and I have a lot in common. As she says on her blog, "I wanted to write a book that shows that the Catholic Church's teachings on pre-marital sex are not only good for one's immortal soul, but also just make sense and make life simpler and happier." That sounds a lot like me when asked why I wrote my first novel. As well, we both know the joys of raising five sons. It was my pleasure to meet Laura (and her husband, Tim) recently at the Catholic Writers Conference Live in New Jersey.

Laura's novel, Finding Grace, is a coming-of-age story of a girl named Grace Kelly and her journey as a teenager of the 70′s in small town America. This novel deals with some mature themes (Roe v. Wade, abortion, pre-marital sex) but it does so with sensitivity and without explicit details so teens regardless of faith background will enjoy it.

For those of us who grew up in the 70′s, I related to much of what Grace went through and the author captures the atmosphere of that decade well. In fact, I knew a Grace Kelly during my high school years. (I also knew a Rudy Valentino and an Elizabeth Taylor and marveled at how parents could do such a thing to their kids...)

The characters and story line were believable and well-defined. If I were to use one word to describe this book, it would be "Epic." Epic (a word teens use to describe something cool) but it is also epic in size. As other reviewers have mentioned, this is not a short read. Special thanks to the author, who gifted me with a Kindle edition. I was able to read this book in a larger font (I struggled with the print book's tiny font) and I must say, it was a much more enjoyable experience!

Ellen Gable, author

**********

Thanks, Ellen!

-3-

For the record, dear readers: I prefer the hard copy version myself, small font notwithstanding.  It just looks better, because the formatting is more attractive--and nothing beats holding a real book in your hands (at least if you're an old school type like yours truly).  What about you: do you like e-books or book books?  Because I'm thinking it's about time for another Finding Grace giveaway--especially with Christmas on the horizon.

If you'd like to win a signed paperback copy of Finding Grace, just leave me a comment below, anytime between now and November 30.  I'll announce the winner on December 1, and I'll get that book mailed out to you in time for you to wrap it up and give it as a Christmas gift--to that special high school girl on your list,  or your BFF...or yourself! (And guess what?  Christmas falls on a Wednesday this year!  How a propos.  It's a WWRW miracle!)

Okay, my fellow bookies (yes, that's right, bookies!  If there can be "foodies" who love food, there can be bookies who love books!)--you know where to go.  Over to Jessica's with you!

Just When I Thought I Was One of the Cool Kids...

Yesterday our second oldest son, who is living with us for the 2013-2014 school year and commuting an hour to work every day (where he teaches high school math at a large public school, coaches varsity football, and generally helps to shape young minds), told my husband and me that Facebook is no longer considered cool with high school and college kids.

Just when I thought I'd finally become one of the cool kids...Hold the [smart]pone!  Facebook is on the outs?  What?!

Our son proceeded to give us a little tutorial on the history of the Book of Faces, and it was enlightening.  Apparently, the website was originally created for college students only, as a way to carry on intra- and inter-campus communication with peers; and back in its early days, you could not set up a FB account unless you had an e-mail address that was recognized as coming from an institution of higher education.  Before FB, there was My Space, which was open to everybody and his brother (and mother and grandmother...although I certainly never knew the first thing about it); but the idea with FB was to create a social network that was just for the young, hip, college crowd.

But then FB had to be opened up, because all the first users of the network were going to graduate and become workplace adults--and once that happened, the floodgates just flew wide open and everyone was able to get an account.

Nowadays all the hipster moms and dads (ahem) are scrolling their FB news feeds, looking for pictures of their offspring to "like" (and leave corny, hashtag-filled comments about---#you'rethefunniestandbestlookingkidonfacebook  #amidoingthisright?).

Hashtags: explain, please.  (But I digress.)

One of my sisters teaches computer to grade school students, and she passed on some alarming info about the whole Facebook phenomenon.  You're not supposed to be able to get an account until you're at least 13, I believe.  But she had students as young as 8 who were active FB-ers.  When she asked them about it, they admitted that their mothers had lied about their ages in order to set up their accounts for them.  So obviously, people of all ages have infiltrated a social network that was never meant for them

Anyway, apparently the FB world has gotten so clogged-up with undesirables that the youngsters are turning to other forms of social media to do their thang. Now, they're into Twitter and Instagram and Vine and Snap Chat.

Twitter?  No, thank you.  I already blog almost daily (and sometimes I'm not quite sure why); I don't think anyone would be interested in hourly updates on my navel-gazing.

Instagram?  Wouldn't e-mailing photo attachments to your loved ones serve the same purpose (is there something I'm not getting about this new social media phenom?)?

Vine?  This has something to do with videos.  I don't understand what it's all about (but it sounds like something that could get an immature videographer into a heap of trouble).

Snap Chat?  This one definitely sounds scary, and I would hazard a guess that it's being abused on a regular basis.  Basically, you can send a photo to someone's phone or computer or whatever, and it only stays there for a short amount of time and then "disappears" (although I don't believe anything that goes out into cyberspace or The Cloud or whatever you call it ever truly disappears, does it?).  I can only think of one reason this was invented...and it's not good.

For many years I utterly and absolutely refused to jump on the Facebook bandwagon...and then I finally did.  I'm an old dog who doesn't learn new tricks very easily, so I felt like I'd taken a huge leap into the modern high-tech world when I set up my account (and I still feel that way).  Now, however, it seems that FB is about to go the way of My Space--not to mention dial-up Internet service, phone calls from a land line, and hand-written letters.   But I'm done, folks.  No new tricks!  No new forms of social media for me, I mean it.

...Except LinkedIn, which I just joined.  But that's it, scout's honor.

A Recycled Post about My Boys

I'm feeling overwhelmingly exhausted right now, after three straight weeks of traveling hither and yon by planes, trains, and automobiles (okay that's a lie--no trains were involved), so today I'm going to use a handy lazy blogger's trick and recycle an old post about one of my all-time favorite subjects: my boys.

This is how they looked when my baby (now just four months away from being old enough to walk into a bar and purchase an alcoholic beverage) had not even celebrated his first birthday yet.

One thing I just love about these snapshots is how my oldest son, unprompted, is holding the hand of his baby brother in both.  Even way back then, he was honing his nurturing skills.  He always worried about his younger brothers and was quite protective of them. Today, that sweet big brother is the father of three wee girls of his own: identical twins Bonny Babe and Cutie Pie, who are now two years and three months old; and petite Little Gal, who is just about the same age as as our youngest was when I sat my gang down on the couch for this 1993 photo shoot.

Wait a minute...I was just going to re-post something, and here I am in the process of writing an honest-to-goodness, brand-new blog entry.  So I'll end here, and  if you're interested you can check out a re-run of a post that's near and dear to my heart--and it must have struck a chord because it got a whopping 14 comments (28 if you count my replies), which on this little old blog of mine is record-setting.  Just click on the link and enjoy!

http://mumsie2five.blogspot.com/2013/04/theme-thursday-boys.html

Theme Thursday: Dad

Here's my husband with our boys in 1993, playing the role he lived for, sacrificed for, and loved: being a dad.

When our boys were growing up, he used to say that if a parent tries to be his kids' friend during their formative years (those all-important years when along with the love, they need healthy doses of guidance and discipline), then more often than not, it's difficult to be friends after they've grown up.  Parenthood is not supposed to be a popularity contest, he would say (a notion learned from his own excellent father).  And he was totally on board with that. His goal was not to be popular with his sons (not all the time, anyway, because he had to be tough on them when the situation warranted it); his goal was to raise fine upstanding men: men of character; men with their Faith and morals intact. His goal was to raise future saints.

Here's my husband with our boys in December of 2009, at the rehearsal dinner the night before our firstborn's wedding.  These boys men will always be my husband's sons first; but as you can see from this picture, they are now also his friends.

And I'll drink to that!

"Well done, Dad!"

I'm not only drinking up here (figuratively speaking, anyway), but I'm linking up as well--joining Cari at Clan Donaldson for a round of toasts to dads!

I Have a Boy...or Two...or Five

Years and years ago, shortly after we welcomed our third son into the family, my father-in-law gave my husband a framed poem that had been given to him when he was a young father.  He said, "I think it's time to pass this along to you now."

My husband, who has made being the father of sons a vocation and an art form, loves this poem.  I've shared it with you before, back when I was a newbie blogger, so I'm kind of repeating myself here.  But as son #3 was getting ready to leave for work this morning, he asked me what I was planning to blog about today and I really didn't know yet.  "What in the world do I have to say anymore that I haven't said a thousand times already?" is what I was thinking.

Okay, I've only written 681 posts since I started this blog on March 7, 2011...but still, I've said A LOT of the same things A LOT of times already.

Quick digression: I just realized that I meant to celebrate this blog's two year mark, but I totally missed the anniversary date.  Actually, I'm glad I did--that means my real life was so busy and full (we were out in CO at the time, staying with our oldest son and his adorable family) that it took precedence over my on-line life!  Thank goodness!

Anyway, back to my fast-paced, action-packed story!  My middle son is one of my most faithful followers and I didn't want to disappoint him, so I sat here in front of my laptop deep in thought, trying to come up with something new and interesting to talk about.  Many of the Catholic bloggers I read are writing beautiful and inspiring pieces about the papal conclave, and I feel a little guilty that I haven't been focusing on matters of Faith at this very important moment in the history of the Catholic Church.  Perhaps, I thought, it was time to start writing posts with a little more gravitas (not that yesterday's post about dogs wasn't weighty enough), but my brain was pretty much filled with thoughts of my boys (surprise, surprise), especially because my husband and I are sleeping under the same roof with three of them this week.  It was only yesterday that all five of them slept under the same roof, with us.  It was only yesterday that they looked like this.

My boys!  (All six of them.)

But thank God time does indeed move forward, and boys like these grow into fine, upstanding men who go out into the world and make a difference...and who bring lovely girls into our family.

My girls!  (Son #1's wife and daughters.)

And that wouldn't have happened if they hadn't had an excellent role model in their father. So without further ado, here is that poem I promised to share (again).

I Have a Boy

I’ve a wonderful boy, and I say to him, “Son,

Be fair and be square in the race you must run.

Be brave if you lose and be meek if you win,

Be better and nobler than I’ve ever been.

Be honest and noble in all that you do,

And honor the name I have given to you.”

I have a boy and I want him to know

We reap in life just about as we sow,

And we get what we earn, be it little or great,

Regardless of luck and regardless of fate.

I will teach him and show the best that I can

That it pays to be honest and upright, a man.

I will make him a pal and a partner of mine,

And show him the things in this world that are fine.

I will show him the things that are wicked and bad,

For I figure this knowledge should come from his dad.

I will walk with him, talk with him, play with him, too;

And to all of my promises strive to be true.

We will grow up together, I’ll too be a boy,

And share in his trouble and share in his joy.

We’ll work out our problems together and then

We will lay out our plans when we both will be men.

And oh, what a wonderful joy this will be,

No pleasure in life could be greater to me.

                        -Hugh M. Pierce

Giant Ties for a Giant of a Dad

On Mother's Day this year (May 13), I blogged about the hand-made treasures my boys brought home for me when they were in grade school.  Well, it's Father's Day, and I thought it was only fitting to break out some of the priceless gifts they made for their dad.

At the Catholic grade school all five of our sons attended (even our youngest went there until we decided to homeschool him from grades 4 through 8), the nun who taught first grade did the same Father's Day project year after year: a giant tie cut out of colored paper and decorated in crayon on the front, with a fill-in-the-blanks sheet of paper glued on the back that began with the words "My dad is the greatest dad in the whole world."

Dad can never have enough ties, right?  When in doubt, get him a tie!  Actually, by the time son #5 got into first grade nine years after his oldest brother, Sister Ann had retired the giant tie project and just had the kids draw pictures of themselves with their dads--but she didn't retire the fill-in-the-blanks sheet that was the same as the one his brothers had done, and this was glued onto the back of his artwork.  That sheet--which was like the best Mad Libs page ever--had always been the most important element of the Father's Day giant tie anyway.

On that infamous sheet, most of the boys guessed their father's height correctly, saying he was 6 feet tall; son #3, however, thought his dad was 60 feet--and our baby had him pegged at "9,000,000,000 tall."  (That number seemed a bit high; but he didn't specify what unit of measurement he was using, so for all we know, he was right on the money.)  Son #1 was closest on the weight, at 180 pounds.  Son #3 had him a little low, at 160, but not as low as son #2, who thought he was an anorexic 93 pounds.  Son #4 was about 50 pounds over, with 235.  And then there was our baby's guess, a perplexing "120,000,000,000,000."  (Again, he didn't specify the unit of measurement, so that may not be as far off as it sounds.)

For dad's favorite food, our firstborn filled in "stake," which is a good answer, but not quite as descriptive as son #2's "juicy steak."  Juicy is definitely the quality my husband looks for in a steak.  Our middle son said "chicken," which is certainly right up there with steak on Dad's list of favorite foods, along with son #4's choice, "terkey and gravy."  Our baby's paper reads, "His favorite food is Efreything," which may explain why he thought his dad weighed 120,000,000,000,000.

My husband is an airline pilot, and that means when he's working, he's away from home for a few days at a time.  So when sons #1 and #4 said their dad worked 24 hours each day, that actually made sense.  As far as his boys were concerned, my husband worked either 24 hours a day when he was on a trip or zero hours a day when he was home between trips.  Son #2, however, thought he worked an exhausting 39 hours a day, whereas son #3 guessed only 2. (Did he think his dad was a slacker?)  I know you're dying to hear what our baby came up with, and I don't think you'll be disappointed: 30,000 hours a day.  He had a hard-working dad, that's all he was trying to say.

Here's how the boys finished this sentence: "He looks funny when he _________________."  Our firstborn filled in "where's his wild underwear."  (His dad did have holiday-themed boxers that were bright and silly, and I can only assume that's what he meant here.)  Son #2 thought he looked funny when he "plays Monopoly."  (Not sure what that means, but it makes me want to break out the old Monopoly board.)  Son #4 thought he looked funny when he "maks fases."  (It's true, he was always making hilarious fases for the amusement of his boys.)  And they really must have thought he was a riot when he laughed, because son #3 said he looked funny when he "laph's"--and our youngest took that one step further when he said "laghes so hard."

If you've never met my husband, you're probably having trouble trying to picture what he's like using the above information.  You've figured out that he's somewhere between 6 feet and 9,000,000,000 tall and between 93 pounds and 120,000,000,000,000.  Listen, you can take it from me that he's the perfect height and weight; he's also handsome, funny (with a great laugh), kind, loving, hard-working, and Faith-filled.  And he's the best husband and father on the planet.  (You may be thinking that my baby and I share a tendency toward hyperbole, but that's the God's honest truth!)

Happy Father's Day to the "greatest dad in the whole world."  That's what it says on the backs of all those giant ties, and that makes it official!

Like Father, Like Son

These images taken at my oldest son's house yesterday morning show that when it comes to my boy and his babies--to his comfort level with them, his tenderness and patience, and his overall style of fatherhood--the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

Here is my hubby, the doting grandfather, nuzzling Bonny Babe's utterly irresistible cheek, just like he used to do with our five little guys:

And here is his son, the newly minted daddy, kissing the equally irresitible cheek of little Cutie Pie:

Like father, like son, right? You can hardly tell the two of them apart. (That goes for the twins, too, of course. They're identical, after all.)

The Circle of Life, Illustrated

Here is a picture of my husband in 1985, giving it his all to get a smile from our second-born son. I love the way he put his whole face into it--how could a baby resist such a face? (And for the record, he does have clothes on in this photo. We lived in Florida at the time and it was HOT, so he often went shirtless; and men wore shorty-shorts back then--think Larry Bird in his heyday.)
Now, 26 years later, here's a recent picture of my husband working to get a smile from one of our first-born son's 3-month-old twin daughters. His hair isn't as dark as it used to be, he's retired his Naval Aviator's requisite 'stache, and when he wears shorts, they go to his knees, thank goodness; but otherwise, this picture gives me a distinct feeling of deja-vu.
My husband was once just a father; now, he's the father of a father. Life is indeed a circle...someone please hand me a Kleenex--and cue the "Lion King" soundtrack.

Daddy's Little Girls

I am going to try to make my next few posts short and sweet (hey--that description fits my twin granddaughters!). I've been traveling a lot lately and have let some things that need doing around here slide--but don't worry, son #3, I am still working hard on that special project, (;--so I need to step away from my blogger dashboard and get them done. But I have several pictures I want to post that truly are the kind that speak a thousand words, so I won't have to write much to go with them.

The photo above is one of the gazillion that I took during the time my husband and I were out in the Midwest for our granddaughters' Baptism. I love to catch people unawares, when they don't know they're having their picture taken. They don't always like the whole "candid camera" routine--say, if you catch them making some weird expression or something of that nature. But some of my favorite shots are taken from behind anyway, because I think that sometimes people convey as much with their body language as they do with their faces. When I saw my oldest son, the new daddy home on leave from Afghanistan, sitting there gazing down at his baby daughters over the side of their crib, I quietly slipped away to grab my trusty camera and capture this ineffably touching moment for posterity. I'm so glad I did, because this simple picture tells the whole story of how besotted my boy is with his tiny baby girls.

My son's tender heart, always a large and loving one, has been introduced to a type of love the enormity of which he could never have imagined until now, and he is forever and profoundly changed. He is a FATHER. His life will never be the same. He will never be able to look at the world in the same way again, because now it will seem fraught with dangers he hardly noticed for his own sake; but the world will also be a happier, fuller, more interesting place, now that his daughters--those wondrous blessings from God--are in it. And no matter how old they get, they will always be Daddy's little girls.

Happy Father's Day!

(Click image twice to enlarge for easy reading; otherwise, it's a bit blurry.)

Happy Father's Day to all the great dads out there, especially my husband (best dad of of all time, in my unbiased opinion), my oldest son (the brand new daddy to twin girls), and Bigfoot (my funny, eccentric father).

Above is a poem that was given to my husband's father after he'd had his third son. When we had our third, Papa decided it was time to pass it on to us. The original is in a silver frame and remains a cherished memento from a man who was extremely gifted at fatherhood. This is a copy I typed up to share with you. It is very touching, especially for dads who are raising boys.

My husband loves this poem...and lives it.

An Early Happy Birthday to My Husband

Tomorrow is my husband's birthday, and it is also Father's Day. How a propos that the two celebrations fall on the same day...because he truly is the best father in the world (and I'm a totally objective person when it comes to him).

Even the rush my husband got from flying F-18 fighter jets in the Navy was nothing compared to that of spending time with his boys. Landing on an aircraft carrier: very cool. Being surrounded by his cute, rambunctious, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle t-shirt-clad sons: even cooler.

These days, he's a commercial airline pilot; but if you ask him what he does, he identifies himself as a father first, a pilot second.

My husband is just the best, that's all there is to it--and easy on the eyes to boot. He is, as the kids are saying these days, "all that and a bag of chips." (Are they still saying that, or did I just prove how out of touch I am?)

I am so happy that I've known him since we were kids. We started dating at 15, and when we were together a whole year later, we got all dressed up to go out for a big fancy dinner on his 16th birthday. That's a lot of birthdays ago, and I still think he's the best thing since sliced bread. Our high school principal, Sr. Bernadine, believed my husband should become a priest, and I think sometimes hoped I'd be out of the picture at some point. Back then, I never thought she liked me a whole lot; I realize now that she might have viewed me as a stumbling block to his vocation. But Christian fatherhood is also a noble and necessary vocation, and my kids and I are extremely thankful that he chose it.

So Happy Birthday to the best husband/father/pilot/cowboy that I know! XXOO

A Parent's Parting Words to an Adult Child Leaving the Nest

Years ago, before my first son left for college, I found this in one of the Catholic publications we receive. I thought it perfectly captured what I wanted to tell him as he set out into the world on his own for the first time, so I ended up making a tiny laminated copy of it, and I asked him to carry it in his wallet. My fifth son--my baby!-- is three months away from his high school graduation. He will be leaving us soon, and I can't imagine how we're going to stand having him seventeen hours away from home. We've always been there to guide and protect him--is he ready to be on his own? I don't care how many times you go through the process of leaving a child off at college, it doesn't get any easier. But I think it will make me feel better if I give my boy a copy of this to carry around with him.

If you have a child who's getting ready to leave the nest, you might want him to have a copy of it, too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A Parent's Parting Words to an

Adult Child Leaving the Nest

Always remember, I love you. It's real, unchanging, and unconditional!

I believe in you! You are a child of God and He has a purpose and a mission that only you can fulfill. He promises to give you the grace and strength necessary to meet whatever challenges you face in life. All you need to do is ask.

I expect great things from you. While others may lower their standards or reduce their expectations, not me! I expect your best because I know that you can do your best and be the best! Never settle for mediocrity--you'll always be disappointed.

Always remember: God loves you. Even when you fall or fail, as we all do, God loves you and will forgive you and heal the hurt. Just ask Him.

I'm praying for you. Your leaving is surrounded by prayer, and we will continue to call upon your patron saint and guardian angel to watch over and protect you in all that you do.

Keep your eyes on the prize. Your real goal is not a perfect test score, a college diploma, a successful career, or a carefree life, but Heaven. Stay clear of anything or anyone that attempts to pry you away from or rob you of that prize--everlasting life with Jesus! Remember: "Eye has not seen, ear has not heard, nor has it so much as dawned on man what God has prepared for those who love him." (1 Cor. 2:9)