Book News

I'm very excited, because a big box filled with copies of Erin's Ring is supposed to arrive today!  I can hardly wait to hold the actual finished book in my hand.  I have this copy, a print-out of the final galley...

...but it's not the same thing!  I'm dying to hold the real deal in my hands, and to see that beautiful cover my publisher, Cheryl Dickow, created--using an illustration that so perfectly brings to life a favorite scene of mine from the story that it's positively uncanny!

I've heard that those who've ordered already from Amazon have been informed that it's on back order, but hopefully they won't have to wait too long before they receive their copies.  And I've also been asked by several would-be readers if the book will have a Kindle version.  The answer to that is yes, but not right away.  For now, the publisher and I have decided to go "old school" (my favorite way to go in most things!) and offer Erin's Ring in paperback form only.  But all you hip, modern eBookers out there can rest assured that eventually, there will be a version you can read on your Kindle or iPad.  (Is the term "hip" still in use?  Or is it completely un-hip to say "hip"?)

I have been so blessed by this book already, because several Catholic authors were kind enough to read it in pre-publication manuscript form and then endorse it--among them Nancy Carabio Belanger (author of Olivia and the Little Way, Olivia's Gift, and The Gate).  Nancy also recently wrote a blog post about a special Christmas offer from Bezalel Books that includes my new book, and here's a link to Nancy's post: http://nancybelanger.blogspot.com/2014/11/a-christmas-mother-daughter-special.html.  (Thanks so much, Nancy!  I will never be able to repay you for your help and support--not to mention your enthusiasm!)

Readers, you've probably heard of Nancy, whose wonderful works of YA fiction are popular with Catholic schools and homeschools. What thrills and humbles me is that she believes Erin's Ring is also the type of book that would enhance school curricula. It is part historical fiction, part modern YA lit, and it is filled with a deep love for the Faith.  If you are a Catholic educator or homeschooler, it might fit perfectly into your reading, history, or religion syllabus.

My husband and I have ordered extra copies (which are supposed to arrive today, in that big box I mentioned!  Woo hoo!).  If you'd like a signed paperback copy, I can offer them here at the blog for a limited time, for $12 a copy--and that includes shipping and handling.  Just contact me via email (There's an "Email me" button on the side bar on the right side of this page), and I can get your order processed.

Before I go, don't forget about the Christmas giveaway here at String of Pearls.  Just leave me a comment before December 8, and you could be the winner of a signed copy of Erin's Ring.

Now I'll just sit here and wait for a big brown truck to rumble down my driveway, carrying that special box...

Thoughts from the Empty Nest (Part I)

I first became a mother in 1983.  To say that my life would never be the same after that is the understatement of all time.

1983: A baby is born.  (And so is a mother!)

In 1993, the youngest of our five sons was born.  Here is the lively crew that kept my husband and me too busy back then to fully realize that time was passing at warp speed.  In this testosterone-filled snapshot, the four oldest were 9, 8, 7, and 5, and our baby was less than a year.

1993: As people liked to point out, we now had our own basketball team.

We blinked a few times, and suddenly it was 2004.  Sons #1 and #2 were in college out at Notre Dame and their mommy mourned their absence, but was fortunately still busy enough at home that she didn't have time to wallow in self-pity (at least not constantly).  Sons #3 an #4 were still in high school, thank goodness--and my baby boy was 11 and being homeschooled.  (He went to the same Catholic grade school as his big brothers through 3rd grade before we pulled him out and started teaching him ourselves, using the Seton Home Study School curriculum.)

2004: Posing by the big red van, where our boys spent almost as much time as they did in the house!

During those speedily passing years, I was a bit in denial about the fact that when you have four babies in four years--bing, bing, bing, bing--then they tend to grow up and leave you in that same period of time--bing, bing, bing, bing.

Within three years of this awesome picture (go Sox!), sons #3 and #4 were in college and that little boy flexing his almost non-existent biceps in the middle there was just starting high school, where he would eventually grow to be 6'2", sprout some pretty ding-dang impressive muscles, and play football and lacrosse like the four role models before him had done.

We blinked again (would we never learn?), and bam!  It was 2009.

But why would we stop the clock, even if we could?  Because with the passage of time comes the opportunity for great joy--the kind of joy you can only imagine when you're a young mother: before you know it, the day comes when one of your children gets married and you realize that there is going to be a whole new branch on your family tree.  Yes, that towheaded little boy you raised is going to be the head of his own household--can this be so?

Here is one of my all-time favorite pictures of my beloved boys, taken that watershed year: son #1 is the beaming groom, son #2 is his best man, and the other three round out his side of the wedding party as his groomsmen.  (I love that they are arranged by order of birth up there at the head table!)

2009: That tiny baby in the first picture up there?  On this day, he became a husband!

Two seconds went by.  It was 2011, and our baby was leaving us to start his college career out in South Bend.

2014: That scrawny little man flexing his muscles, surrounded by his big brothers?  He's a college junior now!

So often when I read my favorite Catholic "mom blogs" and see the pictures these much-younger-than-I gals post of their precious newborns, adorable toddlers, and expanding "baby bumps," I feel almost envious of them.  Because I miss the sweet infants I rocked to sleep, the chubby toddlers I parked on my hip as I went about my daily chores, the completely lovable and deeply loved little boys who filled our days with so much energy, laughter, and pride-filled moments.  With so much purpose.  And sometimes I find myself crying--when alone in my car as I run errands, or when singing a particularly touching hymn at Mass, or just about anywhere, anytime, to tell the truth; because when the people you love most in the world--the people who gave you the one role you feel you were made to play, that of being a mother--are no longer sleeping under your roof (and not only that, but they are a full-day's drive or a plane ride away from you), I won't lie...it's hard.  And it's painful.  And it takes a lot of getting used to.

Thank God that I not only love, but really, really like, their dad (my hero, my best friend, and the love of my life, all wrapped up in a package that's easy on the eyes to boot), and that we've decided now that we're empty-nesters, we're going to consider ourselves on one long date; because otherwise, I would find the separation from our boys to be just too difficult to bear.

I've gotten comments on this blog from young mothers who say they like the way I share stories about the blessings in store for them when their children are all grown up, because they can't imagine not having them around all the time and thinking about it is scary.  But I just want to keep it real here and tell you that even though I wouldn't change a thing (because going back in time or stopping the clock would make me miss the extraordinary men my boys have become, and the special women they have married, and the beloved grandchildren with which they have blessed their dad and me), I do struggle.  You will struggle, too.

Come back tomorrow (if you want to, obviously!)--because I think this is getting a tad long, so I'm going to make it a two-parter.  I want to show you just a few of the many unimaginably wonderful joys that await you when your children grow up and spread their wings...even if that means they end up flying a little farther from the nest than you'd like them to.

It's all good, moms.  Truly it is.

What We're Reading (Ash) Wednesday: The Homeschool Experiment

I'm not really reading Charity Hawkins' utterly delightful novel, The Homeschool Experiment, today; but I read it recently and thought I should share it with all of you book-a-holics over at Housewifespice.

(This is the best meme ever, Jessica @ Housewifespice.  I love the retro vibe.  I'm always happy to add it to my WWRW posts.  But I digress.)

I first discovered The Homeschool Experiment when I stopped by Katherine Grubb's 10 Minute Writer blog one day, and I saw she'd interviewed Hawkins and was giving away a copy of her novel.  I didn't win; but after I commented on the post, Hawkins contacted me personally and offered to send me a signed review copy--so actually, I guess I was a winner.  And this led to a book exchange between us, which has happened a few other times with other authors.  [Before I continue here, let me just say that in the less than two years I've been a published author, I have been overwhelmed by the generosity and support of fellow authors (like Charity Hawkins) who are out there in the trenches, fighting to get good Christian literature on bookshelves that are so often filled with less-than-noble modern works.]

Okay, I'm off my soap box now, so let's move on to Hawkins' book--which I believe is a "must read."   Once you start it, you won't want to put it down.

 



In The Homeschool Experiment, Hawkins handles both the sublime and the silly aspects of life in a household with three small children with humor and affection, and her sweet novel will be especially entertaining for those of you who are homeschooling your young'uns--but you really don't even have to be a homeschooler to enjoy the author's lovable heroine, Julianne Miller, or her often hilarious take on young mommyhood.  The book is told in the first person, so the lucky reader gets inside Julianne's head--which is a treat.  The passage about her trip to the Salvation Army thrift store with her kids in tow is so hilarious (in a cringe-worthy sort of way, because if you've ever been a mother to small children, you'll probably be thinking, "Been there!"), that one scene alone is worth the price of the book.  Just about any mother in the throes of raising little people--whether she's taken on the daunting task of educating them herself or not--will be able to relate to the blessed chaos this harried stay-at-home mom deals with on a daily basis.

And here's the bonus: this book is unabashedly Christian in theme and content, and the main character is very much focused on God's will for her family throughout the story.  Even though one chapter begins with the lament, "Drat. Double drat.  It looks like God wants me to homeschool.  How did this happen?", Julianne perseveres--because for Julianne and her husband, John, the answer appears to be homeschooling.  But the author is careful to stress that although homeschooling is right for this fictional couple, it might not be right for everyone, and that ultimately, parents have to assess their unique situations to determine how to best educate their children.  You will find plenty of encouragement in this book, and even some homeschooling tips; what you won't find is judgment.  And you will also see a mother who turns often to God with the kind of silent entreaties I used to make when dealing with a toddler temper tantrum or the like: Lord, help me.  Truly, Julianne is one of the most relatable characters I've ever come across in fiction.

My husband and I only homeschooled the youngest of our five sons, and we only homeschooled him for five years (from grades 4 through 8), so I don't know what it would be like to juggle the needs of a first-grader, a pre-schooler, and a toddler all at once, the way Julianne has to do.  But I can completely relate to dealing with the often rude questions posed by well-meaning friends and even close family members.  Just as Julianne must suffer her mother-in-law's thinly veiled disapproval of homeschooling, I had to field questions like, "Don't you worry about socialization?" and "Do you feel there will be some gaps in your son's education?"  Even though homeschooling has come a long way in the past few decades, there is still a bit of a stigma attached to it, and Hawkins deals with that aspect of the experience with honesty and plenty of her trademark humor.

That's probably what I enjoyed most about this book--the humorous voice of the author.  Julianne is a master of self-deprecation, and she is harder on herself than any critic could ever be.  One of the chapters begins with this sentence: "I am a terrible mother."  Who among us hasn't felt that way at one time or another?  I also enjoyed the way the author describes the relationship between Julianne and her ever-supportive husband (a sainted individual who reminds me a bit of the man I married).  It is obvious that theirs is a strong Christian union, one filled with deep love and understanding.   And Hawkins is also a master at describing the personality traits of Julianne's young children, particularly her endearing but sometimes exasperating six-year-old son: ''I hate to stifle his creativity, but he comes up with complicated and physically voluminous ideas at an astonishing rate.  It wears me out.  In the car the other day, out of the blue, it was, 'Mom, I'm gonna need some big bricks.'"  Now that's stellar writing, if you ask me.  Although this is a novel, the situations and conversations ring absolutely true to real life.

Charity Hawkins has written a novel that conveys the beauty to be found in the homeschooling life, when parents choose it so that their children will learn "truth and virtue, perseverance and character, to love God and to follow Him wherever He may lead.  Those are the most important things."  Amen to that.

Highly recommended!

Now head on over to everyone's favorite on-line book club for more reading recommendations.

The Miraculous Medal Saint, The Little Flower, et. al.

I feel a special connection to St. Catherine Laboure, since I've been wearing a Miraculous Medal constantly (even when I sleep, shower, work out, or swim) for the past twenty years or so.  She is the 24-year-old French nun to whom Mary appeared in 1830, the humble human daughter chosen to make sure that the medal was created, according to Our Blessed Mother's exact specifications, in order to spread a special devotion--she is the Miraculous Medal saint.

Last summer, just as I'd finished up the final edits of my Catholic YA novel, Finding Grace, I inherited an authentic relic of St. Catherine Laboure, who is one of the Incorruptibles, which was found among my late maternal grandparents' belongings. (If you're interested in that story, you can find it here in an August 2012 blog post.)  With it came a signed document dated 1955, with a raised seal, identifying the relic as coming ex ossibus (from the bones) of the famous saint--which I guessed, but would not have known for sure without that official paper.

I was blown away when I saw this precious relic, especially because of my devotion to the Miraculous Medal--which I worked into the story of Finding Grace by having my main character, Grace Kelly, wear one always, the way I do.  (When I did the cover artwork for the book, I made sure that Grace's Miraculous Medal was prominently displayed.)

That's not all, though.  There was a second relic in the same little box, right beside this one; and although there was no stamped and signed paperwork to proclaim its validity, it appears to be an authentic relic of St. Therese of Lisieux (the "Little Flower").  It just so happens that I feel a devotion to St. Therese as well!  She talks of the "Little Way to Spiritual Childhood," whereby even the littlest and humblest among us can become saints--by living out our lives with faith in God's plan for us and having a childlike love for Him.  By performing even the littlest tasks assigned to us in our various vocations as if they are prayers.  There are many flowers in God's garden, St. Therese teaches.  We may not all become great saints, but we can become saints nonetheless.  In her words: “The splendor of the rose and the whiteness of the lily do not rob the little violet of its scent nor the daisy of its simple charm.  If every tiny flower wanted to be a rose, spring would lose its loveliness.” I imagine that sweet, self-effacing, self-sacrificing young nun, who only lived to be 24 and considered herself among the tiniest of the flowers in the garden, would never have believed that she would one day be named a Doctor of the Church.

My airline pilot husband was able to take two trips to Paris while our son was doing a college internship there this summer.  At the end of June, he and our boy did a lot of sightseeing together (and then flew home in the same plane, one in the cockpit and one in business class!), and one of the places they visited was the church where Our Lady appeared to St. Catherine Laboure.  (When my husband Face-timed me to tell me about it, I got choked up and felt the sting of tears!  I would have loved to be there with them.)  They were able to take this iPhone photo of the saint's incorrupt body, which lies near the chapel where the apparitions took place.

And here's the chapel, while we're on the subject.

When I told my publisher, Cheryl Dickow at Bezalel books, about these precious saints' relics that had miraculously fallen into my possession literally days before the book went to print, she said that surely I should consider St. Catherine Laboure and St. Therese of Lisieux the patron saints of Finding Grace.  I like to think of them that way.  And my book could use all the help it can get, because although I believe it has a great message for young people, it's not really getting into the hands of many of them...so St. Catherine and St. Therese, pray for me!

My publisher believes that the Catholic homeschooling community is a place where this book would be well-received, and once there, word-of-mouth among satisfied homeschoolers would drive sales.  If only I could figure out the best way to tap into that market!  Can any homeschooling bloggers/blog readers out there give me some advice on this?  (I'd be willing and able to travel--there are perks to being married to a pilot!)

In closing, I thought I'd bring up another almost-saint who appears prominently in Finding Grace: Blessed Pier Giorgio Frassati.  (I don't have a relic of him--that's not where this is going.)  If you've never read about him, I urge you to do so.  And if you have teenagers (boys especially), have them learn about him.  He was a modern guy, a regular Joe, a handsome young man who had countless friends, a fun-loving goofball, and an athlete.  He was a normal young man who smoked a pipe and fell in love.  And he will be counted among the saints. His story is fascinating.  (And coincidentally, he died at the age of 24, just like St. Therese.)

I've already had 31 years longer than either St. Therese or Bl. Pier Giorgio did, and I'm not even close.  I pray that by the time I leave this earth I'll get there.  Lord, make me a saint!  I will be the smallest and least beautiful of all the flowers, if only I can live in Your Garden.  In the meantime: St. Catherine Laboure, St. Therese of Lisieux, and Bl. Pier Giorgio Frassati, pray for me!  

Our House, is a Very, Very, Very Fine House...

...with two cats in the yard...

No wait.  We will NEVER have two cats in the yard.  Strays or feral cats, maybe; but not pet cats.  (I've told you this before--here, here, and other places.)

But it is a fine house: a lovely Colonial with big cat-free yards in front and back and thick deer-filled woods behind it.  I can't believe I live here--how blessed am I to call this place my home?

We moved into this house in December of 1990, when our oldest son was halfway through first grade and son #4 was three. Our fifth (youngest) son, who came along in 1993,  has never known any other home.

When we first moved in, our front yard had a huge dip in it (the drop-off was about as steep as a double-black-diamond ski trail), and we had numerous scrubby pine trees out there, too. Every spring, a huge pond would form in the front yard, and we had lots of frogs who took up residence (which was Heaven for our five boys, although for their mom...not so much).  In stages, as we could afford it, we had the trees removed and mountains of fill brought in, and now we have a gently rolling expanse of green lawn.

We've made a lot of other improvements over the years, slowly but surely.  After fighting (and losing) a yearly battle with constantly peeling paint, we finally got vinyl siding.  We replaced the roof a few years back. When the front door started rotting all around the frame after a couple of decades of harsh New England winters, we replaced it and at the same time added the small covered front porch and paved walkway.  About ten years ago, my husband, with the help of some of our boys, turned our attached garage into an awesome sports room/TV room--a man cave that we still call the "new room"--and we added a detached garage with doors tall enough to house our 15-seater fire-engine red Dodge Ram van (may she rest in peace).

We've enjoyed feathering this nest; and although it's emptier now than it used to be, we think we'll keep it-- for the foreseeable future anyway.  And best of all: as of a couple of months ago, we actually OWN it now.

My youngest son wrote about our house as part of an assignment for his freshman English class in high school, and I blogged about it almost two years ago shortly after he'd left home to start his college life.  If you're not too tired of this here post yet, you might want to stick around and read (re-read?) it.  (I believe my son might be the true writer in the family.)

Friday, September 9, 2011

My Son, the Writer

My husband and I homeschooled our youngest son for five years, from 4th through 8th grade--and this was an experience that was a complete joy and privilege for us. So during those years, I was my son's English teacher, and I became aware almost from the get-go that he was quite a gifted writer, especially for one so young.

We didn't homeschool our baby for high school--he attended the same Catholic high school to which his brothers had gone. One of the early assignments that his 9th grade Honors English teacher gave his class was an interesting creative writing project. The students were to create a "book" of sorts, by writing essays or very short fiction stories (unified in theme) that would form the "chapters." They had to make a front cover, compose a concise "about the author" blurb for the last page of the book (complete with a photo), and write up an attention-grabbing synopsis to put on the back cover. They also had to include some readers' comments along with the synopsis, so my baby asked his older brother and me to critique his work. Here's what my son's mommy, in her totally unbiased opinion, had to say about her boy's magnus opus: "A deeply moving and powerful narrative...this talented first time author gives the reader a glimpse into the heart and soul of a boy on the verge on manhood. Terrific!" I know that sounds over-the-top; but seriously, this seemingly mundane English project produced a rather impressive collection of eloquent prose--especially when you consider that it came from the pen (make that the computer keyboard) of a 14-year-old boy. His brother commented," A remarkable debut effort. Very insightful. I couldn't put it down." (Can you tell my #2 son and I were trying to make our comments sound like the kind you find on real book jackets?)

For proof that I'm not just an overly proud but delusional mother, I give you the first "chapter" of my son's "book," with minor details omitted for privacy's sake:

A Hidden Gem

If you are in the downtown area of [our town], go past the highway, turn right at the first intersection--you know the one, where if you go straight, people will mistake you for an employee at Liberty Mutual--and keep going down that road. Keep going, keep going. Eventually you come to a heavily-wooded area. It comes suddenly, as if you were flying a plane over Africa and crashed into the rainforest without warning. Then, after going through a roller coaster made of concrete, on your right you will see a street, my street.

It's a comfortable little neighborhood, not too grand, not poor. It is like a Hershey's chocolate bar: sweet enough to satisfy the wealthiest person's craving, but not too rich to upset the poor person's stomach or checkbook. To an outsider looking in, it is just another street among many others. But as with most great things in this world, sometimes you just need to scratch away the surface and see what's inside.

Driving down the street, there are pleasant houses on either side, all of them tucked behind trees and surrounded by forest, as if the woods were fighting violently to regain their lost territory. Though they look nice, keep going past these imposters. Keep going. Just a little further...There it is! [our address] My home.

It is the last house on the right; a big, white house with black shutters. It is a two story building with a large front yard, big enough to fit five rowdy boys who decided never to grow up. To common passers-by, it is just an ordinary house at the end of some street. And yes, like any home, it is where I sleep, it is where I eat, and it is where I live. But to me, it is so much more than just an inn or a breakfast nook.

It is a familiar face that says, "Hello there! How was your trip?" after I've traveled long distances; a life-long friend that is always there when I don't know where else to go. It is my playground, my home field advantage for all my backyard football games; where our family-famous Wiffle Ball homerun derbies are held. It is my place of study; where I have been schooled for the past five years and still get schooled. It is where I learned about life, about the One who made me, and the One who sacrificed Himself for us.

This is where the seven O'Callaghans* live. And although there are nicer houses on our street, our house is a hidden gem, stowed away from the rest of the world. It is everything I want out of a house. Everything I need out of a home.

(*This is the fictional family name my son used for his stories--but his fiction is otherwise very autobiographical, and he's really talking about the Pearls!)


It is good for this mother to know that, although he's far away now and becoming happily immersed in college life, this is how my youngest son--the writer!-- feels about his family home. 

{simple saturday}: Family Coat of Arms

My husband and I homeschooled our fifth-born son, from 2002-2007 (for 4th through 8th grade), something we'd never done before.  His four older brothers all went to our local Catholic elementary school from grades K-8, and it wasn't until we grew concerned about some of the changes taking place there that we decided to try something different with him. So when son #4 graduated from 8th grade and moved on to the local Catholic high school, we thought the time was right to take matters into our own hands and educate our baby ourselves.

In 2005, I came up with a cool homeschool art project for my favorite pupil: to design a Pearl coat of arms that would be symbolic of our family and what it stands for.  (Full disclosure: I totally copied the idea from another teacher, after one of my older sons--who was in high school at the time--was assigned this project for a religion class).

I loved the design he came up with so much that I laminated it and hung it on the wall of our basement classroom, where it has been proudly displayed...until last Wednesday.  My baby boy just finished his second year of college, and I am just now--finally!--dismantling our homeschool classroom for good.  I put away most of the trappings of our little "school" years ago, but I have had a hard time shutting the door on that wonderful period of our lives completely.  However, the time has finally come.  I'm getting ready to re-paint and put up some wall shelves down there, and so for the first time in eleven years, there will be no remnants of that beloved classroom in evidence.  R.I.P., St. Dominic Savio Academy (that's the name our boy gave our little institution, in honor of his favorite saint--whose name he took on his Confirmation day).

Without further ado (because it's {simple saturday} and I've already said way too much), I give you our family's coat of arms, rendered in colored pencil by my youngest son:

I like its Latin motto: Veritas, Justitia, Virtus.  (Truth, Justice, Virtue.)  I like its symbolism: shamrocks, to show our intense love of all things Irish; the ND logo, to show our intense love of all things Notre Dame-related; and most importantly, a Cross, to show our intense love of our Catholic Faith.  To put it simply: it's just plain perfect.

You nailed it, son.  A++++++++++++

As a quick postscript, here's the sign we had hanging above the desks, too--and notice our homeschool's own little coat of arms there on the right.  It, too, was designed by my son, and he chose the motto (because of something St. Dominic Savio was known for saying--that he would rather die than commit one mortal sin): Mortis sed non peccatum.  (Death but not sin.)

And that is all!

Now head on over and visit Iris, for some more simply delightful posts by some simply delightful bloggers.

Unexpected Treasures

Yesterday, I started taking down all my Christmas decorations.  As anyone out there like me--anyone who tries to make her house as much of a Christmas wonderland as she possibly can every year--knows very well, this is a PROCESS.  A long and tedious one, where everything goes back into its specially appointed box, and then the boxes go back into big plastic storage bins, and then the plastic storage bins get carted up to the attic...

Ready to tackle the tree today and carefully store away all my precious treasures...I have no idea how many ornaments I have; I just know there are A LOT of them.  (Now that I've said that, I'm curious and I'll probably count them.)

Putting it all out around Thanksgiving time is so much more fun that taking it down afterwards.  I hate to see it go.  That's why it's already a month after Christmas and I'm just getting to it now.  That, and the fact that my husband and I have been out of town more than we've been home.

Anyhoo--

Taking down the Christmas decorations always gets me in a bit of a spring cleaning mood, and this year is no exception (even though the temperatures outside right now are decidedly un-spring-like).  As I've been putting away the Nativities and Santa figurines, and pulling down the garlands and wreaths, I can't help but notice all the dust that's been accumulating over the holidays, and suddenly I am overcome with the need to clean and organize every corner, nook, and cranny of my house.  So that's why yesterday I found myself going through an enormous cardboard moving box in the basement, absolutely filled to the brim with each and every binder my youngest son kept during his four years of high school--binders crammed with tests, class notes, essays, papers, and computer print-outs.  This box has been sitting down there, neglected completely, ever since he began his college career at Notre Dame in the fall of 2011.  Like his older brothers before him, he asked me to hang onto his old notebooks in case there was any material in them that he might want to use as a reference at some later date.  But like his brothers before him, while he was home for Christmas break he gave me the official okay to toss them out.  (He hasn't looked at those binders once since he donned his cap and gown at his high school graduation.)

But I couldn't just throw away four years of his life's work without giving it a look-see first, so I made sure to sift through everything very carefully.  I ended up with a huge collection of tests, class notes, and such, which I dumped off at the recycling center yesterday; but I put aside for safekeeping any artwork, essays, or papers I could find.  And mixed in with all those piles of loose-leaf pages covered with messy,scribbled notes and math problems, I unearthed some unexpected treasures.

Like this one, a short, hand-written essay from his Humanities class freshman year, on the subject of "My Parents' Greatest Gift":  "Throughout my life, my parents have given me plenty of gifts, but one in particular exceeds all others, and that is my Catholic Faith.  Yes, my education, my clothes, my home and my worldly possessions have all been amazing gifts...but none of these comfort me in my times of hardship or give me hope for the future like my faith."  Wow, that just about did me in when I read it.  How wonderful it is for my husband and me to know that we (and I do give my hubby the lion's share of the credit in this) were able to instill such a deep love for the Catholic Faith in our youngest son; and how wonderful that he thinks of it as the best gift we ever gave him.  In my times of hardship--like those times when I question whether or not I've done as good a job as I should have in my vocation as a mother to the five souls entrusted to me by God--this gift from my baby will give me hope.

I found another freshman paper where he was asked to write about three aspects of his life that were important to him, and he chose family, sports, and last but certainly not least, faith.  In the "family" section, he wrote: "From an early age up to now, creating and maintaining a close bond with my family members has been of great importance to me. Fortunately for my parents and me, we have always been very close and rarely feel alienated from each other.  Whenever I have a problem, whether it's in school or in any other aspect of my life, I always know that I can go to my parents for help.  Perhaps this is because over the past five years, for grades 4-8, I was home-schooled by my mom and dad."  Wow again.  If I ever question whether we made the right move when we decided to homeschool him (which we never did with his brothers, and to explain why we did with him is long and involved and a subject for another day), all I have to do is refer back to these words. Another gift from my baby.

In the "sports" section of that same paper, he talks about following in the footsteps of his four older brothers, whom he idolized, and playing football and lacrosse at the same high school they attended:  "...my brothers were all excellent lacrosse players, and several of them received Academic All-American honors...  [Now] I am carrying on the Pearl legacy at St. Thomas; that... makes me feel that I am part of something that is much bigger than myself, and sometimes, it humbles and overwhelms me."  No essay written by any one of our boys about the important things in life would ever be complete without mentioning how enriched his life was by team athletics.

And finally, our youngest son talks again about his faith: "However, nothing has humbled me more or had a greater impact on my life than my Catholic Faith...I love God with my whole heart and wish only to please Him.  He showers us all with unconditional love, even if we do not deserve it.  And if He was not only willing, but longing to [suffer and die] for me, the very least I can do for Him is sacrifice one hour of my entire week to worship my Lord in the Mass...to show the Savior of the World that I truly love Him in return."

Our youngest son with his former teachers!

My son got an A+ on this paper, and the teacher commented, "You express yourself so well!"  It's true, son #5 is a very good writer.  But it's not how well he expressed himself that makes these unexpected treasures I found in that box in the basement so precious to me; it's the subject matter about which he chose to write.

I'm so happy that taking down the Christmas decorations got me inspired to clean the house!  Just look at what I would have missed out on if I'd put off emptying out that box for another year (or ten)!

Leonardo da Vinci's Drawings

When you think of Leonardo da Vinci (1452-1519), you immediately think of the brilliant, iconic paintings for which he is famous, like the "Mona Lisa" or the "Last Supper"--at least I do. Yet da Vinci also produced a huge collection of black and white sketches that resulted from his studies of a plethora of subjects in which he was interested--like science, engineering, mathematics, warfare, animals, and human anatomy, to name a few. He was an inventor, too, who was way ahead of his time: for instance, in 1488 he drew designs for a flying machine. (Thanks a lot, Mr. d! Love them flying machines!) But that was not all; he also drew designs for helicopters, parachutes, steam engines, boats, submarines, tanks, and catapults. Obviously, da Vinci was a genius, a true "Renaissance man" if there ever was one.

This is a drawing that I had tacked up on the bulletin board in the basement "classroom" where my husband and I homeschooled our youngest son from 4th through 8th grade. Leonardo da Vinci drew this picture of a fetus in the womb in 1489, long before there were sonogram pictures to offer visible proof of pre-born life. In his day, this would have been the ultimate pro-life poster, wouldn't it?
We studied da Vinci and other painters of his time in our homeschool art class during 5th grade, and one time I came up with what I thought was a nifty assignment for my son: I drew a rough outline of the "Mona Lisa," with her head missing, and I told my son to finish off the picture any way he wanted. Here is the resulting masterpiece, for your viewing pleasure:
That's right: it's Mona Lisa (whoever she was) as an alien. What can I say? My son was a typical ten-year-old boy when he drew this. But look at that attention to detail! Notice the precision of the pencil strokes that produced such beautifully shaded areas! I like to believe that Leonardo wouldn't have been too offended by my baby's drawing, and might in fact have appreciated the creativity of a young, up-and-coming artistic genius. If not, my apologies to serious da Vinci fans everywhere.

My Son, the Writer (Chapter 2)

Yesterday, I posted a sample of my youngest son's creative writing--a "chapter" from a "book" he'd created as a 9th grade Honors English project at his Catholic high school. I have one more "chapter" that I would like to share, not only because it showcases my boy's remarkable (at least I think it's remarkable) writing talent, but because it will give you an idea of the unique teaching opportunities that homeschooling offers to both parents and their children. In this very autobiographical piece, my son calls himself Patrick; but the other details of this little story come largely--if not completely--from real life.

I hope I won't get slapped with copyright infringement charges or something, because I neglected to ask my son for his permission to reprint his work! I may have to delete this post, and yesterday's, too, at some time in the future. So in the meantime, enjoy!

Discussions

For the past five years, I have been homeschooled by my two loving and caring parents. My mother taught me most of the subjects: English, science, history, spelling, and many others. My father also taught me, but he was gone a lot of the time, flying airplanes across the Atlantic. So because of these long and frequent trips, he wasn't in charge of many subjects; just two: math...and religion. He was my math teacher. And my theology professor.

Most of our religion classes went the same way: we would look at our edition of the Baltimore Catechism and not only glance at the questions, but memorize them word for word, until they were imprinted on my mind like a brand on the hindquarters of a cow, and then we would read from our Church History book and learn about the early Church and how it continued to thrive. However, every now and then, we would break this sometimes monotonous routine and have discussions, long discussions.

There were some days when I hadn't necessarily lost faith in God, but just had questions, questions that needed answering, whether they were things that I didn't have enough knowledge about, or things that greatly troubled my mind and soul. No matter what they were, my father always had an answer for them, solving each query reasonably and in a way that I could understand, while still staying true to the doctrines of the Church. His words were like a mother's face calming down her child with a single smile. I always enjoyed these discussions, possibly because after each one when I looked at the time, twenty minutes had suddenly disappeared from the clock and it was lunchtime. But I believe there's another reason.

One day, we were having another one of our discussions when at one point, I forget how we came to it, we began to talk about peer pressure. He said to me, "Patrick, next year you are moving up to high school, and while it will be an exciting time for you," pausing here, followed by a series of uhs and ums, "there are going to be times when you'll be tempted to do things that just aren't who you are. There'll be times when your friends will be doing things that your conscience will tell you not to do. And when these temptations are at their strongest, and your friends are all making fun of you for not joining them, just remember: we are not living for this world, but for the next." Ever since that day, those words have stayed with me. A picture may be worth a thousand words, but those words are worth a thousand eternities.

Wow, huh? Okay, here's my chance to give homeschooling a little plug (and also to give a little shout-out to the Seton Home Study School curriculum, which we used for five years and loved); because moments like the one in the last paragraph of my sons's story are the kind of priceless one-on-one teaching moments that you'd be hard pressed to find in any other school environment.

My Son, the Writer

My husband and I homeschooled our youngest son for five years, from 4th through 8th grade--and this was an experience that was a complete joy and privilege for us. So during those years, I was my son's English teacher, and I became aware almost from the get-go that he was quite a gifted writer, especially for one so young.

We didn't homeschool our baby for high school--he attended the same Catholic high school to which his brothers had gone. One of the early assignments that his 9th grade Honors English teacher gave his class was an interesting creative writing project. The students were to create a "book" of sorts, by writing essays or very short fiction stories (unified in theme) that would form the "chapters." They had to make a front cover, compose a concise "about the author" blurb for the last page of the book (complete with a photo), and write up an attention-grabbing synopsis to put on the back cover. They also had to include some readers' comments along with the synopsis, so my baby asked his older brother and me to critique his work. Here's what my son's mommy, in her totally unbiased opinion, had to say about her boy's magnus opus: "A deeply moving and powerful narrative...this talented first time author gives the reader a glimpse into the heart and soul of a boy on the verge on manhood. Terrific!" I know that sounds over-the-top; but seriously, this seemingly mundane English project produced a rather impressive collection of eloquent prose--especially when you consider that it came from the pen (make that the computer keyboard) of a 14-year-old boy. His brother commented," A remarkable debut effort. Very insightful. I couldn't put it down." (Can you tell my #2 son and I were trying to make our comments sound like the kind you find on real book jackets?)

For proof that I'm not just an overly proud but delusional mother, I give you the first "chapter" of my son's "book," with minor details omitted for privacy's sake:

A Hidden Gem

If you are in the downtown area of [our town], go past the highway, turn right at the first intersection--you know the one, where if you go straight, people will mistake you for an employee at Liberty Mutual--and keep going down that road. Keep going, keep going. Eventually you come to a heavily-wooded area. It comes suddenly, as if you were flying a plane over Africa and crashed into the rainforest without warning. Then, after going through a roller coaster made of concrete, on your right you will see a street, my street.

It's a comfortable little neighborhood, not too grand, not poor. It is like a Hershey's chocolate bar: sweet enough to satisfy the wealthiest person's craving, but not too rich to upset the poor person's stomach or checkbook. To an outsider looking in, it is just another street among many others. But as with most great things in this world, sometimes you just need to scratch away the surface and see what's inside.

Driving down the street, there are pleasant houses on either side, all of them tucked behind trees and surrounded by forest, as if the woods were fighting violently to regain their lost territory. Though they look nice, keep going past these imposters. Keep going. Just a little further...There it is! [our address] My home.

It is the last house on the right; a big, white house with black shutters. It is a two story building with a large front yard, big enough to fit five rowdy boys who decided never to grow up. To common passers-by, it is just an ordinary house at the end of some street. And yes, like any home, it is where I sleep, it is where I eat, and it is where I live. But to me, it is so much more than just an inn or a breakfast nook.

It is a familiar face that says, "Hello there! How was your trip?" after I've traveled long distances; a life-long friend that is always there when I don't know where else to go. It is my playground, my home field advantage for all my backyard football games; where our family-famous Wiffle Ball homerun derbies are held. It is my place of study; where I have been schooled for the past five years and still get schooled. It is where I learned about life, about the One who made me, and the One who sacrificed Himself for us.

This is where the seven O'Callaghans* live. And although there are nicer houses on our street, our house is a hidden gem, stowed away from the rest of the world. It is everything I want out of a house. Everything I need out of a home.

(*This is the fictional family name my son used for his stories--but his fiction is otherwise very autobiographical, and he's really talking about the Pearls!)


It is good for this mother to know that, although he's far away now and becoming happily immersed in college life, this is how my youngest son--the writer!-- feels about his family home.