Blacks won't think he's black enough. Whites won't think he's white enough. To humans, though, he'll be perfect. CRB

You won't find me often quoting myself, but how I explained some aspects of racism to A about J really summed it up nicely.

With the new president-elect -- who is half-white, as my friend Sue pointed out -- a new era of looking past skin color may have dawned on America. And, as Sue also pointed out, that means we have to stop looking at people as half-black or half-white or half-whatever; if we look at them as human first we'll get the best color image possible.

I haven't blogged in some time since the adoption was final. It had to all sink in for me. What I'd like to do now is tell the story of how we started this story.

Each day is a step on our path of life. Sometimes it's interesting to look back on how our paths led to where we are, to how we became ourselves.

Yesterday at Mass the reading was from Isaiah. Fr. Charlie tagged Isaiah as the prophet who was waiting for God, and said that if any of us had been waiting for God we could possibly relate to Isaiah. A and I looked at each other in our pew. The serman went on about Isaiah calling to God (Chapter 64 v. 8)

...We are the clay, you are the potter, we are all the work of your hand.

That, in a way, could mean that understanding the highest we were meant to be means finding happiness, truly becoming ourselves.

And it's true, when I've listened to the voice inside that tells me what I really want to do, and taken that cue, I've been happiest. Like the day I realized I wanted to adopt a child in 1996.

God saw all that He had made, and behold, it was very good.~Genesis 1:31

J. was legally, morally, ethically, practically, and totally made our son today.

'Nuf said. It is very good.

On the day that you were born the angels got together and decided to create a dream come true...~The Carpenters

So they sprinkled moondust in your hair

Of gold and starlight in your eyes of blue

How could Karen have known J would have golden hair and blue eyes?

Our friend Amy sang this song to all of her children when they were born-what a wonderful welcome into this world.

J may not have had such a warm welcome. His birth mother seemed proud of him as 'a little fighter', but admits she feels no connection to him and was never affectionate.

J was transferred within hours from the little hospital at which he was born to St. Joe's, which is the leading NICU in the area. (He was ten weeks early.)

St. Joe's has a program for these little ones that is gifted with 'nurturers'-volunteer adults, usually retired people, who come in on a regular basis. Their only job is to hold the little ones, sing to them, rock them, walk with them-to love on them, basically.

These angels saved J from a barren first month. He was so loved that first month, even before he had parents.

He had two main nurturers, Diane and Lee. We were blessed enough to meet both.

Diane kept a log for J, so we have a written record of this seemingly lost time. St. Joe's titles it 'Footsteps to my Future'.

"He was gripping my finger with awesome strength. Our little "man of steel" he is!"

They must have nicknamed him from that as the nurses and staff all called him "Mr. Man."

Lee was his other nurterer, a great bear of a man. The last time we saw him was when we were there to pick him up. He asked me if I'd gotten plenty of sleep as I wasn't going to get any for a long time. I said no, I was too excited. He said he didn't either. When I asked why, he said "I was sad I wasn't going to see J anymore. But I'm so glad he has a family now."

Today is J's first birthday.

We're so glad you were born, J.

I thank You God for most this amazing day~e.e.cummings

I thank You God for most this amazing day
for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky
and for everything which is natural which is infinite which is yes
e. e. cummings

The final adoption date for J has been set for September 5th.

We are overjoyed, grateful, relieved, elated, happy, and a little prepared for a snafu to occur.

He turns one on September 4th; adopted on the 5th; and we'll have him baptized on the 6th. There's going to be one big party on that night!

You will never understand bureaucracies until you understand that for bureaucrats procedure is everything and outcomes are nothing.-Thomas Sowell

A very disappointing day in court.

The birth mother moved. Social services knew, but did not share the info. DA tried to serve with official papers, but failed as the birth mother had moved. Neither side talked.

Case adjourned.

It does not matter that the mother signed off on rights months ago. It does not matter that she has no interest in the child, still. It does not matter that the child is in a stable, loving home, and has been since he left the hospital.

We meet again on July 7th. The process won't even start until then-and who knows if then. That means the court won't recognize J as our son until after his first birthday in September.

There are those who say this doesn't matter; he's in our home, and it's not likely he'll be removed from it.

There are those who say that due process must be served, to protect his best interests, so no one can come back at a later time to challenge his family-ness with us.

There are also those who will say this is a total waste of taxpayers' money, a waste of Social Services, Court, DA, & GAL time.

There are those who will say this is an open-and-shut case; the birth mother does not want the child, and we do.

I had a goal of not writing with disdain on the system too much, as this was the system that was giving us our son. For that, I am truly grateful.

But when a system will not unite a family, will not find ways to expedite the challenges that do indeed come up, and does not feel any remorse whatsoever that it lacks the skills and desires to do so-then, for this post, at least, I protest.

I protest, I protest, I protest.

And I wipe away the tears that fall on the head of my sleeping son.

The question is not "To be or not to be," it is what we should be until we are not.-Soren Kierkegaard

And tomorrow is a big step in who we want to be.

Tomorrow we have our first court date for J. From what I understand, this is to find 'grounds'; grounds to terminate parental rights, even though J's mother is voluntarily giving them up.

The next step will be 'findings'. Hopefully the judge will 'find' that J belongs in a good adoptive home-preferably ours, since he's known no other and seems to be thriving.

The last step will be the adoption, complete with a party at the courthouse and balloons and champagne.

All of this could be finished within sixty days-or six to seven months. Not knowing J's father puts uncertainty into the court system.

But speaking of thriving, our youngest is 'scooching'-getting around doing a form of an army crawl. He's fast enough to get into trouble, but not so fast that we don't have time to finish baby-proofing. He's eating more table foods-not a one he doesn't chow down on. He's getting a little Buddha-belly. And clapping. There's our update on his progression.

What we want to be is a family-and that's what we've been being. Our last task is to convince the court to acknowledge us as what we are.

There is no finer investment for any community than putting milk into babies.~Winston Churchill

A post script to Wednesday's post...

Whatever my personal feelings are about my life accomplishments, I do know solidly that caring for my foster/adoptive son is an extremely personal, total commitment to bettering the world.

This isn't about the wondrous things he brings to our lives; that would deserve it's own focus.

It's about what having him in our family gives to the world.

Hopefully...

It will spare a child from feelings of despair and frustration, and replace that with feelings of love and wonder with the world around him.

It will keep a mother from dreading the arrival of morning, one more day to wonder how she'll make it through, replaced with knowing she made a supreme sacrifice to better a life. (I have met J's mother several times; I believe she is a good person with more challenges in her life than I've known.)

It will keep one citizen from the temptation of crime and unproductiveness, replaced with, who knows? A vet, a composer, an Olympic athlete, a future President...

And what he will nurture, children like him and whomever he will lead and mentor into realizing their visions.

I understand that the diapers I change today are a part of all these hopes. It doesn't lessen my ache for other achievements, but it certainly is a solid something I know I'm living now.

Abigail would do the same if she had my options.

...I feel anxious for the fate of our monarchy, or democracy, or whatever is to take place.~Abigail Adams

Full quote:

...I feel anxious for the fate of our monarchy, or democracy, or whatever is to take place. I soon get lost in a labyrinth of perplexities; but, whatever occurs, may justice and righteousness be the stability of our times, and order arise out of confusion. Great difficulties may be surmounted by patience and perseverance.

What a wise woman she seems to have been. It is often noted that John Adams was most successful and at his best when Abigail was at his side, or when he heeded her advise. Even General Washington commented to her on how John looked to her for guidance.

She often spoke out for the rights of women. I believe that stemmed from her love of learning, and how her own education was not encouraged. She conversed on the classics and on current events with a wisdom that surprised the most learned men of the time. She longed to do do great things, I believe. She wanted to make a difference.

But what HBO serialized was the life of John Adams. (Great series, BTW.) Understandably so; he was the second president of the United States and pivotal in the development of us as a nation.

And so I feel a bit like Abigail Adams; capable of so much more.

She had the limits of the times that stopped her. I have much less of that. Nothing insurmountable. And so I wonder what is stopping me.

At first glance, it may be that I have no goal. Aristotle knew he wanted to be a philosopher and spent his life pursuing that goal. Jefferson knew he wanted to be a man of learning and was just that. Einstein's love was science and his life was immersed in it.

I love too much, perhaps. I love philosophy, literature, computers, management, business. I love art and music. I love gardening and creating a home environment. I love being a mother and love being with my children.

Anyone can easily see that no one (short of the Da Vinci's in our universe) can master all interests. And so I subject myself to the role of Abigail. I live in a time that needs leadership, guidance, wisdom, and can see visions of greatness for our land and world. What I do with my days is change diapers, vacuum (and consider myself lucky for finding the time to do so), search for grocery sales and clip coupons. I drive to doctor appointments, soccer games, karate practices. I clean up after the dog, and pet the cats when they cuddle as I feed the baby.

Nothing bad, by any means. Necessary functioning that I've chosen. I chose to be a wife, a mother, a keeper of urban zoos. But I know all to well that the vision of greatness gathers more dust than my bookshelves.

Yoga is difficult for the one whose mind is not subdued.~Bhagavad Gita

This week I felt good enough to go to a yoga class. (I go to Tosa Yoga on North Ave.) It felt incredible. I couldn't do all the positions, or do the rest of them as deeply as I'd been learning to, but it still felt good.

I went on a day different than my usual class, so I didn't know anyone there. It soon became evident that the woman next to me was pretty new to yoga. And she didn't like it. It was an altogether odd feeling to be so immersed in the pleasure of an experience, only to hear someone at the same time declare they hated it.

I love the awareness of body that yoga offers. To me, it just feels healthy. To feel muscles often abused or ignored respond slowly is invigorating. It's similar to sex. Sex can be exercise, repeating motions, focusing on the end result. Or it can be yoga, focused, aware, unhurried, encompassing all the body. I'm sure there are more things sex can be, but that's not what this posting is about.

At the end of the class, as we did our shavasna, I imagined the stress leaving my body, and fell into a peaceful meditation. Suddenly next to me I heard a growl. 'This is NOT relaxing!' I am still befuddled at the polar extreme between myself and the other student. And I still wish for her a less tense experience.

Regardless, I'm grateful to be in this class. And I hope to continue to be.

Under certain circumstances, profanity provides a relief denied even to prayer.~Mark Twain

I found that to be very true last week.

Matt & I joined Weight Watchers eight weeks ago. We started exercising again, he running 20 miles a week, me doing a little bit of everything. Walking, workout videos, weights, stretching, yoga. At the gym in DeKalb years ago, the guys there called me 'Gumby'; I was pretty flexible, and loved how it felt.

With the weight loss and the increased activity, we both have been feeling better in general. I've often goaded Matt to stretch more, though. He may be younger than me, but that means I should be able to offer him the wisdom of my years. Right? :)

Last Wednesday, after feeding J we played together on the living room rug. I had my workout clothes on; I was psyched to do a combo weights/cardio workout from The Firm. J got a little cranky as nap time neared, so I started to get up, carrying him. My lower back popped. I was blinded. A million 'I wish I'd have known's' to those who have had back problems.

I managed to inch over to the couch and lay J on it. Once there, I realized I had no idea why I wanted to get there. I could barely move. Ten minutes later I'd gotten J into his crib. I emailed Matt about my mishap(he's so rarely at his desk but always has his Treo), saying I'd call the doctor & let him know how I was. Two minutes later I emailed 'Please call me'. I knew I couldn't get J out of his crib, much less drive myself to the doctor.

Five days later, I'm much better. I'm not even taking the muscle relaxers anymore, just Aleve. I've walked twice. I may even try to work out again tomorrow.

The kicker is that I've focused so much on stretching & yoga to make sure I avoided all injuries. Matt does a few hamstring stretches a week. And who got hurt? It's Murphy's Law...

If you think dogs can't count, try putting three dog biscuits in your pocket and then giving Fido only two of them.~Phil Pastoret

Our dog Churchill was not allowed upstairs the first two years we had him. It gave the cats a place to escape. It helped that Churchill is afraid of stairs.

Once J came, we figured it'd give Churchill a whole nother layer of house to explore and find some companionship it. Now he only goes up when we call. He seems glad to be there, but just as glad to go back down.

Two nights ago, in the middle of the night, I heard the floor boards creak. I looked in the doorway to see if A was coming to us; maybe she'd had a bad dream. I saw no one, though. A few seconds later, I heard the familiar jingle of Churchill's collar. "What are you doing up here,Churchill?!" came from me. "Go downstairs!" I finished. I heard the jingle disappear down the hall.

A few moments later, I heard something else. A beep every three minutes or so, that was guaranteed to irratate my sleep. I asked Matt to go check it out.

Turns out the smoke detector in the hall leading to J's room had a battery running low. As Matt came back upstairs, he found Churchill-laying in Arcadia's doorway, facing out. Protecting her, perhaps?

He's not come up since. We sincerely wonder if he knew that sound wasn't right, and was either warning us or was ready to protect us.

Either way, what a pooch!

You can tell it's spring in Milwaukee when you can see curb.~from a morning broadcast on WLUM last week

As every soul in Milwaukee is probably thinking, it's so good to see the white of winter disappear. Not only can we see curb, we can see grass as well.

What a difference that makes to me. It means hope, hope that the world will erupt in green soon, hope that before long we'll be outside more than in, hope that my isolation will end.

My Polish ancestors supposedly settled in Milwaukee as the area reminded them of their homeland. And it is beautiful. I love to drive through the Wisconsin countryside more than any other state. (Virginia is second.) But as far as the climate goes-my Polish DNA must end there. I am not cut out for these long, bitter winters. My French DNA must be dominant there.

Speaking of spring, spring break begins for us tomorrow. Saturday we'll attend a family class in karate. (Have fun imagining my lack of coordination Saturday afternoon.) Next week we'll go to Lake Geneva for a night. A hotel on Lake Delavan had a great spring break special for a two bedroom, two bath suite. With the full kitchen, we'll eat in mostly, swim a lot, and get away for pretty cheap. J's first time swimming-it ought to be fun.

And it's time for spring cleaning, which I've already begun. Time to put the pass-on's on the newly visible curb...

Success is the ability to go from one failure to another with no loss of enthusiasm.~Winston Churchill

Yesterday there was a hearing in court for J. Once again we found that the papers for him hadn't been filed. We'd been told they'd be filed by the end of December, then the middle of February, and now this. I'd volunteer to strap J in a harness on me and fill out forms or make copies or do whatever to help get this done, if it would be taken seriously.

Some good came of the hearing, though. The judge officially ruled that adoption was the plan for J. He also recommended the papers be filed as quickly as possible, bless him. A supervisor has them; they could be filed by today, even. I know enough, though, to not to get my hopes up too high.

On the note of legal issues, we're in the middle of submitting a request for more time with A. These two issues are my heart's purest prayers. It seems to be hard to make either happen. All this loops back to my previous posting on prayer. Still not a lot of luck on that front, either. I go through the motions; the routine itself offers some comfort. I still search.

It's so odd to aspire to something you have little to no control over. What a frustrating position to be in! Is that how my children feel? (Or will feel, in J's case.)

So the most important efforts of my life to this point show no success. Is that failure? If I can find a way to continue enthusiasm, then maybe not.

Wish us success...

Somehow destiny comes into play. These children end up with you and you end up with them. It's something quite magical.-Nicole Kidman, adoptive parent

Yesterday was magical.

We've had J for five months. We went through '100 Nights of No Sleep'. We've watched his reflux ravage him, from once an hour to once or twice a day. We've changed over 1,000 diapers. We've fed him over 3,000 ounces of preemie formula. We've kissed him at least 10,000 times.

The adoption is still stalled. We have court later this week, but since nothing else has been done, nothing else will be done.

But yesterday, in my heart, he became my son. Not my foster son. Not my adoptive son. But my son.

We were sitting in the den, he on my lap. As I ate a nectarine, I slowly scraped tiny tastes for him to savor. He'd look up at me intermittantly, content, serene, sweet.

Nothing special. No fireworks, no parades, no trumpets. But everything changed, deepened, intensified.

I could adopt a dozen children, love them, fight for them, spend my life being their mother. All with the hopes that this feeling would bloom.

Isn't it sweet that it did?

Racism isn't born, folks, it's taught. I have a two-year-old son. You know what he hates? Naps! End of list. ~Dennis Leary

I had the most unnerving experience last night. I believe I was the subject of racism.

I'm white. I'm a woman. I'm an American of Polish and French descent. You might need to know that before you read ahead.

I pulled into a parking space at Buffalo Wild Wings. There was a car on my left; none on my right. My mini-van needed to be straightened out, so I put the car in reverse.

The passenger in the car on my left started to open the door. I stopped backing out; ripping off their car door didn't sound like much fun to me. The woman closed the door, then rolled down her window to throw out some garbage. (We can tackle littering in some future blog, but not today.)

So I straightened my car. As I took the keys out of the ignition, the driver leaned towards the passenger window and started yelling something at me. I couldn't hear, so started to roll down my window. This was just in time to hear, '..., you prejudiced white bitch!'.

I got out of the car then. I've pissed plenty of people off in my day, and not always on purpose, but did not have a clue what I'd done. So I asked, 'What did I do?' (I can be pretty smooth sometimes.)

She answered, 'You heard me, you honky white bitch!. Then she slowly drove away, throwing daggers at me with her eyes. Ouch. OUCH.

My husband and friend Sue have reminded me there's nothing I can do now, and even then, I couldn't have changed her perception of me. I understand that.

But that doens't mean I don't want to. I want to bridge gaps, not create chasms. I'm the not-very-bright person who was shocked to hear some whites wouldn't vote for Obama because he's black. I refused to go to Junior prom because I wasn't allowed to go with a black male friend. Extended family hid my keys in Indiana to stop me from going to protest a KKK rally.

My son is part black.

The sadness is that I could tell all of this to the women I encountered last night, and it wouldn't do any good. What they accused me of, they practiced-live and on me.

To anyone ready to pounce on me for this, I am fully aware that this is how millions of blacks, Hispanics, Jews, etc., have experienced for millenia, and often much more violently. I can think of no sentence to type that will accurately express my sorrow, sympathy, repulsion at the horror, and solidarity I feel.

But it sure is different when it happens to you, you don't know why, and you can't reason with the racist standing next to you.

God help me find more ways to bridge these gaps. Oops-I almost prayed...

Whatever a man prays for, he prays for a miracle. Every prayer reduces itself to this: "Great God, grant that twice two be not four."~Ivan Turgene

I have prayed daily for all of my conscious life. There have been times that I've felt connected with God, and have heard direct answers when I've asked questions. I thank God silently feeling the sunshine on my skin, watching the rain water the roses, tasting Ghiradelli chocolate brownies, holding my newborn child. Most of the time, though, my prayer has been a dialog, like Tevya from Fiddler on the Roof.

Something has happened lately, though, and I find myself unable to pray. It is profoundly disturbing to me. When my soul talks it disolves into a dark nothingness. Not even an echo.

I believe it's because of my 'unanswered' prayers, or the ones that were answered with a solid 'No.'. Those prayers haven't been trivial-not for a sunny day on a Susan B. Koman run day, not for my skinny jeans to fit, not for the 4th grade class to like my cookies & cream ice cream torte. The deepest prayers I've prayed were for my children.

Don't get me wrong; I've also prayed for others in the world. I've prayed for the world to stop smoking, even though we've been given free will. I've prayed for the end of wars, for wisdom for the decision-makers who can stop wars. I've prayed for neighbors who've been in pain. I've prayed for family members who are short on hope.

But the prayers that come from the deepest part of me are for my children.

Several years ago, I became very angry with God for allowing bad things to happen to A. I battled the theory that God is non-interventionist-that free will thing again. Then I thought about God sending His son to us; that didn't seem too non-interventionist to me.

I pondered what Jesus would do about A's troubles if He were here. I compared it to what I had done. And I saw myself as Jesus' hand on earth. This was what Jesus had come to teach us to do.

But now, years later, and more pain for A, and now limbo for J, I've reached a new level. Why does God let horrible things happen to innocent children?

I don't have an answer for this. Maybe I should read 'Why Bad Things Happen to Good People'. In the meantime, I've been reduced to feeling foolish for even pretending to talk to a God who doesn't seem there.

It leaves me lonely. I wake in the morning and my mind reaches to whomever, to say Hello! and Please help me be a good person, mom, wife and Thank you for the sunshine peaking through our shades and the husband beside me. I go to sleep at night, ready to talk about the day, laugh over the funnies, cherish the warmth, nurse the wounds.

But those thoughts fade into a darkness. They may still be heard for all I know. I've lost my daily companion, though, and I miss that immensely.

Adam and Eve had many advantages, but the principal one was that they escaped teething.-Mark Twain

J cut two teeth this weekend, one Saturday and one Sunday, the front bottom teeth. This seems early to me; it's either five and a half months true age, or three and a half adjusted. It's one more way of showing me that each child is their own, on their own schedule, with their own blueprint.

J is becoming himself.

I'd hoped hoped that this would calm his spirit; he'd been cranky. Make that CRANKY. But no luck there. There may be more teeth coming in; there's a bump to the left of his front teeth, which again would be off schedule. (We'd expect his top two teeth to come in next.) Or he may just be CRANKY. I understand why doctors prescribed valium for mothers in the past. The good old days...:)

His adoption seems stalled. His mother hasn't changed her mind; she still wants to give up rights. It seems the issue is paperwork and red tape. Sad how a little one's life doesn't tip the scale when weighed against these.

Any other parents out there who've fostered or adopted know this feeling of being terminally on hold. You go day in and day out, feeding, loving, losing sleep, and in the back of your mind is always the thought "What if...". You say, "Good morning, son!" and a little piece of your heart reminds you, quietly but firmly, that in the eyes of the law, he's not your son.

Funny, if we were in a less-advanced country, we could pass a generous amount of money to some official and speed this up. But no, here we cannot bribe. We're simply at the mercy of overworked, overwhelmed people who can't be inspired to move him to the top of their list. We don't look so advanced when you look at it that way, do we?

How many more milestones will we celebrate with J while in limbo?

In our every deliberation, we must consider the impact of our decisions on the next seven generations.-From the Great Law of the Iroquois Confederacy

I receive a daily quote email from charityfocus.org, and this news tidbit was included several days ago:

Dublin -- there is something missing from this otherwise typical bustling cityscape. There are taxis and buses. Every other person is talking into a cellphone. But there are no plastic shopping bags, the ubiquitous symbol of urban life. In 2002, Ireland passed a tax on plastic bags; customers who want them must now pay 33 cents per bag at the register. There was an advertising awareness campaign. And then something happened that was bigger than the sum of these parts. Within weeks, plastic bag use dropped 94 percent. Within a year, nearly everyone had bought reusable cloth bags, keeping them in offices and in the backs of cars. [ more ]

Click on the link above for more details, such as the fact that in January of 2008, more than 42 million plastic bags were used worldwide, and the figure increases by more than half a million every minute.

I'm in awe of Ireland (the bag-tax edict is enforced throughout the entire country) and hope they get more press and kudos for their change.

Now, I believe, like Thoreau, that the government that governs the least governs the best. But this is one example of an intervening government that actually did some good! I'm having a hard time reconciling those facts; it's uncommon.

On a personal note-we reuse a number of our bags for doggie and kittie cleanup. But we still have many more bags than even that requires.

Can this be done here?

Love does not consist in gazing at each other but in looking outward in the same direction.-Antoine de Saint-Exupery

Happy Valentine's Day!

If we step back to look, our house is filled with love. Kisses, hugs, hand-holding, notes, songs, talking, listening-amid the hurry of daily life, the spaces are filled with these.

If what Saint-Exupery (he wrote 'The Little Prince') says is true, what direction are we looking?

At a world...

With no wars-between countries, friends, neighbors, family.
Where we cherish our resources creatively.
Overflowing with the labors of the arts, in books, paintings, sculptures, plays, music, and so on.
Where the past is lovingly excavacted, studied, and learned from.
That embraces all of its children, homes and hearts open.

On that note-Mrs. S. just called, the mother of an friend from Dominican. She was checking on the adoption of J. I'm so very touched that she - and countless others - are thinking of him and us.

In a future post I'll give a little background on the whole family, but for now, I want to just briefly touch on J. He's our foster child right now, but we're hoping to adopt him soon. We got him straight from the hospital in October-all 4 lbs. 11 oz. of him. He was 10 weeks early, born at a tad over 3 lbs. With strawberry blond wavy curls and blue, blue eyes, and his non-stop stream of chatter, he's a charmer. He loves to kiss. He has a bit of a temper, for example, when he can't make his little arms do what he wants. He laughs out loud when we sing to him.

We'd hoped he'd be ours by now, but 'tis not so. We await paperwork filings and court decrees, and wonder if God hears our prayers.

We'll comfort ourselves, this Valentine's Day and on, with the love in the house, and the love from the world that pours itself in. But still we'll hope....

A lot of people like snow. I find it to be an unnecessary freezing of water.-Carl Reiner

For those not in the Midwest, we're currently getting slammed with another winter storm. It shows Nature at her most unrelenting; it's been snowing for almost 24 hours and it doesn't look to end until later tonight. If I was a kid I'd be reveling in the snow piles. Now, as an adult, I just rubbed Matt's sore shoulder from creating all those snow piles.

Last Friday, while Matt was at work, J rolled over from front to back for the first time. Saturday was his first from back to front. Now he gets frustrated when he can't get himself over. This kid has a will. Watch for posts when he's a preteen for more on this.

Yesterday we took J to the doctor to check for an ear infection. He was clear. The theory is his recently-reactivated severe reflux is aggravating his ear canals, causing him to rub his ears often. His new movements may be causing the reflux to act up again.

He's 16 lbs. 10 oz.! Most babies are twice their birthweight at 5 months. He's more than 5 times. He's a good catcher-upper.

People will accept your ideas much more readily if you tell them Benjamin Franklin said it first.— David H. Comins

Our friend Scott starts his blogs with song titles. I like the effect. I may not start all of mine with quotes but when it's appropriate I'm going to throw them in.

Tonight was a night of inclusion.

J & I met my sister Cyndi & her husband Chris at St. Bernard's (their parish). Tonight St. Bernard's hosted a Spaghetti Dinner (pasta by Bartelotta's) and that's what we were there for. As I walked into the church I saw the priest giving out St. Blaise blessings with the candles.

Just today I studied Candlemas on the net. It's a celebration for being exactly between the winter and spring solstice. It all seems to be filled with light. Pagen rituals-carrying candles as Ceres carried candles looking for her daughter Persephone in the underworld. Christianized it becomes the 40th day after Jesus' birth, the day he's presented in the temple and Mary is allowed back in to be purified; candles are lit and carried for Mary, and it becomes Candle Mass. Then Europeans start looking for shadows on Feb. 2. The legend of Groundhog Day is based on an old Scottish couplet: "If Candlemas Day is bright and clear, there'll be two winters in the year."

I wanted to receive the blessing. Who couldn't use more blessings? So I got in line with J. As we waited, at least 4 people talked with me. At dinner, several people greeted us and made warm small talk.

Afterwards, I went to Scott's parents home. Scott is on the East Coast for work. Amy & the T's were there, with another family friend, all to celebrate Candle Mass. (Scott's mother was born and raised in France; I believe this celebration is more common in Europe.) They herded us in, poured some wine and let me pass the baby. The highlight of the event is making crepes. I was informed that everyone had to flip a crepe, holding a coin in your hand. If the crepe flipped, you would find luck. We all did it-me, their youngest at 5, everyone. The coin was special-a silver dollar from 1944. And the crepes were magnifique!

I could not have felt more welcomed.