Psst...husband dear...pls read this post!

Well it's worth a try.
In fact my husband hardly ever reads my blog. Alas and alack because it could be a pretty useful way of dropping some heavy hints. Like, for example, oh, y'know..maybe, gift ideas? Just a thought. I mean we all need a little inspiration in the 'unique and meaningful gift' department from time to time right?.
And it strikes me that this blog could be a handy vehicle for a little *ahem* helpful "product placement".


Shh.
Moving on...
A while back, I was looking for some little keepsake for Marie-Aibhlinn.
Her middle name is Teresa Benedicta, for the two Carmelite saints. Teresa Benedicta of the Cross, and St Therese of Liseux whose intercession we were seeking during my pregnancy (  and before my pregnancy).
I found this terrific Etsy site which sells the most beautiful creations. Mostly jewellery, but also other knick knacks like fridge magnets. They are truely unique and unusual and if I could I'd buy all her stock.

So when I saw this sweet little ornament I knew it was just right for our little flower.

Through emailing back and forth with Nicole, the lady who makes the ornaments, I got to know her a bit.
She shared a lovely website about St Therese ( which I tucked away in my bookmarks and can't seem to find right now) and I told her a little bit about our family and sent her a link to my blog.
I liked her straight away. I'm a sucker for anyone with an artistic talent. But it was clear that she pours so much of her heart into creating the things that she sells. so I was thrilled that I'd found the perfect little gift for Marie-Aibhlinn. A thing of beauty, made with love.

But I was completely blown away when Nicole sent me an email saying " Look what St Olivia inspired me to make for her mummy" and included these photos:
Isn't it just perfect? I can't imagine a more apt memento for our own little family saint . It brings a lump to my throat thinking about it. It's so precious. Whenever I look at it I'm reminded not only of Olivia but of the kindness of strangers. And I'm reminded to ask Olivia to recommend the needs of Nicole and her family to Our Lord.

On the feast of the Holy Innocents

"A voice was heard in Ramah, sobbing and loud lamentation; Rachel weeping for her children, and she would not be consoled, for they were no more."


I read a piece today that was linked to on MommyLife.
It is the response of a Rabbi to a question from a mother who has learnt that the baby she is expecting has Downs syndrome. She wonders whether she should end the pregnancy.
It is a beautiful response. This especially touched me:

"Since this will be the soul of a child who will need special care and who will know the world differently than others, she has a special mission. She is chosen to ignite the kindness that lies dormant in people's souls and plant the seeds of empathy in their hearts; to teach caring, patience and tolerance in a way no other teacher could. She will enter the world armed with lessons and tests for all who will come to know her—and she will leave it a much kinder world, a world blossoming with compassion, a world where people can feel for one another and put aside their own concerns and comfort to run to help. She will leave behind a touch of the heaven from whence she came."

Read the rest here.

Today the church honours the memory of the infant victims of King Herod.
It's a sombre reflection, and it would be hard to believe that such savage cruelty would be possible, were it not for the daily reporting of similar horrors. Horrors against which we mostly become inured in order to protect our hearts and perhaps also to preserve our sanity.
The normal instinct responds protectively to weakness and vulnerability.
Where we see innocence, we sense something delightful, liberating and true.

When power is turned against the helpless, rather than in defence of them, our hearts are unsettled. Sometimes it is simply too much, too intractably difficult, too sad for us to contemplate.
And we turn away.

Today, I am thinking about the weak, the vulnerable and the innocent.
My prayer is that they inspire in me always an impulse to cherish, to protect and to humbly learn from "the least of these".

I am thinking also, of those parents who have known the loss of a child. My prayer for them is that they have the assurance and comfort that God gives to the completely weak and defeated.

I am thinking especially today of Olivia, my own 'holy innocent'. Whose short life wrung out my heart.

The pangs of sorrow are immeasurably eased by the blessing of Marie-Aibhlinn. Nonetheless, I miss her. And I know that without her, inwardly, I will always be walking with a little limp.



Dear Olivia, loved and carried always in my heart, until we meet in heaven, pray for me.

7 Quick Takes

1

Having a multi generational family is the coolest thing ever. I hadn't anticipated this back when I started out having babies. I couldn't imagine having teenagers and babies. Well, I probably just couldn't imagine having teenagers!
Now I think the combination of teenagers and babies is utterly perfect. For parents, for the babies and for the teenagers. It's win win win.
Why?


Here's why:


2

It was Honors birthday on the 18th September.
Goodness me, time flies. How she has grown.



It was a bittersweet day however. I'm hoping that future birthdays won't be so laden with complex emotions as this one was.

I do think that being almost exactly as pregnant as I was when she was born, and Olivia died, has brought those memories into much sharper focus.
I Cried alot remembering the mixed emotions of this day:
And this:



And then I woke up at 3am with a cracking headache and a paralysing attack of night terrors that something would go wrong this time too.

There were very lovely moments too though. We are so grateful to have Honor, and I don't want her birthday to be overshadowed with loss. In reality, nothing is lost. There was no mistake.
With God, death is not a disaster. Olivia is gloriously alive.
But I miss her and sometimes I sigh and wonder, if she was here...
Most of the time though, I am busy enough living in the present moment.
And there is so much sweetness in that.





3

In my slightly crocked condition ( both emotionally and physically) it was probably very optimistic to imagine that I could turn out a fabulous blogworthy cake.
This was Honors birthday cakewreck:


It collapsed when I opened the oven too early and, well, it all went down hill from there.
My friend said that the collapse was so perfect that it made the cake look like a nest, so I threw some blueberries in there, and then squeezed some lurid pink icing around haphazardly, and then...actually then I started crying again.
Pregnancy hormones are potent and not to be trifled with.

4

Changing tempo...

A childrens 'hymn' to the President. Is this sweet, or is it creepy?



I have seen this on a few blogs lately ( Mama Says and MommyLife) and wanted to air it here. I found the almost verbatim lifting of some of the lyrics of that old childrens hymn 'Jesus Loves The Little Children' rather, um, 'icky'.

Compare:

"Jesus loves the little children

All the children of the world

Red and yellow

Black and white

They are precious in His sight."

With:
"He said red, yellow, black or white All are equal in his sight"

Depending on your perspective, I suppose this will either make you go "ahh" or "ew".

Come to think of it, I've never liked that old childrens hymn either.

But the slightly 'Obama Messiah' flavour of the lyrics reminded me of this:

Who buys this stuff?

5

And just to show how much more sage and deep our political take here in the UK is, here is Hip Hopper Dizzy Rascals thoughts on the election of TFBPOTUSA*.



(*The First Black President Of The USA)

6

Since I'm on a bit of a political roll , here's a video I saw on MommyLife that I wanted to show my children. It's a commentary on the 'branding' of the American President.



I found the observation about the ubiquitous 'O' really interesting. That 'O' is everywhere. Still. And it is, to me at least, somewhat redolent of those regimes whose objective is to imprint the lordship of the Dear Leader deep in the psyche of an acquiescent populace.

Personally, I was very enthusiastic about Obama when he first came to international attention as a contender for the US top slot.

That waned pretty quickly when I realised how manipulative the whole business of image making is. And the extent to which it seemed Obama had become a brand.


7


I feel we have been here before, to a lesser extent, with Tony Blairs administration which also sang the 'Hope and change' theme, but to the the of 'Things Can Only Get Better''.


Back then, it lifted my heart. These days, I'm a little more jaded.

( "Quick Takes" LOL! If you want actual Quick takes visit Conversion Diary)

First post

Wordpress post from 9th May, here.


This isn't my first blog. I have an old one that was sadly neglected for a couple of years. Not being quite sure how to introduce myself here, I've decided to copy and paste my 'hello again' post from there.
Since this is a new beginning, I felt it was time for a new, fresh blog.
Bear with me while I tinker.


I'm sorry.
I know it's a terrible breach of bloggy etiquette to just disappear with no word of explanation.
it's a long story.
I hardly know where to begin. The past couple of years have wrought many changes. The most significant of which is the birth of my twin daughters, Olivia and Honor.
Honor is nearly 19 months old now and the darling pulse of my heart. Olivia, a dark, curly haired angel with a rosebud mouth, was born into heaven.
I had a very difficult pregnancy and simply couldn't bring myself to blog about it. I was sure that when I had got through it, I would post a picture of me with my two beautiful twinkles and say "Ta da! THIS is the reason for my long absence!"
Of course, it didn't happen like that, and I couldn't bear to write about it.
I was depressed when I was pregnant and I complained about how pathological it felt to be carrying twins. I didn't realise I was getting sicker and sicker. I just thought that was how pregnancy with twins felt. I was complacent too. I 'knew' that when they were born I would have the chance to make it up to them, but when I was carrying them I complained and fretted about how bad I felt.
I couldn't pray either, I felt further from God than I have ever felt before.
Now I am reading Dark Night of the Soul I recognise so much of what I experienced back then during those bleak, fretful months.
I have no words to describe the contrition and remorse I felt when I held my little lifeless baby. I had no way to smooch her and make up for my moaning whilst she had been inside me.
Had she felt rejected and unloved? My heart is pierced with sorrow and regret for my fickle complaining, and for my lack of trust and confidence in God.
It's harrowing to be confronted with ones own wretchedness.
A friend who led our small womens bible study told me that she believed that by complaining, I had cursed myself. It was a little comment that she tossed out by way of explaining how 'difficult' she had found it. We were on the phone at the time so she couldn't see me. It was probably hard for her to imagine the effect that her commentary was having on me, speaking as she was, into my deepest, darkest dread. I felt as though a cold hand was grasping my lungs. It was hard to breathe. I wondered if I might actually stop breathing and pass out. It's strange how strong emotions are actually experienced in a very physical way.
I managed to squeak out that " I have to go now". She was breezy, she had no idea. People can be strange. This is what she said:
" OK, well can I pray for you?"
"No, no, not now, I really have to go"
" I see" she said, her voice clipped now, I had offended her " How interesting. I find that very interesting that you won't be prayed for. Goodbye"
She also shunned Olivias funeral because it was held in a catholic church. She discouraged the other women in the group from coming. She acknowledged, and hotly defended all this because " The truth is very important".
When I protested that Jesus ate with tax collectors, she shot back " Not while they were actively defrauding people" She wanted to know why we hadn't had the funeral service in HTB, the Anglican church that we attended ( Although catholic from my youth, I no longer considered myself a Catholic, I was 'just a Christian', with no denominational affiliation as such. I was happy that way and had no axe to grind with Rome. I was just completely disinterested in what I saw as the folderols and complexity of inherited religion )
The truth was, the funeral was in a catholic church because my husband organised it. I was just a sleepwalking, albeit assenting, passenger. My husband, although he really appreciated the vibrant faith evident in our 'new' church, had never really lost his sense of Catholic identity, and when it all hit the fan, his default port of call was our local parish priest.
Fr John was a man who knew all about my walking away from the church. I had met him over other business related to the school my children used to attend, and had been upfront from the beginning as I didn't want to mislead him about where I was. We hit it off well from the beginning, perhaps he appreciated my honesty, he certainly didn't bat an eyelid and seemed to accept my position. For my part, I was happy to meet a catholic priest who unabashedly loved God and was a man of prayer. Nonetheless, I didn't feel I needed to go to his church which, I felt, couldn't hold a candle to HTB in terms of vibrancy and enthusiasm.
Still, when it came to our daughters funeral, my husband knew it had to be Catholic.
Deo Gratias.
The story of my return home is one that I want to document for my own sake, so that I will always remember the 'treasures of darkness' and how God really is a God of surprises.
There is so much I want to write about. It's a process of catharsis I suppose.
It's good to be ready to talk about these things.
It's great to be home.