Pregnancy diary 35 weeks

I am totally bored stupid with my wardrobe now. As far as my 'look' is concerned, I've got to the past caring stage. I can still wear some clothes, like this blouse, which are not officially 'maternity', but capacious enough that I don't look poured into them.

The white belly band I am wearing in ths picture, was loaned to me by Elizabeth and has been a brilliant little prop, enabling me to wear tops that would otherwise stop short of decent belly coverage. Also, lots of maternity trousers, like the ones that I'm wearing here, seem to be cut very low on the hips, and I'm of the opinion that showing my knickers to the boys is a sartorial no no. So the belly band, which looks a bit like I'm wearing a t shirt under my blouse, has been a wardrobe staple lately.
Not long to go now. But I'm itching for the moment when my dress choices are no longer dictated solely by comfort and modesty. I'm starting to understand why the elderly ( probably grudgingly) settle for zip up crimpolene dresses and velcro slippers.

I imagine that as soon as I get the chance. I'll be hitting the shops, hyperventilating, salivating and nostrils flaring, like Homer Simpson in a doughnut factory.

"Mmmmm... pea green skirt...we were made for eachother!"

The "little flower" visits England.

Looking ahead to the visit of the relics of St Thérèse of Lisieux to England and Wales from Catholic Church (England/Wales) on Vimeo.

The relics of Saint Therese have arrived in England!
The secular press have been unusually attentive to this event, and there has been some interesting reportage, devoid of the usual sneering one has come to expect.
The BBC covered the arrival of the relics here.
Here's an article in The Times about the arrival of the relics. Here is another one briefly explaining a little background to the Catholic interest in saintly relics.
And here is an account by Mary Kenny describing her observations of the very human yearning to "touch the supernatural" . She recounts how, when the saints bones toured Ireland a few years ago, the post modern cynicism of many of her countrymen was swept away. I seem to remember reading that three quarters of the entire population turned out to visit the relics.

Here is the website of the Catholic Church in England and Wales, which covers it very well.

I am very much hoping to go, although I am expecting to be taken in to have this baby a couple of weeks before my due date. That will be around the 9th or 10th. Her relics arrive in London on the 12th. The timing, from my point of view, could hardly be worse. But we'll see. I'm asking her to pray for me, and for England.

A book that changed my life

I've been tagged by Elizabeth.
The theme is "A book that changed my life".
Thing is, I've been racking my brains and I'm not sure if I can come up with the definitive Life Changing Book.
I've probably read quite a few that were a part of a life changing process, but none that quite deserve the full accolade.

If I were to pick one however, the most obvious, and the most recent candidate, would be The Mass Of The Early Christians by Mike Aquilina.



It was a book I came across entirely by accident.

I've blogged before about how I used to assume that what happened at Mass on a Sunday was very different from the practice of those first Christians. I imagined that it was inevitably the result of years of religious practice, the accretions of changing customs down through the centuries.
I mean, the Actual Factual Jesus wouldn't have gone in for all that 'Sit. Stand. Kneel' routine would he?
Obviously not right?
Obviously.

So, as a happily free range Christian I became really interested in the Jewishness of Christianity and wanted to learn more.
As a consequence of this, I held a couple of Seder meals.
During the preparations for the second one ( only in 2008) I was thinking alot about how very 'liturgical' the Jewish year was. It struck me as a very helpful thing that they had a structure to hang the year on in which they called to mind certain key events in their history as the people of God.
Turning this over in my mind got me thinking about church. What exactly did they do, those first Jewish Christians when they got together to 'do church'?
The more I pondered it, and the more I observed the Jewish traditions, the more inconcievable it seemed to me that the first Christians simply gathered together for a rousing rendition of the first century equivalent of Shine Jesus Shine and then listened to an 'excellent talk'.

These thoughts were disturbing me, not least because I liked the worship and the excellent talk and had found the Mass experience pretty moribund and so so.

So. Feeling a bit panicked by these unwelcome, rather 'catholic' thoughts, I approached a Learned Friend. She was an ex Catholic herself, who has been attending a Pentecostal church for some years now.
At the time, what I really wanted was for some clever person to give me the answer that would lay to rest this nagging sense that there was something missing.

My Pentecostal friend, who in the past had been someone who was very game when it came to tossing ideas around, chewing the fat and being generally philosophically inclined, seemed like the ideal person to turn to for some answers.
In short, it was a disaster. She felt picked on and put on the spot by my questions. She said she wasn't interested in the questions and she didn't care about the answers. My seeking answers was evidence of my 'not getting it'.( 'It' being that the things of God could not be discerned intellectually, but rather were known spiritually)
She had a 'heart' relationship with God, and I, on the other hand, had a 'head' relationship.
Ouch.
If I'm honest, I felt pretty hurt and misunderstood at this point.

But I also didn't buy her concept of the 'head' vs the 'heart' business. After our conversation I thought about the things she had said alot. She rated her 'heart' approach to knowing God as a notch up from my 'head' approach. That was clear.
But the thing was, I knew that her diagnosis of my 'problem' was way off base.

After losing Olivia, I had, in fact become aware of a much deeper level of trust in God, and, probably for the first time, a really clear and tangible sense of His goodness and trustworthiness.
Infact I felt closer to God than I ever had before.
Anyway, weren't we to love God with all our heart, with all our soul, with all our mind and with all our strength?

But here's the thing that led me to this book:
One of the things I was asking her about was the practice of the early Christians, how they worshipped, what they did when they were no longer proper 'synagogue going' Jews.
I expressed the question thus:
" I mean...you know...what did they do when they got together for their "mass". What did they do then ?"

When I said "mass" I was just straining for the right word for "Christian get together". I could have said "Pow wow" or "fellowship meeting". I didn't actually mean Mass. I 'knew' they didn't have Mass back then. I mean...I wasn't stupid ( aside: Yes. I was.)

Here's what caught my attention though. Her response was SO emphatic. She was annoyed at my use of that word. She shot back with great forcefulness and stressed each word:

"There. Was. NO. Mass. In. The. Early. Church!!"

After speaking with her, on account of her emphatic, and even irritated response, my curiosity on this point was even more piqued.
I Googled this "Mass Early Christians"

It was a serendipitous Google.
The first result was a book of almost exactly that name.
Amused at my result, and intrigued by the title of the book, I ordered it from Amazon there and then.
Two days later it arrived. Two days after that I finished reading it.

In short, I learned that indeed there WAS a Mass in the early church.

Here's a snip from the Amazon blurb:

In The Mass of the Early Christians, author Mike Aquilina reveals the Church's most ancient Eucharistic beliefs and practices. Using the words of the early Christians themselves -- from many documents and inscriptions -- Aquilina traces the Mass s history from Jesus' lifetime through the fourth century. The Mass stood at the center of the Church's life, evident in the Scriptures as well as the earliest Christian sermons, letters, artwork, tombstones, and architecture. Even the pagans bore witness to the Mass in the records of their persecutions.

In these legacies from the early Church, you ll hear and taste and see the same worship Catholics know today: the altar, the priests, the chalice of wine, the bread, the Sign of the Cross...the Lord, have mercy ...the Holy, holy, holy ...and the Communion.

You ll see vividly how Jesus followed through on his promise to be with us always, until the end of time.

After reading it I knew that I could never see things the same way again.
The 'Mass experience' would never again be moribund and so so. And I knew that my questions had been finally answered.
I was going to be going home.

7 Quick Takes Friday

1.
On my way to the shops with the children yesterday, to look for a dolls house for Honors 2nd birthday, I had a little car trouble.
Coming on to a very busy 'A' road from a small slip road I had the nose of my van poking just into the lane of fast moving oncoming traffic while I waited for my chance to move in.
Seeing a juggernaut bearing down at great speed, I decided to pull back a bit. I hit reverse and...horror of horrors, the van moved FORWARD! Eek! Thinking I hadn't engaged the gear change properly, I tried again. The same thing happened now leaving me even further out into the path of said oncoming juggernaut.
When I shouted "Jesus!" I wasn't blaspheming. My mouth was so dry it was the only prayer I could make.
The juggernaut swerved into the middle lane parping it's big bully foghorn long and loud and angry as it went past me. My van rocked with the wind as it flew past.
Then there were the cars. All of them were forced to take evasive action and swerve away to avoid hitting me while I sat helplessly wincing with my useless hazards flashing away.
In 20 years of driving I don't think I've ever been so scared.

When I got going again I noticed that the van was labouring heavily in 1st and 2nd gear, and I thought I could smell burning.
I pulled in to an IKEA car park and called my husband, who, in true shining knight fashion left the office and was with me within 10 minutes.
My hero.
He is THE single most welcome sight in a crisis. I almost swooned in his arms.
He phoned the AA, gave Colmcille, who was crying, some money for an ice cream, gave us all a kiss and a hug, and suggested I go into IKEA for something to drink and a sit down and said he'd meet me back in the car park with the AA man in 1 hour.
Then he went off to get his ducks in a row.
I heart my husband.
Because I was in IKEA I thought I might as well nip in and get those magnetic notice boards I'd been after. Might as well make the most of the oppo when it presents itself I thought.
Two magnet boards, a storage basket and a playmat later, I found myself tottering through the lighting department feeling very strange, and then awful.
And then I got sick. Yes. In the lighting department of IKEA.

It was a day that will live in infamy.

2.
Back in July I had an appointment with the Prof regarding my ante natal care in which several issues came up and several new tests were ordered and in which I cried a bit and then my blood pressure was elevated which gave rise to more tests.
I used to work at this maternity hospital myself, but it has since moved site to the grounds of a much larger general hospital where car parking enforcement has been contracted out to a private company.
At my last appointment I had been ticketed and I had no intention of letting that happen again.
My appointment over ran and over ran and over ran some more. I had already left the department once to put a new ticket on my car. But when that was about to expire, and I was still nowhere near being let go, the prof said that I really needed to stay in the department. They were phoning up for blood results, and arranging scans both of baby and my liver, and taking more blood, and getting me to drink more water so that I could wee in a pot for them again, and simultaneously trying to be sooooothing so that my BP would come down and they could rule out blood pressure weirdness at least.
So the Prof said I really needed to just sit down and not worry about my car and she would write me a note to say that I was remaining in the hospital under medical instructions.
So of course I did.
And when I got the inevitable ticket I confidently appealed, presenting my trusty professorial letter.
And then was flabbergasted when they turned down my appeal, on the grounds that my reason wasn't good enough and I could have returned to my car.
So...THEN I upped the ante, formally complaining to the hospital for the behaviour of their hired goons and copied my rant to a whole host of other notables collectively known as 'Big Wigs'.
So...today I get another letter from the 'Car Parking Partnership' demanding an increased fine of £100 with the threat of County Court action if I don't stump up.
So...In high dudgeon I fired off this missive at lunchtime:

Please see my previous reasons for appeal.
This is now the subject of a formal complaint to H******* Hospital for harrassment from your company.
I have the full support of Professor W***** in pursuing this complaint and if a letter from her is deemed as inadequate support for appeal then you may take me to court with pleasure.
It is beyond belief that my care has been blighted by the frankly lunatic application of your arbitrary decisions.
I have no intention of paying you a single penny. On the contrary, you should be paying me compensation for the distress this has caused me.
And now you threaten me with county court action and debt collection.

I find it hard to believe that H********** Hospital have contracted out their car parking enforcement to such a gang of unscrupulous, money grubbing thieves.

I felt a bit better after that. Let them meet me in court.
Have these people never heard of the Fighting Irish?

3.
I'm rubbish at doing quick takes. I realise these are long takes but there's not a dang thing I can do about it. I can't ruthlessly edit to save my life.

4.
My friend Edith came back from Zurich again last week for a brief visit, and to sort out her visa ( she used to live in London and she has a house here and a house in Germany and she's lives most of the time in Zurich at the moment, but she also nips back to Florida from time to time to visit her mother. It's complicated. She's a citizen of the world, like Madonna, or Gwynneth Paltrow, only with more impact)
Anyway, after paying £1200 for a Home Office approved agent to handle her application ( it's called a 'Premium Service') the Home Office arbitrarily decide to take a longer look at her application and they have kept her passport.
This happened 2 years ago and she was stranded in Zurich where she knew no one. She eventually lost her job in London and was left in penury while waiting 6 months to get her passport back.. The upside was that eventually she got a great job in Zurich and is now speaking Deutsch and generally bringing Edithness to that rather staid and correct corner of Europe.
So, in a bit of a flap, she phones the agent, figuring that after pocketing £1200 they might be a tad interested in delivering some sort of aftercare to the traumatised client. But they didn't want to annoy the Home Office and anyway, aftercare wasn't what they meant by 'Premium Service'.

And thus came Edith to be marooned once again. Only this time in London, without benefit of lake or mountain view.
So, along with the Car Parking Partnership, the Home Office is now on my little list of Complete and Utter Morons.

5.
I think that straining for brevity is making me sound a bit 'ranty'.
I'm better when I'm rambling and loquacious IMO.

6.
Following my 15 year old sons confirmation a few months ago, Gabriel, my 11 year old, has been expressing a keen desire to be confirmed ASAP.
I'm thinking that it may be a good idea to go for it while he is as keen as mustard, so we are considering the possibilty of a November confirmation for Gabes.
Dominic took the name Peter. Gabriel is still undecided.
When he was half way through the book we read on Saint Maximilian Kolbe he said "I was pretty sure I was going to go for St Francis, and then I thought about St Jose Maria. But now St Maximilian Kolbe is giving them both a run for their money".
I could imagine the three saints looking on urging "Pick me! Pick me!"

Here's a picture of Dom, with his friend Conor and their sponsor Andrew.
I was very pleased that they were confirmed in the school chapel in their uniforms, which avoided all the awfulness of gelled hair and kipper ties ( I am a sartorial snob)
I meant to post it back then, but well, better late than never.

7.
It's the 11th September.
I still can't watch this without crying.
The evil and inhumanity on the one hand, the heroism and true humanity on the other. The suffering, the loss, the sheer tragedy of the human condition is all summed up and represented somehow in a single day. It's still too much to comprehend.
Lord Have Mercy on them.
Lord Have Mercy on us all.

(For Quick Takes done properly, visit Conversion Diary )

Making assumptions.

There is a fascinating discussion going on at Visits To Candyland at the moment on the Catholic doctrine of the assumption into heaven of the Blessed Virgin Mary.
I'm learning alot listening in to the discussion these eggheads are having.
I've even jumped in myself. My contributions have been in the manner of a child at a dinner table butting in on the conversation of boffins discussing string theory, with my own thoughts on whether the moon is made of cheese.
Suffice to say, I'm a bit in awe. but it's interesting nonetheless.


The empty interior of the sarcophagus in the tomb of Mary, in the Kidron Valley.

The martyrdom of John The Baptist.

It was the feast of the Martyrdom of John the Baptist on the 29th August, and in keeping with my habit of living the liturgical year in a 'running to catch up' kind of way, I thought I'd post this here today in his honour.

Coming from a proud tribe of Fenians, a Dub accent comes very naturally to me, and I have to say, it has triggered a new habit of chastising my children in the manner of the little narrator in this video, that is
" Do penance and give up yer aul sins!"

My other favourite line has to be the instruction from JB to his friend to ask Jesus if he is " Really God, or is he a shocking holy saint".



HT Aggies Catholics

Pregnancy diary 30+ weeks.

My friend Edith arrived from Zurich a few days ago. We haven't seen her for about eight months, which is unusual, usually she's back and forth more frequently.

Edith is a force of nature. She is American and therefore when she talks, all her sentences have exclamation marks.
Also, they are either staccato: "Punctuated.Like.This.Clare!" Or run on as in "No!Idon'tbelieveitClare!"

When she arrived with her little leopard skin wheelie suitcase ( she loves animal prints and black. This is the look for Force Of nature type people ) she took one look at me and said:
"Clare! Are.You.Pregnant?! OhmigoshWhereisit?! ...Youjustlookbloated!!"
Then she took out her mobile phone and took these snaps:


It's true that it's not an impressive bulge. And yet I can't stand being on my feet for longer than a few minutes.
A woman down the road is as pregnant as me and ginormous. Yet she can skip around as merrily as a little mountain goat.
I, on the other hand, with my 'Is she pregnant, or just bilious?' bulge, am waddling around like the Hofmeister bear on prosthetic legs.

I am greatly afflicted with varicose veins, one particular horror really feels as though it's at bursting point. I am doubly afflicted by the torment of surgical stockings, which may be worse than the problem they are meant to relieve. The elastic, the heat, the itch. Aargh! It's like wearing a hair shirt, only on my legs.
And whenever my knees are ever so slightly bent, it's as though there is a rope behind them where all the elastic rucks up.
Still. I have nary a stretch mark and can still sneeze daintily without, um...you know.
So I haven't experienced Total Physical Wipeout (yet).

And still, it thrills me to weepiness to remember that all this is owing to a brand new soul waiting to make his or her debut.
So I'm not really complaining, just venting a little. That, and thinking that I'd like to document something of my pregnancy here before it's all over.

Remembering a beautiful saint

"When [St. Maximilian] looked with compassionate eyes and serene countenance at the executioners, they could not stand his gaze and demanded 'Turn your eyes away. Do not look at us that way!' As they left the cell they would mutter to themselves, 'We have never seen a man like him.' Thus hatred was conquered by love, evil by sheer goodness, and death by one who freely gave up his life so another might live..."

Brother Francis M. Kalvelage, FI, Kolbe Saint of the Immaculata, (Academy of the Immaculate: 2001), 10.

(HT MaryVitamin)

Saint Maximilian Kolbes feast day was on the 14th August, the anniversary of his death in Auschwitz in 1941.

Having recently read this book about him, he has become one of Gabriels favourite saints.
So it seemed fitting to honour him on his feast day in some way.
I wanted to do something with a red and white theme, for Poland, and for the red and white crowns that the Blessed Virgin was said to have offered him when he was a boy. One was for purity, one for martyrdom. He chose both.

Initially I was planning on fairy cakes, with red and white icing, but it soon became apparent that I was running out of time and energy, and headlong into a very frazzled tea time.
I did strawberries and cream instead.

I have already written about my "ah ha!" moment during a Seder meal, and in a much less elaborate way, this little pudding likewise brought a sweet way of remembering a hero of the church .
Colmcille, who is six and had not paid great attention to the story when I had been reading it aloud, was very perky and eager to be part of the conversation that we had over the strawberries and cream. He was much interested in the red crown and the white crown, and what they indicated, and that led off into other tangential, but interesting, musings.


Just incase anyone is interested, this is my very favourite way of preparing strawberries, it creates a lovely, sweet/tangy crimson liquor that swirls prettily into the cream. It's extremely simple and fuss free to serve too, which is always a bonus for mummy:

Hull and chop the strawberries.
Sprinkle with sugar ( don't be too shy with the sugar, the idea is that it won't be needed at the table, thus doing away with another potential source of aggro)
Drizzle over some balsamic vinegar. If you don't have balsamic vinegar I have managed very nicely with apple cider vinegar and I'm sure other varieties would be fine too)
I can't tell you how much too drizzle, like the sugar, I've no idea. Just stir it all up and have a taste. Then leave it to sit for a bit for all the syrupy liquor to 'mature'. I usually try for at least an hour ahead of eating time.

(Psst. Top tip for slacker mums: much easier than fairy cakes.)

Memories are made of this

Colmcille wrote this letter to my friends 14 year old daughter when we got back from our week away.
He is awfully fond of Ronny.
Having picked a big bunch of wildflowers (and *ahem* weeds) with her in mind, he took the surviving stragglers back to London where he assembled them, with a little help, on a piece of card.
We had been to see Corfe Castle, arriving by steam train, both of which you can see in the postcard.
He wasn't impressed by the demolished castle ( the tumbledown state of which is owing to the activities of Cromwell and his Parliamentarian wrecking crew ) He thought it compared very unfavourably with Ronnys very own, for real castle, which is their holiday home.
It's just outside Salzburg and we stayed with them there just before Easter.
Having the advantages of little 21st century refinements like central heating, hot and cold running water and a Great Hall replete with a swing and all the ride on cars a boy could dream of, it rather knocks sorry old Corfe into a cocked hat.

Anyway, I thought the letter was very sweet, so I am leaving a record of it here for my own indulgence.







"Dear Ronny I rode on this train. I went to a broken down castle Your castle is nicer I picked these flowers for you on a long walk. I love you Ronny Lots of love golly xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo"

Novena to Saint Clare. Ninth day

Novena to St. Clare of Assisi

Ninth Day:
O most Holy Trinity, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, we praise Thy Holy Name and the wonders of grace Thou hast worked in Thy servant, Saint Clare. Through her powerful intercession grant us the favours we beg in this novena, above all the grace to live and die as she did in Thy most Holy Love. Amen.

Gracious Saint Clare, who fulfilled your womanhood by a life of love in prayer and penance, help us to fulfill our destiny that we may one day greet you in Heaven. You who were consoled at your death by a vision of Christ band His Mother, obtain for us the grace that we may die under the special protection of God and enter into the life and bliss you now enjoy. Have pity on us who struggle, on us who mourn, and win for us the favours of God so that after this life we may come home to Him who lives and reigns forever and ever. Amen.

V. Pray for us, Saint Clare.
R. That we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ.

Let us Pray. We Pray Thee, Lord, Grant us Thy servants who celebrate the festival of blessed Clare Thy Virgin, by her intercession, to be partakers of the joys of heaven and coheirs with Thine only-begotten Son, Who being God, lives and reigns forever and ever. Amen.

Novena to Saint Clare. Eighth day.

Novena to St. Clare of Assisi

Eighth Day:
O most Holy Trinity, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, we praise Thy Holy Name and the wonders of grace Thou hast worked in Thy servant, Saint Clare. Through her powerful intercession grant us the favours we beg in this novena, above all the grace to live and die as she did in Thy most Holy Love. Amen.

Valiant Saint Clare, who fearlessly stood alone against the barbarous Saracens, trusting in the Blessed Sacrament as your only protection, enkindle in us a tender love for Jesus Christ; help us to live Eucharistic lives. You who saved your city of Assisi from plunder and ruin, protect our city and archdiocese, plead for our beloved country and the suffering world. A voice from the Sacred Host rewarded your trust with a promise: "I will always take care of you." Glorious Saint Clare, from your high place in Heaven, take care of us now in our earthly needs and guide us by your light to Heaven. Amen.

V. Pray for us, Saint Clare.
R. That we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ.

Let us Pray. We Pray Thee, Lord, Grant us Thy servants who celebrate the festival of blessed Clare Thy Virgin, by her intercession, to be partakers of the joys of heaven and coheirs with Thine only-begotten Son, Who being God, lives and reigns forever and ever. Amen.