Bah, Humbug!

I know, I know; it's an expression we generally reserve for Christmas, but for me, it applies to Halloween.

Bah, Humbug!

For as long as I can remember, I hated Halloween. I hated the dressing up, I hated the going to people's houses begging for candy, I hate the candy apples and the witches and the goopy insides of pumpkins...

What a delightful child I must have been. ::rolls eyes::

I still hate Halloween. I don't think Abby is particularly fond of it either, as she protests whenever I try to put a costume on her, or paint her face, or put thingys in her hair. Last year she was a very, very unhappy elephant.

I've also have some reservations about fitting Halloween into my faith. I officially don't know where I stand. But then I read this great blog entry from one of my very favorite Christian artists, and I feel a little better if I allow my kids to participate, even just a little bit.

At least I feel justified for going out and buying candy. :)



Abby, Halloween 2008

The Strength of Our Feet

I woke up this morning feeling absolutely horrid.

That, in itself is nothing new. Since Abby started nursery school last month, we've become the House of the Damned, going from one illness to the next. I understand the whole "you need to stay home when you're sick so you don't spread it to everyone else" courtesy, but we're to the point that if we did that, we are never, ever leaving this house until Spring. A quick check confirmed no one has fevers (because that does merit staying out of public), and off to Mass we go.

Naturally, we were late for Mass, so we sat at the very, very, very back of the church. The building is over 100 years old, so while the acoustics are not terrible thanks to modern wonder of amplification, they're not great. I'm struggling to hear the priest over the noise of my less-than-happy-to-be-there-this-morning children. Plus, I'm still figuring out his very-thick African accent.*

The priest raises his hands in prayer, and prays for the strength of our feet. I'm sure I had a weird look on my face until I realized he was praying for the strength of our faith, and not our feet.

I giggled inwardly to myself at my silly mistake, but stopped suddenly at a revelation. Sometimes it is about the strength of our feet. Not necessarily our physical feet, but about our ability to keep going, keep taking the next step, and to keep putting on foot in front of another, so to speak.

My husband and I have had moments in our life together when the only thing we have is the strength of our feet. During the December when Abby was diagnosed with Infantile Spasms. During the long, dark days of January when Abby was in the depths of the ACTH. When she relapsed and ended up in the hospital again. When we got her diagnosis of Autism. Even the days early in my pregnancy with Rachael when I started bleeding, and I thought that I was going to lose her.

Even my friends, there are a few in mind that have had a less-than-stellar year. Yet they keep putting one foot in front of another, and keep going. The strength of their feet is the only thing that keeps them going from one moment to the next.

It's our ability to keep going, to keep putting one foot in front of another, that sees us though. It's something we need to do no matter what path God has set us on.

I think I will pray for both the strength of my faith and the strength of my feet.

* Growing up, I had a teacher who was from Africa. I loved listening to him speak, the gentle lilt of his voice, and the way certain words rolled off his tongue. The catch was, of course, that we were all speaking French. As a result, I have never met a French-speaking African native that I can't understand. However, according to my brain, English is a whole other ballgame. I seem to have to re-learn the intricacies of their unique pronunciations with each new person I meet.

Aw Man, Now I Got To Think Of A Title Too?

Well, hello there! It's been awhile.

Lots has happened. We sold our house. We're almost done buying another one. I have 30 days until we move, and I've packed one, lonely box.

Rachael started walking. Sort of.

Rachael turned one!

Abby has unleashed her inner Picasso (man, can that kid pump out the art!), and has discovered stickers.

We're losing an ABA tutor effective November 6 (which the tutor herself informed me of a good 10 days ago. St. Amant has yet to phone me and tell me I'm losing a tutor. I'm a little annoyed at them).

We're totally on the gluten-free bandwagon now. Abby and I are both feeling a lot better.

We have four more sessions with the speech language pathologist before she goes on maternity leave. They still haven't hired a replacement.

Mmmm.... let's see.... what else?

How about some pictures?










I guess that's it. With so much going on, I currently don't have time to be thoughtful or to ruminate on my innermost thoughts. Which is probably a good thing.

(Okay, so I'm lying a little bit there. Much of my thoughts as of late has been occupied by a little boy named Trevor a.k.a. seizure boy [is he still seizure boy if he stops having seizures?]. He was also affected by Infantile Spasms, and recently had more or less half his brain removed in an attempt to stop the hundreds of daily seizures he was having. You should go read move about him by clicking here.

I didn't really want to mention it because it's made me dark and moody and made me think a lot about IS, which is something I've thought very little of the past while. It's a deep, dark place where I'm still mad at God and I don't enjoy visiting. It's a place where you question your faith.

So then why the hell am I talking about it, you ask. Good question. I don't know. )