fatherhood

It’s In the Small Things

/ J. Thorp / Leave a comment

“You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they rest in you.”  — St. Augustine of Hippo

It’s been awhile since I’ve blogged.

I’ve been thinking for a couple of weeks now that I’m neglecting this site. I’ve been thinking that I ought to just provide quick updates and anecdotes about the kids. That’s what my readership (largely friends and family) tend to read and comment on anyway. But I also have in my head these much grander posts I’d like to write, but can’t find the time for — and I second-guess myself about the smaller updates and think, “Why spend valuable writing time on the day-to-day, when you have bigger fish to fry?”

As a result of this back-and-forth, I’ve written nothing.

Last night, a dear friend, Fr. Tyler from Prairie Father, visited from South Dakota. As usual, we talked long and late about everything under the sun — most amusing were his interrogation of Trevor on the topic of Greek mythology, which Trevor knows primarily from Percy Jackson and not from the myths themselves, and his discussion with Gabe about the nature of reality and the unintended consequences of Copernicus’s work and the scientific method.

Later, we began to talk more practically about how we, as Catholic adults, can live our faith on a daily basis and act as missionaries wherever we happen to be. I admitted a tendency to downplay the little ways in which I can evangelize in favor of planned grand gestures in the future: a book I’d like to write, or a pilgrimage or retreat I’d like to take with friends or family. Several times during the discussion, Fr. Tyler repeated, “It’s in the details. It’s in the little things.”

“I know you’re right,” I replied at one point, “but that’s not how I’m living on a day-to-day basis.”

I’ve said before that I believe men want to be a part of something great and glorious — but although I had a great marriage and glorious family, I’m constantly, restlessly searching for that great and glorious thing — that other life — I should be leading.

It’s in the small things.

I thought about his words throughout a restless night and morning — then checked my personal email and found a new, anonymous comment on this blog post. It’s the most popular post on my little site, and I joke about it sometimes, because my web stats tell me that post, in particular, is big in Russia.

Yeah, I’m read internationally. Deal with it.

The point is, not only am I looking for the next big thing, but I downplay, and even mock, the little things I do well. Today an anonymous reader (Fr. Tyler, was that you?) reiterated the message of last night: It’s in the small things.

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Blogger’s Postscript: Apparently I’ve written this post before. How soon we forget…

All Sugared Up, or Birthday Blitz Wrap-Up

/ J. Thorp / 1 Comment

 A friend said the other day that it seems like we have a birthday a week in our family during the summer. That’s not quite true, but this year it has felt that way: the day before Jodi’s fiesta was Trevor’s ninth birthday, which included presents and cake. My bride’s party was a few weeks ahead of her actual birthday, and featured a wide range of delicious foods including not one, but two cakes — bringing the total that weekend to three.

Something similar happened last weekend: Jodi’s real, true birthday was Saturday, and Emma and I conspired on a pineapple upside-down cake (which was not from a mix and oh-so-delicious). But since Emma doesn’t like pineapple, she asked that we pick up a vanilla cake mix and vanilla frosting at the store so she could bake a second cake she would enjoy. Unbeknownst to me, she had also made some fondant at a friend’s house some days before and was anxious to try her hand at covering a cake.

Experiment with fondant

Whether because the fondant wasn’t completely fresh, the recipe, or something else, the fondant wouldn’t hold together at any thickness less than about a quarter inch — and Emma frosted the cake beneath the thick blanket, creating a tasty vanilla cake covered in insanely sweet Playdough. (The boys mocked Emma for it until Jodi and I reminded them how much she bakes for us; in the end, even she agreed it was too much.)

Gabe at 2:23 p.m. on his birthday
Sunday, then, was Gabe’s 13th birthday: Waffles and bacon and a new Facebook account in the morning, but (he insisted) no presents until 2:23 p.m., the minute he was born — then antiquing (he bought a ginormous old pop bottle we’d never seen before), lasagna and garlic bread, altar server at 6 p.m. Mass, and (you guessed it) cake! More specifically, brownies — but still, three cakes in a weekend once again. We played Phase 10, and the kids were more than a little wound up; I on the other hand, crashed quickly and became surly. Lily kept climbing up to (and nearly onto) the table to grab people’s cards. It was sheer, sugared chaos — and all in all, a good day.
We haven’t had a birthday party for Trevor, due to Jodi’s party, nor for Gabe, due to her actual birthday — so we’ll have at least two more small celebrations before the summer’s out. Just two cakes to go!

Lily Speaks Up

/ J. Thorp / 1 Comment
Our daughters on Saturday morning…

I’m told that parents are not supposed to compare their children to each other, but how can you not? What we know best about parenting we know from experience, so when some new ailments manifests itself, or child number four does something as yet unseen or unexpected, you noticed.

For example: our number five, Lily, has begun to speak more slowly than her older siblings. We attribute this primarily to the fact that her siblings do the talking for her, anticipating her needs and filling in the blanks – she need only whine, whimper, grunt, or shriek, and her desires are addressed. Lately, however, she is becoming more verbal, showing her strengths, her weaknesses … and a budding sense of humor.

She loves her family, and has said Momma or Mommy for a long time now, and Dada or Daddy only slightly later. Emma came easy, and her hero worship from her eldest brother led to his name being next in her vocabulary: Nennen at first; now Denden.

Among her next words were nanee (banana), and gog and guck (for our Schnauzer Puck). She was a little slower with her other brothers, but that’s fair: they’ve been a little slower with her, as well. Trevor, as she warmed to him was Ruh-ruh, then Reh-Ruh, and now Chreh-ruh.

She then said all of these names for weeks, but we couldn’t get her to say Gabe or Gabey. We couldn’t trick her, couldn’t coerce her – nothing worked; she just looked at him and held her tongue. Then last week she began to call him Abba – which given his priestly inclinations, seemed almost mystical (it’s Hebrew for “father”). That was cool, but only lasted for a couple of days before it devolved (we thought) into Abluh or Uh-bluh. (Gabe quickly tired of everyone asked Lily who he was, or saying, “Lily … where’s Uh-bluh?”)

It seemed like a step backward, until once a couple days ago, when Lily saw Gabe’s photo and said, “Ay-bluh.” You could almost hear Gabriel in her syllables – she knows what she wants to say, but can’t quite articulate it yet.

She is trying out other words, as well, that show up in humorous (and sometimes trying) ways. For example, when we tell her not to do something (or when she is about to do something she knows she shouldn’t), she looks at Jodi or me and says, “no, no, NO!” in a tone that suggests nag, nag, NAG! And one night when she was being clingy and fussy, I made the mistake of steering her away from Jodi by stepping between them, putting my arm around my bride, and saying, “MY mommy!”

I thought it was funny in the moment – but a day or so later, I returned home from work, walked into the kitchen, and kissed my wife, only to see Lily march over, grab her pant leg, and say, “MY MOMMY!” Now she walks around the house claiming everything in her reach: “My mommy, my Denden, mine, mine, MINE.”

Nice going, Dad.

Finally, a couple nights ago we’re seated at the table eating supper, and everyone’s chattering away. It’s hard to listen to five kids at once, and Lily is repeating the same monosyllable over and over, so I’ve tuned her out temporarily.

Finally I focused in, and see that she’s leaning across the table, looking insistently at me as she speaks.

What did she say?

“Jehm. Jehm. Jehm! JEHM!”

“Wait a minute!” I say, and the table quiets. “Lily, who am I?”

She grins. “Jehm.”

“Who?”

“Jehm.”

Jodi and the kids are giggling. “Who?” I ask again.

“Jehm!”

“Lily, who am I really?” I say, mock sternly.

She grins until it wrinkles her nose. “Daddy!” she says.

She loves this game now. She won’t call Jodi anything except Momma or Mommy – though she knows her name, too; ask her to give Jodi a hug and see.

I know, I know – it’s not the first time a child has done something precious (or precocious) while taste-testing words. But for us, it could be the last. Jehm is enjoying it, and so is Daddy.

Serious About Writing…

/ J. Thorp / Leave a comment

Back in early December, I announced that I was suspending this blog and taking it off-line. I likened my writing career thus far to standing on my head for show: requiring modest skill; impressive at first, then amusing, before becoming repetitive, uncomfortable, and unnatural. I even went so far as to declare, “ I won’t call myself a writer again until I write something worthwhile, and I don’t know what it will be.”

Those who know me well know I have a tendency to take myself entirely too seriously. I was in a bad spot at the time: way too busy at work, home, and church; unable to make a satisfactory start on the annual Christmas letter; and unhappy in my work. Some several things needed to give — but this blog was not one of them.

As a full-time husband, father, and director of communications, this little corner of the internet is one of the few places I actually do write stuff that people read. The people who matter most to me are here, but they aren’t the only ones — consider that this tiny, rhyming prayer is the most viewed post on my site, in large part due to readers (or skewed search results) from Russia. A favorite web site of mine, The Art of Manliness, posted an article awhile back entitled, “How a Man Handles a Miscarriage.” I read the post and the appreciative comments, before adding a comment of my own and sharing a bit about our little Jude. Men came and read, and though they left no comments, who knows whom it touched?

In fact, if I want to be truly serious about writing, I would not permit myself to be limited by the potential for monetary gain. A few weeks ago I was looking through the Catechism of the Catholic Church to see specifically what the Church teaches about property rights — and learned that while she makes no bones about supporting the right to private property, she is insistent that we steward our property and talents for the greater good:

“In his use of things man should regard the external goods he legitimately owns not merely as exclusive to himself but common to others also, in the sense that they can benefit others as well as himself.” The ownership of any property makes its holder a steward of Providence, with the task of making it fruitful and communicating its benefits to others, first of all his family.

Goods of production — material or immaterial — such as land, factories, practical or artistic skills, oblige their possessors to employ them in ways that will benefit the greatest number. Those who hold goods for use and consumption should use them with moderation, reserving the better part for guests, for the sick and the poor (CCC 2404 and 2405).

I read and re-read it: Goods of production, including practical or artistic skills, “oblige their possessors to employ them in ways that will benefit the greatest number … reserving the better part for guests, for the sick and the poor.”

A “serious” writer , then, should speak the truth, regardless of gain or loss, for the good of those who need to hear or whomever will listen.

It’s good to be back.