1. My CatholicMom.com article for March is up. It’s on homeschooling when you struggle with self-discipline. It’s one of those topics where I wish I could be showing off my tremendous compassion for those poor people who just can’t seem to get it together.
I drew the line at posting a snapshot of my kitchen for the photo. Instead, you get a picture of men hitting each other with sticks. Same concept, seemlier illustration.
2. Have I mentioned how much it irritates me to have to follow the entirety of the Catholic faith, and not just bits and pieces? I assume others hate it just as much as I do, because so far no one has commented on my post this month at New Evangelizers. In which I take up the topic of whether Cardinal Mahoney ought to attend the conclave, and how that question fits in to a wider question of mercy and evangelization*. And good administration. You knew that was going to be fit in somehow.
3. I set the kitchen timer to tell me when to pull SuperHusband’s dress shirt out of the dryer. (Yes. Dryer. I know.) It worked. I just went and pulled it out and hung it up right away. I can be very diligent about laundry, IF I’m supposed to be doing the taxes.
4. Taxes, episode 2. That’s today. Backside of the 1040, and yeah, it’s the Schedule A I don’t feel like dealing with. Tired of being responsible. I get tired of that very quickly. But I’ll do it, of course. There’s nothing like, “We will seize your house if you don’t mail in this worksheet” to really motivate a lady. UPDATE: DONE. WOOHOO!
5. About that NE post. Whenever I think “conclave”, the plot for a murder mystery pops into my head. It’s a good thing other people volunteered to answer questions at Dorian Speed’s ElectingthePope.net.
6. Please pray for the repose of the soul of Mr. W, our elderly farming neighbor who passed away peacefully in his sleep. Funeral was packed, SuperHusband tells me, not a surprise. Then pray for this family, who would be very grateful for any number of miracles.
7. You can discourage the Friday meat demon by quick throwing all your meaty leftovers into the freezer Thursday night. (Or give to dog if close to spoiling, but not quite inedible yet.) Pull them out and return to fridge Saturday, when the coast is clear.
And something I’m happy think about:
Señora M., my catechist friend from down the road, reports a big milestone: She led her first English-language religious ed class the other night. We first met in the Our Lady of Guadalupe room at the big Advent event in December, and since then she’s been helping out as a classroom assistant at her parish. She phoned me this morning, and I made it through the greetings in Spanish, and then I had to plead, “No entiendo.” She gave me the big news in English. But she isn’t giving up on me that easy, she’s determined to get my Spanish into working order. I’m honored.
*Some people equate “mercy” with “giving them a pass.” Those who have been privy to my ire know that the moment you start bungling on sexual abuse prevention and prosecution, is the moment I become a lady you do not like. Do not confuse mercy with tolerance. It’s not about overlooking the trivial flubs. It’s not about saying, “Really it wasn’t so bad.” Mercy only has meaning there where we want to give it least.