3.5 Time Outs: Catholic Insomnia

Thanks once again to our host Larry D. at Acts of the Apostasy, who reminds you, Men Can Blog Too.

Click to read Manly Topics.

1.

Dark pleasures of homeschooling parents:  Listening from the other room as your spouse valiantly tries to help a child with his homework . . . and noting that your spouse, too, is on the verge of breaking into swear words.

 

2.

Who took the dry-erase marker off my refrigerator?  I need it because . . .

3.

Middle of the dark I wake up with busy-brain.  I hear the neighbor’s truck outside.  Must be getting near dawn.  Which means: Stay still.  Do not go to living room and read The Doctors of the Church for a bit to settle down.  DO NOT GET A DRINK OF WATER.

Because: I need an undisturbed waking temp. Need.

Need.

***

I lay there a while.  I wonder if the truck I heard was not my neighbor but the people who go around breaking into cars.  I wonder if those people ever did read the Teacher’s Manual they stole last time.  I wonder if the SuperHusband set his car alarm so that we’ll know when the car-breakers are opening his minivan whose side doors only open when the vehicle is locked and the alarms are set.  I wonder what the car-breakers will think of the giant load of junk filling the back of my truck.  Do they want old children’s games with missing pieces?

No, it is not the car-breakers, because the neighbor starts his truck up again and begins moving it around the yard.  He does this.  He loves backing up.  Precisely.  He has to back up many times.

And then he drives off, and it is silent.  And still very dark.  I worry: Is it actually close to waking-up time?  Or is it the middle of the night and my neighbor is doing his late-night things that he sometimes does?  Nuts if I’ve been laying here all quiet and still with no drink of water and no prospect of sleep, and it’s actually 1 am and not 6 am.  I wonder why I have no clock on my side of the bed.  About three times a year, I want one.

***

I give up.  Grab thermometer, head to living room.  Yay: 6:45.  Double-Yay:  99.0.

One of these years my kids will understand why they sometimes find summer-weather temperatures written on the door of the fridge in the middle of January.

3.5

Roman Holiday.  Of course.

7 Quick Takes: 40 Days

At least it isn't Saturday. I could have done worse.

1.

The bookshelves are in!  People say my library method makes sense!  Or at least haven’t complained!  The countertops still need to be finished.  Photo coming sometime after that.

2.

If you have an e-mail sitting in my inbox, yes I will reply soon.  I’ve been sidetracked by regular life.

3.

Cleaning my house.  Yes, really.  That’s what I’ve been doing all week.

4.

Because Lent is only 40 days away.  And this year for Lent, our family is going to Clean Up After Ourselves.

5.

It’s not that we’re slobs.  It’s that I can write a sentence beginning with, “It’s not that we’re slobs,” and no one senses any kind of irony or sarcasm there.  They await some other explanation, thinking skeptically, “This better be good.”

But let’s just clarify right now:  I could never ever qualify for one of those slovenliness reality shows.   We do like order and cleanliness.  We do.   Almost obsessively, in some pursuits.  But housekeeping?  There’s always another project that’s just a little bit more pressing.

You know all those movies where they tell you to slow down and enjoy life?  Or spend more time with your family?  Or focus on __________ that really counts?  We should be banned from those movies.  We need the movie where the family-centered protagonists have an amazing revelation about their misplaced priorities, and learn it might be okay to put dishes straight into the dishwasher after dinner.

6.

But you can wait just a second before you put away that glass, and say a quick prayer for Allie Hathaway.

7.

So we’re having a Carnival of Cleanliness, in an effort to make Lent less penitential than it otherwise would be.   You remember that line in A Mother’s Rule of Life, where she mentions  in passing that before you begin, make sure there’s A Place For Everything, and Everything In It’s Place?  Yeah, we’ve been working on that sentence for half a decade now.   And we’re close.  So close.

3.5 Time Outs: Girl Topics

Thanks once again to our host Larry D. at Acts of the Apostasy, who is just going to have to shut his eyes, or else pretend he’s a mom-blogger.  Why isn’t there a vast network of dad-bloggers?  Because what exactly is the guy equivalent of these topics below?

We're still cleaning up after the party here. Click for links to the responsible people.

1.

The  in-laws called to find out why I’d posted a link to the Baby Name Wizard in Facebook.  Was there something they should know?  Yes.  My nine-year-old had to write a piece of historical fiction as part of her Caddie Woodlawn literature study.  She picked depression-era.  I pointed her to the name wizard because I had this sneaking feeling “Kaitlyn” wasn’t such a period name.   She’s found her new tool.  Those graphs.  They are addictive.

2.

Take, read.  Betty Beguiles has a free e-booklet out: Dressing with Intention.  I completely 100% recommend it.  Excellent advice for building a workable wardrobe that you can afford.  Accountant-approved.   Short, readable, encouraging, spot-on absolutely right.  You cannot get better than that.   Stop now and click the link, then come back later to finish here.

3.

My friend Sandra sent me these pics:

 

She’s thinking of sewing her wedding dress along these lines.  Is that not seriously cool?  I told her to do it.  No question. She has serious Jane-power going on, so it will be fabulous.

(Do you understand how relieved I am when I learn that someone I really like is also a Jane Austen fan?  I mean, yes, I have a couple very dear friends who don’t get the Jane-thing, and we adapt and focus on our common ground.  But see, this is why there are more mom-bloggers.  Because we can talk not just about Jane Austen, but about dressing like Jane Austen, and how our friendships are affected by Jane Austen . . . you begin to see.  Football is not the same.  Not.)

3.5

Not always, but sometimes, when your daughter is in the Pit of Oppression over things that she can’t control and really are upsetting, even though no one else seems to understand that, but being nine is Not As Easy As People Say, the best thing is to put the littles to bed, pop a giant pot of popcorn, fire up the DVD player and watch

 

 

7 Quick Takes: Not Knowing

The other minions have been busy.

1.

The bookshelves in the living room are halfway installed.  (The “during” picture is too depressing.  Sorry no photo.)  SuperHusband complains that my method for organizing books is incomprehensible.  I was determined to load these new shelves in some orderly way that even an engineer could understand.  I’m already having trouble.  Hrmph.

2.

We found a long lost library book!  Someone had helpfully shelved Changes for Kit in the magazine file for Invention and Technology.  I don’t know why I didn’t think to look there.

3.

Do you know what I hate about submitting work to editors I don’t know?  Wondering if they even received it.  New experience for me this year.  In the past I’ve always written for people who had already hired me to do the writing.  People you could just e-mail or pop into their office and ask, “Did you get my thing? Let me know when you’ve had a chance to look at it.”  And it’s not pestering, because those people know you and wanted your work and told you exactly what they wanted.  They aren’t dreading looking to see what you’ve sent.

(Strangers rightly dread.  With people you don’t know? You just don’t know.)

So of course the solution to the wait-a-thon is to move on to the next project, which is easy enough when you are too busy anyway.  And then it’s helpful to already have a back-up plan for “What will I do if this editor isn’t interested?”.  Again, pretty easy.

But at 5AM when you wake up with a busy brain, and you feel bad about always using The Doctors of the Church as your insomnia remedy, because you know it’s going to influence your book review unfairly?    That’s when the weird fears kick in:  “What if my submission got lost in the spam filter?”  “What if I accidentally did something that causes me to look like a completely different kind of idiot than the one I actually am?  Because the one I am, an editor can work with, but maybe I came across like a different, less-manageable kind?”

The solution to that is to think up more likely and less ominous reasons, such as, “The editor has a lot of other work to do.”

But I also think up other things, like, “Maybe his farm was hit by a tornado,” or, “Maybe she’s come down with a pox and won’t be able to work for a month.”  Which leads to a weird prayer life revolving around things like, “If my editor’s house has fallen into a sinkhole, please let everyone be okay, and console him with Your peace, and let my file be safely stored at the office where he’ll eventually get to it sometime this spring.”

UPDATE:  But it is so lovely when you get an e-mail back saying, “My house did not fall into a sinkhole.”  (Actually it said, “Thanks, got it, we’ll get back to you.” )

4.

My typoese is getting weirder than ever.  I begin to suspect a rogue “auto-correct” function.

5.

Mr. Boy’s been having a hard time waking up lately.  Winter + Night Owl + Early Adolescence + School Is Not Fun = Low Motivation.  SuperHusband has started rousing him from bed to take the dog for a brisk walk as soon as it’s fully light out.  The first day he went straight back to bed after and slept two more hours.  Second day I cleared a work area for him in front of a window that gets direct sun all morning.   He hates it.  But it works.

Also I am working on dimming the lights after dinner so it isn’t so bright inside at a night.  Jon bought the house in the mid-90’s.  Early this century he managed to diagram most of the wiring.  I am still being surprised by which switch does what.

6.

Good news! Allie Hathaway’s gotten 2nd and 3rd opinions that offer a much better prognosis.  (And they agree with each other and seem to be the real thing. Yay.)   Alleluia.  Thank you for praying.  Don’t stop.

7.

Why is it that we act as if we’re omniscient, when we know that we are not?  We kick ourselves for guessing wrong about this investment or that career choice, or the new outfit or the right haircut.  Even when we had honestly made the effort to make a good decision.  Even when we cannot know the outcome of our decision, because it involves events beyond our control, or variables that can only be known with time.

And then we are mortified by the ignorance and immaturity our younger selves — selves who had no way of knowing what can only be learned by time and experience.  And note:  Those of us still breathing  are, still, younger selves.

It’s nonsense.  Bad habit.  Rooted in bad theology no less.  I wonder if it’s easier to quit than the complaining thing?

My Offspring.

Me:  Get your work done while I take a shower.  I’m going to do the check-off at 2pm, because I have the catechist meeting tonight, so I can’t check you off after dinner.

Child: I want to go!

Me: ?  Um.  Why would you want to go to a catechist meeting?

Child: I want to hear you talk.

Me:  You hear me talk all day long.

Child: I want to hear about catechist stuff.

Me:  The DRE might switch plans and not have me talk.

Child: There might be soda.

[Ah.  Yes.  Now you sound like a normal child.  Whew.]

Me: Yes, there will almost certainly be soda.  They are serving pizza.

Child: Pleeaaase can I go?

Me: It’s out of the question if your homework is not done.

–> Child panics, drops toys, runs to desk, starts working diligently.

Is it the soda or the catechist talk?  I don’t know.  If she gets the homework done, I guess I let her come?  Or tell her she can stay home and watch Anne of Avonlea instead.  That would work.

7 Quick Takes: Advent was good.

Coffee was lost and now is found. Go read.

Lately I’ve encountered a lot of talk about Holiday Burnout.  People who are just sick and tired of Christmas.  People really struggling to feel the Advent-Love.  People who know they’ll go to bed on the 25th exhausted, disappointed, and thinking, “Is that all?  It ends like this?”

You know what?  I’ve had a wonderful Advent!  Peaceful.  Joyful.  Can’t-wait-for-Christmas.  Genuinely looking forward to 12 Days of All Things Good.  Here’s what it looked like:

1.

We had The Plague.  Not a really bad plague.   Not the kind that depopulates cities or disfigures previously-beautiful people.  Just a day or two of  “Hey, death seems like  a nice idea!” and then several weeks of non-contagious laying around, sleeping all day, and sticking to activities that require no lung usage.   So visions of bustling around doing holiday things?  Out the window.  Gone.  No-Can-Do.  Didn’t happen.

2.

Dumb luck.  For reasons that have nothing to do with  my own clever planning, 80% of our regular weekly activities finished for the year by the first week of December.  80% less driving around. 80% less herding cranky children.  80% less repenting of uncharitable thoughts towards stupid careless clueless other drivers.

And then back in early November  I had recklessly committed a labor-intensive Advent catechist-project; we had to cancel it when we realized it would conflict with The Immaculate Conception.   Good thing, since I was barely standing up straight for my last RE class December 7th.

(Shocker: The kids were NUTS that night.  Pure crazy-power that class.  They can smell weakness.)

3.

I chose not to over-commit. We went to a few of our very favorite (or very necessary) holiday events.  But the rest, even though they promised to be good and wonderful, we chose to skip.  I don’t like long, loud, chaotic festivities.  I know other people love that stuff.  Cookies! St. Nick! Bags of Trinkets!  I do not love it.  We skipped it.  Everyone is happy.

4.

We’ve hit our Christmas / Advent decorating sweet spot.  It took us a few years to figure out what this looks like for us.  When does the tree go up?  When do we decorate it?  What about lights and colors and all that stuff?  I know it is the pasttime of a special kind of Catholic to agonize about these things.  I agree it is silly to lay down some Universal Law Of When The Tree May Be Lit.

But I think it is important to self-examine just a little.  To try things out and see how they feel.  Our culture flat out stinks at observing Advent.  If we want to do it, we’re on our own for figuring out how it’s done.  It is a happy year when we the members of the family can agree that we’ve found an approach that works for us, and hits the right balance between preparation, penitence, and joyful expectation.

Double-bonus for your resident Complainer:  I totally 100% approved of the way my parish handled Advent decorations this year.  Not that it’s any of my business to have an opinion on these things.  But it was nice all the same.

5.

I live in a cave.  I don’t watch TV.  I don’t shop.  And every year from Thanksgiving to New Year’s I turn off the radio, because I’d rather have silence than cheesy holiday songs.  These are not due to my amazing virtue and spirit of penance.  I have very little virtue, and a purely intellectual spirit of penance.  These are self-indulgences.  They are me doing what I prefer to do.   But they conveniently shield me from the onslaught of Giftmas Propaganda and bad (Christian) or blasphemous (secular)  music.

So I totally get it, if you who bravely suffer these things have lost your Advent Love after enough weeks of torment.  I would too.  I am grateful for my sheltered life.

6.

Don’t forget to pray for Allie Hathaway.

7.

Jen Fulwiler at the Register ponders, “Why no Catholics among the top 100 Mom Bloggers?”  My answer is this:  We don’t do that.  If our homes are all in order, with lovely decorations,  Craft A Day, and beautiful meals on the table every night . . . that’s our cue to have another baby. 

We don’t live showcase lives that we can peddle on the internet to those longing for Housewife Wonderland.   We focus on our highest  priorities, and we let the rest be someone else’s calling.  Our lives will never be magazine pretty.  My house is not that clean, the only reason I have baked goods lined up is that I trust the nine-year-old with brownie mix and I wasn’t being strict enough about math homework, and we didn’t even get to sing this year, because, well, plague.

We lives our lives poured out. Full and running over.  Everything that is not essential to our calling, we set aside.  And in the process we do not end up beautiful, famous, or rich.  But we do get joy and peace.

3.5 Time Outs: Vocation Reality Show

Thanks once again to our host Larry D. at Acts of the Apostasy, whose plan for internet domination will no doubt culminate in underground bunkers.  Every indication the  Alvin- and-Chipmunks warning is not an idle threat.

Click the Picture to Learn about the Secret Lair

1.

Byzantine Christmas.  A friend sends in this link to a Byzantine Christmas menu.  Yummy.  FYI for those who can’t get enough of all things Byzantine, she forwarded it from the Byzantium Novum yahoo group.

Double FYI: No, I am not planning to cook all this.  I just like thinking about these things.  My 9-year-old has baked some cookies, though.  That’s a step up from last year, in terms of our ratio of homemade-to-store-bought Christmas foods.  Thank you  nice religious ed family who sent the mason jar of cranberry cookie mix.

Oh, and look what my DRE gave me (and all the other catechists, I’m pretty sure) for Christmas:

Mine is not this exact one. Mine is smaller and has just the Holy Family, and the stable is an arch shape.  But it’s from the same project and very similar. It looks super cool.  Maybe I could get some photographer guy I know to take a picture.

2.

If five-year-olds had to choose their vocations:

“I do not like most boys.  Most.  They make you play army all day.  But there is one boy I do like:  Jesus.”

The boy who makes her play army all day still doesn’t like girls, either.  Except when he can get one to run around the yard brandishing weapons.   In eight years I will have four teenagers.  Seriously enjoying the easy years.

3.

SuperHusband points out that hunting season only lasts two more weeks.  During which he will be designing and building shelving for the living room.  Not shooting things, and maybe his friends won’t be shooting things either?  Maybe the dog does not need her own stock pot from Santa after all?  Also, maybe my living room will not have the “Tornado Strikes Shed, Library, Toy Store, and Art Museum, Deposits Contents in Suburban Home” look?

Okay, no, let’s not overreach.  But at least I’ll be out of excuses.  That’s a start.

3.5

. . . they said she had torticollis.  In a five-year-old?  I’d only heard about the newborn kind.  I had no idea about the sort that makes a small, non-complaining, previously perfectly happy (if resistant to bedtime)  child suddenly start moaning and kicking her feet in intense, intractable pain.  The worst of it lasted through the night, and it took nearly a week of Rapunzel Therapy to effect a complete cure.  But she’s good now.  Next time we’ll know what it is.

***

Remember last week when I mentioned a vague specific prayer need?  This week, pick your favorite saint-who-suffered-slander-from-enemies, and ask for a little assistance on that same job.   Thanks.  Have a great week!

3.5 Time Outs: Jesus Fairyland

Thanks once again to our host Larry D. at Acts of the Apostasy for inspiring countless countable numbers of bloggers to add structure and scandalous images to their Tuesday.  But not that scandalous — take a look at his 3.5 takes to see not see images far worse than derelict toddlers.

1.

I won a prize!  Oh it cheers me up.  Lisa M. encouraged me to turn out for the Amazing Catechist Giveaway, which I did not want to do, because, well, I didn’t want to be commenting just to indulge my book lust.  But you know what? I didn’t have to fake it.  There’s useful information in that place, and friendly bloggers who answer combox questions, which means even more useful information.  Needless to say, I learned about a pile of new books I want to check out, and look, I won one of them:

And now it is in my hands!  I can’t wait to read it.  Yay!  Check out the Keep Infants of Down Syndrome blog, if you are like me, giving Catholics a bad name by chewing out telemarketers for major charities that seek to “prevent birth defects” by killing off the people who don’t meet spec.  Yeah, I’m cranky.  Killing innocent people makes me cranky.

2.

Respectable Christians are sending Sarah Reinhard photos of their Advent wreaths. I don’t qualify.  Here’s the one we used to have:

That’s Santa and his reindeer, flying towards Christmas.  (Which had not arrived at photo time — observe the recycled candles.  There cannot be a single shade of purple.)

Allow me to explain: I did not donate this item because it was too tacky for me.  It was because, well, look how big it is.  You can store a lot of books in that cubic foot.  My one vice had to give way for the other. But you who own proper Advent wreaths, send in your photos.

3.

Dear Small Children of Mine,

We have been building a model of Bethlehem in our living room every Advent since before the eldest among you was even conceived.  It pleases me greatly to combine Lego, Fischer Price, and Playmobil structures into a giant sprawling representation of the Holy Land.  I am not the least disturbed when the Seven Dwarves turn out for the census.  Presumably the Romans counted even the very short and sneezy.

But I draw the line at calling it “Jesus Fairyland”.  It is Bethlehem.  B-e-t-h-l-e-h-e-m.  Get it straight.

Sincerely,

That Catechist Lady Who’s Supposed to be Educating You

3.5

Rapunzel, opiate of the masses. This weekend I shipped the Y chromosomes off to Hunt Camp, Eldest Daughter did homework Friday and then spent the weekend at her friend’s house, and my two listless littles watched our new library find: Tangled. Continuously.  From 9AM Friday until 3PM Sunday, with breaks only to sleep, attend church, and sometimes to eat.  I got a lot of work done.  And hey, it’s a pretty good movie.  Edifying, even. And boy am I glad my 5-year-old is still enthralled, because last night at the ER

***

Relax.  I will finish that story next week.   All is well here.  Offer up your suspense for the half-dozen people I’m praying for who have real problems.  One in particular needs you today, desperately.  God will know which one.  Thanks!

7 Quick Takes: Nday Ithway Ouryay Iritspay

Look! The Post-It Notes! I Finally Remembered! Click to see 7 x 77 Quick Takes

 

Resisted the urge to flee to 3.5 Time Outs, which would have been more realistic, except that Tuesdays aren’t any better than Fridays.  Due to the plague, I didn’t see it until Thursday anyway.

1.

Dear Son Whom I Love,

Please do not make fake retching noises while you do your homework.

Sincerely,

The Person Who Assigns Grades.

2.

An Advent novel!  Back before we had kids, SuperHusband observed that among his colleagues, the parents of young children were constantly getting sick.  Now we have young children.  So I use these special parenthood moments to catch up on my homeschooling reading.  Which is why I read The Bronze Bow this week while other responsible adults were doing things like going around upright, and speaking without coughing.  It’s Mr. Boy’s new literature selection.

Ignore the goofy cover art. This is a super book.

And wow, a good book!  If you haven’t read it, it is awesome, and I mean that with all the italics of a crazy person, awesome Advent reading.  Highly recommended.

3.

I went ahead and bought the Kolbe literature questions.  Pretty useful, and not a bad deal for what will be about a collective decade worth of literature for my kids. And I thought, “Hey, how cool, reproducibles!”  So I made copies.  And then just to be sure before I posted on the blog something like, “Hey, how cool, reproducibles!” I double-checked.  Oooh.  Noooo.  Red all-caps on the back cover: IT IS ILLEGAL TO PHOTOCOPY THIS BOOK.

So I guess I’ll chain it to a desk and bookmark the pages select children (who cannot be trusted with a book — see “retching noises” above) need to view.

Grumble grumble.  Publishers trying to make a living. What, they need to eat or something??

4.

Here’s what happens when you foolishly invite an SCA friend (who said, “I was thinking of coming to your church”) to come to your church:  The choir director chooses a 9th Century hymn for communion.  Ours didn’t sound as impressive as the link (whose does?), plus it was in English (full disclosure: English is one of my favorite languages), but that did not stop me from pointing to the note at the bottom of the hymnal and whispering, “Look!  9th Century!”

So if I get fired, that’s why.

(PS: It isn’t just me. My friend says she kept noticing the Byzantine scrollwork on the Catholic Update pew cards with all the translation changes.  I believe good art may be a near occasion of sin for us.)

5.

Out on the playground after mass, discussing the new translation with a different friend, a realization: To be Catholic is to complain.

–> If we were Protestant, we’d take our protesting seriously and go start our own church.  Instead we stick around.  And that, I think, is why Catholics have such a well-developed Theology of Suffering.  We live with each other.

(Ever notice the heavy emphasis on Not Complaining in the lives of saints?  It is as if the writers of these things wish to inspire us to heroic silence. Apparently one could be canonized, even declared a Doctor of the Church, if only the art of Not Complaining were practiced wholeheartedly.)

6.

Don’t forget to pray for Allie Hathaway.

7.

Dear Son Whom I Love,

There is no approved translation of the Roman Missal into Pig Latin.  Nor will there ever be.  Stop.  Now.

Sincerely,

The Person Upon Whom You Depend For Room And Board.

5.2

So what if I gave up complaining?

Wipe that smirk off your mouth.

Seriously.  Do you know someone who isn’t a Doctor of the Church, but pulled it off anyway?  Even half the time?  What do you do when someone asks your opinion of, oh, you know, something?  Do you say, “I’d tell you except that I gave up complaining for Advent?”  Or maybe you just pinch the baby or drop a vase or do something to change the subject?

Smirk.  Off.

Thanksgiving, Franciscans, and All Things In Moderation

Last night we took the kids to burgers then Target to quick buy our Giving Tree gift items before the shopping season began.  Stopped at the liquor store on the way; SuperHusband dashed inside, and then sloowed down . . . they were giving out free samples. [I had no idea that was legal.]  Fortunately most of it was weird trendy froofy stuff he doesn’t drink.

Kids and I sat in the car rehearsing Christmas Carols, though eventually I had to make the boy stand out in the cold next to the car, because he was being so, er, impatient, about our singing.  Then had to pre-emptively save him from injury or death, when I saw he got the bright idea to ambush his father coming out of the store.  That’s a lovely practical joke in the front hallway, dear, but not in a parking lot after dark.  He understood as soon as I explained.

Thanksgiving Eve with the Catholic Family.  Yes.  (And Target was so peaceful.  Amen.)

***

My favorite Thanksgiving book is Squanto’s Journey.  Goodness you can now get in paperback for $7.  I might have to add it to my wish list.

Something cool I didn’t mention in my first review, and that the Amazon Preview doesn’t snow you: The Friars get their credit.

***

We went to Mass this morning, chatted on the playground, then came home and the young cooks put together a batch of shortbread (per the Joy but with whole wheat flour) to bring to dinner later today. Meanwhile, SuperHusband kept showing me ads from the Sobieski website.  I can’t spell it or pronounce it, but if you google “inexpensive Polish Vodka” the ad pops up on top.  If you have utterly failed in your uber-franciscan aspirations, and have resolved just to drink affordably, it’s the one.   Tito’s is a smidge better, and is therefore my second-choice recommendation, but costs a lot more.

***

And all this to tell you a true story, which might be of help to about six people on the internet: You know they say that if you have an irregular heartbeat you should give up alcohol and caffeine?

One Lent the SuperHusband and I, who drink laughably moderately if you were wondering, gave up alcohol as a penance.  I gave it no thought. (Other than: Gosh I like beer.)  Looking back, hey, wait a minute, that was the year I developed a weird skipped-beat heart thing.  Previously had only had it during pregnancy.  (When — get this — I don’t drink.)

So the first thing to do is keep not drinking, and plus give up coffee as well.  Skipping only gets worse. Long drawn out medical investigation confirms it is a benign condition (PVC’s), hurray, go home and don’t worry about it.  Yay!

No sense living the penitential life purely for spiritual reasons, if there’s not gonna be a health kickback, right?  (Bad catechist!  No biscuit.)  Resume life of all-vices-in-moderation, decide to see what happens.

Heart goes back to the ol’ normal, all-beats-per-minute self.

Try not to feel too sorry for me.

***

This Thanksgiving, may you be blessed with problems that can only be solved by doing something you wanted to do anyway.