Category: Little Brother

"They Have No Wine"

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It’s Carnival Time at Little Brother’s school and the attached parish.

I’m no fan of Carnival, but my kids are. Little Brother was sad last night because the Big Kids went there without him (he’s going tomorrow!)

At dinner Little Brother asked what happens to the money that is made from the event. “Do they use that to pay for the Carnival workers?”

I explained the difference between gross receipts and profits, and listed a few of the things that the parish would have to pay for, such as ride rentals, game prizes, and the workers’ salary. Then he wanted to know where the extra money goes.

“Some goes to help the school, and some goes to help the parish,” I told him.

He had an easy enough time figuring out some of the things the school would do with the money. But he was mystified at why the parish might need cash flow as well. After considering it for a bit, he said, “Well, I guess they use that to buy bread and wine. There’s never enough wine.”

Bells Are Ringing

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This morning I went to Mass at the school, because they were honoring the parents who volunteered during the school year. Usually I avoid this event (it’s a social-anxiety thing) but Little Brother was persistent in telling me he really wanted me to be there.

He’s 11. How much longer is he going to be happy to see his mom volunteering at school? I returned the form saying I’d attend the Mass and social afterward.

When I got there, dripping from the rain because TheDad had mistakenly taken both our umbrellas to work with him, a smiling student met me at the church door and told me that all the volunteers were supposed to sit up front. So I did, because Little Brother wanted me to be there.

Fortunately there was no naming of names, just a group “all volunteers please stand up so we can thank you” at the end of Mass. I could deal with that.

Afterwards, we went into the cafegymatorium for a nice little reception. There were two decorated tables with these cute gifts that the first and second grades had put together–with handwritten thank-you notes from the kids. There were smiling seventh-graders pouring our coffee and juice and inviting us to take fruit and pastries.

I sat next to a mom whose oldest son is in Little Brother’s class, and across the table from a mom whom I don’t know, but who had a beautiful one-year-old daughter with her. The little girl had made an impression on me during Mass; she was very quiet most of the time, but when the altar server rang the bell, she exclaimed, “Yay! Bells!” Both times.

That reminded me of Little Brother at the same age. Big Brother was an altar server then, and I was up front with the choir. TheDad would sit in the back with Little Brother, and when the servers rang the bells, Little Brother would yell, “Big Brother’s ringing the bells!” You could hear him throughout the whole church.

I was telling the other moms at my table about this, and the mom with a boy in Little Brother’s class said that her sons used to ask her why the servers rang the bells. Her answer was that they ring the bells to show that this is an important moment. Of course, the next week, when the bells would ring, one of her boys would (loudly) say, “It’s an important moment, right, Mom?”

I was dreading that reception, and even thought about ducking out on it, but I’m glad I went. I’m glad I sat with moms who bring their children to Mass. I’m glad my child attends this school where the kids are taken to church and can learn about Jesus and why it’s an important moment when the bells ring. I’m glad that the parents can share, through funny stories about what their own kids did in church, how we help our children understand those important moments.

Thinking Ahead

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Little Brother:  “My pen pal this year has so much in common with me! He wants to be a Marine or a soccer player, and I want to be in the Army or a soccer player.”

Me:  “The Army? Not the Air Force?”

LB:  “Definitely Army.”

Me:  “Why not Air Force?”

LB:  “Air Force is too dangerous.”

Me:  “They’re BOTH dangerous.”

LB:  “Yeah, but if you get hit in a plane, you definitely die. Unless you have a parachute.”

Utilitarian

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Little Brother is just so desperate to be a Big Kid. As the youngest in a family with a wide age spread, that’s not such a shocker.

For at least a year he’s been asking me to buy him Axe. Since he’s not one to be restrained in his use of anything, there was no way I was going to let him get anything he could liberally spray all over himself.

But just before Easter I was in CVS and I noticed that Axe makes shampoo and body wash. I’m all about encouraging cleanliness, so I bought him a bottle of shampoo and tucked it in his Easter basket. He’s been a happily clean kid for almost two months now.

This morning after his shower, he came over to me and asked, “How do I smell?”

Me:  “Um, you smell like Axe.”

LB:  “Yeah. I’m going to get all the girls.”

Me:  “Oh really?”

LB:  “Yeah. That’s what happens when you use Axe. Girls really like it.”

Me:  “Not this girl.”

LB:  “You don’t have to like it. You already have a husband.”

12/year: really belated

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This blog has been sorely neglected lately, so I decided to (belatedly) link up with Barbara’s 12/year photo roundup! Most of the pictures were taken on my phone, but at least I’ve got a few pictures!

In March,

I received an “Honorary Doctorate” for reading to the pre-K when the school celebrated Dr. Seuss’s birthday.
I spun a science-fair-mishap into a delicious cookie/brownie combo!
We had much better luck with our second attempt at the science fair cookie recipe! Read all about it–the cookies were terrific!
It snowed–the most snow we got all year.
Little Brother is a Boy Scout now, so he got to help with the Easter Vigil fire. Here’s the “before”…
…and the “during.” You can’t see Father; he’s on the other side of the flames. 
Alleluia! Easter sunrise.

21st-Century Conclave

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Yesterday’s “white smoke rising” moment really brought home just how connected the world is. The Papal Chimney Watch was in full swing in the early afternoon, and I was in the car listening to commentary on satellite radio’s The Catholic Channel. My husband was with me, commenting that he felt sorry for the radio personalities, who had to just keep talking until they had certain information.

We got home just as the announcers stated that the marching band was entering St. Peter’s Square. I refused to get out of the car until I’d started up the satellite-radio app on my iPhone. I didn’t want to miss a moment.
I was frustrated to discover that there was a 5-minute delay between the radio broadcast and the online version, but I set my phone next to me on the desk and listened as I headed to YouTube on my computer for the Vatican TV live feed. I started Twitter on the iPad.
I didn’t even bother with the regular TV. For the last conclave, that’s all I had. But this was amazing–using various media to receive information in real time (or as close as an online app for satellite radio could get.)
Then I watched the clock. It was getting close to 3, dismissal time for Little Brother’s school. I was sure that they’d be watching in class, and didn’t want him to miss “the Big Reveal” while he was on the school bus.
Pope Francis reached the balcony at about 3:15. We barely had time to digest the news and try to find out a little more about him when Little Brother exploded through the front door, yelling, “We have a new pope, and his name is Francis!”
“How did you know? They didn’t announce his name until after you were on the bus!”
“Somebody on the bus has an iPhone and we were all watching it on the 3G.”
This is probably the best use of an iPhone on a school bus EVER.

Short-Order Cook

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Little Brother has been sick all week. After two trips to the pediatrician, we’ve got a diagnosis of an ear infection and a Z-pack. He’s feeling quite a bit better this morning, and his appetite is returning.

“Can you please cook me an egg?” he asked me.

“Sure. How would you like it?”

“Sunny side down.”

“Um…you mean ‘over hard’ or do you want it still a little runny?”

“I don’t know! The way I usually have them. I don’t know all the flavors of eggs.”

Future Green Builder Of America (and maybe a deacon too)

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Little Brother spent most of the car ride to and from tonight’s play rehearsal to discuss his future aspirations. He wants to play professional soccer and then become a deacon–if it doesn’t take too long to prepare for Holy Orders. He also wants to be a doctor. (I didn’t bother to burst his bubble by telling him that it’s probably quicker to prepare for the diaconate than for a career in medicine.)

As we passed a new neighborhood-under-construction, he mentioned that one of his classmates might move there. “The builders took all the trees down,” he observed. “What do you think they did with them? Will they use those trees to build the houses?”

“They don’t build houses that way anymore,” I told him. “I don’t know what they do with the trees; they might grind them up right there, or they might take them someplace else to use for firewood or something. But the builder is going to get his materials from a lumberyard that has everything already processed.”

“That’s a bad way to build houses,” he commented. “When I grow up and become a Builder of Houses, I’m going to use the trees I cut down to make part of the houses. And if I have any leftovers, I’ll give them away so someone can make notebooks.”

I Played My Best for Him

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I love Christmas carols–always have. If you ask me to choose my top 3, it’s an easy choice:  “O Holy Night,” “Silent Night,” and “The Little Drummer Boy.”

That last one hardly fits into the category of “traditional Christmas carols,” but I can’t help it. That song makes me cry every time–always has. I don’t think I’ve ever been able to sing the line, “I played my best for him” without choking up.

The Little Drummer Boy gets it right. He brings his gift–not something that can be opened, but his talent–and he gives his best effort to honor the newborn King. As a musician, it’s what I try to do, Sunday after Sunday. And I love that after the Little Drummer Boy offers his humble gift, Baby Jesus smiles at him.

Pass me a tissue, please.

Why would I choose bongo drums to illustrate this post? In art, the Little Drummer Boy is always pictured with a snare, sometimes slung around his neck, and drumsticks in his hands.

But my Little Drummer Boy (AKA Little Brother) has bongo drums. We sang “The Little Drummer Boy” on Tuesday at church and will do so again today. (It’s not “orthodox;” it’s not in the hymnal, but it’s better theology than a bunch of what is in there.) Little Brother has learned to play the song on his drums. On Tuesday he knelt beside the guitarists and nailed that drum part, even meriting a thumbs-up from Bill, a former drummer who’s very particular about how percussion is played.

I love that my kids have had the opportunity to offer their musical gifts in worship, to play their best–even when they’re beginners musically. I teared up on Tuesday when my Little Drummer Boy played his best, right alongside me. And it’s pretty much a given that I’ll cry again today.

The Blame Game

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This was the first year EVER that one of my kids was an altar server on Christmas, despite their collective 8+ years of service. Little Brother was so excited to be serving in a special day.

So excited, in fact, that he fainted in the middle of the Our Father. TheDad and Middle Sister ran right over to him (she’s a sprinter and is not afraid to use her abilities in church when her brother is passed out on the floor.)

From where I was standing in the musicians’ area (not a choir loft by any stretch of the imagination–more like a choir prison) I couldn’t see him at all, so by the time someone got my attention, there were two other people plus my husband and daughter helping him out.

Our neighbor, a middle-schooler also in the choir, was sitting behind me, so I sent her down to Little Brother with my water bottle.

As it turns out, he was fine–just overheated and dehydrated. Those robes are not made with breathable fabric.

Tonight, he tried to blame his fainting spell on our friend Mr. H, who had teased him before Mass about the hairstyle he’s trying to grow into and pressed down on his head to make the hair stop sticking straight up. The kid looks like Spaceman Spiff.

Big Brother and I were having none of it. His defense: “Abraham Lincoln was shot in the head and he DIED 24 hours later. So I could faint from this.”