Hezbollah

"Mom, is Hezbollah where Jesus used to live?"

From the mouths of babes, eh? My four year old asked this astute question today. He has been catching bits and scraps from Fox News, a station to which I am addicted. (Though perhaps I am less astute than the four year old: Today, one of the guests on Fox said that 'All Fox viewers know that Fox is just an Israeli propaganda machine.') I let the kid watch the war coverage, and we talk about it. Maybe this is mistaken; I don't know. What I do know is that the kid understands that it is a serious situation, where finite decisions (like shooting off a rocket) have infinite, eternal consequences (like death).

The kid, four years old, seems to understand more about the war (and who / what Hezbollah is) than most Americans. The way I see it:

~Hezbollah kidnapped Israeli soldiers in early July
~Hezbollah shot the first rocket
~You see people in the streets of Lebanon, Syria, and Iran dancing and celebrating the death of Jews
~You NEVER see people in the streets of Israel celebrating the death of Arabs and Muslims
~Israel has a right to defend itself
~90% of the civilized world doesn't agree with the previous point

Hezbollah shoots rockets from schools and hospitals. Israel targets the launch point of the rockets in its air strikes. That's after they drop pamphlets warning civilians to evacuate. Whose fault is it that civilians die? Come on, people, Hezbollah puts uses people as human shields; the UN observers admit that.

Hezbollah is another terrorist organization attacking Israel. Watch the footage. How would you feel if your hometown was struck by terrorists the way northern Israel is being destroyed? So far, it's not dissimilar to a 22-day 9/11.

Babies in heaven

I am a lousy blogger -- going 2 to 3 months between posts is just unacceptable. I lost my baby at 3 months on June 4th, and have not felt much like writing since.

It seems my miscarriage is not an isolated incident. In fact, I think the last live birth in my little circle is Gretchen, my brother's 2 1/2 year old daughter. In contrast, I can think of no less than 10 miscarriages, including mine, in my circle of family and friends in the last couple of years. I can only hazard to guess the cause of this phenomena; suffice it to say, I do not believe in coincidence. Something strange is going on.

My friend Mamie was telling me yesterday about a recent Time Magazine article about the importance of siblings. Mamie wrestles daily with a whiny 13 month old and it exhausts her. Even in the sleep deprivation, she announced with conviction that Two Children Is Not Enough. It is her mission, says her, to get pregnant, and ASAP. I have the same conviction but some significant road blocks. I am an infertility patient, which is an expensive, depressing, non-fatal condition.

I have a four year old next to me this morning that is asking quite aggressively for my attention. This, therefore, will be a short post, and it end with a plea for prayers from anyone who is so inclined. That live births outscore miscarraiges and stillbirths, that Mamie's 13 month old starts sleeping through the night, for peace for the miscarriage and stillbirth sufferers who will wait a good 50+ years before meeting these sweet, hidden children (especially for Katie, who buried a baby this week that died at 24 week gestation).

I am reminded of the song we used to sing in front of the abortion clinic in Champaign:

"Jesus loves the little children
All the children of the world
Red and yellow, black and white
They are precious in his sight
Jesus loves the little children of the world."

Shot

I am 6 weeks pregnant. Because I am an infertility patient, Dr. Hilgers at the Pope Paul VI Institute prescribes natural progesterone when I am in my first trimester. I can't believe I have 6 weeks of the first trimester to go. Six more weeks of shots. Ugh.

I have a dear friend who was a nurse in a former life. She gave me my first two shots. Today she got home from a retreat 9 hours away. She took her kids to homeschool gym, ran to WalMart, went to get a tooth pulled, and then went to the mobile such-and-such-an-exhibit at some local church. "But hey, swing by later!" Hmmm ... after that kind of schedule? You need rest, friend, not another thing on your agenda! Homeschool ladies are a busy lot.

So I decided to tackle the whole give-yourself-a-shot thing on my own. Natural progesterone is thick and nasty -- like shooting yourself in the arsch with molasses. I had the bruises from last week to estimate the spot to stick myself.

So, where to start: I don't know about you, but I prefer Google when I don't know what I'm doing. Go ahead and do a search on how to give yourself an IM shot in the hip. The results are quite funny. One serious result, though, warned that a nurse should draw a circle around the correct spot, so you don't damage a nerve. The thought of nerve damage raised my blood pressure a bit. But hey, I reassured myself, how hard could this be?

To finish, you've got to start, so I called a friend (to distract myself) and went into the bathroom. I drew out the 2 ml of progesterone with the thicker, 14 gauge needle. I put the 18 gauge needle on. I got out the alcohol and wiped the hip. I placed the needle where I thought I wanted it, thinking vectors (position and direction). Instead of doing the bullet method, which involves a ready-aim-fire fast-stab, I opted for the line-up-and-push. Once the skin is punctured, the 1 1/2 inch needle goes all the way in effortlessly. It's the once the skin is punctured part that's the killer. I exaggerate, but it is a tad unpleasant.

I shot my left hip this time, so it was hard (right handed) to hold the needle steady and push the plunger in smoothly. I was surprised to find after 30 seconds or so that the plunger was empty. I was a little bit proud: I did it with no spouse, while on my cell phone, and it didn't even hurt that badly.

It burns a little bit now. By tonight, I'll have a lump. That's okay. Whatever it takes to keep that little baby in the cooker.

Though I have some experience being a patient (I have had 14 spleens removed over 5 surgeries), I am not overly fond of needles. But I can do anything I put my mind to, even something as unpleasant as a shot in the hind end. So can you. If you got out of your comfort zone today, what could you accomplish?

A less than meritous post

So my MIL came home from the nursing home, and the boyz stopped by to see her & go fishing w/ grandpa. It was a pleasant visit, until she asked me what my dress size is:

MIL (screeching): "What dress size do you wear?"

K: "Ardith, I'm not going to announce my dress size!"

MIL (still screeching): "Well, I need to know, NOW!"

K: "Why do you need to know that?" (kari knows full well why she needs to know)

MIL: "They have these lovely denim jumpers at Christopher & Banks ... not too long either. They're just beautiful."

K (cringing internally): "Sounds nice."

MIL: "If I get you an extra large, will that be big enough?"

K: "Oh, I'm sure that would be perfect."

I'm hoping she includes the gift receipt.

1. I am not into denim too much.
2. I *really* am not into jumpers, period.
3. Christopher and Banks is waaay too wholesome for me. I don't wear teacher clothes.
4. Yeah, I'm an 18 ... and a C&B XL = a size 14.
5. Does she have to screech?

Passion Sunday

Passion Sunday, aka Palm Sunday, is one of the most intense liturgies of the year. Its elements smell of the co-mingling of new and old. The weather is getting warmer; sandals begin to make their appearance in Mass (be that good or bad). The trees begin to bud as we wait this one last week to remember our Saviour dying on a tree. Wilted, drying palms will go home to join the ranks of those from years past, tucked behind picture frames and tacked to window sills.

The priest blesses these palms with water on a day that is both happy and sad. The first reading, a Gospel read before the Entrance Hymn, speaks of Jesus' triumphant entry into Jerusalem. The people who paid homage on that day screamed, "Crucify Him!" just 5 short days later. We read about that in a Gospel that prods us, the congregation, the "chorus" to shout "Crucify Him!" in place of those Jews of old who said it first 2000 years ago.

I was once the confirmation sponsor for a gentlemen whom I found quite fetching. I loved him and his holiness that brimmed in his eyes and danced in his soul. He worked hard for the Lord (and, as far as I know, still does). That first Easter after his entry into the Church, he announced that he refused to say, "Crucify Him," with the rest of us during Palm Sunday and Good Friday, as prompted by the Church herself. I remember being a little bit horrified. Just exactly who did this guy think he was, anyway?

Do you hate to say, "Crucify Him?" If so, you are not alone.

We say it because it was OUR sins that crucified Him. Caiphas and Pilate are just a top-layer of bad guys; the spiritual reality is that Jesus died for our sins. If you don't want to have to say Crucify Him, then think very hard about how your actions say it. Not a day will ever pass for any of us that we don't drive the nails into His hands by our disregard for the poor, by our gangrenous gossip, our lack of love for those entrusted to our attention and care (or, insert your pet sin[s] here). Any moment we don't love fully and completely, we contribute to His suffering all those centuries ago.

The Church's wisdom is reflected in giving us a part in the liturgy by having us recite this macabre chant. "Crucify Him! Crucify Him!" Does it make you uncomfortable? If it does, the words are doing their job. If it doesn't, then maybe, just maybe, you're not doing yours.

A final note: Your sins and mine required the perfect God-man to offer (as priest) Himself (as victim) in a sacrifice so perfect and eternal that all our sins are washed away. He gave Himself to Father God on the cross; He gives His Divine Mercy to us in a special way on Mercy Sunday. Even as we dwell on our sins, let's throw ourselves into the vast, deep ocean of His Perfect Mercy. Mercy Sunday is celebrated every year on the Sunday after Easter. The best way to prepare to receive His great mercy is through the Divine Mercy Novena. It starts on Good Friday and ends on Mercy Sunday. (Bonus: Proper completion grants us a plenary indulgence!)

The Novena is described here: http://www.ewtn.com/devotionals/mercy/novena.htm

The Chaplet of Divine Mercy is here: http://www.ewtn.com/devotionals/mercy/dmmap.htm

More info on the indulgence is here: http://www.ewtn.com/devotionals/mercy/indulgence.htm

Let us praise God for His infinite Mercy!
Praise to you Lord Jesus Christ, King of Endless Glory!

Grammar: I am good, thank you

Jamie confirmed what I have long suspected: When someone asks you how you are, the correct answer is

I am good

-NOT-

I am well.

Why? Linking verbs call for adjectives.

Pretty simple, eh? Yeah, right: Google it and see how this debate rages on among grammarians and wanna-bes who cannot make up their mind on this one.

Fascinating.

'My Bio' - A twist on the boring ole paragraph

I have the honor of being the sysadmin and tech teacher at St. Mary's Parish School in Westville, IL: www.smswestvile.k12.il.us. As part of an assignment (namely, "Write something about yourself for the website"), I recently posted this. It is quite a bit different from the other teachers' entries, and THAT was my goal. (Notice that I didn't mention how long I have taught or how many dogs I own.)

Mrs. Matthews's Bio

Mrs. Matthews may seem a little weird, but she's really just a geek. Note that geeks are altogether different from nerds. Her students may venture to disagree about Mrs. Matthews summarily excluding herself from the Nerd Arena, but they would be incorrect. Geeks love computer technology and other electronics. Nerds lack social graces. Geeks and nerds are not mutually exclusive, and if you ask Mrs. Matthews, she'll draw you a Venn Diagram.

A long time ago, far far away (is Chicagoland far away?), Mrs. Matthews cut her teeth on some piece of junk Texas Instruments computer that ended up going back to the store on December 29th because it didn't work very well. The technology lying around continued to improve, and Mrs. Matthews used what was available. This included Apple IIes at St. Pet's (do you know what saint that is short for?) and the dual-floppy machines at Mrs. Matthews's beloved castle-on-the-hill high school. Mrs. Matthews was not into computers growing up, but she does indeed have fond memories of her Commodore 64, which was only a tiny bit less beloved than the above mentioned high school.

Believe it or not, back in the day before Mrs. Matthews was Mrs. Matthews (fka Miss Farrell), she was was about a 13% on the Geek-o-meter. Mrs. Matthews was not interested in touching the inside of a computer; she kept her tech-related interests to IRC chat rooms and NXT machines in the basement of the English building at U of I. (Truth be told, back in the "Miss Farrell" days, Mrs. Matthews was a little trepidacious about technology. Can you relate?)

It was not until later that Mrs. Matthews discovered a strange knack for technology. It all happened very quicky: Mrs. Matthews had a dear friend (whose name-saint was beheaded - guess the saint) who put in a good word for her at a Fortune 500 company in the engineering department. Miss Farrell got the job (where, incidentally, everyone in that corporation called each other by their first names), and quickly learned her way around large agricultural machinery. At that company, Mrs. Matthews trained farmers on to use agricultural software, the Internet, and computers in general. She designed databases, did tech support, wrote specs for software engineers, reviewed a lot of boring contracts, and ran a GIS mapping computer lab.

Then Mrs. Matthews, who then, be reminded, was still Miss Farrell, got bored and decided it was time to go back to The Cornfield to get a Masters degree in Math, Science and Technology Education. Instead, she got a few masters credits and a husband, last name Matthews, also a geek. Mr. Matthews is a computer genius who has taught Mrs. Matthews at least 30% of what she knows today. Together, Mr. and Mrs. Matthews manage several computer systems (and a farm) in central Illinois.

Mr. and Mrs. Matthews have two geeks-in-training, Sam and Mac. They enjoy dinosaur computer games. Mrs. Matthews is happy to report that she can still run faster than both of them, but that will change very soon.

On a serious note, Mrs. Matthews is certified to teach Math, Chemistry, and Physical Science. She has taught Mathematics courses for Danville Area Community College for the last 5 years and loves Blaise Pascal. Teaching religion has been Mrs. Matthews's favourite position, and she hopes her former religion students will continue to pursue their faith with intense joy and fervor.

Mrs. Matthews is a firm believer that we all have the same job on this earth: To pursue TRUTH. Whether it's truth in theology, history, grammar, mathematics, or computers, we learn more about God as we open ourselves to the order and intricacies of His Creation. That's why school is important!

(PS When Mr. Matthews read this, he scoffed and said, "Yeah, more like 130%!")

Mrs. Matthews can be reached at kari@smswestville.k12.il.us.