5 years ago

Friday’s Quick Takes (#4)

Welcome, welcome to a belated Friday’s Quick Takes, hosted by Jennifer Fulwiler at Conversiondiary. It is Sunday night.  I’m happy to report that Jennifer seems to be doing well and home from the hospital after her health issue from the previous week.  She wrote about it here.
So, we’ll get to it then! My quick takes this last week encircle the further lessening of myself …kinda.


1) I am beginning to think that my Friday’s Quick Takes will perpetually be posted on Sundays. I just can’t seem to get it done on Friday, or even Thursday night! I’m working up to it. Hoping to improve!

2) I started blogging in 2005. I began writing as an outlet, just trying to work my brain out loud. If I go back to my very first blog entry… it’s embarrassing. Really embarrassing. And kind of depressing; I wasn’t well.  I was wrapped up in selfish artist world trying to connect points in my life without fully devoting my heart to my faith.  How sloppy, grappling, and how empty!
Skip forward 8 years and one gains confidence with writing once one has conviction about something. For me, getting married & having children really sped up the reversion process of my heart. Early 2012, I connected with a beautiful group of women through the blogging realm. Their ideas, their prayers, and the faith that we share is something that encourages me daily, as a woman, as a wife, as a mother, as a Christian striving for holiness, and as a “hey-you’re-not-the-only-20something-mom-out-there-who’s-trying-to-live-out-the-Faith!”. Because I’ll tell you what: we get to Mass and short of booking it out of there afterward, we don’t linger with a hungry infant and two super squirmy toddlers, let alone seek out and mingle with the other young parents and their squirmy babies.


3)  Getting out of bed is something I struggle with every. single. day. I am a tired person.  One of the ladies I’ve had the pleasure to meet through intranet recently shared a blog through Pinterest. And wouldn’t you know, I read this entry last week and had a small prayer answered. I’ve always been le tired. In first grade I wrote a book titled: I am Tired. Through high school, my parents wondered if I was on drugs because of the amount of sleeping I did (I actually got Mono one summer- slowest summer of my life). Becoming a mother did not magically transform me to a wakeful, motivated, morning person. In fact, becoming a mother has made it much more difficult.

It’s been whispering to me that WAKING UP is part of the “becoming less” that I need.  By denying myself the simple pleasure of lazing in bed for a half hour more —and let’s face it, it’s really more of a frustration than a pleasure knowing that you need to be up anyway— I’ve started my day off with a YES to my vocation as a mother, as a servant of God for whatever the day brings me.  Rather than a “…zzzz…10 more minutes, Almighty Father…” And this blog entry confirmed it:

The heroic minute. It’s time to get up, on the dot! Without hesitation, a supernatural thought and … up! The heroic minute; here you have a mortification that strengthens your will and does not weaken your body.
That’s from St. Josemaria Escriva’s The Way #206. And then there was this quote:
Conquer yourself each day from the very first moment, getting up on the dot, at a set time, without granting a single minute to laziness. If, with the help of God, you conquer yourself in that moment, you’ll have accomplished a great deal for the rest of the day. It’s so discouraging to find yourself beaten in the first skirmish! The Way #191.

So, as part of this year’s goal of becoming less, I will strive for Heroic Mornings. Laugh if you will. But that is exactly how I have to think of my mornings, or else I’ll lay there, wishing for 20 more minutes. Thank you friend, for pinning this blog.

4) …but then Saturday, I slept in with my baby until 10am… (My courageous husband heroically conquered the morning for me, bless him).  ”I shall diminish”…when I get out of bed.  …FAIL.


5) However, Saturday evening, I became a fully grown woman. I made my mother’s spaghetti and meat balls.  I wanted to cook for my MIL, whose birthday is on Monday. So why not spaghetti, right? Pasta is easy and feeds lotsa people. I really enjoy cooking (which I didn’t know until I got married), and don’t mind detailed methods, or a little prep (I don’t mind the occasional frozen pizza, either). My mom’s spaghetti sauce, however, is unlike any sauce I’ve ever tasted. It’s not difficult, but it has a few surprise ingredients. The recipe actually belongs to my Aunt’s (ex)mother-in-law, who is 100% Italian and immigrated by boat to NY. The recipe, in my mind, is one of those that is so good, we the lowly, unseasoned, amateur cooks dare not defile the sacred deliciousness by trying to actually MAKE it.  I feel that I need be at least 40 years old before I should be allowed to cook something like this. BUT, Saturday evening, at 28 years old, I made it, and felt that I’d crossed the threshold into GROWN-A** WOMANHOOD. …ahem. Excuse me, I couldn’t help it…

6) After the evening of cooking, eating, baking, cookie-monstering, carrying sleeping children to bed and finally peeling the skinny jeans from my not quite as skinny legs (I managed to cram myself into non-maternity jeggings for the first time sans extravagant muffin top), I got to have a mo’ with the ol’ iPhone and its apps. Scrolling through Instagram I was delighted to see this! Shared from none other than one of me marvy Cathsorority ladies. It reminded me of my failings, but I strengthened my resolve to crack on with it!


7) I am very blessed to have been able to have my hairs cut. Oh yes, all of them. My hair stylist (whom I’ve been following from salon to salon for over 4 years because she is fantastic), chopped nearly a whole foot in length from the shoulders down. I turned around in my chair to behold what looked like a pile of snakes laying, tangled upon the floor. The photo doesn’t really do the serpents justice: 


If getting a haircut were to be a painful experience, I’d have to say it hurt so good. I wanted the long dangly, gangly strands to feel pain as they were sliced off. But they didn’t, the stupid, dead things. They didn’t even know they were gone. Irritating things. Anyway, how do you like me NOW! 


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