Put The Shoe On The Other Wheel

While waiting in the check-in queue a few days ago I couldn't but overhear the conversation which took place at the desk adjacent to ours.

But first in case you haven't travelled with small children a while I'll put you in the picture re airport protocol. What generally happens is that you check in the luggage and the clerk puts a luggage tag onto the child's stroller.  You then hold onto the stroller until the last minute and deposit it at the point of boarding.  Strollers are loaded last and offloaded first to give parents greatest flexibility while handling babies, hand-luggage and often-times other small children. It's a small concession to families and I think at no real inconvenience to fellow travellers.  It suits us well because it also serves to relieve us of some of our burdens. I've often thought it'll be a pity when I have to forego the stroller that has long been part of my life.  They can bear great weight on the handles before the child is tipped ignominiously feet up.

(excuse me madam, I think you may have overloaded your child's buggy)

 I'll have to carry stuff myself...unless like an elderly neighbour of my father who, at the age of 80, could care less, I comfortably wheel the empty stroller uptown every day to carry my bag and baggage on the return journey.

This family was no different to any other.  Their older child, a little girl aged perhaps 5 or 6 was beautifully tanned like the other children boarding the flight.  She had the same sort of lovingly chosen princess backpack as the other children her age and she was wearing the same type of sweet summer sandals as the other children, including her siblings.  The only difference was that while the other children's sandals were worn out, battered and scuffed after a long and sunny summer (Ireland having just had a once in a generation glorious heatwave), this little girls sandals were pristine and new looking.  You see, those little feet hadn't splashed and danced in the tide.  They hadn't run with enthusiastic expectation at the sound of the ice-cream van. They hadn't used the toes of the shoes as brakes for speeding tricycles and scooters...

So as the clerk at our desk peeped and smiled at our able-bodied child as she tagged the stroller, the clerk at the adjacent desk curtly informed the parents that they had to check in their stroller.  It was too big.  Except this wasn't a stroller, it was one of those oversized buggies which mark halfway point between baby-pram and wheelchair.

"We can't check it in, she can't walk"

"Well it can't go in the cabin, we'll get you an airport wheelchair"

"She can't go in a wheelchair, she's too small and she can't hold herself up...she'll slide right off"

One glance at the little girl with her tilted back head and slumped little limbs, absently observing the roof with her azure eyes would confirm that this child needed to be safely strapped into her own chair, not dumped into a generic 'this'll do' wheelchair.

"Can't you carry her?"

"No we can't carry her, we have hand baggage, small children and Grandpa, can we speak to someone?"

Only after a protracted phonecall was the wheelchair/stroller tagged and the family allowed to continue on.

Now what struck me was that the mother carried out this conversation with the calmness as if she was buying a pound of tomatoes in a greengrocers.  This is her life.  And I know this to be true because ever since Louise I've been reading these incidents every day on Facebook.  This family spends their life fighting their corner in the simplest of things.  Advocating for their child to get the basic comforts the rest of us take for granted.  They are part of the 'set' who run race nights and golf classics to raise the price of a tricycle.  While the rest of us pop into Smyths or Toys R Us without a thought to dish out $50 for a tricycle, parents of disabled children trawl the internet for the best price on a special-needs tricycle such as this one which costs over $1,000.

Or how about this cute bell toy for a blind child which rings up a cool $332?

And they get so used to it that they don't even bat an eye at the hold up at the airport check in desk.  All part of the package of choosing life.  In fact, the Dad left the desk cracking a cheerful joke with the flustered clerk.  

A little side issue nothing to do with this story.  I love people watching and no better place than airports. Especially in France where I love looking at other women's make up and accessories for a few tips for myself.  In fact since our girls have been tweens I have been veering them toward the style and elegance of the young French women who know that a scarf simply tied or bag and jewellery or well groomed hairstyles exude that je ne sais quoi which is sadly lacking in the young dress sense of my own country which so often mistakes style with displaying as much pasty flesh as possible.  Well I spotted this man whose every item of clothing and accessories screamed 'trying too hard self-affected poser'.  My first impression was confirmed when he sat down and ostentatiously opened his novel clearly for all to notice his so cool choice of literature...

Oh PLEASE....

Well a final glimpse of the story of the little girl, when we arrived in Ireland the first thing we spotted on stepping off the plane was two airport stewards literally running to the door of the plane with the stroller folded up and overheard one say to the other he couldn't work out how to unfold it and the family would have to show him.  It struck me that though, thanks to my own little girl, I've had a glimpse into the difficulties which daily face special needs families, in the last three years I've also read testimony after testimony of the experiences of the small kindnesses which maybe are only seen by these families.  Little silver linings which time and again restore their faith in humanity with the realisation that a lot of people are good. 

My Friend The Fly

There's a tiny room in my house, it's a little downstairs lavatory. We've decorated it nicely with things that remind us of holidays and ancestors in the West of Ireland and it's really quite lovely.  All the same, it's still a toilet and not somewhere to linger too long.

It's a very hot day today. 30C degrees which is completely out of character for my country. Yes my country...my poor little once great country which had dignity even in oppression because we were steadfast. We were cast down many's the time but never defeated. We always had the dignity of our own mind not to jump off the precipice just because the lemmings were doing so.

Well anyway, it's a hot day and I'm in my little bathroom giving it a clean.  It's so hot I'm stifling even though the window is wide open because there's no cross breeze.  I'm hurrying to get back outside into the shade where it's cool and fresh.

I notice that a huge fly has managed to come indoors and is flying around my tiny, stifling room so I stop to watch him for a while. The window is wide open and he can fly out any time he likes but he instead keeps smashing himself into the wall in this stuffy stagnant place.  Outside there's the fresh peace of freedom.  Outside the air is cool and he can soar with the peace that only truth can give.

The greeny walls of this stifling bathroom are not true, it's fake...a painted effect which makes him feel like he's free and outdoors when really he's imprisoned.  Nobody is keeping him in that place, he's choosing to stay stifled and unhappy, smashing himself into the green wall convincing himself that he's free.  Convincing himself that he's master of the cess which is appropriate here. He flies near that wide open window towards release, towards the true joy of one free but he refuses to go out. I've tried to coax him out because I feel sorry for him in his voluntary prison watching the corpses of the other dead flies too proud or too stupid to fly out that window. Dead and lifeless. Because there is nothing so hopeless as one who refuses to be free.

But he won't go.

He's almost human-like in his obstinance.  So human I think he should have a human name.

Enda is a good name.  I think I'll name my fly friend Enda.

Nurturing Your Marriage

I was recently asked to give a talk to a group of young married women on nurturing marriage.  I jumped at the opportunity thinking I could talk all day and all night about the ways I've stumbled in my efforts at being the ideal wife.  I could talk about what I would have done differently, what I would have, could have and should have and what I was going to....

But then it dawned on me that a young wife doesn't want to hear about where I have gone wrong...what use is that?  We can all go wrong by ourselves, we have no need of anybody to tell us how to do it.  So I changed my track and decided to tell those young women, many of them in their 20s with small children, how to nourish their marriage in practical, bite sized and do-able ways.  A treatise on the value of marriage and how it is good for the spouses, for the children and for society is useless without some ideas of something I can do today and now.

Well anyway the talk went well and the girls were bursting with resolutions and plans and asked me to come back soon and speak again.  So I've decided to share here the gist of what gems I came up with which so enthused those young women.  Lots of the ideas I have gleaned myself and put to effective use in my own marriage from my two favourite sources.  Dr Ray Guarendi and Hallie Lord who blogs at Moxie Wife so I just want to acknowledge and thank both of them.  Others are just things I came up with myself which I found worked well. 

Now just note, this was a morning talk for young mothers/wives so my ideas in this are mainly aimed at women.  I'm considering asking a special guest blogger (my own husband) to write from the husband's point of view on the same topic.

So for your perusal, here's the gist of what I said...

First of all...and you can do this if you're reading too...just pause and close your eyes for 20 seconds...which is actually a long enough time...and think to yourself  about your own marriage and where you think the holes are.  Everybody has things that jump out as the most obvious flaws or shortcomings.

17...18...19...OK...20.

Now, thinking about those things I'm willing to bet most of them began with

'HE should...'

'I wish HE'd...'

'I'd love HIM to...'

When I said that every single one of the girls nodded and laughed guiltily.  This is exactly what I expected because it's exactly the way I think too.

So here is where we start..it's very very easy to see the faults of the other.  The more we know them, as in our spouse, the more obvious they are to us.  What's not so easy to see is where I am going wrong.  I bet not a single girl thought to herself...'if only I was more patient, less petty...or whatever it is'.

Not one of us can or ever will reach the point where we can say 'Ah yes, I'm perfect now!'  No human relationship ever reaches that point either.  We need to chip away, chip away all the time.  Struggle against our weaknesses, try to build up our qualities.  So too with marriage.  Whether we're hot off the press and rockin'...or whether we're floundering...or nice and comfortable but nothing to write home about...every one of our marriages can be better.  But as we've heard time and again, we can only improve ourselves.  And funnily enough, a change in ourselves often precipitates the desired change in the other.

So now, pause again for another 20 seconds and this time think what is the one thing I could most do better in.  Painful and all as it might be, it'll probably jump straight into mind.  Try it...

18...19...20..

So number one is start with myself.  And here's a few ideas.

Don't Presume Ill-Will

I worked in a place for several years that had such a horrible toxic atmosphere.  Everybody was suspicious of everybody else.  The problem was that ill will was the default presumption.  If someone parked in a particular spot the presumption was that the intent dad been to get at someone else rather than it happened to be just an available spot.  It made for such un-necessary suffering.

I know I've been guilty of this in my own marriage.  There have been days when my husband has gone off to work completely oblivious to some action or slight or omission he has committed.  Of course, as hour passes hour the misdemeanour blows out of all proportion.  By lunchtime I'm in a rage which has softened to a silent simmer by the time my poor innocent husband arrives home not realising that when he made his coffee that morning it was with the water I had earmarked for my coffee...and he did it on purpose...and if he loved me he would have put me first...so he doesn't love me...and so on and so on. And he has no idea why he's getting the silent treatment.

You don't need me to tell you it's babyish, unfair and wrong and just too typical.

Nip those negative presumptions in the bud!!! Resentment is poisonous to marriage.

Have Manners

So simple.  Please.  Thank you.

Surely if strangers are due our manners, how much more so should our spouse be treated with manners.

Yesterday in a busy moment and eager to catch my husband before he had passed the shops I sent him a single word text.

Milk

That was it. Milk...we needed it...get it.

He arrived home a bit later he put the milk on the fridge then slumped into the chair burning up with a fever.  He had turned his car around to go back for the milk I had asked for with such a lack of finesse.

So remember manners.  They really make a difference.

And sorry goes a long way too.

Be Complimentary

This is so obvious and yet so easily forgotten.  We notice the one thing that's undone and not the millions of things that are done.  As a mother I know it's a bit deflating whenever I go to a lot of effort to cook a meal and everybody eats it without so much as a simple 'this is nice'.  Husbands are people too and everybody appreciates being acknowledged.  If your husband does something nice, or good, or well...or if he looks good...tell him!!

Date Night

I have come to the conclusion that neglecting date-night is bordering on negligence.  Here's how I came to that conclusion.  Find a babysitter, maybe start a swap arrangement with another couple so both can get a night out from time to time.  Or maybe at least an at home date and pull out all the stops.  Which brings us nicely onto...

Intimacy

This is interesting, and sad.

I was looking for a picture to add to this piece in relation to marital intimacy.  I keyed in a few different words hoping to find a nice romantic picture depicting marriage.  Emm...looking up marriage, better make sure your children aren't looking over your shoulder if you are trying to bring them up with the thousands of years understanding of Christian sacramental marriage.  Try 'lovers' the last thing you'll see is a married couple depicted as lovers.  Romance...kiss...nuh! Look up married couple you'll find jokes about henpecked unhappy husbands and domineering nasty wives.

Ok..I'm exaggerating to make my point, but not that much.  How is it that married sexual love is understood in our culture to mean lack-lustre, non-existent or perfunctory.  Why is that?  Is it because it's true?  The most recent research tells us the opposite...married sex is more fulfilling, not less so.  But when babies are small and we're busy busy busy, intimacy and romance can be put to the bottom of the list or looked at as just one more 'task'.  This is a mistake because it is precisely through the physical relationship of the spouses the bond is most accurately expressed...and if you believe in the Christian understanding of marriage, a source of grace and blessing for both husband and wife and for the marriage itself.


So it's not something that should be put on the back burner due to lack of time or tiredness.  When we're busy and overwhelmed there is nothing wrong with earmarking time for this.  Spontaneity is all very well but did an amazing meal ever make itself without being planned for, thought about, ingredients bought?  Maybe in the castle of Beauty and the Beast that happened but in real life the best things are often pre-arranged.

First of all...tidy your bedroom (so you're not noticing the piles of newspapers, laundry and overflowing cupboards.)

Then...

Candles, music, thinking nice things during the day, some new massage oils, extra care with our make up, remembering why you married him...go for it.  It is not demeaning to make an effort to look nice for your husband.

And in one of my favourite tips from Moxie Wife, have a little peep into your undies drawer...what's in there?  Are they cotton, comfy, washed out...? How about your 'boudoir' attire?  Is it the t-shirt and shorts you've been wearing since you were 18?  Baggy?  shapeless? When I read this post by Hallie I had to admit that comfort was my priority.  Silky luxury didn't seem to match six children and a busy life and I realised that whenever I visited TKMaxx, the lingerie and sexy nightdress section were simply sections that it didn't even cross my mind that they might apply to me.  Well...why not me?  Why not you??

I have to say, this was the tip which most of my young wives liked the best and discussed the most afterwards.  I think there were a few unscheduled stop-offs at the lingerie shops on the way home.

Finally...my last tip (for now)

Generosity

I think it's fair to say that as wives we all love foot massages, back scratches, to be romanced and complimented.  We love our husbands to fulfill those lovely wishes.  How about us?  Men are not women.  Can we stretch ourselves a bit more in generosity?  Forget that 'headache'...you know you haven't got one.  Laziness is often a more correct term.  Send him a text telling him you're looking forward to time together instead of something he's almost afraid to suggest because we can make it so clear we're being 'put-upon'.  For a wife emotional intimacy is the preferred route to physical intimacy.  For a husband it is more often physical intimacy which reinforces the emotional bond. Be generous...it won't go un -noticed.

Well.  Good luck with those few ideas.  Our next door neighbour has two rose trees in his front garden.  I will never forget the day he planted them. It took him the whole day to dig the enormous holes he planted them in.  He had a trailer-load of fertiliser delivered and every last bit of it went into those rose roots.  He spent at least an hour watering the trees once he had dug them in.  To be honest I thought he was a bit over the top at the time.   I don't think that any more.  Those two rose trees are magnificent.  Marriage is like that you know.  It thanks us according to our effort.

Who knows where the road will lead us 

Only a fool would say 

But if you'll let me love you 

It's for sure I'm gonna love you all the way all the way 

(All The Way. Frank Sinatra)

We're Not Designed For Hate

It's been so long since my last post I hope you haven't forgotten me!  I've been overwhelmed by writing and listening and trying to do my bit here in my own little country which is sitting on the cusp of a wave and is either going to gently enter calm waters or crash down into a trough of destruction.  If you don't know already, I'm talking about the fact that the Irish Government is proposing to legalise abortion this summer in a law that all experts agree will sooner rather than later lead to abortion on demand up to birth. 

But that's not what my post is about, it's about something else, it could be life issues, it could be politics, culture or anything else where people have different viewpoints.  

Last night my husband told me I woke him up in the middle of the night to tell him how difficult the last few weeks have been for me.  I have zero memory of this incident but it doesn't surprise me.  Being midweek I'd had nothing stronger than a mug of camomile tea before bed so there was no vino induced veritas kicking in.  It would however seem that in half slumber veritas will also show it's face. 

I'll tell you what's been happening. Now I'm not telling this to bring the subject around to me, it could be, and is, anyone.  If you've been following this blog for any length of time you'll know that I have spoken about online nastiness  more than once.  It's spoken and warned about in schools, workplaces and so on and though everyone laments it, it's rampant. Of course, nobody ever admits to being the person behind those pseudonyms  from whose fingers flow toxic hostility that is sometimes chilling to witness.  I really really wonder what some people are like in real life. Can they hide the side of their personalities that are unleashed anonymously on Twitter and other forums? Does it seep into their interpersonal relationships? Their family lives?

A few weeks ago, maybe two weeks, I penned a letter to e-mail to the elected representatives of my country on the topic of this proposed legislation. 

This is what I wrote:

Dear Deputy,

From the perspective of someone who was advised to have an abortion by an Irish Obstetrician on the grounds of foetal anomaly and who every day is thankful she didn't take that advice, I am contacting you to convey my dismay at the upcoming proposed Irish abortion legislation, entitled 'Protection Of Life During Pregnancy Bill'.

Three and a half years ago at my routine ultrasound scan, my daughter, Louise, was diagnosed with a major life threatening congenital heart defect and a rare brain anomaly called Dandy-Walker Syndrome.  The very first thing our obstetrician suggested was to 'go to England'. We decided against that and to give our daughter a shot at life, however long or short that might be.

Throughout my pregnancy we felt judged and punished for deciding not to abort our child and were treated with great unkindness throughout the pregnancy.  To be honest it was a relief to transfer to the care of Our Lady's Children's Hospital Crumlin, where our baby was called her name from our first visit there long before she was born, in contrast to the refusal of our OB  to not only not call her Louise, but to not even refer to her as a baby.  To this day this has caused me profound pain.

I'd like to add that the suggestion to abort was made without the offer of an opinion of a cardiologist or a neurologist.

Because our daughter's condition is very rare, I am in contact with families across the English speaking world that are in the same situation.  I have yet to 'meet' a single family who were not encouraged, or more commonly, pressured, to abort their child.  In fact I came across a UK obstetric guideline that TOP should be recommended in EVERY CASE of Dandy-Walker.  On top of that, the same site cites an abortion rate of 50% for all babies with CHD, many of whom could have been given long lives with the help of surgery.

Had we taken the advice of our doctor, we would have thought we were 'saving' a child from a life of pain and disability.  We would never have known that Louise was about to defy all grim predictions, that she was about to defy her genes and that she would grow into a delightful little girl who has reached all her milestones with time to share.  She has had three major cardiac surgeries in her three years but her surgeon told us just this spring that he expects her to lead a long and normal life with just some restrictions such as she will never compete for Ireland in The Olympic Games.  He also told us that should she ever become pregnant, he and his colleagues will see and her half a heart through.  This is opposite to what we were told before she was born.

We also would never have known that this child was about to blow us away with a love we never could have imagined.  We would never have witnessed the effect she has had on people who will never meet her but whose lives she touched in profound ways...and this was long before she was born.  

As you know, there is already pressure and expectation to extend abortion legislation for foetal anomaly.  In my experience legality becomes expectation and quite quickly a 'duty'. The inclusion of a threat of suicide in the legislation is so wide open to misuse.  Nobody can disprove the validity of a threat of this nature and the widespread use of the mental health clause in UK abortion law rings alarm bells for Ireland.

 There is nothing in Irish human nature or psyche to suggest that we are different to every single other country in the world.

To take the life of an innocent person, sick or well, is such a terrible injustice and wrong to the core.  Surely the duty of society is to offer something better than this hopeless and terrible terrible act.

On behalf of babies like Louise, I implore people to stand for what is right and to do whatever is in your power to stop this legislation from passing.   

Yours sincerely,

etc.

All I did was tell my story and ask they take it into account. 

After I wrote it and read it over I thought it was pretty good (if I said so myself) and had the idea of sending it to the letters page of the country's newspapers, including the regional and local papers. 

About twenty minutes after I clicked 'send' I got an e-mail from a journalist with a national newspaper asking me could she ring me and could they get a photograph of Louise. Of course I was delighted that my letter would now be an article and maybe more people would read it.  So I spoke to the girl and she promised a story faithful to what I'd told her. 

I presumed the story would feature somewhere about page 16.

Nothing could have prepared me for what happened next!

I was preparing to go to bed a day or so later when my sister messaged me to say my face had just flashed up on the screen during a late night political programme which was having a look at the next day's front pages.

I was the headline article!! 

It also took up all of page two and three.

I felt the blood run from my face at the sudden realisation that 'they'll be out for my head now'. This is not a topic where a certain viewpoint is welcomed. I was so shocked! I couldn't sleep. Delighted and horrified at the same time.

Next day all hell broke loose. I got emails from other newspapers, radio, TV.  I figured that some news sources were weary of the shabby treatment and unveiled lack or balance and were happy to run with a life affirming story of hope.

Then I foolishly looked at Twitter.

When you find an assistant editor of a major national newspaper live tweeting anything he could find about you in his online research it's a bit un-nerving.  When that live tweet is joined by a staff writer of a different major online news site, adding links to comments (on the same topic as the article) I'd left on sites, links to my blog (both my blogs spiked that day with the pages being viewed the ones which looked like 'juicy' topics), trying to find out my Twitter handle, which luckily I'd changed about a year ago, links to a blogpost (about the sadness and beauty of miscarriage if they'd bothered to read it) that was published by a Catholic newspaper as an article last year...it moves into the realm of creepy. 

Next day online commentators were researching family links and any other links they could find, and it wasn't so they could praise my gorgeous little girl.  And then, the inevitable accusation that my story about Louise was fabricated by me and my husband for the purposes of agenda.

Now here's my point. I knew this was going to happen. My blog about Louise had from the start the hope that another family would glean enough courage to give their baby a shot at life.  I've never been ashamed or tried to hide that I stand for life, or my Christian, and more specifically Catholic, beliefs. Why should I be ashamed? 

I honestly really don't care about being the butt of this nastiness. Ultimately it's not personal, I'm just the vehicle for a message, it could be anyone who speaks an uncomfortable message. I'm happy to be in a position to say something.  When I was in Africa on a work camp I remember the battered sign that a lot of lorries and vans had which read 'Let Them Say' I've remembered that time and again over the years and if I was Carlsberg and I did mottos, that might well be it. 

Let them say.

Let them...

So why then can I not fall asleep these nights? Why have I had a two week low grade headache? Why did I wake up my husband during the night to admit to something my subconscious self can see but which my awake self denies? 

I have had far more lovely things said to me since I clicked 'send'. Today my green-grocer thanked me for saying what I said and gave me a free bag of spinach. Maybe he realises I probably need some of Popeye's power snack!!  The nasty witch hunters have been relatively minor.  

So why have they affected me? 

I think this is why:

We were made by God. Who is Love.  He made us out of Love. Our destination is Love. We're designed to be loved. 

We're not designed to be hated. Nobody is. When it's aimed our direction it's disconcerting. Peace does not come from hating and being hated. Peace comes from the freedom to love and be loved. That's our design. 

I normally have some (what I think is a) profound resolution at the end of my posts. Not this time. Maybe the words of St Francis...where there is hatred let me sow love. I don't know those people's baggage and it's not my business to. Maybe it's just a lesson to me to remember not to react with the same...although if my husband were to write here he'd tell you a few of the colourful mouthfuls that have come from me this past week...we're all a work in progress.

Well anyway, that's why there's been a gap in my blogging mojo.  I have some nice posts on my mind to write.  Unless they GET me, that is. 

A Bomb Through The Eyes Of A Child

I have had experience of two bombs in my life.  Both of the experiences have left a photographic if surreal imprint in my memory.  I have been listening today to interviews with those present or in the vicinity of the Boston Marathon Bombs and it has brought back those memories into the forefront of my mind, and the thoughts of what fear must have gone through the mind of my father that day.

It was 17th of May 1974.  My family had taken the trip to Dublin city centre to shop for errands.  In those days that's what shopping was.  It was an occasional occurrence, you had a list of essential items to purchase, often including material or yarn with which to make clothes for the children, and you bought them. Then you went home. The children didn't get treats in every shop...or in any shop for that matter, unless it had already been planned and budgeted for. Families in Ireland were short of money in the 1970s.

All of my family were there except for the eldest, my then 14 year old brother who had decided to stay at home to study for his state exams which were approaching a few weeks later. My father parked in the usual car park, a reasonably priced large park manned by a little pay-booth located to the back of Henry St, now the location of The Ilac Centre Shopping Centre.  I'll always remember the cobbled, roundy-stoned dusty surface of that car park, and I'm pretty sure my father does too...since he probably counted every stone in it a few hours later.

Our day seemed uneventful.  My mother needed some items in Arnotts, a slightly more up-market store which would be more fun from her point of view.  She discussed with Daddy whether she should go there first but they decided to get the more mundane items out of the way first, a decision which might possibly have saved all our lives. My mother was about the same age as I am now. My four sisters and I tramped around the necessary shops following my parents.  Men's trousers in Boyers.  Fabric for a dress for my sister in Hickeys.  We then went to the treasure trove for mothers of young families...Guineys on Talbot St., where you could buy children's vests and knickers, nylons,  tea-towels, bed-linen and all sorts of household essentials which were generally good quality at reasonable prices. As usual we spent quite some time there as my mother had quite a list.

Finally we went to Parnell St where there was a little shop which sold sheet music where my father bought some music books for piano and for teaching his pupils in the school where he was the principal.

 I remember this shop very well because my youngest sister, then 2, got momentarily lost and waited where she was as instructed until my parents retrieved her from outside the door of the shop, a little Georgian building with several steps up to the front door.  I may be wrong but I think the building may have been duck-egg blue with a navy door.

My parents remembered this shop very well too because they paused to buy an evening newspaper from the street-seller near the music shop.

With the essentials done my father said he'd take the little ones back to the car so that my mother and two older sisters could do the rest of the shopping without the fractious tiredness of the smaller children.  I was the eldest of those three.  This was a great occasion I remember because my father bought the three of us ice-cream cones, a very special treat.

After a while, when the two smallest sisters were either asleep or playing in the back of the car I was sitting beside my father in the passenger seat.  Time was ticking on and my mother and sisters should be back soon.

Then, out of the blue we heard a tremendous bang.  I thought it sounded like builders had dropped a huge steel girder from a height.  I clearly remember my father say in shock

"That's a bomb!"

Within seconds, from right behind the buildings near us I saw a huge mushroom cloud of smoke. I can't remember the immediate time frame but very soon after that people came running in panic to their cars and drove away from the vicinity as quickly as possible. I don't remember the second bang but my father does...the bomb which killed, among others, the newspaper seller.

My father told the three of us to lie face down in the back of the car and he covered us with his big anorak which he always kept in the car.  At this stage I could hear the three different sirens of police, fire engines and ambulances.

And we waited...

...and waited...

...the sound of cars speeding out of the car-park faded into the distance, leaving...us..the only car left in the car-park...

...silence and sirens...

....and we waited...

It's only now as an adult I can appreciate the terror my father must have felt waiting in that silent car-park for his young wife and two eldest daughters.  He couldn't risk leaving to look for them as he couldn't endanger his youngest children.  He must have been frozen in fear.

Finally, the three returned,  bags in hand, completely bewildered as to what was happening. They had been inside a large department store the whole time and had heard nothing until they made to return to the car.

So with his five little daughters lying face down in the car, my father left for home, not knowing whether he was driving to safety or into more bombs.  The quays, the route out of Dublin was choc-a-bloc with cars and ambulances trying to get through.  It must have been a singularly terrifying experience for my parents.

Meanwhile, my brother back home had the television on in the background while he was studying.  There was only one TV station at the time which was interrupted by the newsflash announcing multiple deaths and injuries at the very shop he knew my mother always went to, Guineys.

We had no telephone and neither did any of our neighbours so there was nothing he could do but stand on the step...for several hours...to find out whether his family were ever coming home.

This was my 1st Holy Communion taken one month later.

Other families weren't so lucky.

Here's a short little tribute to the 33 who died that day, including an entire young family, parents and their two baby girls.  A nine-month unborn baby was later acknowledged as the 34th victim.

I was in close proximity to another bomb as a young adult, along with my parents again and one of the sisters who had been 'missing' that day in 1974.  We were returning from visiting my Grandmother and aunt in Northern Ireland and I was availing of the opportunity for some driving experience.  We were passing the border military checkpoint with the patrol soldier examining my driving licence when a bomb went off a very short distance away, missing the target of the soldier.  We were in very real danger but I do not want to write about it.  I saw unbridled terror in that young boy's face that day, I would never like to see that again.

Thankfully nobody was hurt in that incident.

Please pray for victims of terrorism, no matter where they are in the world.  It is almost always innocent people and children who suffer from this terrible terrible blight on our planet.

May God forgive the people who carry out these acts.

Gratitude And Lack Thereof

This is the Easter Season which I really love.  It's powerful, solemn and then the great joy of Easter Sunday.  What's not to love about it?  During these weeks I'd say people read the Gospels more than at any other time of the year in order to more fully experience Easter.  This year, though, I have been thinking more about another Gospel story...that of the ten lepers, of whom only one came back to say thanks.  And why am I thinking of this story at this time?  I'll tell you why.  But first to refresh your memory...have a little look at this...

...I'll wait for you...




...did you watch it? You did? Ok...

Well when we hear this story I think most of us like to align ourselves with the leper who came back to say thanks.  Like in any story with a moral, we'd always do whatever it was the good guy did.  Nobody likes to think of themselves as the shoddy, the lazy...or the ungrateful.

When I started this blog, I promised my Facebook friends that it would be a Louise-Free Zone as I figured (and still do) that there must be people who are sick to the teeth of hearing about her, however inspirational her story may be.  I also wanted to write about other things unconnected to her...things my life's experiences have taught me...things I think about and then the home 'stuff' which is good to help uplift the culturally demeaned opinion of work traditionally associated with mothers and women and the homes in which most of us abide. If I write even in a light-hearted way about my many mistakes and flaws, it's not for the dirty-linen-washing value, it's for the sake of the lesson to be learned from them.

So that said, I am now realising that to totally ban mention of probably the most life-changing and profound experience of my life from this blog would be something of a lack of authenticity.  I haven't managed it anyway as she has been mentioned on and off since the start anyway, one cannot just compartmentalise one's life....this event to this Pinboard...this event to that one...that's a fault in our Western Culture which has led to so many problems...dividing the human person into parts as though they had no connection to each other...the body...the psyche...the soul...so much damage.  So while this most definitely is not Louise's blog, a lot of the lessons I've learned are as a result of her...including this one which shocked even ME.

Read on....

As you may know, Louise was diagnosed with two major anomalies in the womb.  A heart one and a brain one.  You can just imagine the heartfelt prayers that followed.  Actually, you probably can't because I would never have imagined the depth of pleading with God I was capable of.  I never cared as much before you see.  I prayed and prayed and prayed...please save her...please cure her...

I still accepted whatever was going to present itself on our plate but it's permissible to pray for anything it's permissible to hope for.  And my goodness, did I HOPE.  I prayed our little girl wouldn't die, I prayed the children could cuddle her alive, I prayed she'd survive her surgeries, I prayed she wouldn't be disabled...or disfigured (because the thought of people turning their eyes away from her in the pram in embarrassment  broke my heart) I prayed she'd be pretty...not out of vanity but because whatever she could have on her side I wanted that for her.  I prayed she'd have a tough personality and not a placid temperament too accepting of her disadvantage...I prayed that people would love her.

And while I was praying all these things, my human faults were fighting with me.  Oh yes, we were great, and super and brave and so on and so on...but I was honestly ready to put my fist through the face of the next person who told us that God had specially chosen us...as though Christianity was a computer game.  We'd reached level 10 and had now unlocked our new weapon...the disabled child...

I still don't buy the theory that God made our child sick...He allows it and I can clearly see the great good resulting from her sufferings, but I don't think He was rewarding us by breaking our child.  I really don't think that's how God operates.

Anyway...back to my pleadings with God...there were times when I doubted my own faith in my prayers.  I 100% believed that God could cure Louise...but I didn't think He would.  Because quite quickly I could see the good she was doing and I thought that maybe she was doing more good sick than she would do were she well.  Then I thought that maybe me thinking that was actually preventing her cure because 'If you had faith as small as a mustard seed...' (Matt 17~20) (the colon/semi-colon button on my computer is broken!)
These are all the meandering thoughts I had during those heady months and thank God for John who patiently listened at length to my faulty thinking and reassured me time and again that God is not sitting there waiting for us to be perfect before He decides what best to do.

So when Louise was born we were prepared for a very sick, disabled child who would require intervention to live and that any milestones she were to reach would only be with huge input from therapists of every sort.

What we got was a child
...who required intervention to live..
...who is not disfigured (her face-mark is not always noticeable)
...who is pretty...
...who is definitely equipped with one tough personality...
and who is not disabled.

And this is where the 10 lepers comes in.

When I returned from the appointment with her neurologist who told us he felt that Louise would develop as a typical child with no neurological problems....

...I cannot believe what I heard coming out of my mouth...

"If He was going to cure her wouldn't you think He'd have cured the thing that could kill her!"

It was such an ungrateful thing to say.  I didn't mean it. I'm so shocked that I even thought it for a second. I am beyond grateful for how Louise is turning out.  I know and remember every day when she spills or floods or gets at make-up that we could just as easily have been still trying to get her to roll over on a mat on the floor, or to utter her first word.  I am forever grateful.  But at that moment I was like the spoilt brats who spit at their parents on Twitter every Christmas complaining that they got a white instead of a black iPhone.

So while we all like to think that we would be the thankful leper....maybe we wouldn't.

You know the posts about thinking of what we're thankful for and then thank God for that?
I'm suggesting we make a list of the things we're not thankful for...and pray about those things.  And thank Him for all He does that we don't even appreciate and He does it anyway.

Maybe one or two of those lepers came back later? Who knows?

And finally, the wisdom of my husband who reminded me that doctors can do a lot with Louise's heart.  There would have been nothing they could have done to make her not disabled.  God doesn't do for us what we can do for ourselves.

Marriage Worth Protecting

I came upon a website a few days ago and this post which really grabbed my attention.  The title itself would grab anybody's attention 16 Ways I Blew My Marriage.  I began reading it and couldn't stop.  When I came to the end of the post I noticed there was another post called The Other 15 Ways I Blew My Marriage...That makes it 31 ways this guy blew his marriage...or make that two marriages.  Who would want advice on marriage from somebody with such a poor track record?  Nobody you'd think, but this guy has clearly thought long and hard about what went wrong.  It takes great humility to take the blame for something so sad and momentous as a marriage break-up.  Not many achieve that and spend their lives blaming the other person or at least excusing themselves from blame with the 'it just didn't work out' line.

I don't need to write a treatise on the problems and pressures marriage is facing in today's culture, both from within and without.  Marriage is fragile, just like us, made of earthen vessels, easily broken when not protected.  So how did this man blow his marriages?  Did he cheat on his wife?  Was he cruel? Nasty? It doesn't appear that he was any of those things.  What really grabbed me was just how small and simple are the tiny fissures which can shatter the strongest of rocks from repeated freeze-thaw-freeze-thaw action.  The damage isn't noticeable when the fissures are microscopic but when the rock shatters, it's too late then.

There is not one of us who can say we're perfect.  Not one of us has the perfect spouse.  We are all struggling through.  Sometimes (as is my slightly over-dramatic tendency) I wonder to myself what if.  What if  John died?  What would be the things I'd regret not having done for him.  Believe me, the list is extensive and I don't think I'm all that bad as wives go. But I know those are the things that would play on my mind because time can't be relived, I'd be so sorry for not making his life nicer at those tiny moments.  They are always small, but small is important.  Then...what if I died...what would John be sorry about?   Not in a babyish 'he'll be sorry then' way but what would he regret he hadn't done a bit better?  What are the would haves, could haves, should haves?  The list I've come up with in my macabre thoughts is a lot shorter than mine but there are things...and maybe the fact that the first thing on this man's post is also the first thing I have on my imaginary list is maybe why I read it to the end.  Because it is long, and I know that people don't like to read long posts (so I'm sorry mine are always too long!)

Marriage can be shattered by huge destructive actions like adultery and addiction but as you will read, what breaks more marriages is the 'small stuff'.  You know the phrase 'Don't sweat the small stuff'  I've never really believed in that philosophy.  Yes sweat the small stuff because it's the small stuff that counts.  Small stuff that build up love and security, both in marriage and in every other sort of relationship.  Sweat the small stuff...love the small stuff...because usually that's all we have to offer.

So anyway, when I got to the end of the two posts I spotted that he has mad them available as a printable pdf document.  I'm linking it here and I'm going to ask you to join me in printing it off and sitting down with your spouse and have a read of it together.  The fact that it's not your marriage you're reading about it will be easier to discuss what you can personally do together to make your marriage better.  Every marriage can be improved, every person can be improved and I think the rewards to be reaped will be more than worth the effort.  It's easier to recognise where we fail ourselves than to have another (your spouse) point it out to you. Husbands...make sure you read this too, the marriage isn't just the project of your wife...it's your responsibility to be the husband God has called you to be.

Here's the link to the printable version.

31 Ways I Blew My Marriage

Good luck with that and have fun.  Let me know what you think in the comments box.  I really am disproportionately delighted when a comment appears.