I was recently talking to a mother of two SGA graduates. As her sons transitioned to college, she marveled at their development of character . . . Once, during his first home break from SGA, she asked her oldest son to help her with the laundry. Without any comment or complaint, her son proceeded to gather up the laundry in the house and clean his own room as well.
Inferior schools talk about college acceptance rates. Before you put down your tuition deposit, ask the questions that really count.
Why is Church teaching worth standing up for? I’d be remiss if I didn’t tell you about the Theology of the Body Conference in upstate SC this summer – July 6th & 7th. I won’t make it out this year — I’ll be home attending a wedding, yay! — but I was able to go to Family Honor’s TOTB conference in 2002, and it was top notch. Speakers this year include Janet Smith & Ray Guarendi . . . you can’t go far wrong with talent like that. Check it out.
Hey and if you ever wondered where my header and sidebar photos came from . . . yeah, upstate SC has a few little secrets in those mountains. Good place.
My latest at AmazingCatechists.com: “Invalid or Illicit? Keeping Straight the Sacraments,” in which I have more fun than I ought, talking about my favorite, rhyming way to keep track of whether a sacrament is illicit, invalid, neither, or both.
What I owe the world is a post about the fabulous Ela Milewsak and the National Initiative for Adolescent Catechesis. That’s coming, soonish, along with an overdue book review (two here, one there), the end of the Kolbe series, all kinds of stuff. But this other fun topic came up in conversation this morning, and I couldn’t help myself. Invalid salad. I just love to say it out loud.
This week I learned that someone was in awe of me. I advised her to seek counseling.
Not actually. I did tell her she has a vivid imagination. That explanation makes it a reasonable mistake – imagine you knew me only on the internet, and furthermore had seen pictures of my home when it wasn’t that terribly terribly out of control — it could happen. You’d be deluded. But an honest mistake.
2.
I saw the most amazing floors this weekend. Clean. You’re chuckling now, thinking you’ve seen such a thing before. No. Quite possibly you have not. I hadn’t. These were VERY VERY clean floors. They shined. They were smooth underfoot. No tiny grains of sand (of course we removed our shoes at the door). No coarse edges. No lint. No crayons. Clean. And my daughter who babysits for this family reports these floors are always this clean. Always.
Now to my knowledge, this family has no cleaning help. They do have a new baby, a preschool boy of the usual energy level of preschool boys, and a homeschooled rising kindergartner. Yes, this family does crafts. Yes, this family eats dinner. Yes, the children are home all day. And no, the mom is not a powerhouse of non-stop energy. She is just a very, very, clean person.
This is what she loves. I think she spends as many minutes cleaning as I spend writing, and as many minutes decluttering as I spend reading, and those two facts explain her home, my home, and our respective literary outputs.
Other than that, we’re both normal people.
3.
Now if you have spent an evening in one of these homes, it is truly a marvel. It was relaxed and comfortable — the furniture was simple and unpretentious, the food was home-cooking, the children chased each other in loops through the kitchen, changed into 70 different dress-up outfits (actually just three, rotated), and there was the rhythmic thud of a boy jumping off his toddler slide onto a pile of cushions into what would have been the dining room, if these were the sort of people who were interested in impressing rather than welcoming.
Instead it was just luxurious. So clean. So peaceful (to someone used to preschoolers). Plus: Jello-Whip Cream Salad, green. And I did marvel. Wow. God made a person who loves cleaning this much. It is truly a work of art. A gift to the world, however small and humble.
But because I’ve known Mrs. E all these years, I wasn’t intimidated. She’s a normal person who happens to have this one gift.
So that was great, and now I remind myself when I’m intimidated by someone, that it’s because I’m only seeing some small side, and not the whole picture. And when I’m unimpressed by someone — same story. You know there’s another side that tells much more. Just have to dig for it.
3.5
Chickens. Just two. Strictly as pets.
Pets you can eat.
***
Well that’s all for today. Tuesday is Link Day for all topics, help yourself if you are so inclined. Post as many as you want, but only one per comment or the spam dragon will eat you up and I’ll never even know. Have a great week!
Via The Pulpit I discovered this great article at Catholic Lane on the morality of genetic enhancements: “Catholic Confusion on Enhancements” which is worth a read. I’d never considered the question one way or another (we have no genes we are particularly keen to improve — want of ambition, as always), and now I know. It’s not confusing at all — the Catholic teaching comes down to the old standby, if it ain’t broke don’t fix it.
But the cries of, “But I just . . . can’t . . . figure this out . . .” are so familiar. It’s the line used to justify ignoring all the most obnoxious moral principles:
Torture: I can’t tell whether I’m really torturing someone or not — I guess I’ll just keep at it.
Theft: Is taking this one small thing really theft? Who knows — just don’t tell anyone and it’ll be okay.
Lying: Is it really a lie, or am I just being deceptive? Well it’s a good cause, so why worry?
You might also recall willful confusion was used back in the day for abortion — is this really a baby? — but now everyone knows it’s a baby, we just don’t worry about the very little ones no one much wants, that would be absurd. Like worrying about little white lies and tax evasion and torturing people who surely deserved it anyway.
The most entertaining sort of pseudo-confusion is about NFP. Seriously, I kid you not, people will say with a straight face things like:
“I don’t understand how NFP and contraception are different.” Um, the part about not having sex, maybe?
“But what’s the difference between using chemicals or latex to prevent conception, versus using time to prevent it?” I think if you can’t tell the difference between sex and abstinence . . . you’re doing it wrong.
These are excuses. No one who is serious about avoiding immoral genetic manipulation, or torture, or theft, or lying, or contraception, asks these questions.
Excuses are different from honest inquiry. When people are really trying to find out answers, they act differently. Honest inquirers ask precise questions: Not, “I can’t know whether taking office supplies is stealing, I’ll help myself to this case of pencils,” but “Is it okay to make personal phone calls from the office phone? I’ll e-mail the new boss and find out what the policy is.” And then are prepared to accept difficult answers: If the policy is no personal calls, I’ll wait and call later.
Excuses are different from honest mistakes. A very, very common honest mistake is believing that the withdrawal method is a legitimate and morally acceptable form of NFP. It isn’t. But between some going jokes (now dated, but these things persist), the fact that no artificial devices or chemicals are involved, and the the insidious feeling that anything with as low an effectiveness rating as the rhythm method* must be okay, people get the wrong idea.
The answer is no — a very rough approximation of Catholic sexual morality would be more along the lines of “Don’t start what you aren’t gonna finish.” The difference between the honest mistake and faux “confusion” is that the honest man might grumble about being corrected, but he won’t sit there acting like he can’t tell the difference between select body parts and a hole in the ground.
*Withdrawal and the Rhythm Method are both somewhat effective for avoiding pregnancy, though I wouldn’t want to bet on them myself. The one is immoral, the other is not. History buff though I am, when it comes to having babies, or not having them, give me nice shiny modern NFP over the quaint forbears any day.
Today I give you seven reasons parishes, schools, and families ought to consider making some specific rules to define modest dress.
1. Modest is not only about interior disposition. I refer you, for a start, to this excellent post by Rebecca Frech on how guys are different from girls. Can a guy work himself into a sweat just imagining things? Certainly. But that doesn’t change the reality that having a woman’s body in front of his eyes provokes a physiological response — the same way putting a plate of fresh-baked brownies in front of a girl makes her . . . well, you know. Put the brownies away. Away. Please. Now.
2. You have to get dressed. Everyday. Modesty is not some abstract principle debated by philosophers and mathemeticians. Girls have to choose what clothes to buy, and then which ones to wear in which combination. This is not some theoretical exercise, like wondering what you’ll do if a hurricane should hit your corner of North Dakota. Either the clothes you put on today are modest, or they are not. You have to know.
3. It’s not fair to leave girls with nothing but judgement calls, and no hope of getting it right. Yes, there are many, many classy outfits on the border between modest and not. At home with mom, or in the fitting room with a trusted friend, you can say, “Yeah, that skirt’s a smidge short, but it’s a heavy fabric that won’t fly away, and with opaque tights and a sweater, you’re okay.” Given how hard it is to find decent clothes on short notice and a tight budget, yes, this is sometimes the reality.
But what if you’re a teen who wants to get it right? Girls deserve reliable guidelines — a set of simple tactics for choosing an outfit that will work. It’s no fair to tell teens “cultivate a sense of modesty,” but refuse to tell them what they need to do in order to avoid being gossiped about prayed for by the ministry team. Modesty isn’t hard. 99% of the time, if you follow a few basic rules suitable to your time and place, you’re gonna be good.
4. Clear rules help you better judge the judgement calls. Fashion is weird and unpredictable. Pretend for a moment you have a rule along the lines of “skirt needs to touch the knees”. Just pretend with me, it won’t hurt. It’s only pretend.
Okay, so we’re pretending about our rule . . . and now we have a skirt with a slit up the side. Having already said, “Well, this much leg is okay, that much is too much,” we have a basis for deciding whether the slit is revealing or just convenient. How does it compare with other skirts we’ve decided are A-OK?
5. Clear rules end arguments. If you’re the youth minister charged with deciding whether an outfit meets spec, you don’t have to use your imagination. You can say, “Shoulders not covered. Go grab a t-shirt from the supply closet. Not my rule, parish policy.” End of argument.
At home, of course, you have to admit you’re the bad guy and just stick to your guns. And of course your daughter is going to try to negotiate all the stylish concessions she can. But at least she can shop knowing that no matter how obnoxiously tacky you think the new sequins-and-puff-balls day-glow-bubble-skirt style is, if it’s below the knee and not too tight, and she buys it with her own money, you have to let her wear it somewhere. Not necessarily anywhere you, your family, or your nationality are known. But somewhere.
6. Clear rules give girls something to stand on against their friends. It’s not easy to be that kid who doesn’t get to wear what everyone else is wearing. Yes, of course girls ought to have lots of guts and inner convictions, and be totally unafraid to stand up to their idiotic “friends” and get new ones if necessary. Yes, of course a girl should rather face death itself than ever utter a single word against her honorable, admirable, eminently reasonable parents. But seriously? Give the poor kid an easy out. “It’s the dress code for youth group events,” or “My parents have a rule against it.”
7. Clear rules sharpen the debate. So your right-wing fanatic friend (or pastor, or DRE) swears that exposed ankles are the first step on the way to Hell, and that many a collarbone had led a man to perdition. Putting together a tentative list of rules, and then opening it up to scrutiny, helps better answer the question. You can flip through photos from the parish picnic and say, “Look, Sister Immaculata is showing some calf and it’s okay. Let’s up our hemline rule a few inches, I think the guys can take it.”
You have to get dressed. Every day, every woman in the universe answers a question with her body: “I think this outfit is just fine.” Why not do it with the confidence? Make some rules. Ask for input. Try them out. Adjust as needed.
The boy finishes his homework yesterday morning afternoon after a certain amount of, shall we say, boyishness? Calls his grandmother to say he’s free, please come pick him up to go play with the cousin.
A few minutes later: “Grandma says to pack a change of clothes in case I sleep over.”
Homeschool Mom alarms go off. Wait a minute — I’m finally being diligent, you are taking all day to do your work — and you think you’re going on a sleep over? And this is going to keep you on track for getting your work done the next day . . . how?
Ha. But I have a secret plan. “Okay, son. No problem. Do you know what a ‘security deposit’ is?”
— Conversation ensues. Assurances that you get your money back if the agreed-upon conditions are met.—
He’s skeptical, but relents. It’s either that or no cousin time. Still, the feet drag . . . hard to quite remember to go dig out the wallet and hand over $10 to She Who Cannot Be Trusted to Remember to Give it Back. (She who is somewhat untested on this point.)
I remember I still owe him for mowing the front lawn on Saturday. (Hence, trust issues — the HR dept. at this castle is notorious for late paychecks.) I fish out his $10 from my wallet, let him know that this is his pay, it’s going under Dad’s sword, and if his Thursday homework is completed by end of day Thursday, he’ll get it back. If not, it’s ours.
Before Grandma even arrives, there are already two grammar assignments in my inbox. Victory.
I feel like I’m living in one of those experimental labs at the economics department.
Thanks once again to our host Larry D. at Acts of the Apostasy, who has earned your sympathy this week..
1.
People have stopped asking when we’ll be done with school. The answer is: Never.
At the beginning of the school year, it sounds great when you say, “We’ll take breaks during the year, but it means we’ll have to go longer into the summer. ” This is, after all, one of our big reasons for homeschooling. The weather is better September through May. But come mid-May, even people in my own home start saying, “We’re almost finished with school for the year, right?”
No. We are not.
Calendar says we’ll finish at the end of June, giving us six weeks break before starting back, which is all I could stand anyway. At the beginning of Q4 I gave two big kids a checklist of everything they needed to finish, and specified that although they had to do Math and Grammar every day, they could do the other subjects in whatever order they liked, but they were chained to the desk until everything was done.
This did not cause fairies to come replace my children with super-diligent, homework-completing robots.
2.
So I predict we’ll be done with almost everything by early July, and certain sore topics by . . . much later. SOME children might be sitting NEXT TO the pool doing homework, while other children swim IN the pool. I’m not shouting. I am not shouting. I. AM. NOT. SHOUTING.
Totally happy homeschool mom here. Oh yes. No irony whatsoever when my 10-year-old armchair physician says, “I think we all have ADD.”
Yeah. Just maybe.
But it really is easier to do school after all the school-year activities have ended. Much easier.
3.
Why is it I do all my school planning on a day after a very productive school day? Causing me to write up plans I know will overwhelm us. It’s like packing. I should put everything in the box, leave it for a week, and then come back and take out half.
3.5
Speaking of ADD . . . we’re getting a new species of pets. Come mid-July, we’ll have to have built housing for . . .
***
Well that’s all for today. I’m having one of those, “Is it really Tuesday? ^&*%$” days. Return to substantial topics coming . . . oh I don’t know when.
Tuesday is Link Day for all topics, shouting and fake curse words not necessary. Help yourself if you are so inclined. Post as many as you want, but only one per comment or the spam dragon will eat you up and I’ll never even know. Have a great week!
Homeschool Planning: You Can’t Do Everything in which I talk about the trade-offs my family makes in order to bring our curricular fantasies down to earth, and put together a homeschool curriculum we can actually sort of accomplish, more or less. Also in which we discover I’m much better about wanting to study Latin than about actually studying it.
