Lord, That I May See

Today, I ate a whole pear. All by myself. I savored every sweet slice, slowly and luxuriously. Sharing is over-rated.

In my daughter's eyes I am a hero I am strong and wise and I know no fear But the truth is plain to see She was sent to rescue me I see who I wanna be In my daughter's eyes In my daughter's eyes everyone is equal Darkness turns to light and the world is at peace This miracle God gave to me gives me strength when I am weak I find reason to believe In my daughter's eyes And when she wraps her hand around my finger Oh it puts a smile in my heart Everything becomes a little clearer I realize what life is all about It's hangin' on when your heart has had enough It's giving more when you feel like giving up I've seen the light It's in my daughter's eyes In my daughter's eyes I can see the future A reflection of who I am and what will be Though she'll grow and someday leave Maybe raise a family When I'm gone I hope you see how happy she made me For I'll be there In my daughter's eyes (sung by Martina McBride)

. . . happens when your toddler breaks your rosary -- your favorite, rose-smelling, blessed by John Paul II, especially beautiful rosary, that was touched to every saint's tomb in Rome, Paris, Assisi, and Siena. And it can't be fixed . . . I guess even a rosary is a material possession.

Could you say a prayer for us? My amniotic fluid leaked on Monday night. I was really frightened at first, but everything seems to be okay now. I hope it does not happen again! I am trying to do everything so gingerly now so as not to disturb the baby or the waters once more. But with a 30 lb toddler in the house, how do I rest, put my feet up, and not lift anything heavy? Hmmm. :)

I can wear heels like Mommy . . . and I can play hockey like Daddy!

What do you call it when, in the space of one hour, your toddler: --dumps her little pot full of pee ALL over the bathroom floor, your feet and her feet while trying to dump it in the toilet -- helpfully dunks the hand towel in the toilet and brings it sweetly to you dripping all across the house, saying "Towel! Water!" -- crashes her glass full of water to the kitchen floor where it shatters (they never seem to just break ) ?? Uh . . . . God must be trying to tell me something? About cleaning up spills?? Anyone have an idea?? I don't know. All I know is my back protested, my knees protested and my sense of fairness protested at having to mop up pee, toilet water, tap water and glass all in one hour while the toddler yelled "UH-OH! UH-OH! UH-OH!" at ME, cleaning up HER messes. Grr. Yes, I was a veritable pro at self-pity yesterday.

So, I still have 10 weeks left! Why am I already at "when's it gonna end?" point? I feel very third trimester-ish these days. My ankles are starting to swell the least little bit. My stomach is getting in the way of everything: shaving my legs, doing the dishes, leaning forward, rolling over in bed, holding Turtle, getting a close hug from my husband. I feel very, very heavy. I pant like an old woman when I push the stroller up a hill or carry Turtle for too long. I have to wake up completely to haul myself over in bed. I broke out the extra pillow for my stomach last night. My poor stomach cannot hold much food these days, but is hungry again so soon . . . Ah, well, par for the course it all is. I feel as though I do not remember all of this late pregnancy discomfort happening this early last time? It's amazing how I feel that my body, my muscles, everything, is protesting more strongly this time at having to stretch and soften all over again. How do women have 8 or ...

The warm, quiet sunlight and clear air of this feast day makes me miss you, Assisi, and the same golden sunlight that fell on your peaceful streets. I never used to take much notice of Saint Francis. But now, to me, he is a saint of cobblestones and sunlight, worn wooden beads and candles, fresh-baked bread and purple sunsets, deep quiet and the color of crimson flowers, the honey and rose of stone and the gray-green of olive trees. He is a familiar saint of good memories and of peace. His spirit and his love are embodied forever in this little town in Italy that I miss so much.

Thank you, my dear little Saint: -- for a clear, cool and sunshine-y day -- for a sunlit morning Mass all by myself -- for a husband with a busy morning and yet the generousity to watch Turtle for an hour -- for playing "I Hope You Dance" for me on the radio -- for helping Turtle sleep well -- for the porch steps in the sun -- for tea and pumpkin bread at Jamie's house -- for conversation that inspires and uplifts -- for saying (as if just for me to read and hear), "I experience great joy when I see my own imperfections," and also, "I forgot myself and henceforth I was happy." -- for a Daddy stopping by, unexpectedly, to bring me the rose from you -- lovely, fragrant and homegrown -- with even a bud for Turtle.