The Chicken and the Egg.

Sunday evening, the Philosophical Family sat down to a simple meal of pasta, salad, and hard-boiled eggs.

Bella (age 3) observed matter-of-factly, as she peeled her egg, "We arwe eating the baby chickens!"

To which Ana (age 1) replied, "BAAAYY-BEE!"

Miriam, the prescient 6-year-old, however, was not so sanguine.

"Dad, are we really eating baby chickens?"

"No, there are no babies in these eggs. They are unfertilized." Scientist Dad replied. "Do you know what 'unfertilized' means, Miriam?"

"Uh. No." She took a bite, refusing to pursue the definition of "unfertilized."

I could see it coming, and--after a prolonged but thoughtful munch on the not-baby-chicken--The Question came.

"Dad, why are there no babies in these eggs, but there are babies in other eggs?"

I did what you should never do: I giggled.

Scientist Dad did what you should do: "Well, what do you think, Miriam?"

"I have no idea!" She really didn't.

I stopped giggling and, as penance for my sin, stepped in.

"Well, Miriam, who lays the egg--the girl chicken or the boy chicken?" I asked.

Now she was back on familiar ground, "The girl chicken!"

"Who has babies--girls or boys?"

"Girls!"

"And if there isn't a daddy, can a girl be a mommy?" (Chickens don't deliberately use IVF, to my knowledge. Scientist Dad confirms this to be so.)

"No, she can't. There has to be a boy chicken, too."

"It's like that with these eggs: the mommy has the eggs ready for the babies. But if there's no rooster nearby, there will be no babies in the egg."

"Oh!" she saw. "I see! If the Daddy Chicken doesn't live near the Mommy Chicken, then there are no babies in the chicken's eggs!"

And that, my friends, is how it is.

I repented my giggle, Miriam got her answer, and the Scientist Dad enjoyed a good meal. Be ready the next time you boil an egg for your child. You never know where the dinner conversation will go...

Plato on the well brought-up child.

The well-trained child is one "who would see most clearly whatever was amiss in ill-made works of man or ill-grown works of nature, and with a just distaste would blame and hate the ugly even from his earliest years and would give delighted praise to beauty, receiving it into his soul and being nourished by it, so that he becomes a man of gentle heart.

All this before he is of an age to reason; so that when Reason at length comes to him, then, bred as he has been, he will hold out his hands in welcome and recognize her because of the affinity he bears to her."

How beautiful. How true.

All gifts that are given.

The most prevalent mantras I've encountered in the "parenting magazine" world have to do with "gifts."

"Gifted children."

"We need to discover our gifts."

"Moms need to have their own time to use their own gifts."

"Time! Talent! Treasure!" (That's from my "Catholic pew" world.)

"Everyone is special."

"Allow the child to explore her talents."

The idea is that your happiness in life is predicated on the identification of your YOU and then your freedom to explore and exploit these gifts to their utmost. This will result in a life "with no regrets," a "full life."

This is well and good, but the Philosopher Mom can't shake the question, "What about after the life fully lived?" It's a conversation stopper in most playgroups: "What about when the child dies?"

If all those talents are somehow financed and honed so that the child can excel enough to make a living from them, or even leave behind a "classic" for future generations of gifted children, what becomes of the gifted child when her skills grow dull, her mind weakens, and her body fails?

As a mother, I wonder, is there a danger that I am encouraging my child to place her hopes in a false promise? When the glory and energy of life have faded, how will my daughter find herself?

I do not believe that children should be taught to identify themselves solely in their gifts (anymore than we should tell them they are only their faults). The gifts are not an end in themselves; they are not the end-all and be-all of our selves. They are a means to an end and a tool given freely in order that the child might discover her true dignity and worth.

So, if talents and gifts are tools--beautiful tools, but still merely tools--then what is their purpose? Why do we work so hard to leave time for a child to enjoy herself and become good at a certain habit or skill? Why do we train them to do good works, to pray, to give?

The end purpose of all skills, talents, and gifts is quite simple, but almost impossible to find:

It is love.

All gifts will vanish. They are given and they are taken away. Only love and its free reward remains: "Prophecies will end, languages cease and knowledge fail, but love will never cease." (I Cor. 13.8) A child's talents and beauty are given for a time for the sole purpose of cleansing her heart and training the eyes of her heart: They exist for a brief moment so that she may behold God forever.

As we parents train our children up in the ways they should go, we must also teach them (and ourselves) that all that we do right now is a means. It is only a looking-forward to the things to come, which will never fail. If I am investing in my child so that she will have a brilliant career, a good living, and a vast array of skills, then my goals for her are short-sighted and beneath her true dignity.

Noticing that gifts--dancing, music, languages, teaching--are for a purpose beyond themselves is not to refuse to enjoy them. When the joy of dancing transforms into the joy of dancing for our Creator, when our dance joins the dance of the stars and all Creation, then the enjoyment of our gift is complete. There is nothing so thrilling for a physicist as the moment--and there may be only one--when his research breaks through time and space and touches the Other Side of the universe. There is nothing so lovely as the artist who has painted the face of a child only to find that her heart has become that Child.

If I help my daughter to grow in goodness and truth and beauty for no other purpose than that she might one day see her Creator and love Him, pure and without stain, then I am truly helping her to realize her gifts and surpass them.

Lord, have mercy. I think I need a glass of Merlot.

Nativity 2011.

The Word was made flesh and dwelt among us. We have seen his face.



And we hope to see Him again. Merry Christmas to all! Joy and peace and all that is good, true, and beautiful.

~The Philosopher Familia

Gaudete! and a new order is born.

In honor of "Pink Sunday" (I mean, "Rose"), Miriam and Bella decided to found a new religious order. Bella is the rich Queen who is giving all the money to the convent.

Miriam: "In our order, we have no blankets. Except for you because you're not really a sister, just the rich lady who gave the poor sisters money."

Bella: "OK. I like to have blankets."

Miriam: "Yes. Some sisters don't have pillows either, but in our order we do have pillows because you bought us some."

(silence)

Miriam: "That was grand silence. We are supposed to practice silence."

Bella: "Yes, but I want to talk about it to Mary."

Miriam: "Okay, we need to talk about the silence."

Ah, yes. We talk a lot about silence here.

That pesky sixth commandment.

Miriam and I were reviewing the Ten Commandments this past week. She's regulation-oriented and loves a good "To Do" (or "Not To Do") list. I didn't censor any words, had a headache, and was relieved when we got through "Thou shalt not commit adultery" without comment.

We finished the list, and she turned to me and asked, "Mom, what's your favorite commandment?"

"Oh, gosh," I mumbled. "Uh, I guess the first. It sort of sets the whole stage for the rest."

"Mmmm," she nodded wisely, glancing up and down the list. "Well, that's okay. My favorite is, of course, number six."

Oh, she did not just say that, I choked, "Huh. Well, Miriam, why is that?"

"Well, I just need you to tell me what adultery is. Then I will explain."

Of course. "Okay, well. You know how Daddy and Mommy are married?"

"Yes."

"And what if I decided I was tired of being married and left Daddy to marry some other guy? That would be adultery. If you pretend someone is your husband who is not really your husband."

Her eyes grew very wide, "Oh, that would be a bad decision. That would make lots of people very sad. And if Daddy pretended there were more mommies, that would be bad, too."

"Yes," I concluded.

"Well," she sighed, "That's why it's my favorite commandment. Because I love just one mommy."

At this point Belly chirped in, "Well, I would like to have morwe mommys."

And that, as they, say, is that.

Can a creature so beautiful...

... have come from us? Yes, yes, she did.

SHE walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that 's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

The Difficult Lesson.

We read whole chapters of the Gospels aloud. I let the girls color and play, and I just sit and read the words. I don't ask them to narrate the stories or sayings, but just to listen as they can while they play. Today we read Matthew 10. I didn't think Miriam was listening (she was coloring the Hagia Sophia and singing about the "barbarians who stole your tabernacle").

But she was.

Miriam: "Mommy, why does Jesus say he comes to bring a sword and not peace? Because, he is the Prince of Peace. I am confused."

That is confusing. So, here's what I tried for a little exegesis.

"Well, it is confusing. Let's think about Jesus' commandments. If we love Him, He says, we will follow His commandments."

"Yes," she said, still coloring and humming.

"So, people have to make a choice: they can either walk to Jesus in the light or turn around and walk the other way into the dark."

"Yes," she stopped coloring.

"I think that is the sword he might mean: If some people choose to walk to Jesus and other people choose to walk away from Jesus, then who has the Peace of Christ?"

"The people walking to the light," she nodded.

"Yes. But what happens if you choose something dark?"

"Then you don't have the Peace of Christ!" she was very happy now.

"And not having peace is like a sword?"

And we were both happy. This is why she's at home this year.

Miriam the Dominican.

Four little girls in pink and white, seated on the hardwood floor at the feet of their ballet teacher, listening with rapt attention to Angelina in the Palace.

"... and Angelina said, 'I won't make a mistake! I will be perfect!'" reads the lovely lady. "But, girls! No one is perfect, isn't that right?"

Noooo, three little heads shake.

Noooo, all the watching parents shake their heads.

Noooo, the ballet teacher approvingly shakes her head.

"That's not true!" says one little girl named Miriam, offended.

Everyone looks at her, the tallest girl dressed all in white.

"Well, I wonder..." begins the teacher.

"Jesus never makes mistakes. He is perfect." Miriam's eyes are anxious, but firm. Her cheeks and neck are flushed. I wince. I've been right there in her seat.

"Well, I wonder," says the teacher, "I really wonder..." She continues the story and it all brushes past.

Miriam sits stolidly in her rightness and in the immutable rightness of God. I am in the corner of the room, hugging my toddler, throwing graham crackers to placate the baby, and wondering... "I wonder.... I wonder." I wonder at the perfect Word made flesh. I wonder at the spine of steel in my little girl, and I wonder how it will all be for her.

Image source.

Blog is not dead, nor doth she sleep!

"The wrong shall fail, the right prevail, with peace on earth, good will to men."

That little jingle keeps going through my head whenever I wail, "But the BLAAWWG!" (That's "blog," in wailing parlance.) Things have just been busy around here, what with editing work (Yes, I have a side business! Let me edit your next book.), attempts to homeschool (now well-devolved into unschool), and continued physical therapy on the ever-improving back.

These are all very little things, punctuated every five minutes by even littler things: diapers, a spilled drink, a toothache, a phone call.

Before the demands of these littlest things, writing swells in my mind into some Great and Wonderful Work. If only I could sweep aside all these little, insignificant tasks, and Really Do Something. If only I could read that book I've been eying for three weeks, then surely Something Great would transpire in my soul!

I note my desperation. I recognize the frustration.

And then I can say, "Get thee behind me, Satan. There are no little things. Every task is different in kind, but not in greatness."

St. Josemaria Escriva writes,

"Do everything for love. In that way, there will be no little things: everything will be big. Perseverance in the little things for love is heroism." (~no. 813, The Way)

Amen. And now I must break up a fight over whether Daddy's birthday comes every year or every week.

With love.

Happy Birthday, Ana Therese!

Dear Ana Therese,

One year ago, I was induced at 39 weeks.

We chose to induce in the hopes that you would be smaller than your sisters at birth.

You weighed 10 lbs. and 10 oz.

Our biggest yet. And our happiest Cinco de Mayo ever.

But next time (Lord willing), I think we'll induce at 38 weeks.

Happy birthday, Big Girl!

Why 5-year-olds don't name their siblings.

Miriam: "This baby has a white onesie, so we will call her White Baby!"

Bella: "Dat Baby Doll!"

Miriam: "Yes, and we call you Belly, because you are so fat!"

Bella: "Yesh, I Yam!"

Miriam: "And, Ana, we call you Squishy, because you squish everything."

Ana: "Ng, Gah!"

Miriam: "But really we call you Sucky, because you suck all the time."

Things That Happen...

... when Daddy is a neuroscientist.

Monday: Daddy brings home a rubber toy brain for the baby to play with.

Tuesday: Bella cries, "Mommy! Where's my BWAIN!?!?!?"

Wednesday: Miriam comments, "My goodness, Ana, what a squishy brain you have!"

Thursday: Bella cries, "Mommy! My BWAIN rolled AWOUND!"

Friday: Miriam says, "The brain is missing! Bella took my BRAIN!"

Saturday: Ana chews on her brain for a good half hour. Miriam says, "Mommy! Ana is sucking her brain!"

Happy Day.

Miriam Gianna is four today. For her, this first half of Emily Dickinson's poem. The whole poem is here.

29 - Have You Got a Brook in your Little Heart

Have you got a brook in your little heart,
Where bashful flowers blow,
And blushing birds go down to drink,
And shadows tremble so?

And nobody knows, so still it flows,
That any brook is there;
And yet your little draught of life
Is daily drunken there.