Author: Lucretia Cahill

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

I knew every moment of their day…now it’s all in a text

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

#21 Lenten Reflections

I was scrolling through the first 200-plus(!) pages of a journal I kept when the kids were little, and happened upon a daily schedule I drafted for Cora and Dexter when they were one and two years old.

I drafted it in preparation for the arrival of our third member of the “Irish triplets”. I had folded the onesies, unpacked the sun-faded baby Bjorn, scoured the toilets, and read “I’m a big sister/brother” books ad nauseam. Our cozy 1,400-square-foot townhome in Falls Church, VA was dusted, decorated, and definitely ready for Zavier. I pretended I was ready like I do before big things happen, but the unknown was as terrifying as it was terrific.

Luckily, our dear neighbors agreed to take care of our kids while I got a “night off” – I was excited about the hospital in Arlington where our charming Dr. Crowther from England was waiting for us. Her posh, polite voice sounded like the queen was monitoring my contractions. “Looks all good so far…Nice weather innit? Back in a jiffy”.

Here’s a snippet of what I left the neighbors…looking back I was amazed at how I knew every moment of the kid’s day…

Back then…I was pretty detailed.

I knew Cora loved peas and Dexter would forcefully spit out his sweet potatoes. I knew their favorite water bottles (yellow with red lids), and I memorized all the best books on repeat: Go! Dog! Go! “One big dog going…” –UP! “One little dog going…” –DOWN!

Then I blinked.

Literally, blinked, and off they went to school one by one and other people started guiding and teaching them stuff. Outside influencers! All I knew was what I sent them to school with and the “suggested” supply lists were loaded with things like Clorox Wipes, pencil pouches, and Skittles aka “smart pills” for good behavior. Let’s just say the Skittles did not make it to school. I was THAT mom who sent stickers instead. Soon you are simply picking up and dropping them off, reminding, yelling, and then listening before bed. As parents, we know everything if they talk to us or ask way too many questions if they don’t. Little by little I knew less and less of their lives.

Now… I don’t even know the classes they take and just learned their majors. When anyone/Dad asks me excitedly “How many hours are the kids carrying this semester?” I take a guess “Probably fifteen”.

Dad is their biggest fan, “Fifteen?! Well, that’s enough! They are workers! And their grades, holy toledo! I was happy getting a C in accounting and these kids are getting A’s!”

Back then, I knew their moods:

Now…I get glimpses into their days…a sunrise, or a note to say they are exhausted or have poison ivy, back pain, or a paper due.

They say good night…

Send mascara recommendations…

And sometimes they even take care of me and I get sweet messages like this:

What I learned:

As our children grow up, it is like watching a Polaroid photo develop slowly…letting a little light in as it begins to show the outline of a shape on the paper. You shake and shake that photo then realize that is what you have left, what you are holding in your hands. But this is how this goes? Every day with someone for 18 solid years and this is the ending?

But it gets better and I remember what wonderful Gabriel Garcia Marquez said:

“Human beings are not born once and for all on the day their mother gives birth to them. Rather, life obliges them over and over to give birth to themselves.”

  • ❤️Then
  • Now❤️
Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

Holding on to Childhood by a Thread

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

#20 Lenten Reflections

I wrote this years ago -I hope you enjoy it.

Since my son, Dexter was 16 months old, he loved laying his head on anything to rest. One day he raced over to where I was feeding his baby brother, Zavier. Dexter did the quick toddler stop and rested his head on my lap. At the moment, I had a burp cloth ready for after the feeding, but when I reached down to use it, my sweet Dexter’s head was resting on top of it, eyes drowsily shutting. He looked perfectly comfortable. So, as all good mothers do, I used my shirt to burp his brother. After that day and for years following, Dexter slept with, traveled, and kept it by his pillow every day.

The duck-printed cloth had been transformed into something special. Dexter’s “Burp”. That’s what we named his buddy. Luckily, when these particular burp cloths were given as a gift — it was a two-pack. So, thinking ahead, I squirreled away the “Back Up Burp” (another named piece of material), just in case “Burp” was lost. (Yes, I saw the movie “Mr. Mom” and knew we should ween him from a security blanket-type appendage. But, we can all agree that despite all the teasing from Lucy, Linus seemed to be just fine with his blue blanket in tow.)

Throughout the years, Burp got lost in the covers, and we’d hunt and shake blankets and pillows, always to find it tucked on the side of the bed, tossed to the floor, or swaddling his stuffed lamb. He found comfort in that little cloth. And quiet. And calm.

Dexter is bright. As a kid, he was the guy that would take apart the engine, and reassemble it flawlessly; find wood, whittle it down, and make whatever was on his mind. He would ask over and over for things his friends had, and finally, just made them himself. Like the trailer for his bike, lacrosse shaft, bow, arrow, quiver, rubber band bracelet loom, paracord bracelets, phyton-type necklace, bike ramp, small car, tent, longboard, holster, a belt fashioned from a bike tire, and, fidgets made from bike chains.

You see like most people, Dexter gets antsy. Call him a kinetic learner, busy, jumpy, or just a fun kid –or you can cram him into the nearly 12% bunch of 12–18-year-old boys who are diagnosed with ADHD. Whatever it is, he’s Dexter. Smart, amazing, and so cognizant of his need to strategize, move, and find comfort in who he is, that “burp” just became a part of him, and us.

As the years passed, Dexter got bigger, and Burp began to get thinner and more waif-like than a potato chip, so I decided I should swap out the old for the new. I was sure most parents and childhood experts would advise against it, perhaps saying I was encouraging a rare “cotton cloth co-dependent behavior.” Despite my thoughts, I reached into my “everything in my pockets at the end of the day” top drawer — pushed aside special rocks, matchbox cars, doll parts, and legos, and in the waaaay back, I pulled out a bright white cloth with yellow ducks ready for their turn in the pond. In its place, I tucked the now fowl-less cloth in the drawer. Truth be told, it was his ninth birthday. Yes, nine. Not months, years.

Fast forward three years — and after prayers one night Dexter holds out what looks like one of my dad’s handkerchiefs I used to iron — and asks, “Mama, will you please fix this?” I looked at Burp, looked back at Dexter, and said, “Of course I will.” After unknotting the frayed edges, soaking, and drying it, I began to sew. I was slowly piecing together each strand, noticing how much smaller it was and thinking about how much bigger Dexter was at the time. I finished and held it up as if it were a priceless quilt. I thought about the many memories in one piece of fabric, so much security, and love. I knew for a boy like Dexter who had been pining to grow up fast, buy the dreaded motorcycle, and play by adult rules, clinging to his childhood was just as important to him. So I thought, — I’ll mend, sew, stitch, and hold together as much of his boyhood as I can, for as long as possible. “Dexter, Burp is ready!” He came in quickly, said thank you, and zoomed out rubbing it on his face.

Thanks for joining me,

❤️Lucretia

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

Gifts from my sisters…

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

#19 Lenten Reflections

Mom and Dad have always referred to us, their daughters as, “The Girls”. Since I live the furthest from my dear parents I don’t get the daily dose of them, but thanks to my sisters, I get the gifts of stories and photos.

Here’s a sampling:

Every night around 7:00 pm EST I get a text from one of my sisters that says:

✅ Meds Done!

That means Mom has been called and has taken her medicine. My oldest sister usually calls Alexa with the camera where you can see/spy on the goings-on in the kitchen and will talk Mom through it. Thanks to my super caretaker sister, we have a perfectly designed medicine chart and color-coded dots on all the bottles to make it easier. When I call to help her, Mom will say jokingly, “Are you just going to watch us all day from that thing?”

Sometimes one of us will call the landline during “Meds for Mom” and Dad will answer hastily, so excited to connect everyone on the devices. “Hey! We’ve got Lucretia on the Alexa, say hi!” We all say hello in our sing-songy voices and then one of us says we’ll call back.

On Thursdays, I get a picture of a bountiful bunch of fruits and vegetables from the “Food Pharmacy” a program where local farms and my parent’s hospital arrange delivery of in-season produce for Senior Citizens. Something to look forward to and a healthy addition to their meals.

On Mondays, I get a report of how the Pilates class went for Mom. My sister tells us whether the cool teacher, Richard, was there or if the substitute, “lady” ran the class. The “lady” (as mom calls her) is not great or, in other words, she’s not Richard.

Note: I’ve learned change isn’t great for anyone over 75. This is why they still make agitators in washing machines, regular Coca-Cola, and ironing boards. Therefore, when a newbie tries to win the hearts of senior citizens who simply want to stretch their bodies and maybe throw in a plank or two, she better connect with them quickly. (Maybe she could talk about her love for clotheslines).

After Pilates, I get a picture like this from the Casino where Mom and Dad have breakfast with the “gang”, enjoy their free coffee, and then disperse throughout the casino to play their games of choice.

Here are Dad’s tips to make the most of their casino time: 1) Play only nickel slots 2) Each person starts with $10 3) Everyone takes turns and is supportive 4) If your $10 is dwindling, keep trying new machines with the remaining money 5) Leave immediately if you are winning big OR have spent the allotted allowance.

Finally, my favorite photos are when I see Mom and Dad doing the things they love like working outside or making chili…just like the good old days.

I’m so lucky to have “The Girls” and Mom and Dad and blessed with updates and glimpses into their day.

Thanks for joining me…I pray you and yours are connecting as often as makes you happy,

❤️Lucretia

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

What does it mean to be Real?

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

#18 Lenten Reflections

In the age of Botox and incessant social media, a story about authenticity might seem so 1900’s. However, my memory of the classic Velveteen Rabbit was jarred when I pondered my own search for meaning and what is real. No, I’m not going to get Botox…I mean, should I? No way. I mean, I’ll have three kids in college next year, and I don’t want them to forget what I look like when they fly back to the nest.

In the beloved children’s book, The Velveteen Rabbit, Margery Williams wrote, “Real isn’t how you are made… It’s a thing that happens to you,” In this story, the stuffed and somewhat feeble rabbit pined for connection, and love from a boy, but was tossed aside when other snazzy, noise-making toys were found under the Christmas tree.

Sometimes I have a Velveteen Rabbit Day and feel patchy, fragile, and a little weak in the joints. Those days when my gray roots are trying to take over the rest of my mop, or maybe I discover my jeans really are “mom jeans” or the moments I wish there was an epidural for standing up from the crisscross applesauce position.

That’s when I have to remember to embrace what is real — that sorrow is unavoidable, that joy is fleeting even when all the kids are home and laughter is nonstop, or when I talk to Mom and Dad and they are feeling “Great!”. Real is when time dissolves into quicksand and we must stand shoulder to shoulder taking one step at a time to make sense of the mess, together.

“Real isn’t how you are made,’ said the Skin Horse. ‘It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.’

‘Does it hurt?’ asked the Rabbit.

‘Sometimes,’ said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. ‘When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.’

‘Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,’ he asked, ‘or bit by bit?’

‘It doesn’t happen all at once,’ said the Skin Horse.

What I learned:

So even when we feel loose in the ligaments, and marred with physical and spiritual dents and dings, we should remember we are also in the process of becoming Real…but it really will take a long time.

Thanks for joining me,

❤️Lucretia

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

March Calendar – In like a lion out like a lamb…

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

#17 Lenten Reflections

Every month I prepare a calendar on a chalkboard and hang it in our kitchen. Many months I’m a little late and in mid-February the kids will look at the calendar during dinner and say, “Wow, it’s STILL January?”

I remember when Dexter was in elementary school and he would say, “Mama, what day is it?” Thinking I was teaching him to use his resources I would say, “Just look at the calendar”. Years later Dexter said, “Why would you always say look at the calendar when I asked you what day it was? I never knew where to look because I didn’t know what day it was!” Oops.

Heck, I was new to the mom job. Turns out he asked his sister who I’m sure said or rather yelled, “It’s Tuesday!!! Don’t you listen at school?! Mama! Dexter doesn’t know it’s Tuesday!” Ahhh, the good old days.

Here is a timelapse video of me creating our monthly calendar. It’s just a little something that gives me a creative outlet, reminds me things can be erased and redone, and helps me appreciate what we have to look forward to each month.

Here’s last year’s

Thanks for joining me and take care,

❤️Lucretia

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

Parents, you are dismissed

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

#16 Lenten Reflections

Today at my son’s game the pitcher’s mom arrived as her son finished warming up for the first pitch of the game. Flustered, she asked if she missed anything. My friend and I who are weathered moms and loaded with mom empathy, reassured her she was right on time and she didn’t miss a bit of her son pitching. Her shoulders dropped in relief as she looked up and saw her son throw the first pitch. The ball was hit and off it went over the center field fence. A home run. Oh s#$#! she said. We both said we were so sorry. Then she replied to the us and perhaps the universe, “It’s okay. That’s what happens, you just have to stay positive and get through the hard times. That’s what I tell my son.” Wow, she’s a calmer mom than I…she gathered her chair, leather bag with a baseball blanket sticking out, and her water bottle and headed off to cheer on her son. Clearly, not her first rodeo.

I mulled over the mom’s applause-worthy reaction and the role parents play as we wedge ourselves into our children’s activities, both financially and emotionally. Whether it’s a field or court, rink, track, or diamond, being a parent of an athlete is exhilarating and exhausting. Lord knows as hard as it is sometimes, we clearly don’t want to miss a moment of it, but sometimes we should probably consider stepping away to exhale.

Exhilarating for kids

Think about it. Sports are amazing for kids. The skill-building is endless. Teamwork, communication, winning losing, and having fun even through the rough moments. On my son’s team, they have to throw on their rain boots and transfer gallons of water off the baseball field tarp after a big rain…boom! Hard work! In the off-season, they show up at 5:30 every morning to workout as a team. Committment! Endless practice and extra hours at the batting cage build up their Dedication. They even print reminders on the back of their workout shirts like “Earn it!” or “Good Enough Needs Improvement!” just in case they forget they learned these priceless skills and must have them at the ready 24/7.

Exhausting for us

It’s all fun games until our kid is up to bat or on the blocks, that’s when the stress flows like the Ganges, but Mother Theresa is nowhere in sight to keep us grounded. Will they hit the ball? Will they reach for the wall first on the 100 freestyle? Will they return the serve? As parents we let ourselves live and die with every pitch, play, or punt. And how about the times when our kids sit on the bench? Or get disqualified? Or come in last? Or get replaced with a pinch hitter? Our hearts race and a steady stream of steam blows out of our ears.

As parents, we have no control…so will rituals help?

Call them superstitions, old wives’ tales, or a touch of Feng Shui, whatever the term, parents and any passionate fans have their reasons why they sit in a certain spot, wear a lucky shirt, or take the same route to the game. We truly think we are that powerful. Personally, I sometimes think filming our son while batting will lead him to strike out. Or if I yell something clever, like “Take a deep breath or Be aggressive!” That will send the ball soaring. But I have to do it every time if he hits or not at all if he doesn’t. I also know I will never wear my blue tank top with an American flag on it to a game because the last time I wore it, my son got hit in the eye with a ball. Call it crazy, or love, or ritualistic – mainly crazy.

There’s a funny story I read about a pitcher’s mom who, for years would pace behind bleachers, and cross her fingers while her son was on the mound. Once she actually kept her foot on a cooler for an entire game because her son’s team started losing when she took it off. She also was known to move people in the stands back to the seats they had when her team was winning or to new ones when they were losing. After all of the foot-holding on coolers and directing musical chairs, she finally decided the best way to truly relax at a game is to know you can’t do anything to change the lineup, the score, or the outcome of the game. It’s all up to the players and coaches- even though we don’t always agree with them.

I think back to when our kids were playing soccer and all the players took turns at goalie. Goalie. The last line of defense with a bunch of seven-year-olds charging for them. I could feel my heart race, my voice get louder, and my frantic pace speed up. Same if they pitch or have to kick a penalty shot or are the last leg of a race. Somehow, I make it about me. But these are not our games to play. They never are. We are their ride Home.

Parents, you are dismissed.

Sometimes we need to step off the sideline, climb down from the bleachers, fold up our chairs, and walk away. Some may feel living through their kids’ sporting events is an indicator of parental awesomeness. Gotta catch my son’s game, it’s waaay out in Canton. The bike race is at 7:00 am, and we’ll be leaving at 5:00 a.m! On a Saturday!

Author, Daniel Pink says “Compared to other parts of our children’s lives, sports are bizarrely parent-centric. We don’t gather in the back of algebra class and watch students solve quadratic equations. In music dance and theater, we don’t attend every single practice, lesson and rehearsal. We just show up for an occasional performance, keep our mouths shut and applaud like crazy when it’s over.” Imagine.

What I learned:

We throw out kids into “games of failure” like baseball and only want to see success. Any sign of struggle and we think we have to keep our children afloat, pushing bright orange water wings onto their arms. One for confidence and strength, the other for resilience and faith. But they float on without them and us.

Maybe if we remember sports are about the stories they tell and the friends they make and simply be their biggest fans in the crowd or from the car, waiting for them to tell you all about it. Good luck with that…

P.S.: To the level-headed pitcher’s mom – you should really stay. He did really well after the home run.

Thanks for joining me,

❤️Lucretia

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

Windy Days & Baseball

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

#15 Lenten Reflections

Last week (and tonight) it was a crazy windy day at the Lake Pointe Baseball Complex in Emerson, GA. As I sat watching our son’s games, my hair whipped all over the place. No hair tie. Which is rare for me, like most girls or women with ponytail-ready hair, my wrist dons at least one hair tie. But that morning during class, I had a 4-year-old student who found it comforting and perhaps delicious to suck on the ends of her hair. So I helped put her damp, yet shiny hair in a very high ponytail so she could sing along to our Spanish songs.

Anyway, as I watched pitchers struggle and fly balls change direction like the wind in a sail, I wondered how these gales affected the game. So I did some research and discovered a guy named John Farley, the Chief Technology Officer for Weather Applied Metrics (see this link for an information video). The company measures weather impacts on baseball (and sports in general) using Computational Fluid Dynamics (CFD) modeling, standard trajectory physics, and other meteorological analysis. In short, they study sports and wind.

According to Farley,

“If the wind is blowing hard, that’s the most significant impact. A headwind, combined with a downdraft, can shorten a fly ball hit to the wall by as much as 60 feet. A tailwind, combined with an updraft can lengthen it by as much as 45 feet.”

He went on to say since baseballs absorb moisture from the air “the difference in distance between very dry air and very wet air is roughly 50 feet. That’s because a wet ball is slightly heavier and spongier, so it doesn’t come off the bat as fast. On a hotter day, the air is less dense and so a ball can travel as much as 30 feet farther, compared to a cold day.”

I got kind of lost in the technical jargon, but if I had to play in the wind, I’d prefer a tailwind on a hot day.

Windy at Wrigley Field

I found an example of a windy day at Wrigley Field in Chicago.

Apparently, when the wind is blowing the field is considered a “pitcher’s park”. The better the pitchers, the lower the score. When the wind is blowing out, especially if it is a brisk wind, Wrigley Field becomes a launching pad.

According to The Philidelphia Tale blog, one of the wildest games ever was played in 1979 between the Cubs and the Phillies. The Phillies staked starter Randy Lerch to a seven-run lead in the top of the first inning. He never made it through the bottom of the first. Long fly balls turned into home runs. Short fly balls approached or reached the warning track. Flares flew over the infield and landed well short of outfielders playing near the warning track.

A parade of pitchers from both teams got shelled and watched ERAs soar. The Phillies finally won the game 23–22.

Players take on the wind: Look at the Flag for guidance

Larry Bowa, Phillies shortstop: “I remember the flag was stiff. After I left (Philadelphia) and played there (1982-85), I never saw the flag there ever blow like that. It was nonstop. Usually late in the game, it would stop a little bit.”

Ray Burris, Cubs relief pitcher: “When I would drive into the ballpark on Addison Ave., there was a business that had a United States flag on it. I would always check that flag to see which way that wind was blowing. When it was blowing straight toward the expressway, that was good (for pitchers). That meant the wind was blowing straight in from center field to home plate. Now it was going to take a cannon to get that ball out of there, but if it was blowing toward Lake Michigan, oh my goodness. It was unbelievable. That was just the elements you had to deal with.”

Mike Schmidt, Phillies third baseman: “There were days you played at Wrigley Field you couldn’t even think about a home run, wind would be blowing straight in. You could kill a ball and it would barely make the warning track and it’d have no chance. I’ve seen home run balls get caught at shortstop before. That’s what is unique and fun about Wrigley Field. When you get up in the morning and you’re downtown, you know which way the wind is going to blow from the flags on the buildings.”

What I learned:

It’s been one week since the last windy game and here I sit again on the third base line at Field 9. Rain is coming down, the flag is flying straight out and it’s about 38 degrees. The wind is whipping everything in site, the boys are on the field warming up and you would think it was a sunny day the way they are jogging around and yelling, “We love the cold!” I say a silent prayer that the one thing the wind (and coaches) can’t whip away is Zavier’s confidence.

I couldn’t be more grateful to have a destination. To be lucky enough to come and see my son play his last season of high school baseball. All I can do now is pray he plays, plays well, and when (yes, I said when) he hits the ball, I hope the wind is on his side.

Thanks for joining me, I am so grateful to you all-

❤️Lucretia

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

“Curiosity is the Wick in the Candle of Learning” – William Arthur Ward

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

#14 Lenten Reflections

Today when my 3 and 4-year-old class walked in the classroom, I had a live winter scene of wildlife on the Clear Touch Screen. Instrumental piano music played in the background as White Arctic wolves, foxes, deer, and an occasional squirrel ambled across the screen.

The video had 6,651,825 views. It was magnificent.

After the kids settled on the carpet in a circle, I paused the video and a solo hawk sat on a blanket of snow eating its latest meal. Oozing with curiosity, a bright-eyed, confident, leader in the class, Moriah, walked straight up to the Hawk, poised to ask a thoughtful question. She had a silver spacer to help widen her jaw for future braces lying at the bottom of her mouth. “Where are her mom and dad?” She paused. “Or is she probably okay by herself?”

Hmm…What do you think? I asked looping the question back to her.

“I think she’s okay by herself. Her parents may come back, but look, she’s eating all by herself. She’ll be okay. What do you think she’s eating?”

“Meat!” One girl hollered, “Cake,” said another, “Snow!” came the last guess.

Seeing as the videography of this scene was quite clear and honesty always wins, I told the onlookers it looked like it MAY be a mouse. I then decided to move on and not elaborate on “how” the mouse came to be the hawk’s lunch. I quickly began singing our welcome song in Spanish and everyone joined in, the hawk left to tend to itself, just as Moriah had speculated.

What I learned:

Play, wonder, not knowing, making predictions, letting kids figure things out, and teaching kids to observe their surroundings will all spark curiosity. Encourage them to ask questions and provide a safe space for them to thrive. Or just have them look up, and watch animals frolicking in the snow. That should light the wick in the candle of learning!

Thanks for joining me,

❤️Lucretia

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

Mi Madrina – Leap-Day Baby 1936

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

Lenten Reflections #13

On February 29, 1936, my Madrina (Godmother), Eddie Laura was born.

Last leap day, February 29, 2020, I called her up on her landline to wish her a happy Leap Year Birthday. She had just turned 84 and she told me she loved her morning walks, going to mass, and her cozy home by the mountains.

One month later, her daughter called me and told me she passed away. It wasn’t COVID nor was she ailing.

She fell. She was alone. I was heartbroken.

As a tribute to her, I revised a piece I wrote in 2020 about her undying love for family, faith, friends, and well, poker.

IMG_1288.jpeg
This is my baby book given to me by my Godparents.

In Leap Year math terms, my Godmother had 21 true birthdays. So Leap Day was especially busy for her. Let’s just say if an angel got their wings every time her phone rang on her true birthday, the halo business would be booming. I was among her callers who sang the traditional Happy Birthday and a few lines of Las Mañanitas, her favorite birthday song.

When I spoke to her last, I updated her on the kids and our treks from swim meets to tennis matches, and then baseball games. In lockstep, she reminded me to enjoy every moment of their childhood, because it goes too fast. “What are their ages?” she asked. When I said, 17, 15, and 14, she jumped in and as if reading from a mom script, said,  “Oh college is coming up, that’s expensive.” She continued, “It’s when they go away that’s hard.” I knew she was referring to the outrageous cost attached to college tuition, but I also knew from our previous conversations that her statement meant more. She was always very candid about being a mom and college approaching meant empty beds, smaller meals to cook, and homes that were way too quiet.

When we would chat, her sing-songy, NM accent reminded me of home and I mirrored it. My kids always say when I come back from Albuquerque I have a strong accent. I tell them it’s just English and Spanish finding their harmony. The beautiful words of Spanglish bring solidarity and trust to our New Mexican culture.

I listened to how Eddie Laura recalled life as a mom…stirring red chili on the stove, flipping tortillas on the comal, sewing, quilting, dancing, and caring for her four children. As she spoke, I could hear how quickly life’s pages turn. One moment, instead of going to baseball games or PTA meetings, you’re headed to airports to pick up your kids who are “just visiting”. I can’t help but think of how she felt that first Sunday morning at church when she didn’t have to look for a large section on a church pew, but instead, was able to slip in at the end of a row because she was alone.

She told me she prays for me every night and every morning. When she said it, I always felt my body relax. Somehow simply knowing that someone who leads with faith was putting in a good word with God for me – made me feel cloaked in love. To me, Eddie Laura was like one of those saints Catholics pray to for everything from gallstones to lost glasses. We know they have our backs. That was my Godmother. I knew her prayers for me were deep, no-nonsense, and true.

When cleaning out her home, my sister and her daughter found lots of little treasures around her home. Chief among them were poker winnings stashed inside a box of quilt pieces. Her daughter told us she always asked her mom how she did at the casino and Eddie Laura would reply, “I’ll never tell.” My Madrina knew what she held close, whether it was cash from playing Blackjack, memories from marrying her high school sweetheart, or the priceless days of raising her children. I was so blessed to have such a loving Godmother.

Feliz Cumpleaños Madrina may you be at peace up in heaven, perhaps dealing a hand of 7-card-stud on that massive Last Supper table. God Bless.

What I learned:

Chances of being born on a leap day are about one in 1,461, according to the BBC. In fact, some astrologers say leap-year babies may possess special talents and luck. I agree. When I look at the picture of the day I was baptized, I think about all my Godmother has taught me…

Cherish time with my family – knowing they will eventually live under different roofs; keep faith at the forefront; and hope our kids will thrive with credence, compassion, and kindness (and always find their way home — I added that one).

Gracias, Madrina.

Thank you for joining me and Happy Leap Day,

❤️Lucretia

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

Penance Service

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

Lenten Reflections #12

At the 5:30 mass on Sunday, the Monsignor said there would be a “Penance Service” on Monday night. At the time, I only processed the word Penance. Not Service. So on Monday evening as I walked to the church from th11e parking lot, I was chatting with my parents and sister on the cell phone. “Why is there a mass going on?” I said – mainly to myself.

My sister who excels in listening said, “You said it’s a service also.” “No way, that means a mass?” I said, sounding not very devout in my Catholicism, “Okay, I’m going in, any sins you guys want me to tack onto my list for you?” Dad said, “Just the standard sins”. I could hear my sister in the background yelling to my mom (who still doesn’t think she needs hearing aids), “Sins! She wants to know if you have any S-I-N-S she wants her to tell the priest!” Mom chuckled and said, “Not that I can think of, but say hi to kids and Justin for us.”

I signed off, “Alright, I love you guys, I’m off to find the oldest priest in there, maybe he won’t hear me when I say it’s been a very long time since my last confession.”

As I walked in, a woman was behind me and I asked her, “Is there a mass also?”

Sounding rushed, she said, “I don’t think so, I mean, I need to be somewhere soon.”

I jumped in, “I know, I thought it was just a quick in and out thing. Well, I guess I’ll go play it out.”

“Me too.” she agreed.

I stopped myself at the baptismal font, reaching the tips of my fingers in and reflecting on what I just said. I needed to reset. The reason I was there was to take time, ask for mercy, and try to be a better mother, wife, daughter, and overall being. I guess I better add “lacking devotion and patience” to my list for the priest.

Going to this Penance Service was kind of like going to a divine drive-thru and ordering Mercy with Compassion and Grace on the side. About 10 priests dispersed themselves around the church and waited for the lines to form. And boy did they form. Since I arrived a tad tardy, I was already standing by two chairs in the back of the church set up for confessional conversations. I was first in line. I sat down facing a kind young priest who bowed his head – my signal to start spilling the beans.

I actually kind of choked and couldn’t remember the sins I rehearsed in my head so I started with the line I memorized when I was seven, “Bless me Father for I have sinned…it’s been a really long time since my last confession.” Then I just started talking, both our heads bowed, staring at the worn church carpet. I closed with the best line I know when forgiveness is on the table: “I am sorry for these and all the sins I MAY have forgotten”. Covered all my bases. Father did some fancy absolving and blessing and sent me off with a penance and a gentle reminder to really try to go to confession at least once a year.

What I learned:

I left the church with a second wind, a big flux of dopamine floating in my brain. I felt a little lighter yet a lot more full. This Act of Contrition. Voicing my wrongs. Saying sorry out loud for being selfish or judgy or ungrateful helped tug me out of the marshy waters and back to Mother Earth.

Quotes I love:

“Forgiveness. The ability to forgive oneself. Stop here for a few breaths and think about this because it is the key to making art, and very possibly the key to finding any semblance of happiness in life.

I believe, more than anything, that this grief of constantly having to face down our own inadequacies is what keeps people from being writers. Forgiveness, therefore, is key. I can’t write the book I want to write, but I can and will write the book I am capable of writing. Again and again throughout the course of my life I will forgive myself.” – Ann Patchett