Creating costumes and making memories

I was asked to write this post as a guest contributor for the Diocese of Arlington's blog Encourage and Teach. I'm sharing it here as well, since I don't come here too often anymore!

I love making costumes. I like sorting out who my kids want to be... the creativity of sewing, gluing, painting, taping... seeing my children's faces light up when they put on the finished product.

What I don't love is the process of finding the time to make them and getting myself sufficiently motivated to do so. Take this year, for example. Time is running out and not one costume has been completed. It's as if I didn't know the dates of Halloween and All Saints Day all year long. 

Despite the stress it brings, I do it not only because I love it once I eventually get started, but also because of my own wonderful childhood memories. My parents made costumes for my sisters and me when we were kids. My mom was great at finding pieces at the local Salvation Army, while my dad created from cardboard, foil, or paper mache.

I loved those costumes and the memories we made with them. And while my kids would be just as happy with ones bought at the store (which would also probably cost less!), I feel some kind of duty to carry that torch.

 

They're not perfect by any stretch. I don't follow patterns, I sometimes glue when something should be sewn, and I try to use what we have around the house. And that can be part of the fun. Especially when making costumes for All Saints Day.

Have an old brown t-shirt? You're half-way to being St. Teresa of Avila. A dress-up doctor's coat and stethoscope? Have your child hold a baby doll and you have your very own St. Gianna. Have some cardboard you can put to use? Cut out some armor and there's a whole slew of saints you can choose from.

We've gone with my children's patron saints in the past. My oldest, Clara, was first St. Clare of Assisi when she was three, and she still uses it for her feast day.

The costume might get a bit shorter (I know, nuns don't usually show their knees!), but in many cases you should be able to get a few years out of them. Especially if your chosen saint wears a flowing robe.

I copied a prayer card image of St. Maximilian Kolbe when putting together my son Luke Kolbe's costume, which is made almost entirely of Goodwill finds. And those blue stripes on his shirt? Painter's tape.

My little St. Therese - otherwise known as Esther - wore an old tank top of mine, along with various pieces of white and black fabric I had in my stash. I did make her a cross and roses out of felt, but you could also use silk roses and a real crucifix.

One of these years I'll get my act together and not wait until the last minute. Or I'll encourage my kids to dress up as saints for Halloween. Or find a costume that can transition from secular to saint overnight.

But sometimes they have their hearts set on being Thomas the Train and a ladybug, and you make it happen. And maybe, just maybe, they'll be so appreciative they'll share some of their candy with you.

Sharing my family and our joy

My life is kind of an open book. From back in the days when I would post our very emotional struggles to conceive on my infertility blog, to today as I share daily photos of our intimate family life on my Facebook photography page, I have always been pretty public.

We could have gone in the opposite direction. My husband is a television news correspondent and sometimes people in the public eye go out of their way to shield their families from exposure. I know some who do, and I get it. Sometimes I even question whether we should be doing the same.

But then I'm reminded of why we do it. We have a story to tell. Ours isn't unique, or special, or different than many other families. We're just a family, living our lives and struggling just like everyone else. But while the struggles are often the same, families are unique and special. All of them. And sometimes the world needs to be reminded of that. Sometimes our fellow families need to be reminded of that.

Pope Francis calls us to do as much. Just last week the Pontiff said that the unique joy that God gives to families and couples, in moments of joy and suffering, “must be witnessed to, announced and communicated externally, so that others, in turn, take the same path." And in an address to the Philippines earlier this year, he said, "Do not hide your faith, do not hide Jesus, but carry him into the world and offer the witness of your family life!"

My first thought upon hearing his words are, Me? I'm no witness! I can barely keep it together most days! Have you seen my house? But the truth is we can all be a witness and there are so many ways we can accomplish that. Right now, my attempt comes in the form of my 365 Project, where I share a photograph of my family's daily life each day with followers of my public photography page.

I definitely didn't set out to promote family; I'm doing it to hone my photography skills. And, naturally, my subjects are going to be those who are around me the most. But I include the good (daddy's home from a work trip!), the bad (the daily messes, or those adorable pouty faces we all see so often), and sometimes the suffering (we've gone through three miscarriages, two of them just since starting this project in January).

The feedback I've received has been very positive and commenters often remark about how they just love seeing our family. And when I post about adoption, it gets people especially excited. I love that. It's an added bonus.

No, we're not perfect. But when looking back at the 250-plus days so far, there is beauty in the mess. And I hope our joy comes through.

Honestly, it would be hard for me not to share our joy. God has blessed us with two beautiful daughters through adoption, and a son conceived after many, many years of trying. I am so in awe each and every day of God's work that I want to shout it from the mountaintops.

It's like the words that hang in the middle of a yellow paper sun on our home school room wall - "Let your light shine." The verses read, "Nor do they light a lamp and then put it under a bushel basket; it is set on a lampstand, where it gives light to all in the house. Just so, your light must shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your heavenly Father" (Matthew 5:15-16). I'm not so sure about the good deed's part (I need to work on that!), but I think of our light as God's abundant blessings. He has given us so much brightness, and I feel like I have to let it shine, to tell our story, so that it may glorify God.

After all, I'm a photographer. I love light. How could I keep that hidden?

Another baby, another loss

I had another miscarriage in January. I got the news, via ultrasound, one year to the day after hearing the same news at an ultrasound last year. Two miscarriages, one year apart. Imagine that luck. I'll never again make an appointment for the seventh of January.

No two miscarriages are exactly alike, but these weren't terribly different. And, once again, I felt God's presence very closely throughout. Our Lady of Guadalupe was also instrumental in this pregnancy, just as she was last year. This time I got the positive test on her feast day.

We were also again blessed by the help of loved ones. We were lifted in prayer by friends and family around the country. And despite living in a new town where we know practically no one, we were still brought several meals. One generous friend came by to help with the kids and cook us dinner. And another out-of-town friend sent pizza delivery long distance and arranged for her family members who live nearby to bring us food. I was blown away by the kindness, and on a practical level it was just plain helpful. And, by the way, if anyone reading this knows someone who is miscarrying now or in the future, send them food. Just do it. Even if they throw it away, they will know they are loved.

Today was the burial service. We traveled back to Richmond for it, and Francis Mary was laid to rest just a few plots down from his (or her) sibling. What a beautiful ministry the Knights of Columbus offer. I wish all families had such an opportunity for burial - a ceremony to help with grief, the acknowledgment that your child was real and matters, a place to come visit.

Obviously, I am so blessed. These two kids (plus their little sister who stayed with a sitter during the service) bring so much joy and busyness to my life, and I'm sure that makes my broken heart heal a little faster. But looking into the eyes of my living children also serves to remind me of what these two babies would have been, had they just lived longer.

No one will ever replace their siblings who aren't with us. Theirs is a void that will always be present.

So we go on (with me, in the short-term, dreading the due date of course) and we remember. I hate miscarriage, but I love my babies. And I'm thankful they were here at all.