Tag: advice

A ruthlessly practical to-do list for December

If you’re a regular reader, you know I’m not going to tell you what trending decor you need to buy to make your house look both WOW and NOW for Christmas this year. I’m not going to tell you what you absolutely need to pull piping hot from the oven while wearing themed oven mitts in order to make your children’s life magical rather than tragical. And I’m not going to give you any tips for sculpting your bod so as to show up at the office party looking like that baddie everyone’s . . . mogging on. Mogging about? 

I’m old, I don’t know what I’m talking about. 

I do dearly love giving advice, though. So as it is Giving Tuesday, here is my best, most practical advice for how to have a pretty good December. (Some of this is geared toward big, chaotic families and Catholics, but not all.)

1. If you’re planning to give money to someone who needs financial help, do it ASAP. A splashy last-minute miracle is nice to get, but what’s really nice when you’re poor is knowing that certain things — a present, a Christmas meal, or the electric bill — will be covered. 

2. If you live on the dark side of the Mason-Dixon line, start taking Vitamin D gummies every day, and keep it up until Spring. It may not make a dramatic difference, but it may help you feel a little more energetic and less sad as the darkness grows. Gummies are more expensive than pills, but I’m far more likely to remember to take gummies because I am a big baby. 

3. For the storage-poor among us who buy a mountain of presents: Clear a corner of the house now, for storing the landslide of Amazon boxes we are about to receive. If you have to, stash your regular clutter in a trash bag and deal with it later. I’m not a spreadsheet person, so I keep a running email in my drafts folder to keep track of what I have ordered, where I ordered it from, and what has actually arrived. Or you could tape a piece of paper to the wall, and attach a pen to it with a string, and really commit to keeping it current. Just do something other than stashing things here and there and keeping a running tally in your head, for that is the path to heartache and lost presents and horrible last-minute trips to Target. 

4. If you just had a baby or you’re sick, you don’t have to travel to anyone else’s house. You just don’t. It’s a normal, human, reasonable thing to say, “Oh, sorry, we can’t do that” and just keep saying it, and following through. Let your [insert irrational relative] be mad! What are they gonna do, arrest you? If you’re the husband/dad, it is YOUR JOB TO STICK UP FOR YOUR WIFE LIKE JOSEPH DID FOR MARY. Protect her and defend her and ask her what you can do so she can put her feet up at least a little bit on Christmas, and really do it, even if you don’t get why she cares about it. Your wife is more important that your [insert irrational relative].

5. If you’re feeling overwhelmed about all the Important Traditions you have accrued, ask the people you’re in charge of which ones they actually care deeply about, and see if there’s anything you can weed out. You may be surprised. But also ask yourself which ones you care about, because your preferences also matter! But also, consider delegating responsibilities — and then preparing yourself to be okay with results that are not exactly how you would have done it. In any case, a group conversation about expectations ahead of time in a calm, neutral way is almost always helpful for managing anxiety and overwhelm about big plans. 

6. If you’re using NFP, get ready to see your weirdest chart ever in December. Stress and a poor diet and lack of sleep will do that. I have no further advice; I’m just telling you you’re not alone. 

7. Consider doing screen-free hours for Advent if you can. This year, we are doing screen-free evenings from 7-10:00, Monday to Thursday; and then Fridays are for family movies (and weekends are whatever). This routine really tamps down Christmas frenzy and gives us time we didn’t realize we had, to do nice things like read books, pray as a family, listen to music, do crafts, or just sit around and yack; and it helps some of us sleep better. 

8. If you have little kids who will be getting dressed up, sort out tights and dress shoes now, and put them away. Also maybe write on your calendar on Dec. 24 where you put them away. So many, many things will be going on right before Christmas, and shoes and tights are always the first casualties. If you care about what your older kids are going to wear, have them pick an outfit and show it to you well in advance. Consider not caring, though. 

9. Christmas light timers are actually pretty cheap, and they are so worth it. Time and energy spent trying to make yourself get up and turn on the lights, or get up and turn off the lights, is time and energy you cannot spare. Buy the automatic timer. 

10. Buy more scissors and more tape now, and hide them. But don’t hide them so cleverly you can’t find them. And buy batteries!

11. If you’re going to take pictures at Mass of everyone in their nice Christmas clothes, and you want them to look even minimally cheerful and alert, take pictures before Mass, not after. Not only will there be less dishevelment and sulky expressions, your conscience will be more likely to allow you to say things like “You’re going to smile in a normal way in the next three minutes, or you’re going to meet a helicopter of fists” before Mass than it will after you’ve received the Body of Christ. 
Alternatively, just lean in to the whole Terrible Family Photo thing. You are who you are, so why struggle? Think of it as doing society a favor, so other people don’t feel like they have to live up to a photoshopped, studio-quality life. 

12. If you’re going to Midnight Mass with kids, wear thick poofy jackets even if it’s not cold. This is more decorous than sleeping bags, but it serves the same purpose. 

13. Build the thing ahead of time. That Barbie Dream House is going to take longer than you think to put together. Consider setting captives free before you wrap them, by which I mean cutting the 496 little plastic loops keeping toys in place in their packaging. Kids want to play with their new stuff right away, and there’s nothing more stressful than trying to make that happen while they shout at you. 

14. Get to confession during Advent. Just do it! Do a lame, half-hearted, grumpy confession if that’s the best you can muster, and let Jesus do the rest. Then, whatever else is going on, you’ll be able to say, “oh, but we got to confession, yay!” 

15. Disposable goods are your friend. Think about Christmas breakfast. Think about the stickiness. The crumbs. The spilled drinks with pine needles in them. Christmas is a really great time to use at least disposable tablecloths, even if you’re not a disposable tablecloth kind of person normally.
Relatedly: A little eggnog goes a long way. Consider buying little shot glass-sized Solo cups to encourage more digestible portions.

16. If you don’t use reusable wrapping (we don’t, because I think tearing open presents is fun), make sure trash bags are on your final shopping list. Then when you’re opening presents, have one person be designated to grab the wrapping paper, give it a thorough shake to dislodge any Barbie shoes or instruction booklets or teeny little allen wrenches, and throw it away right away. 

17. This sounds dumb, but have a plan for the day after Christmas. Even the most spiritually attuned family feels a sad little let-down after a highly anticipated event, so it’s a great idea to establish some kind of relaxing “day after” tradition — something easy to achieve, like watching a movie or listening to a certain album. Traditions are very powerful for making people feel secure and cared-for, and the predictability almost matters more than what it actually is. 

IN CONCLUSION! Do as much as you can ahead of time, try not to be too hard on yourself, and get to confession. Happy Advent! 

 

My mother didn’t know what to say, but she knew what to do

Some people have mothers they could always go to for advice. My mother was not like that.

If she was speaking about the news, or about some cultural phenomena, or about people we didn’t know well, she was ruthlessly practical, and confident in her ideas to the point of brazenness. She was terribly articulate, somewhat caustic, and gave zero quarter to nonsense or sentimentality.

If you were in trouble, though, and you asked her directly what you should do, she would likely say, “Oh, honey, I don’t know. I never know what to say,” and she would wince and smile painfully and very clearly indeed not know what to say. You would end up wanting to comfort her, and the whole thing was just awkward. I did not go to her for advice very often.

Now that she is gone, though, I find myself imagining not what my mother would say, but what she would do, and I find the pattern very clear and consistent.

My mother would always pray first.

I don’t know if prayer came naturally to her, or if it was a deliberate effort, but prayer marked the beginning and end of every day and the beginning and end of everything important she did. Her house and her person (and later, her nursing home room and eventually her coffin) were crowded with holy cards, medals, icons, and spiritual quotes, not to impress anyone else, but to remind and redirect herself.

She kept and updated a blackboard of who needed prayer, and she frequently asked people to pray for her and for others. When dementia took her ability to speak and communicate, she could sometimes still pray out loud long after her other words were gone, and I can only imagine that interior prayer lingered with her, as well. Prayer seems to have been the thread that held her life together.

My mother would take care of people’s most pressing physical needs in the most direct way possible.

If she heard, or even suspected, that somebody needed something, she would instantly set about figuring out how she, herself, could supply that need.

Sometimes this was fruitless and frustrating to her — as when she eventually discovered that the “Nigerian priest” who was writing her heartrending letters was actually a scammer, or when the disabled neighbor who had “nothing to eat” in her house actually had plenty of food, she just wasn’t in the mood for any of the things she happened to have on her shelves; but it never even occurred to her that it was someone else’s job. If someone needed help, she assumed she should at least try, immediately.

My mother would start with the needs of most vulnerable person present.

She had a very clear notion of hierarchy of needs, and was thoroughly undazzled by things like money, popularity, fame, fashion, or sophistication. She would always instinctively give priority to people who society valued the least, and who could least defend themselves.

She wasn’t especially gracious about it, and she didn’t have any particular social skills — just the opposite, really — but this just made it easier for weirdos and outcasts to identify her as an ally; and people who didn’t belong anywhere else were drawn to her like a magnet.

My mother would try to preserve the dignity of the people she was helping.

She was acutely aware of how painful it could be to need and receive aid, and she consciously worked to avoid acting like she was the boss of people she was helping.

I remember in particular one time that a special needs friend who could barely take care of herself turned up from a meeting with a social worker with a birth control device implanted in her arm.

My mother went ballistic, because she knew this young woman had a health condition that made this form of birth control dangerous. Her first impulse was to “march Debbie down to the doctor and get that thing taken out.” But she reeled herself in, and realized that she didn’t want to be just one more person pushing this hapless young woman around.

I don’t remember how the issue was resolved, but it made an impression that she took Debbie’s personal dignity seriously.

My mother would try to learn from her mistakes.

She had a habit of poring over her past experiences and striving to analyze whether she could have done things differently. This was partially due to social anxiety, anxiety in general, and scrupulosity, but she also had an admirable dedication to humbly examining her actions and radically changing course when necessary; and she was very willing to say to her children, “I did this thing, but it turned out to be the wrong thing, so now I do that, instead,” because she wanted to spare us from making the same mistakes.

My mother said more than once that God would put people in your life, and then he would take them out again when they were too much. And I think she was wrong about that.

My mother wanted to be radically open to other people, but she let them use her in a way that wasn’t respectful to herself as a person.

It’s a fine line when you are seeking holiness and self-sacrifice, but I think her own lack of self-confidence played too great a role in the decisions she made about how much of her time and energy to let other people have. There is a difference between self-sacrifice and self-erasure, and I don’t know if she knew that. I wish more people had given her the radical respect and openness she gave to them.

I’m a little confused about the theology of praying to the dead. I pray for my mother’s soul, of course, and sometimes I pray to her, as well. I imagine that she knows all kinds of things that were hidden to her when she was alive. But really, the things she understood while she was on this earth are giving me plenty to think about. 

*

A version of this essay was first published at The Catholic Weekly on October 11, 2022.

 

Maybe you don’t have to do anything.

Some of the best advice I’ve gotten in my life didn’t sound like advice at all, at the time. It sounded like soothing nothings, like meaningless truisms from someone who didn’t understand what the problem really was. But in retrospect, it was the only possible course of action.

Take, for example, the time I complained to my priest that my prayer life was basically useless, because I was so distracted and couldn’t focus for more than a second or two. He smiled and said,  “Well, just keep coming back to it.”

This advice sounded so dismissive and simplistic at the time. But years later, I have to admit that there is no other advice. There is no trick or shortcut to prayer. As soon as you’re aware that your mind has wandered, just pick up where you left off, simple as that. Prayer is only efficacious because God is listening, anyway, so you just do your best and trust Him to make something out of it.

It was hard for me to see what good advice it was because there was some hidden arrogance in my frustration. I thought my problem was so subtle and complex, there must be a subtle and complex solution for it. But it wasn’t, and there wasn’t. I just need to get over myself and try again.

Another example is something that may especially come in handy to people who are, as they say, extremely online.  Are you ready? Here’s the advice: Sometimes you don’t have to do anything but wait.

This is more or less the advice my therapist gave me when I complained to him about a terrible professional bind I was in. Read the rest of my latest at The Catholic Weekly. 

Image by Antranias via Pixabay 

Why isn’t there more advice about raising teenagers?

These feelings of helplessness are actually a good thing, assuming you all survive. It’s a good thing to realize that you’re no expert, you’re no genius, you’re no bottomless font of wisdom. It’s a good thing to realize that your child is not a robot to be programmed, or an empty sack to be filled with whatever habits and preferences and traits and skills you choose.

What your child is is a unique, irreplaceable immortal being with terrifyingly free will and a lot less self-knowledge than he had a few years ago; and what you are is someone who loves your kid and wants the best for him, but is so far from being in control, it’s laughable.

Read the rest of my latest for The Catholic Weekly.

Image by Ryan McGuire via Pixabay

How to clean your Tohu wa-bohu

There is nothing I like better to read than plans, tips, and strategies for keeping the house clean and orderly. A large household in a relatively small living space quickly degenerates into chaos and disorder without constant vigilance and persistent rectification of why is this sticky. Can I not just once in my life sit down without getting all sticky.

So that’s why I like to sit there with my feet up, reading about how to clean.

I especially like the schedules that tell you exactly what to do, how often. You’ve seen these: mop up spills immediately, tidy living areas daily, deep-clean bathrooms weekly, scrub baseboards monthly, douse upholstery with kerosene, strike a match, and delight in the glorious inferno of the final answer to domesticity quarterly. I mean, “never.” Never even think of that. What is the matter with you?

The one thing I haven’t found anywhere is a guide for what kind of cleaning to do depending on what kind of guest you’re expecting.  It does make a difference, n’est-ce pas, you animal? From my Tohu wa-bohu to yours:

Female guests age 11 and up: Scrub shower curtain, because women are insane and are going to judge you on your shower curtain, even if they aren’t taking a shower. Decades from now, the master of ceremonies at your funeral is going to ask, “Does anyone have a memory to share of our extraordinary friend Simcha, who lived to be 106 years old, won the Nobel Peace Prize twice, and figured out how to desalinate ocean water with a simple wooden spool and a paper clip?” and that woman who stopped by to pick up a free typewriter you listed on Craigslist, and who asked if she could use your bathroom, will stand up and she will say, “Her shower curtain had mildew.”

Did you know you can just put the whole shower curtain in the washing machine? Don’t actually run the machine with a shower curtain in it, stupid; you’ll tear it to shreds. I’m just saying, you can put it in there.

Nice French Canadian ladies named Enid and Célestin who are bringing over a casserole because you just had a baby: Just have the baby waiting by the door. They are there for the baby, and the casserole is their ticket inside. If you want to make them extra happy, hang up some gooey picture of Our Lady of Maybelline. Note: Do not let them leave with the baby. Check their bags. Nice try, Célestin.

Any kids age 7 and under; and boys age 12 and under: Just clear a pathway, practice those breathing exercises for when they start tracking unspeakable things through the hallway, and make sure at least one toilet works and/or you know where the shovel is.

Priest in the house: Buy extra beer and extra meat, and crate the dog. Other than that, do nothing. He really needs to know what goes on.

Husband’s work friend: Meet him in the driveway and shunt him directly into the backyard where the beer is. He definitely doesn’t need to know what goes on.

College friends who always thought you were fairly dim, because you fairly were: Upgrade bathroom reading material. Aim for Lexile score of 1400 or higher. National Geographic is acceptable, as long as it’s not too wet and nobody has written “ha ha boobie” on the African parts. If you went liberal arts, poetry anthologies are a solid choice. No Magic Tree House or Animorphs. They wouldn’t understand.

Anybody: No NFP charts on the fridge. Come on. And yes, everybody knows what “I” or “*” or “:)” or “ha cha cha” notations mean, especially if they’re clustered around the end of the month. No visible cups of pee, even if there is a good and holy reason for having cups of pee hanging around. No boxes of test strips that say “HELPS YOU GET SUPER EXTRA PREGNANT MUCH MUCH FASTER!” Even people who love you, love your kids, and are totally on board with the whole “culture of life” thing are going to stand there, transfixed, their eyes darting back and forth between the forty-six toothbrushes you somehow have, and the toilet paper you’re forced to buy in bulk sizes that would shame an army barracks, and those words “PREGNANT FASTER,” and they’re going to think, “I need to leave before these people try to hide a spare baby in my purse.”

Hey, come on back. There’s plenty of beer in the back yard.

***

Image: sketch by Edward Lear via Pixabay (Creative Commons)

Five pieces of advice for pastors (and a thank-you)

Last week, a priest responded to the article “Five Rules for a Royal Bride” with a humble request: “I wish Catholics in the pews would write us new pastors and new ordained priests advices like these! Y’all help us to be men of God, men for others, and men that have joy in their lives! Send me your five advices before I become pastor . . .”

Can do.

Read the rest of my latest for The Catholic Weekly.

Image by photographer Matthew Lomanno, part of his visual essay North Country Priest. Used with permission.

Cheap flu remedies for the sick and broke

Flu season isn’t just uncomfortable, it’s expensive. In your quest to find some physical relief, you’ll end up paying through the nose for medicine and remedies. And your nose is already busy sneezing! Isn’t there anything you can do to alleviate the fiscal pain, if not the physical?

No; but let’s pretend there is for a second. Here are some tips:

Create a barrier. The flu is transmitted through tiny droplets that are airborne, so you can contract the virus simply by breathing in a space where an infected person has coughed or sneezed. So, like, Earth. Your only recourse is to make a barrier. Try taking a cotton swab and carefully lining your nostrils with super glue. Pinch delicately. For added protection, do the same for your lips. Also your eyelids and your ears. Feel better yet? What?

Clean your bathtub. Yes, right now. Use one of those “clinging foam” cleansers, preferably one known to the state of California to cause cancer, birth defects, and a profound sense of the cold robbies. Do not open windows. Do as many jumping jacks as possible, and then stand there panting and wheezing and drawing those healthful bleach molecules into your mucus membranes and lungs. Cleans you right out from the inside, where it counts.

Remember the dignity of your orifice. Find a hole, cram something in. Make new holes if necessary. I’m not kidding: warm oregano oil in your ears, friggin’ onions in your ears, some kind of berry nonsense up your hoo hah, what do I care. The main thing is to create what scientists call a “ridiculous environment” so the bad microbes will suddenly come to themselves, be filled with shame, and flee.

Isolate. Stand in the middle of the town commons and shout, “I think This Is Us looks stupid and emotionally manipulative!” You’ll become an instant pariah, and thus cutting your risk of exposure to almost zero.

Sto lat! May you live to be a hundred and never have to find out what elderberries taste like.

***
Image via Pixabay (Creative Commons)

 

So you got an Instant Pot for Christmas

Congratulations! You’re the new owner of a gorgeous, gleaming, rather intimidating Instant Pot.

It can be a little overwhelming at first. Not to worry! There’s an entire community of seasoned Instant Potheads who are ready and willing to guide you through your first few recipes.

A few of the most commonly asked questions are easy to answer. For instance:

Q. Why is there steam coming out?
A. Because you left the steam valve open.

Q. Why does my machine say “BURN?”
A. Because it is burning.

Q. All the recipes say to press the “pressure level” button, but I can’t find it anywhere on my machine!
A. This is because your otherwise intelligent husband has bought you a slow cooker for Christmas.

So those are the basics. Here are a few more advanced issues you might find yourself tussling with as you become more familiar with your new device:

Q. I’ve just made a savory dish with lots of onion, garlic, and cumin, and I want to make rice custard next. Will the silicone ring pick up the smells and transfer them to other foods?

A. If you have an IP Chachacha-9000, no, it will not. Your IPC9K is equipped with Olfactogard™ technology, which negates smell molecules by harnessing the power of snozz. You should be able to move seamlessly from meat to custard and back again, just like when you were young.

If you’re concerned, though, simply remove the original ring and stuff a sock up in there (black is best, but you know your tastes) and proceed as normal.

Q. Where is the best place to store my Instant Pot?

A. You can store it anywhere. Some folks may worry that leaving an Instant Pot on the stovetop is inviting disaster, and that one careless knock of the stove dial may melt your expensive new appliance into oblivion before you even realize what’s happening, but this is largely an urban legend. You’re different, and this will never, ever happen to you.

Q. I know the Instant Pot works by building up pressure under a tight seal, but it’s so hard to let my food cook without checking on it. Can’t I just take a little peek?

A Oh, you scamp! Of course you can.  Just make it quick and no one will know the difference. Make sure you put your face nice and close so you don’t miss anything.

 

Q. My Instant Pot is dented, but it appears to be only on the outside. Is it still safe?

A. Maybe, or maybe not. The exterior housing is largely to for structural, hygienic, and aesthetic purposes, but there may be interior damage that’s not obvious at first.

Test it for soundness by situating your IP with the dent facing away from you. Tap it lightly with a wooden spoon, listen for an echo, tap again, give it a gentle shake, then casually knock it onto the floor as if by accident, and then suddenly let loose, jumping on it a few times while sobbing, “You bastard! You bastard! I never shoulda trusted you, but I’m just too soft, that’s what’s wrong with me!” Then throw it out the window, pick your way over the broken glass, get in your van, and run over it a few times while the mailman watches with his mouth hanging open. Open the cover and whisper into your Instant Pot, “I’m just too soft, that’s all,” and shake your head while your nose runs into your apron pocket.

Pick up your Instant Pot and carefully examine the condensation collector at the base. If it appears to be misaligned, your IP is probably not safe to use.

Q. Can I do canning in my Instant Pot?

A. Yes, sure, because everyone wants canned food.

***
Because I’m not entirely heartless, here is a layman’s guide by Lisa Love with some actual good advice for newbies. Good luck, you crazy kids.

Kids have head lice? Don’t panic (and only panic a little over fleas)

Last night, I dreamt we had lice. I was dismayed, and awfully grateful to wake up and realize it was just a dream. But even in my dream, I was grateful that it was just lice, and not fleas.

Yep, “just” lice. I say this because I know how to treat lice. Short version: You slather the infested head and hair with Cetaphil skin cleanser and blow dry it until it’s completely dry. This suffocates the lice. Do this once a week for three weeks. That’s it. The long version is here, but it’s not much longer than what I described.  It works.

Head lice are awfully upsetting, but as vermin go, they’re eminently conquerable. They have to have a blood meal at least every 24 hours, or they die, and most die sooner than that without a meal (unlike fleas, which can enter some kind of vermin stasis for months and months, and then spring back to life long after you thought it was safe). They only live on heads (so you don’t have to wash every freaking thing in your house; just pillowcases and hats, if you’re being thorough). They are killed by heat. And with the Cetaphil method, you don’t have to worry about letting harsh chemicals seep into your child’s brain, which is already sufficiently scrambled.

I was skeptical about the Cetaphil method, so I also did nit picking with the kids who had the most hair. I don’t know if it was necessary, but it certainly didn’t hurt. I took the advice in a book about lice (which, boy, if you think I’m milking a simple idea to get a blog post out if it, here is a woman who wrote an entire book, when she could have just said: “OLIVE OIL”) and took the nit picking as an opportunity to spend some time with the kids. I know it sounds nutty, but how often to do you sit there for an hour with your child’s head on your lap? I bet it’s been a while. You just surrender to the idea that you’re gonna be picking nits for a while, and you relax into it. It really is kind of soothing. Tell stories or listen to music. Or, be all upset and just get it over with, your choice.

Either way, you can manage this. Lice are beatable.

Oh, and fleas? I know what to do about them, too! You use Precor IGR, which is a flea contraceptive. It doesn’t just kill live fleas, it makes them sterile, so they can’t lay more eggs before they die. It’s the eggs that get you, when you use pesticide. Precor is safe to use around pets and kids, too, and you can treat your house preventatively. It’s basically magic.

One last word of advice: Don’t look at too many photos of the insect you’re trying to kill. That’s how they get in your dreams. And I don’t know what to do about that.

***
Image by Harry Rose via Flickr (Creative Commons) It’s not a picture of a louse. It’s a picture of a flower who believes in you! You can do it!

No, Tony Esolen, you can’t cure gay with football

I think he’s fallen prey to a dangerous fantasy, almost a fetish, of what the world once was: A world where fathers are always good, kind, and wise, where women are gentle and nurturing but not awfully bright, where the sun was always golden, sheets were always clean, and most of all, no one was ever, ever gay. (And if they were, it was because they accidentally talked to a gay man, who probably got that way by … not thinking about showering coal miners often enough … hmm.)

So here’s my advice to you, teenagers . . .

Read the rest of my latest for The Catholic Weekly.

Image: Renee Olmstead via Pixabay (Creative Commons)