I guess it was bound to happen. Last night our town decided to lose its identity. Read about it here. That's right, Tisdale will no longer be known as the Land of Rape and Honey. We've moved on from that. It was deemed too, um, well, innocent?

So what's next? What should our new slogan be? I'm not sure. Something better than "The Place to Bee." How about...


Tisdale: Land of Rape and Wheat


Tisdale: Sponsored by Co-op


Tisdale: Home of the Butts


Tisdale: We Have a Dairy Queen


Tisdale: We're All Family, Really.


Tisdale: Land of Peanut Butter and Honey


Tisdale: We've Always Been Huge Blue Jay Fans Too #Cometogether


Tisdale: Don't Blink


Tisdale: The Town Formerly Known as the Land of Rape and Honey


Ideas? Help us out people.

Thanks: Like Little Children

It's been a while since I just blogged on life in our little family. Sometimes the events and happenings of the world take focus away from what's really important. I could write on the (enter adjective) Synod in Rome, or the election, or even Collective Soul's latest CD. But it's good to sit back and watch life, true life, unfold right here and now. Oh life with our little boys.

Coca-Danny

I was pretty pumped to see my name on a bottle of Coca-Cola. Of course I just had to buy it. Stupid marketing tricks. They get morons like me every time. So I posed for a picture with me beverage of choice. Little did I know that a certain boy was about to photobomb the picture.

John Paul is a... SQUIRREL!

Becca and I were doing dishes and in walked, or rather strutted, John Paul. You have to understand that John Paul literally walks around like he owns the place. He strutted in and opened a cupboard door. Then he reached in deep, pulled out a sippy cup, took a nice refreshing drink, put the cup back, closed the door and strutted off again. Becca and I just stared in disbelief. I checked the sippy cup and it was filled with tea from much much earlier in the day. He decided to store it away for later. I can only imagine what else is stored away in our house...

Like Little Children

Lately the Mass readings have had Jesus telling the apostles to be like little children. As I was getting Joseph ready for bed tonight I was chatting with him about this. I asked him: "Why do you think Jesus wants us to be like little children?" Joseph thought for a moment, then gave a puzzled look and said, "I don't know." Well, a part of me doesn't know either. Truth be told, little kids can be the most self-centered of beings in all of God's creation. And as Joseph and I knelt down to pray, I looked down at him as he tiredly said his prayers dutifully. Just that, dutifully. Suddenly we heard John Paul running down the hall frantically. He came barreling into the room yelling: "Woswee!! Woooswweee!" (Rosary). Then he looked at Joseph and I praying and quickly got on his knees beside us. He remained there, with a look of utter awe and something you don't see very often in prayer, a happy happy smile. We finished our prayers and John Paul did his little sign of the cross attempt, and it was off to sleep. As I lay there with Joseph for a few minutes I asked him: "Did you see how happy John Paul was when we prayed? Do you think that's why Jesus wants us to be like little children?" Joseph quickly responded with a yes.

Oh those boys. They teach us how to pray, and also how to learn. It's amazing how self-centeredness can coincide with a complete absence of pride.

Thanksgiving

I had a little side rant with my students on Friday. I was talking about Thanksgiving and how we should actually be thankful. I laid it on straight to them. I told them that I ran many programs at the school such as floor hockey, flag football, archery, cross-country running and so on. Through all this, I can count on one hand the amount of times I heard a student say "thank you" to me for all this. It's not that I need to be thanked for it. I'm happy to do these things. It's just the lack of gratitude for what we have. But I told them that I was too often the same way. Ungrateful. Sadly, as our priest Father Mariusz once told me, long ago, lack of gratitude is a sign of pride.

But it's not all bad. There's one little girl at our school, now in grade two, who always made my day. She's a sharp cooking. She came into kindergarten already reading. Boy she must be bored at school. Anyway, every morning I would see her while I was on safety patrol. I would help her cross the street and she would always, always, say: "Thank you Mr. Millette. Have a good day." That might not sound like much, but you need to see this compared to everyone else. Mornings are hard for little kids. On safety patrol it's hard to get eye contact from kids, let alone a "good morning." But this little girl always was thankful for me standing out there and stopping traffic for her to cross the street safely. Her little "Thank you Mr. Millette", said so sincerely, made me so happy and, well, feeling useful. I can only imagine how God reacts when we show him true gratitude.

Which obviously leads to my most important point-insight-wellduhmoment: I am too often the child who doesn't raise his head to acknowledge the good Lord when he's out, in the 40 below weather, watching over me. I am too often the child so busy playing and having fun that I don't stop to thank the provider, Providence, for it. But we learn. Hopefully I am learning. Like being thankful that I don't have to do dishes anymore. The clean up crew takes care of it:

Ok, maybe not yet, but it's pretty awesome to see. There's so much to be thankful for. It always struck me that Eucharist actually means thanksgiving. It also always has bothered me that many in the Church here in Canada try to get people to stand right after Communion, as opposed to kneeling down and praying, traditionally called the thanksgiving. But there I go off again. Forget Synods, politics, Church politics. Or better yet, thank God for them. He provides me/us with so many opportunities to work for His kingdom. Yes, thank the Good Lord. Like that little child. 

SCCB Plug

You've heard of The Eye of the Tiber? The comedic Catholic website which uses satire to poke fun at Catholic, or 'c'atholic ridiculousness? For instance, did you know that Pope Francis, while he was in the US, had secretly met with Tom Brady and told him to "stay strong"? Well, did you know Canada has had its own mini version of the Eye of the Tiber?  (I realize every sentence thus far has ended with a question mark).. It's on the left hand side of the Society of Canadian Catholic Bloggers Website which is run by a former colleague of mine, Dr. Colin Kerr. He takes satirical shots where others don't dare to tread. Did you read about those CCCB policies that were prompting massive conversions? Or ever wonder how to be more environmentally sensitive when praying? Many a truth said in jest.

Anyway, his latest is a news story involving a devastating report of a older Catholic man punching up a younger Catholic man. Here's a quick snippet:

"I just asked him how he was! I was trying to get into my car to go to work when he started in on it. A twenty-minute long barrage about the importance of spouses affirming each other's uniqueness. Listen, I have been married for twenty-three years. I am a devout Catholic. I have seven children. I was not in the mood to hear all about the 'glories of the Domestic Church' from a pimply-faced teenager who has literally been married for three months! He was just launching into a discussion of the 'feminine genius' when I lost it."

Read the full story here:

It's ok to laugh. In fact, with the Synod going on, and a potentially disastrous election upcoming, sometimes all we can do is laugh.

The Not So Alone Catholic

It is ironic that to consider oneself a faithful Catholic is to belong to the minutest of minorities. I never thought much about it when I lived in Barry's Bay. While there life was Catholic as it gets. Sure there were differences. Some of these differences even seemed severe. Yet, looking back, I would take some of these differences in a heartbeat. There was the tension regarding how many decades of the pre-Mass rosary should be said in Polish (no more than one was my position). There was the matter of how much to support the Sacred Heart League so that they didn't feel offended by the Academy. And, of course, there was the never ending tension of whether or not boys who show up just as Mass begins should be allowed to serve (no way). All in all, it was a blessed time for me as a Catholic.

Now that I am back in Saskatchewan, a place that is home to me, and more importantly offers me something Barry's Bay never could (a well paying job), I continuously see just how the true Catholic life can feel like living on a far away mountain. Let me explain.

To be a Catholic is to, right from the beginning, separate yourself in a significant way from 80% of the world. Then, let's face it, the majority of those who are Catholic do not practice their faith. What is the actual Sunday Mass attendance in most parishes? 20%? 10%? Yet for those who do, our actual Catholic experience (Mass, community, and so on) is one that is anything but faithful to the Catholic tradition. Mass, for example, is often painful. Churches are filled with wanna-be-celebrities spiriting an aging hippy post-Vatican II modernism that, let's be perfectly honestly, isn't getting much better as the older generation passes away from this earth and moves on to the big Dan Schutte-sing-a-long-with-banners in the sky. Nope. Of attending Catholics dare I say most are liberal, hippy, apathetic, wishy-washy, uneducated, or all of the above.

Never fear, the Church is still big enough to have Catholics who know, more or less, their faith. But this, sadly, is where yet another hit is taken. Quite frankly we saw it these past two weeks with Pope Francis' visit to the U.S. Massive crowds. There were many many people excited as heck to see the Pope. Never fear, it's again cool to be Catholic and love the Pope! Yet what kind of Catholics are we to see this:

Where is our understanding of the Mass with this:

Whatever happened to humility:

Though it could've been worse. In some parts of the world (Philippines) it resorts to this:

In addition to all the chilling displays of celebrity-seeking, sacred liturgy be darned, cool Catholicity of the past two weeks, there was the whole Kim Davis meeting/non-meeting/encounter/encouragement/nothing-really-happened debacle. Long story short, many Catholics, even some employed by the Vatican, threw a protestant lady under the bus rather than affirm the obvious Catholic position regarding gay marriage. It's one thing if we treat a fellow Catholic like that, but to throw a protestant to the secular hounds? Very embarrassing.

Ultimately there seems to be a severe disparity with how I read the Catholic Church's position on liturgy, sexuality and making friends with the world, versus how it is often portrayed. In my experience, the Catholic life can be a lonely life. Why, in many cases, to be Catholic means to often be at odds with the local bishop. Wishy-washy is in. To be Catholic, in many cases, means to often have to fight for the most obvious of things, such as holy water in lent, or even a brief few seconds of silence at Mass.To be Catholic means to endure being yelled at in a church after Mass for having sung the Agnus Dei in Latin. In the end I'm left with very few associates who would agree with what I see as Catholic. The minutest of minorities.

And that's ok. 

The Church is bigger than what is visibly seen on earth in this October of 2015. The Church is all the angels. All the saints. All those who have lived a good and holy life. Even all those suffering in purgatory. Most importantly, the Church is also Divine. It is Christ's Body. While there have been times in the history of the Church that to be a true Catholic is to be in the minority. Think Arianism. Think Gallicanism. Think even the Minority Report which Pope Paul VI used when writing Humanae Vitae. The Church is far greater than what we see. So to be Catholic doesn't mean to run after the pope with a cellphone camera. Give the pope a break already. It means to study and live the faith, which is passed on through Peter, cost what may. Even if it means, God forbid, that we keep the cellphone turned off during Mass.

In the end, as I sit at daily Mass and look around to see only five other people in the whole community bothering to attend Christ's true sacrifice, what I don't see are all the angels and saints present. But they are there. Praising God. Proclaiming the mystery of faith. No selfie at Mass will show this. But they are there. 

We're never alone. Not on that holy mountain.

I love being Catholic.

These Boys

Our boys. I tell ya, they are sweet.

I don't always think that way, though. In the middle of the night, when they will not hold still, snore through plugged noses, and keep their parents awake; when John Paul has to be touching me or lying on me just to stay sleeping; when we cancel a Saskatoon trip for three weekends in a row because they get sick with their own almost finished cold all over again.

But, truthfully, they are pretty sweet. 

At four, Joseph is a little independent man. He is able to do so much all by himself: get dressed, get ready to leave the house, buckle his own car-seat, help John Paul get a drink or read him a story. Of course, it doesn't always happen that way, but he takes pride in doing things for himself and for our family. 

He has started stirring the soup (or other meal pot) for me as I dump ingredients in. For a kid who normally isn't totally thrilled with the idea of the soup his mother forces on him multiple times a week, he is so proud of "his cooking" and regularly goes back for seconds. With supervision, he peels carrots, sets the table, and sometimes dry dishes. 

I'm a firm believer in making kids earn their keep from a young age. That, or "cultivating pride in their own independence." Makes my life easier in so many ways, if I can only make it all routine. 

Joseph is totally enamored with the idea of school. Rather, his idea of school. I don't think he truthfully realizes that real school work goes on over there, with intermittent recess breaks and phys ed classes. Blame the fact that his Dad is the phys ed and music teacher. 

For a while, he used to pretend that "his school" was out on our front lawn and he and his imaginary friends attended there each day. But now, we have real school. Complete with teacher Mommy and a spiffy little backpack. 

We've made ourselves rebels in this town by not putting Joseph in preschool. Seriously, I don't know what all the hype is about preschool... and kindergarten. Let kids be kids. No need to prepare them for "real" school with other school.

But Joseph loves to learn and so some days he packs up his backpack with crayons, preschool books, and other supplies and makes his way to the kitchen where he politely greets his teacher (me) and sits to "do homeschool." He insists on calling me Teacher and when he inadvertently calls me Mommy he corrects himself, "Oh, I mean teacher! You're not my mommy yet until I come home from school!" It's really quite delightful! 

And when we don't have time for "homeschool" or don't feel like it, well, we don't do it. Truth be told, most hours in the day are spent playing Lego. It's great!  

At 18 months, John Paul still nurses, still sleeps with his Mommy, is still a Mommy suck, and yet has a mind and will all his own. He is stubborn, oh so stubborn. When we got out new shoes for him when his old ones got too small, he put up a huge, crying stink. He wanted nothing to do with them. So for three weeks they sat in the entrance-way and he wore his old ones until his poor little toe-nails curled back and big bad Mommy forced the new ones on a crying boy. He puts up a stink when he's not allowed to wear his coat, or his coat and sweater (because, you know, it's too warm outside), or his favourite shirt. Like I said, I'm all for independence in kids, but really? I want to pick where you're independent, kid (yes, laugh at me, it's good for me!).

I walked into the living room yesterday to find John Paul alone, armed with two remotes, and lounging against the couch watching TV. "What are you doing?" I asked. "DADDY!" he replied.

John Paul has the most adorable habit right now, which I really must catch on video before it's gone, of nodding his head when he means "yes". Straight up and down, impish smile, chubby cheeks, it's just so cute. He was laughing in the bathroom when he heard Joseph and Daddy laugh today, so I asked him, "Is Daddy funny?" Vigorous nodding. "Is Joseph funny?" Half-hearted nod, then vigorous head shaking. When we told Joseph, he said, "But I am funny!"

Joseph has been asking about having a baby sister. "Mommy, you and Daddy should get married again so you can have another baby!" This is how it works, I suppose. We have seen a lot of little girls or baby girls in the past few weeks and Joseph is smitten. He got to hold our neighbour's baby and didn't want to let her go. Meanwhile, John Paul wasn't impressed when I held the baby and insists "baby" while pointing to himself. 

Yes, both my independent "babies," these two sweet boys.