Raising Catholic Children: A Parenting Guide

As a convert to Roman Catholicism and the daughter of a lapsed Catholic daughter of Catholics (got that?), not all of this Catholic parenting comes easily to me. Some days, I feel I'm stumbling my way through this holy life, but just as anyone can learn to be Catholic, so too can anyone learn to be a Catholic parent.

So far, I've mastered giving up ideals like equality and hope and understanding, and replaced them with fear, guilt and hate. I'm on my way, and you can be, too!

To become a Catholic parent, it helps to fill your home with lots of creepy Catholic things. Start your parenting with something simple and sweet, a nighttime prayer and a couple rounds of "Jesus Loves Me." A picture book with a fuzzy, teddy-bear cover also helps to bond your tiny, unscrupulous, idol worshiper to God and the Church.

Once they love Jesus, it's good to make sure the children have a visible reminder of their faith:

See that guy right there? He died a bloody, rotten death while his mommy cried so that you could be forgiven for grabbing that toy from your brother. If you really believe you deserve your cookies tonight, you may have them, but I want you to really think about it.


What's that you ask? What is that necklace hanging from the crucifix? That's only the Rosary, dear heathen child, something good people pray every day. The carvings on the stones are shamrocks, a symbol of our Irish heritage, which we celebrate because our ancestors nearly starved to death when a blight killed the potato crops, and then our great-great-great grandparents had to sail on a big, big boat to the United States where you now beg for McDonald's before you've finished your organic hot chocolate from Starbucks. How would you feel if you only had potatoes to eat? Hm? What about if the potatoes didn't grow? Still hungry? You want apple dippers or french fried potatoes?

Next, you'll want to reinforce those feelings of guilt and low self worth with a few reminders of people who are much better than your children. For example:

St. Francis of the Swiffer Wet Jet for Wood

Patron Saint of Hiding the Dead Spiders in the Corner the Vacuum Can't Reach

St. Francis of Assisi is the Patron Saint of Animals and the Environment. He died of an eye disease and stigmata, which is a condition in which really good people - really, only the best people - get bleeding, pus-filled wounds just like Jesus had when He was nailed by his wrists and ankles to a large wooden cross. He died while singing a Psalm.


I'm sorry you have the sniffles, honey, but don't you think you should recycle your orange juice carton? After all, St. Francis always loved the environment, even as he was dying a bloody, painful death while singing praise to Our Lord and Savior. You make your own decision, sweetie.

Another good example is St. Jude.

St. Jude is the Patron Saint of Hopeless Cases, which means even when God is sick of your shit, St. Jude will try to help. Lord knows why they gave him those cases instead of something better. The man was present at the Pentecost, the birthday of the Catholic Church, when the Holy Spirit gave all the apostles little flames on their heads because back then they didn't have sweat shops in China for tiny orphans to make those Lightning McQueen birthday party hats you like so much.. You know, some children have Holy birthday party themes. I'm sure someone could make you a Judas Iscariot pinata. You know, if you were interested. 'Sup to you.


I'm sure Jesus wants whatever makes you happy.


After the saints, introduce something sweet and cherubic: Angels! Everyone loves them, and they are available year round in the form of pins, wall hangings, bumper stickers and sweatshirts your Grandma buys God-knows-where.

Angels are special winged creatures of God who bring to our lives the music of Heaven and protect us in our times of need. Think of them as God's winged warriors.


Once upon a time, one angel fucked with God, sweetie, and things didn't go so well for that angel.

According to the Book of Charlie Daniels, that angel became the Devil, who went down to Georgia, where Johnny showed the devil how it was done. We are never to enter into conversation with the devil, but fiddle competitions are allowable.

All of the above will give you a good start as a Catholic parent, but there are some handy tools on the market to help keep your household Godly, guilt-ridden, and righteous. Maybe Baptists think it's idol-worship, but we Catholics say, "Phooey." Whatever keeps your children miserable is good enough for us!

My favorite is the Elf on the Shelf. He's a little Santa's elf who sits in your house year-round and watches your children and lets Santa know if your children have been naughty or nice.

Some holidays, especially those involving candy, can be difficult for children. It's important to motivate them not to become gluttons or thieves. Giving in to temptation is exactly like nailing Christ to a cross.

Place the elf in a place where children could get in trouble. For example, the candy-filled dining room.

The devil left you unattended candy.

No one can see you.

One little cherry-vanilla Nib wouldn't hurt anyone, would it? Would it be exactly like jabbing the hanging Jesus in the side with a sharp stick? Maybe, maybe not.

In a situation like this, a kid sure could use something to help make the right decision.

Something that appeals to a child's natural evil - the greed, the gluttony that overrules the desire for candy.

Christmas presents.

Not a saint or an angel or a son of God, but pretty fucking scary nonetheless.

By now, you're well on your way to being an effective Catholic parent. Any day now, you'll start working off those minutes in purgatory. God speed.

Indian Jones and the Fire of Truth

This weekend has been a treasure trove of unexpected delight. Really, I need to get out of the house more, so I can witness awesomeness more frequently.

Yesterday, I watched a presentation by a Native American chief, a man who frequently gives talks and demonstrations at schools and camps. He was addressing a mixed audience of adults, children and older adults.

He lives his life as a Native American, which is totally cool and has to be really hard around here because I doubt he has any tribesmen. Also? As a point of interest, he has blue eyes and freckles and could totally be telling the truth about his ancestors, or could totally be making it up. Anyone's guess, really. But who would call him out?

At one point, he was to demonstrate fire-making, using ancient techniques created by Native Americans before Europeans came and introduced the flint-and-steel method still used today in the modern lighter. He said the method he would demonstrate is backed up by archeological evidence, and he would not claim anything to be true if not backed up by anthropologists.

The method, he said, has been used for 1.2 million years by those, if you believe in evolution, who are our ancestors, Homo Erectus. (Which? First of all, hahaha! And, secondly, is not quite accurate.)

Evolution, he continued, is really just a theory, anyway, "a best guess."

"I believe that there was some alien intervention there, kind of like in the movie 2001: A Space Odyssey, where our ancestors were touched and given that spark, the ability to make tools and other things."

Hand-to-Bible, I thought he was kidding. By the confused look he gave me when I snort-laughed, I realized, nope, he 100 percent believes it. He is an incredibly convincing person. His demonstrations are compelling. He is charismatic and full of interesting information.

And? He believes aliens transformed apes to humans, and he has no qualms about sharing these beliefs with children.

Oh, how I love me some crazies. I certainly will peruse the newspaper calendar for future events held by the chief.

In other awesomeness:

I shit you not, the next two things I will tell you happened to me within an hour on Friday.

1. I went to a work event. The director of a local parks and rec program made a joke about her children, saying one knew how to ask for chocolate by 18 months. She said she had to nip that in the bud, for fear her second child would request marijuana brownies by age 2. #mynewbffandshedoesntevenknowit #thinkingofsendingherahaveanicedaybouquet #ormaybejustathankyounote #nahilljustbeuncomfortablyfriendlywithherfromnowon

2. I was on the phone with my mom, and she told me my much older relative, an adult who is twice divorced and newly single, has a boyfriend.

(Background: this relative had her teeth removed and replaced with dentures because she was genetically missing a bunch of teeth and she wanted a better smile. No, I'm not making it up. No, I had no idea that was the case until she told me she was having all her teeth removed, and I basically blew a gasket and rudely asked why the hell anyone would electively have all her teeth pulled out of her head. But in a totally respectful, non-cursey way that completely belied my horror at both her decision and her really freaky genetic condition that kept me up late inspecting the needlepoint family tree with a magnifying glass, searching for missing branches. She calmly explained nothing was wrong with her teeth. She just didn't think they were pretty.)

So, given the announcement that the cousin has a new boyfriend, I told my mom that I had guessed as much, because I spoke on the phone to said cousin on Easter. She told me she had a "friend" who rides motorcycles who was considering buying her a motorcycle. (I know.)

There was a lull in conversation, so I said what I thought we obviously were both thinking:

Me: I guess if, as a woman, you have all your teeth removed, men will buy you pretty much anything.

Mom: SARAH!


Me: What? You were thinking it.


Mom: *brushing it off lightly, trying to relate to me, thinking of a snappy joke* Well, I suppose women have to do that if they haven't reached my level.


Me: MOM! OMG, why would you say that to your daughter?!


Mom: *confused pause* What?


Me: OMG. I need to wash out my ears! That is so unbelievably gross and way, way worse than what I said.


Mom: I don't understand.


Me: *confused* Wait. What did you mean?


Mom: I was just being silly. I was saying that if a woman doesn't have all my positive qualities, she might need to resort to something like that. I was kidding.


Me: Oh.


Mom: Why? What did you think I meant?


Me: Nevermind.


Mom: What?


Me: Your response implied that you wouldn't need to have your teeth removed because your - um, skills? - are at such a distinctive level.


Mom: Sarah. Middlename. Lastname. You have a very dirty mind.


Me: *shameful* I know.

My poor mother. She's so well educated and sophisticated. She deserves a more wholesome daughter.

Gettin' Dirty at Church: Freaking Out the Methodists.

It's Ash Wednesday, time to go get ashfaced and freak out the heathens - er - Methodists.

PHubby has class tonight, so he's not going to church. Automatic Hell.

I have two choices:  take the twins with me to a service dangerously close to their bedtime (Hell) OR risk eternal Hell by not going.

Look, my kids know how to say the Hail Mary at 3 and say it everyday, so I think the big JC might go easy on me this time.

I have to go to confession anyway, as PHubby so judgmentally reminded me (dick), so maybe I'll just lump all my sins together. Hopefully, I can get a discount on rosary recitations. Two laps around the beads: done.

Still, I'm fasting. That should count for something - at least on the scale (woot for Jesus).

Last Palm Sunday, the kids got their palms and started pointing them at people and yelling, "Stupefy!"

It was about that time, I taught them the Hail Mary. She's the only one who can save them.

Been super lame about the blog because my grad school app is due NOW, so ... I'll be back later with a real post. With visuals. You've been warned.