Sunday Morning Circus

Erin's job, as Director of Religious Education at our Parish, requires her to be out of the house Sunday morning. No problem. I got this. A loaded bottle, Sesame Street, a few tylenol, and its go time...I lost.

So what went wrong? Well, it all started with Karis playing the "spoon game". The "spoon game" refers to her throwing yogurt covered spoons accross the kitchen. She knows the stakes are high, but it's worth it. Playing the "spoon game" can mean time-outs or spankings, but Karis believes that's a small price to pay for the delightful look of approval on Grace's face as I mop up yogurt from the floor (and counter, sink, and fridge). Did I mention I do all this one handed since I'm holding Wells with the other? I think the image of me hunched over with back pain makes the game all the more enjoyable for the girls.

So...after a few time outs, I issued Karis a final warning not to do it again. As soon as I turn my back, however, Grace whispered in her ear. Now, if you've ever heard a four year old whisper, you know they're not very good at it. Everybody can hear. It's more like a different voice they use then a true whisper. Grace said, "Karis, throw your spoon again." Karis immediately obeyed. Having heard the whole exchange I told Grace to go to her room immediately. At this point, Grace lost it.

I don't know what was so devastating in her four year old world that caused the outburst (maybe she was outraged I heard her secret), but it was one of the worst ever. I had to put Wells down to deal with her. In a matter of a few seconds he transitioned from a peaceful sleep into a tortured scream. In a panic I went looking for his bottle which seemed to have gotten sucked into a black hole. It was nowhere to be found. It turned up in the shower 48 hours later. I must admit that I do have vague memories of attempting to sedate him with hot steam, but these memories didn't surface until after I rediscovered it. Nonetheless he was screaming his head off for the next hour.

As I attempted to calm Grace down from her fit it occured to me that I have three children now, not two. After doing a quick head count, it was clear that Karis was the missing party. I began searching for her in all the usual places. When I found her she had a mysterious orange jell all over her face. I promptly began investigaing, "Karis, what have you been doing?" I'll never forget her response. "Just drinking medicine." I quickly dialed 9-11. "My daughter just drank half a bottle of children's ibuprofen." Their response was unexpected - "what"? Forgetting that all of my children were screaming in a unified chorus of protest at my failed parenting I repeated myself in normal volume. After being asked for clarificaion again I realized their deafening screams were the problem. Hopefully Grace and Karis will never remember me covering the phone and shouting with a bright red face, "BE QUIET NOW!!! EVERYBODY, PLEASE STOP SCREAMING. STOP PRODUCING SOUND. KARIS HAS POISONED HERSELF AND I NEED TO KNOW WHAT TO DO."

I took off work yesterday to recover. We're all doing much better now. Karis is fine. Love you all.

Jerry W. Tate

On September 24th Erin gave birth to our first son, Jerry Wells Tate. He will go by "Wells". Becoming a dad to a son has led me to spend countless hours over the past two weeks reflecting on my own father, "Jerry Wayne Tate." The two Jerry's already have a great deal in common; same name, similar hair cut, occasional gas problems, dramatic mood swings when hungry, unexpected naps, ect.

I hope my little Jerry will experience all the blessings from me that I experienced from my dad, Big Jerry, growing up. I remember having my manhood tested at the young age of three when my dad would wrestle with me on the floor. I remember the proud look on his face when I made a great catch in backyard footall. I remember laughing hysterically when he read Patrick Mcmanus stories to me before bed. I remember him fixing my fishing pole while I'd use his (and quickly break it as well). I remember the smell of his coffee as we would drive to our favorite fishing hole in the dark. I remember his smiling face on August 14th, 2004, as Erin and I exchanged wedding vows. Consistent, reliable, honorable. These words describe my dad. He taught me what it means to be a man.

My dad left me a hard act to follow, but I think Wells will be extremely blessed if I can be half the dad to him as Big Jerry has been to me. Many theologians recognize a dad's unique role in shapping our conception of God as a Father to us. My earthly father has helped me believe in the reality of the heavenly Father described in Scripture. Jerry Tate made the idea of an all loving, patient, consistent, reliable, and forgiving heavenly Father, believable to me. Thank you dad. I love you. Alaska 2016 (you, me, and Wells). It's on!

The Magical Kingdom

For Grace's 4th birthday Erin and I decided to go all out. We took Grace to Disney World. We didn't tell her that we were going until after her birthday dinner when Erin presented her with a beautiful Cinderella cake. The glow on my sweet girls face when she found out where she was going will make me smile for years to come. To make the gift even more special, she found out that she was going on the trip with her way cool older cousin Taylor Rose, and her super cute little cousin, Billy.

After a not so quick departure I found myself in the back seat of my sister Sara's mini-van. My brother in law, Mike, did a great job making up time on the way there as he managed to tick several minutes off of our GPS predicted arrival time (that's how you know a good driver). I should also mention how strange it was to be sitting in the back seat while Mike drove the van. Picture the contrast; Jeremy - in the back playing Barby's and watching Cinderella. Mike - peacefully sipping on coffee while at the same time communicating to all drivers around him, "cut me off and it will be the end of you." Why did I have to get the brother in law that could easily be cast in Terminator IV? I had no issues with my manhood until Big Mike came around. My wife, Erin, only makes it worse... "Oh... you worked-out with Mike, can you even lift half as much as him?...His biceps are bigger than your legs..."

So anyway, we arrived. Kind of. We still had to take three different trains and park with 10 million other people before actually entering into the Magical Kingdom itself. Now...You might be wondering why they call this Kingdom "Magical"? Well, for starters, when you enter the Magical Kingdom you first have to hand over your entire life savings to a sweaty guy wearing a pink Micky Mouse shirt. This process creates a rush of blood to the head which magnifies the effects of entering the resort. It puts visitors into a sort of trance where they immediately become convinced today will be the best day ever and nothing else matters. My life savings came up short of course, but after bartering with Erin's wedding ring, my shirt, and any prizes Grace might win during her visit, they let us in the gates.

Immediately, Grace's eyes lit up as we pointed out Cinderella's Castle. Free of all material possessions I was able to focus completely on my daughter's delight. She really was captivated, it was pretty cool. I picked her up and together we took it in. Then, in the middle of our little moment a frightfully wicked laugh boomed out of every microphone in the Magical Kingdom. In a second Grace's face changed from awe and wonder to terror and fear. Then, at the height of her fear, a witch, Maleficent, yes, that is literally her name (she's the crazy looking demon woman up above), jumped up onto the steps of Cinderella's Castle. The exact place Grace had pictured herself playing, Cinderella's steps, the place Cinderella lost her glass slipper, had become her nightmare. The rest of the day she wanted to know her exact proximity from "The Castle" (she would no longer call it "Cinderella's" Castle for it had been taken over by a Witch)

As the day progressed, we went on a total of three rides. As Mike pointed out to me, this broke down to $80.00 per ride. We rode race cars, flew on Dumbo, and flew on Aladdin.

As I think about the day though, we actually had a great time, despite the disappointments.

Instead of having fun on rides, we had fun just being together. Sara and I found it hysterical to see parents so obsessed with getting their money's worth that they were literally dragging sleeping children into lines two hours long. I was amazed to see my 8 year old niece, Taylor-Rose, spend her entire day waiting in line for little kid rides without complaining once. I was amazed to hear my wife explain to my daughter the fun of make believe. She explained to Grace that Maleficent was a normal person who just puts on a costume for work. I didn't buy into her explanation myself of course (normal people generally do not commit their life's work to frightening children), but I was glad her words were able to comfort Grace.

In the end though, I think I also realized that the fear is good. When I was a kid I had a similar experience to Grace involving the Big Bad Wolf. I'll never forget it. Although I was terrified at the time, I think it made my own experience (to Disney Land) that much more real. After all, who would Peter Pan be without Captain Hook? Who would Cinderella be without her evil stepmother? In order for kids to really love their hero, they have to be afraid of their nemesis.

I think it's the same way with us as adults in our faith. I've written this whole blog entry preoccupied with tomorrow being good Friday and wondering if we'll be able to find a place to stop on our drive back to Maryland to celebrate Christ's death. I realize though that Good Friday has no meaning if we're not afraid of dying, sin, the forces of evil, or judgement. Originally, I was sad that Grace was so afraid by what she saw. But honestly, she left Disney World loving loving Cinderella and Snow White more than ever. I think she understands now, at a deeper level, the goodness because she had to see the darkness. May it be the same for us on Good Friday as well.

Love you guys!

Why the Catholic Church?

For months I imagined posting a blog where I laid out a big theological argument for Catholicism and why I have been drawn to the Catholic Church. Now, however, thanks to what I have gleamed from the wisdom of my wife, I simply want to focus on Christ. I want to focus on the fullness of Christ and that which I never would have seen without the Catholic Church.

Far from "Silent Night" or snow covered fields of majestic stillness, the birth of Jesus teaches us something stunning about how God gives His grace to us. Nothing is silent or still about birth, trust me, I've watched two! At Christmas we're reminded that the most abundant gifts of God's grace take a physical form. Everything about the incarnation is physical. The whole life of Christ, from His painful birth, to his agonizing death, teach us, that our sinful state requires a physical remedy. This is the core of Catholic Sacramental teaching, that God's grace comes in physical form. This reality, is not only true of the incarnation and Christ's death, which reconciles us with God, it is also true for how God changes us. We are not changed by signs and symbols, but by the life giving bread and the saving cup.

This has changed Christmas for me. Silent Night isn't Silent Night because of an idealistically quiet baby or a peaceful birth. It is Silent because of the presence of the Holy God. As I sat today around the burning candles and kneeling parishioners at St. John Newman Church, this reality silenced and calmed my busy, distracted mind. As I repented for my selfishness I was relieved to actually find myself distracted from focusing on myself. The beauty of the Holy, Perfect Child, our Emmanuel, seemed, however vaguely, present. Present enough to leave me hungry for more. In the end, this is what Christmas is all about, what C.S. Lewis called, "cultivating a hunger for God." The Catholic Church doesn't teach, and I don't believe, that somebody has to be Catholic to experience Christ. Wanting to experience more of Christ, however, has led me here, and since I seem to have fallen of the face of the earth to many of you, I thought it would be good to share my thoughts with you this Christmas.

Love in Christ and Merry Christmas, Jeremy

The Mercy of Parenting

I had a really great idea...as we planned to leave for Louisiana I thought it would be good to begin our second day driving as early as possible. If we left at 4:00 A:M I would be able to get in several hours of peaceful driving before the girls woke up. I relished visions of driving down an empty road, cup of coffee in hand, with peaceful sleeping babies in the back. Ahhh....

This is when you know you've become a really lame grown up, when you find yourself day dreaming about a peaceful road trip. Don't get me wrong, I love spending the time with my family. But, there's just something about changing your fifth dirty diaper at a rest area in 100 degree heat in Alabama that makes flying seem like a better idea.

So anyway, I put my plan into action at 4:15 A:M. I packed us up from Erin's grandmother's house in North Carolina, put the girls in the car, apolgized to Erin for insisting we left so early, and took my seat. All was going according to plan, except for one thing, we were low on gas. When I stopped to fill up at 5:45, the girls woke up....for good. Within twenty minutes my vision of a perfect peaceful morning was turned upsidedown. Karis was throwing up, Grace was crying in dramatic hunger pains, and Erin was revisiting the issue of my judgment in getting us all up so early.

As I looked in the rear-view mirror at Karis' sad and sleepy face I was struck with my own selfishness. I had planned the morning arond fulfilling my own vision of autonomous freedom. I did not want to be hindered with baby troubles. God's purposes in using babies as sanctifying tools of redemption are staggering. Jesus insisted that in order to enter the Kingdom of God, we must recieve it as a child (Mark 10). A child... utterly dependant, utterly helpless, and utterly needy. This is what we are, and in realizing this, we come to see the face of a Father, who is more fatherly than anything we could have imagined. For me, this is the mercy of parenting.

trying to get kisses

I never had the desire to kiss anybody with a “drooling problem” until I became a dad. How things change…I often trick Karis into giving me kisses by holding a yummy strawberry or something in between my teeth. She goes for the food and accidently gives me a sweet little kiss in the process. Then she gives a cute little giggle as she realizes she’s fallen for the same trick again.

"story time" gone wrong

Grace's favorite part of her bedtime routine is of course, "story-time." Every night we do two "Grace and Eli (her best friend)" stories and one "Jesus story". Grace has developed a very high standard for what she calls, "good stories" and "not such a good story." So last night, we didn't put her down until after nine, I thought she was falling asleep during her story so I didn't put too much effort into making it good. In fact, I didn't even know what I was talking about I was so sure she was sleeping. In the middle of it though, Grace sat up asking for some clarification as clearly my story had not made sense.

I felt guilty for not making it a better story so I got on my game immediatlely. I quickly turned a simple story about a day at the zoo into a dramatic action thriller, with my wife falling into the lions den. If your thinking there's something wrong with me for telling a two year old such an awful story, I agree. I was in the moment, what can I say? Mom was going to get rescued of course, but by the time I made the most life-like lion growl that I could muster, Grace was deep under the covers squeezing me for dear life. At first I thought she was playing along, but I quickly realized that she was quite scared. Thankfully she let me "try again". I ended up doing a story about a petting zoo where Grace got to take home a baby deer. Thankfully two-year olds forgive and forget better than we do. Peace, Jeremy