Smoldering Wick

Kids seem to get sick in different but consistent ways. We're discovering that our older boys' typical symptoms are disastrously complimentary. John Paul coughs all night for a week or two and James sleeps even more fitfully than normal. Yeah -- it's kind of a perfect storm. [In case you're wondering, Thomas is a cherub; a blessed cherub of nocturnal tranquility -- thank you, dear sweet Jesus.] 11:30pm -- James comes pattering in to our room, sobbing and frustrated. I jolt awake. I hear JP coughing deeply, rhythmically, productively. The optimistic hope of  Maybe they'll sleep through the night died again. 11:30pm to 1am -- I tuck them back in. I wait out the hacking. I reassure the fearful. I comfort the frustrated. I re-blanket the thrasher. My nightly paternal works of mercy are performed. Each with care and consistency. But each with a twinge of regret at my self-seeking. If I do these, I get to go back to bed and sleep. Please, Lord, let this b

This past weekend I had the great blessing of attending a memorial service for my late Grandma, Mitzi Esposito, who died this summer. During the service I shared the following reflections. +  +  + A 17 year old Kevin (my dad) comes home far after curfew. He opens the door of the house quietly hoping to come in undetected. He steps in, the living room is dark. Hope rises that he might just pull it off. He turns the knob and sets the bolt silently and proceeds stealthily across the room. But after a few steps he stopped. All at once he noticed the red pulse of a cigarette being puffed by a silent sentry. “Kip, are you on drugs?” “Uh, no, mom.” Mitz certainly knew how to make an entrance. I love that story, but I wasn’t there for that one. The most memorable -- dare I say scarring -- entrance of hers that I remember came when I was an awkward, pubescent 7th grader. Our family was building a fence around our big backyard that summer and we ha