I had a few minutes to kill earlier today so I was zipping around on the innernets to see what I could see. A quick check of a few favorite blogs, a google search for the “Real House**wives of NYC” to see what everyone had to say about their reunion show the night before (it was 60 minutes of delightful, let me tell you!), and a peek at the local auctions to see if there was a fun one for O and I to attend this weekend.
I glanced at the clock and couldn’t help but sigh. Mark’s court hearing has come and gone this week and while I knew that the judge wouldn’t rule immediately, I asked SW to please call or e-mail to give us an idea of how things went for the birth family in court. Not a word.
I glanced at the calendar and sighed again. Friday afternoon – just a few hours and the SW’s will pack up their files and folders and call it a week. No chance of any phone calls or any progress for 60+ hours. At least. It’s no wonder that I’ve come to look forward to Mondays. A new week means that unless SW’s are on vacation, they will have five more days to make progress on the cases of any of the kids who are on our radar. Five days that we might even get a call about a brand new child. Five whole days!
Only a few minutes remained before I had to zip off to run my errands, and I was thinking about adoption. I wondered, just in passing, if there was a patron saint of adoption. My friend google told me that there are three: Saint Thomas More, Saint Clotilde & Saint William of Rochester.
Saint Clotilde?
I glanced at the clock and couldn’t help but sigh. Mark’s court hearing has come and gone this week and while I knew that the judge wouldn’t rule immediately, I asked SW to please call or e-mail to give us an idea of how things went for the birth family in court. Not a word.
I glanced at the calendar and sighed again. Friday afternoon – just a few hours and the SW’s will pack up their files and folders and call it a week. No chance of any phone calls or any progress for 60+ hours. At least. It’s no wonder that I’ve come to look forward to Mondays. A new week means that unless SW’s are on vacation, they will have five more days to make progress on the cases of any of the kids who are on our radar. Five days that we might even get a call about a brand new child. Five whole days!
Only a few minutes remained before I had to zip off to run my errands, and I was thinking about adoption. I wondered, just in passing, if there was a patron saint of adoption. My friend google told me that there are three: Saint Thomas More, Saint Clotilde & Saint William of Rochester.
Saint Clotilde?
Saint Clotilde?
Why in the world would that sound familiar to me? I’m not Catholic. I know next to nothing about saints, except those in New Orleans, but I was sure that I KNEW that name from somewhere.
So I kept reading.
Clotilde was the second wife of the Frankish (French) king Clovis I. Born in 475, she was instrumental to her husband's famous conversion from paganism to Christianity and, in her later years, was “known for her almsgiving and penitential works of mercy”.
So I kept reading.
Clotilde was the second wife of the Frankish (French) king Clovis I. Born in 475, she was instrumental to her husband's famous conversion from paganism to Christianity and, in her later years, was “known for her almsgiving and penitential works of mercy”.
Now dangit! Clovis I sounded familiar too. Why would I recognize the name of a French king from over 1500 years ago? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?
And when the lightbulb went off, I still thought, "SURELY NOT!"
I went and opened the file I've complied on my grandmother's family tree. I love and adore researching my family history and have spent years going back centuries in search of my ancestors.
Do you know why Saint Clotilde sounded familiar?
And why a Baptist girl from the US would know that name?
Because Saint Clotilde is my 53rd great grandmother.
Let me repeat . . .
Because Saint Clotilde is my 53rd great grandmother.
Let me repeat . . .
One of my great grandmothers is the patron saint of adoption.
ADOPTION, people!!!!!!
Now ain’t that a seriously ironic kick in the pants?
