Bored kids? Bored adults?

We drove past the house at the end of our street several times this weekend. The two boys of the house were raking leaves pretty much every time we passed. Wait, several times they were actually just holding rakes and looking at the leaves. Mike and I got quite a few chuckles at their expense.
Even now you can ask my kids what happens when you say, "I'm bored." They'll tell you it means "pick up sticks." When they complained about being bored, they were sent to pick up sticks. Three kids and a wagon in the yard, may not mean many sticks get picked up, but soon they were busy. Kids learn to entertain themselves, but usually only when forced to do so.
Another thing the kids may remember is "No Screens". I'd set a time limit, usually a few hours, in which they could do anything - but no screens could be involved. No computer screen, tv screen, gameboy screen, etc. . . Again, an attempt to force them to entertain themselves, and not be aided by the brightest minds at Nintendo or Nickelodeon.
Now me? I never have to be forced to leave behind the TV or the computer. I never have to be forced outside to "play". Wait, Mike might read this. Hmmm . . . Okay, okay. So I don't exactly practice what I preached. But what if I did?
What if I'd spent as much time in the yard this weekend as those kids on the corner? Even if I didn't have bags and bags of leaves to show for my efforts, could I have gained something else? Part of wanting the kids to be on their own when they were growing up was to give them a chance to look around, hear themselves think, and learn who they were.
Naw, nevermind. I have the whole 2005 season of Ghost Whisperer dvr'd.

Overheard at T.J. Maxx

In line at T.J. Maxx a while back, I heard something strange. Two boys, around middle school age, were with their mom. As she finished paying for the purchases one boy said, "Thanks." The other quickly added his "thanks." I spoke up (I know you're shocked) and told the boys how impressed I was and how much it always meant to me when my kids said "thanks". I told them they were a tribute to their mom. The mom was appreciative and the boys looked embarrassed. But kudos from strangers stay with us, embarrassed or not.
My kids said "thank you" a lot. They still do. And it's still just as appreciated. One time when they were younger a friend overheard one of them thanking me at the end of a meal and she commented on it, saying her kids had never said "Thank you" to her. That got me thinking.
What I realized was that Mike always - always - tells me how much he appreciates meals. "Thanks, that was good." And so the kids thought that was what was right.
Last night at the church's Fall Festival I was in charge of the ring toss. Almost every child was prompted by parents to say "Thank You" when I handed them their toy or candy. The older ones who were by themselves were pretty good at remembering, too. But I found myself wondering if they knew to say thank you for things at home. Things like clean bathrooms, folded clothes, going to work, fixing dinner?
This morning Mike thanked me for his coffee. He said, "I'm the luckiest man to come down and have my cup of coffee sitting here waiting on me." Now how could I have a bad day after that?
Saying "Thank You" for special things is nice, but I think I like to be thanked even more for the things I've done hundreds of times.
What mundane thing needs to be appreciated in your life today?

My Mama on Reality TV

Top Chef is a reality show pitting chefs against each other in weekly challenges. I've watched it for several seasons and really enjoy it. Of the seven chefs left this year, two are brothers. They are easily two of the better chefs and seem like nice guys - however their rivalry with each other is just plain ol' sad.
Mama and Daddy raised three of us - I'm the oldest and I have two brothers. We're two years apart in age from each other. Mama was home with us every day and she just didn't allow us to treat each other badly. She'd say, "Why would I allow you to treat each other worse than I'd let a stranger treat you?" We weren't allowed to call each other names, just like we weren't allowed to call our friends (or even strangers) names.
Of course for those rules to work, Mama and Daddy had to do more than just give 'em lip service. They had to live them - after all - we weren't stupid. We were watching them to see if the rules were just talk or if they were good enough for Mama and Daddys' lives. And they were. They didn't call each other names or treat each other shabbily. They didn't call folks in traffic, or at work, or even on TV, names. They treated the people they lived with as good as the folks out in the world. What a concept.
Sure made for a happy, peaceful place to grow up. Mama was sometimes asked how she kept my brothers from fighting and her response was, "If there's going to be any fighting, I'm going to be in the middle of it and I'm going to win." That may not sound that peaceful, but if you're going to set down rules they better be backed up by more than wishes and good intentions. You better be ready to live them - and ready to enforce them.
Wouldn't you like to see my Mama make a visit to the Top Chef kitchen? Now that would be some good reality TV!

What kind of pumpkin do you pick?

Lizzy made me gift for Mother's day this year, which sits on my desk. It's a 12 x 16 painting, lots of bright colored stars and flowers make up the background. Then she painted some of the words to the Taylor Swift song, Best Day, in black.
"I run and run past the pumpkin patch, oh look the sky is gold. I hug your legs, fall asleep on the way home. You're not scared of anything at all. You were on my side even when I was wrong. I know I had the Best Day with you."
And yes, we did go to pumpkin patches when the kids were little. And I always knew which kind of pumpkin each kid was drawn to. Big, Small, Tall, Stemmed, Round . . .
This weekend, with the kids and fiances here, we talked a lot about them as children. Carrie said at one point, how cool it is to see the same traits in them as adults, that Mike and I talk about them having as children. We are born with certain traits, abilities and preferences, aren't we? And throughout our life we reject who we are, enhance who we are, embrace who we are and attempt to change who we are. Then just when I get it set in my mind, something shifts and I'm someone else. I barely got used to being an empty nester and now I'm going to be a mother-in law!
There are lots of reasons to believe in God or to need to believe in God. However, I think it's the idea of being known that strikes deepest in me. To be known without all the world's labels.
To just be known - and loved in spite of it!

Paid by the Smile

When a friend was getting ready to become a full-time stay at home mom (SAHM) after the birth of her second child, I told her one thing that's weird is how you start liking Mondays. Monday's become like Fridays for everyone else.
For me, Friday leads into the biggest performance time on my job as a SAHM. One main thought, and benefit, of me staying home was to make the weekend more fun. Trying to keep mundane chores from taking over the weekend was my goal. Grocery stores, laundry, vacuuming did not belong on Saturday or Sunday. As I wrote in a previous blog, each week I wanted to have the house clean and stocked by Friday afternoon, so I could relax during the kids nap time, have a glass of wine, and enjoy the beginning of the weekend.
I love the weekend but it takes work and planning to make it relaxing and stress-free. That work and planning is my responsibility as a SAHM. Sunday dinner after church doesn't happen if you don't buy the groceries for it earlier in the week and plan for doing the prep work. Snacks for watching the game or a Disney video don't magically appear. Not worrying about cleaning the bathroom or kitchen can only happen if someone worried about it earlier.
And by Sunday evening, the house is worn out. We've had all the fun we can stand. The kitchen is decorated with stacks of dishes (some clean), dirty clothes lie about in heaps, left-overs fill the fridge and I'm ready for them all to go back to school and work.
And Monday morning, I sit with a cup of coffee and it feels like Happy Hour. Whew. When my family has had a great weekend, I know I did my job well.
Payment in smiles isn't bad.

Home again, Home again . . .

Getting ready today - all three kids and the two fiances' will be here this weekend! We haven't seen Lizzy since we left her there in August, so we're extra excited about that AND we get to see both rings! Carrie's mom and Casey's folks will be here Saturday night for dinner. We're thinking we can squeeze it in between the Georgia and Tennessee games.
It's fun getting ready for the kids to come home. I actually went down all the aisles at the grocery store yesterday. I rarely do that anymore. Mike had to straighten up his office/guest room and I guess I need to check the bathroom down stairs.
Favorite foods are in the plans for today, chicken casserole for Lizzy tonight, unbaked cookies, pumpkin bread all are on my to-do list today. Tomorrow there are ribs and a turkey breast for the smoker and, of course, champagne.
I've got the fall decorations up, pumpkin spice candles, a cinnamon broom and Mike has hung his decrepit skeleton in front of the garage. I'm hoping he can't find that lighted tombstone the kids drug home from someone elses garbage one year. (It's plastic with lights inside and a string of orange bubble lights draped over it's top.) Can anyone say - tacky? But if it makes Mike happy, and it does, then so be it.
Home sweet home - a full house tonight when we go to sleep.
Having them leave is hard, but having them come home is wonderful compensation.

Speedbumps Wanted

Our pastor yesterday preached about temptation and not being led into it - ala last lines of The Lord's Prayer. He told a story of another pastor's dog getting sick after they accidentally left the pantry open and the dog got into a bag of chocolate. Pastor Long equated the goodies behind the pantry door to the things that tempt us. He said, "God will shut the pantry door, but he won't put a lock on it."
He pointed out we can, and should, pray for roadblocks between us and the pantry door. I've often used the same thought with the youth, but I called them "speedbumps." Our oldest, who honestly worked to not get in trouble, found himself involved in three infractions in a short timespan his freshman year of high school. I pointed out to him that he needed to see those problems as speedbumps. Speedbumps say, "Slow down. Pay Attention. Look where you're going."
I'm back to full-time writing again today. Kids are all packed off to school and vacation is over. However, before I get into working on my next book I am praying for speedbumps. Speedbumps to warn me when I'm getting off the path God wants me on. Speedbumps for when I'm tempted to not put my behind in the chair and write. Speedbumps for those temptations of writing something else because it might actually sell or it's something I can do fast.
And then my second prayer is, "God let me notice the speedbumps." Guess that means I'll have to turn down the radio, not go so fast and Pay Attention.
Here we go!

Just say "No"

It’s so much easier to tell my kids “no”, when “yes” isn’t a possibility. Being responsible and not giving them too much is being a good parent. It’s just easier if there’s no way I can give them too much. When we lived in Illinois, we lived out in the country because we didn’t expect the huge difference in cost of housing between central Florida and Chicagoland. It was a wonderful setting, a couple acres in a hundred-year-old farm house. But even that cost a lot and being so far out in the country meant you didn’t go shopping until you had to. And eating out? We just didn’t do it. Mike and I were raised in modest households so we really didn’t think much about it.
When we moved to Georgia we found another wonderful place to live – but it was a culture shock. Little House on the Prairie to Beverly Hills 90210. Kids working on family farms and doing chores versus kids having computers in their rooms and getting new cars for their birthday. Learning that eating out isn’t a treat, but a way of life.
It’s easy for me to say those wealthy folks on TV - or around the corner - shouldn’t give their kids so much, but it’s harder for me to do. If I have it, or can get it, I want my children to have it. But when is too much, literally, too much? It takes backbone and clear thinking to deny my kids.
But wait, parenting isn’t about raising kids. I’m in the business of raising adults.
Okay – got it.

Anarchy banished - again!

Sitting on the deck drinking coffee this morning, I watched the school buses making their rounds.
Order is being imposed on the realm.
Every summer since my kids started school followed the same pattern. Around the beginning of May, we'd all get antsy. Homework, projects, packing lunches, signing notes - their end was in sight. We'd shove off the shackles of the school year and revel in the freedom and warm days. June and July would fly by on the wings of liberty.
Then that last week of July, I'd start to itch. Dishes in the kitchen sink all day, late nights, supper on the fly, shaggy hair, peeling sunburns, and sleep-deprived kids - all pushed freedom over the edge of the cliff called, "chaos."
Even this year, with the youngest headed off to a dorm, the itching started a week ago. Robert left this morning, after his first extended time home in five years. My cabinents are now empty of his organic food and power drink stuff. I can clean the stubble off the downstairs sink and his running shoes are no longer posted by my desk.
Lizzy is waking up in her dorm room and my hairbrush can come out of hiding. It, along with my mascara and tweezers, will stay where I leave them instead of finding themselves in Lizzy's purse at strange houses.
Okay - maybe I'll get lonely or sad at some point down the road, but right now I feel all-powerful. Because once again in my world, order has triumphed chaos!