this town ain't big enough fer the two of us

There's not really a blog here, it's just that these pictures make me smile. The first one is my baby boy, circa 1996. The second one is Titus, circa last week. Titus reminds me of Kevin in so many ways, minus the red hair, so it was fun to see them both dressed in Woody attire.

Kevin LOVED "Tore Story" as he used to call it. Seeing the movie at age 2 is one of his earliest memories. But Kevin will tell you that he is dressed as Woody by default. See, my mom bought after-Halloween costumes one year for the kids to play dress-up, and Woody and Buzz happened to be among them. Kevin wanted to be Buzz. Kevin always WANTED to be Buzz. But the Buzz costume was a size 5 and the Woody costume was a size 3. And since Kevin weighed in at 26 pounds and Parker weighed in at 38 pounds, well . . . Kevin always had a "Snake in My Boot", while Parker got to go "To Infinity and Beyond!"

You'd think at 17 he wouldn't still be bitter about it. :o)

wait your tum

So . . . last weekend Kacey and Lindsay were discussing cute boys in movies. When it came to "Dead Poet's Society", Kacey said, and I quote, "I will ALWAYS LOVE, uh, what's-his-face."

So . . . my blogger-buddy, NinjaPrincess, linked ME on her blog. I feel special and just wanted to reciprocate.

So . . . a couple of days ago Kevin went out to feed his cat. He opened the back door, saw the cat next to him out of the corner of his eye, then reached up to pet her with his left hand while he leaned down to get a scoop of cat food with his right. Just as he was about to touch her, he looked up to see, not his cat, but a groundhog the size of a coffee table.

So . . . last night I dreamed I found an albino lizard under a rock. AND I wanted to catch it. I don't know.

So . . . Kacey texted today and asked me, "Are turns a bad thing to take?"
WHAT?
"How is that a confusing question?"
I DON'T KNOW, BUT APPARENTLY IT IS! (I thought maybe she was giving me a Gilmore Girls quote, or perhaps whining that I don't "return text" when it's my turn.)
"Sheesh, woman. You're making this complicated."
WELL, EXCUUUUUUSE ME.
"So answer my question: Can I chew TUMS or not???"
So . . . 'tums' and 'turns' look the same when I'm not wearing my glasses. I'm just sayin'.

we're so preeeeeetty

beetlemania

Dear Volkswagen,

Your new ad campaign is brilliant. Brilliant, I say. You clarified and expanded the rules of "Slug Bug", and my teenage son is all over it. As his mother, I cannot tell you the joy it brings me to see him look up from his iPod and get a glimpse of the real world. Sure, the new Rules of the Game have drawn complaints from old-school players who insist the original Beetle is the only allowable vehicle in the classic "Punch Buggy" game, but I'm convinced these scoffers are the same people still using land lines and tucking in their t-shirts.

Your ingenious VW marketing team, however, realized the benefits of Changing the Rules of Slug Bug to include your entire line of products. (Which explains ditching the "Slug Bug, NO SLUG BACK!" phrase for simply calling out the color - "Yellow One!") So while I don't know an SUV from an S-250 or a Passat from a Prelude, my son can effortlessly distinguish a 1979 Trans-Am from a Z-28 at 300 yards away, thus giving him a serious automotive advantage . . . and me a bruised right arm.

You also, apparently, clarified the penalty of "two for lying" for falsifying a VW sighting. My son, being a rule-follower, hasn't been this excited about playing a family game since "Hide & Seek" when he was seven and we forgot to seek him. Anyway . . . I learned about "two for lying" the hard way, after hearing my son yell "red one!" (punch mom), "blue one!" (punch mom), "gray one!" (punch mom), and thinking it would be cute for me to yell "invisible one!" (PENALTY! Punch mom x 2). Hmmm . . . not so cute after all.

I would like to note that nowhere in your advertising does it state, or even insinuate, that all parties must be awake during game-play. So one day, in the very near future, I will put in my favorite Michael Buble' cd, and when my son inevitably falls asleep, I will to drive to the nearest VW dealership and wake him appropriately.

The most brilliant aspect to your new marketing campaign comes into play as my carefree passenger-son pivots his neck like an owl at a Disney World Circle-Vision theater successfully "I Spying" all manner of VW products while I, the usually-responsible parent and driver, abandon safe driving practices to visually search for Skittles-colored compact cars. This reckless behavior is bound to result in my need for a new vehicle in the very near future, and when it does, your entire line of Volkswagen makes and models will already be fresh in my mind. Brilliant.

Sincerely,
An already-disgruntled future customer

I don't know why this is funny to me, it just is.

Fisher-Price A-Frame . . . . . . . . . . . IHop Vintage Menu

a - z: what worked for us

PUT A FORK IN ME, I'M DONE!!!

After 19 years of homeschooling, 24 if you count the "overlapping" years with both kids, my tenure as a homeschool parent/teacher is over. What do I regret? Hmmm . . . not making Kacey take piano lessons longer, and not making Kevin do LOTS more handwriting practice. :o) If I had to start over, would I do it again? IN A HEARTBEAT. No question. And, really, it didn't have so much to do with the quality of their education as it did the time spent together. I like my kids. I'm weird that way.

Inspired today by the blog of my little green friend, Sara, I put together my "A to Z" list of what I consider the best of the best. Some of these items worked for daughter-face, some worked for the boy, some worked for both, and a couple just worked for me!

So here goes:

A - Authors. It's a rummy-style card game that we played nearly every day from the time Kacey was old enough to read until fairly recently. Not only does it familiarize you with 13 authors and 52 great pieces of literature, it's just fun to play.

B - Bible Story Books - specifically The Beginner's Bible for preschoolers and Egermeier's for elementary students. We read out of these almost every night. And Bible Bowl worked for us - not so much the competition or the rote memorization - but the reading of the text together over and over and over again which led to familiarization, discussion and more understanding.

C - Critical Thinking Company workbooks. Mindbenders, Editor-in-Chief, Reading Detective, etc. Everything from this company is quality, though you definitely pay for it.

D - The Dictionary of Cultural Literacy. Just a good ol' reference tool for mom.

E - Explode the Code. Our favorite phonics curriculum, outside of the plastic magnetic letters on the refrigerator!
F - The Fallacy Detective helped Kevin brush up on his logic skills, though in all fairness, he says they didn't take the process far enough.
G - GeoSafari. Hands down the best educational tool we ever bought. I don't even know if they still make this puppy or not, as we bought ours in 1992 just before most people had home computers. With the help of this electronic gadget, at the ages of 6 and 29, Kacey and I spent hours and hours learning world geography and having fun!
H - Hirsch, E.D. and his whole "What Your ____ Grader Needs to Know" series. I checked these out of the library faithfully, and we went through the appropriate one cover-to-cover every school year. GREAT supplemental books.
I - Ingalls, Laura and The Little House on the Prairie Series. If you know me, you know these are like the bread of my reading diet. I have read the entire series (always aloud) at least 7 times. We LOVE them and everything about them.
J - Jump Start! The Jump Start cds/dvds were Kevin's NUMBER ONE favorite thing. They were great fun to play on the computer and he didn't even seem to care that he was learning!

K - Keyboarding. We used Mavis Beacon's Typing, but I don't think it matters WHAT you use, just so your kids learn to type as soon as their motor skills are ready. We did this in middle school with Kacey, but with advancing technology, Kevin mastered it in the 5th grade.
L - Language from A Beka. I liked some of A Beka's curriculum, but I really LOVED their language curriculum. It pulls "double duty" by practicing grammar and punctuation skills with famous quotes, historical documents, and literary passages.
M - Market House Theater! (Our local community theater) Memorization, socialization, public speaking, etc. What's not to love? Between the two kids, I think we did at least 12 productions, 15 if you count backstage work running lights and sound. Along with MHT, I would have to say that we enjoyed aspects of all our extra-curriculars: softball, scouts, gymnastics, music lessons, baseball, etc. Made for well-rounded kids.
N - Bill Nye the Science Guy. LOVED his books, which may freak out some of my fundamentalist friends because of his evolutionary stance, but COME ON, this guy explains Bernoulli's Principle and The Four Fundamental Forces in a way even I could understand! Plus he gives experiments to do throughout his books (experiments that ACTUALLY work). As a side note, I NEVER found a science curriculum I liked. Science is meant to be experienced, not read.
O - Our American Heritage. The only A Beka history book I liked, and this one I loved. It is a 3rd grade level book of biographies. Well worth reading.
P - Princeton Review's Everything: Standard Deviants, S.A.T. prep courses, etc. Mostly Kacey loved the "Smart" series - Math Smart, Word Smart, Writing Smart. The math book teaches concepts in creative story form. A MAJOR plus for those of us who proudly say, "I'm an English major - you do the math!"
Q - Brain Quest. Just basic "trivia" cards for all age groups. Fun to play in the car, or anytime you need a "fill in" activity.
R - Rummy Roots. Another card game that teaches Latin and Greek roots by matching them up with their English counterparts. A great foundation before foreign language, which leads me to . . .
S - Spanish via Rosetta Stone. The priciest of all our curriculum purchases, but the best foreign-language program on the market, and well worth the money.
T - Trelease, Jim. The Read-Aloud Handbook. One of my best and most-used "mommy books". I HIGHLY recommend every parent have one, or at least check it out at the library to make your own reading lists.
U - US, A History of. THE BEST U.S. History books on the market, bar none. Love them. Read these aloud to the kids when they were 5th graders, then they read them again to themselves as 9th/10th graders. These are not Christian-based because I don't like the extreme-right-bias in Christian history books, but they are one of my favorite homeschool items. Another sidebar: The book by E. H. Gombrich called "A Little History of the World" is one I purchased a couple of years ago. Kevin refers to this enthusiastically as "a GREAT history book!" That doesn't happen often.
V - Volunteering. It's been a big part of our homeschooling, from working Afterschool Programs to Community Theater to Camps for Special Needs Kids, part of the blessing in a homeschool schedule is having the time to give something back.
W - Wordly Wise. Vocabulary and spelling. Simple, effective, and more fun than the average workbook.
X - saXon math. From 2nd through 6th grade, we LOVED Saxon math. Not so much the pre-algebra, geometry, trig stuff, but the elementary books are outstanding even if they are a bit on the pricey side.
Y - Yukon Trail (Amazon Trail, Oregon Trail, Africa Trail). CD games for the computers that are fun as well as semi-educational.
Z - Zoo. . . and any other field trip. We loved field trips. The cracker/cookie factory, the TV station, HerpFest, the dairy farm, Dippin' Dots, the zoo, Science Days, Museums, you name it, we loved it, and tried to do as much of it as possible. Hands-on beats a classroom any day of the week.

There you go. 20 years' worth of what worked for us.

However you choose to educate, may God bless you

as you grow your children into responsible, compassionate, intelligent adults.

.

from here to maternity or "just how many diapers will I need???"

Last weekend I accompanied my daughter as she enlisted at Babies R Us and joined the ranks of Modern Maternity. When we entered the recruitment office department store, we were immediately greeted by uniformed service people who had the nerve to say, "You must be the . . . " (Don't say it. Don't say it. If you put me in a bad mood, I will NOT spend money in your store!) "You must be the . . . Grandma!" And there it is. The "G" word. They took one look and just ASSUMED I was the grandmother, hot granny, let's just say M.O.M., shall we? (Hey, 2 years ago I was the M.O.B. - Mother of the Bride, why can't I just be the M.O.M. - Mother of the Mom NOW?) Where was I ??? Oh yeah, the Babies R Us Recruitment Office. We were asked to fill out paperwork in triplicate. Mother's Name? Father's Name? Sex? Commission date? Discharge date? You get the idea.

Once paperwork was completed, we were given a list of the 468 essential baby items, issued a canteen of Dasani Spring Water and sent into active duty, armed with a barcode scanner gun. We set out to forge 16-square acres of foreign consumerland - a far cry from my Hippie Earth Mother days of breastfeeding and homebirthing and Continuum Concept Parenting. We began our march. She proceeded to shoot everything in sight, because that's what you do. You shoot everything. You need everything. Babies R Us says so, and they must know. Combat booties. Rectal thermometers. Camouflage diaper covers. Miniature portable prisons and leashes and electronic babysitters and 2-way radios and something called a Keeper akin to a prisoner-of-war torture device that allows you to hang your offspring over the latrine door like an old coat, while you take care of business. And while we're on the subject of latrines, the Winnie-the-Pooh pottie chair is a must-have. (A Pooh Poo Chair? Really?)

After a good hour of listening to the cadence of mobiles and music boxes and baby sing-a-longs, we discovered what could only be the war room: a cushy little nook in the back of the baby wilderness with a circle of amazingly comfortable recliners where general decisions are made and major problems are solved. We sat down. We breathed. After a few minutes away from combat, our heads cleared, and my daughter looked at me and said, "What did I sign up for?" Then she took out the "delete" barcode and began to systematically eliminate all the unnecessary items from her registry like a military sniper. What was left were some cloth nursing pads, a couple of BPA-free pacifiers, a carseat and a few miscellaneous items. Some basics may have become collateral damage in the onslaught, but she decided she could always add them back online.

Looking proud of herself, she said, "What now?" My reply was "diapers and wipes". So we forged past the name-brand chemical-laden plastics and went toward the more "green-friendly" disposables. She scanned a couple of each, then looked at me and said, "Just how many diapers will I need?" So I gave her the coordinates: 8 to 12 a day as a newborn, 6 to 10 as a baby, 4 to 6 as a toddler, with the average "Tour of Doodie" being 30 to 36 months. She looked up and to the left to engage the mostly unused left-side of her brain, mumbled something about "20 or 30 to a pack", then exclaimed, "That's like a million boxes of diapers!" Then she pointed the gun and open fired on the diaper barcodes.

After that we found a supply officer who was able to help us fill out the requisition forms for a pair of Pants, Khaki Maternity. Knowing we could potentially face a courtmartial for not completing the orders for "essential items", we utilized our best covert evasion techniques to return the Barcode Weapon and escaped out of enemy territory without qualifying for a Purple Heart.

his and herpfest

Today was . . . emotional. Not in the traditional "Steph is on the rollercoaster ride today and is weeping for no reason", but the non-traditional "Went on a herpetological field trip with several friends and their kids and turns out our tour guide was the first guy I ever loved and who still had all his hair when I saw him at my sister's funeral 15 years ago." Wow. I think he saw me before my eyes even adjusted to being indoors, and I was greeted by a "Hi Stranger" from some cute old guy with a corn snake around his neck. The next thing I know, my heart is pounding a million beats per second, my face is flush, and all I can think is how different I look now than I did in 1995, and how it really stinks to be old and, well, not thin. So in-between running the gamut of reptiles and amphibians, we did a bit of catching up. I was my usual sarcastic, insult-comedian self and he was mostly sweet, though he did throw in a couple of good zingers (some smart-alec comment about how he might be bald, but at least he doesn't color his hair!) to which I feigned protest, but since it's true, it was fake feigning. Lindsay (my niece) was with me, and he recognized her instantly, though they'd never met. He took one look at her and told her she was gorgeous just like her mom. (Which, with the exception of their hair color, is completely true.)

So, our field trip consisted of tree frogs and vipers and salamanders and all manner of cute and slimy and scaly and venomous and spotted herps . . . and one ghost from my past. I don't know if the 15 kids we took today had fun at Herpfest, but I think I did. I say "think" because after I got back to the car I had a good cry. It stinks to be old and hormonal.

After Herpfest, we went out to dinner with Nana and Papa, and I saw another "old man" at the restaurant who called me by name, but who, for the life of me, I couldn't place. Turns out we were friends in high school. It stinks to be old and forgetful. Now Lindsay and I are watching the Best Chick Flick Ever, so I can continue to educate her pop-culturally. (Yes, it's a word! If you want to know what the movie is, here's a hint: Daisies are the friendliest flowers.) Kevin has hit the sack early because he is taking the S.A.T. in the morning.

It's now after 11, and I was hoping to stay up for another movie, but I'm getting sleepy. It stinks to be old and, well, it just stinks to be old.

word to my peeps

Clearly I like to eat. And I will try JUST ABOUT anything once. I say "just about" because right off the bat I MUST exclude anything organ related, anything unborn, or anything I might buy Raid to ward off.

Before I begin the Top Ten Gross Food List, there are some potentially offensive foods that deserve an honorable mention:
>Grape Nuts: "a cross between gerbil food and gravel".
>Brussel Sprouts: Kevin describes them as "vomit disguised as a tiny little lettuce heads".
>Souse (head cheese),which I'm told is pig brain jelly. This is Dad's #1 gross food. Since I've never eaten it, and don't intend to EVER eat it, I'll trust him on that one.
>Mushrooms: they rank really high on a lot of people's lists, and I guess I can see why, but I LOVE THEM. Except the ones that used to grow behind our toilet in that humid one-bedroom apartment we lived in for 6 months in Georgia.
>Sushi: While it ranks as my favorite food EVER, I've heard my beloved sushi referred to as "amorphous mounds of raw flesh." Clearly this person has never eaten sushi with ME.
>Fonduta: As I sit here writing this blog, Olive Garden is advertising its new "Fonduta". I'm sure it's delicious, but I refuse to order anything that sounds like something in a baby's diaper.

Top Ten Gross Foods
So, I broke the "Raid Rule" once with my dad at a local seafood restaurant. He ordered the escargot. I have to "try it", he said. When it arrived, it took me a while to work up the nerve. Finally I stabbed one with the tiny little baby fork and mentally prepared to take a bite. "No," Dad said, "pop it all at once." The whole thing? I pulled the fork away from my mouth, looked at it again and, realizing there was no way I was ever going to WANT to eat this, I popped it in. My face turned inward at the nastiness and I began to chew. And chew. And chew. I double-checked in front of me to make sure I hadn't accidentally eaten a rubber placemat. Then I began to think about WHAT it was I was eating. I mean, visually imagining the slugs that sometimes get into the catfood bowl on the back porch in the summertime and leave slime trails on the concrete. At that point it was either swallow or gag. Dave Barry's description is right on the money for what I consider Gross Food Number One: Escargot is French for "fat crawling bag of phlegm."

Gross Food Number Two: Greens. Cooked spinach, turnip greens, collard greens, etc. Tastes like you mowed the yard, scooped up the clippings, and boiled them in a big pot of oily water. My daughter, on the other hand, sometimes buys frozen spinach, zaps it in the microwave and eats it with a fork. Then again, she snacks on frozen corn, still frozen, with a spoon.

Gross Food Number Three: Sauerkraut. Shredded, soured cabbage, which is even more offensive to the olfactory sense than the taste buds. Need I say more?

Gross Foods Number Four, Five and Six: I list these together because they all three look like the same red gelatinous muck.
>Beets. When my kids were babies, I made their baby food. Organic veggies and grains, cooked at home, mashed by hand, and tasted by me before I fed it to them. I bought the beets, cooked the beets, mashed the beets, tasted the beets, threw up the beets, then dumped the beets in the trash.
>Canned Cranberry Jelly. Looks like beets. Wiggles like rubber. Everybody puts it on the table at Thanksgiving, but nobody ever really eats it. And for good reason.
>Tomato Aspic. Basically, ketchup jello. Tomatoes, the black sheep of all fruit, are liquified and turned into a wiggly bundt cake. Again, looks like beets. Wiggles like rubber. Nas.Ty.

Gross Food Number Seven: Sardines. Little tiny herring, canned in mustardy disgustingness, heads, tails, fins, bones and little tiny eyeballs. Every now and again, my dad would scroll back the little tin lid and stink up the entire neighborhood. Mmm, mmm, gag. At this point, I would also list anchovies, but frankly, I've never had the desire to even try. I've read that "they're very salty and hairy, and make me feel as though I'm chewing on somebody's sweaty eyebrow." Well, sign me up for the hairy fish of the month club. Yum.

Gross Food Number Eight: Chocolate Buttermilk. This was an accidental and unfortunate discovery in the fifth grade, when, after searching the house unsuccessfully for anything nutritionally deficient, I defaulted to Quik as a last resort. Four heaping teaspoons of powdered chocolate in a 12-ounce glass of cold milk, stirred not shaken, and gulped. Well, gulp. That's when I discovered the yellow carton was buttermilk, not 2%. The brown-colored water they bottle and sell as YooHoo is almost as unpleasant.

Gross Food Number Nine: Cheese "Foods". Cheese Whiz, American cheese squares, the powdered junk that comes with boxed macaroni & cheese, anything served at a ballpark with nachos or soft pretzels, and mostly, Velveeta. Velveeta's label refers to it as Pasteurized Processed Cheese Product containing MILKFAT, WHEY, PROTEIN CONCENTRATE, SODIUM PHOSPHATE, MILK PROTEIN CONCENTRATE, ALGINATE, SODIUM CITRATE, APOCAROTENAL, ANNATTO, ENZYMES, and CHEESE CULTURE.

Number ten is a rare food indeed. It is highly seasonal. And, while considered a delicacy by some, it is surprisingly affordable. It comes in a vast array of colors. It is apparently best served by rolling it in a crunchy sugar coating, while its cousin is most often roasted to a golden brown before eating.


Gross Food Number Ten: Peeps.

a redneck petting zoo

I'm not much of a critter person. Especially when it comes to pets. Don't get me wrong . . . I love animals, I just don't WANT animals. My daughter's recent acquisition of two, yes two pound puppies who yap and snag your clothing with their little doggie claws and chew on your shoes and require constant attention and use your carpet as their own personal diaper (not to mention various other forms of disgusting canine behaviors) further validates my "no animals in the house" philosophy. Well, maybe not "NO" animals in the house . . . more like no MAMMALS in the house, and that includes some small children I've known. I have, however, welcomed hermit crabs and turtles and such into the family with little fanfare, and frankly, anything that's noiseless and stinkless and messless doesn't ruffle my feathers too much.

The worst offenders are the uninvited critters.

One day not long after we had moved into our current house, something on the kitchen counter caught my eye. Where Kevin's peanut butter sandwich remains still graced his lunch plate was Mickey's Kentucky cousin. Before I could sprint the 18 feet from the den to the dishwasher (and when I say "sprint" I really mean "approach slowly with much trepidation"), the little rodent darted behind the fridge and disappeared. Freaked me out. Clean houses are not supposed to have varmints. I made every effort to dissuade them from visiting my home and to ensure their demise should they return.

A couple of years later my mother-in-law was visiting. We were in the den and I had my back to the kitchen. She, however, did not. A few minutes into our conversation her demeanor changed. Her expression of horror conveyed to me the unthinkable: a little mouse. And not just ANY mouse, but one with impeccable timing. I mean, my mother-in-law, for crying out loud. The one person in the world you most want to be "clean" for!

On another occasion we noticed a smell. Just a slight rancid odor. We took out the trash, did some laundry, poured a box of baking soda down the drain, and called it good. A day or two later the odor became more of a stench that emanated from, surprise, the kitchen. I took the smell as a hint I might need to defunkify my refrigerator. I took everything out, threw away anything rotten, expired, black, or unidentifyable, along with anything that could be considered a tribute to Alexander Fleming, and scrubbed the fridge with vinegar-water. It fairly glowed. The next day I walked in the front door, took one whiff, and turned around and walked right back out. "I cannot live in there until whatever reeks, reeketh no more!" A whole house search brought us right back to the fridge. Upon complete inspection, we discovered a very VERY dead mouse which had met its demise in the fan some days earlier. The memory of that pungent smell nauseates me to this day.

Still, on occasion, we hear one rustling (it's an unmistakable sound), or catch a glimpse of one scurrying across the floor. Traps are baited with peanut-butter-dipped-cat-food, and within the hour we almost always humanely execute the unwanted intruder.

One day, in my church office, where no mouse has ever been detected, I heard the rustling. Reigh Anne was standing in the doorway talking and she heard it too. The sound kept interrupting our conversation, drawing our attention away from each other and over to the silk ficus tree in the north corner of the room. It ceased and we forgot about it. A couple of hours later I heard it again. And again. I decided the best way to deal with this critter would be to quickly carry the entire tree out the front door, lift the tree out of the basket, and hope the mouse goes in the direction opposite my toes. So I approached the tree and it rustled again . . . but not from the base. The rustling came from the leaves at the top . . . not a mouse-friendly location. I peered in. I reached out my hand to grab the trunk and a 6-lined racerunner lizard flew across my hand, down the trunk, between my feet, and vanished in the hallway. Okay, that was kinda cool, actually.

The last of the offending critters have been skunks. Plural. Living under the house this winter, along with a stray cat that decided to use our crawl space as an obstetrics ward. Every week or so, Pepe LePew and Fluffy would have an altercation that resulted in my house getting "skunked". Finally, after many weeks, and many skunkings, Greg set a live animal trap. The question is: "How does one rid oneself of live skunk without getting oneself skunked in the process?" The answer is: Tie a really, really long rope to the trap. Over the course of several days, we caught 2 skunks and a few cats. . .one of them being Mandy-kitty, our own little outside/barn cat.

There have also been squirrels in the attic and possums under the car and even a snake or two in the garage (which, much to the dismay of some, are always "catch and release", because, after all, Mr. Reptile helps keep Mr. Mouse out of my house.)

While I will always be a city girl at heart, country living does have its perks. . .but being a veritable petting zoo is not one of them.

sick day

put a coat in the dryer
changed a lightbulb
called Mom
threw out 3 expired cups of yogurt
played 140 levels in "Unblock Me" on my iPod

yep, that's pretty much it

a little culture

I LOVE yogurt!

No I don't, but I WANT to love yogurt! Really, I do.

I stand in the dairy section at Kroger and gaze at all the yummy flavors, think about the creamy custard-like texture, and become mesmerized by the myriad of colorful, shiny, foil lids.

I almost always buy a few, take them home, get out my favorite long iced tea spoon (because I eat EVERYTHING possible with long iced tea spoons), take one bite and declare, usually out loud,

"GROSS! Why do I buy yogurt??? I HATE yogurt?"

I always expect something pudding-like, but I fail to remember that yogurt is the nasty by-product of the bacterial fermentation of milk. Not to mention the unfortunate fact that yogurt has 160 calories, as opposed to my favorite dark chocolate pudding, which tastes like heaven in a little plastic cup, yet has only 90 calories.

But I guarantee you, I will buy yogurt again within the month.

Maybe I'm just looking for something in my life with a little culture. :o)

hippo-drone

My daughter is milking this pregnancy thing.
"Kevin, will you carry in my suitcase? I'm pregnant."
"Mom, will you get me a raspberry scone? I'm pregnant."
"Kevin, will you move my car so I don't have to go out in the rain? I'm pregnant."
"Mom, will you do my laundry? I'm pregnant."
Clearly, I have taught her well.

We had dinner at Mom & Dad's house Monday night. (I made yummy chicken & dumplings, for those of you who don't know that I CAN cook!) Anyway, we sat down to dinner and Papa (my dad) asked Kevin to pray. Toward the end, Kevin prayed for his sister, "Thank you for letting Kacey come home safely. Please help her baby grow and be healthy . . . and . . . well, (snicker) sane." His snicker turned into a snort, and the rest of us around the table just lost it.

The previous night we had been watching
"Life" on the Discovery Channel. One scene showed a river FILLED with hippos. Like, HUNDREDS of them. The conversation went like this:
"WOW! Look at all the hippos!"
"That would be a dangerous place to be."
"Yeah, but you can outrun a hippo."
"Not in the water you can't!"
"Well WHY WOULD YOU BE IN THE WATER WITH 400 HIPPOS???"

Exactly.

witches' stands and water buffalo

I was standing in line at Penn Station the other day, enjoying a little Motown (actually playing over the radio, not just in my head like most days) when Smokey Robinson's voice chimed in with ". . . and if you feel like giving me" and I continued with, "a life down in the ocean . . . I second that emotion." Okay, so the line is supposed to be "a lifetime of devotion", but when Kacey was little, and I spent a lot of time listening to the "Big Chill" soundtrack, she heard "a life down in the ocean" and I didn't dare correct it.

During the same time frame, Carly Simon's Concert on Martha's Vineyard became Kacey's favorite. At the age of 4, Kacey played with her Polly Pockets and sang "Anticipation" and "Nobody Does it Better" and "You're So Baned (Vain)". Okay, so not the most lyrically wholesome influences. Sue me. This was pre-Veggie Tales. So she sang "Well you're where you should be all the time, and when you're not, you're with some underworld spy or the wife of the postman, wife of the postman and . . . you're so baned, you prolly think this song is about you."

Then there was the Beach Boys' classic, Surfin' Safari, where the line "Come on a safari with me" became "Come on a far and see". Gotta love it.

By the late 90's, not only had Veggie Tales entered the scene, but so had the Newsboys and my Kevie-poo, and he had his own set of musical misunderstandings. In "Step Up to the Microphone", the line is "one God one body one faith alone, if you don't know, then you need to be told" where Kevin would loudly substitute the line, "if you don't know, then you need a guitar."

And in "Everybody's Got a Water Buffalo", apparently yours is fast but mine is slow. Where we get them, I don't know, but everybody's got a water buffaloooooooooo. The next line is "Took my buffalo to the store," But Kevin never could make the transition from "water buffalo" to regular "buffalo", so he always sang, "Took my water buff to the store, got his head stuck in the door." At least the future drummer in him understood meter and rhythm, even at the age of 4.

At about 8 or 9 years old, I can remember asking my mom what a "witches' stand" was. A what? she asked. "A witches' stand, you know, I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the republic for witches' stand."

Dad shared that as a kid he always asked to sing the "gravy song" at church. "Low in the gravy lay Jesus my Savior."

Recently, a big kid shared that every time he sings "We Will Worship You (There is None Beside You)", he pictures a woman in a Catholic habit as he sings, "There's a Nun Beside You." Unfortunately, now I do too. Thanks a lot, Bret Morris.

Okay, so you know you have your own little ballad blunder stories. Care to share?

And while we're sharing, can ANYBODY give me a line completion for the E.L.O. song, "Don't Bring Me Down ___________"???

And don't try to tell me it's "Bruce" unless you can give me a reasonable explanation as to why.

mega-manure and mega-shark

So I was enjoying SuperGator, still dressed in my "It's Saturday, I'm home alone, and I'm not putting real clothes on" sleep shirt, when a green pickup pulled into the driveway. Not recognizing the man walking to the front door, I decided to put on pants and go say "hello". Turns out he is a new neighbor from across the road and he happened to observe that one of our horses was out. Yippee. And maybe you noticed the really good part in the first sentence: I'm home alone. I thanked him politely, returned to the den, and weighed the pros and cons of equestrian hunting versus continued movie viewing. After watching a few more annoying tourists meet their demise in the toothy grip of the prehistoric alligator, I went on a house-wide search for my off-road shoes, grabbed my denim jacket and headed out. Lucky for me, I have great neighbors, and this sweet man had gone to get a bucket of corn and returned to help me lure "Heigh Ho Silver" back onto our property and into the corral. Also lucky for me, it has rained a lot the last few days, so walking through the horse lot was much like wading through knee-deep brownie batter. Only the brownie batter smells like, well, something brown, but not brownies.

By the time I got back into the house, SuperGator was over, and I missed the ending. I have no idea if the girl in the pink thong lived happily ever after or not, and it may haunt me for hours. However, something new appears to be on in its place. What's this? Mega Shark vs. Giant Octopus? Yes! I know this is a completely stupid waste of a good Saturday afternoon, but it's like a train wreck - I can't seem to look away. It's almost over anyway, and then I'll do something productive.

I promise.

miracles and monsters

Miracles are happening in my house. Much like the turning of water into wine, all the clean clothes in this house are turning into dirty ones. And like the widow's jar of oil that never emptied, my laundry basket seems to have the same blessing. Never empty. And if the neverending hamper phenomenon isn't enough, it seems my bedroom mirror has been replaced with Dorian Gray's portrait. I'm just sayin'.

So as I was putting away some of the miraculously clean laundry this morning, I passed by Kevin's room just as his iPod alarm went off. I stuck my nose into his room and said good morning. "Uurramm" he responded. "Sleep well?" I inquired. "Uurramm" he repeated. I then reminded him that if he used his tongue and actually moved his lips, there are a myriad of other sounds humans are capable of making. He raised his head slightly off his pillow, moved his lips AND his tongue to say, "PBTPBTPBTPBTPBTPBTPBT!!!!!" and proceeded to make raspberry noises at me. And since I had been out of bed for two hours, raspberries sounded like a pretty good breakfast choice to me. So I left him to roust himself out of bed, returned to the Shrine of Downy to sort 71 left socks from 68 right socks, then went to the kitchen to have a bowl of raspberries and put on some chicken to cook. Yeah, cook. I told you miracles were occurring.

See, I was at Reigh Anne's last Sunday, and she had one of those refrigerator chalkboards where you write out your week's menu. You know, something like the board on the left: <----- If I had one on my fridge, it would look something like the second one. Now, in all fairness, we don't eat dinner together. I don't think we have used the kitchen table for anything but sorting mail for nearly 3 months. Greg works nights a lot, and when he's not working, farm chores keep him outside until after dark, so cooking is not one of those goals to which I aspire often.

So as I was savoring my bowl of raspberries (God's nearly perfect food, second only to the Sunset Roll at Tokyo Sushi), I became mesmerized by the dramatic fare Kevin was watching as he devoured his bowl of Captain Crunch (ironically, another of God's nearly perfect foods). It's a Stephen Baldwin film, but I didn't recognize it. How can this be? "What channel is this?" I asked, and since Kevin had a mouthful of Crunchberries and decent manners, he punched the display button on the remote to show the SyFy logo. Continuing to be intrigued by the acting quality of this film, which I would later learn from imdb.com has only a 3.1/10 rating, I asked the name of this flick. "Shark in Venice", was the reply. "Shark in Venice?" and as I watched a sweaty Mediterranean bad guy hold a shockingly helpless girl hostage in some delapidated warehouse, I wondered if this feature presentation had been misnamed. Just then, as the 4th of the Baldwin boys shouted something witty like, "Hey you, let her go!" a giant Great White jumped out of a nearby Venetian Canal and chomped the villain in half, leaving the Damsel-in-Distress unharmed. Whew. SciFi, where have you been all my life? I mean, I've always been a fan of Mystery Science Theater, but apparently there is an entire genre of B-movies I have missed out on.

I have been composing this blog post now for 2 hours and 20 minutes, not because I'm slow, but because I have become so distracted by the 10 a.m. showing of "SuperGator", which garnered a 3.3/10 rating on Imdb.com. Shocking, really, because it is WAY worse than "Shark in Venice" and doesn't even star a Baldwin babe. So apparently, this giant prehistoric gator is attacking only the annoying and ugly tourists in Hawaii. Miraculously the thong-clad busty girls all manage to narrowly escape, but only after running. A lot. It's like a bad episode of Baywatch. . . or maybe a good episode. Yes, I know this is a completely stupid waste of a good Saturday morning, but it's like a train wreck - I can't seem to look away. It's almost over anyway, and then I'll do something productive.

I promise.

candy, barbecue, peanuts and tootsie pops

Here's Your Sign:
>The cowboy called from work the other night. He called the house phone. I answered the house phone. He said, "Did you make it home?" Ummm. No.

>John Mark was looking at a book on my desk, pointed to the title "Crazy Love", and said, "Is THAT the name of the book?" Kevin responded, "No, John Mark, those are just random words they printed on the cover to see if anyone would buy it." Ummm. Yeah.

>Last Saturday we watched the last few minutes of the movie "Splash" before the Olympics came on. John Candy and a very young Tom Hanks were playing raquetball. I said, "Wow. Look how skinny he is!" To which my husband replied, "Who? John Candy?" Ummm, yeah, John Candy.


He Might Have a Point
>Today was our secretary's birthday, and as is our office tradition we all went out to lunch together. During the conversation, Melissa said she had discovered that men (one specifically) did not have the ability to multi-task. I had to take exception. I disagree with her, because, as I went on to explain, ALL the men I know have the ability to multi-task . . . although this ability is limited to a certain location. Tell me, what man do you know who does not text, sing, make phone calls, read novels or even do his taxes . . . while on the toilet? I'm just saying.

Terrell went on to say that I wouldn't even KNOW this information if I didn't keep walking into the men's bathroom while it's occupied.

He might have a point. :o)


What's in a Name?
>My daughter's dog is a female, but Kevin and I still choose to call her "Mr. Squiggles" just to tick off Kacey. Every time the dog jumped up onto Kevin this past weekend, he threatened to turn her into Korean barbecue. Made me laugh.

>While in church Sunday morning, the minister was reading about Thomas (who was also called Didymus), when Kacey and Nathan looked at each other and exclaimed (in a loud whisper) THAT would be their child's name. And since the wee little unborn G-child is already being called Peanut based on the appearance of the first ultrasound, it was decided the full name would be Peanut Didymus . . . or P. Didy for short. :o)

>My son has taken to threatening my life in bizarre and creative ways. Mostly he reminds me on a regular basis that he will be the one choosing my retirement home. A few months ago he downgraded me from a bad nursing home to an alley with a dumpster. Mostly though, when I get on his nerves, which, you know, almost never happens, he threatens to sneak into my room while I'm sleeping and shove dry Q-tips up my nose. Last week, however, he threatened to bludgeon me with an orange Tootsie Pop.

If his body didn't so closely resemble an orange Tootsie Pop, (scrawny white body, big orange head) I might be threatened.

>I texted Kacey last Friday afternoon to tell her we were on the road and heading to Indy. She texted back and said, "Don't forget to bring the red thing." What red thing? "The red thing with the brown polka dots." HUH? No sooner had I requested she explain than Kevin said, "Mom. Red thing with brown polka dots. She's talking about me." Sure enough, she was. Made me laugh. A lot.

Okay, that's all the weirdness for this week.

hope

HOPE.

It's my favorite word. My favorite concept.

My daughter gave me this as part of my Christmas,

and I've put it in my office

because that is where I will see it the most

(unless I can figure out how to mount it on the dashboard)

Recently my mom passed along a box of stuff to me,

and in the bottom of the box was a little 1970's plaque

that hung in her kitchen as long as I can remember.

I guess I read it every single day of my life until I left home.

I always loved it.

"Yesterday is already a dream

And tomorrow is only a vision

But today, well lived,

Makes every yesterday a dream of happiness

And every tomorrow a vision of HOPE."

Hope that is seen is no hope at all.

Who hopes for what he already has?

But if we hope for what we do not yet have,

we wait for it patiently.

(Romans 8:24-25)

parenting 104

Be creative. Be smart. Be consistent.

I heard a story one time about a single mom whose teenage son continually lied to her. She was at her wit's end with him when she decided to do something drastic: She would turn the tables on him, AND, she would do it for a full two weeks. She began at breakfast one morning as he was getting ready to catch the school bus. "Honey," she said, "How 'bout I pick you up today?" The kid was thrilled because that meant he didn't have to ride the bus, AND he would be home a half hour earlier. Then she didn't pick him up. Now because he had already missed his bus, he had to walk home. When he confronted his mom, she simply said, "Oh, I changed my mind." He ranted about how unfair that was and did she know he'd had to WALK home? She apologized flippantly. The next day she promised him pizza for dinner - his choice of toppings. Instead, she went out with friends and left him a note to fix himself a sandwich. She told him she was going to buy him new shoes . . . she bought herself some instead and said his would have to wait until next paycheck. She got creative. By the 5th or 6th day the kid had all he could take. "MOM! You are driving me crazy! You keep telling me all this stuff and then you don't do it! You are being so unfair! How am I ever supposed to know if you mean what you say?!" Mom looked him square in the eye and said, "It's really hard to trust someone who never tells the truth, huh?" The kid got the point. But mom continued HER bad behavior for the remainder of the 14 days. Her son, however, learned the consequences of lying and began to be a kid who could be trusted.

Then there was the 15-year-old girl who kept missing the school bus. (She was embarrassed about having to ride the bus.) Her family was a one-car family and dad had to be at work on the other side of town at the same time she had to be at school. So, when she missed the bus, dad had to take her, which meant he risked being late for work. This had to stop. Her parents told her she could not miss the bus again or she would be responsible for getting herself to school. A few days later she missed the bus. She asked dad for a ride. Dad reminded her of the rule. "WHAT? That's not fair! Just how am I supposed to get myself to school???" Dad pulled out the phonebook, flipped to the yellow pages and stately flatly, "Call a cab." Which she did. Expecting a yellow New York City-style taxi to pull up, she was mortified at the reality. This was not a large town, so the cabs were beat up old station wagons with less-than-reputable drivers. (An uneasy Dad followed the cab to school that morning without her knowing it.) The cab was not only more embarrassing than riding the bus, it also cost her $22 of her own money. She never again missed the bus.

My favorite story of consistency is actually about lab rats. The experiment was simple: Build a maze, put a lever at the back that distributes a food pellet. Two mazes were built. The rats entered, made their way to the lever, pulled it, got rewarded with food. They were allowed to do this on a regular basis. Then one day things changed. In maze one, food pellets were only distributed once every 100 pulls. In maze two, food pellets were stopped completely. Result? The rat in maze one continued to run the maze and pull the lever every single time. He never quit hoping for the reward. The rat in maze two tried for awhile and then quit trying. Completely. How does this relate to parenting? Consistency. If you give in, EVEN ONCE out of every 100 times, your kids will keep trying and keep trying because they know, eventually, you will give in, and they will get what they want.

I personally put this "rat maze concept" into practice with my two little darlings in the grocery store check-out aisle. Every time we would check out they would ask if they could "have something" - gum, candy, mini-flashlights, whatever. I ALMOST ALWAYS said "no". Remember: ALMOST always. And yet they ALWAYS asked. So I made a rule: IF YOU ASK FOR SOMETHING IN THE CHECK-OUT AISLE, THE ANSWER IS AUTOMATICALLY "NO". The next time we went to the store, they asked. I said "no", and reminded them of the rule. It didn't take long for them to catch on that mommy meant "no" when she said "no". This had a two-fold benefit: 1) I never, ever got nagged in the check-out aisle, and 2) occasionally, I would look at my kids and say, "Why don't you pick out something today?" This resulted in "yippee!" and "yeah!" and "You're the best mommy ever!"

And, isn't being the 'coolest mom ever' one of the best by-products parenting?

parenting 103

(This is the 3rd in a series on discipline and parenting.)


What kind of discipline works?

Any kind, really, so long as it speaks to your child. I spanked SOME, but only for defiance or for actions that could cause someone to be injured. If I was doing it again, I doubt I would choose to spank. But I don't think it matters the route you take, as long as you remember you are disciplining - not punishing, not harming, not humiliating. Be creative. What does your child value most? Cell phone minutes? Cookies? Staying up late? Hanging out with friends? A favorite toy? Facebook time? An upcoming event like homecoming? You know your kid better than anyone. Pull the plug on it. Proactive discipline works as well. What does your child hate? Cleaning the bathroom? Writing essays? Pulling weeds? Any of it will work, as long as your child dislikes the discipline more than they LIKE their bad behavior. And, no, your child is not allowed to scream and cry and throw a fit about their discipline. That just calls for further discipline (like doubling the punishment.) Eventually, and if you are consistent, it won't take long, your child will learn not to break the rules, and will also learn to accept discipline without whining or crying.

If being consistent means that you absolutely, positively, ALWAYS, 100% of them time MEAN WHAT YOU SAY, that means we as parents must THINK and LISTEN before we speak. One of the best books I read as a young parent was "How to Talk so Kids Will Listen, and Listen so Kids Will Talk". One of the lessons I gleaned from this book was how to give kids choices. Giving choices is is a healthy way to teach decision-making. But be sure when you offer choices, that you respect your child's decisions.

Example 1: If you don't care, REALLY don't care what your 5-year-old wears to Kindergarten, fine. Let her choose her own clothes and be prepared to let her wear mismatched socks with green shorts and a purple striped turtleneck. If, however, you do care, then pre-choose a few items and let her pick from within your limitations.

Example 2: Dad says, "Hey kiddos! We're going to Wal-Mart. Do you want to go?" The kids say "no", but Dad says, "Too bad, you're going anyway!" If what Dad REALLY meant was "We're ALL going to Wal-Mart and you have no choice but to go with us." then you are teaching your children that their opinions are not important and not valued. Always say what you mean. Then always mean what you say. Your integrity as a parent depends on it.

Granted, we aren't perfect. We say things we don't mean. We even give in and forget to be consistent. When we do, we need to be able to apologize to our children. "I know I just asked you if you wanted to go to Wal-Mart with me, but that was unfair, because I really need you to go with me. I'm sorry I gave you a choice when you don't really have one."

Part of fair discipline also means that you LISTEN to your children, and you can't listen if you don't let them talk, regardless of your child's age. Even more, listening sometimes means doing a little observing and even a little "remembering what it was like to be their age". When Kevin was about 4, he had a piece of chewing gum he wanted to spit out. We were in a small store, so when he told me, I pointed to the lady at the check-out and told him to go ask her if he could throw it away in the trash can behind her counter. He refused. I insisted. He refused. I got angry and informed him he would do it NOW or get a spanking. He still refused. We left the store calmly, went home, and I spanked him. Some time later we were in another store and he needed to go to the bathroom. I showed him the nearest employee and told him to go ask her where the bathroom was. He refused. I insisted. He refused. I informed him he would do it NOW or get a spanking. (Sound familiar?) He still refused, with the same resulting spanking as before. Only after this time I actually stopped to ask myself why he had done this. He was not generally defiant or strong-willed. Although when I asked him, all I got was, "I don't know." What was the deal? Finally it occurred to me: My son was MY son, and I was the shyest kid in class until the age of 16 or so. He was shy. He was so shy that for him, the spanking was preferable to talking to new people. So with a little reflection, I learned my kid wasn't being defiant, and I also learned another aspect of his personality that needed some guidance. If you know my son, you know shyness has not been an issue for him since we worked through it by the time he was 6.

There are two methods some consider "discipline" that almost never work: yelling and lecturing. Yelling communicates a lack of control on your part, it is unpleasant and embarrassing for everyone within earshot, and not least of all, it makes you look like a jerk. Lecturing is kind of like trying to water your garden for the entire summer all in one afternoon, it's overkill and kids just learn to tune you out.

One greatly untapped avenue of discipline is community. Once I heard a mom tell her son as he was leaving for camp, "have a good time, behave yourself, and remember: if you do something wrong, I am praying that you will get caught." WHAT? Yes, and she meant it. Give the people who are most involved in your child's life (teachers, friends' parents, friends, youth ministers, etc.) your permission to set your child straight when he/she gets out of line. Also, as a parent, be willing to listen. Don't ever assume "NOT MY CHILD", and conversely, don't ever just assume your child is guilty either. Listen, be smart. Sometimes mercy is way more important than discipline.

Be creative. Be smart. Be consistent.

parenting 102

(This is the 2nd in a series on discipline.)

BE CONSISTENT.

That's it. Sounds easy, but it's not. The earlier in life your children learn that you absolutely, positively, ALWAYS, 100% of them time MEAN WHAT YOU SAY, the earlier they learn to discipline themselves. WHY? Because you have taught them that the consequences to breaking rules are ALWAYS THE WORSE CHOICE.

Scenario 1: Toddler cries in church. Parent gets up and takes said toddler to nursery. Toddler is now happy. Parent attempts to return with said toddler, toddler resumes crying. This happens week after week until after a few weeks the toddler stops crying as soon as the parent stands up. Eventually the child is just taken straight to the nursery at the beginning and left for the duration. Why? Because who in their right mind WANTS to do something NOT FUN when there is the option of doing something FUN? Really? Wouldn't you, responsible adult that you are, rather sleep in, call in sick to work, and spend the day goofing off? But you don't. WHY? Because losing your job, your house, your car, and possibly your relationships are NOT WORTH the trade off. Hence, you act responsibly.

The core problem is parents think they are being cruel if they don't do what it takes to make their child happy. But by giving in to the instant gratification, by making them happy in the moment instead of teaching them to discipline themselves, you are setting them up for a lifetime of expecting society to cater to their every whim.

Solution. Toddler cries. Parent checks all responsible reasons why child could be crying. Once determined that the child is just "unhappy", parent takes child out to the hallway and makes being in the hallway more unpleasant than sitting still. (It truly does not matter HOW you accomplish this task, so long as you accomplish it EACH and EVERY time the child cries until the crying stops.) Child learns that sitting still and being quiet are preferable to what is going on in the hallway. By the way, you are NOT being cruel to your children by expecting them to learn how to be still and be quiet.

Scenario 2: Pre-teen smarts off when told to do something. Parent responds with
1)"Don't make me come over there and whop you!",
2) "Your father is going to hear about this!",
3) "Did you HEAR me? Don't make, me say it again!",
4) "One, Two, Two-and-a-half, . . . , or
5) "I've already told you three times, now MIND ME!"
Believe it or not, if you are experiencing this one from a child of ANY age, your child is SCREAMING for boundaries. BEGGING you in his or her own way to MAKE THEM MIND YOU. They WANT you to be the parent. They NEED you to be the adult. They need limitations for their own sense of security.

Solution: The very second your child shows disrespect to you, deal with it. NOT publicly. I am completely against humiliating kids, regardless of their age. Embarrassing your children will only cause resentment. Get somewhere private, even if it means you simply whisper in their ear, and you give them whatever is appropriate. And it needs to be big. AGAIN, YOU HAVE TO MAKE BEING DISRESPECTFUL MUCH MORE COSTLY THAN BEING RESPECTFUL. I'm a big fan of long-time groundings from their favorite toys and activities. (But again, you have to be consistent. If you say "NO iPod", that means "NO iPod". None. At all. Don't make an exception for ONE SINGLE MINUTE.) Oh, and NEVER, EVER repeat yourself if you were heard the first time. If you have to call a child, or warn a child more than once, you are not being consistent. In fact, if a child is breaking a rule he/she already knows, don't even give a warning, just go straight to the discipline.

When my oldest was 12 or so, I grounded her on several occasions from watching tv. But after a day or two I would give in because: her dad worked nights, her brother was little, and I hated to watch movies by myself. After a couple of times giving in and "lifting the tv ban", she started to work the system. I realized I was either going to have to BE CONSISTENT or find a different disciplinary route. (In this case, I chose the latter because I didn't trust myself to be consistent on this one.)

However, when my younger one broke a certain rule, he was grounded from Facebook for 2 weeks. He was warned that if he broke this particular rule again, he would lose Facebook for a year. After 5 months passed, he broke the rule again. He lost Facebook privileges for 12 full months. That was 3 years ago. He has, at least to my knowledge, never broken that rule again.

BE CONSISTENT.

The principle is the same, regardless of your child's age. Make the negative action more costly than the positive one, and don't waver. Ever.

parenting 101

(The following blog is the first of several on the theme of discipline. Please understand I am no expert. Please understand this blog is not intended to be judgmental. Please understand that I know God has GREATLY BLESSED me with two amazing kids.)


Now, please excuse me while I rant.

I am scared to death for an entire generation of kids who will generally fail in life because their parents either:
1) don't love them enough to discipline them, or
2) are afraid of the concept of "tough love".

Let me qualify this before I begin said rant: My parents were not perfect parents. I was not a perfect child. I am NOT a perfect parent. My children are NOT perfect children. Also, children are not supposed to be perfect. It is OUR JOB as parents to teach them, train them, love them, discipline them, so they learn how to be teachable, respectable, loving, self-disciplined adults. I have an AMAZING relationship with both my children (now ages 23 and 17) either despite their discipline, or more likely, because of it. Don't be afraid of your children. Don't be afraid that they will hate you or turn against you. (They will almost certainly hate you many times, but . . . ) They are wired to need and want your love, respect and acceptance. That being said . . .

It seems that almost daily now I hear parents complain about their kids. They complain about picky eaters and temper tantrums and disobedience. They complain about dirty rooms and smart mouths and breaking rules. They complain about grades and irresponsibility and lying.

Not only do parents complain, but for the most part, they seem to have this "throw their arms up in the air, shrug their shoulders, there's not much I can do about it" resignation to this being acceptable, something to just grit their teeth and trudge through until the child leaves home at 18. (FYI, if your kid is undisciplined, he/she may LEAVE at 18, but it's almost guaranteed he/she will return home to you as permissive parents once he/she: flunks out of school, gets fired, gets out of jail, etc.)

There IS a solution for this. I promise. It's not even complicated. (Mind you, I did not say it was easy.) The solution works for 2 year olds just like it works for 16 year olds. Ready?

BE CONSISTENT.

That's it. Sounds easy, but it's not. But the earlier in life your children learn that you absolutely, positively, ALWAYS, 100% of them time MEAN WHAT YOU SAY, the earlier they learn to discipline themselves not to break the rules. WHY? Because you, as their parents, have taught them the consequences to breaking rules are ALWAYS THE WORSE CHOICE.

Next: How to make the right choice easier than the wrong choice.

could be worse . . . could be david lee roth

The kids tend to name our vehicles. Don't guess that's too weird. Kacey's very cool Buick sedan she inherited from my Granny is called "Stella!"(which must be said with the Marlon Brando inflection from A Streetcar Named Desire). The white 1992 Sable that still graces our driveway even though it hasn't run for months and whose mere existence there now qualifies us for white trash status is affectionately called "Tank: the Sabletooth".

Pretty sure my next vehicle is going to be a van. I know, I know. I made it through the entire childrearing years without one and NOW? But yeah. I'm always needing space to haul stuff and groups of people (mostly teens). I've toyed with the SUV route, but the green in me CANNOT justify a gas-guzzler. And, of course, there's the whole "G" status, so with the G-baby on the way, a van makes even more sense.

Kevin has decided the new vehicle will be named "Eddie".
"Eddie?" I queried.
"Yes, mom. Think about it. It's a VAN."
"Ohhhhhh. Then we should call it 'Halen', don't you think?"
"No, mom, when people ask you what your van's name is (which, you know, happens a LOT), if you say 'Halen' no one will laugh. If you say 'Eddie', people will laugh. Eddie is funnier."

So, though I didn't want to know the sex of my children before they were born, I guess we've already taken all the mystery out of automotive acquiring. I willl have a van. He will be a boy. His name shall be Eddie. Eddie the miniVAN Halen.

I hope your family is a bit more normal than mine.