Tag Archives: raising kids

First world problems

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A dear friend of mine has a wonderful blog, and she recently shared about her realization of how some of her quirks might need minor adjustments. http://www.nancyholte.com/blog/2013/07/762/

Before I go any farther, if you think that you don’t have any quirks and that I am judging my friend, rest assured I am not.  We all have quirks –especially me (like my need to have all of my beverages completely filled with ice so that they are cold enough).  Nine times out of ten, those personality characteristics are what I love the most about my friends.  Trust me, I am not living over here in my glass house because I know many people the world over would love clean drinking water while I am complaining that my drink isn’t cold enough.  I get it.

I am acutely aware that even despite the tragedies that have befallen our family I am still more blessed than 95% of the world’s population.  That awareness is something that I am trying to instill in my children as they are becoming older and much more world savvy.  No name brand or one singular item will define the character of your heart.  Hard work and serving others is much more important than momentary thrill of a purchase.  These aren’t just platitudes for me, and I am trying on a regular basis to let my life’s choices be an example to my children.   Sometimes I don’t think they are listening.

I couldn’t be more wrong.

One day, our daughters were bickering in the van about something so trivial I cannot even remember what it was.  They both had valid points, but in the end of the day, they were clothed, nourished physically and spiritually, and housed.  The thing they were arguing about was not life threatening nor earth shaking; so I pointed out to them that their conflict was a “first world problem” suggesting that they should agree to disagree and move on.

They acquiesced, and our whole family started quoting lines from a family favorite video: Top 100 First World Problems by Scooter Magruder, as we continued on down to our destination. Upon arrival at the local big box hardware store, we made  a quick double-check of our list to create a game plan for this excursion in the midst of our home remodeling.

As we opened the doors to the van, our littlest was searching for her shoes.  Under the seat, next to the seat, in the back of the van, in my purse (as if they would be there), and on the ground – they were nowhere to be found.  I know I grumbled a bit asking if she wore shoes to the store.  She assured me she thought she did.  My annoyance wouldn’t have been so bad if we hadn’t just gone through the same thing a week before when we drove THREE HOURS to pick up her brother from med school camp –  only to discover she was sans shoes.  We had to go to the Mecca of the South and buy shoes before the closing ceremonies, forcing us to enter late (something I detest doing).

There was no rescuing her this time; so, I scooped her up (which was a challenge as she is getting tall) and carried her into the store with bare piggies.  On our way in, I was chiding her for not bringing shoes.  I reminded her this was crazy,  and she was old enough to be responsible for her own shoes.

Then it came:  wisdom wrapped up in a long-legged, curly-headed, freckled-face eight year old little girl.

“You know, Momma.  This is a first world problem.  Lots of kids around the world don’t even have shoes.”

Touché, my little Sally Gal. Touché.

They are listening.  They are always listening.  Be mindful of what you say, and even more mindful of what your actions speak.  I know I am definitely trying to be much more particular!

Clo's keens

By the way if you need a chuckle, check out Scooter’s video on youtube. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gXCsRlpbqPM

What a momma won’t do . . .

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In the spirit of Mother’s Day weekend, I have spent some time thinking about the joys (and struggles) of motherhood.  Being a momma IS and forever WILL BE my most important work.  I am not alone in this belief.  I have so many great examples of what good mommas do that I really felt compelled to write this today.

In the last few months, I have watched my friends and family make momma sacrifices that would flood the GNC (that’s the Good News Channel)  I hope to start one day.  (Of course, I know nothing about television or radio, but I do know the world needs to hear a little more good news – not to mention the Good News – everyday.)

Here are some recent examples of what a good momma won’t do:

  • Let her child fail at school when the pieces aren’t adding up.  (She finds a good tutor or helper.)
  • Let her child fight huge battles alone. (She digs out and puts on her boxing gloves.)
  • Let her children squirm out of consequences. (But, she is there to encourage them anyway.)
  • Let her children lose their imaginations. (She disconnected the cable.)
  • Let her child miss out on an opportunity. (She sacrifices time, energy and resources to make it happen.)
  • Let her baby believe something (even small) will be easy.  (Yes, it’s going to hurt, but she will be with you every step of the way.)
  • Let her child think they are the only one. (She shares scars from her past.)
  • Let her children assume that heartbreak is a private pain to bear. (She weeps in front of them.)

I could go on and on, as I am surrounded by good mommas every day in my world.  Generations ahead and those coming behind me have inspired me each and every day to strive to become the best momma I can be.

I am travelling this weekend to North Dakota, and the main reason for that trip is what one momma won’t do.  She won’t preach what she doesn’t practice.  I remember the conversation that started a long, arduous, but ultimately fulfilling, journey for her.  Yesterday, my sister (after knowing her for 20+ years, we dropped the in-law part) walked across the stage  earning her Associates of Science Degree in Nursing.  She awaits Board Certification, but she is an RN.  But those capped and gowned steps didn’t really show the whole story the eleven of us in the audience already knew. A single mom of four, her footsteps started as an idea when her oldest was a freshman in high school.  How can I preach to him to go to college when I never did? Wow!  I remember being blown away by her words.  I was speechless (which I admit is rare for me).  She went on to say that her dream had always been to be a nurse, and she had researched the local community college and found a program that fit her needs.  I will have some tough classes.  Will you tutor me? Absolutely!  My chips were all in for the biggest prize ever – helping her succeed!  She found resources (including me, the other sisters, Grandma, her own children, community members, other students, faculty, staff, & the TRIO program), showing her children that sometimes it takes a village to raise a momma.  She spent long hours, staying up past when the kids were in bed to study.  She sacrificed in countless ways to prove to her children that she VALUES education.  Her past three years have been a testament to will and determination as well as hard work and a few tears.

So yesterday, if all those other people at the college graduation didn’t see it, let me tell you what you missed – a momma who practices what she preaches strut across the stage as a college graduate.

lori

I am SO THANKFUL that I was there to witness each step of what a momma won’t do.

An eggcellent tradition

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A few years back our honorary son and his girlfriend called us up asking if we had plans for one of the days of Easter break.  They were free from college courses and wanted to come over and love on “their” younger siblings.  For us the definition of family is those who we choose to love.  I think Jesus would be okay with that definition.  Josh had been a part of our kid’s lives since they were teeny, and after Reed’s death and later Andy’s death, he had assumed the role of oldest brother in this family.  It was something for which we are forever grateful.

That call led to an epiphany moment, “Would you want to dye eggs with the kids?”.  Always up for an adventure, Josh and Nicole both happily agreed.  Egg-dyeing is one of those traditions that was hard to go back to after losing a child.  So began the new tradition.  Since that first year,  we have had many memories as we embraced all of Josh’s extended family into the tradition.  We have had stuff stuck in trees (long story), splatter painted sheets with leftover egg dye, and gotten downright funky in our egg-dyeing techniques.

This year was no exception.  While we missed two members of our merry band, the rest of us – nine total – gathered around a table first for dinner, and then for the annual egg-dyeing eggstravaganza!  When we broke bread (yes- the homemade kind), we read from a devotional that shared about Good Friday.  It was divinely appointed that all of our birds (white pigeons which resemble doves) flew out of the cote exactly at the moment we read, “It is finished.” John 19:30 (NIV)

The thought of those sweet words being a Victory shout brought tears to the eyes of a few of us at the table.  Never had I thought of those final words as victorious.  It was a humbling moment for my heart.

After supper we were up to our elbows in eggs – eight dozen to be exact. We did try old favorites of using those hole protector stickers to create designs on the eggs.  Who knew we had so many white crayons?  We upped the ante by using electrical tape for some pretty bold geometric shapes and designs.  Erin even pulled off a methodical and tedious checkerboard pattern using that same tape on one egg.

eggs

Once the last egg was dyed, the laughter and creativity lived on.  Since our yard still had quite a bit of snow cover and I did not want Easter egg colored dogs, the sheet idea was O-U-T! (Sometimes a momma just has to put her foot down.)  I remembered that we had some small blank canvases in the basement art stash.  The wheels began to turn.

Out came the stickers and one canvas!  Next came the paintbrushes . . . followed by a big dose of creativity.  Everyone painted a small area, and in the end it was a beautiful group art piece.

Easter art

What was even more beautiful was the creation of our hearts.  Even though all present miss Reed, we have been able to go beyond the societal definition, and rise from the ashes of tragedy to create a masterpiece of enormous proportions – a family.

The link to our devotion:

http://odb.org/2013/03/29/shout-of-triumph/

The day I had wine with Jesus

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communion cupA few years ago, my family took a spring break trip to Florida to visit my sister and brother-in-law.  It was a mild winter, but the warmth and the Florida sun (which I miss most days) were welcome hosts.  We had plans to attend one of the theme parks, and I REALLY wanted to go to the Holy Land Experience (which for lack of a better description is a theme park without rides).   I learned about HLE the year before when we were stuck in traffic trying to get to dress fittings for my sister’s wedding.  My Nannie bursting with joy said, “I really want to go there someday!” (Sadly, she never did, but she walks the streets of gold today.)

We were just going to go for the morning, but we kept finding more shows or more things to see and do that we stayed the whole day. Our party included three generations who all enjoyed themselves. I didn’t really intend for this to be a travelogue; so, you will have to check out the website if you want to learn more.

Our visit coincided with Easter week.  We had heard over the radio and internet to arrive early that they were expecting record attendance for such an important week for Christians.  They were not wrong, but my fear of crowds didn’t really overwhelm me there.  (The theme park was another story.)

As today we mark the anniversary of Jesus’ last supper with his disciples, I wanted to share my experience of dining with Jesus.  At HLE, one of the opportunities you have is to have communion with “Jesus” – an actor who humbly takes on that role.  My inner skeptic was a little leery, but from the moment I stepped inside the cave style dwelling, my imagination allowed me to transport myself to a time many years ago.  Each person – man, woman, and child – is given a beautiful little cup carved from olive wood from the actual Holy Land (not the one in downtown Orlando).

“Jesus” talks with everyone, engaging both in his words and his eyes.  He literally serves you bread and wine, and he blesses everyone there as he prays for the group as a whole.  It was a mesmerizing experience – one that my children recall fondly.  I remember having tears in my eyes because I knew that this actor was soon to be playing His role in the Passion.  I knew the story by heart before that encounter, but it felt so much more real knowing that the “Jesus” with me was soon to be handed over.

Most of the other souvenirs from that trip have either been outgrown or garage sale fodder, but not those little wooden cups.  We each still have them and lovingly we bring them out each Easter as a remembrance of the time we had wine with Jesus.

Precious memories. . . indeed!

Bling it on!

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I like comfort anything.  Comfort foods, comfort quilts, comfort footwear – all of them rate very highly in my daily existence.  I love boutique shopping, but more often than not, you can find me in a favorite t-shirt and jeans.  Even though I am really into comfort, aside from gardening season, I really enjoy having well done nails. I cherish being unique in my style, and for an outfit to really be mine, it has to involve something animal print, from the ocean, from the heart, or something with a touch of bling.

I was blessed with the best mother-in-law in the entire world.  I love her, but if she were to have a signature look it would not include any of my pizazz.  Jeans, t-shirts, and sweatshirts are her daily uniform – but no embellishments and definitely no bling.  I adore her and there isn’t much that she does that anyone could improve upon.

That was until . . . yesterday.  My mom-in-law is like the Pied Piper of children, and one of her tried and true tips is to always have play dough on hand.  Of course, it is the homemade kind that is so much better than store bought. She has an entire corner of her kitchen dedicated to all things play dough.  Over the years some additions have been made to her recipe like using Kool-Aid packets instead of food coloring for tint.  I even once added essential oils as an experiment for aromatherapy dough.  (It worked, but we never repeated it. I have to say lemon dough was pretty amazing. )

As we were preparing for St. Patrick’s Day, I just couldn’t help myself.  I decided to attempt something I had seen on the internet somewhere (my friends would tell you probably Pinterest) by embellishing Grandma’s Dough in honor of our good friends the leprechauns.  We made the recipe below as usual, but as we were cooking on the stove we added 2 tablespoons of gold glitter.  I, of course, loved it as did my little shadow who also has a penchant for all things fuzzy and bling-y.dough hands

She thought it was much too wonderful to keep to ourselves; so, we made a bag for her friend and  a bag for the leprechauns (more on that tomorrow).clo & dough

Some days, I feel as if childhood is becoming an endangered species in this country.  I will do anything possible to keep that magic alive.  I want my kids to be kids as long as they can. Honestly, though, I am not sure who had more fun making sparkly dough.  I think it would be a tough call.

Long live imaginations including hers!

 

leprechaun dough

Grandma’s Play Dough recipe (Kid tested and approved!)

Heat burner to medium.

1 cup flour, 1/2 cup salt, 2 tsp cream of tartar, 2 Tsp cooking oil, 1 cup water, food coloring or Kool-Aid mix,  2 Tsp glitter (We used gold, but my imagination tells me that faeries might like purple.)

Mix water and food coloring or Kool-Aid mix.

Stir this and other ingredients together in a saucepan.

Put on burner, stirring 3 to 4 minutes until mixture looks like stiffly mashed potatoes.

Allow to cool and then enjoy!

Raised on PBS and Little Debbie . . . Part 2

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Photo property of Sesame Workshop
Photo property of Sesame Workshop

Photo property of Sesame Workshop

For most of my children’s lives, we didn’t have cable.  Instead, we had the $8.99 special.  We could receive local stations, PBS, and a few superstations.  That was it – period.  No, Disney. No, Cartoon Network. No, Animal Planet.  No, Nickelodeon. We didn’t feel deprived or missing anything.  As stated yesterday, we were raising a second generation of American kiddos who learned their ABC’s and numbers with educational programming.

Our love of educational programming continued even when we visited completely “caffeinated” television hot-spots like hotels or Grandma’s house.  The viewing mantra became, “If it ain’t PBS, you ain’t watching it.”  The “ain’t was used for emphasis and humor, but our kids got it.  That mantra became our family’s viewing guide.

The decision not to pursue cable had more to do with our desire to shield our children from unsuitable viewing and less to do with the financial savings of avoiding “bundling”.  I will admit that viewing any television was pretty slim pickings during the Writer’s Strike of 2007-2008 with our limited channel options.  But at least, PBS was still going strong.

It was during this same period of limited viewing that my first encounter with questioning PBS content occurred.  (My heart did flitter-flutters as my mind was reciting, “Say it ain’t so, Joe.”)  That particular year we had a 7th grader and a 3 year old.  On one cold late start morning, we were watching our beloved Sesame Street.

To give the setting, a few weeks prior our 7th grader had a spelling packet with plurals of words like sisters-in-law and sergeants-at-arms.  Again, it was not to my liking as Elmo stole most of the show, when on came Mr. Noodle and the other Mr. Noodle, (Mr. Noodle’s brother).  As Elmo was trying to convince the brothers of some thing or another, he kept referring to them as Mr. Noodles.  Did my ears perceive that small, but ever so slight incorrect placement of plurals?  I immediately pointed out the inaccuracy (it should be the Misters Noodle) to my 7th grade scholar. I just dropped a knowledge bomb up in here that was received with nothing more than a shoulder shrug and an eye-roll.

Oh no!  My childhood favorite is giving incorrect grammar to millions of children.  Whatever shall we do?  In reality, we did nothing . . . except my pointing it out every two years when that same spelling packet came home with the next two children in line in our household.  Again, the morsel of knowledge was met with uncharacteristic nonchalance by my other scholars, followed by an emphatic, “No!! I am not going to tell my Language Arts teacher about this, and neither are you!”

Well, I have one more student that may take up the crusade, but I have a few more years to drum up some support among my brood.  But in reality, she will probably fall in ranks with the others – proclaiming, “Let it go, Mom, because it is still a sunny day on Sesame Street”.

And thank goodness, they are right!

4 days to go: A place where fun still lives

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Early in the first days of grief, I made 2 choices.  Tough, gut-wrenching, deliberate, and much-needed choices.  One choice was to not allow grief be the theme of our house.  We know families where loss has created a darkness in the home that never really allows the light of life to penetrate.  We didn’t want to live in that house.

BC – Before crash, we were the family that:

  • had impromptu dance parties while cleaning the house.
  • got led by pixies in the forest and even got lost in that forest in the dark.
  • drove to Dairy Queen in our pajamas.
  • had sleepovers on the basement floor after family movie night.
  • put paper plates with drops of food coloring on the driveway in rainstorms to create masterpieces.
  • sang to citrus fruit, “Oh my darling, Clementine.”
  • prayed and sang and read together each night.
  • laughed so hard we cried.
  • had an open door policy for any child, pet or wayward friend.
  • made silly home movies.

We were always the family that people called in a pinch for a back-up babysitter or afternoon play-date. Our freezer was never without popsicles, pizzas, or ice cream.  There was always an extra toothbrush, blanket, or swimsuit.

As we sat in the hospital learning more and more about Sawyer’s injuries.  I made a willful choice to not allow our house to be surrounded in sadness.  We would grieve, but we would not give up.  Oh, I wanted to do that.  I wanted to dig a hole and crawl in it.  But if I did that, what would that say about the value of Sawyer, Erin, or Cloie?

Our beginnings were baby steps.  We created a nerf gun fun house while Sawyer was still wheelchair bound.  We threw our Easter egg dye all over a white sheet in the backyard; thus creating a hilarious masterpiece.  Eventually, we invited friends back over for movie nights, and we laughed and giggled again.  The BC list of fun things slowly creeped back into the rhythms of our life.  All, but one that is.  Making movies of our happiness just didn’t happen, because eventually one of us would break into tears.

It took awhile, but eventually, the old camcorder came out from its hibernation. Silly movies happened again that catalogued the current state of zany antics.  That’s exactly what happened last Saturday when we had a passel of kids staying over.

I think that Reed would definitely approve of the silliness in our house – where fun still lives.