I'm One Lucky Mother

Goodness knows my children are not perfect; there's rarely a week that goes by that one of them isn't being punished for something.  However, twenty years in my chosen profession has shown me it could be a Whole. Lot. Worse.  And if they (my children) only knew just how bad it can sometimes be, they would cut out some old yearbook pictures and be set for life...'cause I would be hard-pressed to ever punish them again for some low level infraction whilst looking upon the countenance of certain scholars.  More likely, I would fall to my knees, kiss each and every toe on their grubby little feet and then take the whole family out for ice-cream.

"Mom, I just carved my name in the banister!"  "That's great, son!  Would you like whipped cream on your sundae?"

Dear Old Golden Rule Days

School days, school days
Dear old golden rule days.

Their very last "first-day-of-school-picture" together.

Readin' and 'ritin' and 'rithmetic
Taught to the tune of the hickory stick.

 

 Can it be?  My beautiful senior.

You were my queen in calico
I was your bashful barefoot beau.
And you wrote on my slate 

"I love you, so"

My handsome second-grader.

When we were a couple of kids.

A Few Thoughts on Raising Children

Jacqueline Kennedy once said, “If you bungle raising your children, I don’t think whatever else you do matters very much.”  How true is that!

I have to be honest with you, raising children is the most difficult job I have ever had.  It’s perplexing how two (in my case) people who bring me the most joy in life also bring the most frustration.  There are times when I feel like one big fat failure.

Let me just include here, lest I have painted an unflattering picture of them in your mind, I have really good kids and, despite the occasional attitude adjustments needed, dirty dishes left out, and toys left strewn about, I feel blessed they are mine.   

When it does become a little overwhelming I take a step back and realize my goal should be to raise good children, not perfect children (for they do not exist), and that my micromanaging, choreographic, helicopter style is usually counter-productive.

Having said that though, I think the hands-off approach taken by many parents in child-rearing does even more harm.  Children need love, support, and freedom to learn on their own and be independent, but they also need guidance and discipline.  There is a consequence to each and every action we do, and sometimes the consequence can be grave.  Children need to be taught this.

In our years of teaching John and I have seen many a parent come to school when their little Johnny or Jane was in trouble in an effort to get them out of whatever consequence they were facing.  Usually, but not always, these parents were never seen at any other time during the year...not at P/T conferences, open houses, or other school events.  The only time they were ever publicly engaged in their child’s education was to fight to keep them from being disciplined and to argue that whatever rule was “unfair”.

I remember this one student (not from my class) who had stolen an item another 7th grade student had brought for show and tell.  The item was a Samurai sword (yes, this was in the days before zero tolerance).  At some point in the day the sword was found to be missing, and the teacher began searching with no luck.  Then, at the end of the day during bus dismissal, the teacher just happened to notice one sheepish looking boy walking toward a bus, carrying a gym bag which just so happened to be in the shape of a sword.  When questioned about it and after giving multiple versions of his story he was given his punishment (which I don’t remember now what that was).  Anyway, the next day his mother came to school furious that her son was in any kind of trouble.  As she told it, her son had told her he didn’t even know there was a sword in his bag.  Of course, the school did not back down and the mother left angrier than ever ranting about how her son would never have done anything like that and how the school was horrible.  The next year, this same student showed up in a pair of shoes which had been stolen from a locker the day before.  Of course, mom was back with the same story to tell...not my boy.  He would never.  This pattern of trying to get her son out of punishment continued until one day, a few years later, when the young man died drunk in a fishing accident.  Not even mom could get him out of that one.

The following article has been making the rounds on my Facebook feed, so if you and I are friends you may have already seen and/or shared it.  Anyway, I thought it was good so I wanted to share it, too.

A Different Kind of Drug Problem

The other day someone at a store in our town read that a meth lab had been found in an old farmhouse in an adjoining county and he asked me a rhetorical question, “Why didn’t we have a drug problem when you and I were kids?”  

I replied, I had a drug problem when I was young:  I was drug to church on Sunday mornings.  I was drug to church for weddings and funerals.  I was drug to family reunions and community socials no matter the weather.

I was drug by the ears when I was disrespectful to adults.  I was also drug to the woodshed when I disobeyed my parents, told a lie, brought home a bad report card, did not speak with respect, spoke ill of the teacher or preacher, or if I didn’t put forth my best effort in everything that was asked of me.

I was drug to the kitchen sink to have my mouth washed out with soap if I uttered a profanity.  I was drug out to pull weeds out of my mom’s garden and flower beds and cockleburs out of my dad’s fields.  I was drug to the homes of family, friends, and neighbors to help out some poor soul who had no one to mow the yard, repair a clothesline, or chop some firewood, and, if my mother had ever known I had taken one single dime as a tip for this kindness, she would have drug me back to the woodshed.

Those drugs are still in my veins today and they affect my behavior in everything I do, say, or think.  They are stronger than cocaine, crack, or heroin; and, if today’s children had this kind of drug problem, America would be a better place.

God bless the parents who drugged us.

Amen!

The County Fair

What one does at the county fair can often depend on the age, gender, and interests of one's children. One of these days I fancy that I might like to enter something from my garden in a contest and win myself a blue ribbon. Of course, I would probably produce something that would give Aunt Bee's pickles a run for their money.

Our county's annual fair was held this past week and and we were there on Thursday evening -first, to support Ren in her attempt at the Teen Fairest of the Fair crown and then, if he promised to be good during the pageant and sit somewhat patiently, to take John-Heath around to ride some of the rides.

Ren wore the same dress she wore in the Strawberry Festival and, although she came up a little short this time, still looked beautiful and did such a good job. A couple of my friends from school were there and one of them said that was not the Ren he knew.

She decided to go down just a smidgen in her heel height this time from low to extra low. When you're almost 5'11 you don't need a tall heel. I also chose not to spray paint these shoes gold to better match her dress as I had her old ones. I don't think it made a big difference, though.

If there's one thing I wish I had done differently, it would have been done months ago when we bought the dress. We bought it off the rack at the shoppe. I have learned since to ask the store to order one in the correct size, and not be suckered into keeping the one they have on hand. The store took a large-sized dress and said that it would be faster to just alter it to fit. Being new to the whole pageant thing I didn't think it would make a difference. It does. Even though it's a beautiful gown and looks lovely and graceful on her, it still just looks too big in some areas.

I wish I had a picture of her with her fan. The fair board gave all the girls old-fashioned "church fans" to use in an attempt to stay cool as they waited under the tent to go on (the heat index was 100+ that day). We knew how hot it would be and how much our daughter sweats (like the proverbial mule). So we purchased her a portable, battery-operated fan and it was the best $8.99 I've ever spent. Another of the girls had one just like it, too. It reminded me of something Suzanne Sugarbaker would have done.

When it was all said and done, she placed as the 2nd runner-up. Here she is with the other winners. See what I mean about the dress being a tad big?

And here she is with two of her very best friends.

And with my niece Megan - Ren's personal make-up artist. Megan has many titles and tiaras to her name, including the 2006 Fairest of the Fair.

Finally, it was time to get out of the dress and just sit back and relax while watching the Miss division of the pageant. Here's Ren with my aunt and cousin who were there to watch the pageants, too.

And, last but not least, it was John-Heath's turn to have some fun. John got him started and I caught up with them a little later. He loved the slide and rode it over and over and over and ov...

How can you go to the fair and not ride the carousel?

And since he's nuts about planes anyway, he had to give them a whirl. But I think his favorite part of the night was getting to go inside the portable command center set up by the city police. They stocked him up on plenty of sticker badges (one of which made its way onto one of my kitchen cabinets) and ID kits.

My little girl left happy. My little boy left happy. It was a good night.

P.S. I usually try to proofread before posting, but I'm tired. Getting back into the routine of things these past two days has hit me hard. I'll try to correct mistakes tomorrow. So if you should find some tonight...well, if you're as tired as I am you won't notice them. Goodnight, friends.

For My Friend

Seth with little brother Caleb

Today, a friend was not at work. Instead, she and her husband had taken the day off to move their oldest into his college dorm. I know this is a bittersweet day for her, as it is for all parents moving their children into dorms and apartments for the first time. It wasn't too long ago that this little blonde-headed boy was sitting near us in church looking through the sticker books and such his mom always made sure to pack. In another day or two, he will be looking through engineering texts. It reminded me of the poem I read years ago and posted just a few months back. Forgive me, but in honor of my friend and her new college freshman I am posting it again today.

He used to call her mommy at the tender age of four.

Then it changed to momma as he grew a little more.

Later, it was mom - with a tone of disrespect.

And now away at college he only calls collect.

So long, mommy! I'm off to TTU.

Seth, call your mom often!!!

Twas the Night Before Kindergarten

'Twas the night before kindergarten...
and as he prepared,
John-Heath was excited and not one bit scared.
He tossed and he turned about in his bed,
while visions of school supplies danced in his head.

-adapted from the book by Natasha Wing

John-Heath is now officially "phased in" and will have his first FULL day of kindergarten tomorrow. His backpack is loaded to the brim with supplies along with two other shopping bags to boot. I know that there are some who complain about shopping for Back-to-School supplies but I have always enjoyed it. Of course, I am one of those people out at 4 in the morning the day after Thanksgiving too.

Here's hoping my little guy - and all the other little guys and gals - have a great year!

A Fairytale

Once upon a time in the Kingdom of Dunroamin there went out a decree from the king and queen that each day, following the noontime meal, children far and wide should retire for a periodic state of rest. And this time, during which consciousness of the world is suspended,would forever thereafter become known as naptime. And child-bearers all throughout the land rejoiced, for they saw that this was good.

And nowhere was the law more adhered to than in the royal household. For you see, the young king and queen were of a new, more modern era and unlike the former king and queen, and his father and mother before him, there were no house servants to tend to the daily burdens of the castle. All was now left to the king and his wife to undertake.

Now the youngest heir to the throne was the apple of his parents’ eyes and, as such, he was much beloved. Tis true he was sweet. No child in the kingdom was known to be more friendly and loving. A stranger he never met. Nevertheless, he was also untidy and generally a child underfoot. And this made the duties of the queen hard to achieve.

So each day following his tiffin Prince John would be taken first to the loo for an expeditious washing and then to the royal bed chamber to slumber. And after a story, a kiss, and the tucking of the covers, the little prince would drift off to dream.

And his mother, the queen, was happy. Yea, she was filled with joy!

Duck Duck Goose

I really wish I had had my camera handy tonight as I watched my children play Duck Duck Goose in the front yard. It was certainly a humorous site to see this game being played by TWO.

From the front porch I hear John-Heath say to Ren, "Hey, Ren! Let's play Duck Duck Goose" and watch as he promptly takes a seat on the ground. Ren humors him and plays along. Tapping on his head the first time she says "Duck" and then proceeds to tap several imaginary ducks before making her way back to her brother, a goose this time. They played a couple rounds of the game, with each getting a turn as the goose.

I may have to suggest they play it again tomorrow night, and this time arm myself with my camera.

Well, going to turn in now - just a wee bit tired. Ren and I went swimming today. We had such a good time, just the two of us, but I think I might be a little burned - not too bad, more pink than red. We're hoping we can get one more swim in before Jon, Jessie, and the boys get back tomorrow evening. And then, with a little luck, our own pool will be installed and ready to enjoy by this time next week. Goodnight, all.

The Power Within

My children love each other. I know they do. However, to the untrained eye it might not appear this way. They can fight at the drop of the hat. Ren gets very easily perturbed by John-Heath (who can be quite the annoyance to a big sister who is a teenager) and sometimes will say things for which she later apologizes. Of course, John-Heath rarely needs one to step in to defend him. He manages quite nicely on his own - verbally or physically. Sometimes a little too physically. At any rate I doubt he will get bullied at school. Which is a good thing.

This weekend, Ren was trying to tell us all the details of seeing the new Nightmare on Elm Street movie with some friends. John-Heath was trying, at the same time, to tell us something, anything. He just likes to talk. I can't hold that against him though, as I have a whole list of former teachers who would back me up when I say he gets it genetically. Anyway, at some point Ren says to him, "Sometimes I wish you'd just stop breathing." (This would be a case of her saying something without thinking it through and then later feeling bad that it came out that way). John-Heath's reply was "Uh, Ren! I can't help it. God made me and He put that power in me." I thought that was pretty cute. It's nice to know that even children as young as four know their very breath is a precious gift from God.


A mini-moment...John, John-Heath, and I went out to eat this weekend. While John was paying John-Heath and I excused ourselves and went and waited in the little breezeway between the sets of doors. It was pouring down rain and I told John-Heath that it was raining cats and dogs. After explaining to him what that meant he thought he would announce it to everyone entering or exiting the restaurant, "Sure is raining cats and dogs, huh?".

Four Stages of Momness

And in case we need a reminder of just how fast they grow up there's always a "School Days" photo frame.

Eeeeons ago I came across the following in a magazine while waiting to meet with my doctor. I can't remember the title, author, or even the magazine from which it came. Pretty sure it wasn't Field and Stream, though. I guess I could have googled it but didn't think about that until just now. At any rate, this little poem has stayed with me for 20+ years. I like to think that I can remember it because I just found it so darn sweet. In truth it may be because it is only four lines long.

If you are a mom you can change the gender to make it personal to your situation. I think when I originally saw it it referenced a son, but I will re-write it here for a daughter, as I have experienced three out of the four stages mentioned within it with Ren.

She use to call me mommy at the tender age of four.

And then it turned to momma as she grew a little more.

Later it was mom - with a tone of disrespect.

And now, away at college, she only calls collect.

Let's Play a Game, Shall We?

It's called "How many questions can be asked between Rock Bridge Road and Henry Harris Road?". Let me warn you first that you must play with my son present. He will be a passenger in your car. Let me further warn you that, should you decide to compete with him head-to-head, you will lose. And I'm not talking about losing by only a little so that you still feel pretty good about your performance. I'm talking annihilation.

You see, my son is the prince of questions. I would say king but he's only 4, so he can't be a king until he's at least in his twenties, or longer if he's like the Prince Charles of question asking.

On a recent drive home from visiting my parents he managed to fill, pretty much, all 13.8 miles with questions. This was after losing the privilege to eat a candy bar bought just an hour earlier at Wal-mart because of his inability to not talk.

Wal-mart parking lot...
"John-Heath, if you say one more word you will NOT get to eat your candy bar and we won't stop to see Ma-Ma and Pa Gene. I mean it!!! NOT ONE MORE WORD!!! Nod if you understand mommy."

1.5 miles up the road...
"Look! A train."

Adios, Hershey's. I did give in on the not stopping to see Ma-Ma and Pa Gene thing though. He loves them like crazy. Besides, we had to stop and pick up Ren.

After a visit with the grands we headed home. This time with Ren in tow, as well. Thus it began...

John-Heath:
Why do these people have houses beside Pa Gene's?
Why is there a gas station here?
Will we come back tomorrow?
Is tomorrow a church day, school day, soccer day or stay-at-home day?
Why is there a bus parked in that yard?
Do you drive a bus?
Why don't you drive a bus?
If you had a special license would you drive a bus?
Do those people at your school have a special license?
Why do they park those buses at your school?

Ren:
John-Heath, shhuut uup!

John-Heath:
Ren told me to shut-up.
Are you going to spank her when we get home?
Can I watch Alvin and the Chipmunks when we get home?
Mommy, do you want to watch it with me?
Ren, do you want to watch it with me?
Who let the dogs out? Who? Who-who?
Ren, say "who let the dogs out."

Ren:
No.

John-Heath:
Why not?

Ren:
Because I'm not an idiot.

John-Heath:
Ren called me an idiot.

Ren:

You're a psycho, John-Heath.

John-Heath:
I not psycho.
What's a psycho?


According to Rand McNally's website it should take approximately 23 minutes to drive the distance between my parent's home and mine. I feel certain that Mr. Rand and Mr. McNally were both childless.

How My Kids Will Remember Me

The Olympics are finally over. I didn't get to see much coverage of the events but I would keep track of some of the stories via the internet and Yahoo News.

I have to admit I loved watching curling. I have read several posts as to how it's not a real sport but I just found myself somewhat enamored with it. Bob Schieffer had a humorous piece in something questioning how and why people got into this game. Tennessee even has at least one curling club of which I am aware. If I lived in the eastern portion of the state I would, for sure, have to join the Great Smoky Mountain Curling Club - or at least go watch matches from time to time.

Of course, two of the more emotional stories to come from the Olympics were the luge athlete being killed during a practice run and the sudden death of Canadian figure-skater Joannie Rochette's mother shortly after arriving to watch her daughter compete.

Ms. Rochette went on to compete and, against the odds, was able to make it the podium - capturing the bronze. I read some statements she made concerning her mom and one really stayed with me - I suppose because it reminded me of the relationship I have with my own daughter. Rochette said that her mom "sometimes could be a pain in the ass" and went on to say that the two were best friends and that her mom always wanted the best for her daughter, encouraging her when needed and putting her down when that was needed, too.

I know my children, especially my daughter, will almost certainly one day say I could be a great big ole pain in the you-know-what. But I hope they will also know that I was their biggest fan.