Tag Archives: Family

Rites of Passage Sure Have Changed

I keep a short leash on my boys when it comes to certain things. The big kids weren’t allowed to have a Facebook page until they were in high school, and then only under my watch. Slick and The Trailblazer didn’t have internet on their phones until recently. The poor Caboose is the ONLY sixth-grader on the planet that doesn’t have a cell phone at all.

So last night was a bit of a big night. The Caboose sent his first email. To his dad. Then one to The Trailblazer up at LSU. (Then we had to call his big brother to tell him to check his email.)

His new school is very “21^st Century,” and most of their curriculum is based from the laptops every student is issued. They have school email addresses, and they use email as their primary means of communication.

He showed me how to open up Outlook to check his email like Bill Gates must’ve done once to show the world. I oooh-ed and aaah-ed, and gave a proud smile. He had two messages in his Inbox from teachers. And now he has two in his Sent Items as well.

I saw no need for an email address until now. (The fewer paths pedophiles have to contact my kid the better.) But his school has an extremely aggressive filter on their services (and it’s required), so whether I was ready or not, it was time.

He’s now entered the world of electronic communication. And I’m sure he’ll be toting a cell phone before too much longer. But it won’t have internet.

Cuz I’m the MOM

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Who remembers The Mom Song, the little ditty sung to The William Tell Overture that takes all the stuff a mom says in a day, compressed into a couple of minutes…

(I CAN NOT get enough of this.)

Well, now the teens have had their reply.

I hope y’all enjoyed this as much as I did. 🙂

Happy Birthday, Little Man

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He wore that jersey for three days straight. Since he hasn't gone through puberty yet he can get away with that.

I thought my life was perfect. Two terrific sons, a wonderful husband, a new house with a spare bedroom. I didn’t think it could get any better. Then you came along, and the relatively calm life we had with two kids gave way to the new hustle of three.

Your brothers were easy. You were hard. There were times when I resented the amount of effort it took to get through the day. But that was because I hadn’t yet learned what God wanted me to figure out. That you were the child who would complete me. That you were the one I still needed.

For you are the person who made me realize the greatest truth in life: that we are all EXACTLY what God wants us to be. There have been people along the way who didn’t get you, who thought you needed to change, to fit in a little better, to be more like the others. I must confess that I even thought that a few times. But watching your conviction to be yourself made me realize this great truth.

Thank you.

Now that you’re getting older, I see the greatness that is in you. You will do amazing things one day, because you think so big. I’m not yet sure what that thing will be, but I have no doubt the creativity inside you will one day change the world. You’ve already changed mine.

This year will bring big changes. You’ll be leaving boyhood behind soon, entering adolescence. Manhood isn’t far behind. But I know it will suit you. In fact, I think some of the constraints of childhood hold you back and that once you’re free to open up that amazing mind of yours you’ll reach heights even I can’t imagine. Yes, adulthood is going to suit you well.

So Happy Birthday, Little Man. Keep rocking the world!

Good Night, Sleep Tight . . .

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I know I’ve already extolled the perks of having big kids, but a few weeks ago, Mr. Wonderful and I pushed the envelope a little further, and planned an overnight trip – without any kids. The Trailblazer is still home for the summer, so we left him in charge and darted down I-10 to the Mississippi Gulf Coast for a get together with Mr. Wonderful’s old high school friends.

We had a lovely time, and for a few blissful hours, I actually forgot I had kids. (There’s something about being around the people who remind you of a time before you had kids that can actually transport you back to that time. Aaahhh.) We hung out at a casino (no one under 21 present), had dinner at a lovely restaurant (no chicken nuggets on the menu), and spent the evening at an outdoor venue listening to music (drinking refreshing adult beverages) in the July Mississippi heat. The next morning we gathered again for brunch, slowly bringing ourselves back into reality for the trip home.

This is the critter I found in my bed. * cringe *

It was so blissful I completely forgot about a topic that has been in the news quite a bit lately.

Bedbugs.

I don’t travel much anymore, so when this topic hit the current events circuit in every news outlet in America I brushed it off as something that really didn’t apply to me. I disregarded all of the advice on how to inspect a room for evidence of bedbugs and how to handle your luggage in a way that reduces the likelihood of bringing them home with you.

I now regret not paying better attention to that advice.

Sure enough, as I’m stripping beds last week, I pull back the fitted sheet on my bed to discover a little brown critter sitting all comfy at the foot of my bed. Not realizing what it was at first, I made an audible noise of disgust and flushed the little sucker. It wasn’t until the following morning that I realized what I’d seen.

Then the panic began.

I Googled BEDBUGS to look at some photos, only to confirm my terrible suspicion. As I feared, it was, indeed, a Cimex lectularius, a common bedbug.

The cleaning process. I was making sure no bugs sneaked past me.

I read a few articles to get an idea of what I was dealing with, watched a couple of YouTube videos on how to inspect a room for infestation, and put in a call to my exterminator. Then I began the process of dismantling my bedroom.

I discovered that eradicating bedbugs is a lot like getting rid of fleas or lice. (Both of which I have done at various times in my parenting career.) It involves lots of laundry, intense vacuuming, and thorough cleaning.

Our search produced only one live bedbug, so my exterminator seems to think I got off easy. (Probably just a single stowaway who wasn’t in a family way when he/she hitched a ride to my house.) Whew.

Now I just have to get over the heebie-jeebies I get every time I walk into my bedroom. And figure out if I ever intend to use that suitcase again.

As for the cute little saying “Good night, sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite…” I’m no longer amused.

Bedbug advice:

NEVER place your suitcase on a hotel bed. Put it on the stand, on the dresser, or if necessary on the bathroom counter to unpack it.

Pack plastic garbage bags, and seal your luggage in the bags during your stay.

Examine the sheets for small, rust-colored flakes. (Bedbug poop.) Or for actual bugs.

If you find them in your home, don’t panic. But do get ready for a boat-load of work to get rid of them.

A Mind of His Own

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My Gratitude Chalkboard has become fodder for my family. Some of it I find amusing, some not. But a few days ago Slick wrote something on it that brought back one of my favorite memories of The Caboose.

(Cue nostalgic, pre-school music.)

When he was 3 years old, he went to a Mother’s Day Out program a couple of days a week. There was a bulletin board in the hall (where the mommies lined up to reclaim their kids) always decorated with seasonal activities. When a new project went up, all the mommies would oooh and aaah over their little one’s contribution with pride.

That fall, the Thanksgiving bulletin board went up, and each child dictated to the teacher (they were too young to write) what they were thankful for, and teacher wrote it down on the little pumpkin cutout beneath their name. The title of the board was “I am Thankful For…” (wait, now my chalkboard feels much less original).

The wall was full of pumpkins bearing sweet messages of thanks, obviously prompted by the teacher. Most of the children claimed to be thankful for their families – their parents, their brothers and sisters, a few included their pets. Some were thankful for their health (yeah, right), and a few for God. I scan the wall for my son’s pumpkin, so I can beam.

I find it, and it says, “I am Thankful for scissors.”

Huh?

At the time, he wanted to be a barber when he grew up. (Kid loved getting haircuts.) And he liked using scissors. (Probably because he had my undivided attention when using them.) So it made a little sense.

Then I thought about how this process must have gone. Teacher asks three-year-old what they were thankful for. Child looks back at teacher with a blank stare. Teacher says (nodding), “You’re thankful for your family, aren’t you??” Child nods back. Teacher moves on to next child.

Then I thought about my son. He was probably the only kid in that class who gave his own answer to that question. Even at three, my little dude saw things from his own, unique perspective. And no grown up was going to lead him elsewhere.

Nearing the End of Lazy Summer

Tales from the Treehouse*

Random Acts

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I remember the first time I saw the slogan. I was living in Texas at the time, and was in New Orleans for a friend’s wedding. We were at the local hangout, and it was plastered on the wall behind the bar:

PRACTICE RANDOM KINDNESS AND SENSELESS ACTS OF BEAUTY.

I was amazed by its simplicity. I was inspired by its power. I committed it to memory.

{ Source: OptimisticMinds }

Now, this was the 1980s. There was no internet to fuel such a concept. It was a grassroots movement, forced to travel by bumper sticker and magazine article. By word of mouth. By deed. It was slow going. If it was going to catch on, I was going to have to do my part.

I went back to work the next week and remember being excited by the concept, and sharing it with co-workers. A few thought it as silly. A few thought it weird. A few thought it was as wonderful as I did.

And so began my journey.

Over the years I’ve paid people’s tolls, bought the coffee of the driver behind me in the Starbucks window, bought groceries of the young couple with the baby in the stroller. I’ve given blankets to a homeless man, and picked up hitchhikers (I don’t do that anymore). I remember sitting on the side of the road on Christmas Eve with an old lady who had car trouble. (Before cell phones. You had to get someone to drive to the next exit to make a phone call for you.) I sprinkled flower seeds in the empty field and watched them bloom. I cleaned the statue outside my church. I carried candy around at Christmas and left it in the tube at the bank drive-up with a note.

But mostly I just tried to Be Nice. To as many people as possible. A genuine smile, a cheerful hello, a simple “How are you today?”— while making eye contact and waiting for a reply. Learning to be friendly, learning to listen, learning to care.

Talking about it seems a little strange to me. One of the points of a Random Act of Kindness has always been that it should be anonymous. (Touting them here is only for the purpose of explaining the concept.) When the recipient of one of my Acts tried to thank me, I always asked for the same thing: for them to pay it forward. To be kind, or generous, or helpful to another. I had this pyramid scheme in my head that one day, people would go about their business, constantly being nice to one another. My version of Utopia.

Twenty five years later, I’m trying to keep up the momentum.

Which brings me to 2011. A few days ago I came across a website called JustBeeGenerous.com. The concept was familiar: being anonymously generous. But this added the ability to push the movement forward using a card, explaining the act of generosity, and urging the recipient to pass it on. I was so excited!

As things now travel at the speed of Google, it took only a short time for the web site to pop up o a friend’s Facebook page and for me to learn that its creator is someone I know, the niece of a dear childhood friend of mine! I ordered my FREE cards and exchanged emails with her, and am watching the mailbox for my JustBeeGenerous gear.

Her version of the concept added the missing piece – the message of the act, and the request to keep it going. I’m so proud of this little girl I used to know, for making such a substantial difference to our world.

So, according to one calendar, Monday is Random Acts of Kindness Day. (According to another calendar it was yesterday.) Whichever day you choose to recognize, I challenge each of you to join the movement. Practice Kindness. Make the world a more beautiful place.

You never know whose life you may change. Might even be your own.

With Apologies to Dr. Maslow

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I don’t consider myself an “expert” in any way. But with 45 years combined experience (19+16+10) parenting 3 boys, I have learned a thing or two. And by today’s measurable standards I’ve done a decent job. They make good grades. They have reasonable standards of hygiene. None of them has been to juvey.

So (after I pat myself on the back) let me share with you a little of the wisdom I’ve gained.

Teenage boys only give their undivided attention to one thing: video games.

When there’s a controller in their hands, they can block out anything. Parents calling, little brothers screaming, phones ringing. I pray the house never catches on fire while Slick is playing Call of Duty. He’d be a goner. I even saw The Trailblazer’s girlfriend on a Skype screen competing for his attention while he was playing FIFA. She lost. They get hypnotized by the pixels on the screen like deer staring into headlights. (A few days ago I thought about throwing the main breaker and telling them there was a power outage just to get their attention. But it was too hot to be without the A/C, so I had to shrug off that idea.)

Once you get past video games on the Needs pyramid, everything else comes with an underlying distraction: thinking about girls. The chart is self-explanatory from that point forward.

The tiny space at the top of the pyramid is what remains of their former dependence on us. As they rely less on mom and dad for other things, the remaining contact is only for the purposes of bonding (us) and asking for money (them). They want to spend as little time with their parents as possible, preferably not in public.

So those of you with teenage boys in your life, study this chart carefully, and save yourself a lot of grief. Don’t get your feelings hurt when they bail on having dinner at home in favor of hanging out with friends. Don’t think you understand what motivates them. Don’t speak to them in public. And make sure the smoke alarms in your house are loud enough to be heard over COD.

I’m sure Dr. Maslow would agree with me.

Dear Mr. Wonderful,

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In case I haven’t told you lately, you’re a wonderful guy. When I was a girl, and imagined my life, I never even came close to the way it’s turned out. I hoped I’d find someone who loved all of me — my big mouth, my mood swings, and the awful sounds I make in the morning to clear my sinuses. You’ve been a really good sport through all of it. You’ve even validated me by reading my blog.

And you’re a wonderful dad. You’re never too tired to go for a bike ride, push someone on the swing, or fix problems on the computer. When I can’t moderate another argument, you step right in. And you’re the best at preparing for social studies tests! I know our boys will turn out to be great dads, because they’ve had such a great example.

Putting you on a plane today made us all a little sad. But I’m smiling knowing you boarded the flight in your Who D@d t-shirt, and were probably thinking about us as much as we were thinking about you.

Happy Father’s Day. You rock!

The Lucky Wife