What Marbles and Ice Slip Significant into our Lives Tonight

"Every year I take one out," he says.

He describes a glass jar of marbles that hulks on a corner of his desk. He is professional, efficient, an accomplished businessman, and his words have stuck in my brain ever since.

"I set up the jar, estimated how many years an average person lives, and now every January, I take one marble out."

Photo credit: Flickr user Sally, Creative Commons, cc license

Marbles catch the light and diminish slowly in the jar on his desk, and his meaning sinks in.

"I wanted to remember how fast life flies by and to make sure to live fully."

His exact words are fuzzy to me now, but the image still reverberates.

Weeks, months, years trickle through our fingers and leave only memories. Our children's heads race closer to our foreheads and then flash by. Ankles flash pink skin cold in winter growth spurts, and I peek into my garage for the purple plastic bin of Daniel's next size clothes. Morgan brings home a brand new college identity card, grinning cheeky at her row of color-coordinated gel pens and bulging pack of binders.

We carve calendar dates for two graduations this spring, and both John and Morgan step into their last semesters. They each organize their rooms and start packing. Morgan dreams of college dorm-room decor and spies out small sets of kitchenware. John boxes up childhood mementos, making room for another carton of wedding supplies, and brainstorms apartments for the summer.

And your children too, are stretching taller by the week, their shoes and jeans shrinking by the month, and how do you slow down time?

Our marbles diminish so subtly, so silently, that I look and am surprised to do the math and see where I am today. You too?

Our words matter. Our minutes are priceless. As cells stretch, divide, and stretch again, the loved ones in our life grow taller, older, and seasons flash by. 

Snow melts here in Minnesota today. Last week's arctic chill now slips grated snow through my black metal patio table, shredding ice into stalactites below.

I crunch out to my compost bin this afternoon before supper, scowling at the rabbit tracks, and trying to halt their entry into my yard. I'm comfortable without a winter jacket and the snow crunches and melts underfoot.

The cold had seemed so impenetrable and now snow shrinks by the hour. Tomorrow and Thursday are supposed to be warm as well.

And the snow disappears from my deck.

"Mom, will you play a game with me?" Daniel asks, his tousled hair still standing up in the back despite each day's water.

"Sure, bud. Let's play."

Throughout the night, I sneak down to hug my two oldest kids who are cramming homework.

"I love you so much." The words fall naturally as I reach up to hug them, leaning my head against their chins.

Take a marble with me, my friends. The snow has melted even more since supper and I don't want to miss a moment.

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Parenting Adult Kids: Navigating Life Alongside Them

He said it straight up, this truth I had been feeling deep down too.

Sitting in chairs pulled up close enough for our legs and knees to touch, we sat across from each other for maximum eye contact. And the prolonged eye contact had been stacking up, my neck tingling deliciously, our eyes flashing at each other, and his voice husky and flirting. We had been alternating between laughter and serious conversations that assessed and reviewed our relationship.

Photo: Flickr user Seif Alaya, Creative Commons cc license

Suddenly my husband's eyes turned reflective and his voice signaled a new paragraph, away from the marriage retreat material.

"You know, you need to be careful with the way you...," and he described an interaction between me and our seventeen year old daughter.

"You're right. I was thinking that late last night too," I agreed, and we sat silent in a conference room filled with twelve to thirteen murmuring couples.

"I'll talk with her and apologize for coming off so intense," I mused. Mark and I grinned, flashing eyes at each other again, and he made a joke, raising his eyebrows at me. I shifted my legs closer to him and we read the next marriage discussion question aloud. Peace and determination settled deep into heart crevices inside me.

Traversing life's many choices with our adult and near-adult children is something I'm learning as I go. Standing up on tip-toes to hug my almost-twenty-one year old son and my willowy high school daughter, I can sense this deepening gap between us. Not that we aren't close! We're very close, but parenting looks different here. 

"I get to be a groomsman," my twenty-year old son tells me, grinning. "There'll be two weddings that day!" he laughs, holding up a wedding invitation that just came in the mail.

Meanwhile, Morgan researches colleges, gobbling up class descriptions online like me in a chocolate store, and we debate the pros and cons of transfer credits and build-your-own-majors.

"Hey, Morgan." I strung words together distractedly as we pulled onto Highway 35W south this morning. "I'm sorry I came across so intense the other day. I am on your side and we'll research this together. Sound good?"

Windshield wipers scraped grey frost to the sides of the car and I could see it from the corner of my eye. Her smile was soft, warm. "Thanks, Mom."

Parenting tall young men and women is a joy and privilege. It's a constant chance for me to learn and grow as well. Side by side, my husband and I are laughing, learning, and praying as we go.

What are you thinking about this week? 

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The Weighted Moments That May Be Passing You (& Me) By

"Will you cut my mouth?" he asks, holding out a butter knife towards his pumpkin.

We're gathered around the kitchen table, five pumpkins and five people. Slimy seeds with dangling orange pumpkins strings are being slung into a glass bowl for later, and we pass the stencil blades and tiny plastic saws around between us.

My six year old son and I brainstorm the expression he wants his pumpkin face to have, and I slice and cut features for him. Swingy jazz music plays in the background, dirty dishes stack high on one of the counters, and everything has stopped for an hour or so as we slip into family time.

"This year for Christmas, can we decorate lots of cookies?" my daughter asks, staring intently at her pumpkin face as she carves.

"Sure." We talk more of customs, and it intrigues me to know more about which holiday traditions and times together have been meaningful for them. John stretches out across the couch by now, all of us done with our pumpkins except Morgan who is painstakingly following an idea she found online.  After some thought, John brings up simple moments from his childhood, walks in preschool years, times alone with special loved ones, and it hits me.

Most of our special family moments aren't the huge scripted ones. They are the small cumulative times that build each year: an hour here dicing out pumpkin faces; a squeezed in afternoon there spreading red frosting onto chunky gingerbread men; but mostly, it's the happy moments around the dinner table before someone has to leave, or the ordinary evenings at home with a family game or movie.

I can see it now, how often my nineteen year old likes to linger in the kitchen as I wash dishes or cook supper, pulling his long legs up onto the counter or into my small desk chair, while we talk about the day before he rushes off to work. Those moments hold weighted value now tonight as I see them for what they are: precious, and building a foundation of family memories.

"Mom, is it time to light the candles now?" Daniel asks, all six years of him brimming in excitement.

(And it's not about Halloween, because we're careful about those themes, yet are thankful for times to connect with and meet our neighbors.) It's about the excitement of doing something as a family, building a memory each time we gather together. Today, it was with pumpkins, and faces, and autumn leaves. And the memories captured here are precious.

What are some things you enjoy doing with your family or friends?

When Our Lives Don't Fit the Pretty Analogies

I imagine you're heard the rock and sand analogy too? It's the story we hear from self-help books and spiritual retreats about ordering our lives and prioritizing what's really important. And the way it goes is this: a woman is handed five or six stone boulders and a pile of sand.

Photo: Ted Scodras, Creative Commons, cc license

The rocks represent important pieces or roles in her life: her marriage, kids, spirituality, sense of community, and the list goes on. The sand is everything else that trickles in to take up a day: laundry, dishes, meals, soccer-trips, grocery-runs, etc. Pouring the sand into a glass bowl first, she puzzles and struggles to slide all five or six prioritized life boulders in so they'll fit into her already very-full life. Half-full of sand, the boulders cannot all fit into the bowl.

Then, in a flipped upside order, the solution is displayed for us to see. Dumping out the failed attempts, the bowl starts empty, clean. Placing in first the prioritized boulders, a woman's life is ordered, it would seem. All rocks nestle neatly in the bottom of the bowl, awaiting the sand that is to sift in, sloshing into hollow crevices and holes, around the important rock roles.

I've used this analogy and explained this, but it's falling short for me today. The truth is, our boulders are big and take up a lot of space some days. Is anyone else feeling that way? The older my kids get, the larger their boulders seem some nights. Forming a tenth-grade daughter, raising a college-age man, and introducing a kindergartener to letters and phonics seem more than a day's worth of boulders and it wakes me up some nights, when insomnia tiptoes in. My building-a-marriage rock is special and vital to me too, and it swells to fill the whole bowl some days.

A six year old Spiderman-masked-boy dances and sings beside me as I type, his boulder knocking and tumbling against my glass bowl, knocking out others, spitting sand to the side.

I'm figuring something out, friends, about the bowl and the rocks and the flying-out sand... I don't think our lives can be boiled down perfectly to fit into these glass bowls. I'm learning to take turns juggling each boulder, focusing time on each aspect of my life that has deep value.

Yes, the sand still fits, and yes, it comes in last. But those boulders? I'm still not fitting them all in smoothly each day to my satisfaction. Instead, I'm pausing and giving each its moment in my hand.

A red-bandit six-year old runs in to ask for help reaching his plastic silver sword high above the kitchen cupboards. Pushing the keyboard aside, I stretch for his sword, and then stare full into his brown eyes. We smile, talk, and I know his rock needs more time. Soon.

Yesterday afternoon, my husband and I disappeared into our room. Locking the doors, we pulled the curtains, turned on the fan, and snuggled in for time together. For a lazy hour or two, it was just him and me. Time trailed and twisted timid toe shyly as we ignored the world and turned inward for a while.

My daughter and I worked on her Biology and World Geography homework together this morning as sunshine spilled into the kitchen and I sipped hot coffee before work. We planned a future shopping date while adjusting microscope lenses, and the time passed too quickly.

How do we order our days and weeks, pouring the necessary time and energy into our kids' lives, into our marriages, and into the things that really matter to us? How do we live without regrets in a week that is frantic and paced?

 My boulders? Your boulders? They may not fit easily into glass bowl analogies or into daily check-lists, but -- with intentionality and God's help-- we can keep them central in the busyness of life.

They may just not all be in the bowl at the same time, and that's okay.

When Words Cut and Slash

Photo Credit: Andrew Blight, Creative Commons, cc license

Black, white, blue and cream hangers twist jumbled on the couch. Metal and plastic angles dig and coil, arching uselessly; sharp ends jabbing, blunt sides hiding, nestling under layers; and the hangers are ensnared.

He runs and hides, giggling maniacally, shoving dryer-hot clothes into wrinkled piles, and slipping under shirts. The fun is lost on me and I scowl and call him out. He squeals and burrows further, unaware that he is past his bedtime, past his mom's patience, past the silly zone.

And my words, they jab and coil, digging angular into soft edges, tumbling twisted to the ground. Scooping under warm laundry, I swoop up my five year old, and carry him squirming to the bathroom for last minute bedtime details. I'm ensnared in fiery emotions, spiraling hot and impatient, and my mom-skills are jumbled, useless, bundled on the side.

He tantrums and cries, while my insides sigh weary, and suddenly I calm.

"Daniel, I'm sorry. I messed up." I talk gently and touch his toes, helping him arrange his pyjama pants. "Even though you need to obey when I talk to you, I still got too angry. I'm sorry. Will you forgive me?"

He softens, and I'm regretful and sad. We wash hands, head to his room, and turn off lights. He climbs his bunk bed, while I turn on the fan, and clear a path through the toys. Leaning on tiptoes, I swipe hair back from his face, kiss him some more, and apologize again. Playing with his caramel-colored hair, we close eyes, talk to Jesus, and say sorry to him too. We murmur gently in the dark room, talk of tomorrow, and I kiss his tiny cheeks.

Walking back into a quiet living room, I'm still saddened by my sharp words that dug and coiled. They lay twisted around me in my mind, but I bring them to God and talk to him.

Minutes pass in silence, and I tidy up the house, unconsciously.

"Mom?" he calls faintly from the bedroom.

"What, bud?"

"I'm happy now!" he declares, and my shoulders soften too, a smile stealing across my face.

She's Smarter Than Me

 We were sitting there side by side, and tension was mounting.

Long dark hair fell across her face and her eyes flashed. Wiping furious tears from her cheek, she grit her teeth, and I watched jaw muscles flex and clench.

A homework assignment was aggravating her, and confusion masqueraded as fury. After several exasperated sighs, she suddenly stood up, shoving her chair back.

"Mom! Can I go do some devotions?!"

"Right now?" I wondered, "Don't we have a lot to do?"

"Mom, I just need some time with God. I need to do this."

Bleakness stood out against pale cheekbones. My daughter froze mid-bolt, pleading with her eyes.

I paused.

"...Sure, go ahead. Let's meet again in twenty minutes?" My words were barely out, and she was off, her door shutting behind her, a pink room disappearing from sight.

My daughter? She's smarter than me. She knows Who to run to, where to turn, when life feels raw.  Because for me, I sometimes take too long to pause life and grab my Bible and journal. I often try to soldier on, with a bad mood firmly entrenched. Grumbling under my breath, quietly seething, or secretly dissolving into sadness before finally realizing my need --and it's Source-- I can leave casualties around me. 

My daughter? She was smarter than me this week.

And that brings joy too.


(Photo Credit: Harry Rowed, Creative Commons, cc licensing)

What Sports Cars and Physics Can Teach Our Families

Photo credit: Maciek, Creative Commons, cc

Sizzling Latino music rumbas through a sunny south-facing living room. Creamy light bounces dazzlingly off white sculpted snow drifts outside to dribble across red pillows and dented couch cushions inside. Wind-carved ledges hang off the roof, drape the deck, and swoop grandly through our yard. Swing-set chains disappear unexpectedly into snow drifts, the seats hidden below.

Photo credit: Carl Wycoff, Creative Commons, cc

My teen age daughter swipes long side bangs off her face, clipping them back, as we calculate physics at the table. Acceleration is calculated by subtracting the initial velocity from the final velocity, divided by time. We lean closer to read the problem about a sports car that speeds from zero to 60 miles an hour in 3 seconds, and I notice how tall she is, my lanky daughter. Fifteen years old looks good on her. We groan despondently at the subject, but grudgingly fill in the equation. Velocity flies by going east for the sports car, and into the future for this woman beside me.

How do you nurture and build memories with your kids on a daily basis? In between dishes, laundry, and physics problems, we sculpt our days at blinding speeds. Dentist trips, part-time jobs, and family activities carve swaths through our weeks, and I don't want it to erode away.

We laughed as we punched numbers in the calculator about initial and final velocity, my daughter and I. It wasn't the math-filled science. We found humor in odd places, and giggled together. Stopping to hug between subjects, we grabbed her notebooks and sprawled across my bed to read her math lecture together. All too soon, the talk of fully simplifying algebraic fractions trailed off, and she disappeared downstairs.

Walking back into the main rooms, a To-Do list spirals long in my mind, toys scatter my floor, and dirty dishes lean hazardously on my counter.

"Mom, play Uno with me?" my petite five year old asks softly. Shiny red Spiderman decals curl off his shirt. Tiny shoulders wait expectantly.

Snow spirals glitteringly away out the window behind him, as the wind swipes more of it. An afternoon sun slants shadows long across my carpet, climbing further up the red pillows.

He waits still, eyeing the black cards on the floor.

"Sure, bud, let's play some Uno."

And the snow drifts high on my deck, resisting the wind.

Martians Home for Dinner

Photo courtesy of NASA

Vivaldi traipses scales in violins and lutes tonight while a deep white frost encases the glass on our front door.

Record-breaking arctic windchills blast the Midwest, and Minnesotans everywhere huddle indoors today, after jump-starting frozen autos and avoiding the wind. Car dashboards blink temperatures in the negative, and tv news anchors compare our weather to the conditions on Mars.

Bursting through the doors earlier with bulging grocery bags, my husband and I dodged hungry kids, and handed them fruit and vegetable starters, in between fierce hugs. "I missed you!" I exclaimed. They grabbed vibrant red strawberries, a croissant, and some pearly mushrooms.

Rinsing red lettuce leaves, I drained them in a colander, while slicing open buttery croissants. Turkey slices there made a sandwich, and I tossed tomatoes, sliced mushrooms, and shredded carrots onto the torn lettuce for a salad.

After having been gone for much of the day at work and then the grocery store, I see that the dirty dishes still stack high, so we are creative with finding clean plates. Conversation flows easily, quickly, as we catch up on the day.

"How was your school today?" I asked my daughter, kissing her head. We laughed and talked, while my sons disappeared to play games together downstairs.

Some days pass too quickly, and time with our kids is fleeting, huh? Today is one of those days, so excuse me, please? I'm going to pour myself another glass of mango-carrot juice and spend some time with my children. First, my eldest and I are going to search for discount used college books online, and then my two eldest kids and I are going to curl up on the couch to watch a show together.

How do you like to slow down your day and enjoy loved ones? What do you think you'll do tonight? I love hearing from you, friends. 

A Scary Privilege: How We as Moms Set the Tone

This Saturday, it fell apart.

"Why is it that the day before a Youth Sunday, everything somehow goes so badly?" my husband asked, sliding a hand through his hair in exasperation. "It never fails."

Toddlers dissolved into tears; teens argued; but mostly it was me. I argued, raged, and dissolved into tears. In an embarrassing grocery store incident, a stranger snapped at us -- I responded-- then he apologized and gently hoisted kitty litter into our cart. My daughter and I flushed an embarrassed crimson and bagged rapidly, wanting just to be away from watching eyes. Stacking blueberries and lettuce heads, I heard his soft apology, and offered an embarrassed one of my own.

Changing my default of discontent to doxology, described by Ann Voskamp, author of "One Thousand Gifts: A Dare to Live Fully Right Where You Are," is not easy to master. I can so easily fall into complaining, whining, or indignant behavior.

At home, surrounded by a bounty of groceries and a wealth of old resentment and impatience, my family and I stopped, apologized, and started over. Choosing to see good in the day, in each other, in the gifts from our Creator, we stopped, apologized and started over. 

Peace settled slowly into our home, joy creeping in. 

Oh friend, can you relate? Have you noticed a direct co-relation between your mood and your family's moods some days? What helps you and your family in those times? (Those in email can click here to join the conversation.)

Linking with Ann and Emily.

When Toddlers Talk of Death

It’s twenty-three degrees and tiny snowflakes lodge in clumps of brittle grass and into corners of the deck. 

The email comes of Grandpa Joe’s death, and we all pause. Stomping up the downstairs’ kids in our odd intercom-manner, they tramp up the steps, and I read it aloud. They listen quietly, soberly, then smile in fond remembrance, and head back downstairs to grieve him as they study. 

Death is new to Daniel. Four years old, full of comic book heroes and Bible stories, death is more of a temporary time-out for him. Perhaps he has it right, actually. 

I crouch low, looking him in the eyes. “Great-grandpa Joe just died. When you die, you get to go to heaven with Jesus.” 

“I want to die and be with Jesus!” Daniel quickly decided. “I want you to die and go too – all of us.” 

“Yes, well,” I pause, swallow a laugh. “Jesus is the boss of that. He gets to decide when we go to heaven, and we stay here until then. Okay?” 

I look into his eyes and hug him close. “Should we look at pictures of Grandpa Joe?” Daniel leaps excitedly and we pull up digital albums, looking at Christmas pasts. He leans in. 

Temporarily stepping out of time…  

I think he has it right after all.

Looking forward to joyful reunions someday, I link with Ann and Shanda. 

I love hearing from you and talking with you.How have you talked about death with your own kids? Or what helped you when you were little? (To join the conversation from email, click here. Thanks.)

Photo credit.

Dentist Trips and How to Love Parenting

The chimes blow hard, and yellow leaves carpet my lawn, the gaps in the naked trees revealing more of my neighbors’ yards than I have seen yet. This uncharted territory of autumn in a new house makes everything fresh this year. 

At the dentist office this morning, four Dougans crowd into the elevator, pass under construction scaffolding, and duck into unpainted hallway entrances to the dentist. Four year old Daniel skips happily to the waiting room toys, his sky blue Buzz Light Year hoodie crumpled out backwards. Svelte eighth grade Morgan stands tall beside me, bobbed hair gracing her cheeks, sliding to cover dark eyes as she slips into a chair beside me. Towering twelfth grade John slumps sullenly into a plastic molded chair nearby, his fear of dentists looking like teen age angst, oddly unlike his usual cheerful optimism. 

As our names are called, we pass through the waiting room to an inner glass-paned viewing center, where pink dye is painted on their teeth, new toothbrushes are handed out, and my kids take turns heading in for teeth cleanings and checkups. Sitting beside my towering son on curved wooden benches, we crack jokes, I flip magazine pages, and we peek in at Daniel and Morgan who flash thumbs-up signs and blow kisses. 

Throughout the next hour and a half, my teens and I crack jokes, talk about life, and blow kisses to little Daniel who wriggles patiently on his green elevated chair behind the window pane and dreams of the Ninja prize afterwards. 

At home, college applications pile up from the mail for one son, while tiny Spiderman-underwear fly off my deck and across the lawn from another son. Teen daughter stands tall beside me each night, asking her dad, “Am I taller than Mom yet?!” 

My nose pricked today at the dentist office. Laughing and sitting shoulder to shoulder with my older kids, and blowing kisses to my Ninja-waiting preschooler, I realized how short this time with them is, and how precious they are. 

Savor each moment, my friends, of your kids, nieces and nephews, or grandkids. They are so precious. 

The wind chimes blow hard outside my window right now, and yellow leaves race by.  

I love talking with you, friends. Thank you so much for stopping by to chat. What helps you best savor times with family or friends? What is a hindrance? (To comment from email, click here.) 

If you are not receiving my posts by email, feel free to simply enter your email address in the box at the top right of the page. Don't miss an article! 

Wind chimes Photo credit 

John and Morgan photo credit to Becky Pratts 

The Parenting Mistake We all Make and Need to Stop (Plus a Giveaway)

 We all do it. 

We think we’re protecting them. We think it’s for their benefit.

But we’ve all done it at some time, and it happens most often with toddlers or preschoolers. 

The setting is different for everyone, but it comes up. In the lull of a terse conversation, a child pipes in. Depending on their language abilities, the words vary, but the meaning is the same. Written across their brow, stamped into their eyes, and tilted into their head slant is the same question. “What’s wrong?” 

They heard it in our voices, or saw it in our eyes. Causes vary:  a stressful work situation, a financial tightness, or a brief marriage spat. 

Right then, we face a choice. 

Ten years ago, I responded differently than I do today. A friend of mine revolutionized the way I answer that question.

Ten years ago, I would have gently changed the conversation, or brushed aside my toddler’s questions with a slight “It’s nothing. We’re fine”-kind of answer. I so easily wanted to err on the side of protecting them from troubles or disagreements.

My friend Anne, a counselor in the mental health field for over twenty years, a licensed social worker with a masters in educational counseling and a certified Crisis Intervention Specialist quietly taught me differently one day as we worked together nearby. 

Children are so intuitive and observant. They sense when mom or dad are tense, angry or upset. But when we dismiss their worries, it discredits their inner gut feeling that something isn’t right. Anne went on to explain that while our motives are pure in wanting to keep their minds free of concerns, we end up doing our children a disservice because they learn to not trust their gut feelings that speak up announcing tension, troubles, or potentially dangerous situations. 

Building confident, perceptive children starts with acknowledging what they are sensing and can’t put into words yet. 

Your choice? My choice? In that moment when huge brown eyes are staring up at you, under furrowed brows… pause, get down to eye level, and affirm what they sensed.

“Yes, Daddy and I are thinking about something right now. You’re right.” 

Kiss them, smooth back that hair, and then say, “But it’ll be okay. And God is good. Thanks, my sweet.” 

Anne has written a poignant hardcover children’s book giving parents and caregivers tips to help children process their emotions. Through beautiful watercolor illustrations and a compelling story, families walk through a child’s hurt, disappointment and grief to a repaired relationship. 

I’d love to give away two copies of this book! There are several ways to win. In the comments below, tell me your thoughts (or disagreements) on this post above, or share a piece of parenting advice you've received and your impressions of it -- both good or bad.

Here's how:

1.) Post your answer in the comments below to get your name in the hat.
2.) Optional: Answer this question on your blog also with a link to my blog there for another chance to win.
3.) Optional: After commenting with your answer here, click Share to Facebook to post this site with your comment on your facebook wall too.

Three ways to earn your name in the hat for the books. Let me know what you do in the comments section below so I can get your name listed as many times as possible. I'll post the winner on Monday.

Cars and Castles: Parenting Teens and Toddlers

Kitchen chairs wobble high, topped with gallantly-waving blanket turrets. My teen daughter has asked for a break from homeschooling to play with her three year old brother.

"I haven't given him enough time lately, Mom," she shares sadly. "I'm already done with my math test, creative writing, and art. Can I build him a castle?"

Sure, yes! How do you say no to that? Minutes later, shaggy haired three year old races into the kitchen.

"Mom, I need a sword for my castle!"

Equipped with a green rubber spatula shoved down the side of his diaper, he runs off, with a few mighty leaps and paused poses. "I get bad guys," he informs me.

Downstairs, tall broad-shouldered oldest reads "The Tale of Two Cities," plodding through homework that takes up more and more of his day. Preparing for college in a year, he is learning that school becomes a way of life in these years. He balances two part time jobs, homework, and driver's ed classes where three long-legged teens pile into our vehicle for carpooled rides.

Balancing glue stick crafts and college visits is a fun adventure. Here are three tools we have used in parenting teens and toddlers.  

1.) Make the family unit something to be treasured. We affirm often that family is forever, and that these friendships are to be nurtured too. Meals are intentional times of conversation and laughter. Siblings are encouraged to mentor and invest in each other.

2.) Plan fun family events --for several ages.  We have enjoyed half price sushi, board games, and movie nights over pizza, along with simple Pooh Bear memory games. I am recognizing that I need to do more outings for just the four older ones of us, too, leaving toddler with a babysitter sometimes. We hope to go bowling soon.

3.) Proceed with prayer, laughter and lots of communication. Discussions with our kids and getting their feedback is very helpful. Talking through parenting choices with my husband is vital too, and I appreciate his discernment. Together we seek God's heart and wisdom too.

When I realize that this time in the home with our kids is so short, and that a lifetime of adult friendships are possible, it excites me and changes how I parent.

What about you? I look forward to hearing from you what parenting tips you enjoy, or what you have seen others do well, or what your parents did well with you. 

Green Fairy Wings and Story Tales

Witches, pirates, green dinosaurs and pink tufted ballerinas stormed the nearby shopping center yesterday.  Red firemen, fluffy brown poodles, and blue Thomas the Trains hijacked the sidewalks, and commandeered the shops, trick or treating with smart parents on a warm fall afternoon. 

Weaving our way through the short creatures, my teen daughter and I grabbed green glitter glue, fluffy pipe cleaners, and cardboard wings in the craft store.  (Morgan wanted to make her own fairy wings for an evening out with friends.) Then we strolled companionably across the parking lot to a coffee shop for the rest of our mother daughter date.  Over her strawberry-banana smoothie and my hot Guatemalan coffee, we relaxed and talked of life, friends, family, our Bibles and God. 

Soon enough our time was up and we raced home – me to make supper and Morgan to drizzle glue across white cardboard.  Fairy wings and story tale endings are more about day to day efforts, I’m deciding. Fully aware of multiple shortcomings, our family is striving to be intentional – and full of prayer.  

What about you? What helps you be intentional about parenting your kids? What parent/kid dates do you like to do?