Around our house, a new year always stirs up talk of new goals. Here are my goals- some old, some new- for 2015.
I will not scold happy noise.
I will, without apology, be the nutrition, hygiene, and screen police.
I will increase book and board game time and decrease screen time in my home.
I will not tolerate back talk in any form, includingduh, huh, or a rolling of even half an eyeball.
I'm the mother, I'm the mother, I'm the mother.
Outside. It's how I grew up.
As far as I remember, in fact, my mother never had to make me go out and play. Not once. Instead, she had to make me come in.
Is it just me, or has anyone else had to make their kids play outside this summer?
Here's the scenario at my house. Twice a week I enforce a screen-free day. No computer, TV or video games. Zip. Zero. Nada.
Some of the kids have severe withdrawals, others barely miss it--but it is agony for most of us.
"What do you want for Mother's Day?" Captain Fun asked me several nights ago after family devotions.
The answer came easily. "A whole, entire, complete day off...from Hope."
I adore Hope. In fact, the more children I have, the more precious those early childhood years become. But as I told the ladies at Grove Avenue Baptist MOPS this week, I have had a preschooler in some form for 27 years, and sometimes I feel like I am just about to die from exhaustion.
Many, many years ago when my oldest two children were little, we lived on the edge of a cotton field just outside of Memphis. We had two kids, one car, and few neighbors. Almost every day I would take the kids on the 3/4 of a mile walk down the gravel road to the mail box in hopes of hearing from the latest editor to whom I had sent a submission.
Life was simple. Because we had no car during my husband's work hours, there was no where to go; with our very limited budget, there was nothing to buy.
Many years ago I was waiting for my oldest son at his high school football practice in Vermont. As is my custom, I turned to chat with the mom beside me.
"Is this your boy's first year?" I asked.
"Well," she said, "it is his second year, but he was not here last year."
Something in her tone intrigued me. "Oh?"
"It is a little complicated."
I paused, wanting to know. I was glad when she volunteered the information.