I have a confession to make: I despise organization.
Don't misunderstand. I would love to be organized. But I am convinced my abilities are limited.
Getting ready for church, for example, was a nightmare when I lived in the Bible Belt back when church attire was in a class by itself. Finding shoes and socks that matched 18 feet was a routine Sunday morning frustration--also in a class by itself. One morning we were down to the wire and I was frantically throwing shoes out of the shoe basket, crying, "I
Around our house, a new year always stirs up talk of new goals. Here are my goals- some old, some new- for 2017.
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, including duh, huh, or a rolling of even half an eyeball.
I'm the mother, I'm the mother, I'm the mother.
I will find the balance between Helicopter Mom and Tiger Mom.
and Dorothy made their Virginia debut this weekend at Broken Leg Theater’s
Wonka Jr. They are my little Oompa
Loompas. It has been a terrific
experience. Bravo, Broken Leg Theater! (www.brokenlegtheater.org)
Over the eight weeks of rehearsals, I concluded that the Oompa Loompa way of thinking is spot on, for each time they were on stage they offered a nugget of truth.
Concentrate on self control (Augustus Gloop had zero) and not self esteem.
I hope my long absence from the blog hasn't gone unnoticed. A lot has been simmering at our house and this week it is boiling (and I am bubbling) over. My heart is so full.
For the last four years (plus a year at the Prep School) our son has been on a journey to graduate from West Point. It is a goal he has had since he was about seven, when he told his dad he wanted to be a soldier. I had never even heard of the place, but the Captain put the dream in Matt's heart. "If you want to be a soldier, you should go to West Point.
Can we talk about smart-aleck kids?
"I cannot believe the way some of my friends talk to their mothers," my own kids will tell me from time to time.
"They wouldn't live at home if they talked to me that way," I say.
"They wouldn't be alive if they talked to you that way," one of them replied not too long ago with a laugh.
Without apology, I don't put up with sass. And I have my own mother to thank for it. Despite my sisters' insistence that Baby (that's me) never got in trouble, I can remember my mother coming at me with a spanking and a few choice words.