A Day of Accomplishment

Ironically, days in which I feel like I've actually made progress toward something seem to be rare this time of year. One would think that, looking back at the end of a school year, I would feel great accomplishment. And actually, that is the case...for about half a day or so. Nearly immediately, I look ahead to all there is yet to be done.
I do love to plan for and think about the books to gather for the next school year. However, all of the maintenance projects around the house begin to weigh heavily on me. Which means they get regularly mentioned to Dad-a-thon. Yes, it can be a stressful time here in the home-a-thon.

By God's grace, I am growing in my ability to "be still" and be content. It does, however, seem to highlight my need for more growth...

Anyway, today I got a few things done. Though I must admit homeschooling sure cut into my home improvement time ;-)

Sustained Adolescence

A comment my son made yesterday got me thinking. While shopping for a gift for my husband's birthday, I said to the kids, "It's so hard for me to find a gift for Daddy because if he wants something, he usually just gets it for himself."

"Really?" my son asked, "Dad can just go get anything he wants for himself?"

Nervously wondering where this was heading --the mind of a 12 year old boy can be a scary thing--I said, "Well, yes."

"I want to be a man just like that when I grow up."

Aha! The perfect moment to discuss the values of God-glorfying hard work, perseverance, tithing, etc. So of course, I did talk about all those things, and the resultant dimming of my son's excitement--though entirely age-appropriate--reminded me how much work there is in rearing a boy. Now, there is nothing wrong with a 12 year old wanting the world on a silver platter. However, he is to become a man; not a 30 year old who thinks and behaves like a 12 year old. Apparently that notion is counter-cultural.

The glorfication of irresponsible behavior in our culture is shockingly popular. Look at the lifestyles section of any paper or magazine. It is filled with gossip about the latest train wreck of a young adult, awash in cash and devoid of any correction (=love) or discipline (from the Latin discipulus: student)from their family; the very people whose job it is to do so!
This is so very sad. Without the presence of loving correction and discipline while a child is in the parents' home, that child is greatly challenged to develop any self-dsicipline. I once explained this to my kids by using the example of relay runners and a baton. Parents have the responsibility of discipline for a time in the child's life. During this time, the child sees, experiences, and learns how to discipline himself. Then the parent hands the baton to the child, and he heads off to run his own leg in the race of life. Fumble and drop the baton, and running will have no purpose or direction; the finish line just an interesting banner hanging there for no apparent reason.

The District

That's what the locals call it, and I am quite confident it they use caps when they do.
I spent last week in D.C. meeting up with a lifetime friend and a couple of other gals whom I have known for a while now. It has taken me nearly the week to recover from the time difference, but I am getting there. Leaving is always nice because it makes me want to get back home. For that alone it is a good thing.


My initial impressions were very different from what I expected. I found it to be a beautiful place with a real sense of purpose. It was as though the seriousness of the work that goes on there was tangible. Of course the sense of history is impossbile to miss, with every spot having some major siginificance to our nation, albeit the world. It is not crowded or dirty (I guess that's just New York), and I felt very safe where I was. Granted I didn't venture out to the sketchy areas, but then again, why would I?


The whole family will head back for a "field trip" this fall, and I expect we will have a great time. For those of you who have never been (like me) I recommend you make a point to go there. Ours is an incredible nation, invented by incredible men. The place where it all began is a pilgrimage every American should make.

Family (Again)

As I re-read my last post, I realized it could be interpreted that I was judging those around me. I confess that that was indeed my initial reaction in the office. (I am not prone to love those who "aren't doing what they are supposed to be doing." Of course I do have plenty of rational explanations (read: excuses) for my own tendency to fall short.)

However, the reason that the situation stuck with me was--no, not PTSD--because of the stark examples it provided. Each of those people I mentioned were experiencing the chaos of fractured family life (and taking the entire doctor's office along for the ride, too). This is what happens to a culture at large when the family falls apart.

Why Should Anyone Care?
It seems almost un-American to care what happens in someone else's family. However, if you think the chaos inside someone else's four walls doesn't have a direct impact on you and your life, you just plain don't know your history.

Clearly, this isn't going away, so expect more thoughts later...

Family Values

A worn out term, I know, but it sure explains a lot, doesn't it?

Lately (as in the last 31 years) I have been perseverating on the impact of the family. I think about it all the time. My earliest recollection of thinking about the family is when I was six years old. But I digress...

My thoughts this time were ignited at the pediatric opthalmologist's office. We arrived, checked in and sat down. My son immediately noticed an outdated dinosaur poster. Outdated because it had the audacity to have a brontosaurus on it. Any budding paleontologist these days knows that "a brontosaurus was actually a mistakenly contrived dinosaur. It is made up of the bones of an apatasaurus put in the wrong places." (A Direct quote from my son.) I, on the other hand, was reading the signs posted at frequent intervals around the small room which stated "Do Not Climb or Stand on the Furniture." I laughed to myself as I thought, "That many signs really does seem a bit excessive."

Obviously I was worng, or I wouldn't be writing about this. And boy was I wrong. As we waited our turn, the waiting area was not only confused for a jungle gym, but a home theatre, and private family counseling session, as well. In the span of 20 minutes the place became so unruly and cacauphonous, that my children and I literally began to huddle together. Instinctively hoping for safety, I suppose.

It was BIZARRE. Let me take you around the room with me:

In the middle of the room, and on every chair--including a few that had people in them--were two toddlers. They ran, they screamed, they yelled, and they did indeed climb on the furniture. I would have sworn they had a Starbucks double shot for breakfast.

To the left were 3 generations of women. (I had mistaken them for a mom with both a teenage and a preschool age daughter. It was actually a mom with her teen daughter and the daughter's little girl.) The mother of the preschooler was on her cell phone arguing with her boyfriend. The preschooler was watching "The Grinch" with Jim Carrey on a portable DVD player (volume on high). The grandma(?) was yelling at her teenage daughter telling her what to say to the boyfriend.

There was an older couple, grandparents to another very young boy. He was very interested in playing with the Starbucks kids. His grandparents looked tired and worn. It was 9AM. He had already overpowered them. He joined what I will now call the ADHD gang. Every once in while, grandma would holler across the room "No, that's naughty. You come sit down." The boy would scream "NO!" Then the whole gang would chime in, scremaing "No! No! No!" and continue on their merry way.

Finally, grace was poured upon us, and we were called in for the kids' exams. As I admired the doctors diplomas (BS Yale, MD Harvard--chief resident, no less), I couldn't help but think that she somehow got jipped.