The other night, about 3am I woke up to a loud thunderstorm.  The entire room lit up and our dog Max, (a terrier slash fox hound – whose talents include jumping, digging and howling like the hound that he is) was shaking uncontrollably underneath the bed.  He was deathly afraid of the storm, and with every tremble . . . he farted.

We’ve had this dog 10 years, and I’ve never known this to happen.  Of course, it’s never on John’s side of the bed, always mine, but it wouldn’t matter.  If a tornado took the roof off the bedroom, John would continue to sleep.

I have to say, Max has been through a lot in his 10 years with this family.  In the beginning, (BK) Before Kids, he was the Prince of the House.  He wore sweaters, napped at the end of our bed, had a constant stream of bones and toys at his disposal.   Life was one big adventure.

As time went on and kids began to infiltrate our home, one by one, he moved lower down the totem pole.  At this stage, he’s just excited that someone remembers to feed him.  Good ole Loyal Max.  When we brought him home from the animal shelter, we proudly bestowed him with the name Jack.  A good solid name for a terrier, don’t ya think?

One year into enjoying our little Jack, we found out we were having a boy, and the name Jack suddenly became a valuable commodity.  My husband’s name is John and he wanted his son to be named after him, but we did not want to burden the kid with being John the 4th.   So we changed the dog’s name from Jack to Max and gave it to our son.   Poor thing was confused for . . . who am I kidding — he’s still confused.   He’ll come to anything you call him.

So when I woke up, it wasn’t the lightening that acquired my attention, it was the smell of FEAR, that smelled like a fart.  That’s the way it is in life.  We fear the storm, we fear failure, we fear loss of a job, we fear lack of safety for our children.  Fear is like an electric fence you can’t see, with signs hanging everywhere -  “Beware”, “Feel Guilty” “Don’t Forgive” “Don’t Try This”, “Failure Isn’t An Option” You’re a Loser” “Don’t Rock the Boat”  “You Won’t be Accepted” . . . It holds us prisoner within invisible borders, whispering to us in the night.

Don’t allow FEAR to get its tentacles in you.  Instead, embrace life, get up and grab it by the horns; write your own signs:  Seize the Day, Try New Things, Do Your Best & Forget All the Rest, Failure IS an Option.  We learn when we Fail.  Of course, we don’t want to fall, but if living in Fear of Failure is gonna hold you back from pursuing a life of meaning, adventure, peace and purpose, then it has to go.

You don’t want to wake up in the night and smell fear. It presents itself in various forms, shapes and sizes, often renaming itself, in hopes of disguising its identity.  You can put new clothes on it, maybe add some lipstick, but it’s not your friend.  Just like Max trembling under the bed in unproductive Fear, (not the adrenaline rush you need, before standing in front of a crowd) but the kind of fear that holds you captive, holds you hostage to the great life you deserve – Fear, by any other name, is just a bad smell.

Now go out and live the life of Purpose and Meaning that God has called you to live – and embrace the adventure.

Fear not, I have redeemed you.  I have called you by name, you are mine.  When you pass through the waters, I will be with you.  And through the rivers, they shall now overwhelm you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned.  And the flame shall not consume you.  Isaiah 43: 1-2

Do you ever teach your kids things like sharing, honesty, responsibility you know, all the character stuff, and hope to goodness it sticks?

The other day we (me, my 4 kids and husband) spent the day at the pool; as soon as we walked in the door, the kids are hollering:  What’s for dinner?  I mean, we just got home.  If I could click my heels, dinner would be on the table, but give a mom a break, would ya?

Where’s my shoes?  Can you untie this?  I need socks!  Where’s my piano book? Where’s the PIANO?  I mean, really?  I think kids get so use to relying on mom to do everything, they begin to ask questions they already know the answer to.  I said:  Do you know where clean underwear comes from?  And, as if I was about to reveal where Santa Claus lives, the excitable 4 year old said:  Where?

I felt like a rebellious teenager.  I rose up and said:    The Laundry Room!  Eight little eyes looked at me as if I had said:  no more cartoons for the rest of your life!

Where are my shoes?  Wherever you put them.  Do I have underwear?  I hope so.  I felt rattled.  I said:   I quit. . . I quit . . . I quit.  They stood in Silence – Then came the giggles.  “Mom you can’t quit.”  You’re MOM.

Of course, I couldn’t  quit.  Nor did I really want too.  I mean, if someone else tried to walk in and take my place, I’d give them a run for their money.  We may complain, but we still want the job, right?

But what I have learned, is kids can be responsible for things, even at the smallest of ages, and while they may buck the system in the beginning, they sorta like the whole “team spirit” I’m apart of something “greater than myself” mentality.

It gives them a chance to see how life really works; they aren’t the center of everything, rather they’re one of MANY spokes on the family wheel.  It’s good for them to see how dinner gets made, and how clean shirts make it from the laundry basket to their closet.

They begin to take pride in helping with the dishes, the laundry, cleaning out the car and sweeping the kitchen.  Look at your to-do-list, tear off a piece and give it to them.  Before long, they’ll expect a chore or two, and before you know it, they’ll be cleaning the house, making dinner and doing the laundry. . .  I’m envisioning it now.  It’s all a process.  Just stay consistent and the rewards will be great.  Until then, has anyone seen the piano?

Teach me to number my days, that I might gain a heart of wisdom and fulfill your purpose for my life.  Psalm 90:12

When I sold my business to stay at home, I figured – if I was the CEO of my company, I’d call myself the CEO of my household.  Hey, I run this ship, right?

But kids don’t care what titles you hold, who you know, or what you do for a living . . . When they’re little, it’s all about what THEY want.  I notice, each time I go to the bathroom to pee or even take a quick bubble bath, it must set off a silent alarm somewhere in the house.  As soon as the bathroom door closes, the kids come running.  It doesn’t matter if they’re watching a movie, playing in the backyard or riding bikes on the cul de sac.  As soon as I close the door to the bathroom, it becomes someone’s duty to knock, I mean – bang, cry, shove notes underneath or plead urgently for food.

In the minute it took me to pee, one of the kids colored their tennis shoes with a blue highlighter.  Why did you do that, Johnny?  Well, I was trying to tell you I couldn’t find paper and you weren’t listening.” Yes, it’s because I was IN the bathroom.”

I can hide in the closet to eat rice crispy treat, (because it’s the last one – and frankly, I don’t wanna share) and what happens?  They come running.  It’s like they were born with dog ears, that can only hear high pitched sounds, cookie wrappers and bathroom doors closing.

I can say:  Clean your room – And what do I hear? Nothing, but cricket sounds.  But you go to the back yard to sneak a piece of chocolate and they’re hunting you down like a heat seeking missile.  If I holler for the boys to clean their room, they can’t hear me.  If I call their name with a high pitched voice, they’ll come running; it’s like a horn blowing for a cattle call.

Like Bert is to Ernie, and Ying is to Yang, so it is with our children – doors close, they knock.  Wrappers rattle, ears perk up.  That’s what kids do.  It comes with the territory.

Just as death and taxes will always be with us, so will little hands knocking on doors and pint-sized sniffers smelling chocolate, after they’ve gone to bed.  Embrace the little-ness while it lasts.  One day, you’ll get to pee in peace, eat that last cookie in broad day light and be a respected CEO, once again.  But until then . . . embrace it ALL.  They are your little sniffers and door knockers. And we wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Galatians 6:9 “And let us not grow weary in doing good, for in due season we shall reap a harvest, if we do not lose heart.”

When we go to my parents house, it looks as though the Circus has come to town.  After a 7 hour drive, the mini-van door flies open – and little clowns are jumping out, one by one, by one by one.  Chic-Fil-a bags, sippy cups and nintendo games are leaping out the sides as if they’re trying to escape; sounds of cups rolling down the drive way and baby cries escalating are enough to make anyone run for the hills. Just as my husband pops the trunk open, out jumps a back pack, 2 stuffed animals and my make-up bag decides to explode.

Ah, the joys of traveling with the Circus.  No matter how much money you have, it is never enough for all the things they want: food, clothes, braces, music lessons, endless ice cream and toys.  No matter how many diapers you bring, it is too few.  The potty training-kid leaves a black line on the toilet lid; little Johnny did an art project on his face with a Sharpie Pen, and the dog pooped in the back room, because no one took him outside today.

Then there are the hugs, and kisses . . . the first time your baby girl says:  Mama . . . the giggles that come when they understand their first joke, conversations they have with their little siblings in the back seat, as they fight over whether daddy flew to You Nork, or  New York.

Our job as the Ring Master can be tiresome and relentless.  My mom laughed that we didn’t need to go to the circus, we WERE the Circus.  Just as attending this event has become something of the past, family life and spending real, quality time with each other has become old fashion as well.  From busy schedules and homework, to team sports and iphone texting, pretty soon, we’ll look around and the circus has packed up and left.

Did we spend real quality time with our kids, soak in the moments (eye to eye, knee to knee), let them wrestle on the floor, play with their barbies and listen to their big ideas that took 10 minutes to spit out?  Did we really look, when they wanted us too, or are we saying: a huh, yes, sure, in a minute, maybe later, not now . . . . without even a gaze in their direction.

At some point, we’ll have a view from our back porch looking in, and we’ll realize the Big Top Circus has packed up and left. There will be an old tire swing in the backyard, reminding us of days gone by, a tree house that now only whispers of the fun times had.  The loud noises we hear are now coming from our neighbors driveway . . . sippy cups rolling down the road, Chic-fil-a bags falling out the car doors and make-up bags exploding as baby cries escalate.

Don’t be in such a hurry, flying here to there, flustered over stuff that doesn’t really matter.  What you have is the Greatest Show on Earth!  Embrace your job as the Ring Master and when it’s all said and done, there will be no regrets.  It will be: Well done, My Good and Faithful Servant.  Whether you’re a parent, grandparent, aunt, uncle or friend, if you’ve invested in your circus and embraced all the moments, they will always come back and visit.  And they’ll think You’re The Greatest Show on Earth.  Here’s to Happy, Healthy Families.

Matthew 25: 21

The Master was full of praise.  “Well done, my good and faithful servant.  You have been faithful in handling this small amount, so now I will give you more responsibilities.  Let’s celebrate together.”

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In February, it snowed.  So I made a last minute dash to our local Stuff Mart to buy warm gloves and the manager said: “Sorry ma’am we don’t have gloves anymore, we’re selling Spring items.  Bathing suits are on sale, 30% off.”  Now why would I wanna a bathing suit in February?  Maybe I could wrap the the bottoms around my hands to throw snow balls.  hmmmm.

As a mom, I value the organization that my little “to do list” slash scroll, offers me.  Laundry on Monday, Violin lessons at 3pm, buy groceries, pay the kids to find the stinky smell lingering in the car, and the list goes on.  What would you do without the list?

For whatever reason, it makes me feel ahead of the game, accomplished to be able to scratch something off that piece of paper, even though something else immediately takes its place.

I was feeling pretty good about my accomplishments, until I ran an errand the other day, and low and behold, they were selling Christmas trees in the summer.  There was a sale on decorations, pumpkins, scarecrows and holly.  Oh Dear God, it was Christmas in July.  I don’t know about you, but it took me 3 months to get over the Holidays.  From the weight gain, to the finances, to getting all the decorations and party supplies packed and put away, I sure didn’t wanna see Christmas in July.

I was just now enjoying the kids being out of school for the summer.  We were going on vacations, spending our time enjoying parks, pools and popsicles.  I finally felt relaxed, accomplished and at peace with myself – living in the moment.

No homework, no rushing around, just enjoying the present . . . until I walked into the local BoxMart and saw the Marketing Machines running:  Advertisements were everywhere:  Pick up Schools supplies now, hurry up and buy Winter Coats (they’ll be gone soon) Pumpkins are 1/2 off and bathing suits, well . . . you can’t find one now, it’s July.  Are you crazy, retail businesses are already thinking Fall & Winter.

What happened to living in the moment? It’s as if you are being set up for failure:  you can’t spin your wheels fast enough, juggle plates high enough . . . the bar continues to be set higher, the finish line placed further out.

We have to fight to live in the moment.  We have to place security around the borders of our life to keep “Peace of Mind” and Living in the Moment” protected from all the chaos this world brings.

I wanna throw out the black book that seems to direct our every footstep and keep us busier than we’ve ever been before, and embrace the small stuff, the free things, the simple things, the wind blowing leaves through the park, as you enjoy your time sitting on a bench.

Embrace those conversations with the kids over laundry, sports or cleaning up the back yard.  Kids grow up fast.  Some days it seems like Tick . . (cricket sounds). . Tock . . . and when they hit 11 and 12 years old, the hands of time won’t stop spinning.

Claim your moment now.  Live in the present.  Don’t allow the marketing machines to guide your life, rather you are the owner, the gatekeeper, the captain of your ship . . . you decide whether you’ll be throwing snow balls with the bottoms of a bathing suit or wearing ski gloves instead.  Enjoy all the moments, for the only person that can truly take away “living in the present,” is you.

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Last July we took a journey, an adventure into the unknown to find my husband’s birth parents.  At Thanksgiving we found his mom, a story you can read on my blog, “Is my Mama a Llama?”

This year, it was time to meet dad.  I have one sister and a husband who grew up an only child.  So, I had settled into the fact that I would never have sister-in-laws. It was on my wish list of things that included, being skinny and buying a vacation home in the Bahamas, but hey, you can’t have everything, right?

So you can imagine how I felt when I found out I had 6 sister-in-laws in the MidWest:  A part of the country we had never visited, only seen on TV.  There names are:  Jenny, Katie, Tamara, Carolyn, Jenny and Katie.  And while it looks as though I’ve repeated myself, it’s true, I have 6 sister-in-laws, of which 4 are Jenny and Katie.

If that’s not a enough to peak your interest . . .

While this story is not about me, all I can say, is that I’m glad I’m on this wild ride.

My husband is one of those guys who people say:  whatever he touches turns to gold.  Things just seem to work out for him. We’ve been blessed with good business pursuits, great family and fun adventures.  So last year, we began a different sort of journey, to go out and find his birth dad.  While he grew up in a great home and had a wonderful childhood with no regrets, after the arrival of our 4th child Ava, John quietly decided he wanted to see who he looked like in this world; perhaps the grandkids would like to know their grandfather, one day.

The journey began with a phone call to Catholic Charities in Arizona, where the adoption took place.  Once the nuns got a hold of John’s case, they treated him like their own child, calling him everyday with new information, sending him emails and writing letters.  They took on this project, as if he was one of their own, and for a time, many years ago, he was.  He lived with them for several months while the adoption process took place and they just ate him up.

Now it was their turn to give back and they were on a mission to help find his dad.  With the help of a private investigator, the entire team worked day and night, and just like lyrics being written for a song and the notes being fine tuned by a symphony, both the investigator and the nuns came together within a day of each other to announce: They had found his parents.

Heart palpitations didn’t begin to describe the excitement, the nervous energy in the room.  So, a few weeks before Christmas, we sent his dad one of those “Christmas Card Pictures” of the Family, very non-chaulant, in case his family didn’t know about him.  And it turns out . . .  they didn’t.

It said:  “Hi Jeff, Merry Christmas!  This is Terry’s son.  Not sure if you remember me, but I’d love to get together with you sometime, when we’re in town.  Love, John. We were sure that would peek his interest, and keep the secret a secret, if he chose not to pursue the offer.

We waited to hear back and of course, one day felt like a week and week felt like a month.  Wait, it was a month!  Then, a few days after Christmas, we got the Big Phone Call.  I saw his name on Caller ID, took a deep breath and in my Good Ole Southern Accent, I answered:  “Hi Jeff, we were waiting for your call.”  A jolly laugh came across the phone, and from that moment on, I knew our life would change for the better.  ‘Im sure he was just as nervous as we were.  John was out of town, so I was lucky enough to receive the first call.  We talked for an hour.  I assured him immediately, that John did not have a Southern accent like me.  Which was probably a relief for everyone.  He was a teddy bear on the phone, a laid back, humble guy with a good heart and even greater zest for life.

He called John in NY, later that evening:  Reasons for the adoption were discussed, but John didn’t care.  He never really cared about any of that.  From the day his dad began calling, they were inseparable.  His dad called him every evening for weeks, asking questions, getting to know John.  They exchanged stories, letters, pictures and anticipated each other’s phone calls nightly.  He asked John every question in the book, wanting to make up for lost time.

What sports did you play in school?  What was it like growing up in an adopted home?  Were you happy . . . Who were your friends . . . Where did you go to college . . .  and the list continued on.  Every night, the phone would ring and the two would talk for hours, getting to know each other.  I don’t think I’ve ever heard John say that many words in his whole life, yet it flowed like a river when talking to his dad.

They became fast buddies. I noticed a change in him.  There was  a smile that slowly moved across John’s face and found a permanent home.   Not that he wasn’t happy before, but it was a smile that came from a deep place.   He played the violin throughout high school, yet in our 14 years of marriage, I had never heard him play, until now.  He picked up his violin and began to play and that was a gift to me.

After talking for months and feeling like we were already family, we planned a day to meet.  It would be 4th of July weekend.  We packed everything we owned, got all 6 of us on a plane and headed to FARGO, ND – a place none of us had ever been, but had only seen in the movies.   We were visualizing people saying:  Okie Dokie Artichokie, but no one says that here.  The movie is a total myth.  (for the most part).  What would we discuss?  What would we have in common?

As we de-boarded the plane, our plan was to rush to the restrooms before meeting them at baggage claim, to freshen up a bit, and be presentable before the big “meet and greet.”  But murphy’s law kicked in . . . and if something could happen it would and of course, it did.  As we walked off the tarmac into the area where people are lined up, ready to board the plane, John realized the airport was so small, baggage claim was only 30 feet away.  He looked over and like a ventriloquist, tells me, without moving his lips:  “They could be watching us.”

I quickly tried to wipe off the mushed cookie embedded in his white shirt, thanks to our 2 year old using him as a jungle gym on the plane.  The 4 year old immediately stopped traffic by sitting in the floor, crying that his feet had blisters from his new crocs.  He pulled his foot out of his shoe and his little feet looked like they had been running through mud puddles.

Oh God, he can’t walk up to his new Grandparents with those feet.  John and I get into a slight disagreement, all the while he’s still talking without moving his lips, “Hurry up, they could be right there.”  Two kids are crying, I’m trying to de-cookie John’s shirt and wipe mud off the little’s ones feet with a baby wipe.   And then, just like that, everyone was ok and with a big smile we walked across the security line and said:  Hello.  And sure enough, they had been watching us the entire time.

There they were:  His dad had brought along his wife Barb, (a school teacher) and his girls, Jenny II & Katie II.  Ok, so it’s a little confusing for the kids, but we’re not complaining.

When John & his dad first saw each other, there was nothing strange about it.  It was as if they had known each other for years.  They hugged, smiled and immediately the kids began calling him Grandpa Jeff.  His wife, Grandma Barb had snacks and toys for the kids.  She was talk’in my language.  She had a baby doll for Ava, race cars for the boys, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and juice boxes for everyone.  The kids didn’t miss a beat.  To them, there was nothing strange or odd about this meeting.  They were on an adventure to see cows, horses, ride go carts and shoot guns.  Ah, to see life through the eyes of a child.

Most guys are farmers in North Dakota, but his dad owned an outdoor shooting range, where parties and large groups grill out and shoot clay pigeons catapulted from towers spread across 18 acres.  His girls, Katie & Jenny grew up in the family business and can outshoot any guy from here to Minnesota.

After spending a week with his family, sitting up telling late night stories, going to bed with 15 family members in the house – filling every room to capacity and waking up to the sound of Grandma Barb fixing breakfast upstairs. . . I just wanted to pinch myself, so I pinched John instead.  Is this really real?  Can you believe we’re here?

Like John, his dad played musical instruments, both went to school for Engineering and both owned their own businesses over the years.  Even without knowing each other, there were so many “connect the dot” moments of how each of their lives paralleled the other.

What an incredible experience to fly across country to meet people you’ve never seen before, visit a part of the country you’ve never been to before and live in their house.  “Hi, we’re the Pletka’s, nice to meet you . . . now which room is ours?”  But in a weird way, it wasn’t strange.  We may have met as strangers, but left as family.

It was emotional, but not in the way you would expect.  There was no drama or tons of tears, but silent smiles that took their place on the faces of those two guys . . . a smile that said everything was right in the world.  Smiles that had been mis-placed for years and had found their home.

After a week of touring all the uncle’s farms and visiting with over 50 family members, riding horses, swimming in the pool, water skiing, treasure hunting, flash light tag with the cousins, competing in go-cart races with his new brother-in-laws and shooting 100′s of clay pigeons at the shooting range, it was time to go home.

The hugs, the laughter, the bonds that were made, will never be forgotten.  We flew to North Dakota with a dream of what could be, and left with a reality of what was.  Love is vast and endless; it knows no boundaries and now that love has expanded from The South, to the MidWest and beyond.  Celebrate your family, no matter how they come, or  how many sisters you have, named Katie and Jenny.

Now you’re probably thinking, I know where she’s going with this story:  Don’t forget where you came from, know where you’re going and never loose track of what matters most in life . . .  Hey, not bad . . . and valid points if I say so myself, but with a twist.

A couple of months before I headed to college, my mom felt the need to write my name on everything I owned:  My clothes, my type writer (I know, a what???) my books, my suit case, MY underwear (nice) and anything else that couldn’t be nailed to the ground.

One night, during a prayer service of thousands at my Christian school, I knelt to pray.  As I was getting up, I realized on the bottom of each shoe, written with a Black Sharpie was my FULL NAME from toe to heel.  Sixteen letters!  If embarrassment could of killed, I would have died that night.

If I was lost, I was found:  all I had to do was look at my shoes, my underwear or my purse to remember who I was.  The only thing my mom didn’t write my name on, was an umbrella – and it was stolen on the first rainy day.

Do you know who you are?  Sometimes, we get caught up in the pressure of life, whether it be money, status, certain relationships, keeping up with the Joneses’, trying to stay ahead of the game, being something we’re not and we forget about what really matters:  our integrity, helping others, common sense, good character and remembering that the journey is WAY more important than arrival . . . because we’re never really there, we’re just on our way.

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We get in a groove, a rut of sorts, living our nice little life, surrounding ourselves with our BFFs, enjoying “girl’s night,” sports night, placing our kids in every music class, on every athletic team and trying to maintain the status quo . . . Cause after all, we’ve gotta look good.  But don’t forget Who You Are.

Don’t forget that person of adventure who used to try new things, the person who used to write letters to change wayward political views, the person who sought to help those in need, the one who use to ski, scuba dive or golf, but can never find the time, the once fit mom or dad who’s got the (I have a family and don’t have time to take care of myself” syndrome).  If we look at our TRUE Self, we may not recognize the current person in the mirror.  It’s time to RECLAIM Our Life!

Roll up those sleeves, make a “to do” list.  A new one – that slouches away the junk, the facades, the things in life that keep us busy, spinning our wheels . . . things that seem urgent, but really aren’t; imposters that quietly move in and sweetly take over our TRUE Self.  It’s time to come clean, start exercising, start writing, golfing, reclaiming date night, family night; go back to basics and talk to each other eye to eye, not text to text.  Don’t be the stolen umbrella of life, the person who is so far away from who you really wanna be, that your true identity has faded.  It’s time to reclaim who you Really Are, who you wanna be . . .

Just as those shoes had my name boldly written on them, claiming their owner, your life should proudly proclaim your name, the Owner of Your Life. Find your True Self and Write Your Name on it.

Let your eyes look on with a fixed purpose, and your gaze be straight before you. Proverbs 4: 25

I’ve had wonderful role models over the years.  Between what I’ve learned from them and discovered on my own, (and the “on my own thing didn’t always go so well) I thought I’d pass those “successes and “don’t try this at home” along to you.  Hey, us girls have to stick together!

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Don’t Try this at Home:

I have 4 kids.  I brought the two little ones to school to pick up my 2nd grader and Kindergartner. After getting everyone in the car, buckled and unloaded at home, the school counselor called and said:  Are you missing someone?  I had left the 3 year old in the lobby, starring at the fish aquarium.  When I got back to the school, he said with a loud voice:  You left me!!  I said, Nooooo . . . I just wanted you to finish looking at the fish . . . and with squinted eyes, he said:  You left me!  lol  Smart kid!

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Tip #1  Falling down the stairs:

When my little ones were old enough for me to remove the stairwell gate, ever once in a while, even the best climber would find themselves tumbling down the stairs.  So in an effort to pad their fall, I placed a large bean bag at the foot of the stairs as a nice “hello” to greet them in the foyer. Usually mom beats them to the bottom, but just in case.

Don’t Try this at Home:

It was a nice day for a stroll in the park, so I took our fox terrier and 5 month old baby for a walk.  It was hard to push the stroller and hold the leash, so I tied the dog to the baby jogger, you know – kill 2 birds with one stone. As I walked thru the park, all was well in the world, until the dog spotted a squirrel and tore out across the field with the baby in the stroller, bucking’ and flying behind him.  That was the only time I ever outran the dog.

Tip #2 Kids & Money:

We don’t pay the kids for standard family chores, (like laundry, dishes, cleaning their room) because we have a big family and we try to instill “team effort.”  If each family member makes 1 or 2 messes, it can become exponential, in a heart beat.  Each person is responsible for cleaning up the mess they made or put up what they took out.  But we offer them bonus chores, such as cleaning the car, yard work, sweeping the garage or picking up dog poop in the back yard.  No one wants to do this one, so it makes the most money.  : )

With the bonus chores, the kids have an opportunity to make money, which we divide into 3 groups (Spend, Save, Give) 10% goes to Save, 10% goes to Give and the rest goes to Spend.  So when they see 10 dimes or $10 dollars and only have to give 2 away, with 8 left over, they’re so excited.  We then go to the Dollar Tree or similar store at the end of the week, where they get to use their money to purchase whatever they want.  This way they connect hard work to how much something costs . . . and how long they need to work to buy a specific item.

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Don’t Try this at Home:

Before I had kids, my friend and I had a lunch date at my house.  She brought her 6 month old baby with her.  With a sigh, she said she had forgotten the baby food and before I could catch myself, I said:  I made chili last night! There was silence!  I’m sure you can imagine the look on her face.  She was like:  Feed my baby chili? Logically I was just thinking it was soft food, but uh, it probably WAS a bad idea.

Stay tuned for more Successful Tips and “Don’t Try This at Home” ideas.  I’d love to hear yours.

Every woman needs a girl’s night out, a girl’s weekend, a fun lunch with the gang, (you know, the girls who have your back in a crisis, who know just what to say when you’re feeling down, celebrate the good, help you cry through the bad and laugh your rear end off when you need to blow off steam)- these are ya peeps and everyone needs them.

We have G.R.I.T.S. Night (Girl’s Raised in the South), we have quarterly “girl’s night out” to catch up, lunches to celebrate birthdays, showers to celebrate babies, tennis matches, margarita night . . . we’ll get together because the sky is blue.  We could come up with all sorts of ways to have fun, laugh till you think you can’t laugh anymore, someone snorts . . . and then, IT’S OVER!  If you don’t have these sorta girls in your life, start lookin.’

My friend Kim invited our core group of girls to her Lake House for the weekend.  It started off slow, catching up on what everyone’s kids were doing, new career moves, yada yada.  And as the day progressed, a bunch of us ended up on a ski boat with one of those crazy inner tubes and the world’s smallest life jackets.

Well, actually, Kim said they were Standard size, but for someone who had just had a baby, well . . . there was no way my chest was going to fit into that thing.  [the upper part of MY life jacket was not gonna make the cut.]  The girls were looking at me – and then looking at that life jacket – and away they went with the jokes, the snickering, the snorting and the laughs.

And Kim . . . well – she couldn’t stop laughing. As soon as I put on the life jacket, it was obvious, unless the top portion had 3 inches of stretch band in it, that zipper was not gonna fulfill its purpose.  I swear those were kid’s life jackets, but whatever!!

I jumped into the lake to show off my water skiing skills.  As the boat came around, I grabbed the rope, felt the slack run out and the pull of the engine.  I could hear all 5 girls cracking up . . . about how my boobs were weighing the boat down, how the engine was having a hard time pulling them, when out of the blue, as if on cue, as I was being pulled up out of the water, the Boat Caught on Fire!!!  It Caught on Fire!

It abruptly stopped, I fell back into the water, and with a bewildered look, saw smoke billowing out of the engine!  Girls were hollering, trying to call for help on cell phones with no service, and I’m thinking . . . Did my boobs really cause the boat to catch on fire?  I buoyed back to to the boat; we grabbed a bucket of water and poured it over the engine, but to our dismay, the boat didn’t make it.

To this day, we laugh so hard when Kim tells this story:  She says the life jacket was never the same, the boat didn’t survive . . . but WE DID – and when we get together, it’s like coming home.  We pick up where we left off.  We’ve laughed, we’ve cried, we’ve celebrated and we hold strong to our deep-rooted friendships. Here’s to “Girl’s Night and Great Stories.”  We all need them. But for the record, those were Children’s Life Jackets!!

“A man that hath friends must show himself friendly: and there is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother.”
Prov 18:24 New King James Version

I have this running list of goals, check lists and hope too’s, that include things like:  Parachuting before 40, getting skinny by (this one is still obscure), writing a funny mom book and vacationing in CABO with all my favorite people, but the hope of a clean house – well, this just doesn’t seem possible.

I’ve walked miles in this house, picking up stuff, folding things, stepping on sharp toys, throwing away unidentifiable objects and looking for weird smells.  I’ve washed a million dishes, made that many lunches and wiped about that many little butts and still, this house is full of piles.

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There’s a clothes pile, a shoe pile, a toy pile, a book pile and the accumulations go on and on.  By the time one pile is put in its place, another one appears, containing kid’s swords, the inside of a shoe, a teddy bear and a sippy cup.

For the record, I believe children should be given responsibilities, tasks they are held accountable for, to ensure team spirit, whether it be laundry, dishes or picking up toys.

When it comes to making breakfast, if they help make pancakes, there’s a 50/50 chance you’ll find batter on the ceiling or the dog is following the baby around the house, vying for her food.  As much as we delegate responsibilities, if each person makes 2 messes, that’s 12 messes, which can catapult into exponential numbers, in a matter of hours, if we don’t stay on top of laundry and dishes alone.

I love to have a clean house, a pristine kitchen and spotless windows.  I love candles and nice smells, but if it stayed this way for more than 2 days, it’s probably because we’re on vacation.

I was talking to a friend last week who has 2 year old twins.  Wow, she has her hands full.  She was telling me how hard it is to have a reasonably clean home; as quick as you can organize, the little ones are destroying it behind you.

What I realized, in talking with her, is – though I knew my house would not be “Party Ready” at a moments notice, I still had not resolved myself to the fact, that my house really isn’t going to be organized everyday, just spurts of every day.  That’s hard for me to swallow.  If it were up to me, my house would look like Pier One Imports, minus toys and any signs of high chairs and bouncy things, but that’s not feasible.

I spoke the words with my mouth, (“I will NOT have a clean house everyday, and that’s OK”) but I didn’t believe it, “It’ WASN’T OK,” which placed me in an odd predicament.  I was like a person with one leg on shore and one on a boat headed to sea.  I was straddling the fact that I could have a clean house all the time and still have a livable one.

Welcome to reality:  you can’t have 4, 5, 6 or more living under one roof and keep it clean all the time.  This either means you’re living in a museum, or no one is having any fun.  I choose fun.

While I’d like to be skinny, I do enjoy my occasional pizza, and while I’d like to go parachuting, I FEAR what I’ll do to the guy who pushes me out of the plane.  I may need to re-evaluate my list. But one things for sure, I need to cherish this season of life. Don’t rush it.  Don’t rush to windex the handprints off the windows . . .  for one day your house will stay clean . . . but it will also be empty.

So embrace the giggler with the dirty hands and move out the furniture for your boys to have fun wrestling matches;   Mark Twain once said:  Wrinkles should merely indicate where smiles have been.  And just like a house that is disorganized at times, with piles of things and little mud prints by the door, it indicates where love lives.  Embrace it.

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Ecclesiastes 3:1. For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven.