Webster’s dictionary defines boundaries as:  Something that indicates a LIMIT; a property line. Remember the adage, “Give them an inch and they’ll take a mile.?”  It’s true.  From kids to co-workers, family members and friends alike, if you don’t set a firm boundary and learn to say “NO”, you’ll find yourself frazzled.

Ever notice how sweet a person can be when you say the word “yes” to their request or project.  It’s like seeing a little girl skipping through the meadow.  Cue the music,  The person you said “yes” to is so happy, but the minute you say  “no” it’s like a scratch on a record, a slow motion deep voice sound in their ears, nnNNNOOOO! – it’s not going to be pretty. If they’re a true friend, when they hear the word “no” they should respect it and move on.  If they’re not, they will not respect it and you’ll see a facial expression to match it.  It’s as if you’ve snatched a lollipop from a 2 year old . . . it may not be pretty.

‘NO” is one of the smallest words on earth, but one that can wreak the most havoc. Tell a baby NO, and watch them scream, roll on the floor and pitch a fit. Tell an adult “NO” and they may have a similar reaction, just a little more subtle.

People want to get rid of their responsibilities, so they try to throw them on you.  The whole world is like a game of “Hot Potato.”  If you catch it, there’s a good possibility that you’re gonna keep it and believe me, you’re not going hear from the “potato thrower” again.  They’re long gone.

This world is full of Yes-es.  Your boss gives you a project last minute, the class mom says you need to handle the Christmas Play. I’ve seen it time and time again.  We want to please people, to the detriment of our own lives.  You water and fertilize all those around you, except yourself.  But we can’t please everyone.  Heck, if we can please a third of the folks, we’re onto something.  There’s only 24 hours in a day, and we’ve got to sleep, work, eat, do homework, bathe kids, get lunches ready, go grocery shopping, COOK and the list goes on.

That’s not to say we shouldn’t be involved in a charity or out reach and help others when need be, that’s another article in itself, but when it causes you frustration, stress, anger and takes away from the time you should spend with your family, that’s a red flag to step back, pause and learn that 2 letter word, NO!

Did you know that the word “NO” is a complete sentence.  A friend taught me this once.  When you say “NO”, you don’t have to follow it up with other excuses:   Just say . . . No.  And with a smile, leave it at that. You owe no one a long reason behind your answer.  Besides, those really good manipulators will take the reason you give and move heaven and earth so YOU can STILL do it.  Don’t walk into that one.

Let peace be your guide.  I’ve found that when I don’t want to do something and say “yes” anyway, I try to justify that it is for a good cause and not that I caved in, was suckered in, because I was too scared of their reaction.  Your priority is to your family and those around you, come 2nd.

My choice to please, overwrote my chose to enjoy time with my family.  Do you NOT have enough on your “to do list”? I’ve never met a mom who’s “to do list” wasn’t a scroll.  Please, we’re not lacking for things to do in this world.  When you say “Yes” to something you should have said “NO” to, it’s like someone throwing you a bad cough and you’re catching it.  You have to take ownership of something that wasn’t your responsibility and it’s going to sideline you.

Jordan Sparks sings:  Love is a Battlefield, you better go and get your Armor, but you could also add that Protecting your Boundaries is a battlefield.  People are coming on all sides to get you to say “Yes.  “If you begin to say yes to things you should say no to, it becomes a weak link, on the wall of your castle, and before long, everyone will be scaling up the wall.

The world loves it when you say “Yes” because their list just got SHORTER!  If the person you say “NO” to, truly respects you, they’ll understand and move on.  The manipulators aren’t gonna like it; they’ll try to make you feel bad.  DON”T let them.

Time is something you will NEVER get back.  Water your garden, don’t feel obligated to water everyone else’s, out of guilt.  That would be for the wrong reason.  I’ve heard it said: You can never get back a word, after it’s said or time, after it’s spent.  Use your time wisely.

You have to protect your boundaries.  Protect the Fort.  Train others to respect them, but this also means we have to be consistent.  If one wall is weak, that is the door they will always try to enter.

Hold your ground, protect the FORT and learn how to say “NO.”  It’s a complete sentence that will give you your life back.

Recommended Reading:  by: Henry Cloud

Boundaries

Boundaries with Kids

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I have a long list of exciting things I want to do before I kick the bucket, but there’s one regret that I wish I could fix.  But as we know, life offers no do-overs and for this, I have to make my peace.

Growing up, I felt like a tall giraffe in a glass store, awkward and out of place.  If there was something to be broke, I broke it.  I could stumble on air and fall.  Quiet clumsy, It was like: Watch Watch, crash . . . break.

My mom took my sister and I to church, where I began making friends, getting involved in youth group, rehearsing for plays, and so on.  This is when I met Mr. Garvin and Ms. Wadie, (with funny names) an older couple that would change my life forever.

They would invite us to their house to stay the weekends, after church or weekdays if school was out. When I entered their property, I left all worries at the front gate. They lived on a huge farm with lots of cows.  When you’re little, everybody looks old, but I think she was only in her late 50’s and Garvin in his mid 60’s.

I felt like I had hit the jack pot.  The church was full of kids, but they chose us. I don’t know why, but it didn’t matter because they were mine and I was theres.  I felt so special at their house.  Ms. Wadie taught us how to make fun desserts, can sweet pickles and make a mean “molasses pancake breakfast.”  Mr. Garvin was like the Avon man for men.  He drove down the dirts roads and sold men’s cologne, men’s hats and clothing, hair products, you name it.  He was a tall, medium build guy, sort of gruff-looking with full gray hair and a smile.

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He had a shed, slash home office out back that housed a mannequin, an office desk, dial up phone and adding machine; my sister and I would pretend to run our own business and make deals.  And when we got tired, Mrs. Wadie would send us out to the barn and we would make tunnels out of hay bails.

One day Mr. Garvin unveiled a Go Cart that had been hidden in the barn.  A treasure we had spotted in the past, but hadn’t been cranked up in years and didn’t know if it even worked.  He explained that they got it for their grandkids long ago, but because they lived in another state, the visits were few and far between.  I dreamed about -what it was like to be blood related to Mr. Garvin and Mrs. Wadie.  How lucky their grandkids were, to be able to have them as their grand parents.  But I was lucky because I got to spend many weekends with them.

Wadie never hollered, never got angry and was always sweet.  You couldn’t twist her arm to say anything bad about anybody.  She never gossiped, was always honest and had the patience of Job.  But there was one thing that could make her mad.  Don’t touch her feet.  I did one time and got this mean look that I never wanted to see again.  It actually seemed as though the “mean look” pulled energy from her body.

When I was 11, my real grandpa died.  I never knew anyone that had died.  And though he was sick, I hadn’t expected him to pass.  I loved my paw-paw and was devastated that I would never see him again.  He and I use to drive the tractor and bail hay all day long.  We were close.  I stayed at Mrs. Wadie’s house for what seemed like a week, during all the funeral plans and endless errands.  One day, while looking through old records in the living room, I discovered “Swing Low, Sweet Chariots.”  I listened to that song for hours and cried.  It was depressing and comforting all rolled into one. Mrs. Wadie must have heard me play it over and over.  That house was tiny, but she knew I needed time to myself and never came in once, never interrupted, just let me be.  I knew it and she knew it.

Mr. Garvin was quiet a bit older than Wadie and was retired from running a grocery store, where they met and got married in their older years.  He would get up in the middle of the night, in boxers, talking to himself, and scratch his back like a bear on the hallway post, up and down, up and down.  I used to giggle because he had no idea anyone saw him.  I don’t even think he was completely awake for that matter.

They use to have snoring competitions and boy did it get loud.  Neither of them slept in the same bed or the same room, for that matter, because they said the other snored too loud, but believe me, either one could have won that contest.  Once, Mrs. Wadie quit snoring really loud and I thought she was dead.  I got out of bed and leaned over her face to see if she was alive.  When she woke up, I was hovering over her.  In her quiet voice and startled eyes, she said:  What are you doing?  I said:  I thought you were dead.  She just rolled over and went back to snoring.

Mrs. Garvin use to take us with him on his rounds, to check on the neighbor’s cows or visit friends.  We would hop into his old red truck and drive down all the dirt roads and hollows, knowing our next adventure was around the corner.  I remember Mrs. P down the way.  Her husband was a doctor and they were the sweetest folks. She had long gray hair that was always swooped up like a messed up bird’s nest.  With a smile and kind voice, she usually met us in the driveway. When we stopped by, they would always talk about their grandkids, how proud they were of their children,  were never in a rush and always had time for impromptu drop-ins.

Then late one night, the phone rang.  The kind of late when no one should be calling unless something was wrong.  It was Mrs. P frantically hollering:  He’s gone!  He’s gone!  We didn’t know who was gone.  By the time we got there, Dr. P had had a heart attack on the floor and our preacher was doing CPR until the ambulance arrived.  This would be my 2nd dealing with death.  We rode behind the ambulance, trying to keep up, as it ran all the red lights.   The siren was at an ear piercing level.  It felt like the slowest and fasted ride I had ever encountered.  When we got there, Mrs. P was crying and begging God not to take her husband and I had no words.

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I will never forget the Dr.coming into the waiting room shaking his head, saying He didn’t make it.  We had just seen Dr. P the day before.  As she heard the news: She fell to the floor and kept asking:  What am I going to do?  I wanted to fix it, but Mr. Garvin and Mrs. Wadie just held her and cried.

That afternoon, Mr. Garvin tuned up the Go Cart and we took off, my sister and I, screaming and Ya hooing all over the cow field that day, hitting thin hard-shelled cow patties and watching them blow up as we drove over them. We chased cows, hit all the bumps and flew over all the hills we could find and it felt liberating.  We didn’t have a care in the world, it was just us, the cows and the wind that day.

Garvin got a call not too long after that.  His only grandson had been killed in a car accident.  He was test driving a Porsche and it flipped on the interstate.  I think that was the saddest day of his life.  I wanted to fix the pain, but nothing could.  I felt a little guilty about being there, sort of being the surrogate grandchild, especially when his grandchild had been taken from him, but somehow, we both fit the bill for each other that day.

Not long after, Wadie came to my house.  My parents took her out on the boat, where we went with friends to “The Swing,” the Mountain Dew swing to be exact, which consisted of about 7 frayed ski ropes tied together and hanging from a huge leaning oak tree.  The only way you could get to it was by swimming up to the bottom of the steep embankment and grabbing tree roots.  Then you would grab the ski ropes, climb a little higher, jump on the swing and hoped to goodness your butt didn’t drag the ground until you could swing out over the water and drop.  It was loads of fun, mostly because you feared greatly for your life.

Wadie had borrowed one of my mom’s one piece bathing suits.  I had never seen her in one and frankly was shocked when she agreed to go swimming.  She put that bathing suit on and we had a laugh because the pattern was bright white magnolias on the butt and when you bend over, it looked like they were blooming.  She didn’t know that, but we did.  It didn’t matter who wore that bathing suit, the flowers always bloomed.  We were on the boat when I asked Wadie if she’d be willing to swing from the rope.  With her great big eyes, she said:  NO WAY!  I laughingly said:  “I’ll never come to your house again if you don’t go.”  I was kidding.  Hey, I was 11.  She climbed out of that boat, swam to shore and made her way up the bank and swung over the water.  In that moment, I realized just how much she loved me.  She took that challenge seriously and I was awestruck by her quick response.

HERE IS MY REGRET.  As time went by, we grew older, moved away, got married and never really kept in touch.  They were always in my heart and quiet frankly changed my life for the better in many ways, but I never told them how I felt.

A few years ago, Mr. Garvin popped up in my mind.  Not sure why, but he was on my heart.  I thought about him everyday and felt like I needed to write him a letter: tell him how much he meant to me, how he changed my life and how much I appreciated him taking me in and loving me like I was his own.  I felt a since of urgency to write, but I kept thinking I”LL DO IT tomorrow.  Then I wrote the letter, but didn’t have a stamp or his new address.  I had that “hand sweating, heart beating” do it now, but never did.  Then one day, just like that, the urgency was gone.

A week later, while visiting my dad a few hours away, I told him about not being able to get Garvin off my mind and how I FINALLY wrote him a letter (much later than I had anticipated, but better late than never, right).  I sent it off yesterday.  He said:  Oh Stephanie, Garvin DIED LAST WEEK!

OH, My heart sank.  I wanted him to know how much I loved him, how much he meant to me, but it was too late.  I had all the time in the world months earlier and yet I waited till it was too late.  My dad tried to encourage me by saying how much it would mean to Wadie to read the letter, but I should have listened to my heart, to God’s prompting.

Do you have someone you’ve been thinking about, but haven’t made the call, because you don’t know what to say, you don’t have their address, a stamp, or the time to make a quick visit?  Perhaps it’s “Their Fault.”  We can come up with a 1000 excuses, but it doesn’t matter.

Make the call, pick up the phone, write a letter, text them, write it in the sky, but do something to tell them before it’s too late.  Tomorrow is not promised.  Let go of your pride and make it right.  Be the bigger person:  The way things were, doesn’t mean it is how they have to be.

Do you have a Wadie and Garvin?  Tell them how much you love them.  They sacrificed part of their life for you and will find much joy in knowing they helped make you a better person.  Good or bad, if you have someone on your heart or mind, give them a call; we may not even understand the reason behind their name popping in our head, but give them a call, for nobody is promised tomorrow.  Keep the bucket list long and the regret list short.  Here’s to Great People in Our Lives.

Stephanie

“Wrap Your Little One Like the Gift that She Is”

http://www.avaclaires.com

After having 3 boys, it was my mission in life to dress my little girl like a baby doll.  I’ve started a collection of little girl’s headbands, hats, flowers and bows.  All hair accessories come with a clip, making each item interchangeable with all hats and headbands.  Feel free to check out the website at:  http://www.avaclaires.com And  ”Wrap Your Little One Like The Gift That She Is.”

Did you ever watch the Andy Griffith Show?  Remember when Goober was the gas attendant, marriage clerk and waiter at the local diner? He wore many hats.  Before he knew it, the gas attendant was writing up the marriage license and the waiter was pumpin’ the gas.  Too many hats can be overwhelming.  Even Mayberry couldn’t fix this.

Webstsers dictionary defines perfect as: Entirely without Flaw.  Pure, unmixed, correct in every detail.  Perfect is good on paper, but not usable in life.  Even if perfect existed, we couldn’t appreciate it, because we’re not perfect.  When we strive for the unattainable, it makes us fall short, feel like a failure, and only reinforces the fact that we’re not making the A+ Grade in life.

Is the house organized?  Is the homework done?  Do you have a weekly menu planned and ready to go on Monday Morning?  Do you exercise daily?  Are the kid’s clothes laid out and lunches made the night before?  Did you finish that strategic report for the office or PTA meeting?  Is your hubby happy? Is the car clean?  Wow, my head is spinning, just thinking about it.

Take one day or one week to organize, clean the car on Saturday, better yet have the kids clean the car for quarters or the garage for a day of fun. Take it one step at a time – one room at a time, one meeting at a time.

Moms have so many responsibilities and many hats to boot.   We try to keep all the plates spinning and all the balls rolling . . And for good measure, we make it look easy, so everywhere else will comment on “I don’t know how she does it.”

She makes it look easy, when behind the scenes, you’re a ragged mess.  Be real, let people see that you’re human, and change your phrase to “Practice makes Progress.”  We CAN’T do it ALL, but we CAN do it ALRIGHT.

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In the end, God isn’t going to give us a “Big GOLD Star” in the sky for being the best house cleaner or money maker, but the question is:  ”Did we spend time with our kids?  Did they feel loved?  Did we raise them to be full of character and good values?

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We’re just one person with many responsibilities and a big hat rack.  Just Do Your Best. And Forget All the Rest!!  Here’s to “Progress!’

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I can do ALL things through Christ who gives me strength.  Phil. 4:13

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I was sitting on the back porch swing one night, hanging out with my dad when he said:  ”You were an easy kid to raise.  I can’t think of One bad memory; you were a pleasure growing up.”  Well, the first thing I thought, was he needed to be checked for Alzhemers.

I smoked my first and only cigarette at 6, never ran from an argument I didn’t believe in, didn’t take baths for most of year 9, stole the family car at 16, and most evenings, it was my dad’s job to be the family mediator.  And I was EASY to RAISE??  Is there a Dr. in the house?

We often reflect on the good, forget the bad and change our life story.  Milestones are memorable, boring stuff … ‘em, not so much!

You can be in labor and think you’re pushing a bowling ball out your wahzooooo and a week later, you’re looking into those sweet baby eyes thinking, “When are we going to do this again?”  Oh how quickly we forget.

Growing up, I lived a pretty normal life and like most, we remember those major events: our first date, first kiss, broken bones, stitches from a bike crash, graduating from college, the day you got married, the time you ran out of water hiking the Grand Canyon and we make our own story as if life is “Connect the Dots.” Except our story is constant.  We often live for the next BIG THING, the next big event or mile marker, and life never really stops; it keeps going.

There are certain things that stand out in life, but there’s a ton of stuff in between that we forget.  And they are just as important as the blinking lights along the side of the road.  All the events, great or small, led us to the place we are today.  If we forget, it’s as if we have deleted those files, making them obsolete, as if they never existed.

My dad has some of the funniest stories I’ve ever heard.  Growing up with 7 brothers and sisters, he could have you laughing for days and never repeat a story.  Often, the memorable stories are those that include drama, heart ache or surviving a situation by the skin of your teeth.  It was a story that was exciting.  Every day humdrum life is not exciting, but it’s valid.

My mom and I took a trip to Miami once and had a blast, but the one thing I remember most was being chased by a crazy taxi driver, who thought we owed him money.  Now I’m sure we had some great conversations and exchanged heart felt moments, but that’s what I remember.

Write it down, keep a journal of the funny things your kids say, moments enjoyed on a fishing trip, a story your dad told, meaningful conversations with friends.

Let’s face it, as we get older, we get further from our story. In the movie “Australia” the little aborigines boy tells his friend that he has to go on a journey, a “Walkabout” to get his story.  If he doesn’t go, he will have no story and will never Belong.

Getting a D on a Geometry paper or riding the bus home everyday is not memorable.  Having someone spit Redman Tobacco out the front of a bus and have it hit you in the face, as it came through the back window, now THAT’s memorable.  That’s my sister’s story.  And I’m sure one that stands out in her mind.

Life is slow and long and there are incredible moments that happen in our lives that tend to stand out more than others, but don’t neglect the small things, the mundane stuff, the laying in the floor with our kids on a rainy day, hearing them laugh.  The time you climbed a tree and secretly wished you lived there, listening in silence to the wind blowing quietly through the leaves.

Write it down.  Record those giggles; they won’t always sound like that.  Write down the little moments that seem so insignificant.  We can go on the journey and find our story, but if we don’t write them down to pass along to the next generation, it’s as if they never existed; they never belonged.  Go write your story.

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One day after hearing my girlfriends talk about shaking things up a bit in the bedroom, I thought I’d go get a Brazilian Bikini Wax. Not thinking very clearly, I decided to make an appointment with the full service spa next door to my video production company.

What I should have done was made an appointment with a spa in the next county and walked in mysteriously under an assumed name with a bag over my head and just went for it.  But oh no, I had to go next door to my office, where everyone knew me.  I walked in, not really knowing what to expect  It’s kind of like having a baby.  You go in smiling, you come out bargaining with God, promising anything if he’ll just make the pain go away.

I walked in, they put me on this waxing table and asked me to put a thong on.  Hmmm.  Red Flag. . . Next thing I knew she’s poured honey on everything and when she goes to Snatch, I shot off the table crying “Mother of God!”

She tried to distract me by asking questions, like  – how much does it cost to have old reels transferred to DVD?  Yank!!!!!!  and as I was giving the answer she snatched again.  She snatched twice before I could take a breath.  “Oh Lord Jesus, I can’t take this anymore.”  You can fool me once, but not twice.  I told her I didn’t care what it looked like down there, if the honey stayed or went, I was outta there.

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I grabbed my clothes and left.  I’m sure they had a big laugh that day, as I headed next door to my office.  At the end of the day, I made sure I parked in the back just to avoid passing the front of their store.  There’s got to be a better way to shake things up in the bedroom, because I can assure you, no husband will ever appreciate the pain you go through, getting a Brazilian Bikini Wax.

When I told my husband what I had done, he fell off the bed laughing.  You know, men are not complex.  He said I didn’t need to go to all that trouble to Shake things Up.  But was wondering if I brought home the thong.  I said honey:  I think a piece of it is still down there.

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Do you ever take your kids shopping with you, thinking – “It can’t be as bad as last time.  Hmm.  You might as well put your finger on the stove girl, cause you are fixing to get burned . . . again!

Why we think something so horrible will get better, I don’t know.  The minute you walk through the doors of the Mall to make a quick run for that cute blouse, Timmy has a melt down, Mary has to go to the bathroom and Sam can’t sleep in public.  Dear Lord.  It’s just sheer “Will Power” to really want to go shopping, for us to take our kids, after repeat offenses.

When I was 7, my mom took me shopping at a department store.  While she was in the fitting room, I saw this mannequin on a platform.  My 1st thought was – Is it wearing underwear?  So, while I waited for my mom, I climbed up the ladder onto the platform; as I was putting my head under the skirt to see what was under there, the W-H-O-L-E thing fell 10 feet . . . and I came down with it.

The older ladies ran and got my mom, who was embarrassed beyond belief.  My mom grabbed me by the ear (remember that trick?) and hauled me out to the car, hollering, “WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?  I said:  I wanted to see if the mannequin was wearing any underwear.  She looked at me with those stern mom eyes (the kind that puts chills down your spine) and I said:  If you were wondering, it WASN’T.

And that’s why you don’t take kids shopping, if you REALLY want to joy yourself.  Get a babysitter, trade play dates with a friend, go shopping in the evening or on the weekend, mow somebody’s lawn, just get time alone, Girl!

Then you think, “I’ll take “laid back” Johnny with me and leave loud Suzy with Dad.  Forgetaboutit!  It’s like trying to loose weight.  We work out hard all week and eat junk food on the weekends and never really get where we wanna go.

Keep the kids all day or all week, but when it’s your turn to enjoy PEACE and QUIET, get that Star Bucks coffee, find your favorite music on the ipod, jump into the car (ALONE) and head out to that “Well Deserved” time away.  You can’t do it half way.  Oh, No!  As the song says:  Go Big or Go Home!  Here’s to Peaceful Shopping!

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You Can Swing Over the Water Son, Just Don’t Get Wet!

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Do you ever walk into a room and your husband has one of the kids by their feet, swinging them across the living room as they scream in sheer terror and excitement, while you envision pictures of stitches in the ER?  It’s something I can’t watch.

I heard a statistic once that said:  When a child sees their father, their heart rate excelerates.  When they see mom, their heart rates decreases.  Interesting.

The other day my husband knew that I needed a break, so I took off, ran a few errands, did a little shopping and had an enjoyable few hours to myself.  Upon my return, I walked in the front door and noticed the kids were playing in the ATTIC!  An unfinished attic with partial boarding on the floor and Hubby was no where to be found.

Hmmm.    My husband said:  ’It was raining and they needed to explore.”  Well, that certainly makes since.  Why didn’t I think of that.  NOT!  Funny thing is, they rarely get hurt on his watch. It’s Amazing.

I came in one day, and on “Dad’s Watch”, found the baby asleep in the high chair in front of the TV watching VH1.  J-O-H-N!!!!!  His excuse, ” I was reading the boys a book and the baby was tired and hungry and VH1 seemed to do the trick.”  Well alrighty then.

Now I see why their heart rates go up.  It’s part fear and excitement of the unknown, of living on the edge.  They don’t know what’s in store for them, but whatever it is, with dad it is going to be exhilarating.

But when they see mom, their heart rate goes down.  Well, of course.  They get to live another day.  It’s because they know mom will give them food and a hug, not a roller coaster death drop.  They associate mom with safety and nurture.  We give them a sense of calm, keep them focused and on task.

Dad lets them fly down the stairwell on a mattress or in a box.  Often times, I want to roll them in bubble wrap before heading off to the park, where I know they’ll try something crazy and get hurt.  But then I have to remember,  kids need to explore, take risks, learn and try new things.

Opposites attract.  God knew this would be a perfect fit for our kids, to give them a sense of caution and adventure.  So, hold your breath mom, say a few prayers and break out the bubble wrap, because dad will be home soon.    Here’s to creative parenting.

When I was little, I hated taking baths.  When it was time for one, I would throw soap into the water, let it turn gray and make a few swishes to keep any listeners at bay.

But it was the smell of NOT taking a bath for a week – that told on me.

Turns out, my little ones have the same gene.  Often times, after playing outside for a couple of hours, my kids get that “dirty stinky school bus smell.”  They beg me not to have to take a bath.  They have turned out to be quiet the negotiators.  They should do well as salesman in their later years.

So as an incentive, after dinner I tell them they can have dessert -IN THE TUB!  You have never seen a child run so fast, jump in the tub and take a bath.  The power of a popsicle or jello cup is incredible.

For me it’s a Win Win. They are getting a bath and my kitchen is not sticky from dripping popsicles.  So when the tub is drained, I just have them drop the popsicle sticks and jello cups in the trash and everyone is happy and sparkling clean.

Here’s to a clean kitchen and clean little bodies.  : )

Webster’s dictionary defines an advocate as:  a stand in, defender, promoter of another. Have you ever watched parents of a sick child or one with a disability, whether physical or mental?  They’ll do whatever it takes to make sure that child has all the resources they need to enter mainstream society, integrating their children into conventional classes and giving them every opportunity available.

They attend meetings, do research, create fundraisers, write letters and work tirelessly, along side the teachers and medical advisers as an advocate for their child.  There is no greater call or mission in life than to stand up for your children and give them the best opportunities available.  These moms are quiet impressive.

We need to be an advocate for our Children’s Spiritual well being.

If you’re not there for them, who will be?  No one will love or care for your children, like You will.  Nobody!

We have to stand in the gap for them and pray for their teachers, their friendships, their salvation, their protection, their character and integrity . . . who they will marry, and the list goes on. Once they board the school bus, they are physically out of your hands.

When you’re in the “carpool line” at school, Pray!  When you’re loading groceries in the “check out line” Pray!  You are their advocate, the one who has their best interest at heart.

Don’t be shy or passive when it comes to representing your children in any capacity.  They need you to be praying for them.  They need a defender who will pray for their present, their future, for the Lord to guard their hearts, so they will not bow to the wrong peer pressure, but to be confident individuals with all the resources they need to be the people God has called them to be.

Be their little voice, their defender.  If you don’t stand up for them, who will?

Lamentations 2:19

Pour out your heart like water before the face of the Lord.  Lift your hands toward Him . . . for the life of your young children.

Suggested Reading:  Power of a Praying Parent, by Stormie Omartian