My Thrift Shop

Last week I stole every one of my son’s clothes.

Fresh from the dryer, I secreted them away. Folded neatly and stacked in my closet, I hid as much of his wardrobe as I could lay hands on. Then I waited. I waited for the sweet words of “Mom, do you know where all my clothes are?”

You may think this is strange. But frankly, I was tired of it. I was tired of finding laundry mildewing in the washer after five days of forgotten-ness. I knew at almost 12 years old, he is fully capable of putting clothes in the washer, moving them to the dryer and putting them away. Yet it wasn’t happening.

Despite all my training and mentoring, my assistance and guidance, laundry wasn’t getting done. I knew I had to resort to covert operations to make my point.  So when the sweet words came up about missing laundry, I had my reply ready.

“My thrift shop is now open for business in my closet. You can buy back any item you want, $1 each,” I said. “Oh and by the way, anything not purchased by the end of the month is going to support my new project Garage Sale for Orphans to help the poor in Haiti with Help One Now’s organization.”

Cue the raging pre-teen music.

Now rewind the story back to January when I visited orphans in Haiti. Many children were wearing clothes that were two sizes too small, or that were hand-me-downs of hand-me-downs. I saw a boy wearing women’s shoes with his feet hanging off the back.  I knew it was because he had no other choice. Some children simply did not have clothes at all. In Tent City, where 20,000 survivors of the earthquake three years prior still live under tarps, there were kids wearing zero. I witnessed one pre-teen girl lavishly washing her shoes outside of a tent. Good shoes and nice clothes were a prized possession.

So when I saw that our material goods were creating more frustration than joy, I knew it was time for a teachable moment. If he didn’t learn that our things were gifts and that we had to be good stewards of them, he would never get it later in life. As Americans, we do have access to a lot of stuff. But I wanted him to know deeply that things are a privilege and more isn’t always better.

After he calmed down, he realized the Thrift Shop was a good idea. He began getting into the spirit of things by negotiating T-shirts as a two-for-one special. I knew he was starting to get the idea when he said, “Mom, here are some things that I don’t need and think you should sell for the orphans.”

Will my son now do laundry forever and ever? Who knows. But I do know that the Thrift Shop helped my son see that sometimes too much stuff gets in the way. To be reminded that life is about a balance of being good stewards and about caring for others too. Sometimes more joy can be found in giving things away. And sometimes doing your laundry.

If you want to find out how a simple thing like a Garage Sale for Orphans can make a difference -- Meet Naiderson and how generosity changed his life. Or visit http://www.helponenow.org.

Winter Love

“What do you love about winter?” a friend asked me recently.

It was such a simple question, but it truly altered my thinking. People don’t speak of love and winter in the same sentence. This is about the time of year we begin reading articles about beating the winter blahs, losing your winter weight, coping with the missing daylight by taking mass quantities of Vitamin D or planning a trip to Cancun. Nobody asks what you love about it.

With the question, my mind went about searching what there was to love about winter. Like an eccentric and difficult aunt, winter is hard to truly love. Yet, somehow when I was a kid growing up in Michigan, winter was a blast. We would ice skate on the roads (yes the roads!) and every weekend my parents would drop us off at a small skiing hill near our town for the entire day.

When things got too cold, we would take breaks with hot cocoa by the giant fire in the lodge. We would pack huge sandwiches tall with peanut butter, marshmallow fluff, honey and bananas (awesome) and ski literally all day and all night. My parents expected us to find a ride home and we always did. Thinking of that now makes me laugh – how simple and trustworthy life was then.

Now as a grown up, what’s to love about winter? Personally, I love the slower pace of winter. I love the extra time to read and enjoy the comforts of home. I treasure a meal in the slow cooker after a busy day, filled with comfort food of pot roast and slow cooked carrots. For me, winter usually affords an opportunity to “putter” – looking at old photos, journals of days gone by. I love winter’s quiet and wild weather – an excuse to stay inside, take care, be safe. There is a certain nurturing kindness about winter that makes it feel like a comfortable old friend.

Let’s face it – North Carolina has a lot of nice days. Before you know it, winter is a sweet memory. My aim is to look for things to love. Because when you look for things to love, you usually find them.

PS. Here’s a bit of winter love for you -- a fun winter walk activity to do with your kids that shares some “secrets of trees in the winter”…..there, now don’t you feel better about winter?

http://www.kidsdiscover.com/blog/parentresources/backyard-science-winter-trees-for-kids/

Dreaming of Haiti

Last week I slept in the poorest country in the world.

I’m not sure how best to explain it. Meeting orphans, their small brown hands slowly folding into mine, their eyes looking at me expectantly, longingly, just wanting to be held. Being sung to by 32 parentless girls under the stars, no electricity and in complete darkness – yet experiencing a glow like no other.

Visiting “Tent City” where 20,000 earthquake refugees still live, despite three years after the event. I see a woman walking a cat on a leash – pet or dinner? I see children flying kites made of string and plastic grocery bags. I see sad eyes peering out at me from inside dark huts. I greet them with a “Bonswa” or “good afternoon” and they light up and smile knowing that I see them in friendship.

Later in the week, I slept in a girls’ orphanage high up in the country near the border of the Dominican Republic. I see a girl sleeping on the floor and I am crushed knowing she has given up her bed for me. Girls shift in the night, finishing chores, putting the little ones to bed. They walk quickly by tiny handheld candles and flashlights, making efficient steps of their work. Their glow casts an ethereal quality as it lights up the mosquito nets, shadowy hard walls. I wonder if I am dreaming or awake.

On our last day, we visited a large orphanage and arrive into a cabin to find a huge stainless steel rice bowl covered with a mosquito net. “Were we eating already?” I thought. But inside was tiny “Jeff” – a newborn whose mother died in birth. His father unknown. Starting his life without parents. So much hardship and so soon.

But despite this desperation, Haitian people are filled with a kind of hope that is hard to understand. In the midst of all this, still they are filled with an easy joy and a reliance on God like no other. I am jealous of how rich they are in their tenacity of faith. I see that they have nothing, and yet they have everything.

Coming home filled me with such a mixture of emotions. Why is it that I have so much and yet struggle to feel content? Why do they have so little and yet are joyful anyways?

I return filled with stories that I hope to tell over time. I feel like I have to try my best to explain it, even though it may not be understood. Even though I am now home, Haiti stays with me. It permeates my thoughts and heart. I can never forget those eyes, those hands, that desperation. My dreams are of Haiti and finding a way to help back here in a place that lacks nothing, yet possibly everything.

To learn more about making a difference in Haiti, visit Help One Now at www.helponenow.org.

Going On An Adventure

My son and I went to watch the new “Hobbit” movie this week. After reading the book together this summer, we were thrilled to finally see it on the big screen. In the beginning of the movie, we see the serene, laid-back Bilbo Baggins transform into the racing and frenzied unlikely hero, running through the fields yelling “I’m going on an adventure!”

That is me. Well, sort of. It is true that I am going on an adventure. This time next week I will be in Haiti. Just like Bilbo felt, I too feel unprepared, ordinary, even small when thinking of the giant problems facing one of the poorest countries in the world. But I’m going.

I am travelling with a group called “Help One Now” who are people dedicated to using their gifts, talents and resources to help end extreme poverty, care for orphans, rescue slaves and see communities transformed. They sponsor kids, host garage sales, donate funds, take trips and much more.

Before you think I am Mother Teresa, know that I am not. I am an ordinary Jane. I am not a “super Christian” and I am travelling to a place where I don’t even speak the language. I really don’t have any special gifts, other than the fact that I happen to be a really good listener and I love a great story.

I’m going because I want a bigger tale to tell of my life. I want to put feet to my faith. I want to have adventures. This suburbanite mom wants to one day tell the story to her grandkids what it was like to discover a far away place that needed a good listener. To tell them about holding hands with orphans, hugging widows and providing a comfort to a country that doesn’t have much. Still, I don’t have much to offer, other than an open heart.  My hope is that is enough.

PS.

To learn more about Help One Now, visit www.helponenow.org. If you are ordinary like me, check out their website to learn how you can sponsor and orphan or host a fundraiser with your community group.

The Secret of Christmas

We all long for home, especially at Christmas.

The home we hope for is the one of our hearts, the very best idea of home. This may not match the picture we had growing up, or the one we see on TV. We long for the home of deep sanctuary, the one that glows from within, casting warm lights on our faces. The home that allows us to set all our troubles down and find the nourishment of loving company, feasting and laughter.

I was lucky enough to have this kind of home growing up. If you were to look at the surface of the circumstances, you would disagree. My mom was divorced with five children and not working, which meant Christmas was always full of guilt. We lived in a broken down Victorian home that never put out enough heat to feel any sort of warmth. We never ever had enough money to get Christmas together in any sort of style – it was always ramshackle, last minute and chaotic.

Despite all those crazy circumstances, I think about those holidays as a kid with wonder. The food, the gifts, the decorations – everything was pretty unremarkable. None of the material things stand out. What fills me with wonder is how we had nothing and yet we had everything. I remember the funny conversations, the times spent together, the laughter, the cooking contests – attending Christmas Eve services and loving the beauty and simplicity of an old church decorated with simple pine boughs. What made those Christmases great was the fact that we enjoyed all we had – each other.

Every holiday as a grown up, I try so hard to re-create that magic. I read magazine after magazine about meaningful Christmas holidays, recipes and activities. But when I think about it, it really is simple. It’s paying attention – to each other, to the moment, to the beauty all around you. It’s quietly letting go of every guilty demand. It sounds simple, and it can be, if we let it. Stop. See. Smell. Treasure.

As part of the holidays, I love to read the Christmas story from the Bible. Many people love the part about the angels belting out praises or the shocked shepherds or the wise men showing up. My favorite part comes at the very end – it almost seems insignificant, but to me, it is everything. In Luke 2:19 (NIV) it says “But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.”

Mary could have been thinking about a lot of things. She just gave birth – she could have been thinking “where is my mother-in-law to help out?” or “why couldn’t I be sleeping in a real bed?” But through it all, Mary treasured. Not exactly a magazine-style Christmas. If Mary, despite all these crazy circumstances, could still focus on the joy of it all, what about me?

This is the secret of Christmas. When we want to feel guilt, think of Mary. When we want to be stressed, stop and treasure. When we want to get angry or think it’s about one more thing we have to do, it’s time to stop and adore.

Mary gives us the secret to Christmas.  It is finding true home and to treasure it all up in your heart.

Holiday Peace

Lately the words "holiday peace" are feeling like an oxymoron.

If you are like me, things are getting to a fevered pitch as we are working on whipping up the magic and wonder again this year. Holidays had such a different feel when I wasn't the one hosting, grocery shopping, cleaning, cooking, wrapping and being the leader of the cheer-making. 

Deep sigh. Yes, indeed I need some holiday peace.

So in an effort to discover more wonder, I began writing down things that made me smile in the chaos. Sort of a gratitude journal at a time when my heart is desperately in need of it.

Here's my things that make me smile this season:

--Filling the bird feeder for the first time this year and watching the birds arrive in festive celebration.

--Hearing someone sneeze in a Christian bookstore, followed by an avalanche of "God Bless Yous."

--The privilege and honor to bless a family of a fallen soldier this Christmas.

--Making toast from the heel of the bread knowing no one likes it, but I secretly love it.

--Having a funny conversation with my doctor about how he has always wanted to enter the Guiness Book of World Records for pogo-stick jumping. 

--Hearing the "Car Wash" song come on the radio when I am in the car wash!

--Helping out my neighbor with her small children and being peppered with funny questions like if I like zebras and what is God's favorite color? (all of them, of course.)

--Finding the rattiest, but most treasured Christmas decoration I made many years ago. It always reminds me of the heart I hope to have this Christmas and here is what it says:

The True Christmas

If, as Herod, we fill our lives with things, and again with things; 

if we consider ourselves so unimportant that we must fill every moment of our lives

with action, when will we have the time to make the long, slow journey across the desert,

as did the Magi? Or sit and watch the stars as did the shepherds?

Or brood over the coming of the child as did Mary? 

For each of us there is a desert to travel. A star to discover.

And a being within ourselves to bring to life. 

--Author Unknown

Wishing you moments of holiday peace that make you smile. As a gift to yourself, take a moment to notice all you have to be grateful for this season. 

The Child in Charge of Thanksgiving

This morning I woke up my 11 year-old son and told him that he was in charge of Thanksgiving.


"I know you are only a child, but I think it's time," I said. 


He stared up from his covers sleepily and with a blank look on his face.  "I can't tell if you are serious or if you've lost your mind," he said.


I let out a deep laugh and said, "that's what's so great about homeschooling. Sometimes you study math, reading and writing and then sometimes you study Thanksgiving in a hands-on course."


He was scared.


Lately we have been reading a book called "Doing Hard Things  --  teenage rebellion against low expectations" by Alex and Brett Harris. In it they talk about how we don't expect much from our kids and therefore they don't give it.
 

Looking back over history, there are so many examples of kids who did amazing things. Clara Barton at age 14 nursed her father's hired man back to health from small pox. She then went on to care for her entire village during the outbreak. At 17, she was a schoolteacher for 40 children, some her same age. You know her name probably as the founder of the Red Cross.

Then there's the example of David Farragut. David was 12 years old when during the War of 1812, he was given the assignment to bring a ship captured by the USS Essex safely to port.

Really now, I'm not asking my son to heal the sick or captain a ship or anything. But to cook a beautiful Thanksgiving dinner for 8, why not?

It was a funny prospect. But it also got me thinking why don't I ask more of my son? In a backhanded way, am I saying that I don't think he is capable? It reminds me of that great quote by Goethe which says "Treat people as if they were what they ought to be and you help them to become what they are capable of being."

Maybe he won't have to cook the turkey this year. But he can certainly help unload the groceries, chop things and set the table. Children are capable of amazing things, but we as parents have to believe it first.

P.S. For more resources and great articles on Thanksgiving, check out the seasonal guide from Carolina Parent at:

http://www.carolinaparent.com/thingstodo/seasonal/seasonal.php?Celebrate-Thanksgiving-in-the-Triangle-1

Good Gifts

You knew it was the holidays when the Sears Catalog arrived. Back then, it felt like it was the only catalog. Fat, thick and loaded with colorful, happy images of families having a blast with all of their “stuff.” My brothers and sisters would pour over that thing for days and weeks – dog earring and circling every toy and doodad we wanted for Christmas.

We loved to play the “page game” – where one person got the left hand side and the other got the right. Flipping quickly, we would point out what we wanted and shout “mine”  -- then compare it to the gift they chose. We would dream of Christmas trees loaded with a sea of presents so thick, you couldn’t even find your way to the bottom of it.

Now our mailboxes are so thick with catalogs, we are having a hard time finding the bottom of it. Recently, my friend Beth visited me. I saw the “Sears Catalog” look in her eye when she saw my pile. For Beth, she lives in a Winnebago and travels all over the United States for about 10 months of the year. Because she has her mail shipped to her wherever she is, she gets no catalogs.  Before my eyes, she morphed into a 9 year-old girl dreaming up her wish list for Santa. It was more fun to watch her look at my catalogs than to look at them myself.

This holiday season, my wish is to choose gifts that change lives. I know that is not possible to do with everything. But unlike the Sears catalog, I want to give people something that has an echo effect – resonating for years to come. You don’t have to look very far to find great gifts that help amazing causes. But the point is, you do have to look. My invitation is before you click “buy” or swipe that credit card, you will pause and wonder if you are giving a good gift. The good gift, the best gift is the one that changes the recipient for the better. And it’s probably not found in a catalog.

If you are looking for a “good gifts” place to start:

www.giftsthatgive.com

www.heifer.org

www.purecharity.com

Take It Outside

It’s about that time and you know it. The time for amazing fall weather that we get to relish like only North Carolinians can. With “Take a Child Outside” week happening September 24-30, we now have even more reason to do so.

But wait. Let’s think about that for a minute. Why does taking a child outside have to be only one week? With the fall weather approaching, I would hope that maybe it’s just a reminder that the outdoors is getting really beautiful. Or, better yet, that we are kicking off a new season of adventure and outdoor goodies like farm visits, pumpkin patches, corn mazes and tree fort building.

Whatever the fall season brings, my hope at home is that we think of the outdoors first. The showy wonder of fall reminds us to put down our i-thingies and do device detox for a little while.  I plan to go outside, breathe deep and remember that soon our days will be shorter and darker.  Outside time isn’t just a week, but an opportunity to store up some wonder for the winter ahead.

For more on “Take a Child Outside Week,” visit www.takeachildoutside.org.

School's In Blues

As the big school machine cranks up another year, most moms are walking around with a secret smile on their face. With the kids back in school, they now have a bit of time reclaimed to do whatever moms with kids in school do. As a homeschooling mom, this time of year marks the time when I feel most insecure about educating my son at home.

Don’t get me wrong, some days are a total wonder. The gorgeous afternoons with a true North Carolina blue sky where we sit and do nature studies by the lake. The captivating days when we can visit a museum and recite in detail the most important event leading up the Civil War to the tour guide. The best is when someone quizzes him on some rare detail that they are sure no homeschooler would ever know – like the capitol of Gambia. He beams “Banjul” and asks “did you know that it is the smallest country in Africa?” Those are the kind of days that make momma proud.

But then there are the days when I discover he doesn’t know how to spell the word “doctor.” Yes, it’s true. Even worse are when I am checking over his papers to find sentences beginning without capital letters or ending with periods. Then come the days when he forgets how to do long division. Again. The days when math makes us cry (just a little) and it’s only 9 a.m.  I’m sure these types of mental blips happen for public and homeschool kids alike. At least I’m praying they do.

As we begin the 6^th grade this year, the fact that he is beginning middle school is one that I do not take lightly. The pressure is on for me. I can’t afford to screw this one up. Sometimes I wonder if I am doing my son any favors by serving as his chief educator. But mostly I feel grateful that I am not missing out on his days. I am thankful that I get to pour into him as much as I possibly can, while I can.

Ironically, it was a pair of dirty tennis shoes that helped me reconcile my feelings. As I was hand washing my sneakers, I thought hand washing something was like homeschooling. Traditional schooling was like putting your clothes in a washing machine. Were the hand washed things cleaner than the machine? Probably not. Did both things get clean? Absolutely. The end result was the same.

For now, homeschooling is our map for the year ahead. With a deep breath, a lot of prayer and effort, we focus on one day at a time. I know my son’s education may not always be homeschooling. I know there will always be holes in his learning, even in a traditional school. Yet, for this season, I will do all I can to pour into him the very best way I can imagine. I know the most important thing is to love him through the journey, even if he doesn’t know how to spell doctor.

Summer Wishing

It's summer, quick make a wish! Or better yet, get your family together and capture all your wishes. You know how it goes -- summer feels like it's going to stretch out forever like a long luxurious slip and slide on a hot day. Then before you know it, it will be the Fourth of July and then we'll be shopping for school supplies and then game over.

My favorite thing to do about now is to make the summer "wish list" of all the things that I can't wait to do. Usually it starts out really grand with big adventures like white water rafting or road tripping to far flung undiscovered beaches. Lovely, right? Next the jungle heat kicks in, then I somehow forget about my ambitious list and resort to more hammock-like activities.

This year, I made my wish list artsy by laying out pieces of sparkly paper and funky markers for the whole family to add their ideas. It became kind of a note "tag" where everyone could post things as they walked by, along with funny little drawings to go with their wishes.

Here are a few of our wishes: play Yahtzee, go to a Durham Bulls game, sit on the dock, go "real" rock climbing, read The Hobbit, swing in a hammock, go swimming beneath a waterfall, stargaze, discover a new hiking path and camp out.

Speaking of camping out -- June 23 is the Great American Backyard Campout weekend. It's a perfect time to get outside with a good ole fashioned back yard camp out. 

Whatever summer holds, my wish is that it would be a summer to remember. Because as my son grows, I know that summers spent wishing are numbered. I don't want to miss a single moment. I hope you won't either.

For more details and ideas on the Great American Backyard Campout, check out the National Wildlife Federation site:

http://www.nwf.org/Get-Outside/Great-American-Backyard-Campout.aspx

The Gift of Vuvuzelas

Don't you love it when you find something pure, true and authentic?

Maybe I'm in a place where I am feeling less than authentic about things. Not that I'm being fake, I'm only feeling smiley on the outside and not so much on the inside. Lately I had been feeling weary in spirit.

That's why reading the book "One Thousand Gifts" by Ann Voskamp has been a little like shaking the snowglobe inside of me sort of experience. I am treasuring the texture of her words, the completely naked style writing of raw truth and emotion. It's wild and I love it.

What is even more fun is the free app that you can download. It is a really fun place to document "your gifts" of wonder in your life. At first I thought it was weird, like one of those sugary gratitude journal sort of things. But the more I started documenting my "gifts" the more I couldn't wait to add more.

The app allows you to take a little picture or add an image and then some text about what your gift is that you are grateful for today. Yesterday my "gift" of the day was vuvuzelas. My son recently won it this weekend at an art festival and hasn't stopped blowing it at random times. It's hilarious. He loves to hear how it sounds when it echoes through our backyard or from the cul-de-sac or even from his window. It's almost like a poke in the shoulder that says "hey! wake up, life is happening!" I can't help but smile every time he does it.

More than anything, it's been a gift to me to be reminded that everything is a gift. Even vuvuzelas.

Warrior Me?

This weekend I get to be a warrior. Not just what they call "weekend warriors" the ones that go to Home Depot and paint their decks or remodel something. I get to be the kind that wears a furry helmet and horns, a la Viking style. Yes, and run a 5k while scaling rope walls, climbing through mud pits, crawling under barbed wire and such. Did I mention jumping over fire? 

Here's what I will look like if you need a visual...

You think I'm kidding but I'm not. Some friend of mine (who shall not be named but who I'm thinking of doing voo-doo on right now) thought it would be "super fun!" Right about now, I'd like to smack her for ever thinking this was a good idea. 

Yes, it's true. I'm participating in the NC Warrior Dash on Saturday. It is a great cause for St. Jude Children's Hospital and pediatric cancer research. Please pray that I live to tell the story!

Wouldn't you like to be a Warrior too? If you've ever wanted to be a Warrior, check it out here.

http://warriordash.com/register2012_north_carolina.php

Sandwiched

Sandwiches are only fun at picnics.

Not as much fun when they become the bucket you fall into as the “sandwich” generation – caring for your own children while caring for your parents. That’s me.

I’m not sure how I ended up becoming the caregiver for my mom. It became the next obvious thing to do. Sort of like picking up a coat off the floor and hanging it up, my mom coming to live in North Carolina in a senior community felt like the right thing to do.

“You get mom,” said my sister, “I get dad.” We joked together about how each of us had been given one parent to care for, as we constantly compare notes on how to encourage each other. We talk weekly on the latest funny story or how our parents have become like another child to care for while home and hearthing our own family.

On top of the child-rearing issues, I get to learn about things like walker maintenance, Medicare, Social Security, what to do when your teeth fall out and how many doctors you can possibly see in a year.

I hope this doesn’t sound like whining. Being my mom’s “it” girl has been a huge blessing for our family. My son spends time weekly with his grandmother. We cook together and spend lots of time simply doing life. I am fortunate because my mom is fairly healthy, right now. Still, I worry about what is down the road on my sandwich.

For the moment, this sort of sandwich is all I have. I watch my mom teach my son how to make “toast treasures.” Slicing up the bread in tiny thin strips the way she used to do only when I was sick or sad as a child. My son watches in awe, sure that he is witnessing something life changing.

And he is.

PS. To read more about my story as a family caregiver, check out my excerpt in the recently released book “Chicken Soup for the Soul for Family Caregivers.” The book features 101 stories of love, sacrifice and bonding from people of all ages who take care of family members at home or in outside facilities. This book is filled with great practical advice for anyone facing the important task of caring for a loved one in their golden years. Find it on amazon.com or wherever you buy books.

Amateur Rocket Scientist

Lately I have been channeling my inner scientist.

Somehow I thought signing up for the North Carolina Science Olympiad was a good idea. I thought, "Hey, we'll launch rockets, we'll learn new things, it will be awesome." And it is. I'm just learning that I'm really not a very good rocket scientist.

But apparently that doesn't seem to matter. For the last six weeks we have been blowing up 2 liter bottles in our back yard by filling them with water and pumping them up with air by way of a bicycle tire pump until they launch. Genius, right? I'm even able to say things like "Hey kids, we just used Newton's Third Law of Motion!" (that's for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction for those who need a reminder.)

Like moths to a flame, every kid, grown up and neighborhood dog is drawn to our rocketry afternoons. Pretty soon everyone wants to take a turn at building their own rocket, pumping it up and vying for the most coveted job, pulling the launcher string.

Are we learning anything other than how much PSI it takes to blow a 2 liter bottle sky high? Not sure. Are we furthering the love of science? Probably. But the coolest lesson we have learned is to see how much we can fail miserably at something and have a total blast.

That part makes it worth it. Science for me as a kid was the most boring thing imaginable. I can remember my 8th grade teacher drawing circle after circle on the chalkboard as he talked about molecules. Or even better was reading mountains of textbooks, while cramming hundreds of science terms in my head. I even remember studying Newton's Laws.

The truth is science is super cool if it's done in a memorable way. My guess is that my son will definitely remember Newton's Third Law forever -- with some great stories of blowing things up in his back yard. For all this, my attempts at amateur rocket scientist are time well spent. If nothing more than to revel in the jubilation of a bunch of kids celebrating the awesome beauty of a 2 liter reaching the treetops.

PS. If you want to learn more about NC Science Olympiad, volunteering or just coming out to watch the events, visit www.sciencenc.com.

Gentleman In Training

When it comes to manners, I am old school.

I keep hoping for the day that I don't have to begin dinner with "napkin in your lapkin" or end dinner with "where does your plate go?"

These basic courtesies were literally drilled into my brain growing up about the constant importance of good graces. Is it wrong or dated to expect them in my 10 year old son?

This year, we have begun the book "50 Things Ever Young Gentleman Should Know" by John Bridges and Bryan Curtis. (there is also the girl version for young lady too). I have to say it is a hilarious read and a perfect tone for tween boys.

Here's a few examples:

On sports...

"A gentleman does not throw a fit when a call does not goes his way or when he loses."

On apologies...

"A gentleman who has offended another person says, 'I'm sorry.'"

My fav on hygiene...

"A gentleman puts on a clean shirt instead of smelling the armpits of a shirt to see if can wear it again."

It would be easy to blame technology or the media for ruining our kids, or the fact that this generation is different and doesn't understand the importance of good manners. I will set all that aside and be persistent anyways. Manners are important and tell a lot about the kind of character our kids have. Even if I have to say "napkin in the lapkin" for 365 days straight, one day I know he will get it.

And I know that day, Emily Post will smile. So will I.

Rethinking Christmas

Advent season marked the time I started curling my toes in church. As a kid, it always came as such a surprise that Sunday after Thanksgiving that we could begin talking about Christmas already. With thrilling anticipation, the pastor had my attention, knowing that presents were soon on the way.

But really he wasn't talking about those kind of presents, he was talking about the one big present, Jesus. Advent season meant lighting a candle each Sunday and preparing our hearts and minds for that amazing birthday party. Who doesn't love a party?

Christmas stopped becoming a joy when I became a grown up and realized all the wonder and magic was up to me. I was the one who would be shopping, cooking, cleaning, preparing. Along with that work, came the heavy guilt about all the expense, measuring up and giving enough. But was the wonder all up to me, really? Or did I simply decide that?

One of my favorite daily devotion websites is called "Following the Star" at www.d365.org. I think the author says it best when she writes:

"I step into this season with an open heart, O God. As I wait for you, surprise me with the hope of Christmas that will fill the empty places. Amen."

That is my prayer this season. I remember the child-like, toe-curling wonder of Advent, not for the presents, but for the open heart and the hope it brings. To remember that I can choose to focus on the guilt or I can choose to focus on the star.

Loser 101

Winning is overrated. Losing might be the new "it."

Lately I have been watching a lot of losing at little league baseball. As a mom, I have run out of cheery things to say. But to truly appreciate winning, I think you need to lose a lot.

I see my son tap his pitcher on the head and give words of encouragement. He never would have done that before had he not known what it’s like to walk 20 batters in a row. I see him cheer his teammates on for the tiny victories, even though they may be down by 10 runs. He has come to know how important little things can be. Little things done well, strung together make a good game.

Then I see my kid throw a perfect pitch. He would not know it’s true perfection if he hadn’t thrown a lot of awful pitches. I watch him swagger back to the mound. I witness his confidence soar. Only he and I know how many afternoons we have spent throwing that ball back and forth. All those days where we mimicked plays, with pretend stress-filled moments. Mom was the umpire those days as I belted out my best impersonation of a passionate blue yelling “STRRRRRikeee.”

Now he hears the real thing.

Winning is sweet. But it’s in the losing that we come to know it’s taste. I think losing well takes more character and guts than winning with style. And that makes it not so bad after all.

An E-mail from the Big Guy

Recently my husband and I were enjoying a sporting event on TV. We couldn’t help but notice most of the fans were not watching, but were looking down at their phones the entire time. Part of me was completely annoyed, but part of me understands.

There is something wonderful about connection. I find e-mail is the first thing I want to do in the morning and the last thing I want to do at night. I know it’s ridiculous. That got me thinking about what God would have to say about e-mail. What would He say in Facebook updates? “Just healed someone. Prevented natural disaster. Whew! LOL”

I think it’s embarrassing how much I like e-mail and texting and the Internet. Truly, what does all this add to my life? It made me wonder what God would have to say to me in an e-mail.

I imagined it would go something like this:

Hi there, God here.

Just so you know, I think you are great. Do you have any idea how much I love you? Well, it’s a lot. In case you were wondering, you don’t have to earn my love. It’s just there and will always be there.

You are doing such a fantastic job as a mom and wife – thanks for all the ways you love your family. Also, last week when you stopped to ask that family if they needed help on the highway, I thought that rocked.

Now get back to bed and get some rest. You have a big day ahead and I have some surprises planned for you.

Lastly, you are skinny enough.

Love you,

G

PS There’s more joy in being present to life, than updating your Facebook page.

Canning Anyone?

I’ve been thinking about canning lately. Yes, canning – think grandmas with winged aprons and a beautiful pantry filled with rows and rows of goodness. Somehow the idea of lining my shelves with summer’s bounty and sweet, red-checked jars sounds appealing.

This week at the grocery store, I discovered Canning Magazine – has it always been there? Usually I’m studying fashion magazine covers, diet features and celebrity gossip. And now, canning.

I can’t quite put my finger on the canning whim. Is it the fact that I’m getting older? Maybe it’s a longing for simple things. Right now the world feels pretty go-go, zoomy to me. School’s starting, the economy is crazy and the politicians even more so. Everyone needs something from me – parent meetings, broken faucets, socks with holes in them. I’m overwhelmed by it all.

Now would be a good time to visit grandma’s house and sit on the porch swing with her. After a nice talk, she says “why don’t you take home a jar of jam to go with the bread I made you?” I smile and nod and head to the pantry where I find treasure that grandma has lovingly stowed away from the summer garden. That sounds nice.

Too bad I don’t have that grandma. But the idea stays with me. There is a certain grounding in caring for your family that grandma’s generation knew well. Spending an afternoon making jam could be exactly what is needed. I think when the world spins crazy, I like to focus on home. I can’t control any of the chaos outside of it, but I can care for my nest.