When each of my boys have turned twelve, they have gotten to go on a Twelve Year Old Trip.  This trip is a father/son event that is planned out for months.  It usually involves multiple sporting events, hunting, and driving many miles.  They get to help plan, they decide where to eat, what to do, what to wear.  It is all about them.

My fifth child, Joshua, is about to turn twelve years old.  How is that possible?  He was the baby for 10 years until we adopted Sally, and now Charlie.  So, I guess it is really hard for me to believe that the youngest of my “first batch” is twelve.  Weird.  I remember vividly when I was twelve.

Makes me want to slow it all down.

I want more time, which of course is impossible.

As I look back over the past couple of decades, it seems as if I lived it with a fast-forward button on.  And there is no reverse button.

Gretchen Ruben has written, “The days are long but the years are short” and I tend to agree. When I count the days, it doesn’t seem very fast, but then I look up and years have passed and there is no way to get it all back.  Not that we would want back all of it, but if I really understood this whole fast years thing, I think I would enjoy and savor my days, making them longer and slower.

I would have more moments where I glance out the window and see the blooms and the green grass and remember to tell the Lord thank you.

I would sit outside in my yard more.

I would play cards more with the kids.  A good game of Crazy Eight is really time well spent.

I would read. For pleasure.  And I would read all kinds of books—Bible Study books and novels and biographies and classics.

I would cook more.  Because I wanted to try out a new recipe, not because I needed to throw something on the table to avert my guilty conscience when we have eaten out or eaten sandwiches too many nights in a row.

I would go to lunch with a friend.  I would watch a kid’s movie with my kids, not just get it going for them.

In case you are wondering, I just listed my goals for the summer.

So join me in slowing down and savoring the days a bit more.

And I would love hear your ideas.  Please share your own tips!

We have just tackled a momentous life challenge.  Potty Training.  Sally is now three and we have been a bit behind schedule on this event.  Why?  First of all, her mother is old and tired and lazy.  Secondly, we had bigger challenges before us, like making sure she bonded with us, making sure she dealt with her fears, and making sure she sees us as her family.  Check.  Check. Check. (Praise the Lord!)

But the time had come and we are more than conquerors.  I had sorta forgotten how to potty train girls.  Boys are easier—wait until summer and potty train them in the backyard.  Just make sure they know not to go in the front yard.  My poor neighbors.

But it had been 16 years since I potty trained a girl.  I had to think through my strategy.  Stay home for a week.  Make her drink LOTS of water.  Have chocolate ready to reward her.  Girls and chocolate.  Works every time.

Now that we have conquered, I have to ask myself, “What will I miss about diapers?”

1. I will miss the ease of a diaper during a road trip.  Looking for a gas station, or a nice strip on the side of the road, or a large cup is our new way of life.
2. I will miss the sweet time between mother and daughter when I had to change those diapers.
3. I will miss the funny expressions Sally said when her diaper was being changed.  Like, “I must be French, that’s a lot of wee-wee!”  (We can thank her older brother for that one.)
4. I will miss how she said, “A naked baby is a happy baby.”  (Another nod to the older brothers.)
5. I will miss how when I pulled her back up she always sand, Stand Up Stand Up for Jesus.  (That one was from me.  I even googled the words so we would sing it right.)
6. I will miss having a baby.  You can take away the bottle and the baby bed, but when you take away the diapers, you really have a big girl, not a baby.

Though we didn’t get Sally until she was 22 months, I am glad we had over a year to baby her. I am glad to savor those memories, and I am also glad to save all that money spent on diapers.

For this Tuesday Tip, I thought we could examine if we should make our kids—or ourselves—make the bed.

My mother was a great household manager. Everything was shipshape.  We had to work hard and do right.  I have vivid memories of hearing those slippers clipping against the hardwood floor, coming toward my room.  With heart pounding and sweat pouring I would jump out of bed and start throwing clothes in my closet in a mad dash to clean up my room in the thirty seconds I had before she arrived.  The sound of slippers still sends shivers down my spine.

My style is a bit more (cough) relaxed (I like to say that rather than say disorganized) but I learned so much from her, which I have applied to my own household.

One of those things I have applied is that I make up my bed everyday.  EVERYday.  It may be three o’clock in the afternoon before I get to it, but by the time I get in bed at night, I want the pleasure of unmaking it.

Why?  First of all, I am a not-very-recovered sheet snob.  I have to have my sheets smooth and clean and soft.  Pure torture to me would be watching someone eat crackers in my bed.  My husband has often lovingly (most of the time) called me Princess and the Pea.  So, if I make up my bed everyday, there is less chance for one of my six children (seven if you count Mont) to get crumbs in my sheets.

Secondly, the voice of my mother comes back to me each day.  I hear her say, “Making up the bed is half the battle of keeping your house clean.”  So true.  Especially for us Southern women who have to have tons of throw pillows and Euro shams and regular shams…

When we spend the 2 minutes it takes to make up the bed, we have overcome half of our messy house problem.  Then we can whittle away at the rest of the mess.

So, do I make all six of my kids make up their beds?  Well, yes and no.  When the kids are young, I am pretty strict about making them make their beds.  The main point is when they leave my household they need to know how to make a bed, wash clothes, wash dishes, and clean the toilet.  It is part of life training.

Of course, I used to go back and remake their beds—until I got caught.   When my oldest daughter, Katie, was about 13, I reminded her to make her bed.  She asked me, “But why, Mom, you just turn around and remake it every day.”  Busted.  So, I decided to reteach her how to do it correctly and then accept the job as is.  Micromanaging really is a bad parenting strategy.