Life After the Kids Graduate College: Surviving the Empty Nest Syndrome

The last ten years have been a bit of a marathon, filled with family challenges, serious injuries, illnesses, and the loss of my father. For a while, laughter and everyday joy felt like they had packed up and gone on vacation without me. But the good Lord never stopped nudging me forward. Well... "nudging" might be giving Him too much credit. It was probably more like a well-aimed boot to the backside. Either way, I'm finally starting to laugh more, find joy in the little things again, and rediscover my voice. Apparently, God wasn't accepting "maybe later" as an answer.

 **Life After the Kids Graduate College: Surviving the Empty Nest Syndrome** 

Ah, the moment every parent dreams about: the day your child(ren) graduate from college, get a job, spread their wings, and fly the nest. They say life after your kids graduate from college is a golden era filled with blissful peace and quiet, but let’s be real: it’s more like a rollercoaster of emotions coated with a hefty dose of confusion. 

**The Sudden Silence** 

The first thing you notice after your kids move out is the deafening silence. Gone are the days of “Mom! Where’s my other sock?” or “Dad, can you help me build this ridiculously complex science project that requires twelve different kinds of glue? It's due tomorrow!” Instead, you find yourself hearing every creak and noise through the house, convinced that someone might pop out at any moment. You might even start talking to the dog—no judgment here; it’s a real adjustment! 

**Rediscovering Your Grocery Bill** 

With your once-teenage food vacuums now college grads, you’ll notice your grocery bill is suddenly half of what it used to be. You’ll stand in the grocery aisle, holding a family-sized box of Hot Fudge Sundae Pop-tarts, wondering, “Do I still need this?” Your fridge will go from “What’s for dinner?” chaos to “Is a leftover container of queso with chips considered a meal?” panic. Welcome to the new normal, where you find joy in whatever random leftovers make it to your plate! 

**Your Home Is Now a Museum** 

As soon as your kids graduate and head out into the world, your humble abode becomes a glorified museum. “Here lie the bedrooms of a once-aspiring pilot and model,” you muse as you dust their empty room, looking at the blank spaces on the walls that were once adorned with favorite posters and trophies from their youth sports and activities. Every now and then, you find yourself reminiscing about the days when you had to step over a minefield of Legos, Matchbox cars, and dolls to get to the bathroom—those were the days of real adventure! 

**The Parenting Callback** 

After graduation, just when you think your parenting responsibilities are winding down, you realize you are now on call 24/7 for what I like to call *emergency consultations*. “Mom, how do I place a grocery pickup order?” is the frantic call when they realize adulting is far harder than it sounds. “Dad, how much life insurance should I sign up for? And what's AD&D?” becomes a new family quandary. Who knew post-college life would resemble a series of phone interviews to discuss the world’s most confusing concepts?

**The Unexpected Side Effects** 

You may also find yourself suddenly subjected to side effects such as “Hobby Overload.” With all this newfound free time, you might experiment with gardening, quilting, shopping for a wardrobe that isn't based on whether it is socially acceptable for both sleeping and early morning school car-line drop-offs, or maybe you take it a step further and tackle the real monster: organizing the craft/junk room using suggestions from Pinterest or Marie Kondo that are guaranteed to make you the star of the neighborhood. Spoiler: those rooms rarely get completed.

**The Reunion Moment** 

And just when you’re starting to get used to the quiet, you get the call: “Hey Mom, can I come home for a few days?” Your heart does a happy dance as you picture family dinner and saying goodbye to your newfound solitude - even if it's only for a day or two. Before you know it, they roll back in with a suitcase full of laundry and want to take over your Netflix account with their latest binge-worthy series. Suddenly, you’re dodging awkward questions like, “Where's the last slice of cake?” and, "What happened to the Pop-tarts?" 

In the end, while we cherish the memories and lessons learned through parenting, the journey continues, albeit in a different way. Here’s to the empty nest—may it be filled with joy, laughter, and maybe a dog or two to keep you company!

What Parent Type Are You?

When I was growing up, there were only 2 parenting styles: strict and lenient.  It did not matter whether you were that parent's own child or someone else's. If you got into trouble or did something wrong, you received an immediate correction by whoever's parent was closest to the center of activity.

Growing up, my brothers and I learned the hard way never to misbehave in the car. We were sure that during childbirth, God gave our mother a second set of eyes which were located in the back of her head. When she napped, we would pick at her hair trying to find those eyes.

We knew they had to be hidden behind somewhere in that giant 1970's beehive of a hairdo, but we never could find them. No person, without a set of eyes in the back of their head, could see the way she could.  She always knew which child was instigating trouble. She could drive the car perfectly while backhanding any misbehaving kids in the backseat faster than Superman could change clothes in a phone booth.

Between our mother and the other mothers in the neighborhood, all the kids in the neighborhood were watched to see what we were doing. This scrutiny meant we learned right from wrong at a very early age.

Things have changed dramatically since I grew up.  One of the biggest changes has been the creation of so many different parenting labels. There are so many different labels used to describe how a mother chooses to rear her child(ren), it could confuse Dr. Spock.

Tiger, Helicopter, Free-Range, Elephant, Little-Emperor, and Lighthouse Moms are just to name a few. The labels all seem to have a defining characteristic: you are either an animal or a machine.

Personally, I don't want to be known as an Elephant Mom. The older I get, the more I battle ankle wrinkles. I've also heard as you age, your ears and nose never stop growing. Put these issues together and Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus may send me an invitation to join the circus.

While I may be a redhead with a fiery temper, calling me a Tiger Mom might get you a close-up view of my retractable claws.

Since I grew up believing I was a princess, raising my child like a Little-Emperor would totally be a conflict of interest. I'm really not prepared to share my tiara.

When I hear people discussing the Free-Range label, I don't imagine kids playing outside on their own and growing through self-exploration. I see a bunch of hens pecking for feed around a chicken coup. It takes me back to the 1970's Saturday morning television shows featuring the Looney Tunes cartoon character Foghorn Leghorn, who is always playing pranks on the Barnyard Dawg, and is usually on the losing end of his own prank.

If parenting labels had more flair, I might be more inclined to associate my style with them.  There could be the Audrey Hepburn Mom - one who not only teaches their children to have a classic personal style and speak 5 different languages, but to be gracious and give of themselves to help others. I could definitely get into wearing chic sunglasses and big hats, but am thinking the mismatched hodgepodge clothing style of my son may exclude us from this label.

There is also the June Cleaver Mom. She not only keeps her house perfectly clean with two sons tracking heavens knows what into it, she would shoo her boys out of the house daily for exercise and sunshine.  Dinner was served promptly in the dining room where no electronic devices interrupted the dinner conversation, and she always wore pearls.

The children's homework would always be complete ahead of the due date and their rooms would be clean.  They may even get their children to shower daily without begging and pleading. Considering my children's penchant for waiting until the last minute to do 3 weeks worth of homework projects the night before they are due, and that the only way my kids' rooms will be clean is if the empty snack pouches are carried away by the Godzilla size dust bunnies, I'm thinking our admission application for this parenting label will be denied.

In reality, I probably fall into the Slacker Mom label. I don't create a schedule for my children's projects because I require them to do it. I am not very creative or inventive and never made sandwiches into animals or pancakes shaped like Disney characters. I slapped food on a paper plate, said "Mmmm.... Yum! Eat up!", and they ate....... usually.

My children aren't overscheduled. I sign them up for one sport at a time and I'm doing good to remember what days/times to get them to their activity. If I'm really on the ball, my kids will have finished eating dinner before we are in the car on the way to their sporting event.

I would love to be the mom who is ultra-organized and has everyone's schedule entered into the calendar on her phone, which is synced to her computer, laptop, and tablet. I admire the woman who sorts her children's daily school paperwork and immediately addresses each item, versus letting it pile up until it becomes a fire hazard.

When it comes down to it though, does it really matter what kind of parenting style you have, so long as you are actually involved and parenting your children? Do we really need one more label in this world?

Christie Bielss

The Trade Off

My apologies for the long pause in writing.  Our son was recently diagnosed with a substantial injury which necessitated a lot of doctor visits and physical therapy.  My "free" time turned into a job as a physical therapist, drill sergeant, and chauffeur, shuttling him from one appointment to another.  He is now on the upswing and I am getting used to my new "normal".  Thanks for sticking with me and for your kind words of encouragement during this time!

After having our first child, we stumbled around, utterly sleep-deprived, not knowing which way was up for months.  It was during this time when we were assured by friends and family the infant stage was the hardest part of raising a child.  Everyone told us as our children grew older, things would become easier.  We clung to that hope through the sleepless nights, countless ear infections, teething, fighting croupy coughs, and the more-than-I-can-count fights over food.

We held on tight to that ray of hope like a castaway bopping along in a lifeboat in the middle of the ocean.  For the first couple of years we waited anxiously for the day when our boat would hit dry land and we would be "rescued".  During the long wait, we were so sure we were approaching our smooth sailing days, we even had another baby.

As we clung to our sanity, we made a most unexpected discovery.  Our family and friends, who loved us dearly, were all a pack of liars!  Raising children does not get easier as they get older, you just trade off what you are currently doing for something different, but equally as difficult.

Yes, gone are the days of struggling to strap an infant carseat into a vehicle at just the right angle so it locks into the vehicle's restraint system.  These days I'm trying to get a pack of giggling tween girls into the different rows of my car, without anyone losing part of their toes to a falling backpack which is weighted down with more school supplies than Grizzly Adams would dare pack onto the back of a mule. 

I no longer hear the annoyed cry of a baby who is frustrated over a dropped pacifier or treasured toy just out of their reach.  These days I am bombarded with a teenager screeching "Mom! He/she is touching me!" or "STOP!  You're on my side!  Don't cross that line!".  

I thought having to hear Barney singing "I Love You" five hundred times a day was more tortuous than what some third world countries use as interrogation techniques........ until my children discovered and downloaded the Clash of Clans and Talking Tom apps on all of our electronic devices.  The gutteral grunts of cavemen and of enemies attacking bases has surpassed that dinosaur.  Being awakened in the middle of the night to a weird sounding voice coming from my cell phone telling me he is lonely and misses me, is more disturbing than a purple dinosaur singing and dancing.

I also almost miss the days of changing a baby's dirty diaper in the backseat of a car on a 100° day.  The odor back then was definitely a lot less pungent than what wafts from my son's gym bag these days.

But, even with all of the trade-offs, we would still do it all over again.  Yes, our friends and family definitely lied to us.  Whether it was in order to ensure the procreation of our species or so that we could sing the Dora the Explorer song along with them has yet to be determined.  We have gotten even though.  We told them that there is nothing quite like seeing your children take care of their very own puppy...... and fish ......... and guinea pigs.

Christie Bielss

Then and Now

Sitting on the sofa one night, I looked back at the day I'd just had versus the life my husband and I led before having children.  Our life before kids was filled with fun parties, I could shop with my girlfriends all day with no problem, saw movies on opening day, had romantic dinners with candle light and table cloths, was able to accomplish the things on my "to do" list in one day, spent all day reading a book cover-to-cover without interruption, and indulged myself in mani/pedis, facials, massages, and long soaks in the bathtub with my favorite scented candles.

Before kids, sort of.  I was pregnant in this photo

Those were the days when I vacuumed the house and it stayed clean for an entire week.  Picking up the house simply meant putting my husband's shoes in the closet.  Doing laundry was accomplished in just a few hours from start to finish.

Not much has changed since we've had children.  We still go to parties, they just happen to have a Disney character as the theme and doing the limbo requires you beginning on your knees due to the pint-sized holders of the limbo bar.

I still go shopping all day, grocery shopping that is.  That's because it takes hitting three grocery stores to find the one package of my children's favorite flavored snack crackers.  With those crackers on-hand, the earth can continue to spin.

We see movies on opening day, the opening day they come out on DVD.

Romantic dinners are meals where no one spills their milk, drops their plate of food on the floor, or passes gas.

If I'm able to accomplish one thing on my "to do" list, then I consider that a successful day.  If I can accomplish two things on my "to do" list, I feel like I am the queen of organization.  If I can accomplish three or more things on that blasted "to do" list....... who am I kidding? That never happens.

I still read lots of books.  Though these days, instead of reading a romantic comedy to myself, my daughter reads "Dork Diaries" or "Diary of a Wimpy Kid" out loud to me.

Long soaks in the bathtub have changed a bit.  They usually begin with me submerging my arms in my son's fish tank to scrape the algae from the tank's walls and end with vacuuming the uneaten fish food and scum from the decorative rocks on the bottom.  Not quite as relaxing but at least the fish tank has a heater to keep the water at a comfortable temperature.

Yes, I still get mani/pedis. They are happily performed by both of my children.  The nail polish may cover my fingers or toes halfway to my knuckles and each one may be a different color, but I am pampered in a way that can only come from the heart.

We only bought 1 pair of purple socks and we are up to a pair and a half

Laundry, however, has become my nemesis.  I am pretty sure when my kids throw their dirty clothes in the hamper, the clothing breeds.  This was confirmed the other day when my daughter was putting her freshly laundered clothes in the closet and exclaimed "Mom?  I don't remember these jeans.  Where did they come from?".  I'm pretty sure this out-of-control breeding situation began when we started pairing up the socks to keep them from getting eaten by the dryer........

Looking back, yes, life is far different than it was years ago.  And yet I wouldn't change a thing........... ok, maybe I'd change pairing the socks up in the hamper.

Worst haircut of my life but I still love this photo

Written by Christie Bielss

Kimmie the Krusher!

Recently while shopping for a new wallet at a department store, I overheard a conversation two women were having regarding their philosophy on child-rearing.  The women were quite obviously not on the same page and I became transfixed by their exchange of facial expressions and defiant body language.

"There's so much negativity in the world, we decided to avoid the use of negative words with our children.", the shorter woman said to the taller.  The look of utter disbelief on the taller friend's face almost made me burst out laughing.  Having always been the kind of person who likes to people-watch, and this was obviously going to be an entertaining exchange, I decided to see what transpired between these two women.

"I'm sorry, what?" was the taller woman's reply to the other woman's child-rearing philosophy.

"We only want to encourage good feelings, so we never use any language which creates a negative environment." the shorter woman said.

There was a slight pause as the two women stepped out of the way of an elderly woman who was looking at handbags.

As the elderly woman moved on, the taller woman asked "Soooooo, if Kimmie grabs the butcher knife from you while you are slicing food, you don't tell her to stop because it's dangerous and she could hurt herself?".

"Oh heavens no!  There are much better ways of instructing her than using negative words and emotions.", she said.

The two women continued their conversation as I picked up a wallet every now and again so I at least appeared to be shopping instead of eavesdropping.  Then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the child, Kimmie, who was the center of their conversation.

Little Kimmie caught my glance and a mischievous grin came across her face.  Having children myself, I recognized that look and knew that nothing good could come from it and I braced myself for what was bound to come next.

I overheard the taller woman ask "How exactly is she supposed to learn how to handle being told "no" in school, or even the real world, if she's not introduced to it at home first?".

The shorter woman replied "We don't tell her no, we just redirect her to something she can play with.  We figure Kimmie can figure out how to deal with the ugliness of the world later on in life when that time comes.  We think children should be allowed to be care-free and not bound by society's rules............".

As Kimmie's mother spoke, little Kimmie spun on her heel and ran like a linebacker at a bank of tall rounders full of jewelry.  

The crashing noise of the destruction she wrought upon those plastic and wood rounders was deafening. Earrings flew everywhere.  Necklaces were a tangled mess on the floor and looked very much like a commercial fishing net.  Bracelets rolled across the highly glossed marble floors, causing store personnel to dodge them as they came at a run to see who might have been injured in the "accident".

As store personnel quickly arrived, they saw Kimmie tossing jewelry everywhere.  A manager quickly got past their shock and asked loudly who the child's parent or guardian was.  I saw the taller woman quickly back away from her acquaintance while pointing to the woman stating "That's her mother".

Store security quickly helped Kimmie to her feet from where she was trying to swim in the pile of jewelry.  They started assessing the damage and directing the department personnel to add up the cost of all the damaged items.  The taller woman said to Kimmie's mother "Hmmm, I do believe your daughter is about to get a lesson in the real world's version of the word "no".  I hope you've got deep pockets.".

I'm pretty sure that despite the destruction Kimmie wrought on the store that day, she still has a bright future in front of her.  She should do great as either an MMA fighter or maybe even with the Roller Derby.  Heck, she has already created a great stage name for herself:  Kimmie the Krusher.

Written by Christie Bielss

Christmas Spirit

"Patience is a virtue".  How I hate that phrase.  Whenever someone says it, all I want to do is scream "HELLO?!! I'm a redhead!  I have ZERO patience!".  There have been so many times in my life when I have wished God had gifted me with patience, but, for whatever reason, He didn't. 

Since patience seems like it could be something you can pattern into your psyche, I made the decision to try and practice it when I'd rather scream and rant.  I figured it may not take completely but if I could knock my stress level down a notch or two, that could be considered a moral victory.  I'm pretty sure God, having a great sense of humor, said "Yeah, right!  Let's see how committed you really are!" and immediately tested my level of commitment within moments of me making that proclamation.

My daughter and I were in the car headed up to the grocery store to restock my pantry since my son has been eating us out of house and home.  Driving around our city on a good day can be aggravating with our great diversity of horrendously bad drivers on the road, but during the holidays it seems like these people drive even worse (if that's even possible) and there seem to be lots more of them.  When you combine these terrible drivers with all of the out-of-town drivers who don't know their way around, it's a recipe for serious aggravation and road rage.

So, as we were making our way down a multi-lane road, we kept having to go around drivers who were doing 25mph in 40mph+ speed zones.  My jaw was set as I was determined to just go about my errand and not be cranky.  Apparently I wasn't doing that great of a job controlling my aggravation since my daughter patted my hand and said "Hmmmm, there seem to be a lot of slow drivers out today Mom.  We'll get there".

Not sure how many times I've said those last 3 words to my daughter when she's running full-tilt to get to something she's excited about, but it sure does stink having it spit back at you.  I inhaled deeply and forced myself to relax.  We finally made it to the stoplight where we turn right.......... and sitting smack-dab in front of me is an out-of-stater who is wanting to go straight....... in the right turn only lane.

Grrrrrrrrr!!!!!  I started thinking "Christmas spirit........... Christmas spirit............ Christmas spirit.........".  I guess I was thinking it so hard, I actually said it out loud.  My daughter looked at me and started cracking up.  She then leaned over and kissed my hand and started rubbing my shoulder as she said "That's right Mom!  Smile and get the Christmas spirit!  At some point the light will change and then somebody from the other lane will run him off the road as he tries to weasel his way in from the wrong lane.  See!  Happy place!".

Now she had me laughing since that was pretty darn close to what I was thinking!  The light finally changed and as we (and 20 cars stuck behind us) turned right, we could hear the cars honking with great gusto at the person who had been in front of us as they did the bumper shuffle to see who would let the out-of-stater into their lane.  We giggled to ourselves as we made our way up to the next stop light so we could turn into the grocery store.  This time though we were turning left.

As the light changed and we started turning, out of nowhere the car from the middle lane decides that he needs to grocery shop and nearly side-swipes us in his zeal to replenish his milk and bread reserves.  As I laid on my car's horn and expertly dodged this moron's vehicle, my daughter yells at the other driver "Hey!  You can't turn from there!  Can't you read?!"

Laughing hysterically, I looked over at my daughter and patted her hand as I said "Christmas spirit, dear!  Christmas spirit!".  She smiled broadly as she said "Not when it's on my side, Mom!"........

Christie Bielss

Beating the Summer Heat

It's summer and the temperatures have risen to the point that outdoor play has become untenable (105° outside temperature), so the kids are now having to play indoors.  The kids are getting restless and school doesn't start for another two and half weeks.  What's a mom to do if she wants to maintain her sanity?

As a mom who is desperate, you figure out what the kids like playing outside and then figure out a way to recreate those activities for safe indoor play - meaning they don't break everything in your house.  My kids love having Nerf gun wars.  We only use the Nerf guns that have a spongy bullet with the suction cup on the end so it should be safe for indoor use, right?

When my son purchased these guns, I "oo'd and aah'd" over their purported 75 foot shooting distance.  I figured that it would wear my kids out having to retrieve "bullets" which were shot that kind of distance.  Never even gave it a thought about how these guns might perform indoors.

So what did I do when the "it's too hot to play outside, can we have a Nerf war inside?" is so sweetly and politely requested.  Of course I agreed to it. I mean, it is Nerf, it should be fine, right? 

Of course, I didn't really think about that 75 foot shooting distance capability, I was just hoping to not have to hear 4 kids whine anymore about the heat.  Within a few short minutes I heard the scampering of feet as the kids ran through the house at lightning speed taking up positions, the giggles of kids who'd dodged a Nerf bullet, and the sounds of boys pretending they'd been shot.

Within minutes the battle had expanded and before I knew it, I had bullets whizzing past my head, bouncing off the walls in my "home office" (ok, it's currently my formal dining room but I have hopes and dreams of it one day becoming my home office), sticking to my computer monitor, hitting the dog in the behind, and bouncing off all the framed wall art in my living areas.

Before I could get out a "Hey! Keep it in your rooms!", I felt the unmistakable suction of a Nerf dart stick itself to the back of my neck............ and that's when the tides of the summer blues turned.  Without taking the time to remove the dart stuck to the back of my neck, I got up from my desk, grabbed 2 of the Nerf machine gun pistols and reloaded them with the stray Nerf darts laying all over my office floor.  I walked into their battle zone with the machine guns in my hands and with the Mom look of "are you kidding me?!".

My children and their friends looked on with fear in their eyes as my son said "Ummm..... Mom?  Mom? Uhhh...... Mom?".  I looked up as he gestured to the back of his neck and said "ummm...... you have a...... ummm....uhhhh...".  With both pistols loaded and ready, I looked at him innocently as I said as though oblivious to his gesturing "I have ....... what???". 

My son cleared his throat while my daughter and their friends examined the floor tiles trying to stifle their giggles.  Gesturing to the back of his neck, my son tried again "You .... ummmm....... have a ......... uhhh........".  Ever so carefully lifting the pistols so as not to draw attention to them, I said "I have a??? ..........." and started unleashing a torrent of machine gunned Nerfs at them  while I yelled "a Nerf stuck to the back of my neck??!!!!  This means WAR!!!!!!!  Free-dom!!!!!!".  (You can't have a good Nerf battle without interjecting a little bit of Braveheart.)

Once the kids got over the initial shock of my surprise attack, they were jumping behind furniture, behind each other, around hall corners, anything to get out of the line of my bullets that were meeting their mark more often than not.  There was squealing, laughter, and lots of yelling for backup and reinforcements.

In the end, I was able to win the day when my husband came in the door from work, saw the war being waged and grabbed a gun and helped me hold off the gang of riff-raff until all of us were out of bullets.  That was lots of fun and not only helped entertain the kiddos, but burned off a lot of their energy reserves to where they were all ready to kick back and relax for a bit.

Of course, we are still finding stray Nerf bullets between the furniture cushions and in the window blinds.  And that's how we beat the heat on a hot summer day in Texas.  What do you do to beat the heat?

by: Christie Bielss

Channeling My Inner Superhero

While I was washing my face last night, my son hopped up on our bed and asked his dad "If you could be any superhero, who would you be?".  I listened as his dad replied "Are you asking who my favorite superhero is or who do I'd want to be?".  After thinking about it for a moment my son answered "Who would you want to be?".

 

I turned the running water down so I could better hear the conversation.  My son waited patiently while my husband took several minutes contemplating who he'd most want to be.  "There are so many cool ones to choose from.  You've got Spiderman who can swing between buildings and climb up them. Not to mention having the web blasters he can shoot out of his wrists.  Batman, who has the coolest car and airplane ever.  Superman who can fly......." and it was at that exact moment when my husband broke out in song.

"I believe I can fly.  I believe I can touch the sky.......".  Our son started trying to talk louder than his father was singing "Dad! Dad! Dad, QUIT singing! Who would you be?! Dad?!!".  I could almost hear my son's giant eye roll and could have scripted this whole scene because it is one of the things that I love about my husband. He's got a great sense of humor and also has a great tenor voice and he will use them together to tease you mercilessly when given the opportunity.

Without being able to contain myself, I started laughing hysterically at my son's consternation with his father.  If you give my husband any opening to break out into song, he's going to take that opportunity, and boy was that a pretty good set up.  And heaven help us all if that opportunity also opens the door for him to dance.  He was born with 2 left feet and when he starts dancing......... well, it's just wrong on so many levels.

Finally my husband quieted down and answered my son's question.  "If I could be any superhero out there, I'd want to be a really cool one like Wolverine.".  My son got a great big smile on his face when my husband returned the question.  "Ok son, so which superhero would you be?".  After a bit of deep thinking and with a hint of mischeviousness in his eyes, my son replied "I'd want to be my own superhero.  I'd be a little bit of Wolverine, Spiderman, Superman, and Ben 10."

"Hey!  Now that's cheating!  You never said I could combine them!" my husband complained.  Laughing hysterically my son started doing a little victory dance around our bedroom at having outsmarted his father.  Standing at the door between our bedroom and bath, I watched quietly as the two of them were cavorting around the room being goofy - and yes, there is no other word than to describe what they were doing except cavorting.

It was while I was standing there watching their goofy antics enjoying the blessings of my family when my son finally saw me watching them.  He stopped and asked me the same question "Mom, who would you be?".   "Why, it's very easy.  I'd be Wonder Woman!  She has some cool indestructable bracelets and she wears a tiara that she throws as a projectile.  But, best of all, she has an invisible airplane AND she can fly!"....

And can you guess what happened at that moment?  If you guessed my husband and I breaking out into song together, you'd be corrrect.  With arms spread wide as though we were flying in the air we sang:

"I believe I can fly
I believe I can touch the sky
I think about it every night and day
Spread my wings and fly away
I believe I can soar
I see me running through that open door
I believe I can fly....."

And with that, my son flew through the open door to the quiet and safety of his own room.  Oh well, I guess the younger generation just doesn't get our adult humor......

by: Christie Bielss

I Wanted To Be June Cleaver

As a kid, I watched "I Love Lucy", "Dick Van Dyke", and "Leave It To Beaver" religiously.  They all have a common thread - all of the mothers had on a perfect outfit, pearls, a frilly apron, perfectly coifed hair no matter what task was being performed, a spotless house, a scrumptious dinner served every evening in the formal dining room, and they raised their children effortlessly.

Growing up, I was in awe of their prowess as housewives and mothers.  When I played with Barbies with my childhood friends, I always wanted to be the mom.  "Kids!  Dinner is ready!  Wash your hands and face.", I'd say.  The Barbie that was the mom was always the most fashionably dressed of all.  I loved how June Cleaver always had dinner on the table at the exact right time each night and it was a well-balanced meal.  Children drank milk from tall crystal glasses and ate their dessert from beautifully footed dessert bowls.  Their homes were always clutter-free and devoid of even the smallest speck of dust.  The children's bedrooms had beds that were expertly made and their toys were neatly displayed and put away.

When I became pregnant with our first child, I cleaned and organized everything in sight.  All of the baby clothes and socks were washed and put away according to color and size.  All of the toys and baby implements were sterilized several times just to be sure there were no lingering germs.  The nursery was decorated perfectly and everything was in its place as we awaited the arrival of our little bundle of joy.

I brought our son home from the hospital and my husband went back to work, my parents went home and I was excited to begin my June Cleaver-like life.  By the end of the first week, I realized I'd worn the same shirt four days straight and hadn't brushed my teeth in two days.  By the middle of the second week, I took our son for his first doctor's visit and, as I was driving, I realized I hadn't put on deoderant or brushed my hair........ in days.  If I'd had on pearls like June Cleaver, I might have sliced them in half and worn them as dentures so no one could see I'd also forgotten to brush my teeth........ again.

I came home from that doctor's appointment and looked at my house.  The mail was stacked up to the ceiling, there were burp rags and baby paraphernalia scattered helter-skelter, the laundry was overflowing the laundry basket in the middle of the family room where I'd been trying to fold it for days, the pantry which I had stocked extra heavily on the off-chance I might be taking a bit longer to find my "baby-legs", was down to a jar of strawberry preserves, a loaf of moldy bread, and a can of cream of mushroom soup.

While I admire those who are the June Cleavers of the world, I quite obviously wasn't cut from that mold. My kids drink from plastic cups and eat their dessert from disposable bowls. Dinner is rarely on time and I'm usually covered in food splatters.  I'm the Mother who has the sign hanging up at the front door that warns "Beware!  Trained killer dust bunnies on guard!".  There's always some comedian in my house who's written "dust me" on a piece of furniture and there's still a stack of mail reaching to the ceiling that will make the headline story if it comes crashing down: "Family crushed by pile of junk mail!  Story at 10!". 

I have hope that one day I will achieve June Cleaver status and win the coveted frilly apron award.  It'll probably be about the same time as my youngest graduates college.............

by: Christie Bielss

The School Pick-Up Line

While waiting for my kids to get out from school, I've noticed there are 4 types of drivers in the school pick-up line.  The First-in-Liner, the Waiter, the Slacker, and the dreaded Aggressor.

The First-in-Liner is the parent who is always at the school first to pick up their child.  The First-in-Liner arrives an hour early and can usually be observed taking a quick afternoon nap while waiting for the children to be released.  When you pull up behind them, they wake up just long enough to give you the perfunctory nod of approval in the rearview mirror for having become second in line.  It doesn't matter how early you get to school to try and beat the First-in-Liner, they always beat you to the punch.  It's like they have a 6th sense which notifies them of a potential interloper.  They will end their day especially early just so Sally-Jo can't usurp their place in line.

Then you have the Waiter.  This is not the person who serves you in a restaurant, it's the person who arrives early enough to be between 4th and 30th place in line.  These are the people that the Slacker and Aggressor find most annoying due to the vast amount of space they leave between themselves and the vehicle in front of them.  They are also the ones that park their vehicle and walk over to their friend's driver's side window and strike up a conversation.  Their conversation will continue, much to the Aggressor's annoyance, even when the kids have been released and the pick-up line is moving.  On many occasions, they are the ones who get honked at by an Aggressor because the pick-up line will have moved up 4-5 car lengths while the Waiter sits there oblivious to the world moving around them.

Next up is the Slacker.  This is the driver who, after the first week of school, has decided they do not want to wait through the pick-up line right at release time and are always the last ones to arrive.  This driver is the reason why so many notes come home from school asking parents to be "prompt" when picking up their kids.  The Slacker's kid is always the one you see sitting on the school steps with their head in their hands, grumbling about how every other parent can make it on time but their own.  When their ride does finally arrive, you can hear the child asking their parent "So, what made you late today?".

And last, but not least, is the Aggressor.  There are 2 forms of Aggressor and both are the most disliked drivers of them all.  First up is the one who drives around the cars in the pick-up line and finds the spot that one of the Slackers has left wide open.  With cat-like reflexes, they whip their vehicle into the open spot and then give a little wave in their rearview mirror thanking the Slacker for having given them a great spot in line while saying "Serves you right Slacker!".  The Slacker, and everyone behind the Slacker, is then left muttering under their breath about what kind of person would cut in line at their age. 

The other Aggressor is the one that everyone finds annoying.  This Aggressor will honk their horn and yell at the Waiter to get them to move their car forward 6 inches.  When this Aggressor gets up to the area for their child to climb into their vehicle, this driver doesn't even wait for the vehicle door to be closed before they floorboard the gas pedal while yelling for their child to put their seatbelt on and hold on because they've got to beat the "idiots" to the exit or, heaven forbid, they'll be stuck there for another 3 minutes.

As for me, I'm none of the above.  I've decided it's way more fun to watch these daily battles from the safety of my car, which is parked in the school parking lot.  Which one are (or were) you?

by: Christie Bielss

Kids, Husbands, and Chores

We have been undergoing a major kitchen renovation that we are doing ourselves.  In all honesty, we probably should've written in to the DIY network's show "Renovation Realities" and had them come film our progress. 

Because I've been the one doing the painting and such, Mike and the kids have taken on some of my weekly tasks to ease my burden.  Isn't that sweet?  Maybe, maybe not.  I've been noticing a build-up of dust on the floors and have repeatedly asked that they be vacuumed.  In the past couple of days when I ask, Mike will go and get the kids and after some whispered discussion, I'll hear the vacuum being run for a while.  Today, after being chased by a dust bunny the size of a Great Dane, I struck out in search of my vacuum.  The picture above is what I found.  Duct tape - it can solve any problem.........but only if you actually cover the hole you broke in the sucker hose in multiple places. 

Thinking I might just go out and buy a new vacuum, toss the broken one in the trash and act like the new one is my old vacuum - just to see how they react.  I'm betting I'll have some rascally houseguests:  Wasn't Me, I Didn't Do It, and I Don't Know.......

by: Christie Bielss

Kids and Cars - Oh My!

Yesterday seemed to be the day for kid trouble. From them waking up cranky, to coming home from school picking at their siblings, to driving their parents insane with the:
"He's touching me!"
"She started it!"
"I did NOT!"
"DID!"
"NOT!"
"DID TOOOOO!"
"DID NOOOOOTTTTTT!"
Oy!!! 

The last time my kids drove me this close to the brink of having the men in little white coats take me away was right after our daughter was born and we drove to a family get-together several hours away. Being only a few weeks old, we were concerned with how well our infant would handle being strapped into a car seat for that length of time.  

Things were going along so well on the drive to the family function, our worries were for naught. To our great delight, the baby slept the entire way. If we hadn't been so sleep deprived, I think our parent spidey-sense signals might've alerted us to the fact that the baby wasn't sleeping innocently, she was taking a power-nap so she'd have super-human powers later to take over the world and suck all of our brain cells. 

Unaware of our pending doom, we relaxed and spent several hours enjoying being in the presence of family before it was time to load up the kids and head home. After lots of running and playing, we expected our 2 year old to be exhausted and sleep the whole way home. Our new baby had handled everyone holding her and had stayed awake for most of the visit, so we were confident she would as well. Our spidey-sense was lulled into complacency and we didn't know what was about to be launched our way. 

We didn't even make it 1 minute down the road when we heard the baby "Puh-tooey" her pacifier halfway across the minivan..... and that's when the drive from the most nether regions of the earth's core began.  She started crying and got louder by the second. We pulled over and fed her, and she fell asleep but as soon as the buckle snapped on her seatbelt, she awoke and started wailing again.  We decided to use the age-old wisdom of letting her cry it out.  I bet whoever invented that had a great pair of ear plugs - which we did NOT have in the car.  Mike asked "How long can a newborn cry when there's the constant motion of the car to soothe her and baby Beethoven playing as mood music?". 

We found out.  About 45 minutes later and with her wailing ever louder, Mike turned around in the front passenger seat, found the baby's pacifier and plopped it back in her mouth. He gave a victorious grunt and just as he was turning to sit back down, you could hear "PUH-TOOEY"....she'd spit the thing out again. With a grumble he turned around again, found the pacifier and plopped it back in her mouth. He no sooner took his hand away when she spit it out again and started wailing.  And then the 2 year old starts chiming in "Dada, make it stop!" 

As the battle of baby and pacifier vs. 40 year old grown man waged, the 2 year old saying ever louder "Make it stop!" and with as much willpower as I could to try to stop it, I couldn't contain a small fit of laughter that bubbled to the surface.  A dirty look and a cranky grumble to "drive faster" luckily were all I got in return.  Mike finally gave up trying to sit in his seat, or to even let go of the pacifier.  For the next 1.5 hours he had his knees in the front seat with his back hunched over like the Hunchback of Notre Dame and with one hand was holding the pacifier in the baby's mouth, and using his other to brace himself so his head would quit bouncing off the car's ceiling.  With fits of grumbling erupting every so often and the constant battle of man vs. pacifier, I could not contain my laughter.  I started giggling which erupted into a full-fledged laughter when Mike shot me a look.  That really got me going. 

By the time we got home I had obviously lost all brain matter from listening to the battle that was waged and was laughing so hard I had tears running down my face.  If the men in little white coats had seen me, they'd have surely taken me away.  When we arrived home and I took the baby out of the carseat, she immediately stopped crying and fell into that long-awaited exhausted slumber we'd all prayed for on the drive.  It took Mike a good 20 minutes before he was able to unkink his back and get the circulation to return to his legs so he could exit the car.  And with a "next time I'M doing the driving!" he collapsed in his recliner.  We didn't do much travelling after that trip.....

by: Christie Bielss

The Garage Sale

You say the phrase "Garage Sale" and people visibly cringe.  With some people you can see the work, sweat, negotiating, and hours of sitting, flash before their eyes.  With others, their shoulders instantly droop and their facial expression turns to one of great pain.  For those crazy others, they instantly perk up at the word.  They start rubbing their hands together in glee and get a big thrill at selling off all their unused (and sometimes currently being used) belongings. 

I think I'm somewhere in the middle - I cringe and gripe but the thought of clearing more clutter out of my house is enough of a thrill to motivate me to get it gone.  We have garage sales regularly to try and help our kids clear the clutter out of their rooms and prevent us from stubbing our toes, or worse - stepping on a Lego barefoot.

Our garage sale in November of 2005 though was unforgettable.  We were preparing to move and there were a number of things we did not want to take with us, so this was an extraordinarily large sale.  The sale was going along well.  We were selling kid's clothes and toys by the boat load, knick knacks, and all sorts of other stuff were headed out at lightning speed as well.  In addition to all of that stuff, we had decided to sell our Christmas tree, lights, ornaments, and other tree paraphernalia. 

As we were winding down and the closing hour was upon us, a young father drove up in an older car with his 2 young children, around the ages of 4-6 years old.  They walked up and were perusing what was left.  The children were exceptionally well-behaved and from the quiet conversation the father was having with his children, we could tell that money was extremely tight.  Then the oldest, a girl of about 6, noticed the Christmas tree.  She quietly asked if it was for sale and we responded in the affirmative.  She turned and told her Dad she'd found what she wanted to spend her money on.  Her younger brother followed as she held her father's hand and led him to the Christmas tree and pointed to it.  The young boy's eyes lit up and you could visibly see the excitement dancing across his face. 

The father very quietly spoke to his daughter telling her there was no way she had enough money to buy that tree.  She pleaded with him to ask how much it was.  He relented and we told him $20.  Her face fell, she only had $3.  She pleaded with her father but he told her he couldn't make up the difference because he was out of work, their Mom was sick and they just didn't have the money.  The boy went over and put his arms around his sister and said these words that I will remember for the rest of my life "It's ok.  We'll just draw a picture of a Christmas tree like we did last year.  Mama really liked it.".  Embarrassed, the father was trying to quickly push his children out to the car. 

My husband and I looked at each other and we both had tears in our eyes and didn't even need to speak to know what we were going to do.  My husband ran after the father and stopped him as he was putting his kids in the car while trying to console his extremely sad daughter.  My husband told him the tree was theirs - for free.  The man refused.  My husband looked the man in the eyes and asked him to allow us to spread the love of Jesus and the joy of the Christmas season by giving them the tree. 

Both kids' expressions immediately changed to one of excitement as they looked up at their father with great hope he'd agree.  How could any father refuse those angelic faces?  The little girl jumped with glee and gave her Dad a hug first and then gave my husband the biggest bear hug you could imagine.   The boy hopped out of the car and immediately shook my husband's hand like a gentleman and set about "helping" load the tree onto the car.  The men quickly loaded the Christmas tree onto the car while I grabbed the boxes of lights, as well as all of the decorations, and started loading them into their trunk. The father thought he was only getting the tree and was shocked we were giving him everything.  

After we loaded all of that, I took both kids back to the garage and asked them if they liked any of the toys.  They each pointed out several items, which I put in a bag and handed to their father.  As they were leaving and with tears running down his face, the father thanked us and told us how much we had blessed his family.  With tears running down both of our faces, my husband told him that in truth he and his family had blessed us beyond measure.

 

Our thoughts on holding garage sales have never been the same since.

by: Christie Bielss