I should be sweeping or folding or both, at this ungodly, 1:40 a.m. hour.
But instead, because I've already had an hour and a half of sleep with the baby--may I still call her baby, please?--I think I'll focus on what is right, good, and lovely. My house is none of those things, and that can make a person sour, sad, and sullen.
Some gratitude, including a humility story:
- My boys belting out this solo part in the car this morning, followed by four-year-old Mary doing the same:
I know, I know
What I stand for.
I know, I know
What I believe.
God's Holy Word
Will always lead my life
'Cause I don't want
My heart to be deceived
- Gift money from my mother and step-father, which I plan to use to get the boys their own large-print Bibles with covers, and Mary the Jesus Storybook Bible. They will get nothing else this Dec. 25th except for new mittens and peppermint candy in their stockings. We are moving on from Christmas toys and it feels so right! (It may not be right for you--not saying everyone should worship the same.) Now, they can follow along during devotions!
- I'm thankful that we still have Internet, because the other night I had all the ingredients in a bowl for a pumpkin pie, and then realized I was out of evaporated milk. Google came through for me, teaching me that you can substitute 2/3 cup nonfat dry milk mixed with 3/4 cup water.
- Heavy snow on evergreen trees. So beautiful!
- Heavy snow reminds that home is heavenly; our families are blessings.
- Sisters giggling in the tub
- Miss Beth so happy to see sister Mary's sweet face every morning.
- Poverty and having to receive gifts from family. So painful and humbling, and yet so stretching (in good ways). I know something about the hopelessness of poverty and I can use that knowledge to bless others someday, with no strings attached, no judgement involved.
Now for another lesson in humility: Four-year-old Mary, along with the other Christmas pageant children, sang one of the pageant songs in front of the congregation last Sunday. The actual pageant is this Sunday but they've been previewing a few songs. Mary loves to sway when she's up there along to the beat of the music. I mean a lot of swaying. She's eye-catching to say the least (ahem). Making herself a further spectacle to delight the audience and give the pastor a chance to make a funny, she laid right down on the stage as the song finished. Pastor joked that she was slain in the spirit over the experience. Ha! He's quick witted, eh?
Truth is she's probably too immature for such a long production. I'm now purposely clothing myself with a sense of humor, instead of my initial response--embarrassment and dismay. The blessing here is a lesson on parental pride. As much as it would be convenient for us, kids don't fit into neat little molds and it isn't their job to make us shine as parents.
My son Paul, for example, sings with all his heart, but not always on cue with the music. He and Peter have small solo singing parts that lead one of the songs (above). Sunday, he didn't start on cue with the music and they had to begin it again. At first I was dismayed. I worry about Paul. He's very much a head-in-the-clouds child (mild form of inattentive ADHD, but it doesn't need a label). He'll forget his underwear and put on his pants without it. You'll address him, even when close, and he'll be so absorbed he doesn't hear you. You'll ask him to put on his pajamas, set them down in front of him, and thirty minutes later, he's got no clue why you're irritated to see him still naked.
Anyhow, it took someone in the produce section of Walmart last Sunday to tell me what a good job my kids had done, to see the pageant experience for what it was: A chance for the Lord to use HIS precious children to send a message of hope and grace to all--especially to us self-absorbed, life-absorbed adults.. Shame on me for thinking it was about anything else. Very humbling.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
deep in snow
This is what a level 2 snow emergency looks like. Unfortunately, when the cities partially close down, it means no work, no money, for a lot of people. Snow plow companies are happy, though, working around the clock!
Nevertheless, it's incredibly beautiful!
How much more lovely in the woods! Wish we could be there now.
This free animated history site came through my homeschool group. Really neat and educational! Great thing to do on a snow day.
From our little family cake ceremony the other night. Somehow, my two girls manage to stick fingers into every cake I make, before I can get the candles on.
We had to do a joint cake ceremony this year, due to Daddy's schedule. The girls birthdays are five days apart. That cake may look lame, but boy, it was good!
-
Sunday, December 12, 2010
giving tomorrow to God
I am alone, save for faint clock ticking, steady computer hum, rhythmic turn of the hamster wheel, sleep-inducing heater roar.
Children now asleep, husband at work.
What is God saying in the quiet of the night, after a never-sit-down day of pageant rehearsal and church singing, grocery shopping, laundry, birthday cake making, birthday present wrapping, picture taking, candle blowing, memory making?
My body was busy performing tasks, while my mind was busy fretting about tomorrow.
So I hear God saying this: Do the immediate needful thing, leaving the rest (the tomorrows) to me. Praise me as you pray and work, giving thanks for the moment.
A relative wrote recently, sympathizing that it must be hard to have husband working so many hours. Letter went on to say that after the computer classes, things will get easier when he gets a better job.
Although I read that note several days ago, the words still echo. She doesn't know that husband's confidence is low, that it's perpetually low, that he's too busy to find a help-desk internship, that all the help desk jobs require at least one to five years experience, or a computer degree. When the classes finish in February, husband will finally have at least ten hours a week to study for more certifications; he currently has two certifications in hand.
But certifications aren't the same as a computer degree, and I daresay, most employers in the workforce won't be impressed by husband's BA in theology, or his many years of work caring for the brain-injured in PA, preceded and followed by custodial work.
As far as the certifications go, well, anyone can buy a computer book at a bookstore, study it diligently, and then take a computer certification exam. Computer nerd types can pass these readily, without help or classes.
Husband worries--but is not without hope--that no one will hire him, that his lack of experience, his age, and the fact that he's no computer nerd, will turn off interviewers.
Fathers give sons confidence. Mothers or wives can boost it, but fathers bestow it. That never happened for husband--it was never bestowed by his father, who didn't appreciate what his son could do, but berated him for what he couldn't.
Confidence also comes from accomplishment, but accomplishment comes easier for those starting with confidence.
I'm begging God to give husband a chance. To give him a big break, such as an interview where God speaks the bold, insightful, confident answers, through husband. Erase the impact of the sins of the father, Dear Lord. Bestow what the earthly father didn't....what he couldn't.
To not look beyond today is hard. Yet we know God is faithful, bestowing sufficient grace for our circumstances. He can choose to better our circumstances, or not. It's impossible to predict.
What to write back to the relative? Nothing. I wrote nothing in response. Her comments were only a small part of the note, anyway.
It's best to say nothing about our husbands except for the glowing things--especially to relatives. They remember the negatives always, long after the spouting-off wife has forgotten her unwise comments.
This is where the anonymity of the Internet, when writing under fictitious names, comes in handy for me as I process what I feel, process what God is force-teaching me.
I believe in my husband. He is bright and capable, personable, earning good grades. Yet the low confidence is so pervasive, so ingrained, that it frightens me. How will he hide it in a professional interview? And why hasn't God healed, erased, restored, bestowed?
And what will this do to our boys, this pervasive low confidence of their father's? How do we stop it from poisoning the next generation?
The world is competitive. The strongest win, move to the next level, conquer. We are to be in the world, but not of it.
Confidence is needed, either way.
God, I'm begging you. Erase, heal, bestow.
And yes, I hear your message to me today: Do the next needful thing, do it with gladness and thanksgiving, leaving the tomorrows to me.
Matthew 6:34
Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.
Psalm 107:1
Give thanks to the LORD, for he is good; his love endures forever.
Jeremiah 29:11
For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. (The translation of the word "prosper" here does not necessarily refer to earthly riches. I don't remember the exact translation (and husband isn't here to enlighten me), but I feel certain it refers to spiritual prosperity.)
Children now asleep, husband at work.
What is God saying in the quiet of the night, after a never-sit-down day of pageant rehearsal and church singing, grocery shopping, laundry, birthday cake making, birthday present wrapping, picture taking, candle blowing, memory making?
My body was busy performing tasks, while my mind was busy fretting about tomorrow.
So I hear God saying this: Do the immediate needful thing, leaving the rest (the tomorrows) to me. Praise me as you pray and work, giving thanks for the moment.
A relative wrote recently, sympathizing that it must be hard to have husband working so many hours. Letter went on to say that after the computer classes, things will get easier when he gets a better job.
Although I read that note several days ago, the words still echo. She doesn't know that husband's confidence is low, that it's perpetually low, that he's too busy to find a help-desk internship, that all the help desk jobs require at least one to five years experience, or a computer degree. When the classes finish in February, husband will finally have at least ten hours a week to study for more certifications; he currently has two certifications in hand.
But certifications aren't the same as a computer degree, and I daresay, most employers in the workforce won't be impressed by husband's BA in theology, or his many years of work caring for the brain-injured in PA, preceded and followed by custodial work.
As far as the certifications go, well, anyone can buy a computer book at a bookstore, study it diligently, and then take a computer certification exam. Computer nerd types can pass these readily, without help or classes.
Husband worries--but is not without hope--that no one will hire him, that his lack of experience, his age, and the fact that he's no computer nerd, will turn off interviewers.
Fathers give sons confidence. Mothers or wives can boost it, but fathers bestow it. That never happened for husband--it was never bestowed by his father, who didn't appreciate what his son could do, but berated him for what he couldn't.
Confidence also comes from accomplishment, but accomplishment comes easier for those starting with confidence.
I'm begging God to give husband a chance. To give him a big break, such as an interview where God speaks the bold, insightful, confident answers, through husband. Erase the impact of the sins of the father, Dear Lord. Bestow what the earthly father didn't....what he couldn't.
To not look beyond today is hard. Yet we know God is faithful, bestowing sufficient grace for our circumstances. He can choose to better our circumstances, or not. It's impossible to predict.
What to write back to the relative? Nothing. I wrote nothing in response. Her comments were only a small part of the note, anyway.
It's best to say nothing about our husbands except for the glowing things--especially to relatives. They remember the negatives always, long after the spouting-off wife has forgotten her unwise comments.
This is where the anonymity of the Internet, when writing under fictitious names, comes in handy for me as I process what I feel, process what God is force-teaching me.
I believe in my husband. He is bright and capable, personable, earning good grades. Yet the low confidence is so pervasive, so ingrained, that it frightens me. How will he hide it in a professional interview? And why hasn't God healed, erased, restored, bestowed?
And what will this do to our boys, this pervasive low confidence of their father's? How do we stop it from poisoning the next generation?
The world is competitive. The strongest win, move to the next level, conquer. We are to be in the world, but not of it.
Confidence is needed, either way.
God, I'm begging you. Erase, heal, bestow.
And yes, I hear your message to me today: Do the next needful thing, do it with gladness and thanksgiving, leaving the tomorrows to me.
Matthew 6:34
Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.
Psalm 107:1
Give thanks to the LORD, for he is good; his love endures forever.
Jeremiah 29:11
For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. (The translation of the word "prosper" here does not necessarily refer to earthly riches. I don't remember the exact translation (and husband isn't here to enlighten me), but I feel certain it refers to spiritual prosperity.)
Saturday, December 11, 2010
How I Spent My Saturday
To stop the insanity. That's what I've wanted more than anything lately, save for cuddling and reading to my babes.
The more I have to chase the ever-curious Miss Beth, the less organized and efficient life becomes. Survival mode applies to more than just the newborn period! The into-everything faze, spanning twelve months old to perhaps 30 months old, is ripe with challenges. And once they can climb out of playpens and over safety gates, things really get interesting. My babe is on the cusp of turning door handles by herself. Lord help us!
Just today, she found an old juice box under a bed--you'll know why later in the post--and promptly climbed up onto the kitchen counter to open the cupboard the children's scissors are stored in. She wanted to cut open the juice box and drink it.
Two weeks ago, the scissors were on the counter itself in a cute little holder. Convenient and all, you know, for the rest of us. That is, until she climbed up there without even so much as a box to stand on, and scored herself a pair of scissors to practice with.
No child of mine has ever cut their own hair. Let's hope I can still say that next month.
Last night I lay awake, contemplatingthe universe my messy life, wondering how to stop the insanity. The laundry insanity, the messy paperwork insanity, the messy bedroom insanity--the this-house-is-so-messy-I'm-going-insane insanity.
Do you know the kind?
I waited for possible solutions to come to me, as the heater hummed, the night-light glowed, and my baby sighed content.
Finally, something happened in the recesses of my disorganized mind. Something hopeful.
Yes, I told myself. There is no other way--a catch-all room for messy paperwork, unfolded baskets of laundry, bulky dressers, and miscellaneous, no-where-else-to-store items. Most of all, a room that can be closed off from curious little hands.
See, we don't have a garage or basement. We have three small bedrooms with smallish closets. There is a greenhouse shed and a garden tool shed, but they've reached their capacity with lawn things.
Not only do I want to feel sane, but I also really, really want to be hospitable. The Bible calls me to extend hospitality, despite a toddler with her hands into everything. The problem is that I'm too busy chasing her out of the next thing to thoroughly put to right what she's already ransacked. The result? Ever-increasing messy chaos!
So today, my enthusiastic husband (okay, not so much) took time out of his busy schedule to help me move the older three children into the master bedroom (3 twin beds), and the master king bed into the baby's room, and the crib out to the curb--the crib she hasn't slept in since she was about seven months old. It was used as a "guard rail" for one side of the queen bed she shared with me. She took her first steps at eight and a half months, so she managed her way out of the queen bed after naps pretty well.
We didn't put the bed frame on the king bed as we set it up, so that if she tumbles out, the fall will be insignificant. Daddy is going to try sleeping with us again, since Miss Beth is now waking less. Good plan, though he's very particular about his sleep, so we'll see how it goes. Having said that though, he would never go for having a young child "cry it out", and neither would I. I'm sure there's nothing wrong with it, but we can't stomach it.
I waited a long time to have babies! I'm in no hurry to shoo them out of my life--or even out of my nights.
But I digress.
The third room is the coldest, yuckiest room, featuring paneling we painted white instead of removed when we moved in because at the time we had two active boys, 21 months and 3.5 years old, who had just moved cross-country and were displaying a bit of stress. That was another survival-mode period of my life.
This yucky room, which previously housed our three older children, now houses two dressers to make it easier for me to put clothes away at night, the laundry baskets needing folding attention, some homeschooling supplies that were cluttering up the rest of the house, and some messy, not-yet-filed mail paperwork, and lastly, the queen bed.
Of course, the queen bed doesn't yet fit, because all of the junk that was put under beds for five and a half years, is now in that room, waiting to be sorted through and thrown away or restored somewhere else.
Included in the disastrous mountain of clutter, are hundreds of long lost game pieces, long lost socks, mittens, balls, play tools, magnetic alphabet letters, stray foam bathtime alphabet letters, and other such miscellany guaranteed to drive a conscientious, but not-naturally-organized mother crazy.
Welcome to my insanity. Just keeping it real.
Hopefully, in about four days, I will have made it to the bottom of the junk pile--or rather, the junk mountain.
Meanwhile, the other two bedrooms love me. They are clutter free, sort of becoming (low budget, you know), and clean!
And the three older children, whom we previously cruelly housed in the yucky room, think their new master bedroom is way cool! They had only minimal difficulty at bedtime tonight, adjusting to new digs.
And that, my friends, was my Saturday in a nutshell.
Needless to say, no laundry got done, but there's always tomorrow.
I think.
The more I have to chase the ever-curious Miss Beth, the less organized and efficient life becomes. Survival mode applies to more than just the newborn period! The into-everything faze, spanning twelve months old to perhaps 30 months old, is ripe with challenges. And once they can climb out of playpens and over safety gates, things really get interesting. My babe is on the cusp of turning door handles by herself. Lord help us!
Just today, she found an old juice box under a bed--you'll know why later in the post--and promptly climbed up onto the kitchen counter to open the cupboard the children's scissors are stored in. She wanted to cut open the juice box and drink it.
Two weeks ago, the scissors were on the counter itself in a cute little holder. Convenient and all, you know, for the rest of us. That is, until she climbed up there without even so much as a box to stand on, and scored herself a pair of scissors to practice with.
No child of mine has ever cut their own hair. Let's hope I can still say that next month.
Last night I lay awake, contemplating
Do you know the kind?
I waited for possible solutions to come to me, as the heater hummed, the night-light glowed, and my baby sighed content.
Finally, something happened in the recesses of my disorganized mind. Something hopeful.
Yes, I told myself. There is no other way--a catch-all room for messy paperwork, unfolded baskets of laundry, bulky dressers, and miscellaneous, no-where-else-to-store items. Most of all, a room that can be closed off from curious little hands.
See, we don't have a garage or basement. We have three small bedrooms with smallish closets. There is a greenhouse shed and a garden tool shed, but they've reached their capacity with lawn things.
Not only do I want to feel sane, but I also really, really want to be hospitable. The Bible calls me to extend hospitality, despite a toddler with her hands into everything. The problem is that I'm too busy chasing her out of the next thing to thoroughly put to right what she's already ransacked. The result? Ever-increasing messy chaos!
So today, my enthusiastic husband (okay, not so much) took time out of his busy schedule to help me move the older three children into the master bedroom (3 twin beds), and the master king bed into the baby's room, and the crib out to the curb--the crib she hasn't slept in since she was about seven months old. It was used as a "guard rail" for one side of the queen bed she shared with me. She took her first steps at eight and a half months, so she managed her way out of the queen bed after naps pretty well.
We didn't put the bed frame on the king bed as we set it up, so that if she tumbles out, the fall will be insignificant. Daddy is going to try sleeping with us again, since Miss Beth is now waking less. Good plan, though he's very particular about his sleep, so we'll see how it goes. Having said that though, he would never go for having a young child "cry it out", and neither would I. I'm sure there's nothing wrong with it, but we can't stomach it.
I waited a long time to have babies! I'm in no hurry to shoo them out of my life--or even out of my nights.
But I digress.
The third room is the coldest, yuckiest room, featuring paneling we painted white instead of removed when we moved in because at the time we had two active boys, 21 months and 3.5 years old, who had just moved cross-country and were displaying a bit of stress. That was another survival-mode period of my life.
This yucky room, which previously housed our three older children, now houses two dressers to make it easier for me to put clothes away at night, the laundry baskets needing folding attention, some homeschooling supplies that were cluttering up the rest of the house, and some messy, not-yet-filed mail paperwork, and lastly, the queen bed.
Of course, the queen bed doesn't yet fit, because all of the junk that was put under beds for five and a half years, is now in that room, waiting to be sorted through and thrown away or restored somewhere else.
Included in the disastrous mountain of clutter, are hundreds of long lost game pieces, long lost socks, mittens, balls, play tools, magnetic alphabet letters, stray foam bathtime alphabet letters, and other such miscellany guaranteed to drive a conscientious, but not-naturally-organized mother crazy.
Welcome to my insanity. Just keeping it real.
Hopefully, in about four days, I will have made it to the bottom of the junk pile--or rather, the junk mountain.
Meanwhile, the other two bedrooms love me. They are clutter free, sort of becoming (low budget, you know), and clean!
And the three older children, whom we previously cruelly housed in the yucky room, think their new master bedroom is way cool! They had only minimal difficulty at bedtime tonight, adjusting to new digs.
And that, my friends, was my Saturday in a nutshell.
Needless to say, no laundry got done, but there's always tomorrow.
I think.
on shepherding and the TV
Mary will turn four years old in several days. While she as recently as a month ago would involve herself diligently in building train tracks, Tinkertoy creations, and rudimentary Lincoln Log structures, more recently, she'd just as soon watch a library Dora DVD. I'm still not sure what precipitated this change.
Was it a symptom of internal stress? Peter's rather sudden OCD symptoms turned the whole household into a bundle of nerves; only recently have things returned to a semblance of normalcy.
Yet even with milder moods becoming the rule, Mary is still wanting to waste her life away with Dora. At first I allowed two full videos (not at one sitting), more because I was under stress due to Peter's symptoms. I wanted to rock the boat, so to speak, as little as possible.
As far as media use goes around here, I don't need to worry about computers. The kids use the computer as entertainment infrequently, due to lack of software. It's more a source of information only and isn't overused.
And during the warmer months they played outside so much I didn't need to worry about their library-media viewing. Now, it's cold outside--time-consuming bundling required. While they're still playing out there daily, it isn't for extended or multiple periods--maybe sixty minutes total.
The boys are now asking for more library videos/DVD's, and in the last four days, I've acquiesced.
And tonight, I feel horrible. Just like the laziest, most selfish parent around. Yes, when they watch something, it's rather convenient, notwithstanding the fact that the baby behaves far worse when the TV is on, because there's less interaction for her.
I know better. I know the result of too much TV. It breeds idiocy, lack of creativity, lack of responsiveness to life and to the environment, and to poor thinking and problem-solving skills. It also leads to addiction to entertainment, which is a horrible folly. Entertainment can rob our children, and ourselves, of godliness.
It's amazing how we try to rationalize things in the heat of the moment, isn't it?
Good, solid parenting involves self-sacrifice. Resolve. Letting go of our own agendas--even if they seem like good ones (like when you're behind on chores).
We have to fight for their hearts and minds; never wearying. We need to expect first-time obedience, even though getting it means we stay near our children most of the day. They obey far better and display more respect when the parental voice and face is right there. Think about it for a moment. How many times have you had to repeat yourself, sometimes to the point of yelling, when giving orders from another room? Often?
When we stay around and pay attention (herding principle--think of the crook in the shepherd's staff), we can speak softly but with authority, and stay calm. They will respond well as long as we consistently shepherd. Nearby.
How does all this about shepherding relate to TV viewing and my four-year-old's recent Dora addiction?
Just this. I became lazy. Selfish. I wanted to get things done instead of shepherd my children. For shame, because that isn't why I stay home with these precious ones. Not to have Dora babysit and steal away my child's heart and mind. (I like Dora--don't get me wrong. But thirty minutes a day is more than enough.)
I stay home to shepherd my flock. And tomorrow, I'll get back to doing just that--perhaps starting by teaching them to do more chores. I'm so busy because I'm doing too many chores and they're doing too few.
Simply making their beds, putting their dirty clothes in a hamper, and cleaning the playroom isn't enough for their ages (the boys), or for our busy family. I need to take the time to train the boys to do dishes and some laundry. Hard to do, yes, but I'm doing the whole family a disservice by not delegating more--and by not requiring them to develop higher levels of responsibility and maturity.
I credit this article with getting me back on track tonight. Part of it deals with homeschooling, but further down it deals more with shepherding. I found it to be an outstanding parenting resource.
Was it a symptom of internal stress? Peter's rather sudden OCD symptoms turned the whole household into a bundle of nerves; only recently have things returned to a semblance of normalcy.
Yet even with milder moods becoming the rule, Mary is still wanting to waste her life away with Dora. At first I allowed two full videos (not at one sitting), more because I was under stress due to Peter's symptoms. I wanted to rock the boat, so to speak, as little as possible.
As far as media use goes around here, I don't need to worry about computers. The kids use the computer as entertainment infrequently, due to lack of software. It's more a source of information only and isn't overused.
And during the warmer months they played outside so much I didn't need to worry about their library-media viewing. Now, it's cold outside--time-consuming bundling required. While they're still playing out there daily, it isn't for extended or multiple periods--maybe sixty minutes total.
The boys are now asking for more library videos/DVD's, and in the last four days, I've acquiesced.
And tonight, I feel horrible. Just like the laziest, most selfish parent around. Yes, when they watch something, it's rather convenient, notwithstanding the fact that the baby behaves far worse when the TV is on, because there's less interaction for her.
I know better. I know the result of too much TV. It breeds idiocy, lack of creativity, lack of responsiveness to life and to the environment, and to poor thinking and problem-solving skills. It also leads to addiction to entertainment, which is a horrible folly. Entertainment can rob our children, and ourselves, of godliness.
It's amazing how we try to rationalize things in the heat of the moment, isn't it?
Good, solid parenting involves self-sacrifice. Resolve. Letting go of our own agendas--even if they seem like good ones (like when you're behind on chores).
We have to fight for their hearts and minds; never wearying. We need to expect first-time obedience, even though getting it means we stay near our children most of the day. They obey far better and display more respect when the parental voice and face is right there. Think about it for a moment. How many times have you had to repeat yourself, sometimes to the point of yelling, when giving orders from another room? Often?
When we stay around and pay attention (herding principle--think of the crook in the shepherd's staff), we can speak softly but with authority, and stay calm. They will respond well as long as we consistently shepherd. Nearby.
How does all this about shepherding relate to TV viewing and my four-year-old's recent Dora addiction?
Just this. I became lazy. Selfish. I wanted to get things done instead of shepherd my children. For shame, because that isn't why I stay home with these precious ones. Not to have Dora babysit and steal away my child's heart and mind. (I like Dora--don't get me wrong. But thirty minutes a day is more than enough.)
I stay home to shepherd my flock. And tomorrow, I'll get back to doing just that--perhaps starting by teaching them to do more chores. I'm so busy because I'm doing too many chores and they're doing too few.
Simply making their beds, putting their dirty clothes in a hamper, and cleaning the playroom isn't enough for their ages (the boys), or for our busy family. I need to take the time to train the boys to do dishes and some laundry. Hard to do, yes, but I'm doing the whole family a disservice by not delegating more--and by not requiring them to develop higher levels of responsibility and maturity.
I credit this article with getting me back on track tonight. Part of it deals with homeschooling, but further down it deals more with shepherding. I found it to be an outstanding parenting resource.
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