Is There Anything Positive About Being a Latch Key Kid?

Today was the first day of my new job. I got kind of sappy thinking about Zoe coming home to an empty house. Well, at least she'll have Annabelle, Napoleon, and Solomon (the later, much to her chagrin). I suppose my mom worked when I was Zoe's age and it all turned out okay. One thing being home alone after school taught me was that if I needed something done right away I was going to have to figure out how to do it by myself.

By the time I was driving there were several things I needed to learn to do by myself. One of them was changing the oil in my car. My brother Matthew was ordered to show me how to change the oil in my car. Matt didn't really want the responsibility so as he stomped out onto the driveway with his tools in tow he sternly advised, “I'm going to show you how to do this once. So, watch carefully because I'm not going to show you again.”

The same held true for changing out my car stereo. He showed me once which wires went where and explained how you didn't want to cross this color with that color. Although I had listened to the oil change lecture, I didn't really pay very good attention to the stereo lecture. So, when I sold my car and wanted my new expensive stereo removed and the old stereo put back in the car before the new buyer got there I was at a stand still. I begged Matt to help. He simply stated, “No. That's too bad you don't remember” as he went off on his merry way. Well, that was no good for me and I only had thirty minutest to figure it out before the new owner arrived. Not wanting to be out smarted by a few measly wires, I set myself to task removing the new stereo. No problem. So far, so good. Now, to replace the large gaping hole in the dash with the previous stereo and see if it would actually work. Surprisingly, it did. I was so proud of myself and finished the job with minutes to spare. I don't know how long the stereo worked for. All I know is it was working when I collected the cash and signed off the title.

Being home alone a few hours a day as a kid afforded me the opportunity to gain confidence when having to try things I would normally rely on adults in my life to do for me. I was also given the opportunity to make decisions, wise or unwise, the choice and responsibility was mine alone to make. Zoe is a smart girl. I'm grateful she has common sense. I'm looking forward to coming home at 5:00 p.m. each day and hearing about the opportunities she was given that day; and the choices she subsequently made regarding them, whether wise or unwise.

Okay, I have to admit, Zoe won't be home every day along after school – Wednesday is horse riding, Thursday is jazz band, and I am home on Fridays.

Day 25-The Gift I've Always Longed For

When I was younger I sang in the choir at St. Theresa School. There were several of us included in the group, but it was Beth McWeeney who always stood out. She had a voice like an angel coming down from heaven above. I would listen to Beth and pray, Lord, if you let me sing like Beth, I will be perfectly happy. Apparently God said no because I sound more like a frog than an angel.

I'm not sure why Mrs. Rhodes kept me in the choir. Perhaps she felt sorry for me. Eventually I learned to play the guitar and she allowed me to play on Sundays with our little trio. Beth's singing still outshone my simple strumming and I still longed and prayed for God to miraculously change my voice so I would sound like an angel. God continued to say no.

Mrs. Rhodes got pregnant and eventually quit being our choir teacher. I think it was about that time I either graduated or the choir program dissolved. Either way, I was no longer going to choir practice. But because Beth and I were best friends, I still got to hear her sing on a regular basis and still longed and prayed God would change my froggy voice. God, again, said no.

Now that I'm older there are times I still wish I could sing like an angel. Even my cousin's daughter, Daisy Mallory, was able to make a career out of singing. So, if the genetic DNA is there why did God say no to me? I had to quit asking myself why God was saying no to a melodic voice and asking what did He give me that He didn't give others? Well, my artistic creative ability is something others continue to compliment. So, rather than focus on what God hasn't gifted me in I've started to thank Him for the things He has gifted me in. This has also allowed me to get better in the areas I am gifted in. I spend time fine tuning those talents...even if it's fine tuning with a froggy kind of melodic voice. What can you thank God for today that He has gifted in you?

(the picture is a glass window I bought for $2, added quilt scraps, paint and little creativity to for a great addition to our guest bedroom.)

Day 24-Mrs. McNeil

There aren't too many things in life that have scarred me. My grandfather's spittoon bucket would be one of those things. Was more that fact he was allowed to use it in the house that freaked me out the most? Another was a mortuary. When we lived in Illinois there was a parking lot adjacent to our backyard which housed parking for a mortuary. I met a girl who lived there one time and she asked if I wanted to go down the elevator in the mortuary and see where they kept the dead bodies. Definitely on my top ten of freakishly scary things in life. But one of the scariest things was one I should have never had to endure if adults in my life would have used common sense. That would be the funeral of my fourth grade teacher, Mrs. McNeil.

Mrs. McNeil was one of those quirky teachers that was a little on the round side with a few more than her share of wrinkles. She gave out Jolly Rancher candy as a reward to students who answered questions correctly in science and got 100% on their spelling tests. Great for the students and even better for the family dentist. I'm not sure the story behind the life of Mrs. McNeil. We moved to Arizona when I started fourth grade and she died before I ever really got to hear much about her life. I think the funeral took place by the time I was in 6^th grade.

The funeral was held at St. Theresa and the entire school was in attendance. Now, a funeral per se is not the world's worst event for children to attend. Even having the entire school attend including the kindergarten class was not really a problem in my book. My questioning of good judgment began when they decided to have an open casket service...with giddy students who don't know how to be reverent or polite in the presence of a dead body. Mrs. McNeil didn't look real great when she was alive let alone filled with formaldehyde and gaudy makeup. The hair was a whole other story.

When students lined up to pay their respects and walk past the casket I didn't know whether to be terrified that Mrs. McNeil might jump up out of the casket and grab me by the neck or sickened that many of the boys in line in front of me had all spontaneously developed a case of gigglebugitis. Surely God was going to smite them and send them straight to hell for not only laughing in church but God forbid, laughing when old Mrs. McNeil lay there looking like she'd just visited Hell.

Don't get me wrong-there is a time and a place for children to attend funeral services. But one must agree that parents should be in tow with said children? And certainly a celebration of life with punch and cookies along with lovely pictures of the deceased in the school gymnasium would perhaps be a better way to show honor. I will survive having gone through the experience. I may even be a little more sensitive now to taking my own children to funerals because of the whole ordeal. And having an extra scar or two in my life has made me the person I am today...even if it meant I had to have a grandfather that had a spittoon bucket and a neighbor girl that lived at the mortuary.

Day Twenty-Three of Lent-A Place for Everything and Everything in its Place

I've always been a person of order. There's a place for everything and everything has it's place. If you ask me where something is in my house, I can tell you exactly where it is (unless someone else has moved it in the last day or two and I haven't discovered it's out of place). Okay, I admit it. I'm obsessed with having things in life orderly. When I am too busy to get the house cleaned during the week and the whole family joins in on Saturday, I almost go into meltdown mode if we don't do things in 'order'. Start at the ceilings and work your way to the floors. Isn't that how everyone cleans?

When I was younger the kitchen in our house was one of the places that kept me most perplexed. I wasn't the only one who had to empty the dishwasher so dishes weren't always returned to their 'correct' home. Every so often I would take all the dishes out of the cabinets, wipe them out and then put them into their proper homes with great thought and care. The only problem is not everyone thought the cups should be stacked a certain way or the plates and bowls be arranged in a certain order—so within weeks the whole kitchen would be in disarray again. Nothing drove me more crazy.

When I got married I would use label maker and label the shelves in our cabinets so that Tim would know exactly where things went when he helped empty the dishwasher. Tim was used to the motto of a place for everything and everything in its place so this quirky obsession of mine didn't bother him much. When friends would come over and see this, um, trait of mine, many would find all sorts of one liners and jokes to needle me. Many of them never got invited back again. *wink

When I had children, the teaching (or indoctrination) continued with our girls and an extra motto was added to my mantra, don't put it down, put it away. (thank you Donna Otto!) If their rooms were a disaster and they couldn't find something, I simply stated if they'd put things back where they belonged they wouldn't be lost. To which one might reply, “I didn't lose it, I just can't find it.” Honestly, is there a difference? Amazingly, their rooms are pretty well organized as teenagers and for the most part clean. I thank Tim for encouraging me not to nag them about keeping it what we call 'mom clean'. He was right. When they didn't clean it and couldn't find things they remembered our admonition and viola, cleaned their rooms!

Now that I am older I try very, very, very hard not to stress about keeping things in order. IF there is a little bit of dust in the house it's okay--it's protection for the furniture, right? IF the family wants to help me clean the house on Saturday – its still clean even if they did it wrong, right? However, when it comes to my kitchen, I'm still a stickler for keeping things where they belong (although I have done away with the label maker). By now, everyone in the family knows where the items go! I guess that is part of being flexible in life. I know I need to be a little more flexible in this area but for now I will work on stretching a bit further each day and try not to tense up when things don't go my way.

Day 23-Life isn't Fair, but You Can Be.

Have you ever gotten in trouble for something you didn't do? I'm not talking about a photo radar ticket that someone else earned while driving your car. I'm talking about really, truly getting in deep water for actions you were accused of doing but weren't the guilty party?

When I was in first grade at Blessed Sacrament School I was the victim of such a horrific offense. It all started when I asked to go to the bathroom the same time my friend Bridget went. Looking back, it wasn't the smartest idea I'd ever had but what is one to do with you have to go potty? And like a typical 7 year old, I waited until the last minute. Well, about an hour later Sr. Mary Ann came marching into our classroom and dragged me out by my earlobe. As we were standing in the hall she asked me if I was the one who had wrote the nasty writing on the bathroom wall—one word of which was the 'f'-bomb. I'm not even sure I knew what that word was at my age. I kept telling her I didn't do it through my sobs. As a last resort she picked me up by my neck and held me against that cold brick wall. I didn't like what she was doing to me but I was so stubborn that I wasn't going to admit to doing something I hadn't done.

Well, Sr. Mary Ann was convinced I'd done the writing on the wall even though I'd clearly explained Bridget had been in that newly built bathroom with all the brand new stalls the same time I was. She wouldn't hear any of it and called my mom. I can still remember laying down in the back seat of my mom's green Buick Electra 225 attempting to eat my bologna sandwich with mustard on white bread between sobs while my mom finished up duty as a crossing guard. I was mortified. The whole school had seen and heard what had happened. Little Sam was a bad girl.

I think I still played with Bridget even after she threw me under the bus. (thump, thump) I was an awkward child and didn't have a lot of friends to begin with. After my premiere event in the hallway with our principle, I was pretty sure no one else would want to be my friend now anyway. Perhaps this is where my hardened criminal life began? If everyone thought I was a bad girl then I might as well prove them right and be one, right? If I was going to get the blame for doing what I had not done, maybe I should just do bad things so I'd at least get punished justly.

But life isn't fair. Things don't always turn out the way you want, plan or even deserve. If everyone who was unjustly blamed for doing something wrong decided to make a hay day of it and do wrong in spite of it all, what would our world look like? Life isn't fair, for sure. But, the great news is, you can be.

Day Twenty-Two of Lent-Angry Birds

This morning I woke up and ran into the kitchen exclaiming to Shoshanah, “Hey, I need your help this is REALLY important!” Shoshanah has a knack for spacial recognition and did really well at Geometry because of it. She's one of those people who can look at a space and tell you if the couch, chair and ottoman will fit without getting a tape measure out. So, I thought surely she can help me with trajectory, right? As a sophomore she'd completed all 4 math credits needed for college and is currently taking AP Physics. I sat down at the table and showed her my problem. Angry Birds. Yep, I'm going to confess it. I downloaded the APP on my Droid the day before and I was stuck on a level. No matter what I did I couldn't get the trajectory down in order to take out all the obstacles in order to set the birds free. (I'm playing the Angry Birds Rio version).

While we were sitting at the table and I was explaining my conundrum to her, Tim walked up wanting to know what on earth was so important. I rambled on entirely to long for him and within the first few seconds I could see by the rolling of his eyes that he didn't think my problem was nearly as important as I did. What is important to me isn't necessarily important to Tim.

This thought was further confirmed as we had lunch with my in-laws and heard about all the uh um, fine quality items my father-in-law found garage saleing this morning. three guitars, a pottery wheel, roof shingles for Annabelle's new dog house, just to name a few. Tim was perplexed that his dad could ever resell any of this stuff in his small space in an antique shop in Prescott. But it looks like people who went through his space found many of these items worthy of their cash. What is important to me isn't necessarily important to others.

On the way home from lunch, my mother-in-law and I stopped at the quilting store. I had gifted her a handmade quilt for Christmas in which she could chose color, style and pattern. She would love to quilt and has one started in her project box, but she admitted that at this time in her life she would rather take those extra few minutes in the day and chat with a neighbor or linger a bit longer at lunch with a friend. She is a people person~I am a task person. We decided since I love to quilt and do tasks I would just make her quilts for her. What is important to some people isn't necessarily important to others.

When we look at others, do we wonder why they spend their time doing this, that, or the other? Do we we watch how others spend their money on certain things we wouldn't waste our cash on and wonder what is up? It's not wrong, just different. What is important to me isn't necessarily important to others.

So, the next time I catch myself thinking about what someone else is doing that I don't necessarily think is important, I want to ask myself what do I do in life that they would think isn't important? For instance, playing Angry Birds!

Day Twenty-one of Lent. Does God Really Love Teenagers?

Now that my daughters are teenagers they do their own laundry. Not just because they need to eventually learn to do it themselves but because I'm fragile and seeing their dainty, uh um, under clothing may throw me into a deep dark depression. Isn't there an age limit as to when you're allowed start shopping at Victoria Secret? But, I digress-- I was emptying Zoe's dry clothes into her basket so I could load my laundry into the dryer when I recognized a few pairs of her pants as being hand me downs. Hand me downs - from her mother, not her older sister (there ARE plenty of the latter too). I was kind of flattered. She liked my hand me downs enough to wear them. That got me whether if I would have worn my mom's clothes in high school? Would they have even fit me? And what about a mother daughter relationship would allow for such a phenomenal thing to occur?

When my neighbor Kimmie and I were in 4^th grade we were found in my mom’s closet more than once playing dress up. (I still have pictures to prove it!) We both dreamed of being influential teachers in the lives of others. The teachers at St. Theresa impacted us mostly for better and our drive and desire to be like them was evident. Do grade school teachers have the most impact on their students or does the influence continue on through middle school and high school? How does one interact with those around them to where they influence them for the good? Becoming a role model and a support system in life?

All these questions got me thinking: when did I stop dressing up in my mother's clothing and desiring to be like the adults in my life around me? Why did I stop looking to them for their input and influence in my life? Is there something that happens hormonally in teens, as some studies suggest, or does our world view as children change because life isn't what we've always been taught it's cracked up to be? Endings aren't always happy. The princess doesn't always get the prince. Kissing a frog definitely doesn't get you anything in life except slimy lips! Children are the ultimate optimists and then life happens. No wonder teenagers are cranky and disillusioned.

Neither Kim or I are teachers in the professional sense but we are both definitely influential teachers to those in our lives around us; namely our children. May we both gently teach our children the harsh reality that life does not revolve around them. Promises will sometimes be broken. Life is not always fair. Ultimately, I hope and pray they feel unconditional love from a couple of mothers who used to love diving into our mothers closets and pretending to be grown up while we were still optimists in a life where our parents were still able to keep us protected from the harsh realities of life.