Keeping forgetful kids (and Mom) organized

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My eldest has had about a month to write out 10 questions and interview someone about a historical moment that they experienced. It was due today. We both forgot. I know it was his responsibility, but I feel bad for dropping the ball.

Not only that, but the little three had about a week to fill out little slips of paper with sweet things to say about their teachers, and I tucked the envelopes away to do over the weekend … and I forgot. Until that WEDNESDAY. D’oh!

This is one of those times when I feel like a slacker parent. Please tell me I’m not the only one who feels that way occasionally!

I keep a rather detailed Outlook calendar — complete with color-coding for meetings, personal appointments, extra-curricular activities and school functions, etc. I think that when school starts back in the fall, I will add a color for assignments due. I may even be neurotic enough to add reminders like “Bring empty water bottle for Nos. 4 & 5 on Monday” for those random crafts that they do at school. I remember having to keep an assignment notebook as a kid, and yes – the ball falls in their court, ultimately – but hopefully this extra step will help them (and me!) stay a bit more organized.

Do you want cheese with your whine? (Prayer Devotional for the week of May 15, 2011)

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The Bible reminds us (in Matthew 7:5 & Luke 6:42, among others) to look at our own problems before we point out other people’s issues. Today’s topic might step on a few toes, so, let’s do a quick self-inventory. Do any of these statements ring a bell?

  • This restaurant is always so slow. What does it take to get decent service around here?
  • I don’t know why I bother. It’s not going to make a difference, anyway.
  • I hate my job/boss/class/teacher/co-worker/life …
  • Ugh, it’s Monday again.
  • I’m no good at that/I just can’t do it/I’m the world’s worst …
  • Why do bad things always happen to me? I can never catch a break.

 If those comments sound familiar, then you are not alone. The Israelites were skilled complainers. In Exodus 15, verse 22 and following, the people of Israel were griping about how bad the water tasted. (Hello, Waco? Sound familiar?) God gave Moses instructions on how to fix it, but that didn’t keep them quiet for very long. In the next chapter, God provided miraculous food (literally, from thin air) for the wandering Israelites to eat, yet they still murmured. In chapter 17, God even made water flow out of a rock!

By the time chapter 20 rolled around, Moses was sick and tired of the complaining. He lost his temper in front of God and all of the Israelites, and instead of speaking God’s instructions to provide miraculous water from another rock, Moses snapped at the people: “Listen, rebels! Do we have to bring water out of this rock for you?” and slammed his staff against the rock. (Notice how he said we and not God.) God still performed a miracle and made the water gush out, but right then and there, Moses lost his opportunity to lead the people of Israel into the promised land.

The constant complaining … and Moses’ poor reaction to it … cost him dearly. Think about your own life for a moment. What tone of voice have your last few conversations taken? What have your last few Facebook posts looked like? What was the last thing you said to your kids? Parents? Spouse? Take an honest look at how much you complain, then commit to praying through the issues this week with us.

Who’s taller?

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It recently came to our attention that I am, officially, taller than my mom. How this happened is beyond me … either I’m still growing at age 36, or she’s shrinking at age xx … but, we won’t go there.

She suggested that we stand back-to-back and get the boys’ [ever so scientific] analysis of who’s taller. We were both barefoot, and there was no doubting that my shoulders were higher than hers, perhaps even a half inch or more.

She mused aloud why this could be, and No. 5 nonchalantly answered, “Probably because Mom’s feet are so big. That means she’s taller.”

Ouch. Obviously. I guess I do tell them often about “how big & tall” they are getting, and it seems that they need new shoes and pants at the same time – and often – so it made sense to him that big feet = tall.

My size 10 feet and I shall meekly leave the room now. (They used to be size 11, but somehow my feet shrunk when I lost all that weight! I should take that as some consolation, right?)

Tooth fairy fail

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As I wrote the other evening, No. 3 pulled out his own tooth (I think he’s up to #6 or 7, if I’m not mistaken!), and I had every intention of going straight to my purse after I got off the computer to scrounge up a buck to put under his pillow.

I forgot.

It didn’t cross my mind again until after I got to work the next morning, so I called Dad while he was still at the house and asked him to check & see if the tooth was still in the baggy under the munchkin’s pillow. I hoped that maybe No. 3 forgot about it, too, and I could pull a sly switcheroo. Otherwise, I figured he’s old enough to break the news and end the fantasy. I’d simply have to come clean and tell him the big-kid truth about the tooth fairy and offer an apology for forgetting about it. Nos. 1 & 2 already know, of course, but we have a “secret” deal where they trade their teeth for dollar bills. They still get the cash, so they’re happy to keep the secret from the little guys.

I wasn’t upset about having to tell him the truth; I’ve always said that I won’t flat-out lie to them about fantasy things like Santa or the tooth fairy. So, imagine my surprise when I got home and No. 3 proclaimed: “Mom! The tooth fairy came during the day this time, instead of at night.”

“Oh?” I asked, “Perhaps she just got busy and ran out of time the night before.”

Without missing a beat, he said, “Or, maybe she had Mother’s Day off or something.”

What a sweetie. I didn’t have the heart to burst his bubble. So, for one more tooth, at least, the fantasy is still intact.