Unintended Consequences

Marriage is one of the most challenging endeavors most of us will ever undertake.  We will be measured.  We will be weighed.  And we will be found wanting.  What we do when we have been pressed will determine the course of our lives and the generations given unto our care.

Sir Knight and I have not walked the perfect, peaceful walk of marital bliss.  We have fought, we have been unkind and we have known the desolation of utter aloneness.  We have also loved and served and known the joy of complete oneness.  There have been times when we have been convinced that our only chance to find happiness would be going our separate ways.  But, by the grace of God, we have held our family together and we have learned a thing or two.  We have found that we have to love each other more than we love ourselves.  We have learned that we have to obey God's direction, even when it doesn't feel good.  We have learned that we are responsible for our own behavior, no matter how the other person is acting.  We have also learned that the price of ripping apart this family would be far too expensive for us to be willing to pay.

Divorce is the norm for the modern family.  People move from one spouse to the next, leaving a wake of destruction in their path, not realizing the real consequences of their decisions.

A number of years ago, a friend of mine divorced her husband of many years.  Without a doubt, he was a hard man.  He was grumpy, given to a temper and not particularly appreciative of my friend's efforts to be good wife.  Their place was not given the attention it deserved and their children knew only a distant, preoccupied father.  Oh, there were good times - jam sessions in the living room, filling an entire pew on Sunday morning, pressing cider in the fall and family dinners, but still, my friend was unfulfilled. As time went on, she became more and more dissatisfied with her marriage.  The more focused she became on her lousy marriage, the more her husband failed to meet her expectations.  Soon, she began making time for a "dear family friend".  He was a listening ear, a sympathetic, nonjudgmental sounding board.  Lunch dates became more and more frequent and before they knew it, divorce papers where served.

My friend became the poster child for divorce.  She was thrilled.  Her life couldn't be better.  Her new husband was attentive and kind - hanging on her every word.  He filled that empty place in her soul and gave her a new lease on life.  Her home took on the look of careful attention and her dress and manner reflected her new position.  Her life was complete - a new truck in the yard, new furniture in the house and a new man in her bed.  Life couldn't have been better.

But little by little, the children began to unravel.  Once, her kids had been well-adjusted home schooled kids who were secure in their life.  Suddenly, their father had been replaced by a man they didn't know.  Homeschooling was replaced with a classroom and their mother was replaced by a woman they hardly knew.  Their new "dad" completely remodeled their home, erasing any vestige of their former life and their own father was reduced to a mere shadow of his former self.  His life had been stolen.  Everything and everyone he held dear was gone and he was crushed with the knowledge that he wasn't man enough to safeguard his own family from invading forces.

While mom thrived, the children paid the price.  One child is wracked with a deadly disease wrought from poor lifestyle choices.  One child has sought love with any willing person only to be used and discarded.  Other children were self-destructing, making choices that would affect their entire lives and the lives of those around them.  All those lives - derailed in smoldering carnage.  These children represent the unintended consequences of the sins of the parents.  They are the bleeding, broken victims of their parents selfishness.

I am quite aware that this will be a less-than-popular post.  Truth often is.  I do understand how difficult it can be to keep a marriage together.  I know it can be painful, unfulfilling and seemingly impossible.  But, I know that the rewards for staying, for sacrificing, for loving, are immeasurable.  It will be hard.  Stay.  Do the right thing, even if your spouse doesn't.  Love your spouse more than you love yourself.  It will hurt.  It will cost you something.  Do it anyway.  Your life is worth it.  Your children are worth it.  Don't allow the unintended consequences of divorce to ripple through your life or the lives of your children.

Stay.  Love.  Stand in the gap between your family and the evil of divorce.  Don't fall prey to the unintended consequences of ripping the life from those that you love the most.  Love truly covers a multitude of sins.  Love each other like Christ loves you. Your children will rise up and call you blessed.

Wrangling Cats

Nice word picture, isn't it? Wrangling cats.  Truth be told, I spend a lot of time thinking I do exactly that.  As a mother, it is my job to train my children.  I need to see that they are making wise use of their time, completing their jobs adequately and generally making progress in all areas of their lives.  I make sure they are out of bed on time, don't dawdle while eating breakfast and quickly finish their morning chores.  I am in charge of seeing that they are kind to one another, always tell the truth and put other people before themselves.

It's harder than it sounds.  Really.  Just try to get numerous children of all ages moving seamlessly from one task to the next.  There is only one of me and four of them (I cannot include Maid Elizabeth in their wayward number) - I am truly outnumbered!  When I get one going in the correct direction, another darts out of the herd.  While trying to get that one back, and attempting to keep the first one on the straight and narrow, another gets off-track.  Just when I think I have everything under control, one of them will throw me a curve ball.  It is enough, from time to time, to make me want to throw my hands up in despair.

But, I don't really have quit in me and so I persevere.  Besides, there is nothing quite so rewarding as seeing my children learn and grow and mature.  It is something to behold on those days when they work like a well-oiled machine - and I know that the only way I will ever be rewarded with those days is by training them, every day, without fail.  I know that diligence and persistence will produce the fruit of well-adjusted children that are able to direct themselves and conduct their lives well.

But still.....it does sometimes feel like I am trying to wrangle cats!

The Coming Storm

Last week, a ferocious storm blew through our area.  It blustered and howled and threatened to lift the very roof off our shouse.   As is typical here, the wind was stayed until everyone had been tucked snugly into bed.  As the shouse grew quite, the wind began to softly sing.  It started out quietly and then grew louder and louder and louder.  Soon, it was knocking at the door, politely asking to come in.  When we didn't answer, the wind grew aggressive.  No longer was it polite.  It became positively demanding.  Then it began ripping at the shouse itself, trying to gain entry.  

As I lay in bed, praying that the roof remain in tact, I realized that, as a nation, we are facing a storm of epic proportions.  The wind has begun to blow.  It will grow stronger.  And, it will threaten our very foundations.

The wind blew, the beams creaked and I prayed.  Through the night, the wind sung its siren song but the shouse held fast.  It held fast because we had no loose ends.  Our shouse had been carefully maintained.  Knowing we live in a windswept area, we had been sure to tighten any loose screws and strengthen weak areas.  Our chicken coop, on the other, hadn't been maintained quite so well.

A while ago, I had noticed that a screw had come out of the metal roofing on the chicken coop.  It was only one little screw, so I didn't give it much thought.  Every once in a while, when the breeze picked up, the metal would slap against the roof, but other than being a little annoying, it wasn't really posing much of a problem.  As time went by, I noticed that another screw was missing.  Still not a big deal. I didn't think of bringing it to Sir Knight's attention.  We would take care of it when it really needed to be fixed.

As the wind blew during the storm, I heard the chicken coop roof metal frantically flapping.  Bang, bang, bang!  Every time it beat the roof, my prayers became a little more fervent.  Bang, bang, bang!  The sound was driving me nuts.  It mingled with the howling wind and creaking beams, robbing me of the sweet slumber I so desperately craved.

As the morning dawned, the wind withdrew, leaving behind the ravages of nature.  I ventured into the morning mist to survey the damage.  Remarkably, the shouse was left untouched.  No missing pieces of roofing material, no doors ripped from their hinges.  There were a few barrels tossed about and a number of things littering the yard, but short of that, we were left unscathed.  And then I saw the chicken coop.  Large portions of the metal sheeting had been ripped from the roof and lay mangled in the pasture.  The tar paper crumpled in shreds, no longer offering any protection to the plywood sheeting.  Much more than a small section missing two screws lay in ruins.

Frustrated at my lack of foresight, I realized that our lives are so like that chicken coop.  We are facing the biggest storm of our life.  If our country collapses, it will be the equivalent of a massive hurricane.  Our relationships are like those missing screws.  If we have problems that are left unattended, it will be the complete undoing of our entire house.  It is so easy to think that it is just one little screw.  We can ignore that - it isn't really a big deal. It may grate on us, bug us, even irritate us to no end, but we can handle it, right?  But when the wind blows, as it always does, it will pull at that one loose piece of metal. That irritation will rub and rub and rub. As it rubs, it will be just like that metal, loosening the next screw and the next.  Soon, your entire house will be left without protection.  If a massive storm envelops you, having not battened down your hatches, your house will be destroyed.  There is no substitute for maintenance.  Not only do we have to maintain our homes, we have to maintain our relationships.  We will need every one of them.  If you and your spouse are having a tough time now, it is only going to get worse when the storm hits.  You may think that when the collapse comes you will pull together, because you have too, but, the reality is, the storm will tear you apart.  You can't let that happen.  You are going to need each other.  We can't just spend our time preparing for all our physical necessities.  What kind of preppers would we be if we didn't prepare our relationships to withstand the storms?  And as far as I can tell, one of the best ways to prepared for a hurricane force storm is to tighten all the screws.  To batten down the hatches.  We can do no less in our relationships.

We all see the storm coming.  Please, don't put off taking care of your most important relationships thinking that they will take care of themselves.  They won't.  Just like that chicken coop roof didn't miraculously repair itself, breaches in your relationships won't either.  And you are going to need the people in your life a whole heck of a lot more than you will need a chicken coop.  Or even a house for that matter.

The storm is coming.  Now is the time to take care of business.

The Beauty you see

 

I am a hopeless romantic.  It's not my fault - I was born that way.  When the day wanes, nothing speaks to my soul like a cup of tea and a biscuit.  The first snow always elicits a flurry of cocoa making followed by snuggling in front of the wood stove reading books or playing games.  Candle light defines our winter evenings and linen curtains hallmark our summers.  I see beauty everywhere.  If I stumble upon an unlovely sight, my mind quickly puts things to rights, arranging things so their natural beauty shines forth.  The older I've become, the more I am able to find beauty in most anything, but it hasn't always been that way....

When I was a child, my family lived in one of the most spectacularly beautiful locations God created.  Forests, streams and grassy fields were my playground.  Mountains rose majestically against a backdrop of sub-irrigated alpine meadows.  Moose ate in crystal clear, glacier fed ponds and mountain lions drank from our swiftly running mountains streams.  Even the sunsets shone with the very fingerprints of God.  Unfortunately, the beauty that enveloped our lives was marred.  It was marred by people who chose to live differently than we did.

We moved when I was eight.  I was accustomed to mowed lawns, painted houses and tidy gardens.  People took care with their appearance - wearing dresses to church and skirts to town.  Cars were washed, hair was cut and purses matched shoes.  And then suddenly, in a whirl of boxes and packing tape, we were transported into another world.  My new world, while full of natural beauty, was rife with ugliness.  People piled garbage in their front yards, burning it in the spring and fall (whether they needed to or not).  The dress code, allowing for flannel shirts and Levi jeans only, was strictly enforced.  Shoes were considered quite wearable until the last of the duct tape wore off and hair-cuts were an unheard of luxury.  It wasn't the least bit unusual to see 20 cars lined up in a row at the edge of a property line, ensuring the owner the perfect part should the need arise.  Tarps (usually blue) regularly served as roofing material and more often than not discarded appliances provided the focal point for the garden.

My romantic sensibilities rebelled.  While being ensconced in beauty at home, I detested the lifestyle choices that surrounded our neighbors in squalor.  I equated country living with ignorance and poverty.  I longed for the day when I could escape my beautiful country home and could take my rightful place among the enlightened people of the city.  Finally, after years of pridefully living among humble country folk, I left to seek the refined, intelligent people of the city.  I drove away - knowing I was destined for much more than country life - watching the beauty of the mountains fade in the distance.

At first, I gloried in my new life.  The city was exciting - energizing.  The homes and yards were glorious and the people dressed with elegance and style.  New cars were everywhere and people cared how things looked.  The beauty that had alluded me in the country was around every corner in the city, bursting forth in manicured gardens and tailored suits.  I was home!

Then the strangest thing began to happen.  An odd longing developed.  I had the greatest desire to dip my toes in a creek.  Truth be told, what I really wanted to do was put bread in between my toes and feel the trout fingerlings nibble the bread, tickling my feet in the most indescribable way.  The longer I waited in traffic, or in line at the mall or sat behind my desk filing, the more intense the desire became.  Finally, I couldn't stand it any longer.  I had to run barefoot, splash through a creek, or wade through a meadow resplendent with flowers before I exploded.  I found a quiet little park not far from where I worked, with a sweet meadow and a bubbling creek and promptly thrust my bare feet into it's cold depths.  

From that moment, the cool mountain meadows and alpine peaks began to sing the siren's song to me.  The manicured lawns and tailored suits seemed to lose their luster.  The pretty houses and elegant clothes suddenly seems empty - soul less.  What once had seemed beguiling now seemed shallow and make-believe.  Years of scales began to fall from my eyes.  I began to see past the tarp roof's and garbage strewn yards.  I realized that although my childhood neighbor's were rough and unpolished, they were uncommonly gifted with loyalty, self-sufficiency and country wisdom.  They were the people you wanted covering your back when things got tough.  They lived life to the fullest, for themselves, not to impress other people and when push came to shove, they could be counted on irregardless of their own personal hardships.

After years of living in the city, searching for true friendship, only to encounter people too busy living their own lives, I came home to the country.  I came home to tarp roofs, junk cars and garbage strewn yards.  But this time, I came home with humility, not pride.  I came home with the realization that God gives us the ability to see His beauty everywhere.  I found I had to see past the outward appearance, into the heart of the matter.

I grew up in the country, but gained the wisdom of country life in the city.  In my pride an arrogance, I was blinded to the beauty of simple country living.  God, in His wisdom, brought me to the city so that He could gently strip my pride and open my eyes to true beauty.  He taught me that beauty is not defined by what you own, how you dress or how you keep your yard - true beauty is defined by how you see the world, and yourself and God.  True beauty is found when God opens your eyes to His creation and His children.

The quintessential pot of tea

We are family of tea lovers.  It's not so much the tea itself (although we do enjoy a good cuppa), rather our love affair with tea has a lot more to do with the indefinable aspects - the routine, the relaxation, the relationship.

When Maid Elizabeth was a little girl, we would have Mad Hatter tea parties.  We all wore hats (even Sir Knight) and when the mood struck, we would randomly exchange our hat with another.  It was a sight to see Sir Knight in a pink straw hat with yellow lilies, but he bore his burden well and our days of Mad Hatter tea parties evoke fits of laughter still.

As our family grew, our Mad Hatter tea parties gave way to "tea time", when Sir Knight and I would shew all of the children out of the house or to their rooms, and we would spend a half an hour reconnecting after our days work.  The parties grew calmer, but the relationships grew deeper.

Tea time still exists in our home, but has evolved once again.  The older children - Maid Elizabeth, Master Hand Grenade and occasionally Miss Calamity now share our tea table.  While Princess Dragon Snack and Master Calvin play, color or read in the other room, Sir Knight, the older kids and I share our lives with one another.  We talk about what is most important to each of us.  Problems come to light and victories are shared, hearts are mended and characters are shaped.  As our teacups are emptied our lives our filled.

Over the years, we have perfected our tea time.  Although our tea selection may vary, our routine never does.  We start our tea time with a heated tea pot.  Heating the pot is the difference between a tepid, mediocre brew and a pipping hot cup.  I then put on fresh water (always use fresh water - never water that has been boiling away on the stove - previously boiled water loses it oxygen and provides a very inadequate cup of tea) and prepare my tea table.  The tea pot I prefer is a Chatsford pot.  It has an infuser basket for the tea, allowing the tea to fully expand, producing a much better flavor.  There are other option for loose tea, however, the most common, a tea ball, is a very poor substitute.  If I don't have my Chatsford pot with me (when we travel), I always make sure that I have a tea sock.  A tea sock will fit in any pot and allow the tea to expand properly.

Chatsford pot with Infuser basket

Pre-heat with boiling water

Putting the basket into the pot

Tea filter or tea "sock"

When the water has been freshly boiled, I pour my water into the infuser basket that is placed in the teapot.  Teas steep (sit) for various times, depending upon the type of tea.  Generally, I make Bond Street English Breakfast (from Upton Tea), and it steeps for 5 minutes.  In the evenings, especially in the summer, we will indulge in a gunpowder green tea, which steeps for only 2 minutes.  After the tea has steeped, I remove the infuser basket (so the tea does not continue to get stronger), put the lid on the pot and start pouring tea.

Pouring water into the infuser

Taking the tea filled infuser out
of the pot after the tea has steeped

Every once in a while, I run out of the good tea that we love and have to make do with bagged tea.  Really, it is not a terrible substitute, as long as you cut open the bags and use the tea like a loose leaf tea.  A good rule of thumb is to use 1 tea bag per cup (how many tea cups your pot holds) and 1 bag "for the pot".  My tea pot is a 10 "cupper" so if I have to use tea bags, I cut open 11 bags.  When using loose leaf tea, you use 1 teaspoon of tea per cup and 1 for the pot.

Tea time aftermath

Although the wisdom of the day goes back and forth on the healthfulness of tea our family never wavers.  For us, it has little to do with health and everything to do with drawing our family together.  Tea makes each of us a part of something bigger.  It provides stability, routine and a platform for sharing our lives.  When our lives get difficult, our first response is to pray and our second is to put on the kettle.

White Wedding Cookies/Russian Tea Cookies
1 cup butter, softened
1/2 cup confectioners' sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 cups flour
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking powder
3/4 cup toasted pecans, finely chopped
confectioners' sugar

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.  In large mixing bowl, cream together butter, powdered sugar and vanilla.  Beat until light and fluffy.

Stir together flour, baking powder and salt.  Gradually stir flour into butter mixture.  Add pecans, stirring until the nuts are evenly distributed.

If dough is too sticky to handle, refrigerate until firm. Break off 1 inch pieces of dough; roll into balls.

Place on ungreased baking sheets, 2 inches apart.  Bake for 10 to 12 minutes or until set but still pale in color.

Cool slightly, then roll in confectioners' sugar.  When cookies are completely cooled, roll in confectioners' sugar again.

White wedding cookies

My Father's Hands

As a child, one of my favorite things to do was to hold my daddy's hand.  It was strong and calloused and enveloped my pudgy little girl hand.  I always felt safe and loved when I held my daddy's hand.  Many Sunday morning sermons were back-ground music to my exploration of every nook and cranny of my father's hands.  My father's hands were the physical manifestation of love.  They spoke love through acts of service to his family and those he felt called to provide for and protect.  My father's hands spoke volumes.

As a young woman, I looked at a mans hands before deciding if he was worthy of my time. Lilly white, manicured digits with soft, pink undertones left me with a vague uneasiness that I couldn't quite explain.  Strong, calloused, slightly dirty hands with scars and character drew me like a moth to flame.  I had to know the man behind the hands!

The man I married, my Slayer of Dragons, has working mans hands.  They are strong and rough, but can become velvet in an instant.  My husbands hands are the hands of a useful man.  They are used to doing.  They are used to working.  They are the hands of a man that can provide and protect.  They are the hands of a Dragon Slayer.  And so Sir Knight uses his hands to slay dragons for me every day. His love for his family is made evident through his hands.

I watch my daughters.  They love to hold their daddy's hand.  They all have spent many a Sunday exploring every nook and cranny of their father's hands.  And not so surprisingly, they are drawn to working hands.  Just the other day, Maid Elizabeth told me that she loves the hands of a working man.  One of the first things she sees when she meets a man is his hands.  Are they like her daddy's?  Are they strong?  Can they protect and provide?  Do they speak of love when the lips are silent? She is drawn, as was my mother, as was I, to a mans hands.

My son's hands are strong.  He has an iron grip.  They are calloused and scarred. They are the hands of a provider and protector.  They are the hands of a man.  And so the next generation rises to take his place among the men.  I believe that my son, just like my husband, will have my father's hands.

Family Reunion

 Our family reunion was this past weekend.  It was a bittersweet time because it most likely is the last reunion my Grandparents will be able to attend. 

When I was a child, the majority of our family lived in or around the Seattle area.  We regularly gathered at my Grandparents farm on Vashon Island.  My family lived on Vashon as did one set of cousins (and my aunt and uncle, of course).  My other two sets of aunts, uncles and cousins lived a Ferry Boat ride away in West Seattle.  Every Christmas, Easter, Birthday or other special event we gathered together and played and ate and celebrated.  My mom was one of four siblings and each sibling had between two and three children.  We cousins were close in age, so we grew up together.  We were in each others lives and shared all of our childhood milestones. 

After my family moved to Idaho, our family get-togethers became more and more infrequent.  Soon, all of the cousins were grown, the grandparents had moved to Arizona and our parents had settled into post-child rearing routines.  We all gathered for our Grandparents 50th wedding anniversary, but beyond that, we hadn't all been together in years.  Finally, about 11 years ago, we had a family reunion.  Most of us came, but it was only a few hours, so we didn't have much of a chance to visit.  Three years ago we congregated in Bremerton, Washington for a few hours of conversation on the beach, but, once again, there just wasn't enough time.

This year, it was different.  My grandparents are aging and most likely won't be able to make the trip again.  My Uncle was diagnosed with inoperable cancer, and doesn't know what tomorrow holds.  Our families are growing up and growing apart.  We needed to re-connect.

My parents decided to have the family reunion at their cabin in the woods.  Our entire family congregated for three days.  We visited, rode 4-wheelers, swam, sang, slept under the stars and just enjoyed each others company.  What a blessing my family is!

Grandma and Master Calvin...

Lighting off smoke grenades (doesn't everyone do this?)

Checking out each others "chrome domes"....

Marshmallows, kids and fire - an unbeatable combination....

Taking it easy....

The people that started it all....

Maid Elizabeth with Great Grandpa....

Cousin "J" with Grandma....

Uncle "J" with my cousin "J" and my other cousin "J"!  My cousin "J" (with the Clutch This T-shirt) has a movie coming out called "Clutch" - so cool.  He stars in it and directed it and produced it (totally independent film about Muscle cars!).

The boys can hardly wait for their turn on the 4-wheelers....

Cousins.....

This is were I grew up - it is in my soul - it is part of who I am....

Credit Card Parenting

Thursday, June 17, 2010

Credit Card Parenting

When I was growing up, my mom and dad often said that they had disciplined my brother and I when we were little so that they would like us when we were older.  Of course, I didn't fully understand this statement until I was grown and had children of my own.

It wasn't until we had our oldest daughter that I began to realize the true significance of my parents statement.  Sir Knight and I endeavored, from the time Maid Elizabeth was a little girl, to raise her to be obedient, respectful, kind and responsible.  The most resistance we encountered was from, can you believe it, other parents!  While we expected our daughter to obey the first time we spoke, her playmates were allowed free rein.  Outrageous disrespect and just plain naughtiness was regularly excused under the umbrella statement "it's just a phase".  It wasn't.  These same children grew up on Ritalin and other mind-altering drugs, plugged into the TV or video games day and night, with their parents ringing their hands saying things like "I just don't know what happened - we gave him everything, and look how he has repaid our love".

They did give their kids everything.  Everything that is but discipline.  Everything but guidelines and boundaries.   They succumbed to Credit Card Parenting.

Sir Knight coined the phrase "Credit Card Parenting" while watching some kids in front of us at church.  One family, in particular, had the happy distinction of raising 8 perfectly awful hooligans.  These kids, while quite old enough to control themselves, took every opportunity to crawl under the pews, look up ladies skirts, lay on the floor and kick elderly folks in the ankles.  All the while, their parents sat, apparently completely unaware, sweetly singing hymns, or with hands folded on their bibles, graciously smiling at the pastor.  When confronted with their children's unacceptable behavior, they merely chalked it up to "kids will be kids", or "It's just a phase, they will grow out of it".  Of course, their kids didn't "grow out of it" and now their adult lives look like so many train wrecks.  Credit card parenting.

Ultimately, as parents, we have to deal with poor behavior, disobedience and disrespect now, or we will be paying later....with interest.  Compound interest at that.  And, to top it off, not only will we have to pay, our children will have to pay the interest debt also, with broken lives and hopeless existences.

Not too long ago, Sir Knight was sitting in the waiting room at our local dentist office and a woman who had been our neighbor when Maid Elizabeth was little was sitting in the next seat.  A slouching, unhappy looking young man was sitting next to her.  The woman immediately recognized my husband, and started talking about the "old days" when we had been neighbors.  She talked about our children playing together, and how cute they were then.  Then she went on to say "don't you just HATE teenagers?  They are terrible, I can't stand them.  At least when they were little, they were cute!  Don't you HATE teenagers?".  Her son was sitting right next to her!  He was made in her own image.  He was what she had designed him to be.

Now, don't everyone start yelling at once.  I fully understand that children are people with their own moral compass.  I know that children are sinners too, and sometimes, regardless of their parents best efforts will fall into the trap of sin.  But, I also know, that when we give our children guidelines and loving discipline, we are, in essence, giving them hope for the future.  If we train them, when they are young, to obey our instructions, how much easier, when they are older, will it be for them to obey God's instructions?  How can teaching our children respect and responsibility ever produce bad fruit?  And, yes, when you discipline your children when they are young, you will enjoy them when they are older.

One of Sir Knight and my greatest joys are evenings spent with Master Hand Grenade (14) and Maid Elizabeth (21) after the littler children have gone to bed.  What fun they are!  We talk about everything under the sun.  Last night it was a discussion on the differences between the Kingdom of Judah and the Kingdom of Israel.  Fascinating!  They knew so much more than I would have given them credit for.  And then, Maid Elizabeth tucked her cold feet under Master Hand Grenade's shirt, and the evening digressed from there.  I had to make a run to the bathroom from laughing to hard!  And who said teenagers were terrible?  I've never had so much fun!

Whatever you do, don't become a victim of a credit card scam!  You will miss out on some of the greatest blessings of you life - liking your children!

Sir Knight with Hand Grenade (in their kilts!)

Maid Elizabeth (trying not to laugh)

Maid Elizabeth and Master Calvin

Children truly are a blessing from the Lord.