where chaos reigns...

A couple weeks ago some friends of ours stopped by unannounced. Ordinarily this would be a welcome surprise. This time it wasn’t. I honestly was GLAD that Hubby and Oldest Boy were suffering from the flu so I had an excuse to tell them they might not want to come in. (I didn’t even let them past the front door).

Why? Well, let’s just say I probably would have died of mortification right then and there.

There were exactly 14 pairs of shoes, sandals and boots piled in front of the coat closet. I’m estimating about two pounds of sand and dirt was compacted into entry rug -most of which was highly visible. My desk was piled so high with paperwork, phonebooks, etc. that the printer wasn’t even visible. My kitchen floor hadn’t seen a mop in, well... I’m not sure I’m going to confess that one.

The house was quite literally, complete chaos. (My husband will back me up on that one).

We had shipped the boys into the bathtub so at least three messes were clean - which unfortunately left a nice black streak in the tub once the water drained out.

I know that housework is a matter of priorities and some people place a higher priority on it than I do. Either that, or they actually enjoy cleaning. I know all about discipline, but yet I just can’t find any myself.

So, I decided to do what seemed like the next best solution - make the kids be more disciplined.

Now before you think that’s a real cop-out, let me explain something. I had to do chores when I was a kid. My husband had to do chores when he was a kid. Our kids are not doing chores. It has been, up to now, too much work to make them do anything on a daily basis beyond brushing their teeth and putting their cereal bowls away.

There is little more aggravating than having the entire house spotless and then three little whirlwinds come along with dirty socks, dirty clothes and all their Legos, Tinkertoys, Lincoln Logs and matchbox cars to mess things up.

I might have to borrow a trick of an aunt of mine who used to lock her doors during the summer and force the kids to play outside. I used to think that was horrible torture. Now, I’m beginning to realize that perhaps it was the only way she kept her sanity and her house clean.

I’m not sure I’m ready to go that far yet, but I have decided that the boys are going to learn to do chores. By the time I’m done with them and they’re 21, they’ll be real catches for their future wives because they’ll know how to cook, clean and hopefully, pick up after themselves.

Is it possible? Well, we’ll see. I haven’t exactly put this theory into practice yet. But, this afternoon, Number One will be learning to sweep the food crumbs from the kitchen floor and Number Two will be wiping off all the toothpaste on the bathroom sink. (Notice how both messes were made by the kids anyway?)

There’s no reason they can’t feed the kittens, scrub the toilet, weed the garden and at the very least, pick up their things!

The tough part is that it takes discipline to discipline. But, the feeling of embarrassment is a very good motivator for me - I’m hoping it will be my ticket out of a house of chaos. It probably won't put me on the couch eating bon-bons, but it might allow me to walk across the kitchen floor without stepping onto sticky goo or crunchy cereal.

Now, I just have to figure out whose chores are whose.

long live the potluck

I love potlucks. I love the sight of dish after dish of various macaroni casseroles (We grew up saying “hotdishes.”) I love the smells that all combine to form one scent that doesn’t quite go together and yet somehow it just does.

My high school science teacher taught me that those odors come up from the church basement because of diffusion. (Can you believe I actually remembered that!) By the time church is over, my stomach is rumbling and my feet won’t go anywhere but toward the scent of 15 kinds of warm food.

I can’t explain why goulash, green bean casserole, Jello salad and pickles all taste just right together. Makes no culinary sense, but boy is it appealing to my taste buds.

I love any excuse to visit and have potluck get-togethers. Growing up, church potlucks always meant more choices than you could fit on your plate (and always at least one tuna noodle casserole that we turned up our noses up to). There was (and usually still is) the three-bean or six-bean casserole. (If you’re lucky, it might even have hamburger and bacon in it.) There usually was about 12 kinds of hamburger/macaroni/spaghetti sauce dish - each a little different but still pretty much the same. There were at least two or three different shades of Jello salads (why they call it a salad is beyond me). And someone usually brought that 24-hour layered salad. Mmmm! Best of all, we often got Finnish flat bread, already buttered for us. And if we were good, then came a choice from six different kinds of bars.

I can’t get enough of potlucks. I love to sample bites of other people’s cooking. I love to find the perfect recipe to try making for it. Best of all, I love to have a four or 10-course meal without having to do all the work myself. Clean-up’s easy too.
I really think it should be written in the church bylaws (somewhere under outreach or worship service order) that they be mandatory once a month, at least.

Did I tell you that I love potlucks?

So, when I read recently in a Christianity Today weblog that churches are facing legal problems because of potlucks, I nearly fainted. Aaaaah! Tell me it isn’t so!

But, nope...the piece was even subtitled, “State governments increasingly regulate church potlucks” (The title “Food Fights” was more clever than mine, but considering I’m writing this at 1:04 a.m. you’ll have to humor me.)

Anyway, back to potlucks. Yikes.

The writer, Rebecca Barnes, stated that U.S. churches are facing more and more legal hurdles to holding potlucks. And the first state mentioned was (surprise!) Minnesota, where apparently potlucks are exempt from food safety inspections only if food is not prepared in the kitchen. Churches in Wisconsin that have more than 12 public food events per year may have to get a restaurant license!

Churchgoers and civic groups in Indiana were banned from having potucks when a new law took effect that required nonprofit groups to hire certified food handlers. (It apparently was an inadvertent error and one that has those same lawmakers scrambling to fix). Illinois faced a similar problem until Governor Rod Blagojevich signed a new law that exempts all potluck dinners from state and local health regulations. He was quoted as saying that potlucks, “are a long-standing tradition that do not warrant government intrusion.”

Amen! Please pass the hotdish. And the salad. And the pickles.

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“The term potluck comes from the traditional practice of never throwing anything away. Meal leftovers would be put into a pot and kept warm, and could be used to feed people on short notice. This practice was especially prevalent in taverns and inns in medieval times, so that when you showed up for a meal, you took the "luck of the pot."
How’s that for some trivia?

getting along

I have been struggling recently with trying to help my boys be friends. Well, I’m really trying to MAKE them be friends.
Not an easy thing to do when one of them communicates with his fists.

I know that siblings fight, (I have five brothers and a sister) but that shouldn’t prevent them from practicing the Golden Rule on occasion. When I tell my boys about it, they get these blank stares. It doesn’t seem to sink in when I ask one, "Do you like when people hit you?" He will say no, and two minutes later, bam! out come the punches.

It’s such a battle - and I’m not even talking about between them. It’s a battle for me. I’m going crazy listening to them argue about who’s sitting next to Dad at lunch, who had what spot on the couch, who’s going to pray first at bedtime and who gets the last bagel.

"Why can’t you two just get along?" I growl. Well, okay it’s more like the hysterical rant of a cave woman who’s ready for spring to come, no matter how muddy it will be, no matter how muddy the boys will be and no matter how many loads of mud-caked clothes she has to wash. At least she has a washing machine. But that’s off the subject.

Now, really...why can’t my boys just get along? They will bicker about anything, argue about nothing, hit each other constantly and then, worst of all, TATTLE about it!

The only thing that seems to settle them down is snack time or shipping them outside. I’m not sure if they need extra energy-producing sugar or extra energy-depleting exercise like riding bikes through mucky clay.

I know that on some level they love each other because the oldest was gone for about two hours the other day and his younger brother missed him, and even said so!

So, I can’t really win. They fight when they’re around each other and yet they don’t like to be apart either.

Funny how adults have the same issues. We need each other for fellowship, friendship and conversation. (I particularly need adult conversation.) But, we still sometimes disagree and have conflicts.

It shouldn’t be this way, but isn’t any easier for me to get along with others than it is for my boys. Except that I don’t punch and call names. But, I do tattle and well, okay I do call names, at least in my head...

I know I’m supposed to accept others, flaws and all, because Christ has accepted me, flaws and all. (Romans 15:7) The Message paraphrase says to "reach out" to each other and likens unity to "getting along." I like that connection - getting along.

Something that is as hard for two brothers as it is for the brotherhood of believers.

How can you “get along” with those you don’t see eye to eye with or those you just can’t understand? How do I teach my boys that, when I have difficulty doing it myself?

It begins with an attitude adjustment. I need to recognize how other people put up with my faults and how I'm not always easy to get along with either. I need to see my imperfections so God can help me correct them. I need him to teach me acceptance, tolerance, understanding, all those things that are critical to “getting along.” I need to understand that the Golden Rule applies to me as well, in actions as well as attitudes.

I can’t expect something from others that I have trouble doing myself. I can’t expect my boys to get along with each other if I don’t show them how. I need to treat others how I’d like to be treated, and think about others how I’d like them to think of me. I need to live the Golden Rule.

Then, I need to convince the boys that the doing unto others part doesn’t involve fists.