I like having older kids for many reasons. But a really great reason is because they feel guilt. In fact, if I were to say that Santa left me a gift this year, it would be this.
I'm not talking about guilt if they do something wrong--they left that feeling behind when they were 12. I'm talking about the guilt they feel when they are slugs on the couch and I'm working.
And believe me, I use this to my complete advantage!
Two days ago, Pennsylvania got dumped on. Several inches of snow in just a couple of hours. I hadn't quite realized how much snow we had gotten until I tried to head down the driveway. This isn't usually a problem, because the driveway descends as it leaves the house.
The problem was when we came back home after a couple hours of shopping. Not surprisingly, the snow was still covering the 1/4 mile long driveway, and in order to get to the house, we needed to go up the driveway.
I had great hope in my faithful steed, Greenie. In fact, there was a lot of cheering in the car ("Go, Greenie") as the Volvo made three valiant attempts to get up the driveway. However, between the switchback, the climb in altitude and the inches of snow, it couldn't make it, so we ended up leaving Greenie in the middle of the driveway and hoofing it up to the house for the last 150 feet.
It was 3:30 in the afternoon, and I knew it would be dark in 90 minutes. There was only one thing to do. Plow the driveway.
Not surprisingly (again), the blade wasn't on the tractor. I say this comes as no surprise because my relationship with the tractor is a love/hate relationship. I love that machine when it's filled with gas and ready to go when I need it. I hate it when the wrong attachment is on the back of it, or not on it at all. Of course, I could blame a certain someone for not having the foresight to make sure it is adequately outfitted for the proper season, but I prefer to rest the blame on a mechanical beast that won't take offense.
While I frequently aid in the attaching of blades/bush hogs/rototillers, I've never been the main person to make the switch. With John still at work, and the sun setting quickly, Ethan, Glo and I headed out to the land of deserted attachments and hoped for the best.
Unbelievably, we had that blade on the tractor ten minutes later. We were total champions, and I realized that my oldest boy is no longer a boy. He's a man now, and this is a good thing when it comes to putting on tractor blades in the freezing cold.
He headed back in the house while Glo and Johannah began shoveling our walkway.
And this is where the guilt steps in.
In the old days, John and I could work a week's worth of work around the kids while they sat on the couch, reading a book. We would do dishes, vacuum, weed the garden, mow the grass, and climb Mt. Everest while they enjoyed a glass of something cool and refreshing to drink.
Now? It gets to them. Or at least, it gets to Ethan. I imagine it has something to do with the fact that he spent two years in 24/7 hard-core service. Thank heavens for missions!
So, for Christmas, I had asked for a number of cleaning tasks. Yes, don't get me jewelry, or clothing, or any of those things that mothers typically want. Give me some elbow grease, and I'm over the moon!
This year, I had asked for my chandeliers to be cleaned, my baseboards to be wiped down, the fly to be removed from my shower light, and the fronts of my cupboards to be scrubbed. Too, I had asked for someone to help me organize my music.
I arrange A LOT of music. People now find it rather convenient to ask me to "find something" for the family to play. Since there aren't copious arrangements of church music for french horn, viola, violin and piano, I end up writing my own arrangements. Too, I have arranged choral music for whatever voices we have at home at the moment.
As such, I have binders full of arrangements. The problem is, when I go to look for an already arranged piece of music, I can't find it anywhere! I needed some help getting my music all organized and easily accessible.
When I came inside after plowing for an hour (and to get the keys to Greenie so I could move her out of the middle of the driveway and continue plowing), this is what I found:
Man, this is a fantastic picture! Look at my boy! He was totally going to town, organizing reams of music for me! He had printed up labels with the name of each piece of music, put those labels inside of the plastic file folder tabs and was alphabetizing the file folders in the milk crates. It looks like chaos at the moment, but believe me, he had it all worked out.
And when he hadn't finished it by the time we headed out to dinner? He came back the next day, finished the job, and even cleaned up after himself.
I'm thinking that I should definitely plow the driveway more often! So, remember this, oh-ye-mothers-of-young-children: at some point, you will be able to suggest something to your children, and as they see that you can't actually do everything yourself, they will step up and do it for you. It's a wonderful thing.
I'm not talking about guilt if they do something wrong--they left that feeling behind when they were 12. I'm talking about the guilt they feel when they are slugs on the couch and I'm working.
And believe me, I use this to my complete advantage!
Two days ago, Pennsylvania got dumped on. Several inches of snow in just a couple of hours. I hadn't quite realized how much snow we had gotten until I tried to head down the driveway. This isn't usually a problem, because the driveway descends as it leaves the house.
The problem was when we came back home after a couple hours of shopping. Not surprisingly, the snow was still covering the 1/4 mile long driveway, and in order to get to the house, we needed to go up the driveway.
I had great hope in my faithful steed, Greenie. In fact, there was a lot of cheering in the car ("Go, Greenie") as the Volvo made three valiant attempts to get up the driveway. However, between the switchback, the climb in altitude and the inches of snow, it couldn't make it, so we ended up leaving Greenie in the middle of the driveway and hoofing it up to the house for the last 150 feet.
It was 3:30 in the afternoon, and I knew it would be dark in 90 minutes. There was only one thing to do. Plow the driveway.
Not surprisingly (again), the blade wasn't on the tractor. I say this comes as no surprise because my relationship with the tractor is a love/hate relationship. I love that machine when it's filled with gas and ready to go when I need it. I hate it when the wrong attachment is on the back of it, or not on it at all. Of course, I could blame a certain someone for not having the foresight to make sure it is adequately outfitted for the proper season, but I prefer to rest the blame on a mechanical beast that won't take offense.
While I frequently aid in the attaching of blades/bush hogs/rototillers, I've never been the main person to make the switch. With John still at work, and the sun setting quickly, Ethan, Glo and I headed out to the land of deserted attachments and hoped for the best.
Unbelievably, we had that blade on the tractor ten minutes later. We were total champions, and I realized that my oldest boy is no longer a boy. He's a man now, and this is a good thing when it comes to putting on tractor blades in the freezing cold.
He headed back in the house while Glo and Johannah began shoveling our walkway.
And this is where the guilt steps in.
In the old days, John and I could work a week's worth of work around the kids while they sat on the couch, reading a book. We would do dishes, vacuum, weed the garden, mow the grass, and climb Mt. Everest while they enjoyed a glass of something cool and refreshing to drink.
Now? It gets to them. Or at least, it gets to Ethan. I imagine it has something to do with the fact that he spent two years in 24/7 hard-core service. Thank heavens for missions!
So, for Christmas, I had asked for a number of cleaning tasks. Yes, don't get me jewelry, or clothing, or any of those things that mothers typically want. Give me some elbow grease, and I'm over the moon!
This year, I had asked for my chandeliers to be cleaned, my baseboards to be wiped down, the fly to be removed from my shower light, and the fronts of my cupboards to be scrubbed. Too, I had asked for someone to help me organize my music.
I arrange A LOT of music. People now find it rather convenient to ask me to "find something" for the family to play. Since there aren't copious arrangements of church music for french horn, viola, violin and piano, I end up writing my own arrangements. Too, I have arranged choral music for whatever voices we have at home at the moment.
As such, I have binders full of arrangements. The problem is, when I go to look for an already arranged piece of music, I can't find it anywhere! I needed some help getting my music all organized and easily accessible.
When I came inside after plowing for an hour (and to get the keys to Greenie so I could move her out of the middle of the driveway and continue plowing), this is what I found:
Man, this is a fantastic picture! Look at my boy! He was totally going to town, organizing reams of music for me! He had printed up labels with the name of each piece of music, put those labels inside of the plastic file folder tabs and was alphabetizing the file folders in the milk crates. It looks like chaos at the moment, but believe me, he had it all worked out.
And when he hadn't finished it by the time we headed out to dinner? He came back the next day, finished the job, and even cleaned up after himself.
I'm thinking that I should definitely plow the driveway more often! So, remember this, oh-ye-mothers-of-young-children: at some point, you will be able to suggest something to your children, and as they see that you can't actually do everything yourself, they will step up and do it for you. It's a wonderful thing.
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