An Amish Christmas

It's been awhile since I've written a blog and even longer since I've had one of my Amish question and answer sessions with Henry, so I finally made a point to sit down and interview him the other night. This time, we tackled the holidays and how the Amish celebrate. Enjoy.

Do Amish celebrate the same holidays as we do?

"Some of them. There are a few that they don't, but they also add a couple."

What holidays do they celebrate?

"It's easier to point out the ones they don't celebrate, so let's go that route. They don't celebrate Memorial Day, Labor Day, the Fourth of July or Halloween."

So, basically they stick to religious holidays?

"They celebrate all of the religious holidays. The ones that have meaning anyway. The ones we Americans have created out of the blue they could care less about."

What about Thanksgiving?

"They don't recognize it as a religious holiday, but they say we have enough to be thankful for that they recognize it."

What do they do differently on religious holidays?

"On all the religious holidays, they fast. They won't eat breakfast or drink, and they'll spend the morning in prayer. Then, they'll have a big meal at noon because they're starved, of course."

Even little kids?

"No. Only the baptized, members of the church."

What's Christmas look like for Amish?

"On Christmas, they'll have Christmas programs in school, where they exchange gifts and such. Most families will exchange gifts at home, but on a very, very small scale. There are no Christmas trees or Christmas decorations. They'll have a bigger meal than usual to celebrate Thanksgiving and Christmas."

So what kind of gifts do they receive for Christmas?

"They get practical items that they actually need or use, not just toys. They might get new shoes, boots, candies, oranges and grapefruits. Really basic stuff."

Do they bake a lot during the holidays?

"They make lots of homemade candies and things like that."

So what are their thoughts on Santa? Do they just think we're ignorant?

"They know it's all a hoax and that it's actually not true, so they don't market it to the kids so much. Kids know about Santa and hear about it, but don't practice it. Some parents will actually shy away from the idea completely because they don't think it's honest and truthful."

What are some of the holidays they celebrate that we don't?

"Ascension Day, or 40 days after Easter, is a big one. And they actually celebrate Christmas on Jan. 6, not Dec. 25."

What? You never told me that before. Really? (Insert very dumbfounded look.)

"Yes I did. (No, he didn't.) They celebrate Christmas, as a religious holiday, on Jan. 6 because that's when they feel Jesus was actually born. That's the religious holiday for them. They'll exchange gifts and stuff on Dec. 25, but won't fast. They'll fast and spend time in prayer on Jan. 6."

Why Jan. 6?

"There was a big meeting about this about a 100 years ago or so. The Amish say that whenever the calendar was changed to be 365 days, to round everything out, what used to be Dec. 25 is now Jan. 6, so that's the reason behind it."

So will they have turkey on Thanksgiving, or just butcher a chicken from the yard?

"Yes. They usually have turkey that day."

Do they gather with friends and family on holidays?

"On the days you fast, you stay home before noon. After noon, they'll visit and such, just like any other Sunday. Religious holidays are treated like Sundays. They won't work, and with the addition of fasting on religious holidays, it's pretty much like any Sunday would be."

When you say "no work" does that include chores?

"No. The animals still have to be taken care of, and household chores are still done."

What about birthdays? That could be a lot of birthdays to celebrate. (Henry is one of 11 children.)

"A lot of times, especially in the winter months, they'll freeze their own ice cream, have cake and maybe chips. (Insert a giggle from me.) You have to understand that's special because those things are not staple items. Or, maybe they'll even have pizza. Again, no gifts are given on birthdays, unless it's your 21st birthday, which is the big one."

Why 21?

"All Amish kids work for their parents until their 21st birthday. So all of the money they make goes directly to their parents, and in return, the parents provide everything they need. At 21, they are on their own and free to do their own thing. The boys, on their 21st birthday, will usually get a horse and buggy from his parents, a nice solid wood desk, like mine, and mom makes a few homemade quilts for him. The girls get some other homemade furniture, quilts, household items and some families will give them a horse and buggy too. It will even out, so they are both treated equally, boys and girls.

"My parents always kept a notebook for each kid. Over the years, when neighbors or friends would give us money for a gift or as a tip for doing work, my parents would write it down in that book. That includes the money they received from friends when we were born, too. It starts that early. Then, when we turned 21, they would give us that money. For me, it was about $1,000."

Always thankful ...

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday.

Turkey, family, relaxing moments and the lack of stress all push this November date to the top of my list. No gifts, no running and no "this is a Christ-centered holiday, but I'm going to act otherwise" mentality. Simple and inspiring, and that's just how I like it.

But today is Veterans Day, not Thanksgiving. Yet, I can't help but think about all of the things I'm thankful for today. At the top of that list: Veterans. Count my sister, Daniele, and my father, Keith, among them. I'm thankful that they served, but I'm also grateful they both came home after their service to our great nation unharmed.

And those veterans fought to protect our freedoms. I'm thankful for those freedoms. I'm thankful I can write this blog without fear of government reprisal. I'm thankful I can worship as I choose. I'm thankful I can tote a gun if I want, vote as I see fit and write for a newspaper, promoting public awareness.

But, today, I'm thankful for even the small things, like the innocence of a child. I'm grateful that Alex and Lucas are still young enough to enjoy life without the fear of humiliation. They can be overjoyed at the fact that they got to wear blue hair paint in their hair today in honor of Veterans Day. Their much older and wiser brother would never consider such a thing -- after all, he's way too cool for blue hair these days.

I'm overjoyed at the fact that Emery is getting well enough that Henry and I got to go to bed early last night and get a full night's sleep. Ahhh, the little things ...

And that when I'm bloated I can reach into my closet and pull out my "fat" jeans and laugh to myself that they are the size 5/6 pair. I'm thankful for a workout regimen and a husband that allows me the time to enjoy it.

I'm thankful for friends, a loving family, an adoring husband and wonderful kids. I'm grateful for a flexible job, good insurance and a comfortable middle class lifestyle that affords me an enjoyable life in a small town.

As Thanksgiving approaches, there's a lot I am thankful for, but more than anything, I'm grateful and humbled by a heart that acknowledges these blessings all year long.

He's something special

When I think of my Lukie, I can't help but smile.

The little boy with a heart of gold who works so hard and has overcome so much.

He's my Lukie. Little more need be said.

When I picked him up at church last night, he ran up to me with a book in his hand and a smile spread across his face. "I told Nelson I wanted to be bathatized," he exclaimed. "He told me I have to read this book, first. He said everyone who wants to be bathatized has to read it."

He couldn't wait to read that book. It's a book geared toward a child, explaining God and his love for us. And as soon as we had the chance, we plopped down on his little couch, the reading couch, and opened the cover. I read some, and he read some. Little brother Alex stopped in for a visit and ended up staying, soaking in as much as Lucas.

We finished the first chapter, discussed it and reviewed what we had read. I tucked them both into their beds, and left the room with a smile on my face. I can't explain the feeling I had. It's unimaginable, really. I just had the opportunity to spend the past 30, maybe 45, minutes talking to my children about the wonders of our God, our loving eternal God. I got to explain to them, wide eyed in wonder, how our bodies would stay here on earth, and our eternal spirits would ascend into Heaven where we would live with God forever. We talked about God's promises for us and how God is perfect, faithful and just. We discussed grace and how we change, but that God never does.

It was beautiful, as all God's gifts for us are. Lucas is one of God's gifts, and I'm excited to share more precious moments explaining God's love as we prepare for him to be "bathatized." It's an amazing moment when a Christian mother realizes that her children are growing up with God and making plans to spend eternity with Him. There are no words for that, only grace.

Sometimes I pick silence, but it's getting rare

Silence has it's advantages.

As Abraham Lincoln once said, "Better to remain silent and be thought of a fool than to speak out and remove all doubt."

I consider Honest Abe a pretty smart guy, and his words resonate more than a century later. Silence is often the most viable option.

But I'm finding it increasingly difficult to remain silent. Age? Perhaps.

After more than 15 years in the newspaper business, I'm used to controversy, and particularly, insults. Nary a week goes by that I don't hear from a too-honest reader who finds it necessary to tell me the newspaper is bad, or cuts down the job we do. It isn't easy to hear, and especially difficult when you believe that person is misguided in their opinion.

And once upon a time, I used to just push my lips together, nod my head and wear an often too fake smile while steaming within. And sometimes, just sometimes, I still do. Catch me in an off mood, however, and you're probably in for it. I won't raise my voice or be rude, but I may disagree.

I figure that if you have a right to an opinion, then I am allowed my own. I used to think that being a public figure meant that I had to take abuse from the public. And for a part, I still think that's the case. I do believe I have to listen, but nothing says I must remain silent.

But, very recently, I found myself facing a dilemma. A man I know has been quite confrontational to me twice, to the point that he's downright insulting, and to top it off, he was misguided in both instances. Without going into details, I defended myself calmly in both instances, but I'll admit the situations have left me fuming. What gives him the right to jump my case, without getting the facts first? But I think what upsets me more is that both times I let him. In other words, I mostly remained silent.

But it makes me wonder if silence is always the best medicine?

I don't think it is.

Sometimes I think it's imperative that you put your foot down and stand your ground. But Josh Billings wisely noted that silence is one of the hardest arguments to refute.

And, really, who am I to argue with that?

I am smart

My niece posted on Facebook the other day that the fly of her jeans reads, "Lucky you."

I'm not so out of touch that I don't know that those jeans are Lucky brand jeans and they cost a lot of money. I've had a few pairs, back in the days when I wasn't buying jeans for six people.

And this is probably too much information for one blog, but while using the restroom a few days later, I noticed there's a label on the inside of my dress pants that reads, "I am smart."

Forget the fact that I was in the restroom, and stop and think about that for a minute.

I wonder how different would our world be if the inside of a girl's pants said, "I am smart," instead of "Lucky you."

Hmmmm ...

One smart cookie

My children all developed in the same womb, and as much as they are alike in many ways, their differences are numerous.

Take school, for example.

Jacob is my floater. Smart as a whip, his mind works in wondrous ways. You can almost see the gears turning, yet he floats ... Sometimes I wonder if he would register if we tested his blood pressure. He's not much of a go-getter and effort isn't his strong suit. If he put 100 percent into school, it's amazing what he could do. Instead, he puts in 10 percent -- on a good day, he might hit 20. It's been a frustrating experience, as we try to get him interested in education. He needs organization, responsibility and a little more drive. They're qualities he must attain by himself; we can only push him in the right direction. We're still trying ...

Lucas is an amazing little person to watch. He faced developmental and speech barriers that made the past five years more than difficult. We fought for him and pushed. We didn't need to. He's a fighter, a pusher and a go-getter. He doesn't like school. He'd rather just play. But Lucas does everything, and I mean EVERYTHING, at 110 percent. So, he figures if he has to go to school, then he'll put in his best effort. That means a kid who was near failing and almost held back in first grade is now cranking out an A+ in spelling, A- in math, B in reading and C in language arts. Don't believe me? Try giving him a spelling test. If he gets one wrong, he wants to go back through the entire list all over again until he gets every single one correct. I need a fraction of his drive ...

And then there's Alex. I sent Alex to school a year earlier than I normally would've. He was a fresh and eager 5-year-old. Wasn't sure if he was ready. He didn't score very high on his kindergarten test, and I was worried. Why I worry so much, I'll never know. He's taken to school like a duck to water. He loves to read. He loves to learn. He spells words in his spare time for crying outloud. And just last night, he wrote his first sentence using his sight words. Sitting at the kitchen table, he wrote, "We go to my mom's," on a teeny, tiny sheet of notebook paper. Sure the words were stacked on top of each other like blocks, but he did it all by himself. And I just beamed ...

Now, I wonder what Emery has in store for us ...

Each came from the same place. They had the same start, similar experiences and caring parents. Yet, each is amazingly different. And I'm blessed that I get to watch, document and actively participate in their lives. Thank you, God.

I'm not me without you

Do you ever wonder how Adam and Eve managed in the Garden of Eden? It's not like she could get mad at Adam and go sleep at her mother's house. And he certainly couldn't "cool off" for a few minutes by heading to the garage to dawdle. They were stuck with one another, and outside of the benefit of having God's ear, they only had to deal with a pesky asp.

(This picture was taken of us shortly after we began dating in March of 2008.)

But life was simpler then. There were no blended families, bad progress reports or in-laws to cause marital strife -- just an apple which, granted, was bad enough.

A dear friend told me Tuesday night that no marriage is perfect. You have good times, and you have bad times. You just hope the good outweighs the bad. True enough. But I think I'd add to it because marriage just isn't that simple.

Two people, with God's grace and his definite intervention, manage to find one another. You fall in lust, then love. You become the best of friends, and decide that you must spend the rest of your lives together. And, hopefully, you do. But, as I know all too well, sometimes you don't. Alas, another column for another time.

But along the way, you hit speed bumps. Back to that asp. It'll jump up and bite you. You've got to be stronger. And realize that simply you're not you without that other person in your life.

Marriage is about give and take. It requires trust, respect and admiration. You must love that person as an extension of yourself, taking with that the good, the best, the worst and the ugly. You must compliment her, and let her know that she's the most beautiful, wonderful person you've ever known. If you don't, someone else will. You must respect him, and show him that respect. If you don't, he'll feel defeated. You must make mutual decisions and consult one another on every major decision, especially when it comes to rearing the wee ones. You must set mutual goals and walk toward those together, hand in hand. You must not insult, or speak without thinking. You can't hurt the other, or lose their trust and respect.

And, most importantly, you must enjoy one another completely. Have fun together. Take a walk, again hand in hand, and share smiles. Laugh often. Laugh at yourselves and laugh just because you're happy.

Do we always do these things? Most of us probably don't. And I'll be the first to admit that I don't do it enough, but I should. What I do know is that I'm not me without Henry. And it doesn't take an apple for me to figure that out.

Inspired by a brother's love

At some point in the past year, my second born son has become a big brother.

Actually, my wee-proportioned 8-year-old has been a big brother for every bit of the past five years, but he’s now taken on the role with zeal, proclaiming his maturity and knowledge on a regular basis in efforts to influence his 5-year-old brother.

And we know when he’s asserting that influence by the tone of his voice.

His speech, laden with a few mispronounced letter sounds, is quite stern and serious.

And often sounds like this:

“No, Awex, there is NO dancing at school.”

Or,

“Awex, make sure you don’t get your name in purple cause dat’s when they call your parents.”

Or,

“Awex, if you do that, it will make you DIE.”

And Alex listens to his big brother, for the most part.

He nods his head, wide-eyed and in complete awe of all the knowledge his super smart big brother possesses.

But just a year ago, it was Lucas who was getting his name on the naughty list. It was Lucas who was getting in trouble at school for misbehaving in the rest room. And it was Lucas who was putting himself in harm’s way on a regular basis.

He’s growing up. Maturity is written in big bold letters all over his face when he delivers his words of wisdom.

He’s a great big brother, full of wisdom and empathy.

He plays with his little brothers, showing them the attention they crave, and they look up to him.

Just the other day, Lucas was making Alex a present. It was a stick he found at the football field, but with his imagination, it was so much more than that. And when he gave that ordinary stick to Alex and told him he made it for him, Alex beamed and said, “Lucas, I wuv you more than anything.”

Lucas smiled and said, “Did you hear that mom? Awex said he wuvs me more than anything.”

And in that instant, my heart exploded.

But, this time, it was me who was in awe of them.

Amish family ties

If you ask Henry what he misses most about his Amish lifestyle, without missing a beat, he'll say his family.

You see, Henry is shunned from the Amish. What that means is that he chose to be baptized into the Amish church when he was about 18 years old. Because he left after his baptismal, he is now shunned. To be shunned doesn't mean what one might expect. In essence, it means he can't do business with the Amish. (I can't either for that matter because as a married couple our money is well, our money.) And he can't sit down to dinner with them, for example. But that doesn't mean he can't speak to him family. To the contrary, actually. When he sees his mother, father or siblings out, he values the conversations he gets to have with them. Does he go to their house to visit, you might ask ... The answer is no, out of respect for them, he will not. He knows they don't accept the choice he made, so he stays away. They don't want any of the other children to leave, and if he pulls up in a big truck, wearing a baseball cap, the youngsters may see value in being English and decide to leave. No one wants that, not his parents, and not us.

I wanted to ask Henry about his family. It's extremely important to him, and as I've grown to know them, I have quite a bit of respect for them. He has wonderful parents who brought him up to be the great man he is, and I thank them for that.

How many siblings do you have? "There are 11 of us. I am one of 11."

Name the children in order of age. "Daniel, myself, Lydia, John, Sarah, Mattie, Emery, Ada, Perry, Tina and Emanuel."

Are they all named for someone? "Yes."

Who are you named for? "My uncle, Henry Glick. My brother Daniel is named for an uncle, as well."

Have any of your other siblings left the Amish? Who? When? "Yes. My brother Daniel. He left a week after I did. Neither of us knew the other was leaving until we did. After I left and then after he left, we both felt sad for each other, from the standpoint of how it would hurt our parents."

Henry's mother is Mary G. Shetler. She quilts and is well known for her baking skills, selling her baked goods at the Orleans farmers' market.

Describe your mother for me. "It would probably be four words: Strong-willed, outspoken, loving and sociable. She'd talk to anybody and talk your head off."

Makes you wonder where Henry got his personality from, doesn't it?

Henry's father is Mose Shetler. When Henry was young, his father worked construction. He now runs a machine shop at his home. He also serves as the bishop for his church district.

Describe your father. "My father is very intelligent, first and foremost. He was one of those guys who was a pretty strict dad. He set a high bar for us, as far as expectations, but at the end of the day, he was very reasonable and fair."

What kind of parents were they growing up? "First of all, we had a very loving family. They were very firm, but fair and compassionate."

What was the best times you spent with your family? "Traveling with them. I have family in several states, including Missouri, Indiana, Ohio, Minnesota, Wisconsin, Mississippi, New York and even in Canada. Believe it or not, Amish travel a lot and enjoy vacations."

Where did your parents come from? "Dad was born in Canada, and mom was born in Ohio. They met in Ohio, were married in Ohio, then moved to New York, where I was born and lived until 1996 when we moved to Mitchell."

Quarky Quotations

I've decided to keep a running log of all of the things my kids say ... Simple and cute. I love their honesty and shall we say, bluntness ...

Aug. 5, 2011: At Jacob's baptism at Wonder Valley Christian Camp, Alex looked at me and asked, "So when is it Jacob's turn to get appetized?"

Aug. 7, 2011: I drove through a local fast food restaurant to get my sons and Henry some food. Leaving, Jacob asked me if I got anything for myself. I replied, "No. I'm not hungry." To which he replied, "Mom, you're never hungry anymore. You used to always be hungry. Is there something wrong?" I told him that when you're trying to diet, fast food isn't the best alternative. He goes, "Well, if there's every anything wrong, you know you can talk to me. I'm there for you."

Aug. 10, 2011: Giving Emery a bath, Lucas was just a few feet away from the bathroom playing in the hall. He said, "Mom, there's a spider." So I replied, "Kill it." He goes, "Actually, I officially retired from killing spiders." ... Man, I hope he doesn't expect Social Security.

Aug. 11, 2011: On the way to day care, Jacob and I were discussing girlfriends, boyfriends and which of his friends was dating who. We discussed one couple, when he said, "I'd rather not have a girlfriend than to have one I'm embarrassed to be seen with." Sage advice, I suppose.

July 28, 2011: Alex walked up to me in the kitchen and said, "Mom, you look cute." I said, "Thank you, Alex." To which he replied, "Since I called you cute, can you get me some chocolate milk?" Flattery at age 5.

Aug. 11, 2011: Words of wisdom from Jacob this morning, "I'd rather not have a girlfriend than have one I'm embarrassed to be seen with."

Aug. 29, 2011: Henry's conversation with Jacob yesterday: "Jake, would you rather have a very beautiful, sexy woman whom you fight with all the time and don't get along with or a woman who may be a little heavier, not as beautiful, but you have a wonderful marriage?" Jacob's response, "There has to be a third option."

Aug. 30, 2011: You know you have a kindergartner when you ask him how his day went and he says, "Someone ate a booger today!"

Sept. 13, 2011: My 5-year-old is now manipulating the "Bucket Filler" program at Hatfield. After getting a spanking last night he told me with tears in his eyes, "You emptied my bucket." A few minutes later he said, "If you get me chocolate milk, it would fill my bucket back up."

Oct. 7, 2011: In trouble for opening cookies after I told him not to, then fibbing by saying he didn't know the bag would open, I was scolding Alex when he said, "But, mom, I'm only 5 years old. I don't know a lot of things. Like 0+7. I don't know what that is."

Oct. 17, 2011: Leaving town Friday, we drove past CVS. Alex, who is all about learning to read and spell right now, goes, "Hey, Mom, I know how to spell CVS!" Playing along, I said, "How do you spell CVS?" And with great seriousness, he said, "C-V-S." Henry and I cracked up laughing. He's so excited about learning, we can't possibly burst his bubble.

Oct. 27, 2011: Lucas was trying to decide whether to watch "Super Hero Squad" and "Potpie" this morning. I love kid language!!

Oct. 31, 2011: Made chili for office chili cook-off. The boys all ate bowls of it this morning. While eating his, Jacob says in disgust, "A lot of people think chili is just tomato juice, ground beef and some noodles. Mom, when you die, can you will me your chili recipe?"

Nov. 8, 2011: After dinner last night, Jacob announced he was going to do "five sit-ups to work it off." I replied, "Jake, I run for an hour and don't work it all off," so he goes, "Then, I'll do 10." That's my Jake!!

Nov. 18, 2011: Drove by a dead skunk this morning on our way into town. I asked the boys, "What's that smell?" Lucas replied, "A turkey." Ummm, I think we need to work on our animal traits.

Nov. 20, 2011: They let Emery out of the hospital after a breathing issue, and Lucas said, "Good news. They let Emery loose!"

Dec. 1, 2011: Jacob: "Mom, I'm kinda hoping you get fat again. You were a much better cook when you were fat." (To clarify, we had pot roast last night and we're having lasagna tonight. I don't think he's suffering.)

Dec. 5, 2011: Alex runs screaming out of the bathroom this morning half-asleep yelling about a moth. Henry goes to slay the poor moth, and mumbles, "You're your mother's kid." All the while, I'm laughing hysterically. Alex doesn't find it as funny and said, "Quit laughing! What'd you want me to do get stinged in the eye or something?"

Dec. 8, 2011: Lucas said on the way to school, "Mom, is today Wednesday?" I said, "No. It's Thursday." Lucas goes, "Yep. We must've skipped Wednesday." I laughed and said, "No. Yesterday was Wednesday." Lucas said, "It was? Yesterday felt like Tuesday." To which Jacob replied, "Nope. Yesterday was Wednesday, Lucas. Remember? We went to church. Church is always on Wednesdays."

Dec. 12, 2011: The boys wanted to sleep in the same room together. Jacob climbed into Lucas' bed, and Lucas started throwing a fit. Lucas said, "I don't want him to sleep in my bed. He stinks." To which Jacob replied, "It's called puberty. Get used to it."

Dec. 15, 2011: Emery was in the bathroom while I was getting ready for work taking a breathing treatment. Lucas walks in and starts talking to him. Lucas gets right up in his face, and Emery says, "No." Lucas looked at me and said, "Mom, did you hear that? Emery said 'no' like a human."

Leaving the buggy behind

My husband is a wonderful man. Loving, kind, funny and intelligent are all words I would use to describe this man. But mystery also surrounds him. I can't begin to imagine or understand the life he lived prior to the summer of 2007. I will never understand it, but I accept the difference and embrace it as a part of him.

Henry left his old order Amish life behind at the end of July of 2007 and became English.

When we started dating, I had a million questions for him. He's answered all of them patiently and honestly. But he still gets questions. People will ask, but most people are too shy to ask, or just don't get the chance. To bridge the gap, I'm going to interview my husband and for the next several blogs, I am going to bring you his answers.

How did you leave home?

"I left about 8 or 9 o'clock at night. My parents were on vacation, out of state. I left a note on the kitchen table, explaining my decision. I told them that I was leaving and not to worry about me. I brought a lot of stuff with me. I had two travel bags, with all my important ID, documents and all that stuff I had to have, including bank statements, clothes and a few other things. I walked to Mitchell, which was about two miles from my home. I went to the gas station, and I called my friend, Lee. He came and picked me up, and I spent my first night at their home."

What was the first non-Amish thing you did?

"Haircut and phone."

Why did you leave?

"I felt like the lifestyle just wasn't for me. I'll give you an example. I do construction, and I did while I was Amish. Being as you can't use any battery tools, electric tools, things like that, you're very limited in what you can do. I wanted to grow my business, beyond what I could do as an Amish. I probably wanted to enjoy some of the more modern conveniences."

What was the most unexpected part of the English lifestyle you encountered?

"The most unexpected part by far is that in the Amish lifestyle, people are honest with each other. When somebody tells you something, you can rely and depend on their word. You know it's the truth. Out here, people will lie to your face. They will lie to you and stab you in the back. Even your best friends will lie to you."

To be continued ...

Train them up ...

Tiny too early Jacob laid motionless in an incubator, tubes and wires protruding from his weak little body while I waited for a miracle. I dropped to my knees and begged God for his mercy. I cried out for his help, tears dripping from my chin.

I was barely 22 years old. Jacob was a day old. My first son, the one who came as a surprise, needed a miracle to survive. Barely had I gotten used to being a mother and I feared I'd lose my first chance.

My miracle came. Jacob rebounded with zeal. Twelve days later, he was released from intensive care, and I brought him home. Twelve years later, he doesn't have a single lasting effect from those tumultuous first moments.

I knew his recovery was nothing short of God's grace. I knew he was going to be special.

An infant, Jacob would lay on his changing table. For minutes at a time, he'd stare at the ceiling smiling and cooing at nothing I could see. I had faith he was seeing more than my adult mind could wrap itself around.

A kindergartner, Jacob was in class with a girl who was growing up in a home that embraced atheism. During lunch one day, she announced that she did not believe in God. Jacob looked at her and said, "It doesn't matter if you don't believe in God because he still loves you." Evangelism from a 6-year-old comes straight from a heart inspired by God.

Through the years, we've attended church regularly. Jacob was baptized as a toddler, along with his father and infant brother. That was 2003. He has attended vacation Bible school, church camp and Sunday school. We don't push religion, and I certainly wouldn't label our family as overly religious. We believe, attend church and try to live a good life, but at the same time, we tend to remain private about our beliefs.

This year, Jacob told me he was thinking seriously about being baptized. We discussed it, and I told him it was a choice between himself and God and he should express his desire to the youth minister at church. And as only Jacob could put it, he told me, "Well, mom, I know I was baptized before, but that time, I was just sprinkled, and I think it's going to take more holy water than that."

Nothing else came out of that conversation.

Tonight, I was at a parent meeting for football when I missed a phone call from a Salem number. No one left a message, but I felt a pull to call back the number. Not even thinking, I dialed the number to hear, "Wonder Valley Church Camp." Jacob is at Wonder Valley now attending church camp. My stomach turned. I explained who I was, that I missed a call and that my son was in camp. I called his father next, who also received a missed call from that number. We started to get worried when the number beeped in again. The man on the other end said, "Mrs. Shetler, this is Jeff Prince at Wonder Valley. No one is hurt, injured, sick and nothing is broken, but your son Jacob is next to me and he wants to speak to you." My next thought was that he was homesick. Jacob got on the line and said:

"Mom, I've decided to accept Christ as my Lord and Savior. I've read and studied the scripture, and this is what I want to do. I'm going to be baptized Friday."

Tears of joy couldn't be contained ... I cried and cried some more. Adrenaline pumping through my body at the first thought that he was hurt mixed with feelings of pride and joy. Jacob asked, "Are you crying?" "Yes," I replied. "I am so unbelievably proud of you buddy."

I don't know any other feeling greater than knowing that your son, the one person you love more than life itself, will find eternal life through Jesus. But I shouldn't be surprised. It's been obvious since the beginning that God had a plan for this little guy and has been working on him ever since.

Tonight, I praise God for saving my son, then and now.

He's ready even if I'm not

I have five wallet-sized pictures of my sons taped to the bottom of my computer monitor. Each was taken at Hudson’s Photography and progressively shows how three very important little boys have grown up during the past five years, and of course they show how the brood has grown in numbers.

The biggest change in those pictures is the 5-year-old.

He goes from a curly headed almost toddler ,wide-eyed and a little frightened, to a handsome young man with a faux hawk right before my eyes.

Each picture shows his unique and showman-like personality. All smiles, he’s obviously at ease in front of the camera.

But in fact, he’s at ease wherever he goes.

I wish I could say the same ...

But as I write this column, I can look down at my computer monitor and see the change that has taken place in my life. And that change centers on motherhood.

In less than two weeks, I’ll be sending another little boy off to school. No matter how many times I do this, it never seems to get any easier.

You’d think by the third time, I’d be an old pro.

But it seems the older I get, the worse it gets.

I’m no longer a 20-something overzealous mother ready to get it right. I’ve moved past that stage.

Now, I know we’re going to get it wrong, but we know how to make it right.

I know Alex is ready. I know he’s smart, personable and ready to take on the world. He fears nothing, loves attention and performs without limits.

But I also know he’s going to get in trouble for talking too much and for not raising his hand. I know he doesn’t hold his pencil right, and I know he’s going to make the same mistakes all other kindergartners make.

His excitement shows more and more each day. He wears his new-for-school Old Navy fleece around the house, oblivious to the fact that it’s scorching hot outside. He totes his brand-spanking-new SpongeBob lunchbox around the house and asks me to remember that he likes ranch and tells me I should include that dipping sauce in his lunch when he goes to school. And he and I play “school” in his bedroom while the “Ready for Kindergarten” DVD plays in the background. He doesn’t know he’s learning as we play, and I like it that way.

Right now, I’m holding on extra tight to my third born.

But truthfully, I’ve been feeling him let go of me for quite some time.

He’s ready to take his own steps in the world, not following the paths his brothers took, but forging his own trail.

For now, I know it’s important for both of us that I hold his hand. He’ll trip and fall, and I’ll help give him the confidence he needs to stand back up and keep going. And the feel of his warm little fingers will be forever etched in my soul.

The world is Alex’s stage, and with great trepidation and pride, I’m ready to watch him perform.

I’ll be the one stationed in the front row with a tear streaming down my cheek.

Where's my tape recorder?

Oh how Alex makes me laugh ...

At 5 years old, he's trying to be big. He wants to hang with the big guys, but he's still so young.

So to compensate, he uses big phrases in completely inappropriate situations. When he uses those big sayings in appropriate situations, it's even funnier.

Take our back-to-school shopping experience last week. I was showing him lunchboxes, letting him pick one out when he announced, "These are all totally lame." I laughed throughout the store ... He was kind of right.

(Oh, and that picture is of Alex on Lake Monroe. He told us he was "Alex Soup." He does look like he's in a soup bowl.)

Or when I asked him if he was going to get a girlfriend in kindergarten, and he replied, "Only if she's hot."

When he got his haircut Friday night, I told him he looked very handsome. His response was to shake his bottom, wink and say, "Boom, boom shaka laka."

Sitting in the bathtub with Emery last night, he had Emery laughing hysterically. Alex was dumping water on his own head and making silly noises. Emery was giggling to no end when Alex announced, "This is how I roll, Emis." I almost fell over ...

On our way to dropping Jacob off at church camp on Sunday, he found a ping-pong ball in his cup holder. He pulled that ball out and said, "Hmmm, what do you know ... I found a ball."

And when I made him chocolate milk last night, he asked me, "Make it with extra love, Mom." I obliged and kissed the top of the sippy cup.

It's a phrase a minute with that little guy. The world is his stage, and he's more than happy to entertain.

He hears things from his big brothers and tries to use what they say. Sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn't. More often than not, he leaves me laughing and shaking my head.

I write them down as he says them, but I almost can't keep up. I sure love that little guy and appreciate each and every giggle he gives me.

And I'm just getting started ...

This is me mad. Not really. That's me pretending to be mad, but I doubt that's really what my mad face looks like. But if you want to know what my real mad face looks like then you're going to have to ask my kids or my husband. I'm sure, though, it's much more furocious than this.

I started thinking the other days about my pet peeves. I'd thought for the longest time that there were only a few things that made me mad, and there are. Like child abuse, just for example, or child neglect. Now, those tick me off. We're talking blood boiling anger. Nope not gonna get picked for jury duty with my feelings.

But when I say pet peeves, I'm just talking about those little things that annoy me. I'll gripe about it for a few seconds, or grumble to myself, then the day goes on. Pet peeves? Yep. I've got several ...

Take the woman in JayC today scouring the aisles with her three-ring binder of coupons. The coupon craze is driving me crazy. People, coupons have been around for a long time. It's nothing new, but I guess if TLC says it's important, then by all means, jump on the bandwagon. After all, you can never have enough bottles of $1 Colace tablets, right?

Big trucks that blow out billows of black smoke. I'm no environmentalist by any means, but it seems a little on the senseless side. Most of these guys probably suffer from Little Man Syndrome, and the black billows that pollute my air are likely a replacement for other psychological issues. Regardless, save your money and buy a house or put it back for your kid's college education and save the rest of us some air to breathe.

Old people who drive 20 miles under the speed limit. All old people who drive slow should be sentenced to driving a Mustang Cobra with nitrous in the trunk so they have no choice but to go fast. I'm no crazy speeder, but there's nothing wrong with the speed limit.

Yard sales. Hate having them, rarely visit them. If you don't want it, then likely I don't want it either. If I do happen to want your stuff, then you might want to organize it neatly because I will never dig through piles of clothes on a table, hoping to find that cute little outfit for my son for 50 cents. Nope. Gonna drive on by ...

Facebook rants. Facebook many things, actually. If you knew how many of my Facebook friends are blocked from my newsfeed, you'd be surprised. Almost all of them. If you've annoyed me at any point in time, you're blocked. Sorry. Rants against your boyfriend's ex-wife who can't even see your FB posts, cursing and other nonsensical stuff doesn't need to be a part of my day.

And like I said, I'm just getting started ...

My constant struggle

It hit me right after high school. That's when I stopped my stints with cross country and track, went to college and gained the freshman 15, or maybe it was 20, or could've been 25. I wasn't counting. I had a meal plan, plenty of time to sleep and no desire to attend class. It was coming on fast.

And from that point on, I began the Weight Struggle.

I'd balloon up, get tired of being overweight, and shrink back down. I'd have a baby, gain 60 pounds, then work my tail off to get back down to a healthy size. It was a constant yo-yo that took control of my 20's and continued into my 30's.

Oh, and I have excuses. Plenty of them.

Bad DNA. My parents have both had their fair share of weight struggles.

Four Babies: Any woman who has four kids in 12 years will fight weight, right?

Loving Husband: He doesn't care if I'm as big as a house. And he likes to eat and never worries if he gains a pound or 10.

But the bottom line is that I wasn't exercising, and eating anything I wanted. I love food, good food, and hate healthy options. It was my own fault, plain and simple.

My weight hit home during the pregnancy of Baby No. 4. I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes. It was awful. Poking myself four times a day and eating apples and chicken for months to control it was miserable. I knew I didn't want to be diabetic. Not during a pregnancy; not ever.

And I was heading in that direction. I already have high blood pressure and take pills for that. I already had high cholesterol. I was a walking time bomb who was falling in line with my father, who suffers from all of the obesity-related diseases a person can muster.

I made up my mind quickly that I love my father, but didn't want to carry on his health problems. I needed to get healthy for me and for my family. It wasn't an option.

Three weeks after Emery was born, I drove to the high school track, where I started running. I did this for a few weeks until the weather interfered, then I joined the local gym. I've been at the gym religiously since the beginning of November 2010. I go three to six times a week, depending on my schedule. I can run 5 miles, and I'm as physically fit as I've ever been in my adult life. I started eating better. I cook with ground turkey, not beef. We eat a lot of chicken and vegetables. Fast-food trips include a salad, not a burger.

And so far, I've lost almost 50 pounds.

That's not enough. My goal is still about 20 pounds away, although that number is quite negotiable. If I lose another 10, I'll be happy as a lark, and if I lose another 25, I'll be thrilled beyond measure. I'm still considered overweight on the BMI scale, but not obese. And all measurements indicate I'm "healthy."

It's not easy, but after coming to the end of my rope, this is my only option.

But being overweight isn't easy either. It's not simple to see your son come home from school crying because kids at school were calling his mother fat. It's not fun to answer your toddler's question: "Are you having another baby, because your stomach looks like it?"

Weight is a struggle for many people. America is as fat as it has ever been, and nearly 30 percent of Hoosiers are obese. No amount of government intervention is going to change those numbers. It takes personal resolve. You have to want to do it, and you have to do it right.

A friend the other day asked how she could lose about 30 pounds quickly. I laughed to myself, and answered, "Diet and exercise." There is no magic pill, no simple solution.

And when my son turns a year old on Sept. 25, I can't wait to pose with him for pictures. It's amazing the difference one year can make.

Practice in letting go

“The bicycle is the most civilized conveyance known to man. Other forms of transport grow daily more nightmarish. Only the bicycle remains pure in heart.”

— Iris Murdoch, “The Red and the Green”

For a mother, it turns out to be nightmarish exercise in utter futility, only comparable to learning to tie one’s shoes.

Load up one very gangly little boy, knees already covered in scabs, bruises and scrapes, position him on this two-wheeled contraption and let go.

(It’s the letting go part that bothers us moms.)

Because as soon as mom lets go, the bike starts wobbling to and fro and she knows that those knees are going to be roughed up again.

He crashes, of course. Mom walks a few feet over to where he lays, picks the bike up off that little boy, and wheels it back to the starting line.

Little boy is loaded up once again, while mom grabs the back of the seat. She pushes off and yells, “Keep pedaling. Don’t stop!”

He stops when the bike lands on top of him.

They wheel it back up to the starting line again.

By this time, little boy is getting defeated. So mom keeps cheering him on.

“You can do this!”

So he climbs back on, gripping the handlebars as hard as he can. Still holding on to his seat, mom doesn’t want to let go. Not again. She pushes off, and he pedals, and he pedals some more.

“Use the brakes,” much older, wiser brother screams.

Brakes used, gravel flies and bike again lands on smiling, happy, exuberant little boy.

“I did it. I did it!”

Little boy wanted a shiny, new bicycle for his 8th birthday, so he and his mom headed to discount haven to see what they could find. Walking in the double sliding doors, the excitement was pouring out of his little body. New bike day is a big day — almost bigger than turning 8. Mom and her little boy made a bee line to the back of the store, where many shiny bikes hung in wait for little boy to pick out his favorite.

The first bike they pulled out of the cage was a sky blue Tony Hawk version. It was a full 20-inches, and had shiny black pegs that little boy knew one day would support his very brave little brother. The pedals looked super cool, and little boy was convinced this was the bike for him. No other would possibly do. He tried it on, and it fit — just barely. The seat would need to be lowered, but the sky blue Tony Hawk bike made little boy smile.

Mom loves to see little boy smile.

He patiently wheeled it through the store, rounding curves, as mom picked up toilet paper, diapers, soup, cookies and more. He held on tight to that bike, as people couldn’t help but comment, “Looks like someone’s getting a new bike.” Little boy’s grin only grew bigger with each passing comment.

The new bike was loaded up in the big truck and hauled home. The seat was lowered with a simple Allen wrench by experienced mom, and little boy began practicing his pursuit of ultimate boyhood — learning to ride a bike.

And as mom watched with awe, she realized that it’s always going to be the letting go part that’s the hardest.

It's me, only much better

It's not hard to see that I am in a better place than where I was, say four or five years ago. But to be honest, I don't notice it much anymore. It's just become my life. Well, it's me, only better.

I spent the first 12 years of my adult life with one man. And it's hard for me to remember now being happy during those 12 years with him. I don't say that as a jilted divorced woman with an axe to grind. Not in the least. No axes, here. No vendettas. He's who he is, and I am who I am. Those two people just stopped fitting together.

When that was over, life was hard, until I met the man I was truly meant to spend the rest of my life with. It wasn't hard for anyone to notice. Even my son, who was a mere 8 years old and who was having his own issues dealing with a divorce, remarked, "Mom, Henry makes you smile. You haven't smiled in a long time. You just cried." Pretty deep words coming from a kid, and I knew what he meant. I wasn't me until I met Henry.

Dear Friend reminded me of that tonight as we strolled through town. We chatted about the latest news, and I told her my ex was getting remarried. I told her, "It's no big deal. I've been better off for a long time now." She remarked, "Yes. You're totally different." She's said this to me before, and I know what she means. I value her opinion, and understand her truths. I know who I was then, and I know who I am now, and I know where the credit for that recovery goes. There is a man who makes me truly happy. Who makes me laugh, smile and enjoy my life again.

I don't think about it much anymore because it has become normal for me to be happy. That's a good thing. I've accepted my divorce and all that came with it, the good and the bad. I'm not happy I've been divorced. I mean, who is? But I've come so far ...

Really, I'm still me, but with Henry, I'm much better.

Hey, let's make Emery laugh!!

It's the newest game in our house: Let's make Emery laugh.

It's not a hard game to play, but The Three Big Brothers sure love to play it.

Take Thirdsie, for example. If he laughs at Emery, Emery will laugh right back. Em definitely loves Thirdsie, and the feeling is mutual.

One day last week, I heard Em laughing hysterically. Then, Thirdsie would follow suit. Em would laugh again, then it was Thirdsie's turn. The laughter came when Thirdsie would pull Em's socks off his feet. That's it. That's all it took.

Think stuffed animals are funny? Em thinks they are quite hysterical, especially when Eldest Son lobs one in the air and it plops into Em's lap while he's sitting in the high chair. Or when Thirdsie tosses one up and it hits the ceiling, then falls to the ground.

Or last night's bathtub experience, when no one, absolutely no one wanted to take a bath, UNTIL I said that Em was taking a bath in the real tub, not his baby tub. Then, I ended up with three little boys in our bathtub. It was quite cramped, but full of fun. You see, that's when Lukie Dukie decided to stick his head under water, come up and spit a mouth full of water at Em, who rolled with laughter. He laughed so hard, he almost fell backwards several times. Good thing Mom was there to catch him.

They say laughter is the best medicine. In our house, it's definite true. The Three Big Brothers love to make Em laugh. The more he laughs, the more they laugh. And Mom and Dad often get in on the fun. Truth is, we love to see all four of them laugh.

Proud of petite progress

Ahhh, Lucas. What can I say really? To know him is to love him.

Little Lucas, tiny and vibrant, skilled yet different. Always stood out. Grabs your heart, twists it and never leaves it the same. Yep, that's my Lukie.

It wasn't very long after his birth that I realized Lucas was different. He whimpered, cried and craved me. He awoke every hour to nurse and couldn't be put down. But it wasn't until after his first birthday that I realized Lucas was really different. Things just weren't right. I'd only had one other kid, but I knew in my mamma heart that my quiet, backward toddler wasn't where a 2-year-old needed to be.

At his 2-year well child exam, I said as much to Dr. Sorrells, who agreed and pointed me in the direction of First Steps for speech therapy, because my tot was talking. That was the beginning of a long, often discouraging journey that has created moments proud enough to bring mamma to tears.

I cry a lot when I think of the steps Lukie takes in life. I cry for the little boy who works so very hard to take those big steps. I'm crying now. He just does that, ya know?

Lucas was diagnosed with both developmental and speech delays. He had a developmental and speech therapist for more than a year, then he went into the special needs preschool, where he worked at becoming a big boy for two years. Then, he went into kindergarten. Here, he spent another two years developing. Then, we took the very big step of first grade.

Two months into first grade at the parent-teacher conferences, his teacher explained that we would have to look at holding Lucas back again. He just was not progressing, couldn't read and was really struggling to keep up with first grade work. He was just too far behind. She would work with him, she said, and we agreed to do our part. I cried for my little guy. Another big step ahead ...

We got Lucas' report card today. He got an A+ in spelling, B+ in math and a C+ in reading. In previous report cards, Lucas wasn't meeting "grade level expectations." Now, I'm thrilled to report that he's exceeding them. Yes, exceeding, not just meeting -- all in just five months.

When I told my little man how very proud I was of him, he said, "I did good, didn't I?"

Oh, Lucas, you did good buddy. You hit it out of the park.

Lucas has to take very big steps in life. It doesn't come easy, but he works as hard as any little person ever has. He accepts every challenge head-on. It may take time, but he wins the race.

I couldn't be prouder of my tiny, yet tenacious first-grader whose well on his way to second grade.

Don't question maturity

“You know that children are growing up when they start asking questions that have answers.”

— John J. Plomp

“Mom, have you noticed in the past few months if my voice is getting deeper? Because I feel like it has gotten deeper lately.”

Just days past his 11th birthday, I had to stare my oldest son in the face and answer, “No. Not really, but remember, I hear you talk every day so I might not notice it as much as someone who hasn’t seen you for awhile.”

He’s pretty anxious for puberty.

But, really, who isn’t at his age?

Maturity looks pretty good until you reach it.

And to be quite honest, he’s starting to reach it.

I talk to my mother quite frequently on the phone. For the past few months, I’ve talked to her about my eldest son and the changes I’ve witnessed in him. They’ve been behavioral, for the most part, as he takes on chores with zeal and procures model behavior. Funny thing is that I was just thanking my lucky stars that one of the three was acting good, and never chocked it up to maturity until a couple of weeks ago.

It happened as I left him at the sitter’s house to head to work. I kissed all three boys, telling my first-grader to behave himself at school and on the bus. When I got to my oldest son, I kissed him on the forehead and said, “Be good.” He replied, “Mom, I’m always good. I don’t get in trouble at school or on the bus.”

There were occasions when he did.

But, he’s right, I no longer have to worry about those things with him.

And as the wheels continued to churn in my head I realized that my son has been maturing right in front of my eyes.

When I run to the store these days, only two little boys run up begging to go. The oldest says, “Mom, I want to stay here.” When he has an issue or a question, he says, “Mom, can we talk in private?” And I was even asked, ever so quietly, to buy deodorant to help with perspiration during August football conditioning.

All of this is new. He’s the first-born, and to be frank, I am used to a myriad of little boy issues. Cuts, scrapes, dirt and tears — got those covered. Now, we’re facing a new frontier.

And although I’m not quite ready to walk down that road, I’m getting there.

My oldest has been fun to raise thus far.

His questions often make me scratch my own head as I search for an honest, yet toned down response to his query. And when he searches his brain for what he deems a grown-up response, yet doesn’t quite get his wording right, I can only smile. He’s helpful, prudent and serious. A friend, in describing his own first-born son, told me, “If there was a cliff, not only would be not go anywhere close to the edge, but he would stand 100 feet in front of the edge and warn everyone else of the impending danger.” That’s pretty much a dead-on description of my own first-born.

But along those same lines, he likes rules. So, obviously, when he’s told at school that x, y and z happens at the onslaught of puberty, then my tween looks for all the signs, and just to be sure he’s noticing, he asks mom. And I like that he does. I like that he’s not afraid of important questions, because I fear that there will come a time when he’s not as open as he is today.

As Albert Einstein once said, “The important thing is not to stop questioning.”

And I’m learning not to question his maturity.

Happiest Baby in the World!!!

Emery smiles a lot. He smiles over nothing. He laughs. He cackles. He literally loves his life. And, to be honest, every one of his smiles makes us smile.

I am convinced he's the Happiest Baby in the World.

And I know he gets it from his Dad, who is the Happiest Daddy in the World.

They smile alike, look alike and I love them both beyond measure.

Having a fourth child isn't a burden. It's a blessing. Emery has blessed our lives, all of our lives. His brothers adore him, and marvel over his every move, and his Dad loves to make him giggle.

We're blessed with a lovely family. Thank you, God.

Forget the dirt, pass the chocolate

It’s a running joke in most large families. You’ve all heard it before or experienced it yourself: The baby of the family is spoiled or treated differently because, by the time mom and dad had him, they were worn out.

I’m here to tell you that’s pretty much true. I’m worn out. Almost daily.

But in all seriousness, it does seem that the more kids you have, the more your parenting style changes.

Let me explain ...

My oldest son hates chocolate. And it’s my fault. Probably not, but I take the blame.

I love chocolate. I think it’s better than just about anything else you can put in your mouth. Just ask my hips.

But when Jacob was a tyke, I wouldn’t let him have candy. No chocolate. No suckers. No nothing. It was bad for him, and I was holding my ground. Now, he hates chocolate. Couldn’t pay the kid to eat a Hershey bar. I doubt there’s truly a direct correlation there, but who knows?

It goes back to my parenting style in those days. I wouldn’t let him have anything but real juice, either. He probably didn’t touch a Capri Sun until he was 5 years old. And he never left the house without his hair in place and his clothes perfectly pressed. We even had designated sand box time to where, I had to have enough time to give him a bath before our next “appointment.”

He was the first child and the only child for four solid years. I even worked part-time while he was young. My entire focus was on that child and making his life as perfect as possible. That meant cutting out sugar and making cleanliness a virtue.

Fast-forward 11 years.

Life has certainly changed.

Capri Sun costs $1.99 a box. We go through several boxes in a month.

Lucas and Alex, sons No. 2 and 3 respectively, have been known to wear super hero costumes to the grocery store or just about anywhere. When they want to wear their rubber boots, I say, “Why not?”

Suckers are the least of my worries.

And the boys have been known to get in the sand box before church, but only if I don’t catch them first.

I’ve certainly become more lax — at least with some things.

Each family has a value system.

There are things in each family that parents find important and refuse to give up. Some of the smaller things, I’ll admit, seem to fall by the wayside as more kids join the fold.

We have a lot of things we value in our family. Take respect, for example. We command respect. And family meals are integral. We don’t eat in front of the TV in the living room. Even if it’s a McDonald’s night, it’s consumed at the dining room table. Video games aren’t played in church, and we don’t spend hundreds on each kid for Christmas and birthdays.

But if you want to dress up like Batman and wear your skull-dotted rubber boots to the grocery store, who am I to complain?

Before I had children, I would look at my niece and nephew and say, “My kids will never walk around with snot dripping from their nose.” And as much as I try to curb that, it happens. Kids are kids, and snot happens.

I just choose not to sweat the little things anymore, and that’s certainly going to manifest itself when it comes to my children.

Some would argue I’m treating my kids differently, and in a way, I am.

But mostly, I’ve just swallowed a chill pill and decided that enjoying them is way better than fussing over a little dirt.

'Tiger Mother' not lacking in approach

I first heard about the “Tiger Mother” on Facebook when a friend in Colorado, who doesn’t have children, asked what mothers thought of Amy Chua’s controversial parenting techniques.

I was the only person who answered.

When I, too, asked friends to comment about her book, it was the same muted response.

Do parents even care about the “Tiger Mother” or has the media overblown this author’s attempt to explain much stricter Asian parenting styles through her controversial book, “Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother?”

Regardless, I couldn’t resist writing about her parenting styles.

And you’ll find I won’t be critical of her methods, just asI would expect her not to be directly critical of how I raise my children.

If you haven’t heard about the “Tiger Mother,” let me explain.

Chua is a Yale professor of Chinese descent who uses the book to explain her tough-as-nails parenting style, comparing it, in contrast, to a more lax Western parenting style.

For example, her daughters aren’t allowed to have sleep-overs, playdates or any grade lower than an A on their report cards. They can only play the violin or the piano, and practicing those instruments takes hours. Her children aren’t allowed to chose their own extra-curricular activities, and she was once ostracized from a dinner party for calling her daughter “garbage” for not showing her respect.

And none of this shocked me when I first read the excerpts from Chua’s book. Although I wouldn’t necessarily chose some of the routes she took in raising her daughters, who am I to say it’s wrong?

First, I am one of those semi-lax Western mothers.

Second, my children are still children. My success as a parent, in my opinion, will be contingent upon how my sons tackle their teenager years and travel into adulthood.

Chua can write a book like she did because her methods have seemingly worked thus far with her daughters. Had her girls, ages 15 and 18, rebelled by burning their instruments in protest, I doubt the book would’ve even made it to the publisher.

But more than any of that, I think the parenting style is just that — a style. Let’s face it — Chua is still being a parent. And who can argue with that?

In my job, harsh reality tends to slap me in the face. On almost a daily basis, I read national, state and even local stories about abusive parents who have harmed or taken the life of their innocent children.

Those people aren’t parents. They’re monsters.

The fact of the matter is that Chua is not afraid to be a parent, nor is she afraid to admit what kind of parent she is. It doesn’t shock any of us because her children are alive, well taken care of, adjusted and enjoying success in their lives.

If we don’t agree with Chua’s methods, then we just do it differently. The important thing, in terms of parenting, is that we do it.

Is there an app to help me?

My smart phone is loaded to the brim with apps for my kids. Matter of fact, outside of the old standby boredom beater, Solitaire, all of the apps I’ve downloaded thus far were found with little people in mind.

And the preschool learning apps have especially intrigued my thirdsie, the little guy who is gearing up for a big change this fall.

Rarely a minute goes by that Alex doesn’t say, “Can I play coloring on your phone?” I open the app, hand him the phone, and with his nimble little fingers, he pieces together puzzles, dot-to-dots and coloring pages. Let’s just say technology has trumped anything I did at his age.

What he doesn’t realize is that he’s learning and honing his fine motor skills.

And that mom is secretly trying to prepare him for kindergarten.

But what I am slowly learning, is that he’s smarter than me.

I asked to him last week, while playing a puzzle game that spells out words, if he would spell the words to me.

“No. I don’t like to spell,” was his response.

And there went one of those teachable moments right out the car window. Or, so I thought.

Then, without warning, he started spelling.

It flew back in.

He spelled “boat,” “kitten,” “goat” and even “matryoshka.”

Alex is a pretty smart cookie, but only when he wants to be, because as smart as Alex is, he’s just as stubborn.

Each time he would finish spelling a word, I would say, “Good job, Alex.” And he’d spell some more. Finally, he said, “Mom, I like it when you say, ‘Good job, Alex.’” Ahhh, and who said kids weren’t precocious?

Alex entered preschool in the fall, with great zeal.

And as soon as he entered preschool, I started looking toward kindergarten.

Sure, he knows he’s going to big brother’s school next year, but what’s “next year” when you’re 4 years old?

So as big brother hones his reading skills, little brother is getting the practice he needs to be on the right track.

Kindergarten is a big deal.

Sending my third to school is a world of difference from sending my first.

I should be an old pro by now, but as is always the case, each kid is different.

Jacob was much more adult-like than his brothers, as the first, and Lucas suffers through developmental delays that made his trip to school a little bit rockier. Alex only wants to be like his older brothers, but on his own time with his own set of rules.

But, after sending two different kids through kindergarten, I am learning the importance of making sure they’re ready.

And that takes more than reciting the alphabet and being able to count.

It’s a big world, and these days, most kindergartners leave that first year of school knowing how to read, write and even have math skills. And the lesson I took away from sending the first two sons to school, is that it takes more than just academics to get them through kindergarten. So as we read books, recite our address and practice body parts, we’re also instilling a healthy dose of maturity.

And that’s hard, especially for mom.

Alex doesn’t know what’s going on, but I know I’m sending a little boy off into the great big world.

And, even though I know he’ll be emotionally ready to take that step, I have to wonder, will I?

But that’s the age-old question now isn’t it?

I wonder if there’s an app for that?