Analog, Digital & Parenting Success

When I was a child, prior to graduating to Barbies, my favorite toy was a doll named Timey Tell. She came outfitted with a watch. Set the time on Timey's watch and by pulling her string, she'd tell the time. I got a watch to go along with Timey's watch. I loved Timey Tell so much, by the time I hit kindergarten, I'm pretty sure I was on my second Timey Tell and well on my way to telling time.

Dustin requires bath time supervision. Length and duration are a problem, especially when no soap or shampoo is involved. The inability to dry off with a towel also comes into play. He'll stand with a towel wrapped around himself and drip dry. Or wander the house aimlessly, wrapped in a towel, drip-drying on my floor.

As I was assisting in the drying process last night, Dustin was handed an excellent opportunity to tattle on Dillon.

"Dillon got in the shower at the thirty-five and didn't get out until the zero-zero."

Holding back a smile, I asked, "So, how long was Dillon in the shower?"

"The eight is twenty so that would put him in the shower for thirty-five."

"Uh, no."

Peering over my shoulder at the analog clock hanging on the wall behind me, Dustin corrected himself, "Twenty-five."

"Yes, twenty-five minutes."

This exchange helped Dustin to further his time-telling abilities and side-tracked him from further tattling on Dillon. Too bad Timey Tell is a thing of the past, she might have made someone an excellent Christmas gift...

One of our Big Rules in the morning is no t.v. We don't have video games in the mornings, either. I have a hard enough time getting my children out the door in a timely fashion without the distraction of brain-sucking video games or ridiculous cartoons about who lives in a pineapple under the sea.

Dillon was given an excellent opportunity to tattle on Dustin this morning.

"You're not supposed to do the Wii before school, Dustin! Mom!!!"

I was en-route to the kids' end of the house anyway, so I witnessed the next exchange firsthand...

"I'm not doing Wii, Dillon," Dustin was quite serious, "I'm just doing deep breathes."

Deep breathes? Deep breathing or deep breath? Which one, Little Dickie?

How about yoga? Can we just say "yoga"?

I have yet to determine if Dillon's favorite past-time is hunting or pointing out how totally wrong Dustin is during his every-waking moment...

"Well, you aren't burning any calories, Dustin."

"I know, Dillon, I'm just doing deep breathes."

"Well, let's shut this thing off and finish getting ready," I suggested, since the morning was going very well: no biting, no fighting, no screaming, no running, no name-calling, and no 'rassling.

Prior to putting the house in Bartonville on the market, I'd read many a self-help magazine article about achieving success in the housing market. One suggestion was to paint the front door an eye-catching, complimentary color.

I can paint. I'll paint anything that stands still long enough. Absolutely anything.

This should frighten my husband.

I chose to paint our front door barn red. I love red.

At the time, Dillon asked why and I explained, "Well, I'm hoping it will help sell the house."

Our house was gray with black and white trim and the barn red door just made a statement. It looked great. Did it help sell the house? I doubt it, but it made me feel like I'd done something positive.

Last fall, my parents re-sided their house. They went from gray to tan with brown and white trim. It turned out great. However, Mom had a dilemma on her hands...what color to paint the front door.

She asked me if I had any suggestions. On any given day, I'm full of suggestions, among other things. This just happened to be one of the few instances I didn't have a good suggestion. Mom stumped me.

Driving the boys to school this morning, as I do every morning, I looked at my parent's house. I noticed that my mom had painted her front door.

Red.

Not barn red. Red with brown/tan undertones. A rusty-red. It looks awesome. Their house sits off the road quite a ways, and the door still pops from a distance. Great job!

"Look! Grammy & Papa painted their front door," I told the kids as we were driving past the house.

Everyone agreed that it looked nice.

"Are they going to sell their house?" Dillon asked.

Like an epiphany, it hit me. Something I'd said to my son stuck. My son heard me AND actually retained the information. I could hardly believe it.

Wow.

Parenting success.

Finally.

At thirteen.

I think this is the second time my son has heard and retained information I've spewed-forth. Nevermind that it's basically USELESS information in the big scheme of things. This information probably won't get him a good-paying job. I doubt he wins any awards for knowing that painting a door might help sell a house. This information isn't going to keep him out of jail. I don't know that he's retained any of the other informatiion I've tried to pass along: no drinking, no drugs, and no kissing girls until at least 35...

This might be the second time Dillon's actually retained something I've said. Maybe. Or maybe I'm mistaken and Dustin is the other instance of hearing and retention. Possibly.

None the less, it's a success in my book. They may not put their laundry away or pick up after themselves, but they've each heard me and retained.

Once. Each.

Cross your fingers they've heard and retained that bit about no drugs, no alcohol and no kissing girls until at least 35...at the very least...